It’s been said that life is not a destination but a voyage. Likewise, neither is a voyage a destination, and any voyage or exploration is inseparable from the voyager or explorer.

Carmen responds to Challenge 217, which asks about Bernard Gilboy’s relationship with his family and, more generally his motivation: Does chapter 1 send a warning signal about Gilboy’s character?

Who is Bernard Gilboy?

by Carmen Ruggero

The challenge question being asked is an important one; it applies to Gilboy’s character. The chapter starts in San Francisco. He reminisces about family. Through his reminiscing, we find out he’s married and has a child. Then, his boat is being built, we get an entire list of supplies, and he’s gone.

I seriously doubt the decision to make his life-long dream a reality happened overnight. He had to have dwelled on it, struggled with the right and wrong of it. But all too easily, according to this chapter, he sells his business and moves on. Quoting from the manuscript’s report of his conversation with his wife:

“I’m not sure. But I’m thinking of returning to San Francisco. You know — get work out there, maybe set up another business. Don’t ask me why, but I just feel better-spirited out there than I do here in Buffalo.”

That had been the gist of the conversation as he remembered it.

And as far as the reader knows, his last conversation with her. The manuscript goes on to tell that his intentions had been noble. That he wanted to take care of his wife and child but the compelling desire to make the trip across the Pacific to Australia, possessed him. That shows a duality that is not exposed properly in this chapter.

Gary Inbinder poses a valid question: Why were his wife and family absent at his departure? Again, according to the manuscript, his intention to embark on such trip was something he kept to himself. Perhaps, and according to the only conversation with his wife – the only one we read about — the secret was kept from his family, as well. So perhaps, yes, this is a warning signal about Gilboy’s character. Though in juxtaposition, his friend Howard thinks the world of him.

I wouldn’t believe his was an easy decision to make. Maybe it was. Either way, we should see him wrestle with his thoughts and feelings. The fact that he can sell a lucrative business and go without as much as a goodbye is very character-revealing, and it raises many questions:

How did his wife respond when he announced he wanted to sell the business and move to San Francisco? Does he really leave without telling her the truth? How does he feel about that? Is there a twinge of guilt? And we're asking all these questions, because the chapter gives us a very unilateral view of Gilboy.

Most of us wrestle with issues of right and wrong. There’s duality within us; passion vs. logic and responsibility, etc. But we are identified by our actions, as no one knows how we think or feel. Which way does our conscience sway us to go? This is no less true of characters on the page. If we care at all for them, we do so because we identify with the pulling and pushing of the passion that guides them. So, how are we to think of Mr. Gilboy? Are his actions as we see them in chapter one, true to his character?

A postscript and a possible partial answer: In the 20th century, intrepid sailors surpassed Gilboy’s quest in solo voyages around the world. And yet, to find an equivalent of Gilboy’s voyage today, one would have to “set sail,” so to speak, for the planet Mars or beyond.

Gilboy’s time may be farther removed from ours than we may think. The California Gold Rush and the American frontier were current events in his life. By the late 19th century, they — and the Age of Exploration — were receding into history, but the spirit of exploration remained.

Bernard Gilboy might find our questions about his family and motivation puzzling, or at least rather odd: what he did was not out of character for a 19th-century frontiersman. But it would be, for us.

Of the four questions asked by all literary criticism, two are: What did the text mean in its own time? What might it mean in ours? That’s what this discussion is all about.

Don