The Collector, by John Fowles

"He is solid; immovable, iron-willed. He showed me one day his killing bottle. I'm imprisoned in it. Fluttering against the glass. Because I can see through it I still think I can escape. I have hope. But it's all an illusion. A thick round wall of glass." (The Collector, by John Fowles)

Last month I was gifted with a worn out copy of John Fowles' novel 'The Collector'. It is a story told through two voices, about a butterfly collector named Frederick Clegg, who has collected something much larger, and much more complicated--a girl.

For those of you who haven't yet read the book, please do! It is well-written and easy to read. Your English teacher would be very proud of you, as will your parents. I reckon as of now, both parties are wondering what you're doing with your life, and telling them you "just finished The Collector, by John Fowles and loved it" will give them the right idea that you've been spending your time wisely.

Hopefully, none of you are afraid of spoilers for this novel, because I'm about to give a brief synopsis.

Frederick Clegg is an introverted butterfly collector, who (as he describes) has no friends, just co-workers and family. He has been watching a young art student, Miranda, for many years and made the decision to abduct her and keep her for himself. He buys and house and keeps her locked in a small shed he furnished himself. Every day, Clegg visits Miranda, brings her food and water, talks to her and watches her.

Obviously, there is a dark undertone in the novel. Part 1 of 'The Collector' is written from the point of view of Frederick Clegg. The story is shallow, never venturing deeper than what he can observe. While planning her abduction, Clegg narrates "there were a lot of species I wanted - the Swallowtail for instance, the Black Hairstreak and the Large Blue, rare Fritillaries like the Heath and the Glanville. Things most collectors only get a go at once a lifetime. There were moths too. I thought I might take them up. What I'm trying to say is that having her as my guest happened suddenly, it wasn't something I planned the moment the money came." His casual tone shows how he never has seen her as his equal, despite recognising her upbringing and education. He is only able to view her the same way he views his butterflies--an item to collect. Not once did he try to understand her life, her aspirations, her feelings or her relationships. Clegg only knows what he has physically seen; her getting into a car with a young man, her drunk mother, and her art.

His narrative is purely observational, what he sees her do and say, but nothing was said about how she felt. For me, as the reader, I felt truly empathetic of Frederick Clegg, and through his eyes, believed that Miranda could eventually learn to understand and love Clegg, in fact, I wanted it to be so. The narrative of a simple, lower class individual who struggled with loneliness is not difficult to sympathize with.

Part 2 is the same story told from Miranda's diary. She visibly struggles with the isolation and her clear hatred (which wasn't as explicit and obvious through Clegg's narration) is repeatedly reinforced in this chapter. However, in spite of her hatred for her captor, Miranda shows some condescending sympathy for Clegg, which Clegg had believed to be understanding. In her diary entries, Miranda writes about her plots to escape, her emotions and some observations, and about her dear memories of George Paston (G.P.). She observes Clegg too, but dives in much deeper, and at one point truly tried to understand him and his motives. But she all she could find was his simplistic mind and not much more. She is beautiful and lively, and says, "I love making, I love doing. I love being to the full, I love everything which is not sitting and watching and copying and dead at heart." Her narrative appeals to the reader's human side, playing with sympathy for Miranda's desperation and emotions, as well as seeing Clegg from outside his mind. The disparity between Clegg and Miranda's narration of the same events is grand, and serves to remind me how much who tells the story matters.

The main theme I see running throughout the novel is isolation, and how he and Miranda react so differently towards it. Clegg has lived his whole life in isolation, watching people, watching Miranda, from afar. Even when he was working at the pools, Clegg disliked and avoided his coworkers. Miranda was much more social. She was close with her sister, and had many friends, so of course, isolation was not easy for her. Clegg couldn't empathize with her, because he himself prefers isolation. Miranda, as the more relatable character, craves human interaction (and for that reason alone, she tolerates Clegg's visits), daylight, fresh air, and some exercise.

Another theme is social status. Miranda was beautiful, had been born into a well-off home, gone to prep school, had gotten a scholarship and was studying art in university. Clegg on the other hand, was not educated, a clerk who collected butterflies as a hobby. While living in close proximity to each other in the same town, the two knew of each other but never interacted. Of course, Miranda was much too good for Frederick Clegg. Even as a captive, she would often speak down to him, with cold condescension about his language skills, education and simplistic beliefs. Her arrogance and rudeness was exhibited in both Clegg's and her own narrative, and while Clegg was more forgiving, Miranda became very snobbish to the reader. I believe that her attitude, even through her own memories from her diary entry, makes the reader less sympathetic to her captivity, and in fact, makes Clegg more relatable.

If Miranda had been a math student, or even a psychology student, the story would have been  very different. John Fowles wrote Miranda as an arts student, a creative, deep, thinking person, to further contrast Clegg.

Art is usually perceived as something so fun and so free, but Miranda has learned differently, saying "Art's cruel. You can get away with murder with words. But a picture is like a window straight through to your inmost heart."