Being There

“Chance went inside and turned on the TV. The set created its own light, its own color, its own time. It did not follow the law of gravity that forever bent all plants downward. Everything on TV was tangled and mixed and yet smoothed out; night and day, big and small, tough and brittle, soft and rough […].”

Kosiński portrays television as the opposite of the garden. It does not obey natural laws, making its own rules that defy time and space. If the garden represents natural law, television represents manmade law. Chance is caught between natural law and manmade law, the two opposing forces that struggle for control in the novella.

“Catching sight of his reflection in the large hall mirror, Chance saw the image of himself as a small boy and then the image of the Old Man sitting in a huge chair. His hair was gray, his hands wrinkled and shriveled. The Old Man breathed heavily and had to pause frequently between words.”

Chance uses the mirror like a television screen that shows him images of his past self rather than reflecting him in the present. His memories alternate like channels changing on TV, without emotion or connection to one another.

“The Old Man was propped against the stiff pillows and seemed poised intently, as if he were listening to a trickling whisper in the gutter. His shoulders sloped down at sharp angles, and his head, like a heavy fruit on a twig, hung down to one side.”

Kosiński presents the narrative from Chance’s point of view even while writing it in the third person. Garden imagery signals to the reader that we are experiencing his view. In this case, the description of the Old Man’s head—"like a heavy fruit on a twig”—aligns with Chance’s understanding of the world through his knowledge of the garden.

“As long as one didn’t look at people, they did not exist. They began to exist, as on TV, when one turned one’s eyes on them. Only then could they stay in one’s mind before being erased by new images.”

For Chance, existence is entirely experiential, and this includes the experience of encountering other people. Chance can only interact with others by viewing them; for him, they only exist when he can see them. Everything for him is two-dimensional, like an image on TV. He cannot get beneath the surface of people because if he cannot see something, it does not exist.

“The same was true of him. By looking at him, others could make him be clear, could open him up and unfold him; not to be seen was to blur and to fade out. Perhaps he was missing a lot by simply watching others on TV and not being watched by them.”

The phenomenology of viewing applies to Chance as much as it applies to others. He does not feel complete as he has not been seen by people outside of the Old Man’s house. The passage foreshadows Chance’s rise to fame when he is seen on television and his image appears in newspapers across the country.

“‘I am a gardener,’ said Chance. ‘No one knows the garden better than I. From the time I was a child, I am the only one who has ever worked here. There was someone else before me—a tall black man; he stayed only long enough to tell me what to do and show me how to do it; from that time, I have been on my own.’”

Recounting his history as a gardener is the only means by which Chance can confirm his identity to Mr. Franklin. The mention of the Black gardener continues a pattern where Black characters are in subordinate positions, such as the former housekeeper “black Louise” and, later, the Rands’ limousine driver.

“Chance adjusted his sunglasses. He did not know what to say. Why would he leave the garden? ‘I would like to stay here and work in this garden,’ he said quietly.”

The novella begins with Chance being ejected from the metaphorical Garden of Eden. He cannot continue to live in innocence, and his hero’s journey requires that he experience the outside world. Such a setup is common in coming-of-age stories. However, Chance’s journey differs from typical the bildungsroman: Unlike other heroes, he doesn’t become wiser and more independent after facing trials. Chance does not change.

“On TV programs people who did not know how to read or write were often mocked and ridiculed. He assumed a look of concentration, wrinkling his brow, scowling, now holding his chin between the thumb and the forefinger of his hand. ‘I can’t sign it,’ he said returning the sheet to the lawyer. ‘I just can’t.’”

This passage marks the first time that Chance uses his knowledge of television to blend in. Chance realizes that it is to his advantage to appear more knowledgeable than he really is. His instinct for self-preservation is at odds with his supposed guilelessness: he manages his image the same way a politician might.

“So far, everything outside the gate resembled what he had seen on TV; if anything, objects and people were bigger, yet slower, simpler and more cumbersome. He had the feeling that he had seen it all.”

Once outside the gate, the world of television is brought into three dimensions. To Chance, the real-world version of life is familiar but “cumbersome.” Though real life resembles TV, there are more variables, and one cannot control events by changing the channel. Still, nothing Chance encounters surprises him.

“‘Chauncey Gardiner,’ she repeated. […] ‘My husband and I are very old friends of Basil and Perdita Gardiner,’ the woman continued. ‘Are you by any chance a relative of theirs, Mr. Gardiner?’”

Just as Chance filters the world through his only frame of reference, the garden, EE filters her experience through her only frame of reference, the wealthy elite. Like Chance, she can only parse the world in terms that she can understand. She assumes that “Mr. Gardiner” is part of her social class because there are other Gardiners in her circle, and Chance does not seem in any way different from them.

“Thinking that he ought to show a keen interest in what EE was saying, Chance resorted to repeating her parts of her own sentences, a practice he had observed on TV. In this fashion, he encouraged her to continue to elaborate.”

The passage is comical because unlike EE, the reader knows that Chance is only parroting thoughtful behavior. His tactic works, and EE begins to feel comfortable; she treats Chance as a confidante. Here, Kosiński is commenting on how easy it is to create a false connection by using the appearance of empathy. The exchange is completely lopsided. It is extremely meaningful to EE but for Chance, it has no more emotional resonance than watching a TV program.

“‘A gardener! Isn’t that the perfect description of what a real businessman is? A person who makes a flinty soil productive with the labor of his own hands, who waters it with the sweat of his own brow, and who creates a place of value for his family and for the community.’”

Benjamin Rand seizes upon Chance’s description of his gardening as a metaphor for a businessman. This interaction between Rand and Chance establishes Rand’s misunderstanding of Chance as a savvy thinker, someone on his level to whom he can relate.

