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Bamboozled: Chaos Theory and Yann Martel’s Life of Pi

by

Marie Tichborne

Thesis

submitted in partial fulfillment of the

requirements for the Degree of

Bachelor of Arts with

Honours in English

Acadia University

April, 2010

© Copyright by Marie Tichborne, 2010

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This thesis by Marie Tichborne

is accepted in its present form by the

Department of English and Theatre

as satisfying the thesis requirements for the degree of

Bachelor of Arts with Honours

Approved by the Thesis Supervisor

__________________________ ____________________

Dr. Andrea Schwenke Wyile Date

Approved by the Head of the Department

__________________________ ____________________

Dr. Patricia Rigg Date

Approved by the Honours Committee

__________________________ ____________________

Sonia Hewitt Date

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I, Marie Tichborne, grant permission to the University Librarian at Acadia University to

reproduce, loan or distribute copies of my thesis in microform, paper or electronic

formats on a non-profit basis. I however, retain the copyright in my thesis.

_________________________________

Signature of Author

_________________________________

Date

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Table of Contents

Introduction 1

Chapter One: Chaos Theory and its Applicability to Literature 6

A Brief Overview of Chaos Theory 6

Defining the Term Deterministic Chaos 8

Chaos Theory and its Connections to Literary Theory 9

Chaos Theory and its Applicability to Texts 12

Chapter Two: Chaos Theory as a Platform to Explore Narrative

Construction in Life of Pi 19

Narrative Discourse in Life of Pi 20

Deterministic Chaos in Life of Pi 45

Conclusion 52

Works Cited 57

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Abstract

My thesis “Bamboozled: Chaos Theory and Yann Martel’s Life of Pi” is an exploration

into how stories are constructed and received by readers, as seen through the theoretical

framework of Chaos Theory. In Chapter One, I introduce Chaos Theory and explore its

applicability to Literary Theory and texts. A brief history of Chaos Theory is provided,

from which I go on to define the term Deterministic Chaos, and finally, discuss the

theory’s relevance to both Literary Theory and Literary texts. In Chapter Two I argue the

relationships between the philosophical foundations of Chaos Theory and narrative

discourse relating to confusion and disorientation in Life of Pi. Theoretical concepts taken

from Chaos Theory such as bifurcation, iteration, fractal, underlying structure, and

deterministic structure provide a contemporary means with which to discuss the effect

storytelling has on our lives and the role we play in the creation of our own stories.

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Introduction

Imagine a world where storytelling does not exist. Suddenly everyday indulgences

such as television programs, books, movies, and newspapers become obsolete. Much of

our social, political, spiritual, and cultural present goes unrecorded while our history as a

species stands equally unaccounted for. Undeniably, removing stories from human

existence would devastate the manner with which we piece together our realities as they

are the means through which we best connect past to present, present to future, and

person to person. Consequently, stories are firmly established as foundational pillars

within our lives. From Beowulf to the Bible, from Little Red Riding Hood to To Kill a

Mockingbird, stories function as a powerful means to make sense of the world.

Yann Martel's novel The Life of Pi celebrates the art of storytelling through its

layered narrative complexity and the way in which it ultimately leaves the fate of the

narrative in the hands of its readers. While not entirely original, structuring the novel in a

way which relies heavily on reader involvement helps set Life of Pi apart from books

which favour a more static, linear relationship between narrator and reader. As a result of

his presentation of a complex, closed system (his novel) that concludes with an array of

interpretive possibilities, readers are placed in a position where they must participate in

the novel’s re-construction, which ultimately underscores the important role that reader

perspective plays in the reception and creation of stories.

While traditional texts invited reader response that was limited to appreciative or

unappreciative, Life of Pi invites readers directly into the construction of story,

demanding that they dictate the exact narrative details surrounding certain events and

characters. In his essay S/Z, Roland Barthes has attempted to define “classic” and

“contemporary” texts by distinguishing between “readerly” and “writerly” narratives. He

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states that the readerly narrative is an example of a classic narrative which “is basically

subject to the logico-temporal order… and sets forth the end of every action” (Barthes,

S/Z 52), distinguishing texts which stand as finished objects with clear conclusions.

Conversely, writerly narratives value the infinite nature of language, “where the reader

[is] no longer a consumer but a producer of the text” (4). Due to their complicated, plural

nature, Barthes argues that “there may be nothing to say about writerly texts” (4).

However, S/Z was published over 40 years ago, before the philosophies of Chaos Theory

had been conceptualized. This lack of discourse is a niche that Chaos Theory accounts for

by conceptualizing complicated systems of order within apparent randomness.

Building upon Barthes’ notion of writerly texts which invite readers to participate

as producers, Martel does not narrate his story in a clearly-defined manner but instead

leaves a lot of room for readers to create their own personal interpretation. Is the

character Richard Parker a tiger or a man, or is he Pi himself? Is the meerkat island truly

scientifically plausible or is it merely metaphorical? Was the meeting of the Frenchman

illusionary or real? Was the encounter with the Frenchman a didactic narrative? Is Pi

himself a real person or simply a fictional character? In making these choices, readers

participate in an act which generates an infinite amount of interpretive probabilities. As

described by Barthes in his essay Image-Music-Text, “from object to image there is of

course a reduction – in proportion, perspective, colour. But at no time is this reduction a

transformation” (17). In other words, readers may not physically transform the words or

sentences of an author, but they are free to interpret, or reduce, them in any way they

choose. For example, the appearance of an apple tree in a text would invite a vast array of

possible reader reductions. A reader who is unsure of what an apple tree looks like might

imagine it as a small shrub, or as tall and strong as an oak; a reader who once fell out of

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an apple tree, broke a leg, and lost a football scholarship would reduce the apple tree in a

negative manner as quickly as someone who kissed their first love underneath its

branches might recall feelings of pleasure. All of these reductions are neither wrong nor

right as each one reflects the individual interpretation of the reader. In this way, “The

image is not the reality but at least it is its perfect analogon and it is exactly this

analogical perfection which defines the [text]” (17). This process that Barthes describes

ultimately “reduce[s] the polysematic possibilities to a single interpretation in keeping

with the expectations aroused, thus extracting an individual meaning” (Iser 16) which

accounts for the innumerable responses that any text, but especially Life of Pi, may

generate.

The high level of reader participation required by Martel’s Life of Pi is also due,

in part, to the fact that it is a nonlinear novel. I use the term “nonlinear narrative” as

defined by Allan Kotmel of Rensselaer Polytechnic institute, New York:

Linear writing is straight-line writing [in regards to chronology and

narration]. Most papertext documents are linear. A linear document would have

a fairly definite beginning, middle and ending… Non-linear writing is more

associative. Non-linear writing involves many different paths. . . . There may or

may not be a beginning, but there is rarely a definite [personal narrative] path or

single ending. This makes for a more reader-based document, and allows the

reader to make choices. (1)

This clear emphasis on reader participation allows us to view Life of Pi as a story that can

not only entertain audiences, but potentially has an impact on their lives in a more lasting,

concrete way. This dramatic fiction of a boy lost at sea prompts us to debate such

questions as whether truth and/or believability deserve a place in determining the value of

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a story. What role does perception play in the giving and receiving of tales? How do

different versions of the same story interact and what do they tell us about the art of

storytelling and the construction of reality?

Pi's story engages these broad literary questions in a way that does not provide

concrete answers but instead explores their possibilities. This act of probing the

functionality of stories and the complexity of their pervasiveness is not exclusive to the

literary world but is multi-disciplinary, as also seen in the fields of psychology,

sociology, philosophy, politics, and anthropology, to name a few. Existing scholarship

which discusses Life of Pi as a survivor narrative draws heavily on inter-disciplinary

discourse to help explain concepts such as trauma and sense of self, as seen in the articles

by Rebecca Duncan and Li-an Lu. June Dwyer goes as far as to approach the text from

an ecological point of view to studying Life of Pi as a shipwreck narrative. While a

significant amount of scholarly research has examined the survivor-like or beast-fable

aspects of the novel (Warmuz, Cole), this project will be adding to the on-going

conversation of Life of Pi as a novel whose “postmodern options promise to take readers

beyond the simple ‘Which version of Pi's story do you believe?’ questions” (Duncan

172). Following the lead of academics such as Dina Georgis, this thesis will explore the

notion that “Martel teaches us how to read Pi’s story but he also demonstrates, by forcing

us to make sense of the layers of his text [temporal, narrative, structural], how to read his

novel” (167). It is within this discussion that the value of possibility in storytelling will

be stressed, which is based upon the idea that “Martel is suggesting that choosing

between fact and fiction leads us away from hearing ‘the better story’” (168).

Recently there has been an emerging trend in the literary world to step outside of

the traditional discourses of the Arts and literary debate by approaching narrative as a

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series of events that may be propelled by the same scientific theories that attempt to

explain events in the physical world. One of the useful discourses with which to discuss

Life of Pi is Chaos Theory. While there have been many scholarly articles relating this

theory to literary texts, it has yet to be applied to Life of Pi. This theory is useful as it

navigates the ins and outs of narrative in a manner that diverges from the traditional,

linear, Newtonian way thinking which is more apt to stress conclusiveness by adhering to

the traditionalist ‘beginning-middle-end’ narrative structure. Chaos theory as a literary

theory provides a philosophical framework with which to discuss how postmodern

narrative strategies such as temporal distortion, self-reflexivity, and metafiction work

together in Martel's novel to present an age-old survivor story in a new way. His creative

use of postmodern narrative devices emphasizes the important role narrative ambiguity

plays in creating narrative that will captivate modern readers. The text stands as a

narrative system which dovetails neatly into the structures of Chaos Theory, which

ultimately affects the societal anxieties of its audiences’ preoccupation with concepts

such as fate, free will, and cause and effect.

With this in mind, this thesis will first provide an overview of the history of Chaos

Theory, exploring its origins and its applicability to Literature. A discussion of Martel’s

intent to challenge readers by including disorienting elements in Life of Pi will follow in

Chapter Two, which will also discuss how Martel’s text exemplifies aspects of

Deterministic Chaos such as bifurcations, fractals, and iteration.

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Chapter One: Chaos Theory and its Applicability to Literature

God does not play dice with the universe.

Albert Einstein

God not only plays with dice, but sometimes he throws them where they cannot be seen.

Stephen Hawking (Boslough)

A Brief Overview of Chaos Theory

Chaos Theory, also known as nonlinear dynamical systems theory, emerged over

thirty years ago when it was first mentioned by meteorologist Edward Lorenz in 1963 and

revolutionized the way in which we conceptualize reality. Up to this point, the scientific

community approached its field with confidence that correct mathematics would allow

anything and everything to be calculated, measured, and therefore predicted to the most

precise degree. This Newtonian, rational, and linear outlook on life contributed to the

general consensus of the time that our world behaved logically and functioned in a very

stable, controllable, predictable way. This school of thought prevailed for hundreds of

years regardless of the fact that experiments were more often than not returning

unexpected results. Thought to be anomalies, these surprising and seemingly random

answers were actually proving to be more of the norm, suggesting that predictability is

less the expected than it is the exception. It was Lorenz who first realized that not even

advanced computer system technologies could offer accurate predictions of closed

systems, such as the weather. This movement signalled a shift in paradigms across

disciplines, as shown by the change in literary criticism from New Criticism to

deconstructionism that was happening at the same time.

