The Last Lovely City (Style)

Style

Partial Omniscient Narrator

The narrator of “The Last Lovely City” is omniscient with regard to Benito, but does not seem to know anything substantial about any of the other characters. The narrator’s knowledge of Benito is related through two perspectives — one an objective view of Benito, and the other comprising Benito’s thoughts and perceptions. This allows the reader to observe Benito from a distance while at the same time getting a glimpse at his thoughts and feelings.

Often, the narrator allows the reader to see the struggles taking place within Benito. He misses his wife terribly, and he is plagued by faltering self-esteem. Thinking about his clinics in Mexico, he wonders if all they really need from him is his money rather than his expertise. He thinks, “Had that always been the case? Were all those trips to Chiapas unnecessary, ultimately self-serving?” The narrator demonstrates Benito’s feelings of loneliness as he ventures into the world, as when he thinks about the people likely to be at the party:’ ‘All those groups he is sure not to like, how they do proliferate, thinks old Benito sourly, aware of the cruel absence of Elizabeth, with her light laugh, agreeing.”

At the same time, the narrator provides objective passages about settings and conversations, allowing readers to see how others view Benito. In the following passage, the narrator moves from Benito’s thoughts to an objective point of view:

What old hands, Benito thinks, of his own, on the wheel, an old beggar’s hands. What can this girl want of me? he wonders. Some new heaviness around the doctor’s neck and chin makes him look both strong and fierce, and his deep-set black eyes are powerful, still, and unrelenting in their judgmental gaze, beneath thick, uneven, white brows.

Descriptive Settings

Throughout “The Last Lovely City,” Adams provides highly descriptive passages of settings. She describes the landscape, the party, and a room in which Benito and Dolores once met. As Benito and Carla are driving to the party, they approach Stinson. Adams describes the view and gives life to the landscape by describing its inhabitants:

They have now emerged from the dark, tall, covering woods, the groves of redwood, eucalyptus, occasional laurel, and they are circling down the western slopes as the two-lane road forms wide arcs. Ahead of them is the sea, the white curve of the beach, and strung-out Stinson, the strange, small coastal town of rich retirees; weekenders, also rich; and a core population of former hippies, now just plain poor, middle-aged people with too many children.

The description of the party itself reads as a cursory glance across the room, capturing the feeling of being there with just enough detail to make it seem real. Adams writes, “This large room facing the sea is now fairly full of people. Women in short, silk, flowered dresses or pastel pants, men in linen or cashmere coats.” Adams’s descriptive passages also bring Benito’s past to life. She describes a hotel room in which he and Dolores once met during their romance:

Heavy, gold-threaded, rose-colored draperies, barely parted, yielded a narrow blue view of the San Francisco Bay, the Bay Bridge, a white slice of Oakland. The bedspread, a darker rose, also gold-threaded, lay in a heavy, crumpled mass on the floor.