For so deep were his instincts of loyalty to the land that still, even with the images of his betrayal stark upon his mind, his concern was how to withstand her, how to go on again and justify himself. It had not occurred to him yet that he might or should abandon the land. He had lived with it too long. Rather was his impulse still to defend it – as a man defends against the scorn of stranger even his most worthless kin.
(Ross, The Lamp)
Canadiana fiction, poetry, and art begin to tackle the complicated discussion of delusion on a personal level. By juxtaposing the thoughts of dreamers and realists, Canadiana proves that the contrast between the two is not so extreme in that both have similar capacities for perception and delusion, how it is often a product of disregarding voices of alter egos and illustrate delusion to be synonymous with insanity.
An example that encompasses the prevalent aspects of delusion is in Sinclair Ross’s “The Lamp at Noon,” where a couple’s conflict demonstrates individual delusions to be more convoluted and depriving of basic understanding, judgment, and sensible perception. Although the couple wed and moved onto the farmland five years ago, the land proved to be unfruitful with dust storms frequently hitting sweeping the area, making Ellen, the wife, “fear… that in the dust-filled air [the baby] might contract pneumonia”. She pleads with her husband Paul to notice the land’s barren condition and urges him to move back to town so that their baby can have a future, but Paul obdurately stands by his vision of a prosperous farm soon. He harshly rebukes her by asserting that it is she “‘who wants to go, it’s not for his sake,’,” condemning her selfish yearning for a posh lifestyle, and the baby as a mere excuse. This hurtful exchange leads to a bitter argument that reveals that Paul cannot assess the land properly and that Ellen, despite caring for her baby, confesses that she also wants to enjoy life in the town. In Ellen’s hurt and anger, she tells Paul that she feels so “caged” and wishes she could only “run” from the burden of her feeling of hopelessness (Ross).
Paul leaves the house for space, throwing aside Ellen’s begging him not to leave her alone, and he heads to the stables. As he “ran his hand over the ribs” of his horses, he “felt a sudden shame, a sting of fear that Ellen might be right in what she said”. In realizing that he couldn’t even feed his horses or properly care for his wife and son, he begins to question if he were only a “blind and stubborn fool” (Ross). As the storm clears away, Paul sees the desolate reality of the land, yet continues to contemplate how he can stay and make life on the farm work.
Meanwhile, Ellen takes her baby and runs into the storm, her attempt seeming like an effort to defy its dominance over the land. She loses her way along with her sanity, and when Paul finds that Ellen and the baby are gone from the house upon his return, he frantically searches for her, only to find Ellen rocking the cold and dead baby in her arms. As he carries them both home, Ellen tells Paul that she thinks he was right, that there will be a good crop soon and they should carry on with life on the farm. Her anguish torments her discernment and by the end of the story metamorphoses it into the same blinding delusion that controls Paul.
By colligating Ellen and Paul’s thoughts and reactions, Ross demonstrates both of their capacities to be blinded by their dreams, also exemplifying marital incompatibility. While it may seem that Ellen was in the right and Paul in the wrong at the beginning, it is important to account for Ellen’s fantasies as well. She dreamt of a comfortable life, with friends and family close by her, and a future for her son. Her dream is not completely selfish or wicked in its nature, but it is this dream that provokes the heated and anguished side of her toward Paul, obstructing her ability to consider Paul’s perspective. As for Paul, his dream is self-explanatory: he feels that he belongs on a farm and that life in town would hurt his pride. Even after he realizes that his vision overwhelmed his judgement, he continues to plot a farm life for his family. To close the story, Ross concludes both of them to be equally convoluted and deranged.
Margaret Laurence’s “To Set Our House in Order” tells of another kind of dreaming and realism that is equally deluding. Vanessa, the child of the family, unintentionally focalizes the family’s struggle through the Depression. Since there is no monetary income, her father, a doctor, and his wife learned to shelve away their comfortable pasts and to compromise with the realities of the present. However, Grandmother MacLeod, the doctor’s mother, remains ignorantly attached to the lavish lifestyle of when she
‘never had less than twelve guests for dinner parties. When [she] had tea, it would always be twenty or thirty. Never any less than half a dozen different kinds of cake were ever served in this house…’ (Laurence 588)
And she continues by adding that, “‘Well, no one seems to bother much these days. Too lazy, I suppose’” (Laurence 588), suggesting that she truly believed it was the fault of Vanessa’s father and mother for being lazy that there were no more tea parties with pretty cakes. She completely neglects the economic situation and channels her criticism to the rest of her family.