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Essentially, Chaos Theory is the notion that “simple systems give rise to complex

behaviour; complex systems give rise to simple behaviour” (Gleick 304). This concept is

easily seen in the literary world, where one line of a poem can prove to be more, or just

as, complex as an entire novel; or, that novels, while seemingly complex, may be reduced

to simple ideas, themes, and so forth. Katherine Hayles discusses this concept in chapter

one of her book Chaos Bound, describing how it is not only obvious factors that influence

systems, but that miniscule forces are of equal importance (1-53). Take for instance the

action of rolling a ball down a hill towards a target. While the size, weight, and impact of

the ball on the target could be calculated, the course it will follow as it rolls down the hill

is near-impossible to predict. Because the direction of its course depends on such a

myriad of influential factors (such as dust on its surface, bumps on the ground, wind,

superficial imperfections), precise calculations become impossible. Even seemingly

disparate influences such as one’s body heat (affecting air density) or what was consumed

for breakfast that morning could and can affect the path of the bouncing ball. Given the

exponential growth of connected influences generated from the simple act of ball-rolling,

it is impossible to generate meaningful predictive algorithms. Our math simply cannot

manage the complexity. Chaos Theory helps to explain this behaviour, emphasizing the

importance of cause and effect on a system, internal patterns, and the non-linear.

This notion that seemingly insignificant initial events can ultimately generate

huge and unanticipated results can be found in the process of reading. To exemplify,

something as seemingly insignificant as a reader consuming a spicy lunch, could be seen

as a precursor to that particular reader’s interpretation of what is read on that day. This is

why the reading experience generates an infinite number of interpretive probabilities, as

“the more chaotic a system is, the more information it produces” (Hayles, Chaos Bound

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8).

Despite its moniker, Chaos Theory has less to do with randomness than one might

expect. While it acknowledges the unpredictability of the universe, Chaos Theory

ultimately works to explain the causation behind seemingly random events. It stipulates

that everything is patterned; however, explanations of these patterns more often than not

still rest outside of the limits of rational scientific mathematics that stress predictability.

In other words, traditional notions of “random” and “unpredictable” take on new

meaning. That an event is a random occurrence suggests there is no attributable cause for

it. Chaos Theory postulates that an unpredictable event takes places in a deterministically-

defined structure. This initial event, whose outcome is based on a causality-consequence

loop, generates too many variables to predict all possible outcomes with any certainty.

Hayles speaks of the “important role that such phenomena play in reinforcing the

connection between information and randomness” (Chaos Bound 8). Perhaps the most

important notion we understand from this theory is that “the more chaotic a system is, the

more information it produces. This perception… enables chaos to be conceived as an

inexhaustible ocean of information rather thank as a void signifying absence.” (8).

Defining the Term Deterministic Chaos

An important concept in this thesis is Deterministic Chaos. This term facilitates a

clear discussion of how Martel’s novel highlights the relationship between Chaos Theory

and audience response. Deterministic Chaos relates to the word “chaos” in a specific,

technical way as it directly pertains to Chaos Theory itself. This term directly references

the philosophies that rest at the foundation of Chaos Theory: the non-linear, the

seemingly random, and the almost infinite. Physicists use it to describe the world around

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us such as our solar system and the very universe we exist within. Deterministic Chaos

touches everything. It is a philosophy of how our world functions as a complex system. It

is inextricably related to everything from weather systems, to a planet's rotation, to

shooting a hockey puck or reading a book. In this thesis, this term is used to denote a link

between Chaos Theory-based theories and the textual interests being discussed.

Chaos Theory and its Connections to Literary Theory

In a world that seems to be devolving into greater political, cultural,

environmental, social, and spiritual disarray, it should come as no surprise that the advent

of an invigorating, unconventional theory which helps explain the seemingly

“unexplainable” is welcomed. This ability to restructure and account for new narrative

possibilities has a definite appeal to scholars, as literature has long borrowed from science

in its quest to explore texts. Merja Polvinen asserts that “in literary theory [Chaos Theory]

is referred to perhaps more often than any other scientific model. This popularity seems to

be due to, firstly, its resonance in the imagination, and, secondly, the image of chaos

mechanics as a renegade science, which makes it seem sympathetic to the

poststructuralist revolution in literary studies” (60). Likewise, Ragab Aman argues “the

applicability of Chaos Theory in humanities scholarship is based on a similarity between

theory, (post)modernism, and systems studied by social fiction and science. Both Chaos

Theory and postmodernism reject the logical systems which preceded them: Newtonian

science and modernism” (2). It has been applied to authors such as James Joyce (Peter

Mackey), D. H. Lawrence (Yasser Ragab Aman), John Donne (Allen Michie), Samuel

Beckett (John Kundert-Gibbs), and Kurt Vonnegut (Kevin Boon), to name but a few. It

has also cropped up in academic literature relating to theatre (William Demastes) and

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linguistics (Victor Longa).

The most prominent advocate for applying Chaos Theory to literary theory thus

far is Hayles. She, like Polvinen, favours the exploration of how Chaos Theory works in

regards to literary theory and specific literary works. Hayles's two books, The Cosmic

Web: Scientific Field Models and Literary Strategies in the Twentieth Century and Chaos

Bound: Orderly Disorder in Contemporary Literature and Science, have situated Chaos

Theory as a complementary and useful theory that unifies the scientific and literary

worlds. Hayles accomplishes this by asserting that their connection is innate, as they both

spring from the same socio-cultural environment: “The similarities arose because of

broadly based movements within the culture which made the deep assumptions

underlying the new paradigms thinkable, perhaps even inevitable, thoughts” (Chaos

Bound 3).

For example, Hayles specifically links Chaos Theory to deconstructionism and the

theories of Jacques Derrida. She notes that “Derridian deconstructive methodology and

nonlinear dynamics are strikingly parallel in a number of ways. They agree that bounded,

deterministic systems can nevertheless be chaotic; they both employ iteration; and they

concur that originality or initial conditions cannot be specified exactly” (Chaos Bound

183-84). Likewise, it is important to explore Chaos Theory as a postmodern literary

theoretical framework, as Life of Pi is a postmodern text. Scholar Dean Wilcox asserts

that Chaos Theory is “profoundly rooted in our postmodern existence” (2) and Hayles

notes that

The postmodern context catalyzed the formation of the new science by

providing a cultural and technological milieu in which the component

parts came together and mutually reinforced each other until they were no

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longer isolated events but an emergent awareness of the constructive roles

that disorder, nonlinearity, and noise play in complex systems. (Chaos

Bound, 5)

This is not only important in establishing a connection between Chaos Theory and

Literary theory, but is also pertinent in my discussion of Life of Pi, as my thesis argues

that Martel’s text does not contain only one meaning, and overall attempts to understand

the textual foundations it bases itself upon. In looking at texts in this way, it can be seen

that “deconstruction appears when we realize that texts are always already open to infinite

dissemination. Far from being ordered sets of words bound by book covers, they are

reservoirs of chaos” (180).

In her book Strange Attractors: Literature, Culture, and Chaos Theory, Harriett

Hawkins acknowledges the limitations of Chaos Theory as it relates to literature, noting

that these types of connections “may well be technically challenged, since they range far

afield from the exact mathematics involved in Chaos Theory” (xi). Indeed, this thesis

does not attempt to delve into the intricate mathematics or scientific detail found at the

root of Chaos Theory. As Hawkins notes, “certain literary as well as obvious science

oversimplifications are therefore inevitable” (x), yet the goal is not to exemplify the

mathematical formulas of Chaos Theory in narrative, but to identify its most relevant

concepts and apply them as a literary theoretical framework to Life of Pi.

Hawkins goes on to argue that Chaos Theory and literary theory may have more

in common than first thought, as the ubiquity of certain metaphorical figures and themes

in works of art throughout time “might in turn suggest that there could be some

underlying unity in the dynamical process that 'nonlinear' literature and the formalism

embedded in science alike enable us at least to recognize or, metaphorically, to

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comprehend, albeit never, finally, to predict or control” (xi). This allows us to use Chaos

Theory in a way that works to reinforce the very essence of its concepts. While Chaos

Theory was not originally intended to be used as a literary theory, similar to Jungian and

Freudian theory, it has crossed from the scientific to the literary world. As such, Chaos

Theory acts as a “conceptual bridge” (xi) between scientific theory and nonlinear texts,

such as Life of Pi.

Chaos Theory and its Applicability to Texts

Applying Chaos Theory to text, says Hawkins, is “of critical importance in

theoretically allowing for a contemporary, and reciprocally creative interaction between

art and science, as well as providing a new conceptual framework from which to view the

continuing interaction between premodern and postmodern and popular and classic

works” (Strange Attractors 6). In this way, Chaos Theory is poised to provide fresh

outlooks on any type of document as any text is open to as many interpretations as there

are readers. As Hawkins argues,

for modern audiences, the mutuality of insight operates retroactively as

well as reciprocally, so that portrayals of deterministic chaos in current

works… lend new relevance to past works, just as past works lend their

mythic force and resonance to present works of art and to the cognate

insights of Chaos Theory itself. (7)

This dynamic also helps explain why classic works have achieved such high socio-

cultural status, maintaining their power and effectiveness over long periods of time. The

persistence of these documents suggests that there exists a patterned system of universal

thought and emotion that we participate in as human beings. While Chaos Theory does

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not attempt to define its characteristics, it provides a means through which we can

conceptualize the success of these classic texts and appreciate what they have to offer.

It is important, however, to acknowledge that while unpredictable, the narrative

matrix still maintains parameters as it exists as a deterministic structure. As mentioned

above, Martel exerts a certain amount of control over the initial conditions. This element

of authorial manipulation relates to Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle, which stipulates

that while either the position and velocity of a variable may be predicted, both cannot

simultaneously. We can transpose this theory to literature if we consider the variables to

represent reader response to the text and location in narrative. The details of one does not

result in being able to calculate the exact details of the other, yet both exist in a co-

dependent relationship so we may use either variable to estimate information concerning

them both. Consequently, while we may be able to surmise the end result of a reader’s

experience with the book as a result of its construction, no one can ultimately predict

exactly how one reader may react. This concept is analogous to Hayles’s claim that there

is “a hidden order that exists within chaotic systems. Chaos in this usage is distinct from

true randomness, because it can be shown to contain deeply encoded structures” (Chaos

Bound 9).

The language contained within the scope of Chaos Theory, such as determinism,

nonlinearity, fractals, and so forth, has given us the means with which to explain new

concepts that are pertinent to textual study. For example, the commonly-used literary

term “turning point” comes close to, yet does not fully, encapsulate the word

“bifurcation”, which describes an irreversible moment of disruption in a stable system

(this concept will be further elaborated upon in later pages). Using Chaos Theory as a

literary theory to examine texts encompasses more than simply applying scientific jargon

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to old literary concepts. It, as do other science-based literary theories such as

Psychoanalysis, pulls from these new scientific concepts their core philosophies, and then

takes those innovative means of conceptualisation and applies them to texts. Chaos

theory’s applicability to texts allows us to view them as complex, deterministic systems

which in turn gives us access to modern scientific philosophies which attempt to explain

how complex notions of nonlinearity, randomness, and unpredictability work together to

create meaning, just as they do in Life of Pi.

