The world has a funny way of squeezing the liveliness out of people, of turning young and joyous boys into cliché and grumpy old men. Typically, there is a certain moment or string of moments in one’s life that can account for their individual loss of innocence. Though some like to pretend as though life has never tested their will to live, many will agree that growing up is hard and that such hardship can cause people to lose faith and even isolate themselves from the rest of society, whether that isolation be physical or mental. This idea of shedding hope, as a side effect of aging, is not an uncommon theme in literature, as everyone can admit to mourning his or her youth at some point in time. In fact, in the short story Bullet in the Brain, the author, Tobias Wolff, makes it abundantly clear that anyone is susceptible to this loss of gaiety by depicting a scene in which the rude and ill-tempered main character of the story, Anders, is portrayed as a quixotic little boy, who sympathetically refrains from pointing out another kid’s hilariously poor grammar, while playing a game of ball, in fear that his words may inflict harm and embarrassment upon the boy. Wolff includes this seemingly meaningless look into the protagonist’s mind to demonstrate the extent to which life has altered his mannerisms and darkened his approach. This glimpse into the past serves as irrefutable evidence that the protagonist experienced some form of corruption in his later years, as most do, that poisoned the innocence on display. 

Upon first meeting Anders, the reader is immediately turned off, as the short caricature provided includes his job title: book critic. One can automatically assume then, that Anders is rather cynical, and as the story unravels, it is clear that he lives up to the stereotype. Anders, so badly worn by the dreariness of everyday life, is incapable of separating work from home, fantasy from reality, applying his nasty outlook and condescension to every situation outside of the office. His inability to keep his mouth closed is what gets him into trouble and, ultimately, shot and killed. That is why the scene, in which a younger Anders is faced with a similar opportunity, to say something insulting or keep his mouth shut, is so fundamental to the story’s overarching point; somewhere along the way, his ideals changed. He went from being a kindhearted young boy, who chose to keep his comments to a minimum in order to preserve others’ feelings, to a callous middle-aged man, who could not care less about whether his words cut like swords. At least Anders recognizes that his job is no longer just a title, rather a mask he cannot take off. He becomes so dependent on the feeling that arises, after saying something offensive and observing others’ reactions to it. It is almost like a switch he cannot turn off, “he [has] no choice but to scrutinize the painter’s work” or, in this case, the robber’s cheesy, but clearly legitimate, death threats (Wolff 203). He willingly sabotages himself, “snort[ing] helplessly through his fingers and say[ing], ‘capiche – oh, God, capiche” (203). Wolff purposefully centers his work on a character that so fits his job’s stereotype as well as a situation that causes this character to revert to his in-office ways, prompting the bad guy, symbolic of life, to shoot him. Anders’ hamartia is representative and Wolff’s goal, here, is to hold a mirror to the rest of the world, to show the distortion that can come from spending all of one’s time away from society, away from civilization. Life cannot be properly lived in one’s own head.

This idea of one being unable to distance him or herself, mentally, from the office serves as Wolff’s own criticism of the modern businessman. In today’s society, people struggle with maintaining personal relationships because so much of their time and energy gets absorbed or lost by their day jobs, their nine-to-fives. Wolff’s portrayal of Anders as an “elegant savage[e]” could apply to anyone in the work force who has lost sight of what really matters as well as anyone who has become disconnected from their childhood hopes and dreams (200). Wolff makes a convincing case that this inability, to draw oneself away from his or her desk, proves to be a detrimental characteristic in the long run, as the protagonist of the story, who is so wrapped up in his own little world, gets murdered by a man whose reigning free-will allows him to recognize and exploit Ander’s aloofness, causing him to have little remorse after pulling the trigger. Though this example might be a bit extreme, as, odds are, an individual is not going to get shot for being overly involved in his or her job, the truth and applicability behind the warning remains: one should not keep his or her head in the clouds long enough to get sacrificed by society. Wolff is simply pointing out that there is a time and place for everything, and that, though it can be quite challenging to keep one’s separate worlds far enough apart that they never collide, bad things can happen to the man or woman who foolishly allows their life to be overrun.

In contrast to the reader’s initial reaction to Anders, one may find him or herself feeling oddly sympathetic to the insolent man towards the end of the work, as his persona, prior to growing up, prior to being exposed to this aforementioned corruption, is revealed. The author includes a detailed description of a young Anders in order to bring readers back down to Earth, in order to remind them that he is not necessarily the villain of the story. While Anders, unfortunately, grew up to be extremely judgmental, he started out the same as all other children, with a twinkle in his eye. This twinkle, this one thing that children seem to almost embody, in literature specifically, can best be argued as a physical representation of hope. It is hard to dislike a child who has yet to lose that sense of optimism simply because of how relatable and unifying the idea of being young and carefree is; everyone can identify with young Anders. Most can remember what it was like to be so small and in love with life, to be so hopeful of what the future may have in store. People, oftentimes, look back at this time in their lives with rose-colored spectacles, deeming this pre-pubescent period as the time when they experienced the upmost joy, the period before things began to go awry. Naturally, as people age, they assume more and more responsibility, and, some, discontent with this truth, tend to view this accumulating responsibility and their happiness as having an indirect relationship, therefore accrediting the time of twinkly eyes as the best time to be alive.

