House of Leaves - Appendix II (A - E)
Appendix II started off by displaying sketches of the labyrinth likely drawn by Zampanò. They predominantly featured stairs in eerily dark spaces. The creepiest one illustrated a tiny stick-figure of a man dangling on a rope over a vast expanse of nothingness. One of them even contained the specs for the ¼” discrepancy from Chapter 4. A collection of polaroids of different houses, including a church, was also featured in this section.
I have to say, the sketches captured exactly how I pictured the labyrinth in my mind. The only exception was that I didn’t picture the space that Navidson and Reston ascended with the rope-pulley to be so enormous. I thought it was closer to a narrow elevator shaft. Not sure which one would be scarier, to be honest. I don’t know what to make of the polaroids as they are of different houses. Maybe they are all the different homes the Navidsons lived in, including Ash Tree Lane. One polaroid is actually of a lamppost that is shut off, which is likely a reference to the final paragraph of the book at which point the Navidsons had moved to Vermont.
The following section was titled Pelican Poems which contained a bunch of short poems written in small text throughout 7 pages. Most of these were written in European cities like Nice, Madrid, Rome, Copenhagen, Athens, Warsaw, and many others. They were primarily addressed to women, though some were for men, couples, or even nobody at all. None of them in particular jump out to me, but I do think that Truant wrote these. They remind me of his tendency to seek out sexual/romantic connections with women and they were all written in 1988-1990 which could align with the timeline of The House of Leaves’ events.
Next we have photographs that were already referenced in Zampanò’s instructions a couple of posts ago. They consisted of a bunch of miscellaneous items (ripped up pieces of paper from books and newspapers, pills, a matchbox, bullets, stamps, and more), likely found in Truant’s apartment.
The subsequent section contained an obituary of Truant’s father. What followed wasn’t necessarily an obituary, but more of a brief summary of his career until the point of his passing. He was essentially an air pilot until he suffered from a cardiac infarction. This medical issue resulted in his license being suspended for 6 months, driving him to seek out an alternate source of income as a trucker. He died when the truck he was in (it was not made clear if he was the actual driver) swerved into a ditch and caught fire, caused by the driver falling asleep at the wheel.
I’ll be honest, I’m pretty disappointed by this. Truant had a lot of love and admiration for his father and this “obituary” read more like a cover letter than something that was from the heart. Maybe that was the point. Maybe it pained Truant too much to get too sentimental so he kept it impersonal and professional. Still though, I would’ve liked to gain a little more insight into their relationship.
Section E was titled The Three Attic Whalestoe Institute Letters. Oh man, things are about to get heavy, aren’t they? These all seem to be letters written by Truant’s mother to her son. I believe Whalestoe Institute was where she stayed for the known remainder of her days after being removed from the family home. Not sure why the title calls out three letters since there are far more included here. Let’s dive in.
The first letter is dated July 28, 1982. In it Truant’s mother references the recent death of her husband, Truant’s father. She also mentions that she had been recently informed that Truant was placed in a foster family. She concluded the letter with a strange phrase:
Also remember, love inhabits more than just the heart and mind. If need be it can take shelter in a big toe.
A big toe for you then.
I love you.
I’ll overanalyze a bit here. By “big toe” perhaps she means kicking a loved one in a certain direction, likely against said loved one’s desires. In this case, Truant’s mother encouraged Truant to open his heart to his new foster family and probably inferred for him to not rely solely on her for love, support, and comfort due to her circumstances. After all, the mental institution in which she was incarcerated was called Whalestoe Institute (although whales don’t have toes…). Let’s go with that and move on!
A month later she revealed that Truant had already been placed with a second foster family. Truant had thrown a violent tantrum and trashed his bedroom, prompting the first foster family to surrender him. Truant’s mother didn’t seem to mind this behavior as she stated:
It pays in this world to play out our passions.
Not sure how well this played out for Truant given the events of The House of Leaves.
Over the next few months her letters decreased in frequency as her director and Truant’s foster mother both considered them to be invasive and divisive. Surprisingly, Truant’s mother seemed to agree with this sentiment and only wished for her son to build the best possible life for himself. She did not want to interfere in this regard.
The letter from February 14, 1983 divulged that Truant had been placed in a third foster family. Truant had fled from his previous home twice as he was very unhappy there. We then learned that Truant hadn’t been replying to these letters:
Though I understand perfectly if you continue to keep your silence. It’s your right and I honor it. I promise.
Patience only a mother would have.
