Motifs are recurring structures, contrasts, or literary
devices that can help to develop and inform the text’s major themes.
The Seasonal Cycle
The narrative of Walden, which at first
seems haphazard and unplanned, is actually quite consciously put
together to mirror the cycle of the seasons. The compression of
Thoreau’s two actual years (1845 to 1847)
into one narrative year shows how relatively unimportant the documentary
or logbook aspect of his writing is. He cares less for the real
calendar time taken up by his project than for the symbolic time
he projects onto it. One full year, from springtime to springtime,
echoes the Christian idea of rebirth, moving from one beginning
to a new one. (We can imagine how very different Walden might
be if it went from December to December, for example.) Thus each
season inevitably carries with it not just its usual calendar attributes,
but a spiritual resonance as well. The story begins in the spring
of 1845, as Thoreau begins construction on
his cabin. He moves in, fittingly and probably quite intentionally,
on Independence Day, July 4—making his symbolic
declaration of independence from society, and drawing closer to
the true sources of his being. The summer is a time of physical
activity, as he narrates in great detail his various construction
projects and domestic management solutions. He also begins his cultivation
of the bean-fields, following the natural cycle of the seasons like
any farmer, but also echoing the biblical phrase from Ecclesiastes,
“a time to reap, a time to sow.” It may be more than the actual
beans he harvests, and his produce may be for the soul as well as
for the marketplace. Winter is a time of reflection and inwardness,
as he mostly communes with himself indoors and has only a few choice
visitors. It is in winter that he undertakes the measuring of the
pond, which becomes a symbol of plumbing his own spiritual depths
in solitude. Then in spring come echoes of Judgment Day, with the
crash of melting ice and the trumpeting of the geese; Thoreau feels
all sins forgiven. The cycle of seasons is thus a cycle of moral
and spiritual regeneration made possible by a communion with nature
and with oneself.
Poetry
The moral directness and hardheaded practical bookkeeping
matters with which Thoreau inaugurates Walden do
not prepare us for the lyrical outbursts that occur quite frequently
and regularly in the work. Factual and detail-minded, Thoreau is
capable of some extraordinary imaginary visions, which he intersperses
within economic matters in a highly unexpected way. In his chapter
“The Bean-Field,” for example, Thoreau tells us that he spent fifty-four cents
on a hoe, and then soon after quotes a verse about wings spreading
and closing in preparation for flight. The down-to-earth hoe and
the winged flight of fancy are closely juxtaposed in a way typical
of the whole work.
Occasionally the lyricism is a quotation of other people’s
poems, as when Thoreau quotes a Homeric epic in introducing the
noble figure of Alex Therien. At other times, as in the beautiful
“Ponds” chapter, Thoreau allows his prose to become lyrical, as
when he describes the mystical blue ice of Walden Pond. The intermittent
lyricism of Walden is more than just a pleasant
decorative addition or stylistic curiosity. It delivers the powerful
philosophical message that there is higher meaning and transcendent
value in even the most humble stay in a simple hut by a pond. Hoeing
beans, which some might consider the antithesis of poetry, is actually
a deeply lyrical and meaningful experience when seen in the right
way.
Imaginary People
Thoreau mentions several actual people in Walden, but
curiously, he also devotes considerable attention to describing
nonexistent or imaginary people. At the beginning of the chapter
“Former Inhabitants,” Thoreau frankly acknowledges that in his winter
isolation he was forced to invent imaginary company for himself.
This conjuring is the work of his imagination, but it is also historically
accurate, since the people he conjures are based on memories of
old-timers who remember earlier neighbors now long gone. Thoreau’s
imaginary companions are thus somewhere between fact and fiction,
reality and fantasy. When Thoreau describes these former inhabitants
in vivid detail, we can easily forget that they are now dead: they
seem too real.
Thoreau also manages to make actual people
seem imaginary. He never uses proper names when referring to friends
and associates in Walden, rendering them mythical.
After Thoreau describes Alex Therien as a Homeric hero, we cannot
help seeing him in a somewhat poetic and unreal way, despite all
the realism of Thoreau’s introduction. He doesn’t name even his
great spiritual teacher, Emerson, but obliquely calls him the “Old
Immortal.” The culmination of this continual transformation of people
into myths or ideas is Thoreau’s expectation of “the Visitor who
never comes,” which he borrows from the Vedas, a Hindu sacred text.
This remark lets us see how spiritual all of Thoreau’s imaginary
people are. The real person, for him, is not the villager with a
name, but rather the transcendent soul behind that external social
persona.