At first, one may be taken aback by the realization that they have any sympathy for Anders at all. However, after really thinking about it, after contemplating why they feel something in the pit of their stomachs or the tip of their hearts, they may draw on the conclusion that it is not Anders they necessarily feel bad for, rather the younger version who never quite reaches that end goal, who never achieves the ultimate prize at the end of the rainbow: internal happiness. While some may settle on feeling bad for Anders because, in one way or another, they can relate to his misery, Wolff makes it clear that there is more to one’s visceral reaction to this story than simply empathy. Wolff wants his readers to feel something for society at large after reading this piece. He wants them to collectively mourn the loss of innocence in all people, including themselves. He wants to remind the world of the horrors of tomorrow and how they impact each and every child today. In essence, Bullet in the Brain can be interpreted as a cautionary tale that advises against giving into life too quickly, against embracing these trials and tribulations, rather than warding them off for as long as possible. Wolff is not instructing people to hide from the inevitable, from tough times or mistakes or unkind people, because, like the bullet, life cannot be “outrun forever, or charmed to a halt” (Wolff 206). However, he is suggesting, in a rather abstract way, that the best way to hold onto one’s innocence, to preserve that twinkle, is to see the world for what it is and its inhabitants for who they are, and to not let any of that change whomever a person is trying to become.

Though this piece is all about movement and teaming with quick and witty comments, the specific moment that Anders recalls, that one time he played pickup baseball with a few friends and a stranger, is shrouded in placidity, is stuck in slow motion in his head forever. Death, in movies and in stories, is often portrayed as eliciting some miraculous montage of one’s favorite memories and most notable occurrences. However, in the case of Bullet in the Brain, Anders’ head lets loose of all of these, keeping only a day in his past that he has surely forgotten. Wolff purposefully chose a moment that would come across as semi-unimpressionable. He chose a second in time that would drive his audience to question his original intentions, when first sculpting the piece. Though Anders cannot remove the bullet from his brain or take his snarky comments back, and though the people in the bank around him cannot do much to prevent the piece of metal from “do[ing] its work and leav[ing] [his] troubled skull behind,” the man with the gun ends up doing more for Anders than he initially realizes (Wolff 206). His death is not as tragic as it may seem. The bullet sets Anders free, for it allows him an opportunity to “make time,” rather than have it stolen away from him (206). His killer, in a sense, gives him another opportunity at life, a chance to relive, to relearn the importance behind wishful thinking and kind thoughts. Looking at this story from a biblical sense, the man with the mask and gun serves as Anders’ savior, as he cleanses him of all impurities, restoring his most archaic values. So, in summation, this memory acts as the point in time that Anders has his head, metaphorically, yet again, dunked under Holy Water. This recollection serves as the mean old man’s second baptism, second coming to God.

Though some readers may still view the baseball scene as carrying little relevance to the work as a whole, Wolff specifically detailed a moment in time that would provoke thought, cause people to question their lifestyle choices, put things into real prospective. Anders, this great, but fiery book critic, surely lived an intriguing life, judging authors’ uses of characters and tone, judging practically everyone, in order to elevate himself, as this was the only way he knew how to. Anders had this God-complex that led him to truly believe that he could outsmart or even escape whatever repercussions his words could have possibly elicited. However, in the end, on his metaphorical deathbed, his life, altogether, amounted to a thirty-second peek into his past, a thirty-second decision that demonstrated his innate goodness. Bullet in the Brain is not only a story about a man, who says something wrong and gets killed for it, rather a story about a man, whose goodness has since dwindled, whose life as well as demise act as extended metaphors, tying one’s loss of innocence to the hardships that accompany aging. Wolff knew that by crafting a character that one could first hate, then, for his or her own personal reason, come to feel bad for, he would ultimately send the most meaningful message: hold onto that hope, never become so distant from childhood that life loses its meaning. Anders death metaphorically acts as his rebirth into a world where not everything and everyone needs correcting. His death allowed his hope to be renewed, thus his demise was for the sake of the world, and the piece was, above all, a tale of a man who died in order to give others a second chance at achieving that youthfulness, that faith. 
