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A study of how the theme of belief is presented through plot, characterisation, narrative form, and structure.
‘I have a story that will make you believe in God.’ Such is the promise given in the introduction to Yann Martel’s novel, Life of Pi. In the astonishing tale that follows, belief – in senses religious and beyond – is given and called upon throughout. The protagonist is a very religiously motivated character, originating in an environment where faith is strongly encouraged. His experience is one that challenges, and ultimately confirms, both his belief and that of the reader; and the narrative form and structure employed further enforce the presence of the title theme.
Pi Patel is a 16-year-old boy brought up in a zoo in India, a follower of Hinduism, Christianity and Islam alike. On a journey between India and Canada, his family’s cargo ship develops a fault and sinks, leaving him stranded on a lifeboat in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, along with a collection of zoo animals including a 450-pound Royal Bengal tiger who becomes his sole companion in this astounding adventure.
An entire first 100 pages are dedicated to Pi’s childhood in India, establishing his character and through it the theme of religion: a topic handled with such elegance that it makes me, if not subscribe to religion, at least understand the need for it. Pi is someone who seeks faith and devotion, actively absorbing its sources. Before his true introduction to religion, he reaches a status of disciple of a friend of the family, Mamaji, who gives him swimming lessons. He refers to these as an ‘early morning ritual’, and talks of having ‘remained faithful to my aquatic guru’. It is almost inevitable that when his focus turns to religion he consumes it enthusiastically.
His Hinduism is described, as I have never before encountered, first in a sensual light. Pi accepts, even esteems, the ‘rite and ritual’ and in a very succulent passage he lists: ‘I am a Hindu because of sculptured cones of red kumkum powder and baskets of yellow turmeric nuggets…’ The list goes on. Of course, a shallow believer he would be if he stopped short at the culinary appeal. He also expresses that ‘the universe makes sense to me through Hindu eyes’ and explains the logical side with equal persuasion. The unique view he has of religion continues with his introduction to new doctrines. ‘The first thing that drew me in was disbelief,’ he states of Christianity. But his was not the disbelief of an ascetic; rather a qualm about what an unfair and unconventional deity the Christian God is, outrage that, ‘What? Humanity sins but it’s God’s Son who pays the price? … What peculiar psychology.’
When the narrative leaves the thick atmosphere of India to embark on the most unusual of voyages, Pi’s faith serves as one of the factors that keep him alive. Firstly, his capacity for acceptance allows him to quickly come to terms with the strange situation and act to deal with it. Even in the circumstances most testing to belief, such as the discovery of an island made of vegetation, he manages to call upon that nasal trust which validated Hinduism to determine the reality of what he sees. Secondly, theological musings are a great distraction from danger and insanity. A storm with lightning striking metres away becomes a confirmation of Allah’s might; a moment of particular loneliness and devastation was broken by remembrance of God, and exclamation that, ‘THESE ARE GOD’S WIDE ACRES!’ The reader, most likely unequipped with the coping devices at Pi’s disposal, must find his own, or surely just sit back and marvel at the life of Pi.
Unlikely as the story may be, it is presented as truth. The introduction, epilogue and scattered segments are written from the viewpoint of the author; the rest of the novel in the first person, with Pi as the narrator. The author offers us a glimpse of his own character – or how he wishes to be seen – and an explanation of how the book came about, before the start of the main narrative. He tells of his encounter with Mamaji, who first procured the story to make you believe in God, and of his meetings with Mr. Patel himself. Yet the impression given is that he is a fantasist, a true creator of fiction and unreliable at recounting anything else. This is particularly evident at the end of the introduction with a comment that ‘if we, citizens, do not support our artists, then we sacrifice our imagination on the altar of crude reality and we end up believing in nothing and having worthless dreams’. We see that his agenda is beyond that of documentation, but still our perception of the novel has been changed, and we start to look for more reasons to believe or dismiss.
Then lengths are taken to ensure credibility. Brief chapters are devoted to Martel’s notes of his sessions with Patel, to provide another chronological perspective and to uphold a feeling of realism. The last such note before the body of the shipwreck account shows the author meeting Pi’s children, and ends with the reassurance ‘this story has a happy ending,’ bringing together the factual nature of the tale and the ‘happy ending’ convention seen in fiction. This is perhaps a great illustration of belief, as the ambivalence of regarding something as both fact and fiction, something prevalent within the novel.
Finally, at the end is a transcript, included in earnest, of a taped conversation between a recovering Pi and two employees of the shipping company. He is asked to relate the events since the sinking of the ship. Quite naturally, they find difficulty in believing the story he tells them, and despite his protests – ‘if you stumble at mere believability, what are you living for?’ – he obliges in telling another, tamer, duller story for which the original becomes an allegory, and the animals symbols of the ‘real’ occupants on the lifeboat. Finding that neither story explains the sinking or makes any difference, they agree that the first is the better: ‘and so it goes with God’. In the end, it is shown that validity is irrelevant and that we should believe for the sake of inspiring our imaginations and staying afloat the ‘dry, yeastless factuality’.
-krring
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krring