The 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 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, which, at first, may appear as nothing more than a digression from the story, 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 that poisoned his innocence and tainted the kindness 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 this 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 shut 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 closed, is so fundamental to the story’s overarching point; somewhere along the way, his ideals changed. He went from being a kindhearted preteen, 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 or not 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, as he becomes 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 on a situation that causes his protagonist to revert to his in-office ways, prompting the bad guy, the symbol of life in the piece, to shoot him. In depicting Anders’ hamartia, his failure to remain silent, Wolff holds a mirror to the rest of the world, showing the distortion that can come of spending all of one’s time away from society, away from civilization, and in the office place. This short story works to reveal the basic truth that life cannot be lived, properly, 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-day man or businessman, a category that, in being a book critic, and therefore member of the working class, Anders falls under. In today’s society, people struggle with maintaining personal relationships because so much of their time and energy gets absorbed and 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 truly matters as well as anyone who has become disconnected from their childhood hopes and dreams in the pursuit of economic gain (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 head, gets murdered by a man whose reigning free-will allows him to recognize and exploit Ander’s aloofness. Though this example may 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 be sacrificed by society or trampled by the ever-changing conditions of life. 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 so that they never collide, bad things can happen to the man or woman who foolishly allows for his or her life to be overrun by societal expectations.

In contrast to the reader’s initial reaction to Anders, one may find him or herself feeling oddly sympathetic toward the insolent man at 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 pull his readers back down to Earth, to remind them that he is not necessarily the villain of the story, rather whatever anyone makes him out to be. While Anders, unfortunately, grew up to be extremely judgmental, he started out the same as all other children, with a twinkle in his eye and a song in his heart. This twinkle, the one thing that children seem to 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 even remember what it was like to be so small and in love with life, to be so hopeful of what the future may hold. People, oftentimes, look back at this time in their lives with rose-colored spectacles, deeming this pre-pubescent period as the time that they experienced the upmost joy, the period before things began to go haywire. Naturally, as people age, they tend to assume more and more responsibility, and, some, discontent with this, like 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 pits of their stomachs, 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 fully achieves the ultimate prize of internal happiness. While some may settle on feeling bad for him 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 the conclusion of the piece than simply empathy. Wolff wants his readers to feel something for society at large after reading this story. 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 of 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 as commonplace, rather than warding them off for as long as possible. Wolff is not instructing his readers 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 or song, 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 one may be 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 a game of pickup baseball with a few friends and a stranger, is shrouded in placidity, stuck in slow motion in his head forever. Death, in movies and in stories, is often romanticized, portrayed as setting off some miraculous montage of one’s favorite memories and most notable accomplishments. However, in the case of Bullet in the Brain, Anders’ head, as it slips from consciousness, rids itself of any such remembrance, holding onto only a day in the past that has surely been forgotten. Wolff purposefully chose a moment that would come across as semi-unimpressionable, a second in time that would drive his readers to question his intentions when first sculpting the piece, as some were undoubtedly disappointed by the ending. While it may have come across as rather anti-climactic, the conclusion actually serves a great purpose as, though Anders cannot remove the bullet from his brain or repudiate his comments, and though the bystanders could not have done much to prevent the piece of metal from “do[ing] its work and leav[ing] the troubled skull behind,” the man with the gun ends up doing more for Anders than even he initially realizes (Wolff 206). His death is not terribly tragic; the bullet sets Anders free, for it provides him with the opportunity, for the first time, to “make time” (206). His killer, in a sense, gives him a second chance at life, a second chance to relive and to relearn. Interpreting this story through a biblical lens, the man with the mask and gun serves as Anders’ savior, as he, essentially, cleanses him of all of his impurities, restoring his most archaic values, purifying his beliefs. Therefore, in a way, this string of events serves as the mean old man’s second baptism, an additional opportunity to make things right, to rectify what he had smothered in pessimism.

Though, at the completion of the piece, some readers may still view the baseball scene as carrying little relevance to the work as a whole, it is clear that Wolff specifically chose to illustrate a moment in time that would provoke thought as well as cause people to question their life-choices; the simplified goal of the piece being to help put things into perspective. Anders, this great, but fiery book critic, surely lived an intriguing life, judging writers, judging practically everyone, in order to elevate himself, as this was the only way he knew how to get through as well as overcome his childish fear of never gaining any relevance. Oddly enough, Anders had this God-complex that led him to believe that he could outsmart or even escape whatever repercussions his words elicited. However, in the end, on his metaphorical deathbed, his life, altogether, amounted to a thirty-second peek into the past, a thirty-second decision that demonstrated his innate goodness. Bullet in the Brain is not just 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, in crafting a character that people could first hate, then, for whatever reason, come to feel sorry for, he could ultimately send the most meaningful message, the most pertinent set of directions: to hold onto that hope, never become so distant from childhood that life loses its meaning. Anders death symbolically initiated his rebirth, his revitalization into a world where not everyone and everything needs correcting. His death allowed for 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 grant others a second chance at achieving that youthfulness, that faith. Anders served as a martyr for hope, for a cause much greater than himself, though, if he were here, he might disagree, as he irrationally believed that nothing could dethrone him, not even death itself.
