Do the guilty suffer more than the innocent in 'Atonement' and 'Hamlet'?

In Crime Writing some of the innocent always suffer.

Explore the significance of this statement in two crime texts you have studied. Remember to include relevant detailed exploration of authorial methods.

Some of the characters in Hamlet and Atonement can be considered innocent, in the legal sense of not being guilty of a crime. Undoubtedly also, some of them, such as Robbie, Cecilia and Ophelia, do suffer as a result of the crimes perpetrated by others. However, there are many characters in both texts, who, though technically not guilty of any crime, cannot be considered entirely innocent, when weighed in the scales of the term’s wider social and moral context. Innocence, often associated with childhood, almost certainly defies any definitive interpretation. Even childhood itself does not lend itself easily to a precise definition. For the purpose of this essay we can define innocence as meaning less tainted by criminality, malfeasance or misconduct. In the light of this wider definition of the word, the actions of characters such as Lola, Hamlet, Gertrude, Polonius, Laertes and Ophelia as well as those other characters in both texts are not entirely innocent. Furthermore, the suffering of some characters in both texts who can be regarded as innocent, is often caused by actions committed willfully by others or in collusion with others and sometimes it is precipitated by their own behaviour.

Hamlet is certainly untainted by any crime at the beginning of the play. Although he is despondent and troubled when we first meet him in Act 1 Scene 2, we later catch glimpses of his youthful enthusiasm and energy, for example, when he first meets the players. Gradually, as he becomes encumbered by the burden of revenge for the death of his innocent father and enmeshed in the corruption and evil all around him, he loses his sense of morality and his innocence. He is also enraged by the “frailty” of those he most loves. Ophelia, for example, as a result of being completely subservient to the male members of her family, is guilty of betraying Hamlet’s trust. Laertes, often considered to be guiltless, is also, at the beginning of the play, plainly overbearing and guileful. In Act 1 Scene 3, Laertes expresses concern for his sister’s “honour” [1 iii 29] which he considers a “treasure” [31]. However, his gallantry is not so innocent or selfless as it may first appear. He is concerned about the loss of Ophelia’s virginity, which would taint the reputation of his family. Polonius, too, cautions his “green girl” [101] in a similar high-handed manner later in the same scene. Ophelia accedes to his entreaties without the least hint of resistance, unlike the more emotionally courageous and defiant Juliet in Romeo and Juliet. Later, in the ‘nunnery’ scene [Act 3 Scene 1], Ophelia connives and deceives Hamlet and suffers, as a result, from his verbal invective, delivered in disjointed prose:

“God hath given you one face and you make yourselves another”. [145 – 146]. Beneath the surface meaning of this accusation about the use of cosmetics, we may infer that he is berating her for her duplicity and lack of fidelity.

The distress that she suffers in this scene as a result of Hamlet’s abuse, later compounded by the grief and sorrow she endures when she learns of her father’s death, affects the balance of her mind. However, the extent to which she loses her wits when she appears in Act 4 Scene 5 is often disputed. In her ‘garland speech’ [173 – 182] she distributes certain herbs and flowers to those around her in the court, to herself and possibly also to Hamlet, who would be off-stage. Laertes’s comment, “This nothing’s more than matter” [172], implying that her nonsense has more weight and meaning than a clearly expressed speech, is clear evidence that she is indirectly casting aspersions on those who have behaved treacherously and perfidiously. The Elizabethan audience would have been familiar with the implied symbolism of the floral favours that she disposes. The mention of rosemary “for remembrance” indicates to her brother that he should call to mind what has happened. Her reference to fennel, probably alludes to her sterile love affair with Hamlet. The columbine, which directors probably have her give to the King, is a veiled reference to foolish adultery. Rue, a bitter herb and symbol of adultery, sorrow and repentance, would appropriately be given to the Queen. She returns the daisy, symbolizing innocence, to her basket, perhaps suggesting the dearth of innocence around her. Her final offering, of violets – a symbol of faithfulness - is also withdrawn as they have, “wither’d all when my father died”, no doubt another reference to Claudius’s and Gertrude’s guilt.

The case against Gertrude, however, is not as clear and straightforward as it is against Claudius. During the ‘closet’ scene, in a similar way as during the ‘nunnery’ scene with Ophelia, Hamlet is confronted with someone who is dissembling. He senses a manipulative presence on both occasions, and his uncontainable fury matches his sense of betrayal. However, despite her acquiescence in this betrayal, there is no doubt that Ophelia suffers in a way that is incommensurate with the flaw in her character, which was to remain passive while others schemed and conspired. In the end she is presented as the innocent victim of the sins and evil of others. Gertrude, on the other hand, presents the audience with no such unequivocal judgement.