“‘We have just begun a program to assist American businesses that have been harassed by inflation, excessive taxation, riots and other indecencies. We want to offer the decent ‘gardeners’ of the business community a helping hand, so to speak. After all, they are our strongest defense against the conglomerates and the pollutants who so threaten the well-being of our middle class.’”

The program that Rand describes to Chance is vague in its political and economic intentions. From Rand’s reference to inflation and excessive taxation as evils plaguing small business owners, one can infer that he is a fiscal conservative. His reference to conglomerates—large companies that take up a disproportionate market share—as pollutants reflects a liberal point of view. This discrepancy may be intentional, as Kosiński is satirizing the empty rhetoric of political economists. The passage may be intended to sound like a stump speech, with soundbites that resonate with everyone while not committing the speaker to any specific action or promise. 

“‘It’s all make-up, Chauncey—all make-up. The nurse was here all night and through the morning, and I asked her to fix me up so the President won’t feel I’m going to die during our talk. No one likes a dying man, Chauncey, because few know what death it. All we know is the terror of it.”

Rand’s imminent death creates suspense because it will determine Chance’s fate. Whereas the Old Man was a symbolic patriarch, Rand is a full-fledged character whose outlook on life and death shapes the novella’s themes. He brings death to life, so to speak, when he describes his experiences to Chance.

“‘I am ready for oblivion, Mr. President,’ said Rand mildly, ‘and, what’s more, I’m not complaining; the world parts with Rand, and Rand parts with the world: a fair trade, don’t you agree? Security, tranquility, a well-deserved rest: all the aims I have pursued will soon be realized.’”

The tranquility Rand describes in death is the same peace and tranquility that Chance feels in the garden. This prompts the question of whether it is possible in American society, driven as it is by business and politics, to achieve serenity. Chance carries the peace of the garden inside himself, even though he is in it no longer. He has found in life what Rand believes is only possible in death.

“The men began a long conversation. Chance understood almost nothing of what they were saying, even though they often looked in his direction, as if to invite his participation. Chance thought that they purposely spoke in another language for reasons of secrecy […].”

The language of economics is so foreign to Chance that he does not even have a television reference. This passage establishes that Chance has no knowledge of the world into which he is about to enter.

“The annual meeting of the Financial Institute opened in an atmosphere of expectation and high tension, following the disclosure that morning of the rise in national unemployment to an unprecedented level. Administration officials were reluctant to divulge what measures the President would propose to combat further stagnation of the economy. All of the public news media were on high alert.”

This passage establishes that the Administration is nervous about how to frame the President’s position on the economy. Chance’s vaguely positive metaphors prove to be the perfect solution because they provide fodder for public discourse without holding the President to any particular plan of action. 

“Chance turned on the TV. He wondered whether a person changed before or after appearing on the screen. Would he be changed forever or only during the time of his appearance? What part of himself would he leave behind when he finished the program? Would there be two Chances after the show: one Chance who watched TV and another who appeared on it?”

Here we see Chance’s existential quandary about being on TV. When the prospect of being on television becomes a reality, he worries that it will permanently alter the nature of his being. To be viewed by others is not only to be reflected back once; the effect is infinitely magnified, like a mirror being placed in front of another mirror. In the hero’s journey, this moment is called "approaching the cave;” the protagonist is about to face an ordeal that will alter them forever, from which they will have to be reborn.

“Chance was astonished that television could portray itself; cameras watched themselves and, as they watched, they televised the program. This self-portrait was telecast on TV screens facing the stage and watched by the studio audience. Of all the manifold things there were in all the world—trees, grass, flowers, telephones, radios, elevators—only TV constantly held up a mirror to its own neither solid nor fluid face.”

Once on set, Chance experiences the mystery of the exponentially refracted image. Kosiński describes the experience with the same attention to detail that he does Chance’s work in the garden. Time slows down as Chance observes each new element of being onstage. For the first time, Chance experiences television from the inside, the infinite loop of the watcher being watched, dissolving the boundary between experience and voyeurism.

“‘Our chairs are almost touching! And—how shall I put it—we both want to remain seated on them, don’t we? Neither of us wants his chair snatched from under him, am I right? Am I correct? […] Because if one goes, the other goes and then—boom!’”

The Soviet Ambassador interprets Chance’s innocent remark about the physical proximity of their chairs as a metaphor for the United States and the Soviet Union in the context of an impending nuclear war.

“Later, as he was shaving, the Ambassador decided to take a chance: he decided to include Gardiner’s name in the speech that he was to deliver that evening to the International Congress of the Mercantile Association, convening in Philadelphia. […] Skrapinov’s speech was a hit.”

Even Skrapinov, a Soviet who should in theory disdain America’s commodified media culture, revels in the attention he receives from riding Chance’s fame. Like the President, he twists Chance’s comments to serve his political ends and improve his public image.

“‘I am so free with you. Up until the time I met you, every man I knew barely acknowledged me. I was the vessel that he could take hold of, pierce, and pollute. I was merely an aspect of somebody’s love-making.’”

Unknown to EE, Chance has no sexual feelings for her. He is not callous, like the former lovers she describes; he simply does not know how to respond to her sexuality. In a reversal of the dynamic to which she is accustomed, Chance is passive while she is in control. The experience is a revelation to her, but as with their other interactions, the intimacy is one-sided.

“‘Frankly, sir, it has occurred to us that he might be the agent of a foreign power. But the fact of the matter is that those people almost invariably have too much documentation provided, too much American identity.”

The idea of Americanness being linked to overdocumentation satirizes American bureaucracy. Ironically, Chance’s lack of documentation will secure him consideration as a political candidate.