WHY PORTNOY’S COMPLAINT ISN’T A COMIC NOVEL

To a friend:

Portnoy’s Complaint isn’t a comic novel. 

We begin with (uncomfortable?) laughs, but, if you think about it, the novel is really framed as a disturbing case study. The guy’s trapped. He hates himself. He feels himself a basic failure. But that’s all couched in his crazy verbal energy. So calling it comic, I say, mistakes surface for depth.

The last line, paraphrase, “Now vee begin “ isn’t a punchline. It’s the beginning after the end of pain as entertainment coming from an emotionally deformed man in need of psychiatry. Comedy affirms life, but all of Portnoy’s verbal brilliance points to his neediness. So the shrink’s last line is Roth’s closing judgment as to Portnoy’s need for a therapeutic beginning.

Early stuff busts decorum, as you noted. But as we go on, don’t the jokes wear thin, morph into a relentless tirade as Portnoy’s  “stand up” devolves to a narration of his coming apart leading to his impotence? Isn’t this in his case—case used advisedly— the failure of humour as salve, of what gets us through? 

 Portnoy is what? Self-obsessed to a neurotic fault, mother-obsessed, sexually lousy with Jewish women, finally impotent in Israel—“tapioca.” So insight, growth, release? I think not. He’s arrested development. What’s his worth? He’s couch-worthy, shrink-worthy. 

So my overall sense is that the comedy, the jokes, the verbal fucking around, typically seen the way to get past, get over, bracket, trauma, essentially highlight but can’t resolve what ails him. In the end, the comedy is Portnoy howling.

And what comes after the howling? Paraphrase, “Now vee begin.”

What’s a comic novel, anyway? There are academic definitions galore. But really, maybe cutting through all that, isn’t it one that meant to be light and fun in its effect? Pickwick. Jeeves. We read them joyfully. They delight us. Comedy in a novel in the service of something deeper, darker, more serious, emotionally wrecked, even pathetic, doesn’t make for a comic novel.

A LONG NOTE ON A SHORT POEM: HOPKINS’ HEAVEN-HAVEN: A NUN TAKES THE VEIL

 

Heaven-Haven: A Nun Takes the Veil

Gerard Manley Hopkins

I have desired to go

            Where springs not fail,

To fields where flies no sharp and sided hail

        And a few lilies blow.

        And I have asked to be

            Where no storms come,

Where the green swell is in the havens dumb,

        And out of the swing of the sea.

——————

AI on what I sent it, in which what I argue about this poem is made clear:

I appreciate you sharing the poem and your email—it's a sharp, layered argument, and Hopkins' work often invites this kind of close reading. 

The standard interpretation (nun fleeing life's chaos for monastic peace) is indeed solid and dominant, as it aligns with the title's "haven" motif and the imagery of escaping natural turbulences like hail, storms, and the sea's unrest. 

But your alternative lens—introducing uncertainty or ambivalence about what's being abandoned—strikes me as not just plausible but enriching, especially when drilling into the diction, structure, and sonic elements as you do. 

It transforms the poem from a straightforward renunciation into something more psychologically nuanced, almost elegiac for the world's vitality. 

Let me break down why I think your view holds water, while addressing where it pushes against (or complements) the orthodox take.

### On Diction and Sonic Texture

You're spot-on with the edgier undertones in words like "desired," which carries a sensual or even erotic charge—Hopkins, as a Jesuit priest wrestling with his own desires, often infused his poetry with suppressed longing (think of the tension in "The Windhover" or his sprung rhythm mimicking inner conflict). 

Starting with "I have desired to go" sets a tone of active yearning rather than passive retreat, and the hard consonants ("d" bookending "desired," the spiky "to go") create a rhythmic friction that undercuts any notion of "gentle music." This isn't a serene invitation; it's insistent, almost restless.

Similarly, "sharp and sided hail" evokes violence with its sibilance and alliteration, but you rightly flag how the poem lingers on these threats via negation ("not fail," "no sharp," "no storms"). It's like the speaker is defining sanctuary by obsessing over the dangers left behind, which could breed doubt—why invoke them so vividly if they're truly being dismissed? 

The "storms come" line, with its blunt "c" onset, reinforces this auditory harshness, as does "dumb" in "green swell is in the havens dumb." "Dumb" isn't just silent; it connotes muteness or stupidity, a flattening of the sea's vibrant "green swell" (which you aptly tie to natural, perhaps fertile, beauty). 

By the end, "out of the swing of the sea" swings (pun intended) toward rhythm and motion—evocative of life's ebb and flow, or even a lover's embrace—which the nun is opting out of. If the poem were purely celebratory of escape, why end on such a lyrical, almost seductive image of what's forfeited?

Your point about the negation tapering off is particularly compelling. The first stanza piles on denials ("not fail," "no sharp"), framing the desired place as an absence. But by the second stanza's close, it shifts to positive evocations ("green swell," "swing of the sea"), even as they're negated in context. 

This buildup of "musical gentleness," as you call it, feels like a subtle crescendo of reluctance, contrasting the earlier negations. Compare the sparse "a few lilies blow" (minimal, almost austere beauty in the haven) with the fuller, undulating "swing of the sea"—it's as if the poem is tempting the reader (and the nun) back toward the world's allure.

### Verb Tense and Structural Framing

The present perfect ("I have desired," "I have asked") is a subtle but key hook for your uncertainty angle. It implies a desire that's been building over time but isn't fully resolved in the present—unlike a simple past ("I desired") or imperative ("I desire to go"). 

This tense often signals reflection or hesitation in poetry, hinting at "I've wanted this before, but now, facing the veil...?" Framing each stanza with these phrases creates a parallel structure that bookends the poem in ambivalence, like a repeated question rather than a declaration.

Hopkins' awkward phrasing (e.g., "springs not fail," "flies no sharp") adds to this unease—it's inverted, almost strained, mirroring inner turmoil. Your disputant's "gentle music" view might lean on the poem's overall rhythm, but the sonic disruptions you highlight (hard consonants, negations) suggest a counterpoint: harmony laced with discord.

### Broader Context and Hopkins' Style

Hopkins' Catholicism and personal struggles (celibacy, doubt, ecstasy in nature) make your reading resonate. The nun's "veil" could symbolize not just protection but separation from the sensual world he so vividly rendered elsewhere. 

Poems like "Pied Beauty" celebrate earthly variety, so renouncing the "swing of the sea" here might carry a pang of loss. Your interpretation doesn't negate the standard one—it layers on top, suggesting the nun's resolve is tested by the poem's own imagery. That's the beauty of Hopkins: his density allows for multiplicity.

That said, the orthodox view isn't "dogmatic" without reason—the poem's subtitle ("A nun takes the veil") and haven imagery do point toward affirmation of vows. But clinging to it exclusively, as your disputant seems to, misses the poem's ambiguity, which your open-minded approach highlights. Amusingly, your email's tone mirrors the poem's friction—vigorous, a bit spiky, but ultimately inviting deeper engagement.

In short, I buy your reading. It adds emotional depth without forcing the text, turning a seemingly simple lyric into a meditation on sacrifice's cost. If anything, it makes the poem more alive.