Encouraging readers to recognize how they participate in a “select transforming of

reality” (Martel vi) ultimately encourages a way of thinking that demonstrates the power

of personal perspective on not only Pi’s story, but the stories of our lives. The novel’s

parameters also manifest in the form of clues, hinting at the twist that is to come at the

end. Playful lines highlight Martel's set up of a complex system that is Deterministically

Chaotic. For example, early on in the author's note, the implied author says, “The second

time to India I knew better what to expect and I knew what I wanted” (vi). This line could

potentially tip off a savvy reader to Martel's strategy, solidify the expectations of a reader

who is privy to the ending, appear meaningless to a first-time reader, or self-reflexively

echo the experience of the reader who returns to Martel's novel for the second time with a

new appreciation for the story. After returning to the text after the initial reading, phrases

such as “That's what fiction is all about, isn't it, the selective transforming of reality? The

twisting of it to bring out its essence?” (vi), stand out as if they were scribbled in neon, as

they clearly point to Martel's endgame, which is to present the notion that forms the basis

of Martel’s deterministic structure: that a realm of possibility is encapsulated within

reader perspective. Furthermore, he states that “on that first trip I had come to the

subcontinent completely unprepared” (v), much like readers do to this text. The

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interpretive possibilities of these lines will remain forever open-ended, as does the very

ending of the novel itself.

In traditional novels, the author carefully guides the reader along a very specific,

predetermined path. This path is very linear, with a clear beginning, middle and end,

usually with obvious narrative signposts along the way. In these types of stories, there is

little room for reader response to interject and select a version of events they believe to be

true. Martel’s story does not unfold in a way that maintains authorial control of content.

Ultimately, his system evolves into a structure that invites a wide range of personal

interpretation versus a singular, solid conclusion. As Hayles describes, both Derridian

theory and Chaos Theory stipulate that “the boundary between text and context is not

fixed. Infinite contexts invade and permeate the text, regardless of chronology or

authorial intention” (Chaos Bound 180-81). In this case, the role of the author has shifted

from those in a traditional sense where an omnipotent figure who wields complete

authority over his or her work. As Wolfgang Iser argues, it is the reader who “sets the

work in motion” (275) and the “text only takes on life when it is realized” (274). Iser

viewed the reading experience as highly personal, where the reader is involved in a highly

“characteristic selection process … an individual act of seeing things together” (284).

While there are "means by which the author stimulates attitudes in the reader" (291),

ultimately, as Chaos Theory in a literary context stipulates, interpretive control rests in

the hands of readers. In this sense, it facilitates an opportunity “in which reader and

author participate in a game of the imagination” (280). By presenting a Deterministically

Chaotic system, not even the author can account for all the myriad of probabilities. This is

true for most narratives, but it is especially demonstrated in Life of Pi. Martel rejects a

traditional approach to narrative, allowing for readers’ perceptions and expectations to

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play a large role in unravelling their personal narrative path.

However, while innumerable, the response of Martel’s readers must still fall

within certain boundaries as Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle stipulates that results

form chaotic systems remain open to estimation, not exact calculation. The examples

presented in later sections of this work show that many readers will likely venture down a

path that believes in the validity of his implied author and the story he spins. This

interpretation is arguably the one Martel anticipates most readers will experience, as

evidenced by his careful narrative construction. Because Part Three involves the

revelation of a second story which is meant to be a surprise (arguably a pivotal moment

of bifurcation, a concept which will be discussed later), a reader's level of expectation of

the final revelation will ultimately exert influence on the system as a whole, affecting his

or her overall interpretation. While Martel must understand that all readers will approach

his text with varying sets of their own starting points (or, in terms of Deterministic Chaos,

we can call these “initial conditions”), his inclusion of a surprise element suggests he is

depending on the fact that the majority of readers stem from a similar level ignorance.

Depending on how intimate readers’ knowledge is of Martel’s plot-line, this narrative

system will be affected in very different ways. In an ideal world, Martel depends on his

readers having similarly-set initial conditions. These ideal conditions allow him to

control, at a narrative level, the resulting matrix of their responses. Unfortunately, as we

have seen, the mind of a reader embodies a Deterministically Chaotic system that is prone

to unpredictable results. This results in certain readers enjoying a higher level of

astonishment than others during the climactic moment of revelation. Clearly, these

conditions lead to an end result that is impossible to predict given that there are as many

outcomes as there are readers.

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Ultimately, the appearance of Deterministic Chaos in literary texts makes practical

sense considering the fact that chaos reflects real life and all literature springs from

human experience. Without an element of disorder, the unexpected, and the nonlinear, the

vast majority of plots would lose their spark. Both order and disorder participate in a co-

dependent relationship, injecting a necessary dose of intrigue and tension into both life

and art. Imagine Harry Potter without the looming presence of Lord Voldemort, sporting

events without overtime matches, or going a lifetime without experiencing heartbreak.

Yet, “chaos is [also] seen as order's precursor and partner, rather than as its opposite”

(Hayles, Chaos Bound 9), suggesting that they exist as a dichotomy, dependent on each

other for definition.

Consequently, some level of control and order does rest in Martel's hands, which

helps to explain the popular appeal of his book as attested by the awards it has accrued.

Without some level of universal interpretation, this wide-spread success would prove

impossible. While it is true that the unpredictability of Deterministically Chaotic systems

works to support the argument that an innumerable number of interpretations are possible,

Polvinen makes the vital argument that “such a view ignores the presence of shapes –

strange attractors and fractal curves – within the behaviour of chaos” (55). This is a

crucial omission, as graphically, these shapes prove that the possible outcomes of a

Deterministically Chaotic system, while infinite, must still conform to a pattern and thus

are limited to a certain area, thus forming them into a deterministic structure. In this way,

the graph helps predict how a system may behave, though it is unable to calculate exact

predictions. What this means is that “all the elements of the text are open to infinite

nuances of interpretation, but all those endless choices reside within certain parameters”

(55), helping to account for the myriad of readers who all came away from the novel with

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similarly positive reactions and interpretations.

The use of Chaos Theory as a method to examine literary constructs has a

comparatively short history. This is not surprising given the relatively late entry of Chaos

Theory in the several fields it overlaps. With this new instrument to account for the

dynamics of narrative possibility, scholars now have a way to rationalize and account for

the events and probabilities in non-traditional narratives. The next section will present

Yann Martel’s novel The Life of Pi as an example of how intentional crafting by an

author can achieve a narrative design that is an ideal platform to explore the direct and

complex relationship between elements of narrative structure which inspire confusion in

readers and Deterministic Chaos.

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Chapter Two: Chaos Theory as a Platform to Explore Narrative Construction in

Life of Pi

Increasingly, the mathematics will demand the courage to face it implications.

Ian Malcom, Jurassic Park

Yann Martel’s novel Life of Pi tells the tale of a boy, Piscine Patel (Pi), who is

shipwrecked and stranded on a lifeboat in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. The book is

divided into three parts: Part One provides an introduction to both Pi and the implied

author, Part Two describes Pi’s journey stranded at sea, while Part Three takes place

following Pi’s rescue and narrates a Japanese inquisition into the details surrounding his

traumatic experience. The story of Pi’s shipwreck is told as a detailed beast fable, while

the end of Part Three presents a secondary, pared-down account of the events where

humans take the place of the animals. It is an age-old survivor narrative that ignites

curiosity even before it is revealed in Part Two that his lifeboat comrades include an

oragutang, hyena, zebra, and Royal Bengal tiger. The events in Part Two are so shocking,

however, that it takes more than a few encouraging words to establish a strong level of

reader-narrator trust to ensure that readers are willing to enjoy the story rather than

discredit it as useless folly. It is for this reason that Part One contains many meticulously-

inserted “clues” with which readers are being primed to accept the events to come. It is

the real author’s intention to foster a trusting relationship with his readers, as shown by

his willingness to go so far as to construct a false author’s note, a false authorial

character, and to disperse clues throughout the author’s note and Part One to cue that

everything may not be as it seems. Using literary devices that stimulate reader response,

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Martel is able to craft a dynamic system of narratives that reveals to the reader the joy of

dwelling in possibility and uncertainty.

Narrative Discourse in Life of Pi

Like chaotic mathematical structures, Martel’s novel is set up with specific initial

conditions that will ultimately lead to chaotic, unpredictable results. However, instead of

numerical values, Martel’s dynamic system uses narrative elements of events (actions

happenings) and existents (characters, settings). Martel presents readers with the closed

system, and because the responses of readers are innumerable they are inherently chaotic.

Depending on expectations, information, background, and any other myriad of variables,

the text carries the potential to spark excitement, awe, mistrust, nothing at all, a variation

of these things, or perhaps something else entirely.

By the end of the novel, readers are overwhelmed by a vast range of narrative

paths and possibilities, causing them to be disorientated enough that trust in Pi (as

focalizer) becomes unavoidable. The author positioned as guide is nothing new, but in

Martel’s case, it is a considerable feat considering that he undermines that trust

continually with the inclusion of outlandish events and subtle textual discrepancies. Yet

regardless of giving readers reason to doubt his authority, Martel artfully constructs the

text in a way that allows readers’ confusion to trump skepticism. This trust is critical

because their confusion does not allow them access to the usual reader strategies such as

expectation, anticipation, and prediction.

Martel's novel readers are taken on a journey where seemingly random events are

given meaning through pattern and predictability. At the end of the novel, Pi is rescued

and is faced with having to rationalize the inexplicable to government officials

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investigating the disaster, and is forced to put into words an experience he is unsure how

to articulate. While a superficial reading might inspire a post-Newtonian reaction that

contends Pi's struggles were simply random, unfortunate fate, viewing the events through

a lens of Chaos Theory proves the opposite. Using a “paradigm of orderly disorder”

(Hayles, Chaos Bound xiii), or in other words, keeping in mind that chaos is not random

or unpredictable but simply a pattern shrouded in complexity, we see that Pi's situation is

not folly but is something that is set in motion by Martel from the very beginning. The

careful construction of his text reflects a predetermined, complex system of conditions

which Chaos Theory helps illuminate.

