A Separate Peace Review: Finding the Romance in the Rituals
Al Stone-Gebhardt & Eli Styles | March 21, 2024
If you’re a fan of dark academia with a twist or perhaps excited by the concept of queer dark academia reminiscent of “Dead Poets Society,” then you’ve come to the right place.
John Knowles's “A Separate Peace,” published in 1959, is a powerful rollercoaster of friendship, identity and the complexities of adolescence set in the backdrop of an exclusive New Hampshire prep school during World War II.
At first glance, the synopsis may lead you to believe you are delving into a story with an explicit queer agenda: “Gene is a lonely, introverted intellectual. Phineas is a handsome, taunting daredevil athlete. What happens between the two friends one summer, like the war, banishes the innocence of these boys and their world.”
If you ventured into this novel expecting a raunchy romance, perhaps thinking you stumbled onto the goldmine of the ‘twice-divorced middle-aged white women’ book section of your local Target, we understand the confusion— in this book review, we aim to clear up the confusion by emphasizing the homoeroticism inherent in the paragraphs.
Knowles's classic is dark, immersive and turbulent at heart. It is ache and longing and hatred and envy all in one. And if you want to be technical, it is a coming-of-age novel that dives deep into the intricacies of friendship and the explosive emotions that define growing up.
Through Eugene “Gene” Forrester’s reflections in his adulthood, revisiting the Devon prep school years after the fact, readers are transported to the world of America in 1942 where the tranquility of youth clashes with the looming World War II. Really happy stuff, we know.
We witness the evolution of Gene from a carefree youth to a conflicted young man within the pages. He is constantly grappling with jealousy and an Achillean desire for his charismatic companion, Phineas, “Finny,” a boy he meets during a summer session at Devon.
And if Finny is Achilles, Gene is undeniably his Patroclus — albeit with a little more backstabbing involved. But we will delve into that aspect later.
At the heart of this classic is Gene’s internal conflict, a battle between his admiration for Finny and Finny’s athletic prowess and his growing resentment of feeling inferior to him. Finny is his contrast, exuding effortless charm and natural athleticism, making games out of breaking free from the constraints of their prep school life, while Gene conforms to those constraints.
Boredom is anathema to Finny, leading him to create blitzball, a wild sport unrestricted by rules; in his spare time, he shatters the swimming record at Devon, showcasing his athletic spirit; his escapades extend beyond breaking school rules, as he skips classes and drags Gene along to explore the world of adulthood along the coast — our favorite scene.
Seriously, queer readers, it is the best part of this book. The gayness is palpable.
But let us not forget Finny’s most iconic creation: the Super Suicide Society, a group that makes a good time out of jumping off tree limbs into a river below — because why not add a dash of danger to your prep school experience?
However, beneath Finny’s untouchable facade lies a naïveté, unable to comprehend both the treacherous envy of Gene and the tragic reality of being pushed to reach maturity amid the ever-looming World War II.
Furthermore, Gene, for all his talk of wanting to embody Finny’s philosophy (this is not a euphemism, we swear), remains woefully immature. He struggles to embrace Finny’s world fully. He is uncertain and caught between innocence and recklessness.
Overall, Gene resents how Finny’s whims disrupt his orderly life, and yet grapples with an intense longing for Finny and his joie de vivre (again, not a euphemism, but interpret as you will).
The pivotal moment arrives during a dangerous jumping ritual for the Super Suicide Society. The perilous ceremony becomes a symbol of their shared innocence and carelessness as adolescent boys blissfully unaware of the world around them. And it all goes wrong for Finny.
As Gene attempts to make amends, assuming Finny’s charismatic and boisterous personality, and even training for the Olympics in his place, their unbreakable bond is tested. However, Gene is a guilty party, and a war-torn peer of theirs accuses Gene of his role in the demise of Finny’s innocent adolescence. These accusations build up the tension in this novel, leading to a dramatic climax during a tribunal overseen by peers.
In the absolutely heart-wrenching resolution, World War II infiltrates Devon — and Gene’s life. Gene must then reflect, in his adulthood, on the corrosive nature of enmity and the loss of innocence fundamental to growing up. This haunting conclusion leaves readers contemplating the fragility of friendship and the viciousness of jealousy, innocence and experience.
