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Sean McCroskey

Henris Uncertainty
One of the most defining differences between the narrators of Jeanette Wintersons, The
Passion, is Henris inability to exist in states of uncertainty. Things that are unknowable or
always changing, things like the future, scare and unsettle Henri. This is in sharp contrast to
Villanelle, who was born and raised in Venice, the city of uncertainty (58), and who feels most
at home among the gamblers risking their fortunes on games of chance. Again and again
throughout the novel, Henri demonstrates his preference for the real, the tactile, the observable,
and rejects or struggles to understand that which is beyond his experience. Henris general
anxiety manifests itself in a number of interesting ways, including through his fear of the dark,
his failure to comprehend, or to accept, the novels many magical elements, and his inability
have faith in God. Almost in direct contrast to Henri in these regards, Villanelle finds the dark
liberating, she readily accepts the magic she encounters, and she makes a leap of faith that even
Jesus might appreciate. The dichotomy between these two characters helps explain Henris final
decision to remain in the asylum at the end of the novel, despite his ability to gain freedom.
Henri tells Villanelles family that he comes from a small village where there is a river
runs by that floods its banks every winter and chokes in mud every summer. We depend on the
river. We depend on the sun (117). Henris home is a place that is predictable and repetitive;
life follows the same rhythms from year to year, and while the village depends on the weather,
Henri depends on the regularity. If not for his need to find passion in life, Henri would never
have left to become a soldier. In fact, part of the appeal of soldiering was in its structure and
order. Henri believed that soldiers know what will happen from one day to the next and
uncertainty need not torment them (153). There is an intense irony in Henris nave belief,

because soldiering, and war especially, is often depicted as series of uncertainties and tragedies.
Villanelle understands this implicitly, she knows that every game threatens a wild car. The
unpredictable, the out of control (71). Villanelle grew up in Venice and started working at the
Casino when she was 18 (53), and grew up around men and women risking fortunes on games of
chance. The inability to predict the outcome, the chance, is exactly what excites her. This
fundamental difference between Henri and Villanelle pervades the novel, sometimes even in the
most mundane of topics.
Henris unease towards the uncertain manifests itself in some very small ways. Henri, for
example, is afraid of the dark, but its not knives and kicks [hes] afraid of (33). For Henri, the
dark carries with it a particular kind of terror, one that is removed from his immediate physical
well-being. He says that the dark is a sweet smotherer (33) that only lets you take one step at
a time. Step and the Dark closes round your back. In front, there is no space for you until you
take it (33). When Henri steps into the darkness he is unable to sense anything outside of his
immediate surroundings, unable to see what lies before him on his path until he physically takes
that step. The fact that Henri explicitly dismisses physical threats as the cause of this fear
strongly suggests this passage is referring to the way the darkness metaphorically clouds Henris
future and severs him from his own past. The darkness isolates Henri in the present, and this
isolation reminds him of the fragility of his place within the world, how he is only there on
sufferance (33), and without any assurances about the future, that place could slip away in the
softness of the night. However, once again where Henri feels closeted and unsteady, Villanelle
thrives. For her, the night is soft to the touch and heavy in the hands (57), it is substantial,
malleable, and full of opportunity. The night was the start of the day for the old Venetians, the
emblem of the city, because in the dark you are in disguise and this is the city of disguises

