Your misery bores him, Spoon River
If ‘Robert Fulton Tanner’ chooses to begin with a conditional, just as I have as I begin to write in my home today.
Robert Fulton Tanner is incapable of seeing a thought through to its end. He begins correctly enough, then wanders off in musings of his own misfortune. Tanner’s epitaph opens with a grand thought, touching on the very nature of human life, which is never seen through to a logical conclusion as the speaker is distracted by smaller, more personal matters. Tanner fancies himself as a man of vast potential, great achievements await in his future, if only “the monstrous ogre Life” would not bring all he does to ruin.
Something – or, more likely, someone – has damaged Robert Fulton Tanner, to the extent that he feels unworthy of his own dreams. Unfortunately for Tanner, he might not be quite the man to impact the world in any significant way he appears to think himself. He might dream of marrying a ‘woman with money’, of acquiring ‘[p]restige, place, or power in the world’ but he lacks the wherewithal – not only is he unable to hold a thought in his head long enough to reach a conclusion, even his practical efforts result only in a rat trap that allows the rat to bite its trapper.
Working in a ‘hardware store’ he gets to sell to others the materials needed to build and mend, he must feel inspired to attempt his own inventions, dreaming of the fortune to come. Yet, one can hardly imagine a ‘patent rat trap’ as a means of amassing a fortune. Tanner is just one of life’s inadequates – unable to avoid the self-pity brought on by his awareness that life is beyond him, a dreamer unable to dream high enough. He is almost aware of this, though unable to confront it openly, resorting to his complicated rat trap metaphor – ‘Oh, yes! the wires that screen the bait’. He knows, though is reluctant to admit it directly, that there is much beyond his ability to see.
As with all who believe they are meant for better things but lack the vision to achieve greatness, Robert Fulton Tanner blames life itself for his own shortcomings. Even this anger at life, though, is not fulsome. He is unable to express his opening thought fully, almost as if he is afraid to give full voice to it. And there is a definite sense of Tanner being afraid of life, partly because he sees it as hard work – the inadequate always believe life should be easier – ‘But there’s work to do and things to conquer’ – and partly because he is always aware of life’s always being present, to ‘scowl and laugh, and mock and curse you’.
Tanner refers to life as ‘giant’. A lot depends on how we read this term. In the more modern usage of the term, it is gender neutral, referring to ‘a being with human form but superhuman size, strength, etc.’ More traditionally, it is the masculine to the feminine ‘giantess’. Certainly, ‘the giant hand/That catches and destroys’ seems to be more masculine. But we don’t need to speculate, for Tanner actually refers to this ogre – another masculine term – as staring ‘with his burning eyes’. So, Tanner sees life, this humiliating and destructive force, as male. This attitude may be revealing of Tanner’s state of mind.
We can wonder if Tanner’s fear of life is Edgar Lee Masters’ subtle comment on the quality of fatherhood in Spoon River. Let’s take it as given that a father’s contribution to the parenting of a child is significantly different to the mother’s. In ‘The Genesis of Spoon River’, Masters speaks fondly and extensively of his grandfather, but mentions his father only in passing. Indeed, according to this autobiographical text, Masters goes so far to say that “[w]hen I try to be the best human being possible to my nature I think of my grandfather, and act him out as far as I can.” One imagines that, as State’s attorney, Masters’ father might have been a tad too busy to give too much attention to a young son.
Before I wander too far down the path of biographical criticism, it is notable that Tanner’s attitude to life could well stem from a feeling of ‘father hunger’, making his epitaph an indictment of the father’s role. If a son does indeed learn from a father those things listed by powerfulmothering.com - like discovering one’s strength and unique ability and the forming of one’s outlook on life - then Tanner’s attitude becomes more understandable. Tanner is most definitely a man with a deficit in both these columns.
It is worth just reminding ourselves that Masters very consciously drew the macrocosm in his microcosm, so it is fair to say that he, for one, would not be against our reading meaning into his poetry. It could, of course, be the case that Masters simply wanted to explore a character troubled by his inability to live a meaningful life, and such would be a fascinating character study – as Robert Fulton Tanner is.
One doesn’t have to insist on a particular reading of a poem, certainly not to the exclusion of other possible readings. It is a testament to Edgar Lee Masters’ achievement with ‘Spoon River Anthology’ that there are likely a multiplicity of meanings to be found in any given epitaph. Whatever approach to a particular poem one takes, it goes without saying that one must be able to present enough evidence to support the argument.
To fully grasp the magnitude of the poet’s achievement it is necessary to give some thought to the poem’s purpose, themes, structure and language. If one read the disjointed opening to RFT without wondering why Masters had his character fumbling his conditional then it is fair to say that one isn’t giving the poem the attention it deserves. And, if you don’t come up with at least one reason for the opening, you are either completely confused or wanting in concern for life.
