Feasts of fiction: What literary dinners tell us about character dynamics

The turkey has been served, the wine is open, and the underlying tension at the table is at a boiling point. We have all experienced this. It occurs during every holiday meal when there is an increase in pressure inside the environment, most probably from the person who usually brings tension to any family gathering. Uncles tend to do this when they ask too personal a question, and/or siblings make these epic jokes that sound innocent on the surface, but when you listen more intently, you hear a nasty little dagger lurking beneath.

In reality, we dread these moments. People will either chew faster, or they stare at the centrepiece, desperately hoping to see that the pie is coming soon so they can get out of there.

But in literature? Readers love these! The "Dysfunctional Family Feast" has a weird, sickening comfort to it. Whether it's the throwing of mashed potatoes or uncovering secrets from 30+ years ago, dysfunctional family dinners are one of the best examples of how readers respond to these situations. When they are reading about these types of scenes, they are emotionally invested because they know what it is like to be in these circumstances. We cannot look away.

But why? Why, during the season of "peace on earth," do we crave stories about war in the dining room?

The answer lies in the specific mechanics of the dinner table, a setting that transforms the domestic sphere into a gladiator arena, and the archetypes who sit around it. When we open a book like ‘The Corrections’ or watch a play like ‘August: Osage County’, we are not just looking for drama. We are seeking the catharsis of witnessing the "Happy Family" myth dismantled, one course at a time.

The Dinner Table as a Cage Match

To understand why the dysfunctional dinner is so compelling, we must first look at the setting itself. In literary theory, we often talk about the "locked room mystery," but we rarely acknowledge that the Thanksgiving table is essentially a "locked room drama."

The dinner table is a trap. It relies on the social contract of the family, which is a key aspect of civilisation. We will sit here until the meal is finished. This forced proximity is a writer's dream and a character’s nightmare. In the open world, a character can walk away from a conflict. If a conversation gets heated on the street, you turn a corner. But at the table? You cannot leave. If they were to leave, that would represent a greater violation of decorum than the slap itself.

They are stuck in a pressure cooker of their own making, with increasing tension being created with each clink of silverware, and every "Can you hand me the salt?" being filled with more and more meaning. As it becomes impossible for them to accommodate one another physically, they can let their mouths run wild, saying things no one should ever say at the dinner table.

When we read these sections, we're feeling the rush of a cage fight. The idea that civility is really only skin deep is prevalent, as is our eagerness for someone to bust through this illusion. That anticipation drives our desire to finish reading.

The Matriarch as Monster: August: Osage County

If the dinner table is the stage, then the Matriarch is often the director. In the hallmark version of the holidays, the mother is the provider of sustenance and warmth. She is the heart around which the family gathers. But literary fiction loves to subvert this. In the setting of the dysfunctional family drama, the matriarch is mostly the primary antagonist, not because she is evil, but because she wields the weapon of Truth without the shield of Mercy.

To demonstrate the dysfunction during the final meal of Violet Weston, the cancer-stricken matriarch of the Weston family in Tracy Letts’ August: Osage County, there unfolds the chaotic dinner scene. Violet does not provide her family comfort and solace after losing their father. Instead, she gives them a "truth-telling" session that exposes the internal pain and struggles of her family members to one another.

When Violet says, "I'm just telling the truth," it reminds us of many literary villains at dinner tables.  Readers still prefer Violet because she is brutally honest and destroys the facade created by the family. People spend so much of their lives pretending to be happy when they are upset, keeping truths to themselves, and pretending to be "fine." Violet Weston embodies the Id. She speaks the unspeakable; she tells the truth.

The horrific thrill of the unfolding of the Matriarch from the nurturing protector into the vicious predator chasing after her own children. Violet eats her young. It is horrifying and sickening; yet, it is electric. It validates people's darker feelings about what is placed upon them as expectations by the parent, and what it feels like to carry out the burden of "mother knows best."

The Prodigal Disappointment: The Corrections

If the Matriarch runs the Dinner table, the Prodigal Son or Daughter is the one trying to flip it over.

The archetype of the child who left and has now returned is essential to the holiday drama. They represent the outside world. They bring "foreign" ideas, new lifestyles, and usually, a profound sense of failure back to the nest.

In Jonathan Franzen’s The Corrections, the Lambert family’s collision course toward a "one last lovely Christmas" is fueled by the return of the adult children. Enid, their mother, hoped that her children would be successful, fulfilled with happiness, and be "the best" versions of themselves; however, all 3 of her children are in deep challenge with life. They are struggling with feelings of brokenness, depression, and a lot of "cynicism".

We appreciate the Prodigal Archetype because it signifies the end of nostalgia, due to the way that many of the families at these tables attempt to recreate a past that they feel was perfect, when the children were young, compliant, and secure. The adult child who returns home serves as a tangible representation that time moves forward, as does life and, they represent an anomaly in the timeline.