(56). Villanelle conceives of the darkness as a tool, a portal that you can open like a door (57),
where Henri can only imagine it as a cage.
Part of Henris problem with the uncertain is his lack of imagination. When he runs
across something he does not understand the first thing he does is doubt and question how it is
possible. His attitude in this regard is especially apparent during his confrontations with the
storys magical elements. One of Henris most important encounters with magic in this story is
when he receives the icicle containing the thread of gold from his friend Domino, although at the
time he does not recognize it as magical. In fact, as the narrator, the first thing he does after
receiving it in Russia is try to understand how the thread became encased in the icicle. When he
is confronted by the ordinary miracle (87) of an unmelted icicle in Venice he is stunned, but
then, his eyes full of questions (87), he tries to comprehend it, to explain away the wonder.
Villanelle, as she is able to throughout the novel, takes it as a matter of course. The description
of that scene makes a point of downplaying the miracle sitting in Henris hands. As he examines
it, Villanelle drew up her shoulder and turned her face back towards the house (116), pointedly
ignoring his unspoken questions, while outside the boat the seagulls went their ordinary way
(116), indifferent to the wonder around them. Magic, much like the future, is incomprehensible,
and so it terrifies and confuses Henri.
Perhaps the most poignant dichotomy between Henri and Villanelle lies in the fact that
Henri has no faith. In a novel with so many overt Christian references, faith refers at least in part
to faith in God, but it also describes a more secular belief, a sense of assurance the persists in
spite of what reason tells you. In both senses a person must believe in something outside
themselves almost to the point of irrationality, and it is at precisely this point that Henri and
Villanelle depart from one another. Henris mother was a devout Catholic who wanted Henri to

become a priest rather than a soldier. For his mother, God was her passion, and although she
tried to impart her fervor onto her son, Henri could never accept religion. As he says, I have
shouted to God and the Virgin, but they have not shouted back and Im not interested in the still
small voice (9-10). For his mother, faith is a matter of passion more than anything else, but
Henri cannot lose himself in the passion without hearing a reply. He needs assurance that he
isnt just shouting into the sky; he says that surely a god can meet passion with passion. She
says he can. Then he should (10). The paradox of faith is that it must be present before there
can be proof, but the inherent uncertainty in a thing like faith is what turned him away from God.
And while Villanelle does not worship God, she is certainly at home proclaiming her faith.
Because Villanelle grew up around magic, and because she was literally born from the
magic of Venice, she understands that there are things outside her experience and knowledge.
Sometimes those things are physical, like an icicle that never melts, but other times they are
intangible, mysterious, like faith. Villanelles moment of faith came when she finally wonders
whether she can walk over the water with her webbed feet. The act itself closely mirrors the
biblical miracle when Jesus walks across storming waters. In Matthew, beyond the act itself, the
tale is important because Jesus invites Peter to walk across the water with him, as a test of faith.
When Peter steps out onto the water with Jesus, his and the disciples faith is reaffirmed.
Villanelles moment on the canal mirrors this story closely because it too presents a test of faith.
As Villanelle approaches the water she faltered at the slippery steps leading into the dark. It
was November, after all. I might die if I fell in (69). She tests her foot against the water,
seeking, much like Henri, some sort of confirmation of the miracle before committing. But
unlike Henri, even where her foot falls through the water she, we presume, steps out onto the

water and walks across the canal anyways. She rejects the rational evidence she gathers herself,
that her foot would fall through the water, and makes a leap of faith that Henri could never take.
Before Henri is committed to the asylum, Villanelle discusses with him the possibility of
escape. She tells him, Courage, Henri. We walked from Moscow. We can walk across the
water. You can. We can (141). Her words once again strongly evoke the biblical story of
Jesus telling Peter to have faith, but unlike Peter, when the time for escape came, Henri refused
to step away from his prison. That moment when Villanelle comes for him at San Servelo is
extremely rich; she points to their escape boat out the window and Henri comments, Its a long
way down. Villanelle tells him he doesnt have to jump, but Henri replies, Dont I? (149)
Henri correctly identifies the significance of what Villanelle is asking him to do, which is to
make a leap of faith, something he cannot do. The prison is solid, reliable, predictable. Inside
his prison he can start his garden and reclaim that sense of the future as well as the present
(156) which made his lukewarm (154) farm town home. Henris decision to remain at San
Servelo is complicated by a number of factors, not the least of which is his questionable level of
sanity, but underlying it all his Henris need for stability and his discomfort with the uncertain.
Ultimately, it is this that Villanelle did not understand when she tried to free him. San Servelo
liberated him from the perils of worlds uncertainties, it removed the wild card from the deck,
and it is because of this that he found freedom in his prison.