Points for a Compass Rose by Evan S. Connell

First published: 1973

Type of work: Prose poetry

Form and Content

“Compass rose” is a cartographic term, referring to a visual device which is an aid to navigation and a help to travelers. Found on maps, the rose is a circle divided into thirty-two points, the longest of which aims toward true, or magnetic, north, while the others determine the points of the compass. In many maps, especially those from earlier times, the compass rose is often elaborately ornamented with fantastic designs, making it both pleasing and useful. Yet above all else, it determines direction.

Evan Connell’s choice of title was apt, for Points for a Compass Rose is built upon the structure of a voyage of discovery and exploration. In Connell’s case, however, while the voyage is both external and internal, it is primarily within the hearts and minds of human beings, and the discoveries are the heights of nobility and the depths of baseness to which human ability can reach.

Points for a Compass Rose is classified as poetry only for want of a more precise term. In fact, it is a book which does not fit in any established genre, and to call it poetry is misleading. In form, the text has the look of free verse, but Connell’s lines lack the rhythmic signature and the economy of expression that distinguish poetry (even the freest free verse) from prose. In its organization, however, the book resembles many a modern poem, shifting rapidly from subject to subject. It is given unity by certain recurring themes and concerns which obsess the first-person narrator. These key themes are few, but they are capable of almost endless elaboration and explication: the nature and corrupting effects of power upon individuals and nations; the mysteries of nature; the relationship between science and magic; and, above all, human history and its impact on cultures and the individual. Connell does not arrange these themes in any consistent pattern, but allows them to flow together by association, one topic suggesting the next, then a third arising to comment upon the earlier subjects, and so on.

Points for a Compass Rose is essentially a personal meditation in quasi-poetic form, and in addition to the motifs which recur, certain structural devices help tie the work together. These are the repeated use of nautical imagery, particularly navigational coordinates; interspersed notations from chess games; historical references, most often to the Holocaust and the United States’ involvement in Vietnam; and the first-person narrator. Together, these elements help provide some coherence and unity.

The first three elements relate to Connell’s themes; the fourth provides a more personal aspect. The narrator is a person who has not one name, but many, and whose character continually changes. He provides much information about himself, but it is misleading and contradictory. He adopts the persona of such figures as the astronomer Johannes Kepler, the scientist Sir Isaac Newton, and the alchemist Paracelsus. In this fashion, Connell manages to connect his work with a single voice yet underscore the point that this work is a view not of one man but of entire cultures and civilizations.

Critical Context

Points for a Compass Rose is an important statement about the troubled times in which it appeared and represents a reaction of a significant portion of the American people to their country’s involvement in the Vietnamese conflict. The work was published in 1973, a time when there was considerable and often anguished debate about the role which the United States had taken in Southeast Asia. Connell’s position on the matter is quite clear, but he moves beyond polemic and momentary relevance by connecting the American experience with those of other great powers— Rome, Spain, Great Britain.

In a sense, Connell is asking questions about the nature of national power and its use, about the role of the individual in a nation. Such concerns are hardly new for Connell, but his approach—a long, discursive “poem”—was certainly unique for the period in which it was written. In this light, Points for a Compass Rose both comments upon its own time and manages to move beyond it, because of the many links and connections it makes with history.

Points for a Compass Rose also reveals its author’s artistic interests and abilities at an exceptionally high level. All Connell’s writings demonstrate an awareness of other cultures and an interest in the quirks and wonders of human nature, but this intelligence is never showcased. In The Connoisseur (1974), for example, his knowledge and mastery of pre-Columbian art is held in check by the narrative of the novel; the essays in The White Lantern (1980) never wander far from their central subjects. Still, in these and in Connell’s other writings, there is the sense that a great body of knowledge and lore lies hidden, waiting only for the right vehicle in order to be revealed.

In Points for a Compass Rose and its predecessor, Notes from a Bottle Found on the Beach at Carmel (1963), Connell found that vehicle. The loose, almost rambling system of these idiosyncratic works allowed him to introduce both fascinating fact and intriguing legend without concern for narrative consistency or the limitations of space; at the same time, the flexible framework he constructed enabled him to make the various bits and pieces cohere.

While Connell undoubtedly will continue to be best known for his novels, particularly the black comedy Mrs. Bridge (1959), his two book-length “poems” are his most innovative works. Connell adapted the method developed in these books for his greatest popular success, Son of the Morning Star: Custer and the Little Bighorn (1984), a historical meditation centering on the life of General George Armstrong Custer.

Bibliography

Bach, Bert C. Review in Library Journal. XCVIII (March 15, 1973), p. 874.

Dillard, Annie. “Winter Melons,” in Harper’s Magazine. CCXLVIII (January, 1974), p. 87.

Edwards, T. R. “Surprise, Surprise,” in The New York Review of Books. XX (May 17, 1973), pp. 35-37.

Fahey, James. Review in Best Sellers. XXXIII (June 15, 1973), p. 136.

West, Paul. Review in The New York Times Book Review. LXXVII (April 29, 1973), p. 7.