Looking for Alaska

“Her mouth close enough to me that I could feel her breath warmer than the air, she said, ‘That's the mystery, isn't it? Is the labyrinth living or dying? Which is he trying to escape—the world or the end of it?’ I waited for her to keep talking, but after a while it became obvious she wanted an answer.

‘Uh, I don't know,’ I said finally.” 

This is the first time that Alaska refers to labyrinth, which becomes a pivotal motif in the novel. She has taken an interest in this concept after reading Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s The General in his Labyrinth and its depiction of the last days of the military leader Simon Bolivar. In particular, she has become preoccupied with Bolivar’s last words: “How will I ever get out of this labyrinth!” This question has prompted her to wonder whether the labyrinth symbolizes life or death, but she has not yet reached a conclusion. The labyrinth is therefore steeped in mystery—much like Alaska herself.  

“The Colonel ran ahead of me, gleeful at his ejection, and I jogged after him, trailing in his wake. I wanted to be one of those people who have streaks to maintain, who scorch the ground with their intensity. But for now, at least I knew such people, and they needed me, just like comets need tails.” 

As part of his new life at Culver Creek, Miles wants to become a trailblazer who is confident and dynamic. However, he cannot overhaul his personality overnight, and he realizes that he is not yet ready to embody the fantasy image that he has created. For now, he is grateful to act as a sidekick to such people and to know that he is valued in this capacity.  

“Dr. Hyde asked me to stay after class. Standing before him, I realized for the first time how hunched his shoulders were, and he seemed suddenly sad and kind of old. ‘You like this class, don't you?’ he asked.

‘Yessir.’

‘You've got a lifetime to mull over the Buddhist understanding of interconnectedness.’ He spoke every sentence as if he'd written it down, memorized it, and was now reciting it. ‘But while you were looking out the window, you missed the chance to explore the equally interesting Buddhist belief in being present for every facet of your daily life, of being truly present. Be present in this class. And then, when it's over, be present out there,’ he said, nodding toward the lake and beyond.” 

Miles finds the World Religions class thought provoking, and, when Dr. Hyde begins to discuss Buddhism, Miles looks out of the window and muses on the interconnectedness of the natural landscape. However, in doing so, he lets his attention drift away from the present. That is what Dr. Hyde explains here: yes, the interconnectedness of the landscape is worthy of consideration, but Miles has plenty of time to mull this over. What he also needs to recognize is another key Buddhist belief, which is the importance of being truly present in every moment of one’s life. 

“‘But why Alaska?’ I asked her.

She smiled with the right side of her mouth. ‘Well, later, I found out what it means. It's from an Aleut word, Alyeska. It means “that which the sea breaks against,” and I love that. But at the time, I just saw Alaska up there. And it was big, just like I wanted to be. And it was damn far away from Vine Station, Alabama, just like I wanted to be.’

I laughed. ‘And now you're all grown up and fairly far away from home,’ I said, smiling. ‘So congratulations.’

She stopped the head bobbing and let go of my (unfortunately sweaty) hand.

‘Getting out isn't that easy,’ she said seriously, her eyes on mine like I knew the way out and wouldn't tell her.” 

In this scene, Miles asks Alaska about her unusual name. She explains that her parents had different ideas about what to name her and that they let her choose for herself when she was old enough. She didn’t know anything about Alaska as a state, but she adopted it as her name because it appeared to be big and far away from her hometown. In other words, it seemed exciting and aspirational. When she later found out that it derived from an Aleut word meaning “that which the sea breaks against,” she felt even more confident that she had picked correctly. Indeed, the image of the chaotic sea breaking against the shore reflects her tumultuous personality, and it seems that her choice was well-suited in this regard.

“She turned away from me, and softly, maybe to herself, said, ‘Jesus, I'm not going to be one of those people who sits around talking about what they're gonna do. I'm just going to do it. Imagining the future is a kind of nostalgia.’

‘Huh?’ I asked.

‘You spend your whole life stuck in the labyrinth, thinking about how you'll escape it one day, and how awesome it will be, and imagining that future keeps you going, but you never do it. You just use the future to escape the present.’

I guess that made sense. I had imagined that life at the Creek would be a bit more exciting than it was—in reality, there'd been more homework than adventure—but if I hadn't imagined it, I would never have gotten to the Creek at all.” 

