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46 pages 1 hour read

Nathan Hill

The Nix

Nathan HillFiction | Novel | Adult | Published in 2016

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Character Analysis

Samuel Andresen-Anderson

Samuel is a scared and lonely boy living in the shell of a 30-something failure. For all its storylines, The Nix at its core chronicles Samuel’s coming-of-age: his emotional and psychological evolution into a healthy and balanced adult with a clearer perception of relationships, his family, and himself. The trauma of his mother’s sudden abandonment essentially creates Samuel’s character: his inability to trust; his hiding behind the easy dodge of snarky irony; his reluctance to engage others, particularly his students and his father; his preference for the escape into the solitude of reading (as a child), writing elaborate goth stories (in college), and video gaming (now); his inability to commit to anything long term; his lack of self-worth; and most dramatically in his decade-long obsession with the twin sister of his only friend, which reveals his awkwardness at sharing his emotions despite his deep-seated need to be loved.

 

Unlike a child coping with the death of a parent, Samuel copes with a mother who disappeared when he was 10, the threshold age of beginning to understand the world. Decades later, he still struggles to understand why. He is certain there must be a reason, but from his vantage point he has already judged his absent mother as a horrid person. He drifts in the emotional malaise of his acceptance of himself as a failure. He begins the novel huddled in the darkness of his campus office, lost in the intoxicating never-neverland of his video game world, unwilling to face the enormity of his childhood trauma. He is content to step away from his own life; when he does bring himself to think about his life and its direction, he is content to respond in anger and irony. He cannot understand why his life has not worked out like those simple Choose Your Own Adventure books from his childhood, or like the game world where effort is rewarded and there are no surprises.

 

When he comes at last to accept how complicated and layered his mother’s action was, he taps into a generosity of empathy and compassion that marks his emergence as an adult, ready now to write the novel he has long delayed, to accept the complicated challenge of relationships, and to embrace his most imperfect self. 

Faye Andreson-Anderson

Until we learn (as Samuel learns) the complicated motivations that impelled Faye to abandon her family in 1988, Faye can seem selfish, arrogant, careless, and judgmental, particularly toward those women who in the 1960s, at the height of the feminist revolution, still elected to embody the traditional conservative ideal that a woman is best defined by the nest she creates and maintains. After all, the first glimpse we have of Faye is when she is 61, hurling rocks at a charismatic conservative presidential candidate whose political agenda promises to gut advances in women’s rights.

 

Faye is a woman shaped and defined by her political and social culture. Early on she finds her family confining. Restless within the intellectually shallow backwaters of her Iowa childhood, Faye dreams of a university education that seems a threat to her parents and to her conventionally earnest boyfriend. Her daring to express her sexuality destroys her reputation in the Iowa town and sends her off to college. There, she wants to lose herself, be part of something bigger than herself, bigger than the world of tending to a husband and children.

 

For the few weeks she attends the University of Illinois-Chicago Circle campus, she is initially swept up by the heady poetry of Allen Ginsberg that promises to open the portals of her soul to a vital and animated cosmos and then by the crazy energy of the underground student activist organization. Faye is not certain of its political ideals, but she is sure of the passion. She joins the riots in the street, part at last of something important. Her brief flirtation with a lesbian relationship and then, even as the riots tear apart the streets of Chicago, her impulsive decision to make mad and reckless love with one of the most outspoken and exciting student leaders, bring her rebellion to its grand climax.

 

Her disastrous return to Iowa and her struggle to make family work only reflect her deep-seated restlessness, her dissatisfaction with who she is, and her need to be part of something bigger. The evolution of her character in the narrative present is sweeping in its scope. In her difficult reunion with Samuel, her pilgrimage to the world of her father’s childhood, and then at last her return to Iowa to nurse her dying father, she sees what she never accepted before: the quiet reward of humility, the reward for caring for others, and the deep satisfaction of family once her identity is defined. 

