"When I wrote The Virgin Suicides, I gave myself very strict rules about the narrative voice: the boys would only be able to report what they had seen or found or what had been told to them"
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Eugenides is describing a constraint that functions like a moral position: the narrators of The Virgin Suicides can never claim access to the Lisbon sisters' interior lives. The “strict rules” aren’t just craft discipline, they’re an admission of guilt. By limiting the boys to what they’ve “seen or found” or been “told,” he bakes epistemic failure into the book’s architecture. The result is a chorus of teenage spectators who confuse proximity with knowledge and turn scarcity of information into myth.
The subtext is about how desire manufactures narrative. These boys don’t merely remember; they curate evidence, collect artifacts, and trade rumors like currency. Eugenides’s rule forces the reader to watch that machinery in motion: the girls become a screen for projection, the suburbs become a lab for the ways communities aestheticize tragedy. The “only” in the sentence matters. It’s a gate slammed on omniscience, a refusal to let the novel do the comforting thing fiction often does - explain the unexplainable.
Contextually, the choice lands in the 1990s moment of self-aware literary realism, when writers were suspicious of authoritative narration and especially wary of speaking for the unknowable “other.” Here, the “other” is gendered and dead, doubly inaccessible. Eugenides sidesteps exploitation by making the exploitation the point: the boys’ account is inherently partial, and that partiality becomes the story’s tragedy. We aren’t asked to solve the mystery of the sisters; we’re made to feel the violence of trying.
The subtext is about how desire manufactures narrative. These boys don’t merely remember; they curate evidence, collect artifacts, and trade rumors like currency. Eugenides’s rule forces the reader to watch that machinery in motion: the girls become a screen for projection, the suburbs become a lab for the ways communities aestheticize tragedy. The “only” in the sentence matters. It’s a gate slammed on omniscience, a refusal to let the novel do the comforting thing fiction often does - explain the unexplainable.
Contextually, the choice lands in the 1990s moment of self-aware literary realism, when writers were suspicious of authoritative narration and especially wary of speaking for the unknowable “other.” Here, the “other” is gendered and dead, doubly inaccessible. Eugenides sidesteps exploitation by making the exploitation the point: the boys’ account is inherently partial, and that partiality becomes the story’s tragedy. We aren’t asked to solve the mystery of the sisters; we’re made to feel the violence of trying.
Quote Details
| Topic | Writing |
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