Do you like Grendel?

As simple as this question might seem, I actually think it's very valid and complex!

When I began reading the novel, I had the assumption that I would either love or hate Grendel by the end, but after finishing I realize that my impression of Grendel only became increasingly muddled over the course of the book. I must say that the young Grendel (towards the beginning of the novel) is very likeable and easy to connect with. He approaches each object and occurrence with optimism and good intentions; when he spies on the people at the mead hall, he expresses a desire to partake in their festivities. Yet, it is only when he becomes visible to the people and realizes that they will not accept him that his openness is first dented. This reminded me strongly of a child's loss of innocence. Children often seem to enter the world with wonder and optimism, no hesitancy, knowledge or fear of the darker parts of life. Yet, at some point, each child's belief in an utterly perfect world becomes sullied, just as Grendel's was. So from my first introduction to young Grendel up until after his meeting with the dragon, I felt true compassion for him--I could completely relate to his longing for meaning in life and his incredulous questioning of the dragon because he didn't want to accept the dragon's version of the truth about life: that no meaning exists. Grendel's experiences up to that point reminded me of my own childhood encounters with things that did not fit my prior understanding of the world. Hence, it was only after Grendel began to ruthlessly kill other animals and humans that a feeling of disgust began to overtake me. In my opinion, Grendel allowed the dragon's dark views to envelop him with little resistance (excepting the "but why? why?"s he directed at the dragon during that fatal meeting). I suppose that is where I began to feel my connection to Grendel begin to wane. What Grendel faced, this intimidating and seemingly all-knowing dragon's insistence that no living being has any control in the scheme of things and that--therefore--no reason exists to resist harming others or be altruistic, is actually one of my greatest fears. I am very afraid of becoming convinced that I should view the world solely through the lens of personal greed and meaninglessness, which I believe was Grendel's fate. I find it absolutely devastating that the dragon managed to harden Grendel so thoroughly that Grendel seemed to no longer feel compassion or love for himself or others.

Overall, though, I feel utter empathy for Grendel in the sense that I believe he exists at least a little bit in each one of us as a metaphysical sense of hopelessness and suffering which silently urges us to give up on searching for the goodness and meaning in life. And sadly, I know that there are people who are Grendels in this world, who might have had good intentions but became very lost and spiraled down a dangerous tunnel. And while I also feel a disliking toward him for the havoc he wreaked upon other people and animals, my distaste is more a sense of despair at the reminder of how hurt, lost and isolated some beings can become, and to what extremes that suffering and isolation can take them.

I too am not completely sure how I view Grendel. Similar to Candido in The Tortilla Curtain, by T.C. Boyle, it is hard to distinguish between liking a character, and sympathizing with a character. However, after reading further, I have decided that I like Grendel more than I dislike him. Although he can be harsh in his thoughts and a literal monster in his actions, much of Grendel’s character is surprisingly relatable.
Not only can everyone recount a time when they were the outcast, but Grendel’s longing for meaning in his life and having a relationship with his mother are also things most people can connect with. Most of all, though, his outbursts and desires for relationships are what I find make him the most likable. Golding writes:

“My mind was wild. ‘Pity,’ I moaned, ‘O pity! pity!’ I wept-strong monster with teeth like a shark’s-and I slammed the earth with such force that a seam split open twelve feet long. ‘Bastards!’ I roared. ‘Sons of bitches! Fuckers!’ Words I’d picked up from men in their rages. I wasn’t even sure what they meant, though I had an idea: defiance, rejection of the gods that, for my part, I’d known all along to be lifeless sticks. I roared with laughter, still sobbing,” (52).

Although these fits of rage and frustration can be seen as horrific and appalling, I see them as a look into Grendel’s softer side. In these moments of uncontrollable sobbing we see Grendel in an almost child-like state. He uses words he doesn’t know the meaning of and cries himself into a state of delirium, like a baby. We all have times when we are so full of frustration and hurt that we revert back to these childish bursts, and Grendel’s, although amplified, are really no different. Understanding this allows me to relate to Grendel and like him more as a character.

Another point that sticks out to me and makes me like and relate to Grendel is when he expressed his longing for relationships. From his spot in the trees Grendel looks down on the meadhalls, observing the humans interacting, the people talking and sharing. Although he expresses an annoyance for these people, it is quite clear that he also envies them. Golding writes, “‘why can’t I have someone to talk to?’ I said. The stars said nothing, but I pretended to ignore the rudeness. ‘The Sharper has people to talk to,’ I said. I wrung my fingers. ‘Hrothgar has people to talk to,” (53). Grendel clearly thirsts for companionship, someone to share and hopefully overcome his frustrations with. Human interaction is the basis for which we all live, and the fact that Grendel also longs for this companionship makes him relatable and likable. Like his fits of sadness and rage, this glimpse into Grendel’s desires highlights another soft spot that is hard to dislike.

