The Heart is a Lonely Hunter
This summer, I reread The Heart is Lonely Hunter. Carson McCullers’ masterpiece, published in 1940 when the author was 23-years-old, is a perennial feature on many “Best Of’ book lists. (Ranked #17 in The Modern Library List of 100 Best Novels, among others). Thirty years after my first encounter, the novel is as piercing and vibrant as I remembered. But a singular attribute struck me in a fresh light.
Today, I doubt that the author of The Heart is a Lonely Hunter could find a publisher.
The central character of The Heart is a Lonely Hunter is a middle-aged deaf man. As the novel opens, fastidious Mr. Singer lives with another mute, a messy, obese Greek named Antonopoulos. In short order Antonopoulos gets in trouble and his cousin commits him to an asylum, a feasible plot turn in 1930’s America. In time, an odd assortment of misfits attaches themselves to Mr. Singer. Biff Brannon, a man of wide and weird sexual tendencies, owns The New York dinner, which is open pretty much all the time. Jake Blount is an alcoholic socialist and carnival mechanic. Dr. Benedict Copeland is a Negro physician drowning in the inequities of his place and time. Mick Kelly is a tomboy with dreams well beyond her family’s boarding house in this Georgia mill town. There’s also a bevy of supporting characters, Black and white, intelligent and illiterate, each believable and sympathetic.
The novel has a plot, insomuch as time passes and things happen among the various characters. But what makes it an irresistible read are the characters themselves, so unique, so real, so richly rendered.
Which is the reason, of course, that The Heart is a Lonely Hunter would have a tough time finding a publisher in 2024. A 23-year-old white woman who escapes the Deep South to find literary acclaim might well write about a restless tomboy. But how could she possibly (regardless how sensitive) pretend to write about a deaf person, a tortured night-owl, a socialist, and a frustrated Negro? Aren’t these each distinct people, with distinct identities? How dare Ms. McCullers presume to give them voice?
Such are the blinders of our identity-driven age. So fixed on how we are different that we dismiss our commonalities. The genius of The Heart is a Lonely Hunter is not the peculiarity of each character. Rather, it is the universal humanity that motivates them all. Anyone who reads this amazing book will see themselves in every character, and in some small way bridge the artificial divides we have created in the name of…I’m really not sure.
The heart is a lonely hunter, regardless the color of our skin or the digits on our bank statement. Human connection is always a challenge. Yet in our era of stupendous communication capability, we have managed to make it all the more difficult. Thank goodness to Carson McCullers’ beautiful recitation which acknowledges that, yes, we are all alone. But at least we’re all alone together.