As for Vanessa, her young age makes her delusion exceptionally naïve. When her pregnant mother is having labour pains and Vanessa visits her before she is taken away, her mother assures her that everything will be fine and that Grandmother MacLeod will be there for the family. Vanessa, fixing on the first thing that came to mind, wailed, “‘How can she get the meals? …She never cooks. She doesn’t know how.’” (585). Vanessa’s disorientation is rooted in her grandmother’s idleness when it comes to housework, and she honestly believes that Grandmother MacLeod is good for nothing. When her mother leaves the house for the hospital, Vanessa seeks out
hidden places in the house… odd-shaped nooks under the stairs, small and loosely nailed-up doors at the back of clothes closets, leading to dusty tunnels and forgotten recesses in the heart of the house where the only things actually to be seen were drab oil paintings stacked upon the rafters, and trunks full of out-moded clothing and old photograph albums. (Laurence 586)
Hiding from the light and crawling into darker, shrouded places, she attempts to cling onto the past, a safe space where every pain and struggle has already been endured and overcome. She feels that by seeking refuge in the past, her present problems will resolve themselves, in fleeting moments joining the gone past.
Both Vanessa and Grandmother MacLeod quixotically believe that the way of the past is better than the present and that since the future is what they are living in every moment, it becomes the same as the unwanted present. Whether it be conscious or unconsciously, Grandmother MacLeod’s refusal to accept the changes of reality keeps her buying “‘three linen cloths and two dozen serviettes… for fourteen dollars’” (589) and “two dozen lace-bordered handkerchiefs of pure Irish linen” (590), as well as hiring girls for housework when her son makes it clear that he “‘can’t possibly pay anyone’” (589). Grandmother MacLeod and Vanessa have lost or have not yet gained any intention of learning to adjust to their new lifestyles.
Finally, Bronwen Wallace’s “The Woman in this Poem” embodies a delusion that lacks outward expression. The woman in the poem in appearance has a perfect life, with a home and a family and everything in between, but her unhappiness consumes her as she wishes something more than what she has will happen. She writes to her lover in another city and longs to be with him, even reaching “for the phone / to dial the airport,” thinking to herself that
she will leave this afternoon
her suitcase packed
with a few light clothes
(Wallace 937)
but ends up remembering that she has a family and so “stops dialing and begins / to chop onions for the pot-roast” (938). Even as she continues preparing for her husband’s return home, the children’s appointments and dinner, her thoughts drift to that evening, of how
all through dinner
her mouth will laugh and chatter
while she walks with her love
on a beach somewhere
(Wallace 938)
Wallace makes it clear that it is not explicitly her lover that she wants to be with, but her desire is for “something,” “anything / to happen.” She offers possibilities of what the woman could do, such as locking herself in a closet for days or
Cruising the streets at night
In her husband’s car
Picking up teenage boys
And fucking them in the back seat
(Wallace 938)
But she remains at home, making her pot roast miserably. She does not explore her delusion, which is very much present, enticing itself to her every thought – yet it is her firm belief that the happiness of her family is more important than her own that keeps her where she is. Her delusion is that in staying on the barren farm, there will be a day where she accustoms to the feelings of oppression and imprisonment she experiences there. The woman’s delusion is selfless, but it is a disturbing misconception.
Ross, Laurence, and Wallace’s works contribute to the vast collections of Canadiana that discuss delusional thoughts and behaviours. Delusion is often a direct effect of hopeless dreams, wrecked realities, or the dismissal of the voice of one’s alter ego, which serves to complement each person’s dominant personality. When characters within the narratives tell the story, audiences can directly correlate outward speech and actions to the kind of delusion that restrains them, but it is only when an omniscient author tells the stories of reserved people that anyone can understand the internal delusion that is kept silent. These works remind the readers not to approach scorn deluded people, rather recognize and acknowledge that every individual endures the inexpressible multitudes of hardships that are unknown to the rest of the world.
‘Why can’t she be nice to us for a change?’ I burst out. ‘We’re always the ones who have to be nice to her.’
My father put his hand down and slowly tilted my head until I was forced to look at him.
‘Vanessa,’ he said, ‘she’s had troubles in her life which you really don’t know much about. That’s why she gets migraine sometimes and has to go to bed. It’s not easy for her these days, either – the house is still the same, so she thinks other things should be, too. It hurts her when she finds they aren’t.’
(Laurence 592)