Alaska refers to the labyrinth again here and displays her introspective tendencies. She appears deep in thought as she muses on the nature of existence, speaking to herself as much as to Miles when she says that some people spend their whole lives stuck in the labyrinth, thinking about the future while life passes them by. Miles agrees, as spending all one’s time imagining a better, more exciting future is essentially useless. He also recognizes that his own life at Culver Creek is not as exciting as he had imagined. He concludes with a relevant counterpoint, though, stating that he would have gotten to Culver Creek had he not imagined the possibility. So, imagining the future can be positive if it catalyzes action rather than remaining a pipe dream.

“‘It's not life or death, the labyrinth.’

‘Urn, okay. So what is it?’

‘Suffering,’ she said. ‘Doing wrong and having wrong things happen to you. That's the problem. Bolivar was talking about the pain, not about the living or dying. How do you get out of the labyrinth of suffering?’

‘What's wrong?’ I asked. And I felt the absence of her hand on me.

‘Nothing's wrong. But there's always suffering, Pudge. Homework or malaria or having a boyfriend who lives far away when there's a good-looking boy lying next to you. Suffering is universal. It's the one thing Buddhists, Christians, and Muslims are all worried about.’” 

Here, Alaska reveals that she has made some progress in figuring out the meaning of the labyrinth. She had previously thought it represented either life or death, but she has now concluded that it represents suffering: life is a labyrinth of suffering. Miles is perturbed by Alaska’s train of thought, as he does not know what has prompted it. Alaska, meanwhile, claims that nothing is wrong, but emphasizes that suffering is an inherent part of life and traverses religion, time, and place. In her eyes, suffering binds all human beings together and is life’s defining characteristic. This quote therefore emphasizes Alaska’s troubled mindset (the cause of which will later become apparent) while also highlighting that suffering is indeed universal.

“‘Auden,’ she announced. ‘What were his last words?’

‘Don't know. Never heard of him.’

‘Never heard of him? You poor, illiterate boy. Here, read this line.’

I walked over and looked down at her index finger. “You shall love your crooked neighbour/ With your crooked heart,” I read aloud. ‘Yeah. That's pretty good,’ I said.

‘Pretty good? Sure, and bufriedos are pretty good. Sex is pretty fun. The sun is pretty hot. Jesus, it says so much about love and brokenness—it's perfect.’” 

Though Miles has a fascination with people’s last words, he is not familiar with the poet William Auden. Alaska, by contrast, is a literary aficionado and has an affinity with poetry that deals with depression and psychological themes. She berates Miles for his ignorance of literature and reveals one of her favorite lines from Auden, which refers to loving one’s “crooked neighbour” with one’s “crooked heart.” Miles deems these lines “pretty good” but Alaska sees this as an understatement. They speak to her in a way that Miles does not perceive, as they tap into her thoughts about love and brokenness. We are thus aware that Miles and Alaska differ not only in their literary tastes but their perceptions, and that Alaska is fascinated with works that mirror her own disturbed mindset. 

“‘Best Waffle House in Alabama.’ The Colonel smiled, and then I realized, he wasn't embarrassed of his mom at all. He was just scared that we would act like condescending boarding-school snobs. I'd always found the Colonel's I-hate-the-rich routine a little overwrought until I saw him with his mom. He was the same Colonel, but in a totally different context. It made me hope that one day, I could meet Alaska's family, too.” 

When Miles and Alaska stay with the Colonel during Thanksgiving, Miles realizes that he comes from a poor family and that his hatred of the rich (which Miles had believed to be exaggerated) has a real basis. Despite this, the Colonel is close to his mother, and Miles perceives the strength of their bond. The Colonel is not embarrassed by his home; he had just been nervous that his friends would judge him. Miles reflects that he has seen a different side of the Colonel during this visit and that he would like to visit Alaska’s family, too.  

“I felt like she hated me or hated my question or both, and then she looked away, out the window, toward the soccer field, and said, ‘There's no home.’

‘Well, you have a family,’ I backpedaled. She'd talked to me about her mom just that morning. How could the girl who told that joke three hours before become a sobbing mess?

Still staring at me, she said, "I try not to be scared, you know. But I still ruin everything. I still fuck up."

‘Okay,’ I told her. ‘It's okay.’ I didn't even know what she was talking about anymore. One vague notion after another.

‘Don't you know who you love, Pudge? You love the girl who makes you laugh and shows you porn and drinks wine with you. You don't love the crazy, sullen bitch.’

And there was something to that, truth be told.” 

Miles is taken aback by Alaska’s mood swing in this scene, and he finds it hard to reconcile the upbeat girl he had talked to earlier in the morning with the distraught individual facing him now. Talk of home and family upsets Alaska, but Miles does not know the source of this distress and is annoyed by her refusal to explain. Alaska, in turn, states that Miles is in love with an illusion. He likes her fun, flirtatious side, but her mood swings and sullenness are not part of the fantasy. Miles does not voice his agreement out loud but admits to himself that there is some truth to her statement.