Robert Fulton Tanner is incapable of seeing a thought through to its end. He begins correctly enough, then wanders off in musings of his own misfortune. Tanner’s epitaph opens with a grand thought, touching on the very nature of human life, which is never seen through to a logical conclusion as the speaker is distracted by smaller, more personal matters. Tanner fancies himself as a man of vast potential, great achievements await in his future, if only “the monstrous ogre Life” would not bring all he does to ruin.
Something – or, more likely, someone – has damaged Robert Fulton Tanner, to the extent that he feels unworthy of his own dreams. Unfortunately for Tanner, he might not be quite the man to impact the world in any significant way he appears to think himself. He might dream of marrying a ‘woman with money’, of acquiring ‘[p]restige, place, or power in the world’ but he lacks the wherewithal – not only is he unable to hold a thought in his head long enough to reach a conclusion, even his practical efforts result only in a rat trap that allows the rat to bite its trapper.
Working in a ‘hardware store’ he gets to sell to others the materials needed to build and mend, he must feel inspired to attempt his own inventions, dreaming of the fortune to come. Yet, one can hardly imagine a ‘patent rat trap’ as a means of amassing a fortune. Tanner is just one of life’s inadequates – unable to avoid the self-pity brought on by his awareness that life is beyond him, a dreamer unable to dream high enough. He is almost aware of this, though unable to confront it openly, resorting to his complicated rat trap metaphor – ‘Oh, yes! the wires that screen the bait’. He knows, though is reluctant to admit it directly, that there is much beyond his ability to see.
As with all who believe they are meant for better things but lack the vision to achieve greatness, Robert Fulton Tanner blames life itself for his own shortcomings. Even this anger at life, though, is not fulsome. He is unable to express his opening thought fully, almost as if he is afraid to give full voice to it. And there is a definite sense of Tanner being afraid of life, partly because he sees it as hard work – the inadequate always believe life should be easier – ‘But there’s work to do and things to conquer’ – and partly because he is always aware of life’s always being present, to ‘scowl and laugh, and mock and curse you’.
Tanner refers to life as ‘giant’. A lot depends on how we read this term. In the more modern usage of the term, it is gender neutral, referring to ‘a being with human form but superhuman size, strength, etc.’ More traditionally, it is the masculine to the feminine ‘giantess’. Certainly, ‘the giant hand/That catches and destroys’ seems to be more masculine. But we don’t need to speculate, for Tanner actually refers to this ogre – another masculine term – as staring ‘with his burning eyes’. So, Tanner sees life, this humiliating and destructive force, as male. This attitude may be revealing of Tanner’s state of mind.
We can wonder if Tanner’s fear of life is Edgar Lee Masters’ subtle comment on the quality of fatherhood in Spoon River. Let’s take it as given that a father’s contribution to the parenting of a child is significantly different to the mother’s. In ‘The Genesis of Spoon River’, Masters speaks fondly and extensively of his grandfather, but mentions his father only in passing. Indeed, according to this autobiographical text, Masters goes so far to say that “[w]hen I try to be the best human being possible to my nature I think of my grandfather, and act him out as far as I can.” One imagines that, as State’s attorney, Masters’ father might have been a tad too busy to give too much attention to a young son.
Before I wander too far down the path of biographical criticism, it is notable that Tanner’s attitude to life could well stem from a feeling of ‘father hunger’, making his epitaph an indictment of the father’s role. If a son does indeed learn from a father those things listed by powerfulmothering.com - like discovering one’s strength and unique ability and the forming of one’s outlook on life - then Tanner’s attitude becomes more understandable. Tanner is most definitely a man with a deficit in both these columns.
It is worth just reminding ourselves that Masters very consciously drew the macrocosm in his microcosm, so it is fair to say that he, for one, would not be against our reading meaning into his poetry. It could, of course, be the case that Masters simply wanted to explore a character troubled by his inability to live a meaningful life, and such would be a fascinating character study – as Robert Fulton Tanner is.
One doesn’t have to insist on a particular reading of a poem, certainly not to the exclusion of other possible readings. It is a testament to Edgar Lee Masters’ achievement with ‘Spoon River Anthology’ that there are likely a multiplicity of meanings to be found in any given epitaph. Whatever approach to a particular poem one takes, it goes without saying that one must be able to present enough evidence to support the argument.
To fully grasp the magnitude of the poet’s achievement it is necessary to give some thought to the poem’s purpose, themes, structure and language. If one read the disjointed opening to RFT without wondering why Masters had his character fumbling his conditional then it is fair to say that one isn’t giving the poem the attention it deserves. And, if you don’t come up with at least one reason for the opening, you are either completely confused or wanting in concern for life.
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