Doris Lessing's to Room Nineteen

Doris Lessing's "To Room Nineteen" In the end, the death of Mrs. Rawlings came gently, almost blessedly, for virtually all parties involved. Except for the children, for whom it is never pleasant to lose their mother. However, Susan's foursome had been well acquainted, at this point in time, with the mothering instincts of others, both Sophie and Mrs. Parks, so that, once the initial shock passed they lacked nothing in terms of the pragmatic needs of a mother.

And yet is was Susan who benefitted from her untimely passing most of all. How many hours had she spent, after all, enviously gazing upon the brown river running just outside her perfect garden in her perfect white house.

How often had she longed for its cool silence, the interminable motions of its course, unyielding, a function of nature in which there were no questions, no demands, and no responsibilities? The river was, for Susan, everything -- and her belief that ending her life would pass her into that eternal current was hardly surprising, given her fixation for it.

Even Matthew appeared to benefit from this arrangement, which was the end of his arrangement with his wife which, for several years, had taken a course decidedly averse from that which it started. He no longer had to conceal his attraction and affection for other women. Best of all for him, as a man in his position, he could claim (quite honestly) that it wasn't his fault. His wife had developed a certain incurable madness.

He had made all of the obligatory concessions, providing for an au pair, a cleaning woman, emotional and financial resources in abundance. His wife's sudden death would more than like only increase his value among the single (or otherwise) population of women whose society he had long since sought. More importantly, Susan's suicide had allowed him to confront his worst fear, that his wife had gone stark, raving mad.

He was able to deal with this realization in the best way possible, since the taking of her life both proved her illness and absolved him from all responsibility in the matter. Regardless of what she had told him about her lover (and what kind of name was Michael Plant anyway?), his faith in her sanity, in her reasonableness, and even, ye in her intelligence, had long ago dissolved into a fit of doubts. Yes, Michael certainly benefitted from Susan's death as well.

Morally, emotionally, and even in the physical world as a handsome (relatively) young man, he had certainly come out of the affair on the upside. Of course, the true irony in this situation is that Susan could have alleviated the need for her to end her life by simply giving voice to many of her own doubts, and insecurities that ultimately killed. Yet on more than one occasion, her pride prevented her from doing so.

Her propensity to rationalize all of her objections and true sentiments as absurd, as illogical, only led to her bottling these feelings inside of her. In many ways, she adopted this pose due to fear of her husband and the degree of perfection (as if such a thing were possible in the relations of.