Aloneness as in the Arts of Life and Baseball - Essay Example

? May 31, “Aloneness” as in the Arts of Life and Baseball There has been much written about baseballas a euphemism for life and its corresponding timelessness. Chad Harbach, the author of The Art of Fielding, noted that one of the reasons he wrote this novel was because baseball and its reliance on the individual had a special resonance with him with regards to the complexity and duality of the social construction of the game. “What fascinates me about baseball is that although it’s a team game, and a team becomes a kind of family, in truth, the players on the field are each very much alone. Your teammates depend on you and support you, but at the moments that count they can’t bail you out” (Boroff). There are circumstances where a player, or person, must face life’s challenges and obstacles alone, without the help from others. This can be characterized as “aloneness.” Harbach utilizes Henry Skrimshander, the young adolescent antagonist of the novel, to personify that “aloneness.” Baseball is celebrated for its many opportunities to excel as an individual; the skills required to master the game (batting, fielding, throwing, catching) require a singularity of purpose and a certain degree of “aloneness” which cannot be mastered, except by relying on the self. Henry personifies that singular human condition of “aloneness” that each of us must encounter at certain times in our lives, if even only in those pre-dawn hours when we are alone with nothing but our thoughts. Some spend a lifetime sheltering themselves from such “aloneness,” (as Mike Schwartz does throughout the novel) but it is that “aloneness” which separates Henry from the other characters, as he establishes an individualistic counter to the team or family aspects of sport, and of life. For Harry, his mind and talents were borne alone, aloof from others, with his only loves being his baseball glove and his intellectual touchstone: a book on fielding written by his hero (baseball player and greatest fielder of all time, Apericio Rodriguez) entitled “The Art of Fielding.” As Henry is introduced to the reader, Harbach emphasizes his solitariness of being by referring to Henry in multiple instances as being alone on the diamond and in both in social and normal collegiate interactions. These juxtapositions of experiences serve to highlight the difficulties the young antagonist has in translating his abilities and tendencies when playing the game to interactions outside of the safety-net of the dirt and grass of a baseball field. It is these difficulties which center the narrator’s focal point on the solitude of many aspects of our lives. Henry comes to represent that initial attempt we all make at internal recognition, and then, internal process of emotion and conflict. It is a selfish emotion, and we are born as selfish beings only learning to be altruistic or giving of the self through social and moral developmental stages. In that sense, Henry remains an infant in a way, throughout the novel. He lacks that developmental stage to one where others’ needs fill one’s mind away from fulfilling the self. An important beginning to the relationship between Henry and his aloneness is an early reference to Henry as he relates to the element of time and his awareness of himself as a fielder, and, presumably, a human being. As Henry fields baseballs in the beginning of the novel, the narrator notes that as Henry approached each ball to field, “he arrived instantly, impeccably, as if he had some foreknowledge of where the ball was headed. Or is if time slowed down for him alone” (Harbach 5). Henry is initially characterized as separate from the rest of us, alone in his fielding, his art, apart those of us who live by clocks, snooze-alarms, deadlines and due-dates. He possesses his own temporal relativity on the diamond as if in an eternal dream-state. There, time slows for him, and only him. This is an insightful revelation into Henry’s personality and the narrator’s subjective interpretation of him as a self-centered antagonist. There lies something sublime in such timelessness and Henry is able to capture that beauty as it relates to fielding a baseball. Unfortunately, that feeling that he possessed as each ball was hit his way would abandon him later in the novel subjecting him to the vicissitudes of life that he heretofore had avoided, and which all of us must confront. It is a turning point for Henry in his development as a fielder and a human being as he is forced to confront his cocoon of mental toughness and that special cognitive place that was previously his on the baseball field. Conversely, by mentioning that time slows down “for him alone,” it is fair to say that the narrator implies that those of us for whom time does not bend or slow down, will, eventually, have the opportunity to experience Henry’s solitary timelessness one day too as our life clocks move toward eternity. This intimation of life and death, timelessness and solitary experiences, play against each other in this simplest of phrases and sets the tone of aloneness throughout the development of Henry as he faces his life’s crises. One would hope that Henry does have some social skills that translate beyond fielding a baseball, but the narrator does not allow us to see that side of Henry with his eternally delayed moral development away from the self. As he transitions to college, Henry attempts to revel in his solitude and attempts to treat life outside of baseball the same way he would approach fielding a baseball: alone. Such an approach may have worked as a moody adolescent, but quickly becomes a flaw in his personality when in college. At dinnertime in his dorm, Henry paints a pathetic figure of solitude. He is described as sitting “alone in a dim alcove of the dining hall, trying to look both inconspicuous and content” (Harbach 19), happy to go unnoticed. There is little ability in him to break out of his self-inflicted protective shell, to talk to people and make friends. If it works on the diamond, why not at college? In regards to his roommate Owen, Harry is subsumed by Owen’s social ease and ability to project his personality beyond his presence – skills which Henry does not possess beyond the baseball diamond: “Even in Owen’s absence, Phumber 405 suggested his whole existence so palpable that Henry, as he sat alone and bewildered on his bed, was often struck by the eerie thought that Owen was present and that he himself was not” (Harbach 22). Owen plays foil to Henry’s aloneness, as he perhaps serves as Henry’s alter-ego: a person who is easy-going, knows what he wants, is personable and outgoing, the antithesis of Henry’s self-imposed “aloneness,” a person comfortable alone or in groups. As compared to Owen, Henry’s