. Spinning .

As well as leit motif I suspect; the recurrence of a “looking glass,” a mirror. In this section of the narrative, the point of view has remained as first person, but the narrator has changed to be the narrator’s husband. We find out that the whirlwind romancing of Antoinette was an arrangement that he agreed to for money. On their honeymoon, as they are staying at a mountainside home of Antoinette’s that still, while shabby, has servants and is in a beautiful natural setting, she tells her new husband of a memory she has of this place:

“And then suddenly I was awake. I saw two enormous rats, as big as cats, on the sill staring at me.”
“I’m not astonished that you were frightened.”
“But I was not frightened. That was the strange thing. I stared at them and they did not move. I could see myself in the looking-glass the other side of the room, in my white chemise with a frill round the neck, staring at those rats and the rats quite still, staring at me.” (p. 82)

Earlier we had Antoinette’s description of the moment after the fire as she watched Tia after the girl had thrown a rock at her:

“We stared at each other, blood on my face, tears on hers. It was as if I saw myself. Like in a looking glass.”

And there are a few other references to mirrors. What I find interesting is that while the looker sees himself, and in Antoinette’s early scenario, believes Tia to be herself, a mirror is in fact the exact opposite of what we are. Simply put, our left side is our right side as we view it; very different from what others see us to be.

Is the looking glass then a metaphor for illusion? for hope or belief that we’ve no reason to take as reality?

Before the fire that destroyed her house, the narrator had a friend with whom she shared a good part of her life. They had parted in an argument that grew nasty with racial name-calling and we wondered if the bond of childish friendship, so tainted by the world in which the two girls lived, could overcome. But here, in the dark night of the fire, as the family tries to get safely away and the crowd has dispersed, the narrator sees her friend:
Then, not so far off, I saw Tia and her mother and I ran to her, for she was all that was left of my life as it had been.

We had eaten the same food, slept side by side, bathed in the same river. As I ran, I thought, I will live with Tia and I will be like her. Not to leave Coulibri. Not to go. Not. When I was close I saw the jagged stone in her hand but I did not see her throw it. I did not feel it either, only something wet, running down my face. I looked at her and I saw her face crumple up as she began to cry, We stared at each other, blood on my face, tears on hers. It was as if I saw myself. Like in a looking glass. (p. 45)

Two young girls, at odds with who they are, where they are. Unable to get beyond the required behavior of their society once that bridge if innocence has been broken by knowledge. They reach out to close the gap; one with hope, one with stone.

With the mood set early on as one of quiet hatred and fear, Rhys gets us involved in dramatic action as the house is set afire and the mother, her new husband, her two children and the servants must escape for their lives.

We have an image of the mother, Annette, as prone to unhappiness, willing others to step forward rather than making life liveable for herself and her children. When she has used up all her resources to maintain a lifestyle she manages to nab a rich Englishman. When he doesn’t safely take her away from the squalor of the by now rundown homestead, she makes his life fairly miserable. He doesn’t seem to understand the hatred the natives feel for the white people. He doesn’t have the respect for them that she has learned to have to be able to live among them.

Maybe her symbol of freedom is a parrot she keeps. The bird certainly holds meaning to the natives.

I opened my eyes, everybody was looking up and pointing at Coco on the glacis railings with his feathers alight. He made an effort to fly down but his clipped wings failed him and he fell screeching. He was all on fire.

I began to cry. “Don’t look,” said Aunt Cora. “Don’t look.” She stooped and put her arms round me and I hid my face, but I could feel that they were not so near. I heard someone say something about bad luck and remembered it was very unlucky to kill a parrot, or even to see a parrot die. They began to go then, quickly, silently.  (p. 42)

The people had set fire to a back room where the narrator’s young brother, an invalid, slept. He was supposed to have been guarded by one of the servants. His mother ran in to save him just as his crib caught fire. Then as they all fled the flames, she tried to go back in to rescue her pet parrot.

The parrot of course couldn’t fly–his wings had been clipped by Mr. Mason, Annette’s new husband. Coco the parrot and Annette; two of a kind, flighty types that depended upon others and were held by that dependence for survival.