Although the ghost in Act 1 Scene 5 refers to Gertrude as his “most seeming-virtuous queen” [46], it is unclear whether she was complicit in her seduction by Claudius before or after the murder. In Act 2 Scene 2 she is perturbed that “[her] son’s distemper” may be the result of “His father’s death and our o’er hasty marriage” [57]. However, it is significant that, while she colludes in the setting up of Ophelia before the spying incident in Act 3 Scene 1, she does not take part in it herself. It is as though she is removing herself from the wiles and deceit of her husband. From the second half of the play, we begin to get a clearer idea that she is innocent of any co-conspiracy in the murder. This is borne out when she reacts incredulously to Hamlet’s words after the killing of the meddling but essentially innocent Polonius during the ‘closet scene’ [Act 3 Scene 4]. When she questions Hamlet by crying out, “As kill a king?” [30], her innocence is dramatically revealed. Like Polonius, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, she has undoubtedly acted thoughtlessly and caused considerable emotional pain to Hamlet, but is innocent of any crime. During the ‘closet scene’ the ferocity of Hamlet’s words, which are “like daggers in [her] ears” [95] cut through to the guilty conscience beneath her public display of composure. In admitting that she sees “such black and grained spots/As will not leave their tinct” [90 – 91] she is, for the first time recognizing that she has transgressed and that her allegiance must now lie with her son.

Like Briony in Atonement, Gertrude recognizes that she has sins to expiate. In an aside in Act 4 Scene 5, following the gentleman’s description of Ophelia’s afflicted state of mind, Gertrude recognizes that she has a sick soul, which is “sin’s true nature” and she predicts “some great amiss”. This duly follows in the final scene when the queen, “carousing to [Hamlet’s] fortune”, drinks from the poisoned chalice. Tragically, she refuses Claudius when he implores her not to drink, but in making this choice, this morally frail woman redeems herself.

There is no such easy redemption for Briony in Atonement. When she witnesses Robbie and Cecilia at the fountain, she filters the reality of this incident through her still-childlike creative imagination, recently preoccupied with innocent tales of woodcutters rescuing princesses from drowning. However, whether consciously or not, she assimilates what she observes into her neat and orderly world of play-writing and fiction and tries to impose order on events, such as the reading of the letter and the scene in the library, that are too messy, complicated and outside her own experience. Her imagination delights in these confusing examples of errant adult behaviour: “The very complexity of her feelings confirmed Briony in her view that she was entering an arena of adult emotion and dissembling from which her writing was bound to benefit.” [113] In compiling copy like this from her immediate experiences, she begins the process of reflection, re-assessment and recapitulation that becomes a life-long process.

Crucially, however, it is her assessment of what happens on the island that will have repercussions for the rest of her life. In accusing Robbie of raping Lola, she does not commit a crime, in the legal sense. Rather she is guilty of misapprehension and stubbornness. Briony and Lola are both emerging like butterflies from childhood into adolescence, but with slightly damaged wings as a result of defective parenting or the stresses in their respective families. Briony’s action is not immoral as she believes she is speaking the truth as she understands it. The narrative she gives out accords with the febrile workings of the writer she aspires to be. But she is too young to recognize that the narrative of our lives can never conform to the mimetic art of story-telling and in trying to impose her narrative on the world after the incident on the island, she ruins at least three people’s lives.

In contrast, the immoral characters around her, such as Paul Marshall and, to a lesser extent, Lola, say nothing to prevent the miscarriage of justice. In addition, the adults, both in Briony’s family and the ones representing the law, fail in their duty by allowing the word of a thirteen-year old girl to be accepted without any concrete evidence. As a consequence, the innocent Robbie, Cecilia and Grace Turner suffer for the rest of their lives. From this point, therefore, Briony, existing in the strange region somewhere between childhood innocence and the world of adult iniquity, is thrust onto a perpetual treadmill of suffering and guilt, for which she will attempt to atone till the end of her life. Although she does so much, we are often made to ponder whether she can ever atone sufficiently. Between vicious attacks during the retreat towards Dunkirk, Robbie deliberates about whether or not he will ever be able to forgive her. As he recalls the fake drowning incident when he was nineteen, he considers that her schoolgirl crush, stymied as a result of witnessing his later passion for Cecilia, may have been what motivated her vehement accusation. Briony’s love would have been transformed into “disappointment, then despair, and eventual bitterness” [220]. The sense of betrayal may also have been compounded by Robbie, as the son of a servant, being her social inferior.

The awkward situations engendered by social class also conspire to frustrate Robbie’s relationship with Cecilia at the beginning of the novel. Cecilia, emerging from adolescence, can be petulant and socially insensitive, for example in the way she avoids Robbie at Cambridge. This can be attributable to her privileged position and to the pretensions of her class. However, together with Robbie, she can be regarded as among the few wholly innocent characters in the novel. Tragically, they are also amongst those who suffer the most. In Part Two, she suffers continually as a result of being separated from Robbie, and in Part Three, there is a sense that both she and Robbie have been cut adrift from the innocence of their youth. The dreams of their early life appear to have evaporated and they are faced merely with grim survival.

