Bel Canto

Roxanne Coss is a force with which to reckon. Not only does her talent seem otherworldly, but she herself also retreats from few, if any, challenges—even if those challenges level weapons at her. She has long been famous, and she is accustomed to respect, accommodation, and even obeisance. Midway through the novel, it becomes clear, even to the terrorists with guns, that “Roxanne Coss was in charge” (162). Of course, her commanding presence has dominated the situation from the start, and her voice enraptures almost all who listen. The teenage boys who comprise the majority of the terrorists cannot help but fall for her. During the original takeover of the mansion, one of them dares to reach over and take her hand; she lets him: “Roxanne Coss knew the longer he held her hand, the more he would love her, and if he loved her he was more likely to try and protect her from the others, from himself” (24).

She is well aware of her power to enchant, and she gathers hostages and terrorists alike under her spell. After all, she is considered “the greatest soprano of [her] time” (74). Ultimately, Roxanne Coss is as much a complex symbol as a fully rounded character. She represents celebrity and success; beauty and skill; sexuality and power. She becomes the principal figure around whom the rhythm of the mansion flows. She herself does grow, too, and is a dynamic character.

She reveals vulnerability, particularly with regard to her relationship to Mr. Hosokawa. She slowly falls for his polite, attentive ways; here is a man who does not declare love—the way her original accompanist did, much to her annoyance—but a man who gently and steadily shows it. When she defends the accompanist’s dead body, as the terrorists discuss shooting him for show, she rises up in a rage that “mak[es] her glow like Joan of Arc before the fire” (85). The spectators are in awe of her, and her request for a respectful burial is granted. After her outburst, Mr. Hosokawa calmly “step[s] forward, reach[es] into his pocket, and extend[s] to her his handkerchief, clean and pressed” (85). In this small gesture, a trust is formed that blooms into a full-blown romance.

Roxanne knows she is usually fated to be adored from afar, as demonstrated by the Russian Fyodorov’s declaration of love. She says to Gen, “’Most of the time we’re loved for what we can do rather than for who we are. It’s not such a bad thing, being loved for what you can do’” (224). When Gen suggests that it might be more satisfying to be loved for who one is, Roxanne admits as much:

Better. I hate to say better, but it is. If someone loves you for what you can do, it’s flattering, but why do you love them? If someone loves you for who you are then they have to know you which means you have to know them (224).

This describes the love that has grown, despite the lack of a common language, between Roxanne and Mr. Hosokawa. While Roxanne tragically loses Mr. Hosokawa in the final pages of the novel, she ultimately finds comfort in his proxy, Gen. After all, as stated above, Gen could speak with his employer’s own esteemed voice.

Gen Watanabe is the gifted young employee of Mr. Hosokawa. He is fluent in several different languages and thus becomes indispensable during the hostage crisis; he is able to foster communication between the terrorists and the hostages, as well as between the various groups of hostages. He is also somewhat reserved, even shy, despite his professional training and linguistic abilities. He uses his translating skills to disappear behind other people’s words. He excels, as does his eventual lover, Carmen, at fading into the background.

At the beginning of the terrorist takeover, for example, Gen does not immediately offer his services when the Generals call for a translator: “Gen, who was helpful but not heroic by nature, lay still for a moment remembering the sharp point of pressure the gun had made against his chest” (40-41). When Mr. Hosokawa nudges him on, Gen steps up. His sense of duty and decency spur him on, rather than a desire for recognition. In this, he is much like his employer, Mr. Hosokawa. He is a round and dynamic character in this novel.

Gen’s attachment to his employer—one could argue they share a mutual dependence—becomes even more apparent when Mr. Hosokawa asks Gen to apologize to Roxanne Coss for the circumstances. Mr. Hosokawa feels guilty that she has come to the party, turned crisis, at his behest. Gen knows that:

Never in a lifetime would Gen have come to her on his own. Never would he find the courage to express his own sympathies and remorse, in the same way that Mr. Hosokawa would not have the courage to speak to her even if his English had been perfect (91).

This reticence is, in part, a culturally acquired trait from a formal Japanese society; however, it is also an individual quality shared by the two men, their desire not to impose themselves on others.

Still, Gen discovers he has more to offer than he previously imagined via his love affair with Carmen. She emboldens him to act, rather than only to react. When contemplating their first meeting in the china closet, ostensibly for him to teach her how to read and write, he allows himself to indulge in wayward thoughts: “He wanted to fold her in his arms. He wanted to kiss the parting of her hair. He wanted to touch her lips with the tips of his fingers. He wanted to whisper things to her in Japanese” (196). The last thought is perhaps the most significant; it implies he wants to give her something of himself, of his inner life. Alas, their union is not to last, as Carmen is killed alongside Mr. Hosokawa in the final storming of the mansion. Yet Gen finds a compromised peace in marrying Roxanne, their marriage a living monument to those lost. As Gen tells Simon Thibault, “When I hear Roxanne sing I am still able to think well of the world” (318). As always throughout the book, music has the power to heal.

The young priest who volunteers to stay behind is eager to contribute to the spiritual well-being of the hostages—and, perhaps even more so, of the terrorists. Heretofore, his responsibilities in the local parish have been limited to “lighting candles, serving communion, and maintaining duties no higher than those of a well-established altar boy” (51). He volunteers to stay because he feels like he has more to offer and the situation provides him with a platform. Father Arguedas is present at the party only through happenstance: one of his parishioners happens to be a cousin of the Vice President who knows how much the priest loves opera. She wrangles him an invitation, which will become what Father Arguedas understands as a kind of divine intervention. He is a round character, if not completely dynamic.

In fact, Father Arguedas struggles with his adoration of opera, once confessing it as a sin—it induces “a kind of rapture, a feeling he could not name” (52), which dances dangerously close to physical ecstasy. However, the older priest assures him that “‘Art is not sin,’” so Father Arguedas listens to his music with abandon. The old, vaguely iniquitous feelings again rear their head when Father Arguedas hears Roxanne sing, so beautiful is her voice and so lovely is her person. But he remains steadfast in the face of his duties and tries to represent the Church with love and compassion.

His need to remain with the hostages belies a deep-seated yearning for not only their salvation but also his own. When Roxanne wants the sheet music, Father Arguedas insists that she procure it from his friend, the music teacher, rather than have it shipped in from Europe: “Father Arguedas, who had devoted his life to doing good works, was nearly frantic for the want of good works to do” (140). When he is allowed to speak to his friend, Father Arguedas learns that his church has been praying for him; this information overwhelms him—though it also brings his ego to the fore: “To think of those people, the people he prayed for, praying for him. To think that God heard his name from so many voices” (142). Father Arguedas has been singled out, perhaps even by God, to perform his good works for this unlikely community of hostages, terrorists, and music lovers.