Harold Bloom had this to say about “Death of a Salesman:
I myself resist the drama each time I reread it, because it seems that its language does not hold me, and then I see it played onstage . . . and I yield to it.
The question: whether or not Death of a Salesman is an actual tragedy – whether or not tragedy can be a “middle-class” event – remains unanswered and debated. I remember we had to write a paper on this topic in high school – we had to choose a side: either it IS or it ISN’T – and we had to back up our opinion with quotes from the play, etc.
I always felt that the play WAS a tragedy, even though a middle-class man doesn’t have as far to fall as a king … But THAT was Miller’s point. That was Miller’s point.
The Washington Post obit says:
“Salesman,” gave the American theater its most tortured antihero, Willy Loman, the misguided dreamer, the stand-in for the bottomless terror of American life, the fear of being branded a failure.
“I am not a leader of men, Willy, and neither are you,” the son, Biff, declares soberly, in the final movement of the play. “You were never anything but a hardworking drummer who landed in the ash can like all the rest of them!” Miller’s epitaph can be drawn from ideas such as this, the wrenching, simple truths that flow from the mouths of his everyday people.
This is why the impact of the play was so enormous when it first was produced (opening night described here) – it created a catharsis in the audience, along the lines of the great Greek tragedies – any tragedy … The audience identified with Willy. The character of Willy Loman is, although very specific and real, is also an archetype. And because the audience identified with this person who had a great fall by the end of the play, the catharsis (pity and terror) was enormous. You PITY Willy Loman. And you are terrified of any similarities you may have with him. Willy Loman was not JUST a character in a play. He became ALL of us.
Sheila: Damn, what the hell have we NOT been talking about all these years? Arthur Miller it seems. He is my hero. I have a signed photo of him hanging above my desk…along with a snapshot that Lisa took of he and I together. It is an amusing story–but only for the ridiculous anecdote that it yielded…
I had flown from LA with Lisa to go to the NY Time is Book Country luncheon where you pay a bunch of money for a lousy meal only because Arthur Miller was going to be signing his new book of essays. After the luncheon I stood in a huge line clutching my copy of “Death…” and Timebends” and when I approached him asked if I could get a snapshot of he and I. I truly believe I was the only person there with a camera. He looked up at me as only an 86 year old man can and in the nicest way yet tiredest way possible said “Uhhh, I got a lot of books to sign.” Knowing that was his way of saying no, without saying no, I still slid behind the table and took the most awkward picture of myself hunched down next to a smirking Arthur Miller. The picture is priceless. I must show it to you. “After the Fall” is completely underated–and there is a line in the play: “It’s no disgrace to search one’s soul.” That line has informed my writing as much as any line ever. His book of essays is required reading–especially the theater essays–for anyone who is considering a writing career in the theater. He gave back so, so much. Read his collected theater essays to know this. They are as good as any course you could take. Hero. Hero. Hero. “Ughhhh, I got a lotta books to sign.” And still he smiled into the camera. He must have sensed I came a long way.
Sheila,
I heard the news of Arthur Miller’s death pretty early. I have to confess something but bear with me before you get angry.
I CAN’T STAND ARUTHUR MILLER.
I heard of it before you posted about it, and mulled over the idea of sending you an e-mail passing the information along. I KNEW you would be moved. I KNEW you, of all people, would give one of the most heart-felt and beautiful eulogies a man could ever hope for in his lifetime. I KNEW you were one of the people that understood, appreciated, and ultimately, LOVED his work.
I am the LAST PERSON EVER you should have heard this news from. I hope you heard it from someone who shared your passion for his work. You guys are sharing in a pain that us “outsiders” can’t imagine.
I don’t get The Misfits. I don’t get “Death of a Salesman.” I just don’t get Miller in general, but you have this way, this passion of talking about blokes I otherwise wouldn’t spend a dime of my attention for this profound and exciting nature. You’ve reminded me why, even though I may not have necessarily compelled as such myself, these men are worthy of our most attention upon their death, even if it happens unsurprised at 89.
It reminds me of why you are my friend. Rest in peace, Arthur Miller.
