In terms of literary techniques, Markey uses the “I as camera” approach and serves for the reader as a fly on the wall as he listens to morgue and religious civil servants go through the process of burying the unknown. He writes as if he is not asking questions at all, but simply listening in on the conversations. Markey makes use of scene-by-scene construction – he takes the reader from the morgue to Hart’s Island, peppering in matter-of-fact details in between. His use of third-person narrative serves to give the reader a rare form of authenticity in its events and subjects instead of simply reporting the facts. Markey uses dialogue sparingly, but when he does use it, it is to heighten the effect of procedure (and not emotions) in death. The author also makes careful and precise word selection for literary effect throughout, as he makes reference to religion and Hell and man’s ambiguity. He dehumanizes the unidentified man with words such as “eggs like this,” Number 48,227, and “this unidentified.” He conjures up dreariness with words such as “solitary misery,” “the dreadful squalor,” “down in the cellar,” the black-painted death boat, and “eternal filth of oil and refuse.” Especially toward the end, Markey begins to allude to Hell and the institutionalization of religion. The Riverside boat, painted an ominous black, is almost like the grim reaper pushing its way “toward the narrow channel of Hell Gate” while the “ancient engines chanted a dirge in monotone.” Related to word choice, Markey’s use of capitalization throughout is interesting, as he selects the following words for this that arguably would not traditionally be used as proper nouns: Morgue, Headquarters, Number 48,227, Hell Gate, Sound, and the Island.
The most prominent theme throughout “Drift” is emotionless procedure. Even the tugboat captain “lifts his hat stolidly” as the Riverside vessel drifts past. Markey even almost makes fun of this matter-of-fact look at death with the following statement: “All of that lugubrious internment was accomplished in an incredibly short space of time.” His focus is on the routine and he offers no sympathy for the unidentified man (Number 48,227) consistently through to the end, when he concludes with the clerk filing paperwork to receive the man’s $34 left behind “when he decided he had enough living.”
Bio:
Morris Markey (1899-1950) was born in Alexandria, Va., and went to school in Richmond. He was working as a reporter at the New York World when he was poached by The New Yorker founding editor Harold Ross, who told him to “roam the city and write down what you see.” Markey’s “Reporter at Large” pieces included traveling thousands of miles and interviewing hundreds of ordinary Americans. According to “Art of Fact,” Markey’s articles helped establish The New Yorker as “a magazine that could be serious as well as light,” as he “explored every stratum of society.” He later worked as a Hollywood scriptwriter and freelance journalist.
Story ideas:
1) *Perhaps more than most, I am aware of the (not-so-outdated) pressure of marriage on young professional women. I would like to conduct in-depth interviews with 4-5 young professional women in Gainesville who will (hopefully) open up to me about the pressures of making a simultaneously successful marriage, career, and family. (This will be placed against the backdrop of marriage statistics in Gainesville and expert interviews on the subject of balancing advanced education and marriage.)
2) I would find a recovering alcoholic in his/her early 20s in Gainesville who has been sober for a few years. How did things go so wrong so early for this person and how did Alcoholics Anonymous change this? This would be a look at the personal life of one young alcoholic in the overarching look at Gainesville’s local recovery program.
* = preferred
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