Chapter 5 — Teaching Companion

What it asks It asks why the narrator reaches for a court’s words to praise a gentle boy. George is “gentle and sweet,” with “from the first a kind of courtliness.” Then: “George was a sinless boy and grew to be a sinless man. No crime of commission was ever attributed to him, and his crimes of omission were only misdemeanors.” A crime of commission is a wrong done; a crime of omission is a duty left undone. In the next breath the narrator names a blood disease found in middle life, and adds: “It is possible that his virtue lived on a lack of energy.” The student says what the court’s words do to the praise. It feeds the hinge: a court judges what a man chose, and the narrator wonders if George’s goodness came from his blood, a nature he never chose. The card must not make the narrator certain; he says only “It is possible.”

One reading

Faint praise. A clean record says only what George never did. In a court the best he can earn is a verdict of not guilty, and the narrator at once explains the record with a tired body. The trial words set up the doubt that follows them.

• No crime of commission was ever attributed to him, and his crimes of omission were only misdemeanors.
• It is possible that his virtue lived on a lack of energy.

Another reading

Real praise, by the family’s own law. George grows up in a house of iron morals, among people the narrator says judge themselves before anyone else can. To come through that court with only misdemeanors is no small thing. The narrator speaks the house’s language, and George passes.

• and clothed them with good manners and iron morals too
• They condemn themselves before they are charged, and this makes them defensive always.

Listen for

• Hears “attributed”: the record says what was charged to George, not what was in him.
• Weighs the disease line on its own: if George’s goodness came from a lack of energy, is it still goodness?
• Sets George’s lack of energy beside Will’s “great energy” in the next paragraph, and asks what energy does for each son.

If stuck

• What is the difference between a crime of commission and a crime of omission?
• What did George find out about his health in middle life?
• What does the narrator guess about where George’s goodness came from?

A strong answer A strong response says what the court’s words do to the praise. One reader hears faint praise: a record of wrongs never charged says only what George did not do, and the narrator at once explains it with a tired body. Another hears the family’s own standard, the iron morals of Liza’s house, where people judge themselves before anyone charges them, and George passes it. The best answers notice that a court judges choices, while the narrator’s guess makes George’s goodness a matter of his blood.

What it asks It asks why the same man’s drawings stir envy on the page and unease in the margin. “He made drawings of work he intended to do with iron or wood. That was good and understandable, even enviable.” But “on the edges of the plans he made other drawings, sometimes trees, sometimes faces or animals or bugs, sometimes just figures that you couldn’t make out at all.” Then: “Then, too, you never knew in advance what Samuel would think or say or do—it might be anything.” Just before, the narrator has said that a poor man had no need for poetry or painting, and that if he kept at them anyway, “maybe he had reasons which would not stand the light of scrutiny.” The student explains why the useless drawings unsettle men who only envy the useful ones. It feeds the hinge: the valley distrusts Samuel for his nature, and the narrator guesses that Will heard that talk “in the San Lucas store” and learned to fear anything new. The card must not say the valley turned on Samuel; the chapter gives only “a vague distrust of him,” and it passes.

One reading

They cannot predict him. A plan for a machine part is useful; a face in the margin is not, and no one can say what it is for. A man whose mind wanders off the useful page might do anything. The drawings are a small sign of a mind they cannot fence in.

• sometimes just figures that you couldn’t make out at all
• Then, too, you never knew in advance what Samuel would think or say or do—it might be anything.

Another reading

They are uneasy about themselves. A poor man with gifts they lack makes them feel dull, and the narrator says such a man could prove too attractive to their wives. The laugh is embarrassed because the men are measuring themselves against him and coming up short.

• He might, for example, prove too attractive to the wives of men who knew they were dull.
• But a poor man—what need had he for poetry or for painting or for music not fit for singing or dancing?

Listen for

• Hears “understandable” beside “enviable”: the men envy what they can understand, and the margin is what they cannot.
• Hears the line between rich and poor: in a rich man an education “was acceptable,” in a poor man it raised questions.
• Follows the unease forward to the valley being proud of Samuel “in the way a man who owns a peacock is proud,” and asks what changed, Samuel or the valley.

If stuck

• What does Samuel draw on his plans, and what does he draw on the edges?
• What does the narrator say a poor man had no need for?
• How does the valley feel about Samuel some years later?