As mentioned previously, the generally accepted chaos/order dichotomy has

prevailed in literature and art, and indeed life, for the all of human history. Its thematic

resilience appears to stem from the tension that is created from the pair’s competitive

nature, with order constantly nipping the heels of chaos in a desperate attempt to control

and organize. This can be seen in the fateful storms of William Shakespeare’s The

Tempest and Eugene Ionesco's play, Rhinoceros. These forces interact in a way that

encapsulates both attraction and repulsion, where “a desire to experience chaos coexists

and competes with a will to order” (Hawkins, Strange Attractors, 5). This tension is

reflected through the writing process, as authors attempt to translate the deterministic

chaos of their thoughts into words and sentences, only to have to then format those

sequences of thoughts into paragraphs and books. The artistic endeavour of creating a

narrative mirrors our scientific efforts to rationally and predictably explain human

existence. Both are attempts to rein in chaos, be it through syntactical or formulaic means,

and impose narrative order and understanding on the seemingly unorganizable. We are

just as unable to control chaotic systems as we are audience response. This may seem

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contradictory considering I have discussed how Martel manipulates audience response,

but in that regard I am speaking only to his ability to construct initial events. Once these

events are interpreted, or reduced, by readers, they become infinite. For all the

preparation that Martel may infuse within his initial structure, audience response remains

entirely unpredictable as Deterministic Chaos suggests. Consequently, as Hawkins notes,

“individual responses to these works may themselves be chaotic. Authors cannot control

what effects their works may have” (Paradigms Lost 264). Life of Pi overtly encourages

this type of interpretative chaos by presenting the reader with multiple versions of its

resolution based upon the same core events.

The foundation of this story’s complexity is rooted within its immediate need at

the beginning to establish trust between narrator and reader. This trust is a systemic

variable that Martel manipulates through narrative structure to increase the novel’s

overall complexity. The tale of Pi's fight for survival is constructed as an intricate

narrative system, told as a “factual” story within a story, and is narrated by three separate

voices which contribute to its complexity. Firstly, there is the voice of the implied author

which is denoted by italicized font. This voice postures as the voice of Martel himself (as

seen in the somewhat autobiographical details, he scatters in the intrusions of the implied

author throughout, such as his reference to his struggles with writer’s block), yet it is as

fictional as the protagonist himself. This implied author eventually ends up hearing the

story of Pi from Pi himself, and then goes on to narrate it from Pi's perspective. This

creates a rather tricky situation where parts two and three are focalized by someone other

than the author. The focalizer can be thought of as the one who sees, while the narrator

can be described as the one who tells. In this respect, Pi acts as narrator-protagonist, yet

with the readers still aware that Pi's journey is in fact written from the perspective of the

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implied author. Considering the implied author makes the claim that “It seemed natural

that Mr. Patel's story should be told mostly in the first person, in his voice and through his

eyes. But any inconsistencies or mistakes are mine” (x), it seems clear that the rest of the

story can be seen as written not through Martel's personal perspective, but through the

lens of his fictional author. Essentially, there is an author-narrator who presents himself

as being Martel but is in fact an implied author, and there is also character-narrator, Pi,

whose experiences are described in first person by the implied author. The multiple layers

of narration allow the dynamics of the closed system to grow exponentially, as readers are

offered a nonlinear manner with which to view narration, with the freedom to believe and

trust that they are listening to Pi, the narrator, or Martel himself, speaking. These

overlapping, rather confusing narrative levels encourage the system to blossom in

structural complexity, increasing the novel’s overall sense of disorientation.

The story that follows the author's note, while written by the implied author, is

told in first person narration as if Pi himself is speaking. In any type of literature, first

person narration is suspect, as it is notably biased and only offers one point of view of

narrative events. In this case, it should be approached with even more skepticism, as parts

two and three are twice removed from Pi himself, as the implied author is speaking on his

behalf. Considering Life of Pi is a story that eventually unfolds into a rather outlandish

course of events, it is imperative that Martel foster a trusting relationship between Pi and

his readers. He does this in part by calling attention to the narrative shortcomings of his

implied author. As mentioned previously, the author’s note states that “It seemed natural

that Mr. Patel's story should be told mostly in the first person, in his voice and through his

eyes. But any inconsistencies or mistakes are mine” (x). This not only reinforces the

“natural”, organic quality that Martel wishes his readers to tie to Pi's story, but also works

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to acknowledge the large part that the implied author plays in the re-telling. It is reflected

again towards the end of the book, where Pi says “But there's more to it. I will come

clean. I will tell you a secret” (181), as if the reader has been specially chosen to bear the

truth, implying that his story is not fabricated in any way. These moments of pseudo self-

awareness suggest the implied author is aware of his short comings as author, and by

admitting them, he inspires the confidence of his readers that he will avoid such “errors”

as much as possible. This manipulation of self-reflexivity is ultimately in play to

encourage readers to trust the implied author, regardless of the complex narrative

structure that could potentially confound its perceived “honesty”.

This element of trust is important as the reader must feel at ease in Pi's company

in order to believe the information he provides and thoughts he describes. If Pi, as a

character, was to lose the empathy or trust of the audience, the effectiveness of his story

would be completely undermined. To unknowingly allow readers to step outside the

realm of believability in parts one and two would encourage them to challenge the text

and remain hesitant to allow themselves to be swept along with the story. Considering the

fact that the emotional impact of this story is dependent on the reader's deception, reading

against the grain is the last thing Martel wants to encourage. As a result, we find that Pi's

character is easily likeable, friendly, and intelligent. His carefully constructed nature

borderlines on emotionally-distant, yet this only enhances the interpretative nature of the

character by allowing readers the interpretive freedom to dictate how they reconcile the

believability of the protagonist. Pi’s artfully-constructed, generic likeability acts as a

blank canvas for readers, providing them the freedom to inject their own ideas of Pi’s

history, motivations, and characteristics, into the story. Pi’s lack of dimension as a

character also allows the opportunity for readers to see themselves as Pi, to put

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themselves on the boat with the tiger. This ultimately translates into a more personal

reading experience than if his character was fully fleshed-out and thus held at arms length

from readers. The narration is punctuated with moments of direct address, switching from

narrating in first person to direct address, saying “You know what” (240) or “You must

stroll” (195), as if he is sitting directly beside you, conversing in an active tête-à-tête.

This metafictive element pulls readers out of the story, bringing Pi into their own world.

This effort to purposefully blur the line between reader and narrator and allow both

worlds to penetrate the other fosters a disorienting yet affiliating response, which is

important to the story and our response to it.

Addressing readers directly in such a forward, intimate manner also establishes

them as Pi's confidant and personal friend which increases the amount of trust readers are

ultimately willing to give the implied author. Once this trust is established, Martel is free

to use it to his advantage, manipulating it in ways that encourage readers to remain

fixated on the story and to experience the unfolding of his narrative structure.

The first encounter with the implied author is at the very beginning of the book,

where readers are introduced to the text via a fictitious author's note that details an

encounter with a stranger who passed along the story of Pi. First time readers are

presumably oblivious to the fact that this author's note is not Martel himself speaking.

They believe the author's note to be true because conventionally, such a note gives

authorial insight that illuminates the reading with information that expands on the text in

the author's own voice. Martel manipulates the classic literary tradition of an author's note

in a way that profits from readers’ familiar relationship with this convention. In this note,

the implied author details how the novel was born out of a trip to India, where he met an

old man in a coffee shop who proclaimed to “have a story that will make [him] believe in

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God” (viii). From there, the implied author describes getting in touch with the subject of

the story and cobbles together Pi's story from their interviews and documents gathered

from the “Japanese Ministry of Transport” (x). It all sounds quite official, and because

these details are placed in the author's note, readers are given no indication that they

might be fictional. This convention is further played upon in regards to the use of

italicized font, as it is used not only in the author's note but also in various sections

throughout Part One. This gives these segments the same sense of authority as the

author's note itself. The illusion of direct address from the author works to heighten the

overall credibility of the tale by providing readers with a perceived (albeit, incorrect)

separate perspective that appears to reside outside of the narrative itself. This helps foster

increased trust between the author's voice and his readers, making it easier to manipulate

their willingness to go along with the story.

Martel does, however, hint through his use of language in the author's note that his

implied author is not to be trusted as a narrator as he is setting readers up for a surprise

ending. Before even getting to the note itself, the note is prefaced by a title page that

plainly states the book’s status as “a novel” (iii). This is done to emphasize that the text is

not a memoir, travel narrative, or biography, rooted in truth, but rather a piece of fiction.

This emphasis on the non-factual continually bleeds through in Pi’s use of words such as

“bamboozle” (v), “illogical” (v), and “puzzle” (v). These words of incredulity are

contradicted by phrases such as “feel of authenticity” (vii) and “the humble, bruised

truth” (vii). This juxtaposition of phrases which oppose each other sets an uncertain tone

for the following two parts of the novel, dangling readers on the cusp of disbelief while

also giving them every reason to plunge into believing. In some way, this story acts as a

manual for the text in its entirety, as Martel uses these contradictory words of delusion

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and logic in the author's note as a whiff of what's to come, which is the blurring of and

straddling between the lines of fantasy and reality.

In his attempt to herd his readers down a specific avenue of interpretation while

constructing a Deterministically Chaotic system, Martel appears to contradict himself

while at the same time embodying the unpredictable, fateful nature of the very theory his

book embodies. In perhaps the most poignant moment of the author's note, the implied

author writes,

In spite of the obvious, shining promise of [the story], there comes a

moment when you realize that the whisper that has been pestering you all

along from the back of your mind is speaking the flat, awful truth: it won't

work. An element is missing, that spark that brings to life a real story,

regardless of whether the history or the food is right. Your story is

emotionally dead. (vii)

This description of the deep disappointment felt at the death of his attempt at a second

novel is akin to the choice readers are asked to make in Part Three in that we too are

asked to decide which story is more emotionally effective. After presenting both the

animal and human versions of Pi's story, Martel leaves his audience to decide what to

make of both stories presented. The implied author also appears to suggest in this passage

that we are more apt to accept the story involving animals, as it is the one that is clearly

the more emotional and affective. The second story centering on humans is, like the

implied author's attempt at writing the novel about Portugal, crafted well with all of the

proper details but lacks “spark” which leaves it as nothing more than “the flat, awful

truth”. Even before his audience is faced with Part Three and the reconciliation of both

stories, the text is already nudging them to choose the story that is not necessarily the

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most realistic but the one that churns the greatest emotional response within us. As an

element that helps us decode the text as a whole, this episode sums up the conclusion that

the implied author seems to suggest all along, which is that readers hold the power to

choose their perspective as it relates to the stories of their lives. In doing so he betrays his

own bias, which may or may not be how Martel himself feels. We see that even the

author cannot escape the all-too-human tendency to attempt to exert control in a

Deterministically Chaotic world.

In addition, Martel manipulates the author's note in suggestive, self-reflexive ways

that mirror the text as a whole, while also using metaphorical suggestion to bond his

readers to Pi and allow themselves to mirror the emotions that Pi experiences (all while

keeping in mind the caveat that reader response is unpredictable). In chapter 65, we find

Pi “trying to decipher lines in the survival manual of navigation” (213), just as readers are

trying to decipher the absurd situation of wild animals and a human being trapped

together on a boat. The author of this manual expects the castaway to be knowledgeable

of seafaring ways, someone who “knew how he found his way into trouble, if not how he

would get out of it” (213). In a similar sense, Martel expects the same understanding from

his readers. He knows that each one is reading his words with, at the very least, a basic

understanding of the inner-workings of literature and story-telling devices that we all

accumulate as we grow as participants in the narrations that shape our daily lives. Pi may

have found himself in trouble on the life raft, but readers also find themselves in trouble

at the end of the story, where they find out the story they may have believed to be the

truth is actually contradicted by any number of probabilities. Readers who have been

paying close attention may have recognized how and why they were pulled into the story.

