logo

39 pages 1 hour read

Carson McCullers

Reflections in a Golden Eye

Fiction | Novel | Adult | Published in 1941

A modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.

Character Analysis

Captain Weldon Penderton

The book introduces the Captain as having “obtained within himself a delicate balance between the male and female elements, with the susceptibilities of both the sexes and the active powers of neither” (314). As gay (and lesbian) desire has often been conceptualized in terms of gender nonconformity, this lays the groundwork for the revelation that he is often attracted to his wife’s lovers—particularly the Major, for whom he feels “the nearest thing to love that he had ever known” (327). This affection stands in sharp contrast to the Captain’s hatred for his wife.

The reader knows only a few details about the Captain’s understanding of himself. He diligently avoids self-reflection, and he seems to get through each day by devoting himself both to an extreme work regimen and to nursing petty complaints and irritations. Although he gets some perverse satisfaction from theft and slander, the Captain has few moments of either genuine joy or deep sorrow. While the Captain’s wild horse ride in Part 3 finally allows him to feel and to notice the world around him, this doesn’t change the Captain enough for him to fully accept his desires. Instead, his obsession with the Private deepens—but because he cannot fully engage with his own emotions, the Captain inadvertently channels those emotions into murder. This is a disordered substitute for love; homicide is, after all, an intimate encounter.

Even before the murder, however, this dynamic—of violence substituting for love—characterizes the Captain, who demonstrates his sadism through his treatment of vulnerable creatures: bullying the horse he rides and shoving a stray kitten into an icy mailbox. McCullers links this sadism to a defect of the imagination, which is fully distinct from the intellect:

Captain Penderton was also something of a savant. […] His head was filled with statistics and information of scholarly exactitude. […] But in spite of his knowledge of many separate facts, the Captain never in his life had had an idea in his head. For the formation of an idea involves the fusion of two or more known facts. And this the Captain had not the courage to do (315).

The Captain’s willful failure of imagination accords with his failure to love: He “[has] not the courage” to bring two facts into creative communion with each other, just as he has not the courage to truly seek communion with another living being. Sadism is the substitute. At the same time, the Captain demonstrates a longing for relationship in his conflicted efforts to establish contact with the Private; this is the closest he comes to a healthy imagination, yet he’s unable to realize or embrace it. Some literary critics have aligned Penderton’s sexual orientation with the Southern Gothic element of the grotesque, yet this interpretation is inconsistent with how the author herself openly pursued other women. Rather, the novel illustrates consequences of condemning or denying the natural human longing for relationship, sexual and otherwise.

Leonora Penderton

Leonora is mostly a reflection. She is the subject of “lively gossip” surrounding her liaisons with different men. (This doesn’t damage her reputation but only makes her more intriguing.) However, her fearlessness and devil-may-care sensibilities aren’t a result of anything dangerous and mysterious, but rather shallowness; she simply neither feels nor thinks deeply enough to experience intense anxiety or despair. She and Major Langdon are both comfortable enough in their roles to not have to step very far beyond them at all.

She is “a little feebleminded” (318), meaning that she somewhat lacks common sense. Because this side of her is only obvious to those closest to her, she enjoys “a reputation as a good hostess, an excellent sportswoman, and even as a great lady” (318). However, it means that Leonora can’t understand the people around her very well; her impressions of them are as warped as others’ impressions of her.

Major Morris Langdon

Major Langdon and Leonora Penderton embody what society deems “normal.” Yet even the Major can’t properly conduct domestic life in a “normal” way. He rejects Alison because she is too frail and strange, and he rejected their daughter because she was sickly. The Major is interested only in what serves his ego and redounds to his image; if anything is “abnormal” in any way, he lacks the capacity to handle it.

The Major is very well-liked and has a position of relative authority on the army base. He has no reason to question his life; in fact, questioning it would only lead to instability and upset. He tries to convince himself that Alison doesn’t know about his affair because, if she knew, her reaction would affect his image of himself, which would in turn affect how other people on the base see him. He only fully accepts this—and the role Alison has in his life in general—after she is gone. 