“And then through the silence and my drunkenness, I caught a glimpse of her as she might have been. She must have come to feel so powerless, I thought, that the one thing she might have done—pick up the phone and call an ambulance—never even occurred to her. There comes a time when we realize that our parents cannot save themselves or save us, that everyone who wades through time eventually gets dragged out to sea by the undertow—that, in short, we are all going.” 

Miles reflects on Alaska’s revelation that she failed to call 911 when her mother suffered a fatal aneurysm. She was eight years old at the time and berates herself for having sat by her mother’s dead body rather than calling for help. Miles now imagines that her failure to call for help stemmed from an overwhelming sense of powerlessness. This prompts him to reflect more widely on the inability of parents to save themselves of their children. He concludes that every human being is on the same course and ends up getting dragged down by the undertow of time. Alaska’s story thus prompts Miles to think about human fragility and helplessness, and the inevitability—and universality—of death.

“‘How ya doin'?’ the Colonel asked her.

‘I've had better mornings.’

‘Hungover?’

‘Like an alcoholic preacher on Sunday morning.’

‘Maybe you shouldn't drink so much,’ I suggested.

‘Pudge.’ She shook her head and sipped the cold coffee and wine. ‘Pudge, what you must understand about me is that I am a deeply unhappy person.’” 

The main characters in this novel spend a considerable amount of time drinking and smoking, and this becomes part of their routine. They often sit in a circle, playing drinking games, planning pranks, or reflecting on their daily lives, and, upon arriving at Culver Creek, Miles quickly takes up these habits. However, he is more moderate in his behavior, whereas Alaska drinks and smokes heavily. Seeing her hungover again, Miles suggests that she decrease her alcohol consumption. In response, Alaska makes it clear that she does not drink for fun or to be part of a group; rather, she drinks because she is unhappy. For her, then, cigarettes and alcohol are a crutch and an attempt at self-medication. 

“‘Why do you like last words so much?’

Strange as it might seem, I'd never really thought about why. ‘I don't know,’ I said, placing my hand against the small of her back.

‘Sometimes, just because they're funny. Like in the Civil War, a general named Sedgwick said, “They couldn't hit an elephant from this dis—” and then he got shot. She laughed. ‘But a lot of times, people die how they live. And so last words tell me a lot about who people were, and why they became the sort of people biographies get written about.’” 

Miles has a keen interest in biographies and the last words of notable figures and Alaska quizzes him on this hobby. In some cases, it may be that last words are simply funny, but they can also be meaningful. As Miles explains, the words a person speaks just before death can reveal much about their life and character. There is something succinct and effective about them in this respect. In the case of notable figures, they can also highlight the reasons why such figures are worthy of attention. In general, then, last words can reveal a great deal—not only about a person’s death but about their life.

“‘I was so tired of her getting upset for no reason. The way she would get sulky and make references to the freaking oppressive weight of tragedy or whatever but then never said what was wrong, never have any goddamned reason to be sad. And I just think you ought to have a reason. My girlfriend dumped me, so I'm sad. I got caught smoking, so I'm pissed off. My head hurts, so I'm cranky. She never had a reason, Pudge. I was just so tired of putting up with her drama. And I just let her go. Christ.’

Her moodiness had annoyed me, too, sometimes, but not that night. That night I let her go because she told me to. It was that simple for me, and that stupid.” 

Despite the strength of their friendship, both Miles and the Colonel often got annoyed with Alaska. As the Colonel says here, he was frustrated with her for being so cryptic and temperamental. He is a pragmatic person in that, whenever he is upset or annoyed, it is for a specific reason. Before Alaska revealed her guilt regarding her mother’s death, her behavior and mood swings seemed unwarranted. Miles was similarly annoyed by Alaska’s mood swings; however, on the night of her death he let her go simply because she had told him to. Now, he feels that he failed her as a friend. 

“‘You'll recall that you were asked what the most important question facing people is, and how the three traditions we're studying this year address that question. This was Alaska's question.’

With a sigh, he grabbed hold of his chair and lifted himself out of it, then wrote on the blackboard: How will we ever get out of this labyrinth of suffering?—A. Y.

‘I'm going to leave that up for the rest of the semester,’ he said.

