At the Bottom of the River

“At the Bottom of the River” uses a shifting point of view—starting with a distant and omniscient third person and then first person—to explore the idea of humanity’s struggle with Death and How it Impacts Life. Through the only two prevalent characters—the narrator and her father—there are two different perspectives on death and how to live despite death being the ultimate end for everyone. The father focuses his thoughts and life on providing shelter and food for his family. Although the reader sees glimpses of his struggle with futility as he stands at the threshold of his comfortable life and ever-present death, he largely fears but ignores this idea of death coming for everything. Similar to the narrator’s parable of the creature that one day dares to sting a bee but then retracts into itself and lives solely around its home, the father elects not to venture out or see what could be done with his life beyond his home and instead settles for contentment.

Conversely, the narrator acknowledges her father’s feelings but also responds to him directly as he tells her, “‘Death is natural,’ […] in such a flat, matter-of-fact way” (71). Unlike her father, this is not a sufficient answer for her, as she considers the things she knows of nature—birds, trees, the sea—and instead decides that death is more “like the earth spinning on its invisible axis” (72). This differentiation, though subtle, establishes the narrator’s feelings that the way her father deals with death is insufficient, and that simply ignoring it will not be enough for her; instead, she seeks to come to terms with what death is, even if she cannot stop it.

Ultimately, the narrator separates herself from her father’s feelings and forms a new identity through her journey to the bottom of the river. While there, she sees the beauty of nature in its honesty: “I had no doubt that the things I saw were themselves and not resemblances or representatives” (76). In the river, she explores the idea that these things, and now herself, all exist in a world without the restrictions typically placed on the world by humanity. Self-discovery will come through unified coexistence with nature rather than a distant, cerebral analysis of the self. As she describes it, “[T]hey lived in this world not yet divided, not yet examined, not yet numbered, and not yet dead” (78). Kincaid’s use of adjectives—“divided,” “examined, “numbered,” and “dead”—portray scientific concepts that are antithetical to non-human nature. The narrator’s understanding of nature’s indifference to such concepts highlights her formation of a new identity without the same fears as her father. She now exists in this world and, as a result, has no name for herself or what she has become. What’s left is to name herself, as she does at the end of the text.

Her relationships with both her father and mother are important in that she does not fully reject them; rather, she comes to understand their shortcomings to aid in Forming One’s Own Identity, another key theme of the text. Her father fears death and thus only lives for his small home and world, while her memories of her mother revolve simply around her beauty and her invention of stories for her. She rejects these characteristics of both of her parents as insufficient while also recognizing that they are part of who she is and appreciating them for who they are. Through her journey to the bottom of the river, she is able to recognize the impact that she can have on the world through her writing, an identity that allows her to transcend mortality by impacting those around her after her death.

The narrator embarks on a journey that leads to Finding Purpose Despite Life’s Seeming Futility at the end of the text. After her disembodied spiritual journey, she returns home and sees her possessions illuminated by lamplight, “all perishable and transient” (82). This description contrasts with the ethereal images in her journey—in particular, the lamp—an artificial, breakable light source— juxtaposes with her noncorporeal self, which she likens to “a prism, many-sided and transparent, refracting and reflecting light as it reached me, light that never could be destroyed” (80). However, as these items take shape, she makes the important discovery that they are meaningful to her despite being “perishable and transient” (82). Likewise, she “grow[s] solid and complete, my name filling up my mouth” (82), finding purpose in her impermanent existence. These acknowledgments throughout the text—of her father, her past, death, and her journey at the bottom of the river—allow her to rematerialize and commit the final act of naming herself and creating her own identity.

The structure and tone of the text incorporate biblical allusions. The text begins with a description of the river, from an omniscient point of view that exists from a vantage point wholly out of the text—something that is not true of the rest of the story. It establishes the setting of the story while introducing the “river” from the title, showing an appreciation for its size and strength. The language in this section parallels the Book of Genesis in the Bible, in which God creates the Earth, focusing first on natural elements. On the last day of creation, God creates man, which gives the rest of his creation purpose. Likewise, Kincaid notes in the story’s first paragraph that the river “awaits the eye, the hand, the foot that shall then give all this a meaning” (63). As such, nature and man give each other purpose, and the narrator goes through her own genesis in the river, most notably with the use of light. She exits her body—even able to look back at herself—and witnesses the formation of herself anew. By the end of the story—similar to the Book of Revelation, the last book in the Bible—the narrator takes her experience, struggle, and newfound worldview—perhaps even faith in it—and allows herself to forge a path forward. Toward the Book of Revelation, which tells of an apocalypse, the river of life nurtures the Earth and mankind and creates a world without sin or suffering. Similarly, through her rebirth, the narrator comes to a better understanding of life and her role in it and is at peace with life’s ephemerality.

At the climax of the story, the narrator enters the river and has an out-of-body experience, wherein she is surrounded by light and endowed with the truth of how best to move forward. Once again, this alludes to the Book of Revelation; John, the narrator, is shown at the river of life that “There will be no more night. They will not need the light of a lamp or the light of the sun, for the Lord God will give them light. And they will reign for ever and ever” (New International Version, Rev. 22:5). Like those who experience eternal life after the apocalypse, the narrator is separated from human creations and feelings like north, south, up, down, pain, and pleasure and is able to exist in a noncorporeal state. The parallels with the Bible affirm the divine nature of this knowledge; just as John notes that his recounting in the Book of Revelation is “trustworthy and true” (Rev. 22:6), the narrator is conveying a truth about the universe. Knowing that her spirit will live forever in harmony with nature and the universe, the narrator has a new appreciation for the tactile world and uses her possessions to create a new identity. Similarly, she recognizes both her father and mother for what they are—each with their benefits and flaws—and does not hold anger or begrudge them for their shortcomings. Instead, she recognizes that she can belong to them while still creating her own identity. Upon exiting the river, the denouement of the story summarizes her epiphany: One can live and leave an impact on the future— for her, through her writing—despite life’s seeming futility.