Life is composed of the time in which we breathe and live and exist. With each tick of the small hand our identities, mindsets, and events within life can change in an instant. Jeanette Winterson identifies this idea as the time that is spent within the mere hours of one’s life. Hours that prolong anxiety, or capture beauty, or reveal truth. These hours contain and hold much depth within their course.
“I watched the lights going off at some windows, on at others. Was she in his bed? What did that have to do with me? I ran a schizophrenic dialogue with myself through the hours of darkness and into the small hours, so called because the heart shrivels up to the size of a pea and there is no hope left in it.” (Winterson, Written on the Body)
Within the hours of the night, Winterson shows that each thought and second holds meaning for her. As she talks back and forth with herself she sees that she is driving herself mad in the attempt at love with Louise. These instances in Written on the Body emphatically compliment Michael Cunningham’s ideas about the hours spent in life. The same value is assigned to each passing moment. These single moments in time are viewed as moments that could change the course of life. Minor details are drawn out in an attempt to grasp the moment’s entire meaning. Nothing should be taken for granted here; this time is sacred.
“These were my thoughts as she slept beside me and if she had any fears she did not reveal them in those night-time hours. I looked at her lying trustfully in the spot where she had lain for so many nights. Could this bed be treacherous?” (Winterson, Written on the Body)
Just as there are hours that are extremely significant, there are also those that stretch in tedious, painful ways. These hours rip at our souls and seem as though the seconds last a lifetime and yet nothing happens in these slight moments. Winterson finds herself in a place in which she has no idea how to escape from. She sees these hours as being wasted away and, ultimately, as hours of absolute confusion and fear. This concept of the hours spent within the life of a human being diverges from Cunningham’s view of the hourse. He constantly expressed how a single day holds enough significance to reveal a lifetime of a person. The hours, in his mind was not meant to be wasted away by any means, it was to be explored and used as various turning points within someone’s life, not some mere passing of the time.
While both authors express “the hours” within their novels, both do so in distinct ways. Jeanette Winterson spends most hours confused and paces the time away as she undertakes her mind-boggling predicament at hand. Whereas, Michael Cunningham has his characters soak up each and every second possible, each and every trivial detail stitched within the fabric of a single day.