No Exit

Books Of My Life

So here we are, Garcin says as the Valet ushers him into a drawing room in the opening scene of Sartre's one-act play, No Exit.

The entire dramatic work takes place in this room with only four characters - Garcin, the Valet, Estelle, and Inez. 

As we read and discuss this work, put yourself in that drawing room with two people you hate the most in the world. My Professor in the 20th Century Literature class takes a deep breath and rubs his chin as he instructs us.

Visualization exercise? I give him a questioning look, as I wait for insight that doesn't come.

As I can't think of anyone whom I can claim to 'hate the most,' I decide to go in by myself, after taking one last look at the leaves skittering across the pavement outside, pushed along by an aimless wind. 

Think about the place you have chosen as your hell, the Professor darts a quick glance at us as he leans forward, putting his elbows on the desk, as if waiting for a magic trick.   

You, my reader, may say, Wait, what is this 'hell' thing? Just so there is no confusion as to where this is going - spoiler alert! This play contains the germinal existentialist thought that 'hell is other people,' so the word 'hell' will be referenced many times, though not in its traditional denotation, as you will shortly see.

How does it look? Professor continues to probe, almost in a whisper. 

Looking around, I feel a sense of strangeness and belonging all at once. This is what it looks like? I'm mouthing Garcin's words. I'm clearly surprised as well. Where are the instruments of torture? There are no racks and red-hot pinchers and other paraphernalia. The room, in fact, looks ordinary and bourgeois, and yet I've never felt so trapped in my entire life.  

The Professor's voice is mesmerizing as he further prompts us in our imagineering. Enter Sartre's space more fully and imagine how it would feel to live there endlessly, day and night.

I force a laugh and shake my head. Oh, I see. No mirrors, I notice. No windows. And nothing breakable. No toothbrush. And no bed, either. One never sleeps. I clear my throat gently against the back of my wrist. So one has to live with one's eyes open all the time.  

Can hell be described as too much of anything without a break?  Professor wrinkles up his face, folds his arms, and murmurs in a distant voice.

I suppose so. I gesture vaguely, like dispelling fumes. Looking sideways, I soon realize the presence of Inez, Estelle, and Garcin. Avoiding my glance, each has taken a seat on one of the three sofas. I sit there with them, feeling nothing. I can't breathe. It is as if time had stopped.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to force my mind to go blank, when I hear Estelle's complaint. Everything here's so hideous; all in angles, so uncomfortable.

Garcin stares at her without blinking. He speaks briskly, hurrying over the words. Whew! How hot it is here! 

The pervading mood seems unreal. There I am, with all three damned souls struggling to understand what sin has led them to hell.

Now we have to pay the reckoning, Garcin says bitterly.

We all turn to face him, tipping our heads up to meet his eyes. Then a chilling realization dawns on us. There is no torturer. No executioner. No flames to burn the soul eternally. It’s just the three of them - and I with them! - trapped in a deadlock.

Each of us will act as torturer of the others, Inez blurts out loudly and coughs, her voice rusty.

But thinking that anything will be better than this agony of mind, this creeping pain that gnaws and fumbles and caresses and never hurts quite enough, they contemplate to find an exit.

Oh, yes! - and I'm bolting out with you, I mutter. 

Surprisingly, as the door opens, they won't go.

Alone, none of us can save himself or herself; we're linked together inextricably. Garcin shakes his head in a quick gesture of acknowledgment. 

I get it. Those in the room are the punishment. 

We're inseparables! Inez says, moving her hands expressively. It's no use trying to escape. Night will never come, her voice trails off.

His eyes sunken, hollows in the gloom, Garcin gives a weary nod as understanding emerges. So this is hell. I’d never have believed it. You remember all we were told about the torture-chambers, the fire and brimstone, the “burning marl.” Old wives’ tales! There’s no need for red-hot pokers. HELL IS OTHER PEOPLE!

SO here we are, forever, Inez says, her face taut. 

Forever. My God, how funny! Forever, Estelle repeats weakly.

Garcin's mouth expands into a sudden grin. Forever, and ever and ever. Well, well, let's get on with it...

But I'm out of here, I say under my breath, as I desperately catch the freedom of the open door and exit the drawing room.

Back in my reality, I feel something strange engulf me, an unknown sensation of despair and emptiness. I barely hear Prof's clipped tone, Class, next week, Camus. We'll be citizens of Oran in 'The Plague.'

I nod weakly. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for me, a sinner, now and at the hour of my death.