In Chip Lambert's case, the initial luggage that he brings along is his luggage with his shame. Conflict occurs between the facade which the family wants to portray, versus the actual depiction of their family during their gatherings. This type of conflict is easily relatable to a reader. We all regress when we go home. We all feel the phantom limb of our teenage selves when we sit at our parents' table. Reading about the Lamberts allows us to see that regression played out to its most dramatic, disastrous conclusion. It makes us feel less alone in our own holiday impostor syndrome.

The Uninvited Guest: We Have Always Lived in the Castle

Sometimes, the nature of the antagonist can be found outside the family unit itself. The antagonist may also exist as a concept or idea, called "The Unknown." The literary device of "The Uninvited Guest" is a strong metaphor to disrupt the fragile ecosystem of a dysfunctional family.

Enter the Outsider.

In Shirley Jackson's novel, ‘We Have Always Lived In The Castle', readers are given a glimpse into the warped world the Blackwood sisters have created for themselves. They are disconnected from society and have their own way of doing things. This strange harmony is interrupted when Cousin Charles appears on the scene. Though Charles is not necessarily a "monster," he ultimately becomes the story's antagonist because his presence attempts to assimilate the sisters into the outside world. He wants to bring an element of 'normalcy' to their situation. He sits with the family for dinner; he expects them to abide by all of the rules of the outside world whilst they are in the safe haven that has been created for them. He wants structure, he wants profits, and he wants them to fall in line with what he deems acceptable behaviour.

The dinner scenes featuring Cousin Charles demonstrate a visual representation of two environments colliding: the insanity of Charles, the outsider intruding on the Blackwood sisters' fragile domain. Steps must be taken by the Blackwood sisters at these moments to choose between siding with the outsider offering them the hope of normalcy or defending their familial dysfunction. The plot depicts a common theme in literature and real life. Blood is usually thicker than water, but in the case of Charles, his bloodline has been corrupted. The Uninvited Guest usually leaves defeated or destroyed, proving that the family unit is an impenetrable fortress, for better or worse.

Schadenfreude and Catharsis: Why We Need It

What is it about us that causes us to read about stressful and wild, screaming and distressed, breaking dishes types of people? A part of it is certainly 'Schadenfreude', which is defined as 'pleasure derived from the misfortune of others'. For instance, when a family fights over a lobster, we can still find comfort in the fact that 'my family may have its problems, but at least we don’t act like the Roys on Succession'.

And when we see humiliation used as a weapon in 'Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf'?, we take comfort in the fact that 'My family may not be perfect, but at least we don't destroy each other in such cruel ways'

It allows us to grade our own holiday stress on a curve. Your aunt might have criticised your haircut, but at least she didn't reveal a twenty-year affair before the appetisers were cleared.

However, the comparison provided in each of the stories illustrates the emotional power of the holidays. There is a lot of expectation around the holidays from many sources that we should feel “Joy” during holiday celebrations. There is an expectation that Love is easy, and that our families will always be available to offer us their unconditional Love and support; however, for most people, their Families are a source of stress or difficulty. Families are many things, but first and foremost, to most people, families will always be a complex aspect of their lives, due to feelings of obligation, guilt, individual memories, and individual love.

The complexities of a Family relationship, specifically the ability to love someone, and, at the same time, find it impossible to be around that individual (in a physical sense) for three hours, for example. The complexity of Family relationships in terms of the Dinner Table being a place where many individuals have had their ``oldest wounds'' exposed due to the vulnerability created by the Dinner Table setting.

Stories about Family relationships from the perspective of an Antagonist provide an opportunity for Readers to acknowledge the darker aspects of holiday celebrations. They provide an opportunity for Readers to acknowledge the human element of holiday celebrations by both experiencing the positives and negatives associated with them, as well as providing a glimpse of the completely unfiltered human experience associated with Wine, and, often, lack of appropriate boundaries.

The Aftermath

Whether you are planning a large group meal or a quiet, intimate meal, be aware of the story you create at your table. Take note of the group dynamics and the unspoken messages taking place.

And if things get tense, if the political arguments start, or the criticism begins to flow, take a deep breath and remember-  you are simply living through a very good chapter of a very complex novel.

But if you need to escape, the pages are waiting. The Westons, the Lamberts, and the Blackwoods have saved you a seat. Their turkey is dry, their secrets are out, and the drama is delicious.

Dig in.

ABOUT THE BLOGGER

Meet Prarthana Binish, a history undergraduate lover who finds stories hidden in Delhi’s old streets and monuments. When she’s not exploring the past, she’s strumming her guitar, balancing the echoes of history with the rhythm of music.