Style and Technique
One of the most remarkable aspects of “Wunderkind” is its narrative voice and vantage point. While it is that of the third person, with its omniscience limited to Frances’s thoughts and perceptions, McCullers communicates the mental and emotional states of her young protagonist by rendering the narrative voice almost neutral where judgments of the other characters in the story are concerned. Because Frances’s personality is portrayed at a critical moment of her development—a moment during which she is uncertain about who she is or will be, as she feels a past identity crumbling away from her—the fact that her identity is not fixed precludes her judging others for what they are or are not. In such a transitional state, in fact, Frances is critical of no one but herself.
An excellent example of the above-mentioned neutral narrative perception or portrayal of a character is that of Mrs. Bilderbach. As Frances thinks about her, the reader is told that the woman “was much different from her husband. She was quiet and fat and slow. When she wasn’t in the kitchen, cooking the rich dishes that both of them loved, she seemed to spend all her time in their bed upstairs, reading magazines or just looking with a half-smile at nothing.” Significantly, the observations with which the reader is presented about Mrs. Bilderbach are nonjudgmental; consequently, the reader is left to decide if any aspects of the woman or her habits are to be seen pejoratively.
Similarly, the portraits of Mr. Bilderbach, Mr. Lafkowitz, and even Heime are all seemingly composed of objective observations, or observations stated objectively. McCullers utilizes this narrative approach for at least three reasons: first, because it gives the reader a sense of Frances’s overly self-critical frame of mind, as well as her tendency to observe others (especially adults) in a nonevaluative manner; second, because it portrays a complex psychological struggle, for which there is no easy solution, in a largely impartial manner; and third, because it demands from the reader compassion for both Frances and Mr. Bilderbach as they suffer the effects of her painful growth.
Historical Context
The Concept of the Teenager
The term "teenager" is a well-known and entrenched part of our culture; however, we might not realize that it is a relatively recent social construct. The perception of the teenage years as a unique and separate phase of life truly gained prominence in the twentieth century. While every culture has its own child-rearing practices and acknowledges a distinction between childhood and adulthood, the idea of a prolonged transition period between these stages has been uncommon throughout history. In Western societies, at least until the Middle Ages, children were often viewed as "miniature adults," and their reliance on family was not typically extended. Generally, children began working as soon as they were physically able, and throughout the nineteenth century, individuals we would now consider young teenagers were often taking on adult responsibilities such as jobs, marriage, and starting families. Although people have always recognized the differences in behavior and perspective between, for instance, a 17-year-old and a 35-year-old, both were largely seen as "grownups." While the younger individual was less experienced, they were not viewed as distinct social "types" with unique needs and characteristics. Typically, young people were only seen as a separate group when the "older generation" was shocked by what they perceived as immoral or irresponsible behavior from the younger crowd, behavior that sharply contrasted with their own youth. This tradition of older generations lamenting the perceived decline in the younger generation's behavior dates back to at least ancient...
(This entire section contains 1082 words.)
Unlock this Study Guide Now
Start your 48-hour free trial and get ahead in class. Boost your grades with access to expert answers and top-tier study guides. Thousands of students are already mastering their assignments—don't miss out. Cancel anytime.
Already a member? Log in here.
Egypt, and the category of teens or young adults is often linked with social dilemmas and parental concerns.
The "Roaring '20s," just before McCullers entered her teenage years, was one such era of intense adult disapproval. During the Prohibition era, sensational newspapers reported scandals involving wild drinking parties, promiscuous "flappers," and the reckless adventures of "Flaming Youth." The concept of the criminal "juvenile delinquent" (an early version of today's teen gang member) emerged during this time and became a recurring public issue after World War II, addressed by government bodies, educators, social scientists, and law enforcement. However, another development in the 1950s solidified the teenager as a staple in American popular culture. These were times of economic boom, characterized by increasing middle-class wealth and the rapid expansion of suburbs; for the first time, many teenagers had both leisure time and disposable income, making them a significant economic market. Products such as fashion, music, and entertainment tailored to teenage tastes and interests became lucrative investments, and the "youth demographic" has been a primary focus for mass-marketing strategies ever since.
McCullers crafted this story of adolescence not only during the final phase of her own youth but at a period when the concept of adolescence wasn't clearly defined. Teenagers undoubtedly experienced many of the same emotions that teens have always felt and continue to feel; their well-being and their potential to greatly disappoint their parents were common subjects of conversation. However, their perspective wasn't widely depicted in popular culture or supported by products and artistic works that reflected their concerns and preferences. "Wunderkind" has drawn the attention of critics not just for its artistic merits and the author's later fame but also as an early examination of a social type that has become increasingly significant in our culture. Since its publication, the story has been included in many anthologies, particularly in educational readers. Over the years, several generations of teenagers have encountered this portrayal of the "unique" pressures and issues they supposedly face.
