I almost never cry over books these days, but I can admit that Daniel Keyes’ thought-provoking, heart-wrenching novel is one of the few recent reads that made me tear up.
“I don’t know what’s worse: to not know what you are and be happy, or to become what you’ve always wanted to be, and feel alone.”
. . .
Flowers for Algernon is one of those classic books I’ve heard about for years but never actually read; in fact, I knew so little about it I always assumed that Algernon was the name of the main character. Turns out, the hero is a man called Charlie Gordon, who tells his remarkable and desperately sad story in a series of diary entries.
Charlie is thirty-two and has an IQ of 68. He has a cleaning job at the bakery and attends classes for adults with special needs. More than anything else, Charlie’s passion for knowledge and learning makes him an ideal candidate for a new experimental neurosurgery, so far only attempted on animals such as Algernon the white mouse. As a result of surgery, Algernon’s intelligence skyrockets and remains reassuringly steady… for now. Charlie jumps at the chance to become smart, but he has no idea what he’s in for, as he begins to experience life from a brand new perspective that reveals a whole series of brutal truths and gut punches.
Right from the opening paragraph, Charlie’s voice feels so instantly authentic, innocent and likeable I couldn’t help but form an attachment straight away, a tie that inevitably made everything that follows hit you so much harder. Keyes’ command of language in the chapters following the surgery is simply masterful: as Charlie’s intelligence grows, his grammar and spelling slowly improve and his writing becomes more sophisticated both in content and structure, but so gradually you hardly notice at first.
Another, more heart-breaking shift is Charlie’s naivety and sunny disposition being stripped away and replaced with cynicism, bitterness and distrust. It dawns on Charlie that people he had thought of as his friends were having a laugh at his expense, and people he had previously put on a pedestal aren’t all that impressive after all. He also begins recovering some impossibly painful and humiliating memories from his childhood; if you were ever bullied at school some parts pack a visceral punch. At the very peak of his intelligence, Charlie feels even more isolated from the rest of humanity with his IQ of 185 than he ever did with 68. His genius opens many new doors, but not, it seems, a door to happiness; pursuit of intelligence alone is not enough.
Charlie’s past traumas and lack of emotional maturity make it hard for him to form and maintain a romantic relationship with Alice Kinnian, his former teacher who had recommended him for the operation. If there’s any downside to the story being told exclusively through Charlie’s eyes, it’s that Alice is never allowed to become a fully rounded character and I never really bought her side of this would-be romance. Much later in the book, Charlie has a very different relationship with Fay, his bohemian, free-spirited neighbour who feels like she got dropped into the book straight from Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Basically, in terms of characters, there’s Charlie, and then there’s everyone else; luckily Charlie is such a great protagonist he easily makes up for the shortcomings elsewhere.
What’s interesting about Flowers for Algernon is that, rather than serving up an unambiguous “don’t-mess-with-nature” message, it ultimately leaves it up to the reader to decide whether Charlie’s operation was worthwhile or not, even as it flat-out rejects the notion that Charlie was not fully a human being before it. Along the way, it raises and examines many questions: how we view and treat those we consider inferior to us, how we form long-lasting preconceptions about people, what it means to truly give yourself to another person.
This novel is a real emotional roller coaster, with the last few chapters especially moving as it reaches its remorseless conclusion; it was spoiled for me by the blurb at the back but you’d probably guess it anyway. Without a doubt, the very last sentence of the book is one of the most poignant endings I’ve ever read, it also marked the second time I got something in my eye.
yggdrasille.com 