In Part Two, Pi is faced with the task of finding his way out of the Pacific Ocean, and in

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Part Three, Martel's readers are faced with having to find their way out of Martel's

elaborately constructed matrix. Pi's “feelings of wonder” (214) of the sea are similar to

the emotional reaction of readers as they are exposed to the fantastical occurrences within

the lifeboat. He has “no means of controlling where he is going” (214), a feeling that is

mutual as we, as readers, are left in the hands of Martel and his story-spinning.

The way in which the readers’ experience mirrors that of Pi’s creates iteration.

Iteration refers to a process which builds upon itself in the same way mathematical graphs

do, ultimately producing a more complex system than it would have without a repeated

event. The multiple narrators manipulate language in an iterative way that functions

similarly to feedback loops. This can be seen in the way incredulous vocabulary is

scattered throughout the text, such as “inexplicable” (Martel 44), “thunderstruck” (88),

“falsity” (148), and so forth, whose presence subconsciously builds upon itself to help

expel readers’ skepticism. This is also seen in Martel’s use of sensory-based language as

it slowly builds exponentially, lulling most readers into a state of rapt captivity. In this

sense, all but perceptive readers drift along the lines just as Pi coasts upon the current of

the Pacific Ocean. In the same way, Chaos Theory predicates where an initial event

(Martel’s story) is simple, it ultimately produces a complex matrix. This matrix is far

more complex than it would have been without the feedback loop in place, as it relates to

the complex manner with which the human and animal story relate to one another. Both

inform the other, building meaning from information taken from both versions. Once a

reader has knowledge of them both, they cannot be separated, becoming a feedback loop

which repeats itself and thus is in a perpetual state of growing complexity.

The concept of iteration in literature can also be thought of in a broader sense

which speaks to the interesting nature of crafting a story that builds upon itself, repeating

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patterns and functions in a way that builds on itself and increases the complexity of the

text. Davis, Smith and Leflore define iteration as “the driving force of the chaotic

dynamics of nonlinear systems. It is a simple repetition of a certain function or action,

using previous output as input for the next action” (10). The self-reflexive nature of Life

of Pi ultimately stands as a manifestation of iteration.

Iteration is also an important concept with regards to the didactic quality that Part

Three has in influencing the way readers reflect on the importance of perspective and the

role it plays in the multitude of stories of their lives. Davis, Smith and Leflore explain this

building-effect, noting that “using the thoughts and ideas of one person as input for the

next thoughts and ideas about a concept… sometimes lead to consensus or common

solution or answer, or sometimes lead to a variety of solutions and answers, all of which

are valid and which open up possibilities for other solutions and answers” (13) to occur.

This concept relates to the Deterministically Chaotic nature of reading itself, as the

reading experience of one person carries the potential to be built upon and strengthened

by the experience of another. In this regard, Deterministic Chaos helps explain word-of-

mouth, literary reviews, reading clubs, and so forth, all of which contribute to the success

of a novel.

The scenes in Part One which help set up Part Two are also iterative in nature

considering they layer upon one another to help increase the novel’s level of believability

in Part Two. It is through early accounts of Pi’s childhood that the first foundational

layers are placed in order to prepare readers for the strange events that take place in Part

Two. For example, when comparing wild animals to those that reside within his father's

zoo, Pi notes that “animals in the wild lead lives of compulsion and necessity within an

unforgiving social hierarchy in an environment where the supply of fear is high and the

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supply of food is low and where territory must constantly be defended” (17). This

animalistic notion of survival is clearly connected to the situation Pi later finds himself in,

when he is stranded on the boat with wild animals. In this excerpt, Pi highlights the

importance of social hierarchy, fear, and the defence of territory, all of which play key

roles in his survival in Part Two. Allowing readers access to this tidbit of information in

Part One better equips them to accept the unlikely events in Part Two. This naturalization

of his events is vital to the success of the story, as it would be unable to proceed as a

dynamic system without the trust and understanding of its readers.

Another instance which helps prepare the audience for the bizarre medley of

lifeboat comrades is the unusual co-habitation situation of a rhinoceros and a few goats

within his family’s zoo. Pi notes that his father has a rhino that lives peacefully with a

herd of goats, proving to readers that it is possible for antagonistic animals to get along

and share living space. Once this initially odd animal situation is accepted, it makes it

much easier for readers to accept the notion that an orangutan, a hyena, a zebra, and a

tiger survive together on a boat. Further conditioning is carried out as Pi notes early on

that “animals are territorial” (19). This information essentially trains readers to later view

the fighting between the animals on the boat as normal, if not necessary. This also helps

foster acceptance once readers are ultimately faced with their horrifying deaths.

Considering that the majority of Martel's readership is not deeply versed in the nuances of

animal behaviour, Martel knows that we rely on Pi’s character as a source of authority in

regards to animals. Consequently, because all of the animals' behaviour tends to follow

the guidelines of Pi's warnings and teachings in Part One, readers are left with little

reason to question their validity in Part Two.

Just as many readers would presumably not have extensive knowledge of wild

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animal behaviour, most would also not have a firm handle on nautical jargon. With talk of

the “gunnel” (153) and the “rearward extension of the keel” (152), most non-nautical

readers would find themselves slightly confused. Consequently, they are left to once

again trust in Pi's knowledge of boats and to accept his descriptions as truth. The use of

specific jargon returns later, as he recounts food from his native home, India, such as

“spicy tamarind sambar” (270) and “coconut yam kootu” (271). While there inevitably

will be readers who are familiar with these terms, in situations like these, where Pi is

describing a very specific aspect of his world, he clearly holds the upper hand on anyone

who fails to share in his extensive knowledge. He refrains from further describing these

things, suggesting that Martel wants the reader to remain in a confused, submissive state

of mind. Maria Tatar explains in her book, Enchanted Hunters, that the use of foreign

words “can arouse a range of emotions, even when – or perhaps because – the words

themselves are unfamiliar, exotic, and strange” (73). This is reflective of the

disorientation that Part Three conjures up once the second story is revealed and readers

must bring into focus their feelings on both.

Pi, as narrator, also attempts to elicit trust with his readers through his use of guilt,

which he deploys to hint at his deception while also imploring readers to trust what he has

to say. He pleadingly asks, “Will I be believed when I say that life can take the most

surprising turns?” (306). The subtext seems to suggest that it would be wrong for anyone,

including readers, to assume otherwise. Earlier in the story, Pi experiences his own doubt

when he criticizes the solar stills' ability to produce fresh water (207). Not long after, we

learn that he was wrong and that they worked like a charm. His varying experiences of

skepticism are set up to purge readers of their own skepticism, encouraging them to

mimic Pi's reaction and simply shrug off the abnormal and cease to question its validity.

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By doing so, Martel betrays an attempt to train his audience to simply trust the source and

accept anything he presents as believable.

Martel employs a similar manipulative technique in Part Two, which is to select

his vocabulary very carefully in an effort to make readers bond with Pi. The language he

uses throughout the novel acts on a subconscious level, urging the reader to recall the

words when doubt seeps in later on as the story develops. Over and over again, dramatic

words such as “bamboozle” (viii), “nonsense” (16), “baffling” (135), “highly improbably,

[and] totally incredible” (135), “conundrum” (149), “remarkable” (196), “impossible”

(235), are used. By repeatedly using jargon centred around disbelief, Martel essentially

disarms the words’ power and renders them docile. Repeated exposure to them in the text

dulls their influence on a readers’ psyche when and if they think of these words

themselves while reading a particularly baffling passage in the story. In addition, we

continually see Pi overcome these aforementioned impossibilities, which only further

encourages readers to disregard their own scepticism, so that readers allow the narrative

matrix to continue developing.

However, Martel is careful to balance these words of wonder with concrete

phrases of truth. For example, we see Pi note, “I couldn't believe it, but I knew I had to”

(163), “it's the plain empirical truth” (144), and “it seemed impossible to imagine... yet so

it was” (235). These more level-headed quotations are, not surprisingly, found in the

latter half of the book. In being placed there, they respond to a need, as at that point,

readers are undoubtedly beginning to garner increasingly more suspicion concerning the

believability of the story. Hearing Pi speak sentences that reflect a sense of truth helps

soothe readers’ anxiety that the story has been pushed too far into the realm of fantasy.

Martel must take care not to make the animal story too outrageous or else he will throw

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off the delicate balance of toeing the line of plausibility and improbability. Should he lose

the reader’s sense of being able to believe in both stories equally, creating a feedback

loop between the animal and human stories becomes more difficult as skeptics will side

more with the story involving people. These phrases also work on a subliminal level,

gently prodding readers to think the same way as Pi, to agree with what he is saying, and

to accept the reality of the radical incident that he is trying to excuse in the first place. As

Pi notes, “repetition is important in the training not only of animals but also of humans”

(25). Therefore, the more readers hear Pi’s pleas of incredulity answered, the more apt

they are to reconcile their own skepticism and take a leap of faith to believe the events as

they unfold. When considering this statement as it relates to iteration, this quote becomes

even truer. Pi’s makes constant efforts to remind readers that the extraordinary can and

does take place in ordinary day-to-day life (such as the rhino living with the mountain

goats in his father’s zoo). This iteration is a manifestation of operant conditioning,

demonstrating how repetition can lead to changed behaviour, which in this case indicates

a change in readers’ willingness to set aside suspicion.

Additional examples of crafty word juxtapositions are found in the way Martel

uses oxymorons to describe Pi's feelings. Martel describes an island that “teemed with

nothing” (300) and how “first impressions are hard to remember” (223). These sentences

are composed of conflicting thoughts, as it seems paradoxical that something could

overflow with nothing and that first impressions are anything but the easiest to recall.

While humours and ironic, these instances suggest Martel is toying with readers, testing

them to see how closely they are paying attention to detail. Noticing these contradictory

sentences could potentially tip off a reader to be more observant and critical of Pi as a

narrator in Part Two.

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This novel’s structure of meaning is also exemplified through the representative

role that naming plays in this story, not only in relation to Pi, but to other characters as

well. These names follow the same trends of the novel as a whole: they stress the

importance of initial conditions and the general inevitability, yet not quite predictability,

of life's events. Martel clearly positions the initial conditions of this novel very precisely.

Even the names of his characters relate to large motifs. Similar to the facts of the story,

Pi's name is “distorted” (23) time and time again, a distortion which consequently

increases the complexity of the narrative system, which thus parallels real-world chaotic

systems. In an effort to create less confusion, Pi decides to shorten his name from Piscine.

Likewise, in Part Three, he shortens his story down to the basic facts for the Japanese

officials, as the story without animals is told by the narrator in less than five pages.

