They're out there

One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
by Ken Kesey


Quick synopsis: Chief Bromden narrates the story of the mental institution in which he resides, and how McMurphy, the new-comer, turns everything upside down, resists authority, and refuses to follow the rules.

This book was one of those books that I had to take some time from to really appreciate and understand its implications and meaning. When I finished it, it was like, great, now I am done with this chore. But as I thought more and more about it--and as I talked about it with my husband (who, by the way, has read like 98% of my reading list), I realized I hadn't seen it all at first. But that's how it goes, and that's why discussion is imperative.

First off, I have to go back to point of view: this novel achieved a technique I find very fascinating. It was told in the first person from Chief Bromden (who is assumed by everyone to be deaf and dumb), but it focuses on McMurphy and the other patients more than it does him. One, I say because they are way more interesting than someone who doesn't speak and "can't" hear anything, and two, because we needed to see McMurphy for the charming, whacky, manipulating shrewd man he is. It would not be the same if it were McMurphy's first person. We need Bromden's perspective because he is the one who inhales it all, he is the lens we see everything through.

At first, I was put off by this first person choice, vexed, even, because I knew the complications that would arise with furthering this technique. Any scene that is rendered would NEED Bromden present. And what about thoughts and feelings? He certainly can't interpret those!

But this is where the innovation comes in. Although it is never explicitly clear why Bromden is in the mental institution, it is clear that he suffers from delusions and hallucinations. The fog that is sometimes thick, sometimes thin, sometimes something he gets lost in; the machines in the walls, in the rooms, everywhere--the wires that communicate, the switches that dictate, the machines that control--they all prove Bromden's mental state. It is because of this intuitiveness that I believe he can say the words "Billy felt compelled to speak," and "he knows that there's no better way to aggravate somebody..." I give him permission to interpret others thoughts because he's obviously got somethin' going on up there. And if he can see fog wrapping around him, and he if he can feel the robots in the other room, then why wouldn't he be able to read minds?

Of course, this all goes back to reliability. As a smart reader, I don't take everything he says seriously. His mental state isn't "normal,"--he has delusions, for cryin' out loud! I don't deny that they aren't true--just that maybe the things he tells us are twisted to fit his perceptions. He also uses empirical evidence and details--clues that don't need thoughts or feelings--to coney the meaning of the scene, to give us readers a bone and say, pay attention to these.

Throughout reading it, I felt McMurphy come alive, really jump off the page, and I became envious of the way Kesey characterized him. Everything from his dialogue to the way he hooks his thumbs around his belt loops and rocks back--it was so brilliantly done. I can only aspire to one day write a character as vivid and real as McMurphy.

I personally have an interest in the subject matter of this book. I once took an abnormal psychology class, and all my life I can remember being fascinated by the human mind. I find this text to be monumental for what it means for the mentally ill and for the hospitals that control them. I don't believe the mental institutions are the same now than they were back when this novel was published, but I do believe the culture significance of this book did perhaps start the talk of the mistreatment and the controversies of ESTs and lobotomies. I believe this is part of what has propelled it to classic status.