Exploring the Depths of Jamaica Kincaid’s “The Letter from Home”
Crafting a short story that unfolds as a single, unbroken sentence is no small feat, yet Jamaica Kincaid (born 1949) has mastered this unique form of storytelling. Her piece, The Letter from Home, first published in the New Yorker in April 1981, serves as a prime illustration of this technique. On the surface, the narrative may seem straightforward, perhaps even mundane, but beneath that exterior lies a rich tapestry of metaphysical and unsettling themes.
The narrative is presented as a letter from a mother to her daughter, who has departed from her “home” in the Caribbean to explore new horizons, presumably in the United States. The voices of both the mother and daughter entwine, resulting in a dizzying and ambiguous experience for the reader.
Summary
The story is recounted from the first-person perspective of the narrator, who details a series of activities she has engaged in. Critics typically interpret this narrative as a letter penned by a mother addressing her daughter, who has settled in a foreign land. However, the story cleverly intertwines the daughter’s voice, suggesting a conversation that transcends distance.
The contrast between the two women’s environments is subtly emphasized through minor yet poignant details. One moment, we find ourselves amidst the chill of snow, fridges, and cars; the next, we are transported to a scene of a boat gliding over water, complete with candle lighting, evoking a simpler, less technologically driven life.
The narrative’s single-sentence structure unfolds as a litany, beginning with the mundane chores of the mother: milking cows, baking bread, washing clothes, and dressing children. The mention of ‘the’ children hints that the narrator may be a mother herself, while also suggesting that she might be caring for someone else’s offspring.
However, as the story progresses, the focus shifts from the narrator’s tasks to other sensory details: the mewling of a cat, the barking of a dog, and the hum of the fridge. The depiction of snow-laden tree branches indicates a cold, wintry setting, possibly suggesting a shift from the world of the mother to that of the daughter, who now inhabits a much different climate.
A brief dialogue from an unidentified man hints at the daughter’s life as she may be fulfilling the role of a live-in au pair, looking after a new family.
As the narrative unfolds, the female narrator begins to delve into profound existential inquiries framed in religious and biblical language: Is there a heaven above and a hell below? What lies on the other side of death—are we reunited with those we have lost?
The story concludes with an ambiguous vision of the narrator, who sees a man clad in a shroud while she is in a boat. He beckons her to join him, yet she chooses to turn away and row in the opposite direction.
Analysis
Interwoven with the ordinary aspects of daily life that the narrator recounts are curious elements that reveal the story’s deeper significance: it is a meditation on life as both active and passive, a series of events where some are initiated by us while others simply occur to us.
The narrator shares how her heart races and how she “sheds” her skin, akin to a snake. This metaphor highlights the continuous nature of human transformation over time. We witness a progression from details that are humdrum yet under the narrator’s control (brewing tea, baking, etc.) to those that illustrate her lack of agency (shedding skin, heart palpitations, and the burgeoning “folds” of her waist).
This interplay between realism and elements of magical realism aligns with the narrator’s ambiguous identity. Is she the mother of the family, as initially suggested, or is she the daughter, as indicated by her meticulous attention to the command of chewing her food thirty-two times, as if still under a parent’s watchful eye?
Perhaps she embodies a strange fusion of both identities. Rather than being confined to one fixed narrative voice, we encounter the essence of all women—an amalgamation of various female perspectives fulfilling multiple roles. After all, daughters often evolve into mothers themselves.
The story’s enigmatic conclusion leaves us questioning the narrator’s intentions. The man in the shroud may symbolize a Christlike figure, awaiting her on the shore as she navigates her rowboat. Is she traversing the mythical river Styx towards the underworld? Does this finale connect back to her earlier musings about heaven and hell, and their existence?
Alternatively, is this shrouded figure attempting to draw her back towards faith and the familiar world of her mother, which she has left behind? The choice to row away suggests a rejection of this call to return to her roots. Yet, the phrase “I turned and rowed away” is open to interpretation. Could it be that she was initially facing away from him, and through her turn, she comes to face him directly? In that case, she might be retreating from her new life in order to embrace a return to God and Christianity. Despite her narrowing eyes as she focuses on the figure, this action straddles the line between skepticism (a reluctance to heed his siren call) and a genuine desire to clarify her vision of who he is.