No, this is not going to be one of those feel-good reads, but it simply begs the reader to consider their humanity. But more importantly, it begs us to consider Gene and Finny’s subtly homoerotic relationship, brimming with unspoken confessions and yearning.
Common classic themes reside in “A Separate Peace”: war encroaching on youth, growing up, betrayal and guilt and humanity. However, what sets “A Separate Peace” apart is its subtext, which many readers have interpreted as an inherently queer undercurrent in Gene’s feelings toward Finny.
While Knowles claims that the homoeroticism between Finny and Gene “simply wasn’t there”, readers — including us — have to disagree. The way that Gene describes Finny throughout the novel is far from platonic, and while we stand firmly against making assumptions about peoples’ sexuality and preventing men from appreciating each other, Gene’s detailed account of Brinker Hadley’s buttocks points him firmly in the direction of capital-G Gay.
To read this book and not recognize its homoerotic subtext is to ignore the nuances of Finny and Gene’s relationship. They began as friends, roommates, expected to be brothers — and promptly fell in love with each other in a way that words fail to explain. Their love is wrought with jealousy, pain, trauma and distress, yet they yearn for each other. They yearn to be one.
There is a casual intimacy between the two boys that cannot be replicated by a strictly boyish, platonic friendship. When an incident leaves Finny incapacitated and away from campus, Gene mourns in their shared dorm and tries on Finny’s clothes.
More specifically, he tries on Finny’s pink shirt that Finny loves despite it making him look like “a fairy.”
Gene’s feelings on the matter speak for themselves: “When I looked in the mirror it was no remote aristocrat I had become, no character out of daydreams. I was Phineas, Phineas to the life… I had no idea why this gave me such intense relief, but it seemed, standing there in Finny’s triumphant shirt, that I would never stumble through the confusions of my own character again.”
Super heterosexual stuff happening here.
Beyond that, their soft spots for each other shine through the text among desolate ideas of the war and what shenanigans their peers are up to. Their spontaneous trip to the beach exemplifies this.
Two lovers, unaware of their status as such, escape the droll environment of Devon to spend a night together underneath the stars, confessing how much they mean to each other.
“I should have told him then that he was my best friend also and rounded off what he had said. I started to; I nearly did. But something held me back. Perhaps I was stopped by that level of feeling, deeper than thought, which contains the truth.”
Compare the above quote to the following one from the last page of the book: “I never developed an intense level of hatred for the enemy. Because my war ended before I ever put on a uniform; I was on active duty all my time at school; I killed my enemy there.”
The situation that Gene and Finny find themselves in is fraught. The line between friendship, romance and animosity blurs and reshapes itself with each new chapter. Gene loved Finny. Finny loved Gene. But Gene also hated Finny and everything he represented, and vice versa. This book cannot be wrapped up nicely with a bow. The tragedy is too great.
While “A Separate Peace” takes place nearly a century ago, its message and content are still relevant today. We are unlikely, in the current day, to find our separate peace — a hideaway like Devon where we can ignore the tragedies of the world. But there are moments such as the ones that Finny and Gene share that transcend time and current events, boiling the human experience down to a love so strong it drives one near to madness.
The only downside of this book — apart from the emotional distress it may cause — is that it is outdated. There are a few slurs used and a lot of negative talk surrounding disability, which is typical for the period but still wrong. It is important to read with a critical eye, even when reading for fun, and the transgressions this book makes are important to acknowledge and critique.
That being said, this book is still worth the read (if it is read alongside books with more diverse characters and storylines).
Overall, Gene and Finny’s romance has broken through every homophobic high school English teacher’s efforts to squash the queer subtext within the sentences — and perhaps that is the most beautiful aspect of the book. The queerness transcends and proliferates.
“A Separate Peace” by John Knowles is a must-read for all, but especially for readers who love digging deeper for queer subtext. While the novel itself defies traditional queer fiction — the average queer reader can parse out the romance in the rituals of the Super Suicide Club.
For avid enjoyers of “A Separate Peace” and queer media like “Dead Poets Society,” look out for our comparative analysis next week!