characteristics as a true loner and someone who refuses to accept input from the outside world are broadened and deepened. Indeed, the narrator continues to sharpen Henry’s choice of aloneness by affirming his innate comfort level with solitude by celebrating the “aloneness” of Henry on the diamond as it relates to him as a person. Once Henry stepped out onto that field, he was totally alone. There was that aloneness on the screen: that implacable, solitary blankness on Henry’s sweat-streaked face as he backhanded a ball and fired it into the glove of his pudgy first baseman. Not that Henry withdrew from his teammates; in fact, he was more animated on the diamond than anywhere else. But no matter how much he chattered or cheered or bounced around, there was always something frighteningly aloof in his eyes, like a soloist so at one with the music he can’t be reached. You can’t follow me here, those mild blue eyes seemed to say. You’ll never know what this is like.” (Harbach 258) This extended passage continues to drum home to the reader the notion that Henry revels in his ability to field a baseball which is solely based on his apartness from the rest of humanity. Such fielding prowess requires solitude and a physical separation from others that the narrator describes as “frightening.” Henry obviously is consumed by this aspect of his personality to a disturbing degree and allows himself to experience something that only he could attain, something which requires the absence of other people. With the use of the adjective “frighteningly” the Harbach gives the reader some subjective insights into how Harry must have seemed to the casual observer. It is on the diamond that Henry feels most comfortable, but it is on the diamond where he is, ironically, most “frightening” in his almost inhuman ability to celebrate that part of himself that requires aloneness and to field a ball. It must be noted, however, that there is not an absoluteness to the perfection of Henry’s aloneness on the diamond. The reader gets a sense that some defeat or calamity surely must be waiting around the corner for this frightening young man. We are not allowed to become comfortable with Henry’s aloneness almost like most of us never become quite comfortable with our own aloneness. With Henry’s continued fascination with aloneness and the obstacles he faces as a result of that singularity of mind, Harbach seems to not to fully support his own premise for writing the novel – his fascination with the aloneness of baseball. As the novel progresses, Henry faces tremendous difficulty incorporating the wealth of support and help of his friends as they make themselves available to help him deal with his problems, and chooses the path of aloneness, yet again, in initially confronting the imperfection of the self. When he realizes that he cannot make the throws to first with any consistency, Henry decides to quit the baseball team. The decision is made quickly, without the advice of anyone, with a folded shirt and a last solitary walk away from his extended family, his team, away from his life. As Mike and Owen attempt to search for the missing Henry, Owen, who knows him best as his roommate for three years, suggests that “Henry’s an adult, or close enough. He probably just wants to be alone right now” (Harbach 333). Mike, the anti-Henry, responds with a telling response, “‘He’s not allowed to be alone right now. Not without telling us where he is’” (Harbach 334). Both friends see Henry as the narrator sees him: as a dichotomy of choices. Owen allows Henry his space. As his roommate, he is sympathetic to Henry, who, most likely, had sought refuge alone many times throughout the years they had lived together. Mike, on the other hand, who has played the role of Henry’s father-figure since he met him, refuses to allow Henry to retreat into solitude. As an outgoing personality in dire need of other people to validate himself, Mike cannot understand how Henry could recoil within not telling him where he’d be. Indeed, Henry lives up to his own self-realization, retreating alone, swimming out on a pond and, sleeping alone on the sand, as he processes what is happening to his quest for perfection and his dream of playing baseball. The concerns of Owen and Mike underscore the continuing conflict between aloneness and communion of humanity within Henry’s character, as previously stated by Harbach within the game of baseball. Team and family versus individuality and aloneness. The game requires both, but Henry, the true loner, cannot bring himself to experience that family connection outside the game. Many people require others to share in their lives to feel complete, as does Mike. Others do not feel that need and enjoy the solitude serenity of aloneness, as does Henry and Owen, to a certain extent. Although there are moments when Henry utilizes his friends and finally allows them into that place in his heart where he preferred to live in solitude, Harbach does not definitively answer that question of whether either situation is preferred: team and family or solitude and aloneness. To his credit, Harbach does not try to answer this central question. Henry is neither rebuffed nor affirmed in his aloneness. He simply is what he is: a person who tends to find grace when he is alone, whether fielding a ball or solving his problems. There are no obvious spiritual, emotional or psychological winners here. Life’s aloneness serves as a metaphor for the aloneness of baseball without commentary: it simply exists as it is, with those great questions perhaps its greatest draw for its true fans. When Harbach noted that baseball is a game where “the players on the field are each very much alone” (Bonoff), he seems to be confirming the axiom that each of us must confront our problems ultimately alone. There is no advocacy of a superior experience, by Harbach, but simply a telling of what is. In The Art of Fielding, Henry’s aloneness and solitary internalizations of the self do not represent what is correct or what works for all of us, but represent what simply is a side of the human existence that is manifested in a supposedly simple game. It is left to the reader to interpret whether those choices made by Henry were necessary or not – essential or not – to his success or failures; that is the beauty inherent in the game of baseball and of life. There will be times when we all are alone in the world, whether it involves fielding a grounder or overcoming our own personal demons. Henry is there to remind us that there is beauty in the art of aloneness. Works Cited Borof, Phillip. “Unemployed Harvard Man Auctions Baseball Novel for $650,000.” 31 March 2010. Bloomberg News. Web. 1 May 2012. . Harbach, Chad. The Art of Fielding. New York: Little Brown, 2010. Print. Read More