A Perfect Fit: Lucy's Cover

The painting by Paul Gauguin on the cover of Lucy is a perfect reflection of what lies beneath it: the story of a young woman exploring and embracing her sexuality and discovering who she is. The woman in the painting on the cover of the novel is obviously very open and comfortable with her sexuality, as she is naked from the waist up (this is actually a common form of "dress" in Gauguin's work). Interestingly, a picture of Lucy depicted in nearly the exact same way as the woman on the cover of the novel is described on page 155: "He [Paul] brought us...a photograph he had taken of me standing over a boiling pot of food. In the picture I was naked from the waist up; a piece of cloth, wrapped around me, covered me from the waist down." This picture (and the one on the cover) helps us understand that, although Lucy is very open about her sexuality, she does not use it with the intention of forming relationships with the men she is with. In the painting on the cover, the woman has her hand raised slightly, almost as if trying to distance herself from the people looking at her; she embraces her sexuality but avoids attachment. Similarly, when Paul gives Lucy the photo described on page 155, Lucy says, "That was the moment he got the idea he possessed me in a certain way, and that was the moment I grew tired of him" (155). Lucy loses all sexual interest in Paul as soon as she sees that he thinks he has some kind of ownership or relationship with her. The painting on the cover serves as a visual depiction of Lucy's sexuality and desire for independence throughout the novel.


Another interesting aspect about the cover art of Lucy is the title of the painting, Savage Poems. This has several connections to the novel. First of all, it reminds us of the daffodil poem that Lucy had to recite in school when she was young (for more on this subject, refer to my blog post directly preceding this one). Secondly, the word "savage" takes on several meanings. Perhaps this is how Lucy feels others view her, or maybe this is how the English colonists (like the ones who made her recite the daffodil poem) viewed the people living on the island that she comes from.

I hate to use a cliche, particularly given the fact that I am an English Wrting major (hopefully none of my English profs will read this blog), but sometimes a picture really is worth a million words. To evoke a less corny and overused argument for the power of the cover art, I'll refer you to a question that Lucy poses on page 121 and encourage you to share your responses to it: "Why is a picture of something real eventually more exciting than the thing itself?" Do you agree with Lucy that pictures are often more intriguing than the things depicted in them? Why or why not? How would you interpret this question with regard to the cover art of Lucy or the photograph described on page 155?

Daffodils, Poetry, and "Two-Facedness"

"I did not know what these flowers were, and so it was a mystery to me why I wanted to kill them." --Lucy, page 29

In Lucy, Lucy remembers having to memorize a poem about daffodils when she was young and claims that her recital of it to "parents, teachers, and [her] fellow pupils" marked "the height of [her] two-facedness" (18). Years later, while walking with Mariah and encountering real daffodils for the first time in her life, Lucy asks, "Mariah, do you realize that at ten years of age I had to learn by heart a long poem about some flowers I would not see in real life until I was nineteen?" (30). It seems that the reference to Lucy's "two-facedness" arises from her acknowlegement that, at age 10, she saw herself as a bit of a hypocrite, passionately reciting a poem about something she had neither encountered nor truly understood. Perhaps this is why, when she finally sees the objects that she so wonderfully (and obliviously) described during her poetry recital as a child, she "want[ed] to kill them" (29). The dandelions represent not only the resentment she had for the British colonization of her home and the corresponding oppression it made her feel, but they also remind her of the "two-facedness" she felt after reciting the poem as a child.

In a way, I can relate to Lucy's feelings about the daffodils and the feelings that her memory of the poetry recital invoke. When I was in junior high, I had to memorize and recite "The Village Blacksmith" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow to my literature class (when Prof. Ambrose asked us in class on Thursday if we ever had to memorize a poem for school, I mistakenly said I had to recite a Robert Frost poem...I didn't realize my mistake until I "googled" some of the lines of the poem that I could remember...I apologize for the error). Like Lucy, when I had to recite the poem when I was young, I had no idea what the words of the poem really meant. I wasn't as worried about the meaning of what I was saying as I was about stumbling over words like "sinewy" and having to say the word "sexton" in front of my just-entering-puberty 7th grade peers. However, when I read the poem today after googling it (admittedly, the first time I have done so since that horrid 7th grade experience), I do feel like my recital of it in junior high (complete, like Lucy's, with "special emphasis in places where that was needed" [18]...I did get an 'A' after all) was a bit hypocritical. Now when I read the poem, I am reminded so much of my dad and how hard he has worked a blue-collar job all his life to provide for our family, something that I perhaps took a little for granted when I was younger. In a way, I am a little angry at my junior high self for not taking the time to grasp the meaning of the words I was saying...back then, all I cared about was getting a good grade.

Can you relate at all to the resentment that Lucy feels upon seeing the daffodils? Is there any specific place or object that makes you feel a certain way because it reminds you of something from your past? Do you think that Lucy's admission of being "two-faced" is accurate, or do you think that her recital of the poem without understanding its meaning was just an instance of childhood naivete?