Let The Great World Spin by Colum McCann, Part 3/5

Part 3/5, pages 156–237

There are four different chapters (and four different stories) in part ⅗ of Let The Great World Spin, so for the sake of simplicity and comprehension, I am going to focus in-depth on the chapter that spoke to me the most (rather than attempting to skim over all of the somewhat-unrelated plots and characters that coexist within this book).

A QUICK DEBRIEF: In the fourth and final chapter of part ⅗, McCann writes from the perspective of Tillie, a prostitute and mother of the beautiful and late Jazzlyn. Jazzlyn was also a prostitute and was killed in a car crash with Corrigan (whom I introduced and detailed in my first blog post). Tillie has been imprisoned both for prostitution and also for a robbery charge. She is writing from jail, where she spends most of her time thinking about Jazzlyn’s “babies” and also about how she wants to kill herself.

—

This chapter is like broken glass. It is glittering and mesmerizing, but it also cuts you. It differs from all of the other chapters for many reasons, but the most visible one is its structure. McCann writes the chapter in a series of short thoughts/ blurbs, like Tillie is writing in a diary. Unlike a diary, however, there is no timeline to the entries and the chapter ends up being a collection of broken, scattered pieces. Kind of like Tillie. McCann writes weekly advice letters to young authors, and the last one I read was about structure (http://colummccann.com/letters-to-young-writers-homepage/) . He said that authors shouldn’t write a novel to fit a certain structure, because a pre-set blueprint is inherently unoriginal and allows for no creative space. Instead, McCann says, the structure of a novel or story should naturally find its rhythm and dynamic as it is written. In this chapter, McCann demonstrates that he can follow his own advice. The setup of this chapter perfectly reflects the mindset of his character, which shows that he has created an intimacy with her (Tillie) and successfully put himself into her head.

Tillie herself is quite the character — she is a strange paradox of dirty results and pure intentions. She is wild and confident and pours her fiery, unbridled spirit into those whom she loves (especially Jazzlyn and her babies), but she simultaneously feels a deep self-loathing for disappointing them and being unable to raise them up from the Bronx. One of the first things Tillie says is “Hooking was born in me” (McCann 199). Although I hate the notion that somebody can be “born” a prostitute, I think McCann includes this line because it characterizes Tillie’s personality — she is glittering and fun and glamorous and sexy and young for a minute, and then, when the show is over, she becomes empty and hollow. The same could be said for romance with a prostitute. McCann molds his character to suit her job; through Tillie, he is commenting not only on a person, but also on a profession. I admire the way McCann treats prostitution. He casts it in respect and understanding — Tillie is not dumb. She is bright, just unlucky. I couldn’t decide whether to respect her or feel sorry for her. I have decided that the two are not mutually exclusive. Her intelligence becomes clear in subtle ways — take, for example, a line like this:

“They smelled like small little graveyards walking around, those boys” (McCann 208).

That’s poetry! Tillie is talking about soldiers coming home from Vietnam, but the way she describes them is classic McCann. Seeing the world as more than it is. Going beyond the literal to the imaginative. He layers metaphor with metaphor, and you can tell that poetry has had a huge influence on his work — he mentions Wallace Stevens in this book, and some of his lines have the alliteration of Gerard Manley Hopkins. Here’s another knockout:

“They used to say I was a chewing gum spot. Black. And on the pavement” (McCann 201).

A chewing gum spot. Chewing gum — something that is consumed and spit out. Something that people step on. But, perhaps most importantly, something that people can’t shake, something that people carry with them far after they are walking away from where they picked it up, something that remains, like a constant reminder of a mistake. Shouldn’t have stepped in that spot. Shouldn’t have slept with that hooker. I can’t think of a more perfect metaphor for the way Tilly is treated. And McCann makes it look easy. He doesn’t glamorize a life of hardship — McCann is realistic about the hardships and disgusting deeds Tillie has to face (“…he broke my arms. He broke my fingers too.” pg 216 and “The only thing is, if he loves you more, he beats you more too. That’s just the way it is.” pg 203). But what McCann does do is take a distant human experience, breathe life into it, and make it relatable. That, in my opinion, is the most important and most respectable role an author can undertake. An author can glue together broken glass.

842 words.