WARNING: The following post discusses details of Deborah Heiligman's novel, Intentions which may spoil the book if you have not read it yet. You've been warned!
Conflict is an essential literary
element in all works of fiction. The very connotation of the word indicates a
clash, an explosion of sorts, between two opposing forces. For writing to even
attempt to capture the essence of the human experience, protagonists must fully
engage in a complex push-and-pull so readers can believe and relate to the story.
Novels run the risk of being too predictable when the stakes are not
sufficiently developed, resulting in flat characters and a stock storyline.
However, when done effectively, the essential conflict might appear to have a
multitude of possible outcomes, effects, and consequences – not only for the
main character, but beyond his/her scope as well. Thus the strength of the
relationship between given characters, between characters and society, and
between characters and themselves becomes the lens by which readers can
determine the importance of a particular conflict. Qualities such as honesty,
loyalty, and truth very often determine a protagonist from an antagonist – with
each reacting in an expected manner to highlight the progression of a
character. These aforementioned qualities serve as a basis for the development
of inner conflict in the novel Intentions,
by Deborah Heiligman. Here, the author builds that inner conflict through the main
character’s struggle by creating a solid dilemma to highlight the importance of
truth in relationships.
Initially, the main character,
Rachel seems blissfully unaware of the limitations of her world. Like all
teens, she is trying to make sense of her place in a world she thinks she already
understands. But little does she know, everything she once believed true will
come crashing down around her and that is where her story actually begins.
Heiligman opens the novel with seemingly fully-developed relationships in play;
Rachel is active in Hebrew school, has a tenuously changing relationship with
her best friend, and is trying to navigate a volatile home life with her
parents constantly fighting. However, when she overhears the rabbi having
inappropriate sexual relations with a soon-to-be-married member of the congregation,
the order of priorities shifts and a particularly interesting inner-conflict
emerges. Forced to attend Hebrew school, Rachel wonders how she “can sit here
and listen to him” (12) knowing what she now knows to be true about the once
exalted rabbi: he is a flawed man, his word has lost its power, and perhaps
he’s even a despicable person to boot. This shift in focus, the added layers to
the problem, and Rachel’s own desire to right the wrong all heighten the impact
of the issues and possible consequences for all involved.
Heiligman’s clear attempt to raise
the stakes – the influence of a higher power, the main character’s relationship
with her faith, and the possible ramifications for the entire congregation –
forces the reader to take note. The idea that truth can be something one might
need to hide in order to survive supplants additional pressure for the main
character. She does not run and tell her parents because that relationship is
in flux. She cannot confide in her best friend because that relationship is
strained. Instead, she harbors the information, letting it weigh down on her
until she almost destroys herself with the pressure of knowing. Every time she
enters the scene of the crime (the sanctuary) she swears she suffers from
“post-traumatic stress syndrome” (35). Understanding that she herself is not
being inauthentic, nearly eats her alive and the reader can simultaneously
sympathize and root for her to prevail.
Conversely, Rachel’s struggle is a
realistic one given the wide web of people who stand to lose as a result of her
dilemma. Heiligman takes care to paint with a brush that exposes flaws, poses
questions, and leaves the reader wondering about the result long after the
conflict is resolved. Rachel does not act as she should, but as she must. It is
not so much a desire pushing her forward, it’s the stress of the situation she
finds herself in. The pain of not being able to tell this secret – whether
perceived or real – fuels her motivation for most of the novel and she very
often does the wrong thing.
As a result of this inner-conflict, Rachel
tries pot, cheats on her good
boyfriend with the resident bad boy (who also happens to be said rabbi’s messed
up son), and stumbles through a series of desperate attention-seeking interactions
with her former best friend. It is this relationship that is the most
frustrating one for the reader to accept. Rachel seems to teeter between
wanting Alexis to go away and pathetically begging for her to stay. The fact
that Rachel goes so far as to frame her for shoplifting seems to signify a deep
character flaw in Rachel’s own progression. Whether Heiligman is trying to make
a statement here or not, this action suggests that Rachel’s downward spiral is
complete.
Finally, the inner conflict explodes and the
secret is exposed. If the novel has one main flaw, it is in the cheeky
resolution. Readers who are emotionally invested in Rachel, her family, and
even the rabbi might be disappointed with Heiligman’s attempt at smoothing over
the ending with a rose-colored paintbrush. The falling action seems rushed and
the tone too light-hearted for the heavy musings that preceded it. The
conversation between Rachel and the rabbi on page 245 simply does not hold the
same emotional weight or value:
“‘I know what you did…’
‘Rachel,’ he says.
‘I
hate you,’ I whisper. I look up. He’s looking at me, not away. ‘I hate you!’ I
say again.
The rabbi sighs” (245).
Additionally, the conversation
continues to unravel in a rather unbelievable series of back and forth
exchanges that also do not ring as true as they should. Rachel even goes so far
as to give the rabbi advice about his son. For me, this exchange not only weakens the
journey but threatens to unravel the very core of the conflict build throughout
the novel. I simply want more from Rachel, from the plot, from the people (which may or may not be fair). She's such a feisty character and her voice will pull you in, but the ending is a bit too glossy for me. Overall though – the inner conflict fuels the progression of the
plot while demanding that readers consider all possible consequences beyond the
obvious. Young adults will relate to and root for Rachel despite the fact that many of the relationships used to fuel this fire change or dissolve
altogether. But at last, Heiligman creates a flawed heroine on a quest for
deeper understanding and that makes all the difference in the end.