Graham Greene’s 1955, The Quiet American, begins with a murder and continues with British journalst Thomas Fowler’s calculated self-defense. When he points out the youth and naivety of others, he seeks to highlight his maturity and wisdom. He refers to literature across the centuries to build the image of himself as well-educated and respectable, and he mentions specific details to seem reliable. Finally, he repeatedly claims complete neutrality as a reporter. Thomas Fowler hopes that his portrayal of others as children, his knowledge of literature, precise memory, and professional objectivity will make his testimony trustworthy.

Superior

Fowler assumes superiority over almost everyone he encounters. He refers to the Vietnamese woman, Phoung, as “…wonderfully ignorant” (p. 4), and recounts one instance where she, “…looked up at me like a child trying to concentrate” (p. 13). Fowler describes Phuong as incapable of adult comprehension even if she tries. Fowler speaks of the American man, Alden Pyle, in a similar manner. Fowler insists that Pyle needs his help to understand current affairs in Vietnam: “I began, while [Pyle] watched me intently like a prize pupil, by explaining the situation in the north, in Tonkin, where the French in those days were hanging on to the delta of the Red River…” (p. 16). Fowler characterizes Pyle as a schoolboy, and furthermore, as someone who listens “intently” because he knows he has much to learn. Fowler also infantilizes the French soldiers he often shadows. At a Catholic procession Fowler witnesses, he says, “…the French officers, pious by order of the colonel, followed like choirboys through the gateway into the Cathedral precincts” (p. 39). Fowler compares the military men to choirboys, (children), and suggests that they merely pretend to be religious in obeyance of their commanding officer. Fowler portrays French soldiers, his American acquaintance, Pyle, and his Vietnamese lover, Phuong, all as childlike. He condescends people to seem as though he is above any involvement in their puerile affairs.

Educated

To appear very different from Phuong, Pyle, and the soldiers, Fowler refers to literature, and thus his education, whenever he can. He receives unwanted instructions from his office, for example, and immediately turns to Dante Alighieri and Henry James. Fowler writes, “Dante never thought up that turn of the screw for his condemned lovers. Paolo was never promoted to Purgatory” (p. 58). Fowler references a “turn of the screw,” to highlight the bad news from his employer, but also to invoke Henry James’s 1898 horror novella of the same name. Fowler compares his own problem with Phuong and Pyle, to a love affair that involves Francesca, Giovanni, and Paolo, in Dante’s 1320 epic poem, Divine Comedy. Fowler claims to be completely unprotective of Phuong when he tells Pyle, “There’s no good in being jealous when you can’t do anything about it. ‘No barricado for a belly’” (p. 93). With, “No barricado for a belly,” Fowler quotes William Shakespeare’s 1623 play The Winter’s Tale. He means, flippantly, that he cannot control what Phuong does with other men, and that he is unconcerned. Fowler also uses literature to describe a Vietnamese man he knows. Fowler says, “One would have expected Mr. Pham-Van-Tu to write Augustans in his spare time, but I happened to know he was a student of Wordsworth and wrote nature poems” (p. 31). Fowler mentions “Augustans,” to call to mind the British style of literature from the 1700s, and before that, the Roman literary epoch under the Emperor Augustus. Fowler claims to know that Mr. Pham-Van-Tu actually studies the works of William Wordsworth, and writes nature poems, which exhibits Fowler’s understanding of the inspirational role of nature for Romantic poets like Wordsworth. Fowler’s references to literature portray him as more educated than Phuong, Pyle, or any of the French soldiers with which he interacts.

Precise

Fowler relates specific details in order to seem reliable. He recounts memories of England, before his time in Vietnam, to show precedent - that he is a highly observant person at all times, not simply around the time of the murder. He recounts his life back in England, which includes “Bloomsbury square and the 73 bus passing the portico of Euston and springtime in the local in Torrington place” (p. 17). Fowler names three different locations in London, the city’s public transportation, and refers to memories of a specific season. Fowler also shares his attention to detail when he describes the information he is able to retain from one of his journalistic explorations. He visits the office of someone of interest and sees, “the usual Chinese commercial calendar, a littered desk - price lists and a bottle of gum and an adding machine…a teapot and three cups and a lot of unsharpened pencils, and for some reason an unwritten picture-postcard of the Eiffel Tower” (p. 136). Although he stays in the room only briefly, he observes the room’s smallest details. He uses the account of the room as evidence of his spectacular focus. When Detective Vigot asks Fowler about the night of the murder, specifically between six and ten pm, Fowler launches into a detailed account of his evening. Fowler’s exact memory of the evening now seems in line with his usual character. Fowler tells Vigot: “I had a drink at the Continental at six. The waiters will remember. At six forty-five I walked down to the quay to watch American planes unloaded. I saw Wilkins of the Associated News by the door of the Majestic” (p. 11). Fowler includes precise times, locations, and activities. At each location he provides witnesses or corroborating evidence: the waiters at the Continental, Wilkins at the Majestic, and the unloading of the American planes at six forty-five by the quay, all of which Vigot can check. Fowler’s specificity contributes to his image as an impeccable character.

Professional

Fowler attempts to hide any fallibility behind his professionalism. He claims “…let [humans] fight, let them love, let them murder, I would not be involved…I preferred the title of reporter. I wrote what I saw. I took no action - even an opinion is a kind of action” (p. 20). Fowler professes to have no passions that would lead him to fight, love, or murder other people. He insists that he neither acts, nor cares, for any interests. Fowler says that he is undesirous of connections to other people, or to any God; he muses, “Perhaps that’s why men have invented God - a being capable of understanding. Perhaps if I wanted to be understood or to understand I would bam-boozle myself into belief, but I am a reporter…” (p. 52). Just as Fowler maintains that he is unmoved by the people in his life, he professes not to need God. Fowler seems to exist solely to fulfill his professional duty. He also claims to be unaffected by the politics about which he writes. He says of the current politics in Vietnam, “They don’t interest me and I’m a reporter. I’m not engagé…I don’t take sides. I’ll be reporting, whoever wins” (p. 88). He conveys his apathy regarding the conclusion of the fighting, and asserts that his life and work will remain unchanged by the outcome. His point is that as a reporter, he has no motive to murder.

Thomas Fowler’s goal in The Quiet American is to seem believable when he says he is completely uninvolved in the murder. He offers his superiority, education, precision and professionalism as evidence that he is innocent of any involvement. Afterall, how could such a mature, educated, alert, and professional man be guilty of a crime? Unfortunately, these qualities do improve his chance to escape blame. Across cultures and decades, people value the qualities Thomas Fowler exaggerates, and are more likely to equate youth, ignorance, uncertainty and unprofessionalism with guilt.

References

Greene, G. (1955/2002). The quiet American. Vintage.