Bitter in the Mouth

“This here is Harper Evan Burch, he would say. The boy in those photographs was also a quiet child. I could tell from the way that his arms were always flat by his side, never akimbo or raised high to the North Carolina sky. We were both compact, always folding ourselves into smaller pieces.”

Linda and Harper latch onto each other for many reasons, and one that is prominent here is how they both sought invisibility by “folding themselves into smaller pieces,” so to speak. This is implicitly contrasted with a more conventional, outspoken kind of person—like Iris.

“Another important life lesson had been imparted and learned: The past was an affliction for which there was no cure.”

Although we begin by learning this lesson from Iris, and in some ways it remains reasonable and true, the novel offers a method for healing and managing, if not outright curing, the past. Iris’s maxims and beliefs are frequently undermined; although the past stays with all the characters, they nevertheless manage to be reborn into something they prefer that allows them to move on.

“It was bitter in the way that greens that were good for us were often bitter. Or in the way that simmering resentment was bitter.”

This quote, which draws on the title of the novel, describes Linda’s first memory, first taste, and first mystery. Linda has never identified the taste, nor does she remember the word that evoked it. Further, it underscores the multifaceted nature of life and truth, how the same thing can be painful or beneficial. Bitterness is complex, and in a way, she’s spent her life searching for it.