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Student NameTeacher NameENG-4UP30 May 2014A Deconstructionist Reading of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest Western society prides itself on its rules; rules which seem to have been universally agreed upon and defined for eons of time, and which will continue to govern morality forever more. Referred to by many names—natural laws, inherent morals, religious commandments, a collective unconscious, even— these “truths” are the basis upon which societies are built; without them, to quote Yeats, “the centre cannot hold” (Yeats 4). Society needs good to be better than evil, light to be better than darkness, and presence to be better than absence. So, then, one must ask the question: What happens if these truths fail to exist, or are proven to be faulty? Does society cease to exist? Does this disillusionment break down all order? Or, alternatively, does society recover and adapt? Is society flexible enough to do so? The answer to this question, though potentially unsettling, is both fascinating and necessary. Although it is impossible to break apart universal truths, one can escape this limitation through literature, in order to study their effect on society. Indeed, many authors purposely go against these agreed-upon truths, known as binary oppositions, either to highlight their ambiguity, or to prove them faulty and attempt to dispel them (Reynolds par.10). When it comes to literature, good does not necessarily have to be “good,” light does not have to be preferred over darkness, and absence can be seen as better than presence.One author who attempts to do exactly that is Ken Kesey, who, in his 1962 novel One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, reverses two binary oppositions that play a huge role in the governance of society: good versus evil, as well as sanity versus insanity. Throughout the work, the concept of a “good” figure as someone who is calm, collected, selfless, courageous and who buys into society’s values, and the “evil” figure as an immoral and antisocial person, are reversed and perverted to the point where the reader is uncertain whether there even is a truly good or evil character in the work. This, of course, is all in conjunction with a similar situation in regards to sanity—it can be argued, without question, that the titles of “sane” and “insane” can be shuffled around between the actual patients and their supposed caregivers. Kesey reverses said binary oppositions in order to defy several accepted truths; these being the “progressive” mental health system of the late fifties, the usefulness of professionals in treating the ill, and the inability of branded individuals to do good for society. Kesey succeeds in reversing, and ultimately, perverting these truths by switching them in two central figures in the novel: Nurse Ratched, its structural centre, and Randle McMurphy, the tale’s unlikely hero. The truth that is most obviously twisted throughout Cuckoo’s Nest is that of the mental healthcare system in America, particularly that of the late 1950s. In this time of accelerated change, psychiatry had, at least in the American imagination, reached its zenith (Faggen XV). Naturally, any institution, or system of institutions, which seems to have reached its peak would be regarded positively, and appropriately praised. The supposed success and efficacy of the American psychiatric system during this era, is the accepted truth that Kesey uses Nurse Ratched’s relationship with her patients to pervert, through his reversal of binary oppositions. The binary opposition of good versus evil, as seen in this work, does much to undermine this first truth. The ward staff, led by the Nurse, were supposed to be “knights of reason and order saving damsels from the proliferating dragons of the mind” (Faggen XV). How strange it is, then, that the realities of the hospital, despite being presented as having “a cheery atmosphere” (Kesey 9) by the Public Relation man, are, under the Big Nurse’s rule, oppressive and inhibitive of any real success. In fact, during the course of the novel, not one character, not a single one, goes home a healthy man. Instead, two notable patients on the ward, Cheswick and Billy Bibbit, commit suicide; the latter’s death being a direct effect of Nurse Ratched’s vilifying. So, while the “good” in the novel is responsible for lack of rehabilitation and ultimate suicide, the “evil” in the novel—that is, McMurphy— seems to be producing the opposite effect. McMurphy, not Nurse Ratched and her fellow hospital workers, is responsible for improvement among the patients in the ward. Consider the fact that Chief Bromden only speaks once McMurphy arrives, and that Billy Bibbit, despite being ill-fated, has the courage to say “good morning, Miss Ratched” (Kesey 270). While seemingly insignificant, this is the only time where Billy speaks without the stutter that has caused him so much pain in his life. This release from this suffering is on the count of losing his virginity, an act that was organized by McMurphy, the “evil” one. Therefore, by showing that the “good” characters do nothing to heal the ill, leaving them to be saved by the “evil” ones, Kesey undermines the advancements claimed to have been made by American psychiatric institutions at the time, resulting in a perversion of this accepted truth. The question of good and evil also lends itself to the question of sanity throughout the novel. In the ward, the “special glass” (Kesey 29) separates the “insane” patients from their “sane” caregivers, placing the insane in a sort of viewing gallery for the sane to observe. However, a close reading of the text will push one to ask a vital question: who is really mad here? The novel, particularly its introduction, would suggest that the public is paranoid of the “other,” and thus places perceived threats into asylums, where they are silenced (Faggen XVI). If this holds true, then would the mad ones not be the Nurse and her staff, instead of the patients? Indeed, the perceived notions of a psychiatric ward do not come into play here; the patients are seen as, for the most part, helpless and meek. Weakness is a sign of cowardice, sure, but not insanity. Furthermore, it seems as if the “insane” patients are the only ones who do each other any good in terms of improvement. McMurphy, a character that has been branded evil and insane, brings forth normal actions in the patients through his antics and particularly his fishing trip, where the men are finally able to have “a real laugh,” and thus regain “one of the biggest edges [a man’s] got on his side” (Kesey 63). This is, essentially, the blind leading the blind, or, rather, the insane leading the insane—if the aid of the insane is preferred over the aid of the sane, this sends a message about the true efficacy of the psychiatric system, and ultimately, proves its lofty claims to be just that—lofty. This, then, brings forth the second truth that is challenged