In R. J. Palacio’s Wonder (USA 2012), readers first experience August’s own report of how, born with serious facial deformities and home-schooled as he has suffered through a series of surgeries, he finally goes to a regular school as he begins grade five. Having experienced many pages–the first quarter of the novel– in which August reveals how bright and how funny he is and how hard it is to be behind his disturbing appearance, and argues quite persuasively that “the only reason I’m not ordinary is that no one else sees me that way,” readers then encounter a series of narratives in which August’s sister, some of his new classmates, and some of his sister’s friends describe their response to events they share with him over the next year, interspersed with a few further narratives focalized through August himself.
Having first seen and understood August’ situation from his own point of view as he experiences it, inside his head and behind his disturbing appearance, readers are clearly being invited to empathize with him. They are likely, then, to approach other characters’ outsider views of and experience of him with a concern for how they might be repelled by his appearance–and also, I suspect, a pre-established willingness to judge these outsiders negatively for anything but an unlikely unquestioning and accepting response. There is, certainly, something of a trick here. August has said, “I won’t describe what I look like. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s probably worse.” The lack of description (and therefore, readers’ own lack of response to it) makes it safe for them to judge others, who are actually seeing him, for more negative responses. The movement beyond August’s long sympathy-inviting narrative into a more distant observational position then creates a space in which readers will, presumably, continue to identify with him and evaluate others in terms of their empathy for him. The alternating narrative would seem to encourage differing attitudes to different narrators.
That would work best if the other points of view represented were those of people with the expectable repulsion for August’s apparent monstrousness. Intriguingly, however, none of the characters whose narratives follow express that. While many of them are alarmed on first seeing August (or in his sister’s case, worry about how others will respond to him), they are all people who can, fairly quickly, see past his appearance and appreciate the warm personality within. Their narratives all describe how they manage to do that, to get beyond whatever negative feelings they are having into appreciation of the inner August. Surprisingly, then, the effect of the move from an empathetic character viewed from the inside to alternate views of that character from the outside merely creates more empathy, both for August himself and for those able to appreciate him so wisely. While there are characters in the book who find him horrific or who manage to be cruel to him, their views are represented only by a few of the short texts included in a section called “Letters, Emails, Facebook, Texts,” which describe various responses from students and parents to problems that develop around August at school. Rather than taking advantage of an alternating narrative structure to encourage revulsion for more expectably prejudicial responses, Wonder uses it to create a community of less expectably like-minded and equally empathetic transcenders of prejudice.
That is not a particularly realistic development; but Wonder is not trying very hard to be a realistic novel. While August does face intolerance and even danger from those repelled by him, he has an ability to make the right kind of friends to come to his rescue. Events might have worked out differently if August himself were, as many children with similar problems surely are, less clever, less witty, more expectably depressed by his lot, less of what the novel’s title and its last sentences declares him to be: “You really are a wonder, Auggie. You are a wonder.” It is not particularly surprising, then, that the novels ends with August being awarded a medal for an exemplary contribution to his school, an award which, his principal asserts, is about “recognizing greatness.” All of this confirms an upbeat view of how things work expressed earlier by August’s mother, who tells him that “there are more good people on this earth than bad people, and the good people watch out for each other and care for each other,” and again by August’s sister’s boyfriend Justin:
if it really was all random, the universe would abandon us completely, and the universe doesn’t. it takes care of its most fragile creations in ways we can’t see, like with parents who adore you blindly, and a big sister who feels guilty for being human over you, and a little gravelly-voiced kid whose friends have left him over you. and even a pink-haired girl who carries your picture in her wallet. maybe it is a lottery, but the universe makes it all even out in the end. The universe takes care of all its birds.
Somewhat more cynically, I might suggest instead that it is novelists with utopian wish-fulfilment fantasies about the depth and spread of human decency that take care of all their birds.
But the novel does offer some justification for the empathetic community that develops around August. It consists of people who all, in one way or another, share his handicap. In their narratives, it becomes apparent that all the focalized characters are afflicted either by others who misperceive them based on appearances, or by their own misperceptions of others based on appearances, or by both. Via’s boyfriend Justin appears to suffer from a mild form of Tourette’s syndrome that he believes makes him something of a freak to others. Via’s friend Miranda has changed her style and deserted Via for reasons Via is unaware of, and is still nicer than she seems to have become. August’s friend Jack has reasons for misrepresenting his real feelings about August to others, in a way August misunderstands. And so on. The epigraph for Jack’s section, from Saint-Exupery’s The Little Prince, might well stand as a key to the novel as a whole:
“It is only with the heart that one can see clearly. What is essential is invisible to the eye.”
As a result, the novel moves its focus out from August’s specific problem and onto his condition as a kind of metaphor for what each and every human being has to cope with. What Via wonders about her brother represents the problem everyone faces:
“Does August see how other people see him, or has he gotten so good at pretending not to see that it doesn’t bother him? Or does it bother him? When he looks in the mirror, does he see the Auggie Mom and Dad see, or does he see the Auggie everyone else sees? Or is there another August he sees, someone in his dreams behind the misshapen head and face?
As the plot develops, all the characters, not just August, enter a shared community of like-minded people once others see beyond their appearances; and all the characters —even August himself—learn to see beyond appearances. He, for instance, needs to learn not to misunderstand the negative comments he overheard Jack make about him. And readers, encouraged by the alternations of narratives to see beyond how each characters sees things individually and misunderstand what each other appear to be thinking, are invited to follow a similar path, and to experience themselves what the characters are in the process of learning about: what we all hide behind our various misrepresentative facades.
As in Wonder, one of the most basic uses of alternations, especially in novels for young people, is a focus on the virtues of connection over isolation. The process of moving readers beyond concern for just one character to the act of making connections between characters naturally implies a thematic privileging of connectedness, and not surprisingly, a large number of novels with alternating narratives do seem to be recommending the kinds of connections with others that readers responding to the alternations can make and that their characters tend to develop as they move towards a happy ending–either actual connections the characters themselves celebrate or ones that the characters develop or readers can perceive but that the characters themselves remain unaware of. As in Wonder, novels with a larger number of alternating narrations tend to be especially concerned with thematic issues of community, with how people are connected to and have an impact on each other without even being aware of it. In novels for adults with multiple alternating narrators, as, for instance, Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway, the juxtaposition of the narratives tends most often to reveal how people are in fact, truly isolated, how they remain unaware of their similar concerns or do not really understand each other even when they think they do;[i] but texts for young people tend to insist on the opposite point of view.
[i] Other adult novels that alternate many differently-focalized narratives and that tend to emphasize what their characters misunderstand about each other include ones as diverse as William Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying (US 1930) Charles Bock’s Beautiful Children (US 2008), Christo Tsiolkas’ The Slap (Australia) and Kiran Desai’s The Inheritance of Loss (US).