In contrasting the characters of Cecilia and Robbie during these two very different stages of their lives in this way, it is significant that we learn about Cecilia’s life in the second part of the book for the most part through the letters she writes to Robbie. In doing this the author gradually eclipses her as the central focus moves towards Robbie. It is interesting also that McEwan refers to him as Robbie in the first part and Turner in Part Two. Deprived of all comfort during the harrowing retreat to Dunkirk, with only a few vivid memories of Cecilia to sustain him, Turner regards his innocence before his arrest and his present torment as two diametrically opposed periods: “as significant as BC and AD. Before prison, before the war, before the sight of a corpse became a banality.” [226]. All too often he witnesses the abject horror of corpses and body parts along the way. The nightmare sight of the young boy’s naked leg in a tree, “wedged in the first forking of the trunk” [192] sickens him and the memory of it returns to haunt him. He even equates the lost French boy with his own “vanished” self [202], referring to the disappearance and annihilation of his former hopes and dreams before the corruption and depravation he suffered in prison. During his rambling, delirious dream in the crowded cellar towards the end of Part Two, he even plans to return to bury the leg. It seems to symbolise the destroyed lives of the millions of innocent victims killed during this war and all wars.

Before this delirium in the cellar, in an earlier section of Part two, when he is twelve miles from Dunkirk, he considers the “pure state” [228] he would attain if all the stains of guilt were wiped away. But this longing for justice is tempered by the realization that he would have to accept Briony back into his life. He concludes that the absolution would be for her alone as he “had done nothing wrong” [228]. Later in Part Two, in the cellar, when he is “too exhausted to sleep” [261] he becomes profoundly cynical. Returning to the faithful Cecilia seems to him as uninspiring as a mathematical equation. His pessimism here can be compared to Hamlet’s dismissal and denunciation of “all the uses of this world” in Act 1 Scene 2. Robbie no longer has any understanding of the nature of guilt and decides that, “Everyone was guilty, and no one was” [261] and, by this reasoning, even Briony is innocent. Compared to the innocent boy whose leg was blown off, he is guilty and to return to give him a decent burial would be like “the guilty [burying] the innocent” [262 – 263.] The end of Part Two does seems to be more hopeful. He repudiates the arithmetical image of Cecilia waiting for him like one part of a sum. However, we have yet to be informed at this point in the novel that the literary conventions will be subverted by the metafictional ending and that Robbie’s deliberations about guilt are a construct of Briony’s imagination – an attempt at atonement for what she did.

In Part Three, through her imagination, we get to know a side of Briony’s personality which is hopeful and appears to be honest. She longs for forgiveness and before meeting Cecilia in Balham, hopes that she can re-establish her per-allegation relationship and regain the innocence of her past life as a “beloved younger sister” [329]. However, as on many occasions during the novel, we feel detached from the drama of her life, as we are viewing it through her unreliable narrative, which is revealed at the very end of Part Three. At this stage of her life, we are witnessing the seventy-seven-year-old Briony’s decline into mental frailty – as if she is entering a second childhood. At this point of her life there is a fragility about her which is comparable to the poignant decline of Ophelia before her death. However, before the end, in the emotionally charged atmosphere of the Balham flat – despite being an imagined scene – she describes Robbie in a state of frenzy, threatening to kill Paul Marshall and “[break Briony’s] stupid neck” [341]. Her re-creation of his state of mind here brings him down off an impossibly high pedestal, making him more credible to the reader. In addition, as Anne Rooney and Lyn Lockwood have pointed out [in Atonement,York Notes p. 60], “To fulfil Briony’s wish for atonement, it’s important for her to have an empathetic portrayal of a man whose life she has ruined.”

Therefore, in a sense, we have returned full circle. The heavy weight of crime and wrongdoing has dragged some characters – innocent and guilty – down. Some, however, have returned to the surface, attaining redemption as a result of their suffering and atonement. On page five of Atonement we are told that [Briony] “did not have it in her to be cruel”. This is obviously ironic, although, looking back at her suffering from the perspective of the epilogue, it is possible to regard the brief episode of cruelty as being incongruent to the character of Bryony we get to know during the long period of time after this brief event. For a brief period of time, Robbie and Cecilia suffer alongside her, as do Ophelia, Gertrude, Polonius, Laertes and Hamlet alongside Claudius. In conclusion, therefore, it can be said that suffering is by no means confined to the guilty or the innocent in these two texts, although it must be admitted that some of the innocent do suffer considerably and maybe even more than the guilty.