Good Morning, Midnight illustrates how money can be both powerful and utterly meaningless in a person’s life. In some ways, money transforms Sasha’s life, since there are periods in which she desperately needs cash to support herself. As a result, it’s a big deal whenever she’s able to track down some money to borrow, since doing so allows her to stop constantly worrying about how she’ll get by. In another sense, though, the money she’s so eager to secure inevitably fails to bring her any kind of lasting happiness or purpose in life. Despite her attempts to ward off sadness by buying expensive clothes or making pricey trips to the hairdresser, she always feels disappointed after the rare opportunity to spend lavishly. And yet, her disappointment doesn’t stop her from lusting after money when she doesn’t have it, as she romanticizes the mere idea of wealth. Of course, it’s easy to understand why she idealizes money so much, especially considering that everyone around her is obsessed with it, too. In fact, a vast majority of the interactions recounted in the novel have to do with money, and many of these encounters involve someone trying to get money from someone else. Sasha herself shows suspicion toward René because she thinks that all he wants from her is some money. And while this might be the case, he doesn’t end up taking any cash from her when he gets the chance. The ambiguity surrounding this aspect of their relationship hints at the complex ways in which money can interfere with human relationships. It’s never entirely clear whether or not René wants money from Sasha, and this uncertainty creates an undeniable tension in their relationship. The book therefore suggests not only that money can’t buy happiness, but also that it can complicate certain emotional bonds, forcing people to doubt each other in ways that make it harder to forge a genuine connection.
There’s a conflation in the book between loneliness or unhappiness and a lack of financial stability. As Sasha walks through the streets one night, she looks at the houses she passes and feels lonely. It makes sense that she feels this way, considering that she is alone and walking through a large city at night. However, she blames part of her melancholy on the fact that she doesn’t have much money, thinking, “Walking in the night with the dark houses over you like monsters. If you have money and friends, houses are just houses with steps and a front-door—friendly houses […].” Because she doesn’t have money, though, the houses she sees seem ominous and foreboding. The implication is that she feels out of place in the fancier neighborhoods of Paris. She’s not wealthy, so she has to stay in dim hotel rooms, making the idea of living in a nice house seem unattainable. Cut off from the possibility of leading the life of a Parisian homeowner, she feels even more isolated and alone.
However, Sasha also knows that money won’t automatically bring happiness, even if she frequently romanticizes the idea of leading a wealthy, lavish life. When she actually has money, she seems perfectly aware that it won’t make her happy. For example, when her friend gives her enough money to live comfortably for a short stay in Paris, she only feels exuberant and optimistic for a brief moment, thinking, “Some money to spend and nothing to worry about.” She then immediately tells herself to be “careful,” noting that she shouldn’t get “excited.” In this moment, she seems hesitant to believe that financial stability can address emotional problems—money isn’t a quick fix, and she seems well aware of the fact that her sadness could come creeping back at any time, regardless of whether or not she has some cash. And she’s right: it isn’t long before she ventures onto the streets of Paris and becomes overwhelmed by sorrow. Oddly enough, though, knowing that money can’t buy happiness doesn’t stop her from romanticizing the life of a rich person, especially when she feels like she doesn’t have enough money. When she decides to look for a new hotel room, for instance, she latches onto the idea of renting the nicest room in the establishment. She even thinks that she will “exist on a different plane” if she can get this fancy room, suggesting that she thinks her entire life will change. There is, then, a “grass is greener” mentality at play in the novel, as Sasha acknowledges that money won’t create true contentment but still yearns for it when she doesn’t have it.