Casual Stereotyping
Modern readers might find one aspect of "Wunderkind" unsettling, an element that likely went unnoticed when the story first debuted: its depiction of Jewish characters. This isn't a central theme or crucial part of the narrative, and McCullers doesn't appear to express a particularly strong anti-Semitic stance—but the few references to Jewish characters would probably be deemed offensive by contemporary standards. Therefore, the story serves as a minor example of the subtle and unconscious ways racism can manifest: not only through blatant, exaggerated stereotypes but also through the persistence of racially biased attitudes and generalizations so common that they often go unchallenged. We shouldn't assume McCullers intended the portrayal to be offensive; she might not have realized it could be perceived as such, and there's no evidence that it bothered many readers at the time. Without defending or accusing the author, it's worthwhile to explore how such a sensitive writer could inadvertently display an attitude now seen as controversial.
Mr. Lafkowitz, the violin instructor, is the only character explicitly identified as Jewish, but it is reasonable to assume that Heime Israelsky is also Jewish. Frances harbors resentment towards them but admires their musical talent, recognizing a quality in their playing that her own lacks. To Frances, music seems to be a distinctly Jewish pursuit, or at least one for which Jews possess greater "natural gifts" than others. This world appears romantic, foreign, and exotic compared to "just Cincinnati." At one point, she attributes her musical struggles to "her not being Jewish." Although Bilderbach is apparently not Jewish, he has an "exotic" European background and is professionally respected by his Jewish colleague. These reflections surface as she recalls a concert with Heime, which was a success for him but not for her. In particular, the piece by Bloch seems to carry a "Jewishness" she feels unable to convey. Critics noted that "she lacked the temperament for that type of music," a sentiment Bilderbach echoes: “‘That oie oie stuff,’ said Mister Bilderbach, rustling the newspapers at her. ‘Not for you, Bienchen. Leave all that to the Heimes and vitses and skys.’”
At first glance, these references might not seem overtly offensive. Frances appears to regard Jews as musically superior to her and aspires to match their accomplishments. However, this perspective still casts them as "the other," inherently different from herself. Celebrating a race’s supposed "gifts" can be the flip side of condemning its alleged "inferiorities." During this period in many Western societies, individual Jews achieved prominence in arts and professions despite widespread social discrimination. Frances’s view of Jews as "natural" musicians mirrors how many whites have admired black musicians and entertainers while continuing to discriminate against African Americans as a group. Both scenarios present a similar paradox: the admired "natural" musical genius is perceived as a result of the unjust treatment racism has inflicted on the "gifted" race, with great art emerging from profound suffering. While positive stereotypes may seem harmless, unquestioningly accepting and perpetuating them can lend credibility to negative stereotypes.
Literary Style
Point of View
The effectiveness of "Wunderkind" largely hinges on McCullers's adept portrayal of Frances’s perspective. By inviting us into Frances's thoughts, the author not only encourages us to empathize with her but also deepens our understanding of the story's progression. Through the use of flashbacks and internal monologue, readers uncover the elements of Frances's crisis—details that would remain unknown otherwise—and experience her overwhelming sense of dread.
To truly appreciate McCullers's skill, consider how minimal the "action" in the story is. The narrative revolves around a teenager's piano lesson, lasting perhaps thirty minutes. The protagonist is mostly silent, nearly immobilized by anxiety. Arriving nervously, she becomes increasingly upset as the lesson deteriorates, ultimately leaving in frustration. She struggles to manage her emotions and can only whisper a helpless, "I can’t... I don’t know why, but I just can’t—can’t anymore," to her teacher. While such a scene might evoke sympathy, unsettle, or captivate us, from an external perspective, her distress would largely remain enigmatic. Readers and other characters might speculate on its origins or dismiss it as a simple story of failure, frustration, or a temperamental musician's outburst. Frances is so engulfed in her sorrow that we must rely on her inner thoughts for insight, even as she grapples for understanding. Her mind is a jumble, flitting between the past and present, between dreams and reality. Yet, through this, the reader discerns how her crisis has been escalating and the frightening forms it has assumed.
