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C O N C E P T S
notes that the narrator does not know the killers’ names until he has over
heard them. “She does not realize,” Olsen rejoins, “that this narrator only
delays disclosing their names; he would make us feel with the other charac
ters the strange namelessness and universality o f evil’s threat.. .. He knows
that ‘Al’ and ‘Max’ are only aliases for these intruders.
Olsen does admit
that the fact that the narrator uses the term nigger does “at first glance seem
to bespeak human limitations in judgment.” But she argues that this “may
be the narrator’s way o f suggesting that the name-calling and otherwise co
ercive treatment temporarily reduced Sam in his own eyes to the demean
ing status that the term suggests.
This is an extreme case, but it perfectly illustrates, I think, the prob
lems to which the idea o f the omniscient narrator gives rise: since omni
science is said quite logically to be indivisible, even the slimmest indication
of unusual knowledge provokes the idea o f a narrator who knows every
thing, and then the critic finds herself obliged to explain why the omni
scient narrator declines to tell us all the relevant things he or she must
know— including the real names and full past histories o f Al and Max.
Imagining motivations for this refusal yields strange contortions, because
such choices are properly explained as choices made by the author, for ar
tistic reasons. They are decisions about how to craft the text, not choices o f
which bits o f prior knowledge to relate. Obviously the author could have
chosen to include more information about Al and Max but chose this cam-
era’s-eye strategy to achieve the literary effects that have made this story
notorious. The presumption o f omniscience gives us, instead o f Heming
way deciding whether to invent pasts for Al and Max, a scenario o f an
imagined narrator knowing all about them and deciding whether to reveal
their pasts. The artistic choices are obfuscated by being transformed into
decisions o f an imagined narrator.
Rejecting Olsen’s view that all narrators are omniscient but variously
keep quiet about what they know, we might turn to the more usual model,
exemplified by Sternberg. Here we might wonder why there are there only
two possible conditions o f knowledge: ordinary human limitations or else
omniscience. Why nothing in between? No doubt this is because Stern
berg, like other theorists, assumes narrators to be persons, and he has only
two possible models: mortal persons and a divine person. Narrators may
Ц. Ibid., 42-43.
14. Ibid., 43.
be human characters, or they may be divinely omniscient. He writes, “Not
being one o f the fictive agents, such a narrator may safely share the infal
lible awareness o f the all-knowing immortals, in terms o f whose superior
nature alone his superhuman attributes can indeed be conceived at all.” '^
To assume that the only alternative to the knowledge permitted ordi
nary persons is the infallible awareness o f a god is to treat the omniscience
o f a god as something given and known. But since we have only rumor and
speculation to go on, no reliable knowledge o f the “immortals”— a strange
expression for a devoted analyst o f the Hebrew Bible to use— and since it
is we who posit whatever knowingness a god might have, we can imagine
many versions o f superior knowingness, from the ability infallibly to pre
dict the weather to the capacity to read the minds o f animals to telepath
ic sympathy for the old and infirm. One could have knowledge o f all past
actions but not o f anyone’s thoughts; one could know the future as well
as the past or only the future. Why not imagine a narrator who can au
thoritatively describe the thoughts o f men but not o f women? We can also
imagine all sorts o f recording or reporting devices, from the camera’s eye
to the tape recorder to the “radio receiver” o f Salman Rushdie’s M idnight’s
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