Alice

In college, nonconformist Alice frees her deepest creative and emotional self through her rejection of convention and social expectations. Whether she is embracing the radical street politics of the counterculture, experimenting in unconventional relationships and sexuality, or trying to save the Lake Michigan dunes, Alice is defined by her need to be part of something of genuine value that will benefit the world she sees as manifestly imperfect. Initially suspicious of Faye when Faye arrives on campus, Alice will become the catalyst of Faye’s emotional evolution, exposing Faye to the power, passion, and energy of idealism. The very hopelessness of Alice’s idealism, the futility of her quixotic notion that the world can be saved, could easily make her the novel’s tragic hero.

 

However, Hill is not interested in such simplifications, flattening Alice into some disillusioned and defeated hippie. We see how Alice has evolved since the naïve hope and untested idealism of her college life in the 1960s. We meet her living quietly with her life partner. Alice clearly no longer believes in ultimatum and confrontation. She now quietly and resolutely works for a better world by tending to the mustard grass invasion of her beloved dunes. She knows the hard work demanded by such an endeavor. She tells Samuel that each mustard green must be pulled by its roots, a tedious and thankless job that parallels her lifelong need to be a part of change. She refuses to abandon hope. At 62, she is feisty, still keen to make a difference. When Samuel tells her the name of the judge Faye will be facing, Alice does not turn her back on her ex-lover; she maintains a generous and compassionate heart. Much like both Samuel and Faye, Alice comes to embrace the concept of balance and outreach. She finds unexpected contentment in her domestic arrangement, as well as in her unflagging commitment to making the world better. 

Bethany Fall

As an object of young Samuel’s infatuation, we initially learn about Bethany through Samuel’s idealized perception: She is beyond beautiful, and she is perfect. She is an artist, a musician of such intoxicating range that Samuel loses himself in her aura. Given Samuel’s own loneliness and his inability to open up to others, it is not surprising that here he falls in love not with a girl but with an angel. Bethany is not real. She seems to hover above the Fall house as Samuel struggles to account for the tectonic impact of the girl’s presence. When they first meet while Samuel plays Nintendo with her brother, the merest brush of her shoulder against him utterly changes Samuel: “[S]uddenly he felt that all the meaning in the world was concentrated in those few square inches” (121).

 

It is a familiar premise: a young boy’s first love, before puberty alters the energy of attraction. Through his twenties, Samuel can never quite find the way to make Bethany part of his life and its sad, steady spiral into failure. In the process of Samuel’s long (and delayed) coming-of-age, Samuel comes to understand that Bethany is not some idealized object to be adored but rather a complicated person of enormous emotional range, with a heart capable of being broken beyond repair.

 

The event that radically alters Bethany’s character is the death of her twin brother in Iraq. That trauma leads to her ill-advised engagement to a Wall Street financier she does not love. In a grand passive aggressive act, Bethany, engaged to a wealthy financier, joins the legions of protesters who agitate against the accumulation of wealth by the few, a gesture of profound psychological implications as it points to a level of self-loathing. The death of Bishop shakes Bethany and leaves her alone and aching. She reaches out to Samuel to draw on the comfort and security of his adolescent infatuation. We see what Samuel is slow to understand: The death of her brother has left her emotionally vulnerable (much like Faye) to the coaxing offer of a stable, if loveless, marriage.

 

Much like both Faye and Alice, Bethany evolves into a genuine, feeling, complicated woman. When Bethany offers herself to Samuel to sabotage her approaching marriage, we see the depth of her desperation. In the closing pages, Samuel, having lunch with Bethany, now married to a financier, does what he could never do before: opens up to Bethany, one scared and vulnerable friend to another. He collapses emotionally and begs her to let him hunker down in her seven-bedroom townhouse, to help him begin to reboot his own life, one friend to another: “Stay as long as you need” (720)—in that moment, Bethany converts from idealized angel to compassionate friend.  

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By Nathan Hill