The narrative is delivered by an external, third-person narrator rather than Frances herself. However, the events are depicted as they appear to her and unfold in her mind. We are not privy to any details that she does not have access to; for instance, she is the only character without a comprehensive physical description. We cannot describe her facial features, as she cannot see her own face. Conversely, we receive intricate descriptions of her hands as she observes her own twitching, anxious fingers. We track her awareness of both her physical surroundings and her internal thoughts and emotions. This approach compels us to adopt her perspective and navigate its constraints, striving to grasp insights that escape her. Frances’s feelings for Bilderbach are never explicitly stated, which is fitting since she is only vaguely aware of them herself. Much like her awkward and uncertain musical phrasing during her lesson, she is acutely aware that some of her feelings are "wrong"—not aligning with expectations from others or herself—and she senses that the consequences will be dire. While Bilderbach can identify her musical issues and suggest solutions, there is no one to help her comprehend the unsettling, unwelcome emotions she is experiencing. She uses her significant intelligence to outline the problem, but full understanding remains just beyond her reach. In empathizing with her, we also engage with the same issue, attempting to perceive what she cannot.
The extensive section leading up to Frances's lesson might appear perplexing and demands attentive, meticulous reading. However, it enables McCullers to convey a substantial amount of information in a concise manner. In the brief moments it takes for Lafkowitz and Bilderbach to play a sonatina, we traverse three years, learning about Frances's relationship with her teacher and the recent events that disturb her deeply. We explore her intricate emotions and responses, gaining insight into her aspirations and dreams, as well as her anxieties and nightmares. This passage not only provides the necessary "background information" for understanding the story's brief action but also does so in a way that mirrors Frances's mental state. In the "dream sequences"—visions of swirling, pulsating faces, disjointed pieces of music, and Wunderkind—her terror and helplessness are vividly portrayed. When this vision reappears at the lesson's conclusion, we understand that her fears have consumed her, and her self-control is deteriorating. This sense permeates the entire story; even during calmer moments, her thoughts dart around restlessly, quickly overtaken by other memories and sudden feelings. It seems as if the entire three years are rushing back at once, as she sifts through memories and ideas in search of a coherent perspective. The "action" within her mind may be challenging to follow, but we realize this task is no less difficult for us than it is for Frances herself. Like her, we approach insights that never fully materialize and experience the overwhelming surge of emotions that eventually overtake her.
Compare and Contrast
1920s: During her childhood, McCullers dedicates five hours daily to piano practice. Following a serious illness and a heartbreaking separation from her mentor, she abandons music and embarks on a writing career.
1996: The film Shine explores the darker aspects of being a child prodigy. It is based on the real-life story of David Helfgott, an Australian prodigy who experienced a psychotic breakdown as a teenager, which halted his career. He eventually made a comeback to music years later.
1930s: Under President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s New Deal, $5 million in federal funds is allocated for art and music initiatives. The Federal Music Project supports numerous musicians, orchestras, and theaters, aiming to foster the growth of American culture and provide employment during the Great Depression.
1990s: The National Endowment for the Arts, a federal initiative offering grants and support to musicians and other artists, faces opposition from Republican lawmakers. They criticize the use of federal funds for the arts and seek to significantly reduce the program's budget.
1936: Classical music enjoys widespread popularity. Renowned composers such as Sergei Prokofiev, Aaron Copland, Bela Bartok, and Igor Stravinsky are actively creating music.
1990s: Although still appreciated by many, classical music no longer commands the widespread appeal it once did. Wynton Marsalis, who is chiefly recognized as a jazz musician, composes "Blood on the Plow," a Grammy-winning classical piece that addresses the theme of slavery.
Bibliography and Further Reading
Sources
Cahill, Susan, ed. Women and Fiction: Short Stories by and about Women, New York: New American Library, 1975, pp. 180-81.
McCullers, Carson. Story, Vol. 38, No. 2, Winter 1990, p. 98.
Further Reading
Brasell, R. Bruce. ‘‘Dining at the Table of the Sensitives: Carson McCullers’s Peculiarity,’’ in Southern Quarterly, Vol. 35, No. 4, Summer 1997, pp. 59–66. This work explores how McCullers addresses lesbian themes in her writing.
Clark, Beverly Lyon and Melvin Friedman, eds. Critical Essays on Carson McCullers, New York: Hall, 1996. A compilation of analytical essays examining different elements of McCullers’s literature.
Kissell, Susan S. ‘‘Carson McCullers’s ‘Wunderkind’: A Case Study in Female Adolescence,’’ in Kentucky Philological Review, No. 6, 1991, pp. 15–20. This paper delves into McCullers’s portrayal of the character Frances and the broader theme of female adolescence.