A strong answer A strong response explains why the useful drawings bring envy and the useless ones unease, and roots it in the paragraphs around them. One reader says the men fear what they cannot predict: a plan for iron serves an end they know, while a mind that strays into faces and bugs “might be anything.” Another says the unease is turned inward: envy measures a skill a man could learn, but a poor man with gifts no one can use shows the men their own dullness, and the narrator says as much about their wives. The best answers notice that the valley’s later pride is the pride of owning a peacock.

What it asks It asks what the order of one short scene shows about Tom. He “worried because his pretty little sister Mollie had an impediment in her speech.” He looks and sees that “a membrane under her tongue caused the trouble.” Then: “He led her to a secret place far from the house, whetted his pocketknife on a stone, and cut the offending halter of speech. And then he ran away and was sick.” A few paragraphs before, the narrator says Tom “would try things his father would not dare” and calls him “a nice mixture of savagery and gentleness,” and he gives the Irish a ghost that makes them “condemn themselves before they are charged.” The student explains why Tom is sick after the cut and not before. It feeds the hinge: Tom’s nature brings “giant joy” and “huge sorrow,” and here a bold gift and its cost come one after the other. The card must not say whether the cut cured Mollie; the chapter does not say. It must not say how Tom’s life ends.

One reading

Courage first, feeling later. Tom does what his father would not dare, out of worry for his sister, and his body pays only when the job is done. That is his nature: he dares more than his father, and his sorrow is as big as his joy.

• He would try things his father would not dare.
• And as he was capable of giant joy, so did he harbor huge sorrow, so that when his dog died the world ended.

Another reading

He knew all along. Tom takes Mollie to a hidden place where no one can stop him. The sickness is the guilt catching up, the ghost that makes the Irish judge themselves before anyone else does. Tom can act past his fear, but not past his conscience.

• He led her to a secret place far from the house, whetted his pocketknife on a stone, and cut the offending halter of speech.
• They condemn themselves before they are charged, and this makes them defensive always.

Listen for

• Notices “a secret place far from the house” and asks whom Tom is hiding from.
• Hears “halter,” a strap for leading a horse, and sets it beside Tom’s own page: a colt in a pasture, fences, spurs.
• Finds both halves of “savagery and gentleness” in one act: the worry for his sister and the knife.
• Keeps to the page: the chapter never says whether Mollie’s speech was mended.

If stuck

• What was wrong with Mollie’s speech, and what did Tom see?
• Where does Tom take her, and why there?
• What does the narrator say about Tom’s joy and his sorrow?

A strong answer A strong response reads the order of the last two sentences. One reader sees courage that runs ahead of feeling: Tom dares what his father would not, and his body pays only after. Another sees a boy who knew from the start, since he chose a hidden place, and whose sickness is the conscience the narrator gives the Irish. The best answers find both “savagery and gentleness” in one act, a gift that is also a cost, and leave open what the cut did for Mollie.

What it asks It asks the student to judge a motive the chapter never states. Joe “early discovered that a smiling helplessness was his best protection from work,” and “It was easier to do Joe’s work than to make him do it.” “Gradually he eliminated himself from every farm duty.” The sheep come last, when Joe “had failed at every job”: “the least difficult job of all and the one classically requiring no skill. All he had to do was to stay with the sheep.” He “couldn’t find them where they were huddled in the shade in a dry gulch.” Then Samuel makes the family promise to look after Joe “after he was gone,” and later Joe is to be sent to college. The student takes a side and defends it. It feeds the hinge: Joe “got exactly what he wanted with a minimum of effort,” and the question is whether that was a plan, a nature, or plain luck. The card must not say Joe planned it, and must not say Samuel dies in this chapter.

One reading

Yes, or near enough. Joe has learned that helplessness keeps work away, and the sheep are the last job the chapter gives him. After them his father makes the family promise to keep him. The narrator says plainly that Joe was the least helpless of them all.

• He early discovered that a smiling helplessness was his best protection from work.
• Actually he was the least helpless, because he got exactly what he wanted with a minimum of effort.

Another reading

No. Joe is no schemer; he is a dreamer who cannot keep his mind on a field. His furrows wander like a stream, he rides badly, and his mind is in the clouds. He lost the sheep the way he lost the furrow, and his luck was a family that loved him.

• his tortuous first furrow wound about like a flatland stream, and his second furrow touched his first only once and then to cross it and wander off
• His mother explained that his mind was in the clouds, as though this were some singular virtue.

