Alcoholic Isolation in “Mr. Flood’s Party”
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In any case, consider how Eben treats the jug he has gone so far to fill, for it is
of no small importance to him. Robinson tells us that he lays it down, “...as a
mother lays her sleeping child,” that he cradles it with a perverse tenderness, “know
ing that most things break” (1. 28). We are reminded that Eben himself is cradled
between life and death, even as he is cradled between the town and the upland
hermitage. When Eben drinks, then, he is also setting himself “down.” The jug is
his “road,” his harvest, his alcoholic bottom. For Eben, then, life, his circumstances,
his liquor are all much the same. They are connected irretrievably to his jug. No
wonder then that he treats it tenderly. It is his ultimate progeny and his final legacy.
And so the old fellow takes another drink, makes another speech, rationalizes
a bit about the last time he got drunk in the middle of the road, and welcomes
himself home, although he is really only in the middle of the road. And then, fol
lowing one more drink, he closes his tender little party by singing, “For auld lang
syne” — to himself, although it is a song of fellowship. His choice of music is
horrifically sentimental. Bums’ poem, appreciated by some, has more recently
degenerated to a mawkish New Year’s ditty, and is perhaps best endured by mid
night celebrants who have three sheets to the wind.
It is interesting to note that the fact that Eben is entertained by two moons
during the song doesn’t seem to bother him