‘Because everybody who has ever lost their way in life has felt the nagging insistence of that question. At some point we all look up and realize we are lost in a maze, and I don't want us to forget Alaska, and I don't want to forget that even when the material we study seems boring, we're trying to understand how people have answered that question and the questions each of you posed in your papers—how different traditions have come to terms with what Chip, in his final, called “people's rotten lots in life.”’” 

Following Alaska’s death, Dr. Hyde refers to the exam that he had set as part of the World Religions course. Each student had to answer a two-part question: What is the most important issue facing human beings? And how have the religions studied throughout the course addressed this issue? Dr. Hyde reveals Alaska’s question and remarks that people who have lost their way in life often wonder how to get out of this “labyrinth of suffering.” Alaska’s question is therefore applicable on a universal level, though it takes on extra resonance now in that it reminds the students of Alaska and emphasizes that they are not just dealing with abstract material. 

“For she had embodied the Great Perhaps—she had proved to me that it was worth it to leave behind my minor life for grander maybes, and now she was gone and with her my faith in perhaps. I could call everything the Colonel said and did ‘fine.’ I could try to pretend that I didn't care anymore, but it could never be true again. You can't just make yourself matter and then die, Alaska, because now I am irretrievably different, and I'm sorry I let you go, yes, but you made the choice. You left me Perhapsless, stuck in your goddamned labyrinth. And now I don't even know if you chose the straight and fast way out, if you left me like this on purpose. And so I never knew you, did I? I can't remember, because I never knew.” 

Miles arrived at Culver Creek seeking the Great Perhaps and found it in the form of Alaska. She had symbolized life’s potential, so her death has not only robbed him of a friend but taken away his source of motivation and faith. He is able to go through the motions of daily life but Alaska’s death has had an irrevocable effect upon him. He partly blames himself for letting her go, but (he also knows that she made a choice and left him stuck in this labyrinth. He does not know whether she committed suicide, so he is denied any sense of resolution. Ultimately, he questions whether he really knew her at all.

“’Well, my gut wants to know,’ Lara said, and only then did I realize what Takumi meant the day we'd showered together—I may have kissed her, but I really didn't have a monopoly on Alaska; the Colonel and I weren't the only ones who cared about her, and weren't alone in trying to figure out how she died and why.” 

In this scene, Miles realizes that he and the Colonel are not the only ones who cared about Alaska. They have banded together in grief and guilt, and have set about investigating Alaska’s death. However, in doing so, they have neglected Takumi and Lara, who were also Alaska’s close friends and who, understandably, do not want to be let out. Miles has been self-absorbed in his fascination with Alaska and only now appreciates how Lara and Takumi must be feeling.

“We are all going, I thought, and it applies to turtles and turtlenecks, Alaska the girl and Alaska the place, because nothing can last, not even the earth itself. The Buddha said that suffering was caused by desire, we'd learned, and that the cessation of desire meant the cessation of suffering. When you stopped wishing things wouldn't fall apart, you'd stop suffering when they did.

Someday no one will remember that she ever existed, I wrote in my notebook, and then, or that I did. Because memories fall apart, too. And then you're left with nothing, left not even with a ghost but with its shadow. In the beginning, she had haunted me, haunted my dreams, but even now, just weeks later, she was slipping away, falling apart in my memory and everyone else's, dying again.” 

Miles expands on his newfound philosophy here, reiterating the universality of destruction and death. He understands this is a natural process that applies to not only human beings but animals, objects, and the earth itself. Drawing on Buddhist teachings, he reflects that the desire to stop this decay is what causes suffering. It is only when one accepts it as natural that one can find inner peace. He concludes that everything must pass, and that even memories slip away. The image of Alaska had haunted him in his dreams in the early days after her death, but, weeks later, it is starting to blur. It is as though she is dying again in everyone’s memories, but Miles now accepts this as the nature of the universe.

“‘In today's world, boys are much more likely to objectify girls’ bodies than the other way around. Boys will say amongst themselves that so-and-so has a nice rack, while girls will more likely say that a boy is cute, a term that describes both physical and emotional characteristics. This has the effect of turning girls into mere objects, while boys are seen by girls as whole people —‘

And then Lara stood up, and in her delicate, innocent accent, cut Dr. William Morse off. ‘You're so hot! I weesh you'd shut up and take off your clothes.’” 

After Alaska’s death, her friends carry out a prank in her honor titled “Subverting the Patriarchal Paradigm.” Alaska criticizes the objectification of women at various points in the novel and this prank involves a humorous role reversal whereby a male stripper masquerades as a professor of psychology. As he conducts a formal lecture on adolescent sexuality, Lara (who is in on the prank) yells at him to be quiet and strip off. He obliges and a raucous scene ensues, which Alaska would have thoroughly enjoyed. Still, beyond the humor, the prank—and the speech itself—raises a relevant point about the different ways in which men and women are viewed and relate to each other in society.