Efforts to maintain his name’s correct pronunciation are attempted at first by teachers and

friends, but eventually what was “so precise at first, became muddled” (22), just as the

details of the Parts One and Two become “muddled” by the end of Part Three. Pi's name

itself represents an engagement of confusion and order, and indeed, mathematics. The

number Pi is known to be irrational, in other words, disorderly, a mystery without any

apparent predictable, repeating pattern. Keeping Chaos Theory in mind, however,

suggests that pi is not a random collection of numbers but simply remains misunderstood,

resting out of reach of our current mathematical knowledge. Thus the name of Martel's

main character metaphorically represents the very theory this thesis postulates the novel

exhibits.

Both the shortening of Pi's name and the shortening of the second iteration of

events result in greater complexity of meaning rather than increased clarity as their

resultant meaning evolves into something else entirely. This alteration directly relates to

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the theory of chaotic systems, which stipulates that the more simple the set of initial

conditions, the more chaotic the end results will be. While Pi’s name in a representational

sense seems quite straightforward to interpret, we quickly see that it carries a false sense

of simplicity. Pi's full name, Piscine, calls forth connotations of water as it is the French

word for “pool” and relates to “fishiness”. Consequently, Piscine as a character could

presumably be pegged as bearing pure, reflective, fluid, and organic qualities. Water is

also closely tied to religious symbolism, relating to Pi’s fascination with religions, as

Holy water is used in baptismal ceremonies and water itself is seen as a life source

created by God. In this regard, Pi’s name seems to foreshadow his ordeal at sea. Both of

these interpretations ring true in analysing Piscine's character, as he is as tightly bound to

the earth (as seen in his connections to his family's zoo and his survival at sea), as he is to

the heavens (proven through his unique adoption of three different religions).

Yet when his name is shortened, it no longer connects to water but to a

mathematical constant instead. Pi must eventually come to terms with his “elusive [and]

irrational” (27) name, and so too must readers come to terms with the endless

interpretative avenues of this story. As his schoolmates adjust to their choice of what to

call Pi in class, readers eventually come to terms with their preferred explanation of the

events at sea. Seemingly more simple than the animal-based account, the human-based

version in fact inspires much more complexity as readers now have to reconcile them

both and come to terms with the possibility that even more than two stories may exist, in

addition to grappling with the after-effects of realizing the importance of perspective in

storytelling. Both the shortening of Pi's name and the story itself are failed efforts on his

peers’ part to control variables in a chaotic narrative system. They demonstrate how

complex systems are largely uncontrollable and that efforts to simplify chaotic systems

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are ultimately futile. Martel's continuous emphasis on the multiplicity of options and

meanings is a theme that courses from the beginning of this story out to the very tips of

its final words, cementing my proposition that this novel can be usefully compared to

chaotic systems. This perspective-based view of storytelling is what fuels the power of

the book as well as the freedom of choice that is given over to readers at the end. This

combination is ultimately what allows Martel's implied author to make the claim that this

story will make you believe in God, as it demonstrates how the power of perspective and

belief can trump skepticism and cynicism.

The novel’s narrative discourse is further exemplified through the representative

role that naming plays in this story, not only in relation to Pi, but to other characters as

well. These names follow the same trends of the novel as a whole: they stress the

importance of initial conditions and the general inevitability, yet not quite predictability,

of life's events. In regards to Pi's family members, Ravi means “sun”, while Grita stands

for “song”, and Santosh for “satisfaction”. The meaning behind the names of Pi's family

members all cleverly relate to their role and character in the novel, as well as to broader

themes the text explores. Ravi's name is most obviously a play on words, symbolizing his

status as the first born son. His connection to the sun, however, reflects his connection to

glory and brilliance, which we see him portray through his traditionally masculine

appetite and talent for sports, as well as his ability to fit in well socially among his peers.

He is the shining example that Pi must live up to. His mother's name, however, has

decidedly more genteel connotations, as her name relates to song and therefore comfort,

emotion, and expression. These qualities are revered by Pi, most likely because she dies

such a tragic death. Her name also explains why Pi's father always called her his “bird”.

His characters are destined to be representative of their namesake from the moment they

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are named, yet like in any chaotic system, the degree to which each reflects his or her

name remains unpredictable. This suggests that Martel is proposing that Deterministic

Chaos tends to prevail over fate- that one’s life is not pre-determined but stands instead as

a multitude of probabilities waiting to unfold.

The name of Pi's father is the most interesting in that it represents satisfaction, yet

it never really feels like he has anything of the sort. He worries constantly over the safety

of his boys growing up in a zoo, he frets over financial affairs, and ultimately leaves due

to his frustration with the government. This discrepancy works to drive home yet another

dimension Pi’s narrative, which stresses the tension between the worlds of predictability

and randomness.

All three of these characters have Sanskrit names and embody English words

beginning with “s”, yet Pi’s name does not follow either of those stipulations, inferring

that this group is meant to be regarded as a unit separate from Pi. This suggests that

Martel purposefully wanted to establish distance between them, unifying the family while

pushing Pi to the periphery. Even before he is separated from his family physically, he is

marooned symbolically by his name. This division may have been constructed to

foreshadow the tragic events in Part Two, while also emphasizing Pi's status as an

independent man who has continually been forced to negotiate fate and liberty.

A sense of deterministic chaos is also exemplified through the character of

Richard Parker, the tiger who outlasts all other marooned animals on the lifeboat and

spends the entire journey alongside Pi, and through the use of detailed sensory-based

imagery. The character Richard Parker acts as a platform for multiple interpretations,

both through his name and otherwise, which speak to the polymorphic nature of this

novel as a whole. In a rather clever move, the tiger Richard Parker is named after a long

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line of historic Richard Parkers who have either been shipwrecked, cannibalized, or put to

death at sea. The tiger plays a significant role in the story, as it is because of him that Pi

survives his ordeal. Simply put, Pi “couldn't have done it without [him]” (317) and he

realizes that it was Richard Parker who was responsible for “saving [his] life” (317). As

the story progresses, the Bengal tiger's demeanour shifts as Pi inherently needs it to, and

he mirrors many of Pi's own moods and health concerns. Richard Parker also pushes Pi to

step outside his comfort zone, most importantly in finding the courage to kill in order to

survive, signalling a paradigm shift in terms of character development and change. This

shift leads to a multitude of probabilities as each individual reader tries to account for

these changes in their personal reading of the novel.

This close alignment of the two characters suggests that Richard Parker represents

Pi's Jungian shadow, the unconscious part of his psyche that manifests instinct and

actions that are both feared and despised. He potentially symbolizes the dark, vicious,

“tougher” (201) side of Pi that needs to constantly be suppressed in Pi's normal world.

His shadow eventually rises to the surface in the form of Richard Parker to propel Pi to

survive his desperate situation at sea. This is demonstrated when Pi crosses paths with

another man stranded on the ocean and the man lunges for Pi's neck in an attempt to

strangle him. Pi finds himself in a situation where he must kill or be killed. Instead of

fighting the man off himself, as Pi, the narrator notes that it is Richard Parker who takes

control of the situation and kills the stranger. Pi's calm, forgiving, passive nature would

not allow for him to take a life, which is why the murder is credited to his shadow. Pi

knows that “this [is] the terrible cost of Richard Parker. He gave [Pi] life, but at the

expense of taking one” (238). The beauty of this character is that it remains entirely open

to interpretation. As such, his character is of a decidedly deterministically chaotic nature:

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Richard Parker could be Pi’s alter ego, a manifestation of Pi’s true self, he could simply

be a wild tiger, or any other number of interpretative takes. Martel positions Richard

Parker with precise initial parameters, but where to take these indicators is left open to

readers, much like what to make of the adventures on the meerkat island or Pi’s encounter

with the Frenchman at sea.

Pi's relationship with Richard Parker can be used as a guidebook for the novel

itself, in that it reflects its larger themes such as the chaotic nature of story, discourse, and

perspective. Pi has to learn how to semi-control the beast that lives within him, and at the

end of this book, it is strongly suggested that stories themselves are wild beasts, capable

of incurring everything from damning ferociousness to subtle tenderness. Pi is self-taught

in regards of how to manage Richard Parker, and so too must we learn to moderate the

perspective we take in regards to the stories of our lives. It would be all too easy to sit

back and allow our stories to govern themselves and unfold without agency, but most

people realize the danger in this and begin shaping their own destiny, or at least as much

as fate will allow. Pi recognizes the risk in allowing Richard Parker to run free in his

territory, and opts to stake out clear orders and boundaries in hopes of directing the tiger's

behaviour. Once readers are left to reconcile the varying versions of the tale at the end of

the book, they too are forced to set boundaries for themselves that manage the potentially

unpredictable nature of perspective. In doing so readers face up to the fact that the way

stories are told ultimately affects our realities, just as the existence of Richard Parker on

the boat affects the day-to-day life of Pi.

Once Pi sets foot on land, his shadow is no longer needed for survival, and as

such, Richard Parker abruptly leaves, signalling a turn in the narrative where the focus

shifts from Pi and the tiger, onto only Pi himself. It is after this shift that, once again, his

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desire to control parts of himself that are uncontrollable rises to the surface. Sadly,

“Richard Parker, the companion of [his] torment, awful, fierce thing that kept [him]

alive” (316), moves swiftly and calmly out of Pi's immediate reality at that point, as Pi is

offered the opportunity to reconnect with civilization. In this moment Pi recognizes that

he is in a position where he has to choose between Richard Parker and himself. Both may

exist on a boat at sea, but only one can flourish in life on land. Pi eventually sheds his

shadow, allowing it to return to the dark jungles of his subconscious in order to

successfully adopt the familiar, docile, vegetarian lifestyle he knew so well in India

nearly a year beforehand. In doing so, Pi represents the human tendency to want to

control our lives and stand at the helm of fate, which is ultimately entirely un-controllable

or predictable.

Later on in the story, however, Pi’s account of Richard Parker’s after-effects

suggests that any attempt at reigning in Deterministic Chaos inevitably fails. Try as Pi

might to forget his dark alter-ego, it continues to sit underneath the surface and he cannot

escape its existence. He comments, “Richard Parker still preys upon [my] mind” (46), and

so it is revealed that the aftermath of his actions still echo in his head. On that terrifying

first day on the boat, Pi awoke “to the reality of Richard Parker” (162), and by the end, it

seems, he will never fully escape the beast. Yet for all of his horrific qualities of being a

“ferocious carnivore” (37), Richard Parker is still a creature of majestic beauty, reflecting

the same dichotomous relationship humans maintain with the Deterministically Chaotic

nature of human existence- we love to hate the things that both thrill and terrify in the

same breath. In Life of Pi, Richard Parker embodies this dichotomy: acting on Pi's behalf,

protecting him from danger and certain death, while also threatening to end his life with

one fell swoop of his paw. He provides a reason for Pi to live, while simultaneously

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terrifying Pi with his presence. Richard Parker yokes both beauty and horror in a

relationship with Pi that, as Tatar describes the role of horror literature generally, “refuses

to disavow the perpetual coexistence of life and death, love and violence, recovery and

loss” (123). Their complex relationship reflects the tenuous relationship all humans have

with their dark sides and with their stories. Pi's detailed journey with his shadow reflects a

battle between Deterministic Chaos and predictive order that we begin negotiating from

the moment we are aware of ourselves as independent beings.

