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I could have lied, I suppose. But even then I had a terrible dread of being found out. In the end, people always found you out. And when they did, it would be worse than if you’d simply told the truth in the first place
This passage occurs early in Part I of the novel, when Marion is sunbathing with Sylvie at the Lido and Tom asks why she cannot swim. Already infatuated with Tom, Marion is tempted to lie and claim that she is a good swimmer but decides against it. Here, she reflects on how much she hates the feeling of knowing she has lied and on the consequences when a lie is inevitably discovered. Lying to Tom might protect her from his disdain about her inability to swim, but it would also alienate her from him. In the end, it is swimming lessons that actually bring them together. This moment in the text foreshadows Marion’s lie about sending the letter that leads to Patrick’s arrest, imprisonment, and ultimately 40 years of estrangement between him and Tom. In this scene, Marion has a firm understanding of the consequences of telling lies and the potential risks of alienation and fracture in relationships built on secrets
Have thought about burning my last entry many times. Cannot. What else can make him real, except for my words on paper? When no one else can know, how can I convince myself of his actual presence, of my actual feelings?
Patrick writes these words early in Part II of the novel, when he has met Tom on the street a few times and Tom has agreed to be a model for Patrick’s portrait series. Patrick is conflicted about burning the journal entries. On the one hand, destroying his intimate writings would be an act of self-protection. In a time and place where gay desire is criminalized, his descriptions of Tom’s beauty and his intentions of becoming closer to him could put him at risk of social censure or legal charges. This moment foreshadows the scene of his arrest, when his journal puts Tom in jeopardy and ensures his own conviction. At the same time, in a world where same-sex desire cannot be spoken of openly, Patrick’s writing also represents one of the only ways he can confirm to himself the legitimacy and depth of his feeling about Tom. While secrecy would be the safer choice, it would also leave him more estranged from his own desire for Tom and from his authentic self.
Of course, if one does go to bars, one learns to take precautions—go after dark, go alone, don’t catch anyone’s eye while walking down the street, don’t go into any establishment too near your own house
Patrick writes these words in Part II of the novel, in the entry for October 5, 1957, as he describes going to the Argyle Hotel to meet other gay men. The Argyle offers men like Patrick a discreet haven from a world that punishes gay attraction, a safe space to connect with each other in secrecy. The Argyle has only a very small sign, and although Patrick has been there many times before, he uses a fake name there, an indication that discretion is still necessary even in the relative safety of the hotel, which remains under threat of police raids and blackmail. Once inside, Patrick finds a beautiful, welcoming place where he is known and seen for who he is. However, on his way to the Argyle, he avoids connecting with anyone, preferring anonymity above all. Patrick’s description of the precautions he takes when going to the hotel demonstrates how the very secrecy that keeps patrons safe also isolates them from the rest of the world.
