In the course of thirty pages, the sad tale I've been reading takes on a new and even more tragic layer of meaning when Pi reveals another version, one in which the animals are replaced by humans. Once we learn this, we immediately assume that Pi has probably made up the animal version as a way to cope with extreme tragedy. The beautiful, noble zebra represents the exotic Chinese sailor. The gutless, violent, ugly hyena embodies all the revolting qualities of the greedy, cowardly cook. The maternal orangutan, with her vaguely human body and mannerisms, represents Pi’s own mother. And the tiger is Pi himself, alternately vicious, passive, watchful, ravenous, self-contained, tamed, and feral. Both versions of the story—with and without animals—are viable, and Pi never tells us definitively which tale is true. Still, Pi seems to confess in these last chapters that he has made up his entire story as a way to cope with a shocking series of events. Only storytelling has the power to rescue him and deliver him from the absolute depths of despair.
Martel tweaks the traditional rendering of animals in children’s tales to strengthen Pi’s original story and to illustrate the similarities between humans and animals. Fables and children’s stories regularly make use of anthropomorphized (love that word!) animal characters. However, in Life of Pi, the animals are drawn realistically and behave in ways that are true to their species. In this way, Martel enables the protagonist, Pi, to make a strong case for the believability of his Richard Parker account—something that would not be possible if, for example, Richard Parker were a talking tiger or a tiger that magically turns, against his very nature, into Pi’s best friend. Furthermore, he drives home the point that we humans are not so different from animals after all. Deprived of the luxuries and conveniences we have built up for ourselves in modern times, we resort to our basic instincts and animalistic roots. So really, in the end, we're all animals waiting to be unleashed from our cages.
Part Three provides the most important phrase of the novel:“the better story.” With those three words, we come to understand that this is a book about how we choose what to believe and how we come to grips with a reality that is often more horrible that we can stand. In other words, as Pi reveals to us and to his two interviewers, the human capacity for imagination and invention is a mechanism for self-preservation. Pi is conscious that he has two stories to offer us: one with animals and one without. He is also aware that the one with animals is the more enjoyable of the two, the version that we, his audience, would much rather remember. The story with the Bengal tiger is farfetched but engaging, even charming. The version with the cannibalistic cook and the death of Pi’s mother, on the other hand, is heartbreaking and extremely upsetting. It reveals the underlying ferocity of our animal nature, something that we humans do not like to know about ourselves.
The entire premise of this novel is to question what the reader believes: faith or science? I am a science person, myself. I know that I live in the Bible Belt. I know that I would be shunned by many people if they knew I'd even questioned the existence of a god. But honestly, there are people dying right now of starvation and violence, as I sit it my comfortable and warm bed typing this. What kind of god would allow that to happen to his CHILDREN? Why do I have a warm home, clothes, and 3 meals a day, while others are happy to find decent scraps in the garbage? I want to have faith in a higher power. I want to believe that there is something greater than me at work in this world. But right now, I feel like I'm on my own version of Pi's floating island, with no intentions of getting off until something worth-while happens.
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