and perverted in the novel—the usefulness of professionals in treating the ill. Again, the reversal of binary oppositions plays a large role here; if good and evil, sanity and insanity, were given the same definitions in the novel as in real life, this truth would be unable to be disproven. Instead, there is an obvious reversal of these concepts, which, collectively, moves against this accepted truth. Note, however, that this truth is different from the one before it—while the first deals with the efficacy of an entire system, the second evaluates only the training and usefulness of select individuals, represented here by Nurse Ratched. The binary opposition of good versus evil plays a huge role in determining whether or not Ratched is there for the right reasons, and, whether, despite her reasons for working at the ward, her services are useful to the patients. While traditional oppositions would argue that Nurse must be a “good” character (Aguiar 22), Kesey’s reversal of labels means that she is, in fact, evil, despite her archetypically good label. This leads to much confusion, for a woman who is a sadist must not, surely, want to take on a caring profession. And yet the Big Nurse is there, exercising her totalitarian power upon her meek subjects. She does this for quite some time; Bromden, the most seasoned patient on the ward, notes that he has “been on the ward longer’n [sic] anybody…[but] the Big Nurse has been here longer’n [sic] [him]” (Kesey 17), in addition to having been a military nurse in the past. Despite her training, experience and supposed control, Ratched achieves no improvement within her patients, proving that the preconceived good in the novel does nothing to promote good, and thus, turns good obsolete. If such a seasoned professional such as Ratched, despite the goodness she is supposed to radiate, is incapable of presenting any results, then the role of professionals in caring for the mentally ill is greatly undermined. Again, the reversal of the binary opposition of sanity versus insanity helps further refute this truth. Where sanity would be preferred over madness in most circumstances, the opposite is found throughout the book— the sane Nurse is vilified, while her insane patients are lifted up to saintly status. Perhaps it is the vilification of her sanity that prevents her from making any real progress with McMurphy or the other men in the ward; it places her in a position that is, yes, above her patients, but also too separated to make any positive change in their respective conditions. While her wall of glass is a pensive into the lives of her patients, it is still a barrier that keeps her from doing her job properly. Furthermore, her depiction as a sadist makes the patients fear her instead of trust her and her techniques, meaning that her “smooth, calculated, precision-made” (Kesey 6) form of therapy, which is rooted in the same straightforwardness that lies in sanity, ultimately works to her and her patients’ detriment. Altogether, the reversal of favor between sanity and insanity prevents Nurse Ratched from being able to accomplish her work, meaning that her role in the ward—besides one of discipline—is rendered pointless, thus dispelling the widely accepted truth that an experienced professional will be able to effectively treat the ill.It is worth noting, however, that there is one character that succeeds in making positive changes in the lives of the ward patients: Randle McMurphy. Boisterous, vulgar and immoral, McMurphy represents the reversal of binary oppositions to dispel one last truth—that a branded individual is incapable of bettering society. McMurphy’s character takes on an ambiguous position between “good” and “evil”— he is a Christ-like savior figure, and yet, he is also consumed with the selfish desire to make money off of his fellow patients. McMurphy, a convicted for “Drunkenness, Assault and Battery, Disturbing the Peace, repeated gambling…and Rape” (Kesey 40), has been assigned the “evil” label. And yet, why does he fulfill so many requirements—befriending the weak, opposing the tyranny of Nurse Ratched, standing up for the patients, coaching a basketball team—of a “good” character? Such is the ambiguity in these binary oppositions. While a traditionalist says that McMurphy is evil, another reader might interpret him as a messiah figure. The average reader, however, should interpret him as something in between the two. He spends much of his time collecting “almost three hundred dollars” (Kesey 228), and his flip-flopping between the two oppositions of the selfless leader and the self-interested gambler means that the above truth, about the inability of “bad” people to make a difference, is entirely false, if only because McMurphy’s character proves it is impossible to assign someone only one label—humanity is too complex for that. The ambiguity in McMurphy’s character is proof enough to show that the evil, or the good, are never entirely so, and for this reason, there is always hope for an individual to make a positive change. The perversion and blending of the good-evil binary opposition into the mumbo jumbo that is Randle McMurphy is necessary for the dismissal of this false truth.But, what of it? Why does the ambiguity in these oppositions matter? The answer is found in the question— life is ambiguous. Although humans ultimately try to create a sense of order amidst the chaos that is life, the neat labels and boxes humans have grouped themselves into, that Nurse Ratched attempts to sort her patients into, are not neat, or representative, or even efficient, at that. If everything works out the way it is supposed to— the rains fall when they should, the 50 Burnamthorpe bus arrives predictably, the patients in a mental ward show positive improvement with their conditions— then humanity would not only lack a motive for innovation and improvement, but it would begin to naively believe in everything the way it is now, or appears to be. This very blind acceptance of things the way they are is what Kesey is attempting to steer society away from in Cuckoo’s Nest. For, if people do not question the inner workings of their society, then questionable acts, such as the treatment in the Big Nurse’s ward, will continue to occur without any challenge. Surely, this is not what Kesey wants for his readers. Surely, this is not what readers want for themselves. Works CitedAguiar, Sarah Appleton. The Bitch Is Back: Wicked Women in Literature. Carbondale: Southern Illinois UP, 2001. Print.Faggen, Robert. Introduction. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. By Ken Kesey. New York: Penguin, 2007. Print.Kesey, Ken. One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest. New York: Penguin, 2007. Print.Reynolds, Jack. “Jacques Derrida (1930-2004).” Iep.utm.edu. La Trobe University, n.d. Web. 29 May 2014. <, William Butler. “The Second Coming.” . Poetry Foundation, n.d. Web. 29 May 2014. <;. ................
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