Listen for

• Notices “discovered”: Joe found out that helplessness works, which is not the same as planning it.
• Weighs “probably mentally lazy too” and asks how sure the narrator is about what goes on in Joe’s head.
• Hears the family laugh “with affection” at Joe’s plowing, and asks who gains when the story is told that way.
• Keeps to the page: the narrator never says Joe meant to, and the promise looks ahead to “after he was gone” without showing a death.

If stuck

• What did Joe learn early about seeming helpless?
• What did Joe have to do to keep the sheep?
• What happens to Joe after he loses them?

A strong answer A strong response takes a side and answers the evidence on the other. One reader says Joe meant to, or near enough: he has learned that helplessness is his “best protection from work,” the sheep are the last job the chapter gives him, and the narrator calls him “the least helpless” of the family. Another says he is a true dreamer whose furrows wander off the way the sheep did, and whose ease is the luck of being loved. The best answers notice that the narrator says Joe “discovered” what helplessness gets him, and ask whether a habit learned that early is still a choice.

What it asks It asks how a woman who takes nothing in can leave so deep a mark. She “was unread and, except for the one long trip from Ireland, untraveled.” Her one book is the Bible, and the talk of Samuel and the young ones goes past her: “to them she did not listen.” She knew the Bible “so well that she went right on reading it without listening.” Yet the narrator calls it “amazing” how she stamped them, and says she “clothed them with good manners and iron morals too.” She “hated alcoholic liquors with an iron zeal,” refused the sick Samuel whisky with “Would you go to the throne of God with liquor on your breath? You would not!”, and at about seventy took port wine “in a tablespoon” as medicine, over a quart a day. The student explains the stamp from the page. It feeds the hinge: a mother’s iron presses on every one of them, and their own natures push back. The card must not make her only a joke; she has “a nail-hard strength” that made people hold her “in a kind of awe but not in warmth.”

One reading

By what she is, not by what she says. Liza has no doubts to argue with and no ear for anyone else’s. A rule that never bends is easy to learn and hard to forget. Her sons and daughters take her shape the way they take the weather, and the valley respects her for what she raised.

• There was a nail-hard strength in her, a lack of any compromise
• Liza enjoyed universal respect because she was a good woman and raised good children.

Another reading

Partly in reverse. A stamp pressed that hard can leave its shape backwards. She fought drink in everyone, and the narrator says that as a natural result Samuel and every one of the young Hamiltons loved a drink. In the end she drinks too, and keeps her law by calling it medicine.

• The result naturally was that her husband Samuel and all her children had a good lusty love for a drink.
• She always took the wine in a tablespoon, it was always medicine

Listen for

• Sets the whisky Liza refused the sick Samuel beside her own port “in a tablespoon,” and asks what the spoon lets her keep.
• Notices “naturally” in the line about drink, and asks whether the narrator is joking or stating a rule about families.
• Hears “in a kind of awe but not in warmth” and asks what a mark made without warmth looks like.
• Keeps her “nail-hard strength” in view, so the port wine does not turn her into only a joke.

If stuck

• What is the one book Liza reads, and how does she read it by the end?
• What did Liza say when Samuel asked for whisky?
• How do Samuel and the young Hamiltons feel about a drink?

A strong answer A strong response explains the mark from the page. One reader says Liza stamps by what she is: a rule with no give in it is easy to learn, and her “nail-hard strength” earns awe, if not warmth. Another says much of the stamp comes out in reverse: she fought drink in everyone, every one of them loved a drink, and she herself ends on port by the tablespoon. The best answers hold the comedy and the awe together, and ask whether her iron or their own natures had the last word.

What it asks It asks the student to judge the narrator’s account of Will. Will “had little imagination but he had great energy” and was “a conservative, not only in politics but in everything.” The narrator offers a cause and hedges it at every step: “Maybe his father had something to do with Will’s distaste for either change or variation.” In the first years there was “a vague distrust” of Samuel. “And perhaps Will as a little boy heard talk in the San Lucas store. Little boys don’t want their fathers to be different from other men. Will might have picked up his conservatism right then.” Later the valley grew fond of Samuel, “but by that time Will was formed.” Tom, the third son, “was most like his father.” The student takes a position on how far the guess holds, meets the strongest objection, and revises. It takes up the hinge’s fault line, a father and son who run in opposite directions, without yet asking whether nature or luck shapes a whole life. The card must not treat the narrator’s guess as fact.

One reading

Mostly, yes. The guess fits the man. Will wants above all to be like everyone else, and a boy who hears his father talked about would learn that early. The narrator even marks the time: the valley came round to Samuel only after Will was formed.

• Little boys don’t want their fathers to be different from other men.
• Will liked to live so that no one could find fault with him, and to do that he had to live as nearly like other people as possible.

Another reading

Not far. The narrator gives Will his “little imagination” before he offers any cause, and the cause comes wrapped in hedges. Tom grew up in the same house, with the same father, and came out most like him. These sons seem to arrive already themselves; the store talk reads like a story told afterward to explain one of them.

• Will had little imagination but he had great energy.
• Tom, the third son, was most like his father.

Listen for

• Sorts what the narrator states (“He was a conservative, not only in politics but in everything”) from what he only guesses.
• Tries timing against the Tom objection, then tests it: the distrust came in “The first few years,” but with a new baby every year, Tom was not far behind Will.
• Revises toward a view that holds both: a cautious nature that met the valley’s distrust at the age when it would stick.

If stuck

• Which words show that the narrator is guessing about Will?
• When did the valley distrust Samuel, and when did it grow fond of him?
• Which son is most like Samuel?

A strong answer A strong response says how far it believes the guess, meets the strongest objection, and revises. One thesis believes it: Will wants above all to be like other people, a boy who hears his father talked about would learn that early, and the narrator marks the time, “by that time Will was formed.” The strongest objection is Tom, the same father’s son and Will’s opposite, along with the narrator’s own hedges and the “little imagination” he gives Will before any cause. A good revision might hold that the store talk did not make Will’s caution but gave a cautious boy his reason.

What it asks It asks the chapter’s whole question. Of Will: “Certain individuals, not by any means always deserving, are truly beloved of the gods.” “Just as his father could not make money, Will could not help making it.” He buys into a failing store “for a pittance,” takes a bicycle shop “for a bad debt,” “grumblingly accepted” Henry Ford’s offer, and ends “a rich man driving a Marmon.” Of Joe: “a smiling helplessness was his best protection from work,” and “he got exactly what he wanted with a minimum of effort.” Of Samuel: he invents a part “better, cheaper, and more efficient than any in existence,” a manufacturer takes it, and he learns that “without money you cannot fight money,” yet “he had caught the patent fever.” And the land: “Samuel sunk well after well and could not find water on his own land. That would have made the difference.” The chapter closes on “a well-balanced family.” The student builds a thesis, meets the strongest objection, and revises. The card must not say how Tom’s life ends, what becomes of Una, Dessie or Mollie, or that Samuel dies here, and must not take “well-balanced” at face value.

One reading

Nature. Each Hamilton’s life grows out of what he is. Samuel cannot stop patenting; the narrator calls it a habit and a fever. Joe’s helplessness wins him ease because he worked it. Even Will’s luck is the kind he could use: he takes what is handed to him and asks for nothing new.

• But he had caught the patent fever, and year after year the money made by threshing and by smithing was drained off in patents.
• And the gifts he received were the ones he could appreciate.

Another reading

Luck. Will did nothing to raise the price of eggs, and Henry Ford came to him. Samuel’s invention was good, and a manufacturer with money took it. The ranch had no water, and water would have made them “comparatively rich.” Samuel is the man of ideas, and the land decides.

• When Will Hamilton raised chickens and his hens began to lay, the price of eggs went up.
• Samuel sunk well after well and could not find water on his own land. That would have made the difference.

Listen for

• Sets “Will could not help making it” beside the dry wells, and asks whether either sentence leaves room for choice.
• Notices that the narrator gives luck and nature in one breath: Will’s gifts were “the ones he could appreciate.”
• Tests “a well-balanced family” against who got what, and does not take the last line at face value.
• Keeps to the page: no word on how Tom’s life ends, what becomes of the daughters, or a death for Samuel.

If stuck

• How did Will come to own a share of the store?
• What happened to Samuel’s invention for the threshing machine?
• What did Samuel never find on his land, and what does the narrator say it would have done?

A strong answer A strong response takes a side, meets the strongest objection, and revises. One thesis says nature: Samuel’s “patent fever,” Joe’s practised helplessness and Will’s caution each lead to the life the man gets. The strongest objection is that luck does the deciding: eggs go up, Henry Ford arrives, a manufacturer with money takes the invention, and the wells stay dry. A good revision might hold that luck hands out the chances and nature decides who can use them, since Will’s gifts were “the ones he could appreciate.” Another might argue that “a well-balanced family” hides how unevenly both were dealt.