| The Unlikely Protagonist: Mr. Carmichael Essay, Research Paper
On this campus, a student has probably only communicated
with approximately one-third of the population. The other two-
thirds he or she learns about through heresay picked up in
conversation. This gossip creates a stereotypical view of these
unfamiliar faces in the individual’s mind since there is no
previous interaction to rely on. A returning student may tell me
of a visual art major that has an offending hair color and body
piercings, and I can gullibly infer that the artist will develop
into a convict. This is a completely subjective opinion without
any justification, but with time, I may gain more perspective and
learn that the student’s personality is quite the opposite of
what I presumed. The reader is led through the same circumstances
in To the Lighthouse, by Virginia Woolf. The characters that
describe Augustus Carmichael are contributors to the rumor mill,
and it is easy for the reader to slip into the assumption that he
is a pathetic, washed up, opium addict. Yet, through seemingly
innocent, but pivotal scenes, Mr. Carmichael becomes paramount to
the development of other characters and objects in the novel.
During “The Window,” the reader may easily slip into the
thinking patterns of the other characters and “take their side.”
Mrs. Ramsay’s subjective views are the only ones offered during
her stream-of-consciousness, and the reader may swallow them
wholly as the truth. Conclusions can be drawn, since Carmichael
takes opium and refuses to interact with Mrs. Ramsay, that he is
a cold, callous, and even virulent houseguest; one may even refer
to him as the anti-Mrs. Ramsay! He makes no attempt to go out of
his way to aid others, and he shrinks away from her, imposing a
selfish, indifferent feeling. Since other males slip into their
books in order to escape, Mr. Carmichael is easily lumped with
Mr. Ramsay and Bankes, who distance themselves from the feminine
and maternal qualities of Mrs. Ramsay. Carmichael appears to
portray Victorian society’s worse nightmare; asking for another
bowl of soup is a definite faux pas. Also, Mrs. Ramsay circulates
to Tansley, Carmichael’s unstable past: “an affair…an unstable
marriage; poverty;” (10) Carmichael is made to appear like a
pariah. But does Mr. Carmichael really threaten the morals,
stability, and prudence of the era? Closer reading destroys the
negative image that the reader perceives from a third-person
view.
There are periodic, but profound events that prove Mr.
Carmichael is very involved with the Ramsays; his expression,
though, is very subtle. After the image-damaging “Boeuf en Daube”
scene, he sings his praise of dinner to Mrs. Ramsay. He is
completely understood and she appreciates that much more than any
eloquent “thank you.” Little is known about his wife, other than
she was rather brutal and abusive. It is very possible that the
trauma caused his fear of intimacy and distrust with Mrs. Ramsay.
Very surprising about this “inadequacy of human relationships”
(40), as referred to by Mrs. Ramsay, was that he had a close bond
with Andrew, one of the Ramsay children. Carmichael had “lost all
interest in life” (194) when the young man was killed in the war,
which is one of the few times we see his vulnerability to outside
prevailing conditions.
Not only is Mr. Carmichael’s connection with other household
members nurturing, he also holds a special significance in
relation to the Lighthouse. They are both constant, unchanging
presences in the novel, and they take in only what they desire.
“Time Passes” is a very gloomy and somber portrait, the only
thing that avoids the increasing darkness within this frame is
the steady candlelight of Mr. Carmichael, reading Virgil. The
candlelight and Virgil, author of The Aenead, seem to go hand in
hand. As The Aenead journeys into the depths of hell, the
candlelight exposes the personality of Carmichael, as it did for
most characters in the dinner scene. This brief passage puts us
in limbo until coming to a resolution in “To the Lighthouse.” But
Carmichael is the reassuring protector, as is the Lighthouse,
which pierces into the soul of many characters. This especially
includes Mrs. Ramsay, who feels “relief and gratitude” (111) for
the silent, but assumed harmony between them. Both Carmichael and
the Lighthouse are detached, giving them both an unobstructed,
objective view, and perhaps, a greater outlook than the other
close-minded characters. Carmichael lives not for the moment, not
for others; perhaps that is the reason why that he and Lily
survive the war, but Mrs. Ramsay doesn’t. They both do not give
into Mrs. Ramsay’s serpentine charm, nor society’s pressure to
conform; therefore, Carmichael is able to keep “his candle
burning longer than the rest” (125).
The reader is not allowed to judge Carmichael for him or
herself, since Mrs. Ramsay’s opinions are forced upon the reader.
He is perceived as useless and parasitic, yet Carmichael is one
of the few practical characters: neither superfluous, fastidious,
nor overbearing. His different perspective is refreshing; one may
expect to find only eloquent and metaphorical descriptions in
this novel, however, Mrs. Ramsay spies Carmichael looking at a
bowl of fruit simply as sustenance. This simple man is
misunderstood, like Tansley and Lily, but Carmichael is the only
character that cannot defend himself because he has no thoughts
to follow. It is ironic that he is overlooked, yet he is always
an observer. Carmichael could possibly be a guardian angel,
indirectly affecting all characters. Perhaps, since the reader
least expects a lazy oaf with a “capacious paunch (10)” to be the
protagonist, his actions are more startling and highlighted than
Mrs. Ramsay’s. As time progresses, so do the reader’s first
dangerous impressions of this unlikely, but benevolent
individual.
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