Her letter from May 9, 1983 told us that Truant had finally responded to her:
Do you really love your mother so much? I shall guard this letter forever and even if there’s never another one it will always restore me. I will wear it like a heart. It will become my heart.
There is something so heart-warming about that passage. This poor woman likely has nothing aside from these mostly one-sided communications with her son and she finally received a degree of reciprocation. I don’t necessarily blame Truant, especially since he is still a child throughout this time period, but it’s just nice to see the power of love heal a suffering soul.
The letter from September 29, 1983 revealed yet another response from Truant. His mother is such an eloquent writer, I must say. Look at how much love and appreciation is conveyed in so few words:
Another gushing letter! Number two! Solomon was a poor man.
For all you non-Abrahamic religion followers out there, Solomon was a super wise and wealthy man. That sentence just hits different having been raised as a Roman Catholic.
She also referred to Truant’s schoolyard brawl with another student and that these violent impulses likely came from her side of the family:
I’ve little doubt your current lust for physical engagement is the result of this questionable genetic bequeathal. Do what you must, but realize greater strength lies in self-control. The more you learn to command your impulses, the more your potential will grow.
I really, really, REALLY enjoy this woman’s writing. It is so easy to forget that this woman attempted to murder her own son by reading these letters. They are all so charming and full of love and affection. I know she is compromised mentally, but still… Don’t ever underestimate the power of the written word.
The letter from December 24, 1983 contained more of the same, stating the following of Truant’s 15 additional altercations at school:
My little Viking warrior! Let the monsters all tremble! Let tomorrow’s Mead Halls rejoice. Their Viking soon will come…
The rest of the paragraph was actually written in Old English! What other tricks does this woman have up her sleeve? How does one even learn Old English?!
Fast forward to September 7, 1984, she said this of the continuing violence revolving around Truant at school:
Do not rely on your fists (enough of brawling), shun the television, do not succumb to the facile and inadequate amazements of liquor and pills (if they haven’t already, those temptations will eventually seek you out) and finally do not entrust your future to the limits of your stride.
Rely instead on the abilities of your mind. Yours is especially powerful and will free you from virtually any hell. I promise.
I find myself quoting far more often in this section than in any other chapter in this entire book. Did I mention how much I friggin’ love what this woman has to say? All of us could heed the words of wisdom she wrote above. Truant certainly would’ve benefitted from heeding his mother’s advice here. Oh well, there is no teacher like experience and failure.
Her letter from May 11, 1985 dropped the bombshell piece of news that Truant was going to visit her in 10 days time. Understandably she was nervous, but obviously filled to brim with anticipation:
Hurry. Hurry. I won’t be able to sleep until I have you at my side filling my ear with your adventures and plans.
With too much love for even the word to hold,
Mommy.
I have to say, there are some very, very, very subtle romantic undertones in her language in these letters. I really don’t think there are any ulterior emotions in these letters aside from motherly love thus far, but the words are written with such poetry and passion that they could easily be misconstrued as being authored from one lover to another. I still love the language, but I can’t continue to ignore this observation.
In the next letter (July 24, 1985), Truant’s mother was paranoid that her son’s visit had ended on a sour note. For some reason she felt that the way Truant had looked back at her as he left indicated that there was something seriously wrong. She practically begged him for reassurance through a response, which was atypical of her to this point.
The rest of the letter was her gushing over her son and how happy his visit made her. Very heart-warming stuff I must say. Here is how she ended this one:
Your mother loves you like the old seafarers loved the stars.
Beautiful.
The August 23, 1985 letter is rather heart-breaking. Truant had not yet replied to his mother and she suffered for it. I apologize for all the quotations, but I just can’t get over the language. This honestly might be my favorite part of this book. Danielewski did such a great job bringing this character to life and capturing the full spectrum of her emotional state over time. Here:
At least don’t allow your mother’s grave to lack the company of the knowledge she craves. If your plan is to abandon me, at least grant me this last respect.
Rompido mi muneca.
Your tearful and terribly confused mother.
Man… Reading shit like his makes me want to call my own mother! Doubting your own child’s love for you sounds like some of the worst tortures one could (or couldn’t) endure.
Here is ending from the next one (September 5, 1985):
I’m sorry you saw what you saw in me. I’m sorry I made you run. I must understand. I must accept. I must let you go. But it’s hard. You’re all I have.
Ugh… Another shotgun blast to the chest. Someone give this woman a damn hug, please!!!