“The silence broke: ‘Sometimes I liked it,’ I said. ‘Sometimes I liked it that she was dead.’

‘You mean it felt good?’

‘No. I don't know. It felt…pure.’

‘Yeah,’ he said, dropping his usual eloquence. ‘Yeah. I know. Me, too. It's natural. I mean, it must be natural.’

It always shocked me when I realized that I wasn't the only person in the world who thought and felt such strange and awful things.”

Miles and the Colonel bare their souls to each other in this scene, admitting that they have both had an unusual response to Alaska’s death. Their feelings of guilt and sadness are normal, but, here, they try to articulate another response: they have sometimes felt that there is something pure and natural about Alaska being dead. This is difficult to describe, and Miles recognizes that it is a strange and “awful” reaction. He is consequently shocked to find that the Colonel understands and has experienced similar feelings, but it has the effect of solidifying the bond between the Colonel and himself. 

“We met and I held him, my hands balled into tight fists around his shoulders, and he wrapped his short arms around me and squeezed tight, so that I felt the heaves of his chest as we realized over and over again that we were still alive. I realized it in waves and we held on to each other crying and I thought, God we must look so lame, but it doesn't much matter when you have just now realized, all the time later, that you are still alive.” 

This is an intense scene of emotional outpouring that occurs after the Colonel and Miles have driven past the site where Alaska died. There is something cathartic about the experience, and Miles and Colonel do not need to speak or analyze anything—they simply hug each other tightly and take in the fact that they are alive. Miles knows that they probably look silly to any onlookers but he does not care. All that matters in that moment is the shared sense of relief and raw emotion. It is as though they have passed through a dark tunnel and emerged unscathed into the light at the other side.

“I did not have time to tell him what I had just now realized: that I forgave him, and that she forgave us, and that we had to forgive to survive in the labyrinth. There were so many of us who would have to live with things done and things left undone that day. Things that did not go right, things that seemed okay at the time because we could not see the future.” 

Having read Takumi’s note, Miles realizes that he forgives him for concealing his actions on the night of Alaska’s death. Likewise, he believes that Alaska forgives her friends for having let her go. Miles has an epiphany at this point, as he feels that he finally grasps the concept of the labyrinth. Alaska had decided that it symbolizes suffering, but Miles concludes that the way out is forgiveness. He is conscious that people can behave in manner that may seem all right at the time and only later realize the error of their actions (or inaction). Forgiveness is therefore the only way of surviving the labyrinth, the alternative being guilt, bitterness, and recrimination. 

“And as I walked back to give Takumi's note to the Colonel, I saw that I would never know. I would never know her well enough to know her thoughts in those last minutes, would never know if she left us on purpose. But the not-knowing would not keep me from caring, and I would always love Alaska Young, my crooked neighbor, with all my crooked heart.”

Miles is fascinated with last words, but, by now, he has accepted that he will never know Alaska’s thoughts in her final moments, nor will he know whether she committed suicide. Though he was mesmerized by Alaska, he did not know her well enough to read her thoughts on that night. Even so, this does not stop him caring about her, and he thinks back to the William Auden quote that Alaska was so fond of. Not knowing does not mean not caring, and he will always think fondly of his “crooked neighbor,” who he loves with his “crooked heart.”

“I still think that, sometimes, think that maybe ‘the afterlife’ is just something we made up to ease the pain of loss, to make our time in the labyrinth bearable. Maybe she was just matter, and matter gets recycled.

But ultimately I do not believe that she was only matter. The rest of her must be recycled, too. I believe now that we are greater than the sum of our parts. If you take Alaska's genetic code and you add her life experiences and the relationships she had with people, and then you take the size and shape of her body, you do not get her. There is something else entirely. There is a part of her greater than the sum of her knowable parts. And that part has to go somewhere, because it cannot be destroyed.” 

Miles used to believe that there is no afterlife and he still something finds himself thinking in this way. If the labyrinth is suffering, then the afterlife could be a concept that has been fabricated in order to make this experience bearable. It might be that physical matter is all there is, but Miles no longer believes this to be the case. In his view, Alaska was not just the sum of her genes, her physical features, or her experiences. He now feels that there is a part of her that is unknowable yet greater, and this has to live on somewhere after death. So, while the body can be destroyed, this “something else” cannot.