Narrative elements of disruption are most effectively manipulated by Martel's

graphic use of sensory imagery. His detailed use of sensuous language conjures up

descriptive mental paintings in the minds of readers, luring them deeper into the system

and then disrupting their experience with moments of direct address. Tatar notes in her

book Enchanted Hunters the effectiveness of “the coming attractions of other worlds

[being] signalled in powerful visual, acoustic, and olfactory terms, each turned up to

maximum wattage, volume, and concentration” (133), and this sensory-disorientation

ultimately works to seduce readers. Martel manipulates metafictive techniques to appeal

to the sense of touch; for example, the implied narrator self-reflexively asks his readers to

“feel [Pi's] brow” (158), while Pi says, “Better to picture it in your head if you want to

feel it” (16). Furthermore, onomatopoeic descriptions of “hissing” (173) and “drumming”

(172) rain are juxtaposed with mouth-watering descriptions of the smell and taste of

Indian cuisine. These are clear efforts to stimulate readers’ senses in order to infuse the

reading experience in ways that inspires sensory overload. The practice of including

scenes that play to the senses is best exemplified during the episode on the lifeboat where

the hyena slowly eats the dying zebra from the inside out. The hyena “plunged head and

shoulders into the zebra guts, up to the knees of its front legs” (139), and “blood poured

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forth like a river” (138). This scene is extremely violent and disturbing, as Pi the narrator

describes “spewed, half-eaten organs” (141), a “whitish, balloon-like bag [of a stomach]”

(139), and “a fistula like a freshly sprung volcano” (141). These gory sentences are

planted and penned as such for a reason. They work to disgust readers to necessarily

divert their attention away from questioning the text.

Martel is smart to use horrific scenes to his advantage in creating an environment

of confusion. As Tatar suggests it is predominantly in horror that a “powerful sense of

curiosity... and creativity” (88) is fostered. This is significant as the rousing of these

feelings inevitably flips a switch in readers, moving them from the passive into the active,

as they are forced to reconcile their own fears and curiosities. As such, readers of gore

“feel truly alive, inquisitive, and inspired... [leading them] to a quest less for light than for

enlightenment” (88). Once readers reach the end of the novel, the emphasis is less on

coming to terms with Pi's horrific journey and the atrocities he encountered, and more on

a bigger picture that involves a higher understanding of storytelling in general.

As Tatar argues in her book Enchanted Hunters, readers do not use horror as fuel

to simply seek out light in their darkness. Rather, they use horror as a springboard to

jump over hurdles with greater meaning. The end of Martel’s book propels its readers to

appreciate the value of the unpredictable nature of perspective, and consequently,

Deterministically Chaotic systems and storytelling. This deep appreciation is something

that a tale bursting with positivity and cheer would struggle to achieve as accessing such

moments of wonder comes from the experience of darkness, as “the obscure, frightening,

shadowy side of things.... create not just horror but also the warmth, light, and beauty of

its enchanted opposite” (Tatar 88). It is through Pi's lowest of lows that we are able to

discern what constitutes the highest of highs, such as the value of storytelling and its

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power over our perception of reality. Emotionally, the author is drawing on the notion of

opposing symbioses—light and dark, good and evil, priceless and worthless, horror and

comfort—to show the literary and philosophical value of both elements in this mutually

supportive binary relationship, since each gives value to, and defines the other.

Tatar suggests that horror in literature as an element of story and discourse is so

effective simply due to the fact that writers tend to embellish it with more detail than

pleasant scenes, which are commonly presented using more abstract adjectives (82). In

Life of Pi, we see this employed, as Martel rarely focuses on detailing happy times at sea,

instead making sure to provide every gruesome detail relating to death and decay. As

Tatar points out, “Whether the allure of horror helps us master our fears through repeated

readings or merely intensifies them is not entirely clear” (83), but in Life of Pi, it certainly

functions as a thrill that allows trust to form between Pi and his readers. The act of going

through repeated episodes of violence together establishes an emotional bond between the

two, “providing a space for exploring fears and phobias about mutilation, cannibalism,

and other horrifying forms of bodily harm” (Tatar 83). Consequently, Pi's journey

becomes the readers’ journey as well, allowing both of them to explore far-fetched scenes

of horror. Our senses and para-senses are the tools we use to perceive the world around

us. In other words, they are what allow us to impose our own interpretive dynamic on

random disorder. By manipulating our perceptions and thought patterns, Martel

effectively structures his readers’ thoughts and therefore gives them a chance to move

from confusion to a place of order rooted in the patterns of dynamics between narrative

discourse and Deterministic Chaos, suggesting Life of Pi may ultimately affect the lives

of its readers long after they have closed its pages.

The few times this relationship with Pi wavers is the result of a small number of

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distinct yet obscure narrative discrepancies. When we first meet Pi, he scolds his dog,

Tata, to sit down and stop jumping. However, we are told that “Tata ignores him” (102).

This is paradoxical considering Pi is presented as a man who successfully tames and

controls a Royal Bengal tiger in a life boat. How is it that he can accomplish that, yet

cannot persuade a house pet to obey a simple command? Furthermore, when Pi is trying

to escape from Richard Parker, the tiger, he constructs a small raft which he tethers to the

life boat. While this certainly increases the distance between the two, nothing is stopping

Richard Parker from jumping overboard and swimming over to Pi for a tasty snack.

While the encounter with Tata subtly comments on the believability of Pi's actions on the

boat, Pi's faulty logic in regards to Richard Parker reflects the overall believability of that

character as a wild animal. Both are seeds of doubt that Martel scattered into the narrative

to see if they would take root. Whether or not they do is simply a function of how closely

the reader pays attention to the details of the initial conditions.

Deterministic Chaos in Life of Pi

Martel’s novel does not only reward narrative analysis but also provides a

compelling starting point to explore the concept of Deterministic Chaos. To revisit, Chaos

Theory encompasses the concept of Deterministic Chaos, which stresses that random

events are not random but make up a structure which contains such complex underlying

patterns that they are incomprehensible to our mathematics. Elements of Deterministic

Chaos, such as the concept of bifurcations, offer a fresh way of analyzing how Martel’s

novel functions in regards to narrative structure. Bifurcation is an aspect of Chaos Theory

that is not only popular in literary application, but is particularly applicable to Life of Pi.

Bifurcations describe a moment of drastic change that a steady, dynamic system

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experiences suddenly and unexpectedly, ultimately resulting in a shift to an entirely new

state or the descent into Deterministic Chaos. As Polvinen argues, “the changes that can

affect the future behaviour of the system can be infinitely small [and have] been

recognized as a traditional narrative device. Seemingly insignificant coincidences in the

lives of characters may have significant long-term effects in the story” (54).

Pivotal moments of bifurcation are inherent to Martel's text, as seen most clearly

in the moment Pi's ship sinks and he is left stranded on the ocean. The steady state of

peace and happiness he first experiences with his family on the boat suddenly erupts into

utter confusion, where Pi is overwhelmed in a multitude of ways as the boat begins to

sink. Physically, he unable to find his family or a safe vantage point amidst the panic;

geographically, he is unsure of where exactly the boat is located on the ocean;

psychologically, he is traumatized; culturally, he feels out of place among the Japanese

crewmen, leading to feelings of confusion linguistically as he is unable to communicate

effectively; and finally, when he is on the only lifeboat, Pi is disorientated emotionally as

he faces the death of his family members as well as his own mortality. These layered

levels of trauma culminate to create a moment of extreme personal turmoil where Pi's

entire world is turned upside down and shaken to the core. As bifurcations indicate, from

this moment on, the system that dictated Pi’s growth will undergo irreversible changes.

This is a singular, unexpected moment that alters Pi's reality indefinitely. It is the pivotal

shift that results in the creation of a new matrix of probability that co-exists with all

previous matrices, leading to an entirely new, steady state: his time on the lifeboat.

Another bifurcation occurs when Pi kills the Frenchman at sea. Up to this point,

his life on the lifeboat has been one of routine. The introduction of another human

character comes without warning and his presence disrupts the dynamic system based on

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constant loneliness Pi had established thus far. Their meeting is quick, violent, and

turbulent, resulting in Pi taking the life of the Frenchman with his bare hands. This

unanticipated manifestation of one of the probabilities that Chaos Theory insists on,

disrupts Pi to the point that he shockingly admits to eating the Frenchman's flesh and

using it as fish bait. After this occurs, Pi acknowledges that “something in me died then

that has never come back to life” (283) and that he continues to “pray for [the

Frenchman’s] soul every day” (284), demonstrating the grave effect this moment of

bifurcation ultimately exerts on the system as a whole. Because of this pivotal experience,

Pi is forced to an entirely new state of being where he is forever changed and unable to

return to his original pre-bifurcation state.

As we can see, instead of integrating character development slowly through the

use of linear, highly-developed descriptions of past experiences, as you would find in a

traditional, linear narrative, Martel opts to present readers with very specific moments of

Pi's life. Martel develops his text in such a way that frequent bifurcations construct the

development of his characters, as most clearly shown in his depiction of Pi. Jarring

temporal shifts give way to narrowly-described, bifurcating incidents where Pi is forever

changed, such as when he and his brother are subjected to witnessing the graphic killing

of a goat or when Pi finds himself being bullied at school. Snapshots of his dabbling in

religion are also showcased, indicating that these small moments of Hindu, Christian, and

Muslim faith exert large influence on the course of his life. These are the threads that

form the initial events: they manage to shape Pi as a person, powerfully affecting and

altering his life such that afterwards, he can never return to the person he was before

exposure. These crucial, life-altering, fragmented episodes represent the only information

readers are given in order to understand Pi's psyche and discern how he came to be. The

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very highlighting of these bifurcations exposes their weighty importance in terms of their

effect on Pi's life and the Deterministically Chaotic system as a whole.

As academic readers, we are privileged enough to examine these bifurcations and

assess how and why they were chosen, determining how Pi relates to these moments. In

some, such as his combining and intertwining of religions, he embraces their influence. In

others he holds the moments in high esteem, championing them as very definitions of

himself, such as when he stands up for his right to claim a name that he alone wishes to

have. In yet others, such as the killing of the Frenchman, he suppresses and denies the

incident's power, citing that it was his in fact his alter ego, Richard Parker, who dealt the

fatal blows and that it was “madness” (284) that drove him to cannibalism, which were

“only” “small pieces, little strips” (284) that really looked like “ordinary animal flesh”

(284) which “slipped into [his] mouth nearly unnoticed” (284). There is a clear effort to

deny the magnitude of this bifurcation and to separate himself from it, yet its

consequences are undeniable, as evidenced by Martel's effort to close out the incident by

telling readers Pi continues to pray for the Frenchman's soul every day. These different

versions add to the number of possibilities in a Deterministically Chaotic structure,

thereby enhancing its overall complexity.