A week later, it turned out that Truant hadn’t abandoned his mother after all. This was the time in which the fishing boat he was working on in Alaska had sunk. Yup, I’d say that’s a pretty valid excuse for not writing a letter. Truant’s mother also told us that the new director at the facility planned to monitor and study her outgoing mail. She gave her son a warning that they may have to find other ways to communicate.
On September 30, 1985 Truant’s mother revealed that she had formulated a plan to escape the Whalestoe Institute. She had found a way to send mail through a cooperative staff member to evade the director’s eyes. One thing she said here really disturbed me:
I have found the scissors to snip the black ribbons which bind me like a Chinese doll, blind me like the old Spanish doll I once guarded in the gables of a fantastic attic where we both awaited our execution.
Is she really referring to the incident when she tried to euthanize her own son in a fit of madness? I think she is. This letter was less affectionate and the language seemed a lot more… manic. She was likely deteriorating at this point. Let’s read more.
Just a few days later (October 4, 1985), she revealed that her arrangement of sending mail through the staff had been discovered by the director. They also reviewed every single medication that she had been prescribed with her in a special consultation.
I’m not sure this makes sense. If she was discovered… How was she allowed to mail this letter? Surely a letter suggesting a plan for a mental patient to escape the facility in which she was housed would call for a ban on written correspondence.
Let’s fast-forward to July 6th, 1986. The condition of Truant’s mother has noticeably worsened. More extreme examples of paranoia and conspiracy litter her letters to Johnny, such as the medical staff mixing her medications in with her food and water without her knowledge. She even claimed that the New Director had hired a professional actress to impersonate her as a justification for her failing to remember Truant’s visit in April of 1986. It must be so soul-crushing to witness a parent (or any loved one, really) deteriorate before your very eyes… My paternal grandfather had Alzheimer’s for roughly 10 years before he passed, but I was a kid back then and I only visited him a couple of times a year at his nursing home so it was pretty easy to get detached or numb to it all. My fondest memories of him were greeting him with a chessboard whenever he came to visit. I used to love playing chess with him… Sorry Abuelo. I didn’t really appreciate what that horrific disease did to you.
Almost a full year later, on April 25 1987, Truant’s mother hit him with this:
My years steepen, my secrets crack and crumble. Not even my only family, my only boy, comes to see me. When they murder me how will you feel?
Goddamn… The manipulative language here has real impact. I can’t help but think of my late grandmother when I read those words. It sounds exactly like something she would say… Another curious thing is that Truant’s mother signed this letter only with “P.” rather than with a loving phrase preceding “Mom.” For some reason I find that quite scary.
The letter from May 8, 1987 was actually written in code. The first letter of each word in the letter formed the words and phrases of the real message. I actually went ahead and decoded the entire thing (I originally was going to skip this exercise) and I’m so glad that I did. Truant’s mother revealed that she had been getting raped by the Whalestoe staff in an effort to break her will. She ended the letter with a plea:
You must save me Johnny. In the name of your father. I must escape this place or I will die.
How cryptic is that? She signed this letter with “P.” as well. Despite her being an unreliable narrator or source of truth, I have great difficulty denying her claims here. This seems like the sort of thing that would happen in such an institution, as horrible as it is to say…
From here, the formatting of the letters went utterly hay-wire.
The text in the letter from July 31, 1987 resembled a floor plan to me, albeit a very rough, basic one. Truant’s mother did mention that she resided at the end of a corridor, so perhaps the formatting encapsulates that. She also brought up an interesting notion here:
I live at the end of some interminable corridor which the lucky damned can call hell but which the unluckier atheists-and your mother heads up that bunch-must simply get used to calling home.
If we pretend that hell actually exists, a place of everlasting suffering (at least that’s what I was taught as a Roman Catholic growing up), is that actually preferable than the sheer nothingness associated with death when one doesn’t subscribe to any religion or dogma? As a kid, I’ve always imagined hell would feel like getting your skin burned, but forever. The pain will never stop. I don’t know, I think I would take the nothingness over that fate.
However, Truant’s mother makes a compelling case. The concept of hell at the very least carries an inherent sense of certainty and acceptance. In theory, you would know where you were and why you were there. You would know and be forced to accept your fate, sooner or later. With nothingness… wandering in those interminable corridors (where have we seen these before? 🙂)... certainty does not nor will it ever exist. That is the primary driver of horror in The House of Leaves. In a way, I think I understand her point. It’s our nature as humans to fear ambiguity and to hate what we don’t understand. Maybe over time, that would be worse.
