PRUFROCK’S ETHERISED PATIENT. Jon Barnes in the review I posted on yesterday quotes an attack by C. S. Lewis on The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock:
For twenty years I’ve stared my level best
To see if evening—any evening—would suggest
A patient etherised upon a table;
In vain. I simply wasn’t able.
I found this funny and thought provoking. What are the limits of metaphor? When is a metaphor too extreme? I usually agree with C. S. Lewis’s literary opinions. Nevertheless, I have always liked Eliot’s metaphor and I have not changed my mind. The comparison works as a brilliant version of the pathetic fallacy. Nature reflects Prufrock’s feelings of passivity and weakness. The line is also original and witty and a glancing blow at the Romantic poets who saw majesty in nature.