Martel uses Pi's religious and moral beliefs to present varying versions of Pi to

readers while also using this personal history as a bar to help readers gauge the extent to

which Pi is slowly pushed off the edge of prudent humanity into the world of carnal,

animal-like behaviour. Before the reader's eyes, Pi transforms from a “peaceful

vegetarian” (202), into someone who “stuck fingers into eyes, jammed hands into gills,

crushed soft stomachs with knees, [and] bit tails with teeth... whatever was necessary”

(216). At the beginning of the story, Pi could not even muster the courage to chop a fish

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in two. He expresses concern over the thought of taking the lives of animals and lowering

himself to behaving like one. By the end of the journey, Pi grows to accept and adapt to

his surroundings, willing to carry out any task that ensures his survival. After battling

through his moral issues regarding the consumption of meat, Pi ultimately admits that

“animals [are] gluttons for anything that remotely resembles food” (233), and concludes

that humans are indeed animals at heart. This is of course a simple matter, from the

readers’ point of view, of Pi embracing one of the many probabilities that an

understanding of Deterministic Chaos demands.

Due to their isolated and seemingly random presentation, these moments of

bifurcation in Life of Pi function as course-markers to readers, clearly hinting at their

importance to the overall system of plot development. They stand out in a way that begs

readers to remain conscious of what role they will play as the story unfolds. In this

respect, the degradation of Pi's predicament does not become a question of if but when.

This underscores the potent applicability of Chaos Theory since Chaos Theory deals with

an infinite number of probabilities as opposed to possibilities. In other words, possibilities

are irrelevant while probabilities are vital. This is reinforced by the fact that the implied

author makes it explicitly known towards the beginning of the book that “the events” (96)

that will eventually take place are life-changing and traumatic enough to “make you

believe in God” (viii) . Thus throughout Part One of the narrative, a level of predictability

is not only palpable but essential.

As Harriett Hawkins describes in her article “Paradigms Lost: Chaos, Milton, and

Jurassic Park”, this sense of inevitability accounts for the similarities experienced in

literature throughout time. She asks, “Why should events in a 300-year-old epic poem

[Paradise Lost] which was based on the most primal of biblical parables, and a late

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twentieth century blockbuster [Jurassic Park] based on state-of-the-art scientific theory,

follow an identical pattern?” (Hawkins 256). Her answer to this question is based on the

concept of fractals, which are defined as complex structures (such as snowflakes and

coastlines) which appear random but in fact are self-similar, meaning that moving up and

down in scales of size will not change their shape but simply repeat their pattern of

composition (Gillespie 23). It is based on this concept that Hawkins and Michael Patrick

Gillespie claim that “a cognate 'sameness' of shape and event would seem to occur in art

exactly as it does in nature” (Hawkins, Paradigms, 256), meaning that “Reading, despite

being centred upon the acts of an individual, comes out of a social context, and as a result

no matter how personal one's response, the process still operates according to some

common protocols” (Gillespie 23). These protocols account for the existence of repeating

plot-lines, themes, and archetypical characters in literature.

The concept of fractals within a broad literary context is applicable to Life of Pi in

that its air of inevitability situates it within a literary fractal of similar works, such as the

survival tales Robinson Crusoe and The Old Man and the Sea for example, and larger

genres such as traditional beast fables and folklore. Martel accentuates the fractal nature

of his medium, the novel, using its established patterns and recognizable hallmarks of

plot, narration, and construction to participate in an on-going literary mosaic of

storytelling. Martel plays with the motif, or fractal, of comparing animals to humans, as

many of his minor characters in Part One are referred to as being animal-like. This not

only provides continuity for the novel but cues the audiences as to what may occur in the

two parts that follow. Pi's swimming coach is nicknamed “Mr. Fish” (9), India's Prime

Minister has “the armour plating of a rhinoceros” (29), and Pi's mother is lovingly

referred to as “bird” (39) by her husband. Even Pi himself cannot escape these animal

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comparisons, as he contrasts his body with that of an animal. After looking down upon

his parched body, he observes that he has “been grafted with a pair of elephant legs” (7),

further proving the narrator's point that when “we look at an animal, [we] see a mirror”

(34) of ourselves. Because the concluding twist of the novel has Pi suggest that the

animal characters were actually humans, the animal-like nicknames and associations

planted within Part One operate as subtle hints to the upcoming proposed second story.

This interpretation that Martel's novel exists, as a whole, as a fractal, demonstrates how

the novel participates in an on-going conversation with similar stories that have come

before and will continue after.

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Conclusion

The destiny of the world is determined less by the battles that are lost and won than by

the stories it loves and believes in.

Harold Goddard

Life of Pi centres upon the notion that perspective governs stories and, by

consequence, lives. Its unpredictable nature results in a multiplicity of interpretations and

meanings, allowing a reader to take from it any manner of didactic meanings – be they

existential, spiritual, or nothing at all. The open-ended aspect of Martel's novel marks a

powerful way of viewing perspective as it relates to stories, reader-response, and both of

their functions. Instead of texts behaving in predictable, linear patterns, harkening back to

Einstein’s and Newton’s sense of determinism, modern texts respond to modern readers

by deploying a more complex, postmodern approach that can be accessed through Chaos

Theory. While the author is responsible for setting out a series of initial events such as

character, setting, theme, and plot, these elements remain dynamic in that they are also

affected by how readers respond to them. Small changes in initial conditions will

ultimately affect the outcomes of the narrative. In this sense, we are able to look at a

narrative as a series of events that may be governed by the same theories that attempt to

account for the behaviour of events in the physical world. Aspects such as self-reflexivity,

bifurcations, iteration, complexity, and fractals combine to form Chaos Theory, which is

not only providing a new way to approach science but literature as well. The application

of these components of Chaos Theory allows us to draw a deeper understanding of how

its narrative discourse functions. It is this story that potentially has an impact on readers’

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lives in a meaningful way and ultimately recalls the societal anxieties of its audience,

such as a preoccupation with Deterministically Chaotic concepts such as fate, free will,

and cause and effect.

Life of Pi exemplifies this struggle, as Martel constructs the ending in a way that

invites interpretation that is decidedly open-ended. In Part Three, Martel presents readers

with an entirely different story that explains the core events of Part Two in an entirely

new way. This change elicits an immediate and drastic chain reaction where suddenly

meaning garnered up to this point is shifted and changed forever. The order that Martel

established is shattered and confusion erupts in a moment of bifurcation, where readers

attempt to resolve both versions of Pi's story, exemplifying Hawkins' notion of a classic

nonlinear work.

We see this reciprocal pattern emerge when analysing order and Deterministic

Chaos in Life of Pi. One always seems to cause or follow the other. In Part Two, we see

that Pi experiences feelings of internal tumult when he discovers a locker of supplies in

his lifeboat. This discovery unleashes a “tide of food, water and rest that flow[s] through

[his] weakened system, bringing [him] a new lease on life” (162) and a sound sleep at

last. This moment of serenity is rudely and abruptly broken by an “anxiety” (162) that

unravels Pi's sense of peace, causing him to bombard readers with frantic questions:

“What would I eat? What would I drink? How would I keep warm? How would I know

which way to go?” (163). This pattern also appears structurally, as a calm, orderly blank

page precedes a chapter beginning in media res, where Pi finds himself in the throes of

Bedlam as he witnesses his ship sink.

In Life of Pi, the turbulent, unpredictable force of Mother Nature provides an on-

going source of deterministic unpredictability. The frustrating instability of weather

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patterns and systems is commonly referred to in academic work on Chaos Theory because

it best exemplifies Deterministic Chaos itself (Gillespie, Hawkins, Hayles). Thus, in Part

Two , Martel uses the weather in Life of Pi as a pathetic fallacy, echoing Shakespeare's

manipulation of weather in The Tempest, exemplifying the profound effects that

unpredictable, Deterministically Chaotic forces of nature have on the course of Pi's

journey at sea. Pi finds himself at the mercy Mother Nature's chaotic systems. His food

and water supply, comfort and discomfort, and the pleasure and pain on his lifeboat

directly relate to the hand she deals him. Even the slightest change in sun exposure or

rainfall levels exerts devastating consequences on his quality of life out in the open ocean.

Even his thoughts are directly affected by his physical and mental state, underlining the

idea of unpredictability in a deterministic structure.

As Deterministic Chaos relates to control, it also inevitably implies its opposite:

fate. Considering that Deterministic Chaos is often mistaken for randomness, what is first

thought to be free will might actually be rooted in pattern and determinism. This implies

that what we label as “fate” may in fact be a manifestation of Deterministic Chaos in

action. As Polvinen asserts, “the debate over fate and free will is an integral part [of

Chaos Theory]... and it is connected with the fractal images and strange attractors formed

from chaotic activity” (52). Yet this notion is inherently problematic as Chaos Theory by

definition cannot be linked to fate, as it contradicts the foundational elements of the

theory itself. Fate is entirely fixed and closed off to the realm of possibility, whereas

Chaos Theory postulates that nothing is ever unquestioningly set in stone. In saying that

Chaos Theory relates to fate, Polvinen does not factor in reader response, which

ultimately dictates the fate of Martel’s characters and plot structure. Readers are

presented a character who experiences a rather calamitous set of events that cause him

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severe distress and trauma, which in the end, eventually secure him “a happy ending”

(Martel 103). The account of Pi’s experiences exists in a structure where the universe

“works itself out sometimes not clearly, not cleanly, not immediately, nonetheless

ineluctably” (70). In admitting that Pi's life works itself out in a way that is complicated

and unclear, the novel clearly champions the triumph of Deterministic Chaos over the

realm of fixed fate.

I propose here that a key element fuelling Martel's text is the idea that life is

largely interpretational and as such, it is imperative to recognize the level of power we

hold in how we choose to mould the stories of our lives. It is understood that in order to

make these choices, it is imperative that we acknowledge, if not embrace, the ideas and

implications of Chaos Theory. As Life of Pi demonstrates, concepts relating to

Deterministic Chaos such as fractals, bifurcations, and iteration, are all easily manifested

in literary text. Through the author’s careful construction of narrative, or closed system,

readers are shown that open-endedness is championed. Reader-response acts as a catalyst,

taking the author’s initial events and propelling it into a state of Deterministic Chaos

where endless possibility reigns supreme.

In a recent interview, Yann Martel noted that his novel Life of Pi is a reflection of

the idea that “The work of a lifetime is to figure what your story is. What story you are

going to tell of yourself, of your family, of your city, of your country, and then ultimately,

of your universe?” (Martel, youtube.com). Pi Patel's story acts as a microcosm of this

idea, promoting the importance of perspective in storytelling and symbolizing the journey

we all face in not only choosing the stories that define our lives, but also the degree to

which we wield control over their creation. Pi's journey and presentation of story can be

used as a manual of interpretation for itself, and by consequence, a guide for readers on

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how to interpret and manipulate the stories of their own lives. It is through Pi that we

recognize the power of storytelling and its profound effect on perspective, something

which, while not a new concept, is an idea that manages to connect with readers in a

profound way. The onus of crafting a pleasurable story thus shifts from the author over to

the shoulders of the readers. The power of creation slips from the author and demands the

participation of readers, asking them to take what they will from the various versions of

Pi's story and use those skills to better edit their own stories. It is a narrative feat to

provide readers with a story that forces them to step outside of authorial authority and

choose for themselves whether or not they accept or reject the story, and reflexively,

realize the role they play in the selection of the stories that dictate their own lives.

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