Yeah, there’s a few “ins” or “outs” or something I left out, grammar-wise. Sorry.
Emily, I’m just curious. Have you ever read Miller’s short story, “The Misfits”? It’s one of the leanest, most evocative pieces of writing in the English language.
I saw the movie. Hated it.
I still say read the story sometime.
Dear Cousin Mike:
I have to see that picture! Why am I not surprised that you basically would not take No for an answer? You’re one of my heroes because of that friendly persistence of yours.
“It’s no disgrace to search one’s soul.”
And again – I feel this weird lump come up in my throat!!
Thanks, Mike, for sharing your story.
Emily, dear:
From you? That comment means so much!! I would never get angry because someone doesn’t like someone I like. My journey with Arthur Miller is a really personal one – and all of these posts have been my way of working through this – trying to realize that he’s gone. His writing has gotten me through some tough spots, and I have also had some of the greatest acting challenges of my life working on his plays.
There are plenty of artists out there beloved by many whom I can’t stand. Or … that I don’t “get” what the big deal is. (That would be a fun post to do some day. People The Entire World Loves – but Whom I Hate.) You know?
But thanks, anyway, for the generosity behind your comment. One of the things I do love about the Internet is that you can get inside glimpses into other people’s worlds, opinions, lives. And if it’s presented in such a way as to let you IN as opposed to exclude you, it can be so enlightening.
I’ve got no need to convince you what you might be missing about Arthur Miller, because I know you’re a smart woman, and we all have our own predilections and tastes, in terms of writing, and what speaks to us.
I’ve been talking about Arthur Miller all weekend – with my family, my actor friends … emails going back and forth – have you heard, have you heard, have you heard …
Even though the guy was a giant in my particular field … there is this weird sense that we have lost one of US. He included us. He was a part of MY world – for as long as I have wanted to be in this world of theatre – and I miss him already!
The unspoken beginning to his obituary
Sheila reminisces over Arthur Miller. And yes, I’m a philistine, as I never really liked Salesman. Sheila explains why I’m an idiot….
It’s been a while since I read the plays…but one of the impressions I did get from “Salesman” was a sense of classist snobbery. I’m thinking specifically about the scene where somebody says that for a salesman, there’s no rock bottom to life…he don’t put a nut on a bolt or tell you the law..” (quoting from memory here)
Now, maybe you could argue that in some way the life of an assembly line worker is more “authentic” than that of a salesman…I probably wouldn’t agree, but at least you could sanely argue it. But a *lawyer*? C’mon. More likely, it’s that in certain social circles, being a lawyer is considered more socially acceptable than being a salesman.
I also remember doing a college paper on tragedy which included “All My Sons” along with several Greek tragedies and a couple of other modern things…wish I could remember more about it.
Right on, Sheil. I agree: a huge loss. What an impact he had on the theater and on the people wo saw things like Salesman, All My Sons, After the Fall and more in their original incarnations. I am jealous of them all.
I also think that people sometimes miss the point of what a tragedy is actually supposed to be. It mistakenly gets loosely defined as “sad” or “powerful” or “moving” or whatever. I suppose it can be those things. But isn’t the main point is that its outcome is inevitable? That no matter how much these characters try, their demise is just impossible to avoid? (I’m thinking of that horrible scene, Sheila, where Willy goes to his boss, ostensibly to ask for a raise.) I think what makes his plays unique is that they are truly American tragedies. The overriding themes are unviersal, ’cause they’re great plays, but the feeling of them, the essence of them, is so evocative of our country’s obsession to grow, to consume, to improve, to conquer, to be “well liked”.
RIP, Mr. Miller. And thank you. And how fucking awesome of you not to name names.
Kate F
Kate –
In the horrible Broadway production with Brian Dennehy that I saw – that scene you mention (the one with the boss) was the most powerful – and it was because of the actor playing the boss (a friend of yours, right? A Chicago guy?) In that scene, I could FEEL the tragedy of the play. Willy Loman – the century passing him by … GREAT scene. Dennehy absolutely SUCKED, but that guy was awesome.