The letter from September 24, 1987 was the most disturbing to date. Truant’s mother starts the message by stating how much danger she is in and how she may not survive the next hour. The rest of the letter simply contains “The New Director” repeated for several lines in different fonts, cases, and sizes. The final sentence at least offered a glimmer of hope that she still maintained some semblance of her mental facilities,
HopinglovestillconquersdeathorattheveryminimumFear.
Signed with several “P’s” over-layed on each other. Something about the “P.” signature jumps out to me, though I don’t fully grasp it. It just represents such a shift from the loving “Mom” sentiment to something far more… unstable.
The letter from January 3, 1988 was both disturbing and heart-breaking. Truant’s mother begged for forgiveness for burning Johnny in the kitchen when he was four. She repeated “forgiveme” over and over again, with the bottom of the letter have the phrase over-layed countless numbers of times. In the universe of The House of Leaves, did she actually write like this? There is something very unsettling about a human being writing in such a chaotic manner.
March 19, 1988… This one was the most difficult to read. She admitted that she fully understood what she did. She had tried to preemptively euthanize Johnny. Her justification was that she wanted to liberate him from the meaninglessness of life and from all the pain it would bring. It’s almost as if she wanted to stop him from ever entering a place like Ash Tree Lane to begin with.
My words can’t do this part justice. As a parent, this was so fucking difficult to read:
I kissed your cheeks and your head and after a while put my hands around your throat. How red your face got then even as your tiny and oh so delicate hands stayed clamped around my wrists. But you did not struggle the way I anticipated. You probably understood what I was doing for you. You were probably grateful. Yes, you were grateful.
Eventually though, your eyes became glassy and wandered away. Your grip loosened and you wet yourself. You did more than wet yourself.
I’ll never know how close you came to that fabled edge because your father suddenly arrived and roared in intervention, a battering blast of complete nonsense, but a word just the same and full of love too, powerful enough in fact to halt the action of another love, break its hold, even knock me back and so free you from me, myself, and my infinite wish.
I just… I just can’t comment on this. This is so fucked up. What else can I say?
Oh man…the letter from November 1, 1988 was written in a completely normal fashion. Truant’s mother revealed that she had been in a psychotic state for roughly two years, which essentially covers the period of time when her letters took a more paranoid, manic shift. Truant had also visited her several times during this period, but she was unresponsive at each instance. She was now on a new regimen of medications which have granted her a temporary state of lucidity, but she admitted that it was unlikely to last. We also learned that the “New Director” was in fact still the old director who was kind and empathetic to her the entire time. Wow.
I feel like I keep repeating myself but what a sad story Truant’s mother has told us through these letters… These documents are quite literally a direct reflection of her mental state, and the crazy, nonsensical formatting does such an excellent job of capturing the unhinged mania that her mind experiences at any given point in time. Honestly, Danielewski could write an entire novel centered on her character utilizing letters just as these. They are that compelling, at least I feel that way.
The letter from January 12, 1989 was actually from the director to Truant. In it, he warned Truant that his mother’s condition was declining once again and that it may be time to “prepare for the worst.” To rub additional salt in the wound, the director also informed Truant of his impending retirement in two months time and that Dr. David J. Drained would be his replacement.
Man, things just keep getting worse, don’t they? Not only does Truant’s mother seem to be approaching her end days, but the one caretaker that by all accounts has been providing quality care and genuine empathy for her for almost 7 years is suddenly exiting the picture permanently. I couldn’t imagine how lonely Truant’s mother must have felt upon hearing this news…
The letter from February 28, 1989 was written by Truant’s mother once again. All seemed well… Hell, all seemed great. She told Truant that the director suggested that she had been progressing so well recently that she may even be eligible to be discharged. She closed the letter by asking Truant to purchase a couple of suitcases for her. Then… she signed the letter “P.” We know what that means, and it aligns with what the director had told Truant just prior…
Here it is. On May 5, 1989 Truant was informed that on May 4, 1989 at 8:45 PM his mother had died in her room. She hung herself with bed linen from a closet hook. Her name was Pelafina Heather Lièvre…
I want to break all of this down somehow, but I really can’t. Doing so would just feel… I don’t know, sacrilegious? These letters were so well-written and hauntingly beautiful that they tell us everything we need to know. My words add no value here. The Three Attic Whalestoe Institute Letters has certainly been one of the great highlights of The House of Leaves. Please do yourselves a favor and read this section, you won’t regret it.
I can’t believe I’m still reading and posting about this book…