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| from The Huffington Post |
As I pause to destroy my technologically faulty keyboard and
wireless mouse (my keyboard is a cabled $10 second hand model) for not responding
when I click, allowing me to write an entire first sentence without even realizing
my keystrokes were lost in the abyss of the inactive window, I am confronted
with the obstinacy of nature, and my inability to affect it at my whim. It is
frustrating. This reality upsets my comfort, and sometimes I want to scream. I
may become angry, and if someone crosses my path at the wrong time, who knows
what could happen? My emotions may take over, or maybe I'll suppress them
longer, but that is only likely to make me crack, and if I crack, what then?
What happens when one's emotions drive him to a place where he no longer feels
capable relating to society? This is but one of the many questions raised by
Ken Kesey's One Flew Over the Cuckoo's
Nest.
Are any of us crazier than the average asshole? Randle P.
McMurphy, the hero of the novel, asks as he arrives at a psychiatric ward, convicted
of assault and statutory rape. He quickly achieves legendary acclaim as a rowdy
gambler willing to upset Miss Ratched, the novel's supervillain, who exacts
terror with the twitch of an eyebrow. As Chief Bromden (our narrator) informs
us, the ward has been under unflinchingly rigid management for decades, led by
the "Big Nurse", who strategically, and courteously humiliates anyone
willing to disclose dissatisfaction. As Chief Bromden is a lumberingly tall native
of the Columbia Tribe, readers may ask whether this character materialized from
Kesey's own history.
Cagey is the word the Chief uses to describe himself, and
perhaps each of us would agree. To be cagey is to avoid any implication of
certainty; to maintain, at all times, plausible deniability. Speech is never
binding, because nothing is ever truly asserted. This veritable silence is an
effective method to avoid accountability, as Chief Bromden finds. It has helped
him stay free of the burden Miss Ratched loads onto those who might vocalize a
preference. Does this ring a bell? Modern politics, religion, science and
academia, and whatever other professional fields you can think of - in all
these organizations, statements are left with a way out. As a former professor
of mine told me, "I personally don't know, I shouldn't know, One couldn't
know."
Moreover, his father, Chief of the Columbia Tribe, was
himself driven to insanity by the slow choke put on by the U.S. Government - a
strategy used also by Nurse Ratched. Chief Bromden tells of how his father fought
only so long against a dam's construction over the Columbia River - the
unrelenting tide of power - before his only refuge was what could be found to
drink. Bromden compares it to rope slack taken up as soon as it becomes loose,
and never letting it go. McMurphy struggles to stay positive as he begins to
understand the seriousness of his plight. He could be committed indefinitely,
and he doesn't want that. Nevertheless, he sticks to his bet to act willfully
against Nurse Ratched at every opportunity. McMurphy's fun-loving mayhem not
only lifts the spirits of the other patients of the ward, they take courage and
begin protesting the Big Nurse themselves. One such outburst - one resulting in
a fistfight ended by McMurphy - took place in a group meeting, and resulted in
his undergoing electroshock therapy.
There were many story elements that upset me, but the shock
therapy affected me the most. People actually did this. Chief Bromden explains the
platform of their alleged therapeutic value; the treatments simply whisk them
away from the stresses of life for a while, but as another patient warns, trips
to paradise cost a few brain cells. As the other patients drew strength from
McMurphy's individuality, Nurse Ratched immediately had him quieted by use of
force disguised as therapy. An outsider had arrived who could upset the balance
of power in the hospital. Life sprung up around this glowing, irreverent ball
of hijinks, and solely because he was out of place. No matter what uniforms he
was made to wear, his enthusiasm was never still. The human spirit, try as they
might, cannot be quieted. At least not for long.
Ken Kesey, however, reminds us of the power of the machine; the
commitment, even obsession, to order. When order is upset by those who
organized it, heavy consequences follow. Randle Patrick McMurphy becomes a
casualty in the war to preserve hospital[-like] sterility. Imagine coming home
from a confusing war to a country that understands it even less, yet chant for
war. Governments calls out from pulpits and televisions that others - the
others - are a threat to our way of
life, and must be brought to order. A lively and vocal minority shouts out,
protests, fights, and still the machine keeps rolling on, allowing the
disruption to continue until the country no longer finds it exciting, at which
point those few are executed, either physically or socially.
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest was a beautiful and vivid novel. I could feel my
fingers in Randle McMurphy's curly, red locks. I could feel his longing as he
watched the shriveled souls of other men beaten down from years of being told
they were too sick function, and all because it was so difficult for them to
interact with the same society you and I stress and worry about mingling with. I
could hear the dining hall elevatoresque music playing on repeat so long the
patients could no longer distinguish it. One
Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest reminds us that we're not going crazy; society
has convinced us of a normal, and will enforce it through unspeakable means.
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