Honestly, I liked Grendel in the beginning of the novel when he was hopeless and alone. This way, I did not know his potential and felt sympathy for this poor creature. As Morgan was saying, we need to differentiate between feeling sympathy for a character and then actually liking them.
As the novel went on I just became frustrated with Grendel. He has so much intellectual capability, such as “Theorum: Any action (A) of the human heart must trigger an equal and opposite reaction (A1)" (113). This hints at physics knowledge and distinct observation and sensitivity to the humans condition. As the novel continues, however, he does not take full advantage of this and instead throws himself into fits of rage and anger. Knowing that Grendel has the possibility to achieve many opportunities but yet chooses to continue acting like a child makes me dislike his character. I grow further to dislike him when he fully becomes the childish and powerful beast that goes and wrecks havoc.

The part when Grendel slightly relates to a human experience is being the outcast. I can understand how many of us can connect to wanting to fit in and feeling like no one likes us. In this manner, Grendel reminds me of a teenage girl. Acting stupid and violent to get the attention of the main group. We all grow up and find our own paths, however, Grendel just gets angry and decides to manipulate. I feel that he never reaches a point of maturity and just wants attention from the town because he likes to be the center of everything.

At a few parts of the novel, Grendel is in the inferior role. One time is with the dragon, and another is in the start of the book when the villagers find him. Especially with the dragon, I do not see this inferiority and vulnerability as humanizing for Grendel. Instead, I think it is Gardner trying to keep the readers sympathetic for Grendel in his increasingly horrifying state of manipulation and evil.
I feel like Grendel and I have an abusive relationship. I want to give him a chance because I feel sorry for him, so I keep coming back. Then time after time again he just proves he cannot grow up and ends up hurting someone.

My heart breaks for Grendel. I despise Grendel. I fear Grendel. I cried for Grendel. I cannot decide, really, if I like Grendel. His story of meaningless and violence just aches of something so intangible and unimaginable that it is so difficult to make sense of my feelings for him.

While only acquainted with him in the first few chapters, I was irritated by is indirection and indecision. The way he would move make in forth with his feelings toward his mother and the humans he would observe and prey on bothered me throughout the book, but especially in the beginning. But as his story progresses and you get to see how truly lost he is and how truly he has been found wanting on almost every occasion. While I was always so distressed by the violence he committed against the humans, his rage and desire to overpower made total sense with the understanding of his scattered ideas about humans.

Grendel notes shortly before his demise—and I cannot be the first to quote this passage because it is quite distressing—that, “one evil deed missed is a loss for all eternity,” (146). My heart broke in two at reading this line. How horrible a being must be—or think he is—to say such a thing. The tragedy of Grendel is the way that he internalized the evil that was thrust upon him because of the perception of him by the humans. The Shaper, who he adores like a small child adores the volume of fairy-tales, paints him as a monster and as an evil being. How long has Grendel been told he is evil? How long has he known that , besides his mother, he is alone in his form and can thins loneliness be the reason why he is so sure of his presumed innate evil? Perhaps it is my predisposition to find sympathy for the rotten characters (RE: Jessie—Hello, Heathcliff, aka my obsession for a good two months of sophomore year).

And then there is the end. The end of the novel, the end of Grendel’s life, but not the end of my Romantic notion of Grendel’s goodness. The way he dies! The way he dies! The way he, in a desperate last-ditch attempt to connect with the world, wishes the world the same escape that has been granted/forced upon him. Uh! I cannot wrap my head around my feelings about Grendel! He is the greatest accumulation of opposites and complexities that I have ever had the experience to read. I love Grendel. I hate Grendel. I simply cannot decide about Grendel.

I have always had a strong fascination and adoration for troubled characters (every time I re-read Wuthering Heights my love for Heathcliff grows even stronger)I loved loving Grendel, I loved despising Grendel, and I think everyone can admit that there is something very sexy about tortured and intelligent thinkers. While I think many reading the novel "like" Grendel because he is alone and helpless, therefore requiring our love and a hot bowl of soup; I loved his somewhat stilted idealism about the world and our existence, his passion, and his manner of speech-- The way he articulates his thoughts and surroundings is something of immense beauty. I adored the way he described Wealtheow, a moment of purity in his darkened reality, "She was beautiful, as innocent as dawn on winter hills. She tore me apart as once the Shaper's song had done" (100). I can just imagine him spending sleepless nights under the stars, consumed by the conflicting thoughts waltzing furiously through his mind.
While I feel this certain attraction toward Grendel, I doubt he is someone that could function in a long-term, committed relationship. He is the tortured and passionate lover women leave their husbands for, but there is no way he could become husband material.