The sad saga of protagonist Neddy Merrill in The Swimmer is one that should be made required reading in every marketing major’s course studies before sending one out into the corporate world sport of cross-county swimming.
I see here parallel stories, one told in what I’d call a surrealistic fable form complete with moral, as Neddy attempts to reach his goal returning home by pool-hopping across his tightly constructed and mapped out neighborhood. The other story is the underlying reality of his life that extends the period of time to cover his goal to achieve wealth and success but correlates with the stop and swim representational stages.
The opening scene of the pool sequence actually comes in at the second paragraph; the opening scene of the story seems separate and a set-up for what follows. One can almost visualize a roving camera that shows a warm sunny day, in an affluent town—to neighborhood—to pool—to two women sitting by the pool talking, then focus directly on the pool (and the only thing odd in recall is the greenish water, which is explained by minerals in the water, but is not satisfactorily explained as to why some measure hasn’t been taken to remedy it). Then the camera closes in on Neddy Merrill, and we’re off and running—or swimming—with him.
Neddy’s plan is to follow a path he’s named the “Lucinda River” after his wife, and it is unclear exactly how much she has had to do with the direction his life has taken; whether he blames her in retrospect. Each pool stop along the way is described as belonging to friends that line the banks, but they are more indicative of the type of relationships that have become turning points in his life and career. At the Bunker’s he is seen kissing and hand-shaking his way through a party, perhaps a metaphor for making and using connections in his personal goal of success. At some homes he is welcomed which may indicate a mutually beneficial relationship.
His journey tires him—an indicator or time passage in the counter reality of his life—and we are made aware of the alcohol he consumes at each stop. He is smiling as he jogs up a garden path that is paved with gravel that “cut his feet but this was only unpleasantness.” A metaphor for overcoming obstacles—perhaps people, as the next house of the Levy’s is vacant. Oddness starts to creep into the story so gradually that while we are aware something is not quite right, we’ve come to accept a good bit of what’s happened so far and are anxious to simply store the information and go on. A storm comes up …
Let me leave this here for now, so you’ll know I’m still around, but this story demands further analyzing but there’s a turkey to be stuffed. Happy Thanksgiving!
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology