55 pages • 1 hour read
The End Of The Affair
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Sarah’s Diary
Sarah’s diary becomes one of the most important objects in the text. Not only does it allow the reader to view events from Sarah’s perspective, but it also represents a division in trust and a crossing of boundaries by Bendrix. It also motivates the plot, driving the relationship between Bendrix and Sarah forward.
Throughout the majority of the book, the reader has little choice but to view the world from Bendrix’s perspective. As an eloquent writer and a man capable of interesting social insights, the novel depends on Bendrix’s voice as a source of entertainment. But there is little doubt that Bendrix is a subjective writer: Bendrix himself admits in the opening of the text, “I am writing against the bias because it is my professional pride to prefer the near-truth, even to the expression of my near-hate.” (4), specifically mentioning the “near-truth” rather than the whole truth. Because of this biased perspective, the diary comes to represent an alternative viewpoint, another way in which to view the world.
To mark this difference, Greene changes his writing style. Whereas the bulk of the text is written in Bendrix’s searing prose, Sarah’s style is more metaphysical and more confessional. Even structurally, Sarah breaks her words up in the diary format, listing days and dates, which allows the reader to slot these events into the wider narrative. The form and the prose-style differ so much from Bendrix that the narrative voice feels different and almost more authentic, particularly when trying to diagnose or understand Sarah’s character.
Sarah’s perspective is different in a number of key ways. In those instances when Bendrix describes a scene, he often fills it with negative emotions. When Sarah intrudes on his initial meeting with Henry, for example, Bendrix describes her appearance as “one of the moments of hate” (10) and couches the meeting in negative, scathing emotions. For Sarah, however, the moment is one of unrequited love, of forbidden emotions which she has sworn not to act upon. This difference in perspective educates the audience as to the depth of Sarah’s character, adding an important subtext to a scene and completely altering the dynamic between the characters.
In addition to this, Bendrix’s acquisition of the diary is an important character moment. Already, he has hired private detectives to follow Sarah and has lied to gain entry into the house of a man who he suspects to be her new lover. But when Parkis presents the diary to Bendrix—stolen during a cocktail party—Bendrix is unable to see how this might be wrong. The only thing which prompts “my sense of guilt” (47) is his hurrying along of Parkis, rather than the theft of one of his former lover’s most personal possessions. Bendrix demonstrates few qualms about reading the diary and shows the audience how obsessed he has become. The moral question of whether to read the diary is never investigated, dominated as it is by Bendrix’s determination to find out what has happened to Sarah.
It is also the reading of the diary which teaches Bendrix the truth about the end of his and Sarah’s relationship and prompts him to try and rekindle the flame. After reaching the end and learning about her pact with God, Bendrix “went to the telephone and dialled her number” (66). From this moment on, he will hassle and pursue Sarah, eventually leading to her demise. The diary allows him this insight and encourages him to act; the breach of trust and realization that Bendrix and Sarah should be together is what—ultimately—kills Sarah.
Bendrix’s Home
Bendrix’s home becomes one of the key metaphors for the decline in his relationship with Sarah. Bendrix and Sarah are alone together in his bedroom when the V1 rocket falls, prompting the moment when Sarah makes her pact with God. Half the house is destroyed, along with the relationship itself. This is the key moment in these two people’s lives and the destroyed house becomes a reflection of the destruction inflicted on their personal lives.
The destruction of the house is evident from the very first pages. Bendrix talks of “the steps that had been blasted in 1944” (4) and remarks that, though a large amount of the house had been damaged, the stained-glass window survived. The survival of the stained-glass window—a feature reminiscent of English churches—is an important distinction, as it can be seen as the survival of Sarah’s faith in a moment of great violence. The step, the threshold which Bendrix must cross every day, does not survive, and the material realities of his life are forever damaged. The “broken steps” (78) and the “ruined steps” (104) are mentioned throughout the novel, reminding the reader of the lingering damage which can never be repaired in Bendrix’s life.
In a similar fashion, Bendrix’s house must be abandoned if he is to move on to a new life after Sarah’s death. Throughout their affair and his post-affair depression, Bendrix is caged up in the hastily-repaired home. Throughout this time, the memory of Sarah and their relationship haunt him. Although this memory will never quite leave him, it takes her death for Bendrix to truly move forward. He does this by leaving his house behind. When Henry invites Bendrix to live with him, Bendrix takes the offer almost as a joke. But he accepts, nevertheless. The house where Sarah swore an oath to God that doomed their relationship holds too many distressing memories, far more than the house where she actually lived. By leaving behind this physical structure, Bendrix can—partially, at least—leave behind the memory of Sarah which has defined his existence to this point in the text. Just as the damaged house represents the damaged relationship, separating from the house allows Bendrix to separate from the memory of Sarah.
The Face of Richard Smythe
Richard Smythe, the man who acts as an evangelist for atheist views, possesses a strikingly handsome face which is beset by “gross livid spots which covered his left cheek were almost like marks of distinction” (44). The existence of these birthmarks becomes a point of embarrassment for Smythe and a matter of comment for Sarah and Bendrix. When he sits down, Smythe attempts to face a certain angle, so as not to subject his company to the distressing marks. He covers a portion of his face at times, trying to hide the marks and preserve his vanity. But the existence of these marks becomes a key metaphor for faith in the text.
As the most fervent non-believer in the text, Smythe plays a key role in Sarah’s questions over faith. He represents one end of the spectrum of belief, while the other is represented by Father Crompton. When Sarah wants someone to dissuade her from the idea that God exists (and, thus, she does not have to adhere to her promise), she chooses to visit Smythe. During the text, it is suggested that the reason for Smythe’s irreligiosity is his facial marks. Any God who could inflict such marks on his otherwise handsome face, the suggestion goes, is no benevolent God at all. Thus, Smythe might resent the idea of a divine presence, as his own faith gives him a reason to be such an enthusiastic atheist.
However, this changes with the death of Sarah. By the end of her life, Sarah had moved closer toward the Catholic faith. Smythe, falling in love with her at the same time, found his own sureness slipping. The more Sarah believed, the less important his own lack of belief became. He hoped that she would overlook his scars and marry him, though Sarah replies, “I believe in God […] you taught me” (65). This subtle dismissal of everything Smythe stands for in life helps him to confront his own religious views. After this point, he is no longer the strict force for rationalism that he once believed himself to be.
By the end of the text, when he has confessed a growing faith, Smythe meets with Bendrix on the common. Smythe “clamped a handkerchief to the bad side of his face” (99), eventually revealing to Bendrix that the marks have disappeared. At first, he thanks modern medicine; later, talking on the phone, he suggests that “it cleared up, suddenly, in a night” and adds, in a conspiratorial tone, “you know how” (98). This clear suggestion of divine intervention angers Bendrix and is enough to shake Smythe’s fundamental beliefs. The removal of the marks on his face represents the shifting nature of religion and the idea that even the most stringent non-believer can be converted.
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