Alison Langdon

Alison Langdon is, in some ways, the novel’s true murder victim. She is also one of the most fully “alive” characters in the story, in the sense that her internal life extends far beyond the stale patterns of the army base. As soon as the narrative moves to Alison’s point of view, she reveals new aspects of the army base and the world around it, as well as about her husband and the Pendertons. Alison acts as the keeper of meaning and history for all of them, as well as for Anacleto. She remembers and mourns her daughter, and she also remembers that the Major reacted to the death by starting an affair with Leonora. She is at the hidden center of things. When Alison and Anacleto sit together at the fire, they are able to see the distortions in reality and how ugly, sad, and miniscule reality actually is. Nobody can see Alison truly (except Anacleto), but she sees everyone else.

Alison’s point of view also sheds new light on her own character. In the eyes of those around her, she is a dark frail specter—a pitiable liability and nothing more. However, she has significantly more emotional and intellectual depth than any other character. She recognizes and fully feels her emotions, and she understands herself very well. She represses herself due to her circumstances and her role: All others see is a strange person whose strangeness can be attributed to her vague collection of illnesses.

At the end of the novel, when Alison finally decides she can and will escape, her sickness and the Major stop her, just as she feared. She is the most fully realized character in the story, which makes it all the more tragic that she can’t leave and live a different life.

Private Ellgee Williams

Private Williams is something of an enigma. This is because he moves through his life with almost no self-awareness at all. When he acts, it comes as a surprise to him, even though he unconsciously prepares for his actions beforehand. His actions, similarly, come as a surprise to the reader: Buying the cow, murdering a man, finding God, and joining the military all feel arbitrary, particularly in conjunction with one another. There is also little broader context for what happens around the Private. He seems to move through his own quiet space, occasionally acting and then moving on.

Seeing Leonora is a turning point in the Private’s life. He allows himself to be close to a woman for the first time—his strict religious upbringing taught him to view them as carriers of a horrible disease (320)—but he cannot express his desire in a healthy way. Instead, he stalks Leonora Penderton night after night. The Private changes his behavior for a few weeks after he sees Alison in the house, but when he returns to the house, he seems not very different from his old self, following the same patterns.

Anacleto

Anacleto is an anomaly in Reflections in a Golden Eye. He is made “other” by everyone within the narrative, and by the narrative voice as well. When the players in the story are listed at the very beginning of the novel, the reader is told that there will be “two officers, a soldier, two women, a Filipino, and a horse” (309). Anacleto’s only initial distinguishing characteristic is that he is Filipino; everyone else is racially unmarked, which means that they’re white. The only other nonwhite person is Susie, the Pendertons’ Black servant, who doesn’t even speak on the page.

When we finally meet the “Filipino,” he still doesn’t coalesce into a person in the same way as the other four main characters. Anacleto is presented as a collection of eccentric traits rather than as someone with a point of view. The narrator spends time inhabiting the perspective of each of the other four main characters, even if that requires explaining their lack of real internal life. However, Anacleto exists almost entirely in the eyes of others, who find him strange and indecipherable. Even Alison seems to consider him an oddity—someone whom she cares for but doesn’t really understand. Anacleto is effeminate, flamboyant, and clearly coded as a gay man. If Anacleto is in love with anyone on the army base, no other point-of-view character knows about it. Instead, the novel “neutralizes” the potential subversiveness of his queerness by making him sterile and devoted to a woman (Alison), though in a nonsexual way. Nevertheless, in his open eccentricity, Anacleto stands in sharp opposition to the Private, who operates in stealth and conceals his desires.

When Anacleto is gone, he becomes a tragic symbol of abnormality. The Major suggests that Anacleto should have been put on military duty because it “would’ve knocked all the nonsense out of him,” even though “he would have been miserable” (384). The Captain responds by asking whether “any fulfilment obtained at the expense of normalcy is wrong” (384), to which the Major says yes. Anacleto never gets to be a full person in the military base. He is always subservient to someone else, and his self-expression is either a mockery or an abstract symbol of individuality.

blurred text
blurred text
blurred text
blurred text