Furthermore, the mere idea of money puts a strain on many of the interactions between characters in Good Morning, Midnight. Almost everyone Sasha meets either obsesses over protecting their money or tries to manipulate others into giving them cash. For example, Sasha meets a man one day and has a fantastic time with him in a hotel bar, but when she offhandedly mentions that she hasn’t eaten in three weeks, he abruptly abandons her, clearly thinking that she’s poor and just wants to use him for his money. The entire encounter illustrates the ways in which money can make people deeply suspicious of each other. It also foreshadows the tension that arises between Sasha and René, whom Sasha worries is a sex worker who is only interested in her because he thinks she’s rich and gullible. Throughout the novel, it remains unclear whether or not Sasha’s suspicion about René is justified, and this uncertainty allows readers to feel the same sense of doubt and mistrust that Sasha herself feels. The ambiguity surrounding their dynamic thus demonstrates both that money can make people suspicious of each other and that—unfortunately—there’s often good reason for such suspicion.
Money and Manipulation ThemeTracker
Money and Manipulation Quotes in Good Morning, Midnight
Twelve o’clock on a fine autumn day, and nothing to worry about. Some money to spend and nothing to worry about.
But careful, careful! Don’t get excited. You know what happens when you get excited and exalted, don’t you?....Yes….And then, you know how you collapse like a pricked balloon, don’t you? Having no staying power….Yes, exactly…. So, no excitement. This is going to be a quiet, sane fortnight. Not too much drinking, avoidance of certain cafés, of certain streets, of certain spots, and everything will go off beautifully.
The thing is to have a programme, not to leave anything to chance—no gaps.
Well, let’s argue this out, Mr Blank. You, who represent Society, have the right to pay me four hundred francs a month. That’s my market value, for I am an inefficient member of Society, slow in the uptake, uncertain, slightly damaged in the fray, there’s no denying it. So you have the right to pay me four hundred francs a month, to lodge me in a small, dark room, to clothe me shabbily, to harass me with worry and monotony and unsatisfied longings till you get me to the point when I blush at a look, cry at a word. We can’t all be happy, we can’t all be rich, we can’t all be lucky—and it would be so much less fun if we were. Isn’t it so, Mr Blank? […] Let’s say that you have this mystical right to cut my legs off. But the right to ridicule me afterwards because I am a cripple—no, that I think you haven’t got.
I listen anxiously to this conversation. Suddenly I feel that I must have number 219, with bath—number 219, with rose-coloured curtains, carpet and bath. I shall exist on a different plane at once if I can get this room, if only for a couple of nights. It will be an omen. Who says you can’t escape from your fate? I’ll escape from mine, into room number 219. Just try me, just give me a chance.
‘Do you know what I feel about you? I think you are very lonely. I know, because for a long time I was lonely myself. I hated people, I didn’t want to see anyone. And then one day I thought: “No, this isn’t the way.” And now I go about a lot. I force myself to. I have a lot of friends; I’m never alone. Now I’m much happier.’
All his charm and ease of manner have gone. He looks anxious and surly. I say awkwardly: ‘I don’t think it at all too much. But I haven’t got the money….’
Before I can get any further he bursts into a shout of laughter, ‘What did I tell you?’ he says to Delmar.
‘But have it, take it, all the same. I like you. I'll give it you as a present.’
‘No, no. All I meant was that I can't pay you now.’
‘Oh, that’s all right. You can send me the money from London. I’ll tell you what you can do for me—you can find some other idiots who'll buy my pictures.’
I haven’t any money. He hasn’t any either. We both thought the other had money. But people are doing crazy things all over the place. The war is over. No more war—never, never, never. Après la guerre, there’ll be a good time everywhere....And not to go back to London. It isn’t so fine, what I have to go back to in London.
‘I want very much to go back to Paris,’ Enno would say. ‘It has no reason, no sense. But all the same I want to go back there. Certain houses, certain streets….No sense, no reason. Just this nostalgia[…]’
Suddenly I am in a fever of anxiety to get there. Let’s be on our way, let’s be on our way....Why shouldn’t we get as far as Brussels? All right, we’ll get as far as Brussels; might be something doing in Brussels.
But the fifteen pounds have gone. We raise every penny we can. We sell most of our clothes.
My beautiful life in front of me, opening out like a fan in my hand….
‘I’ve got some money,’ he says. ‘My God, isn’t it hot? Peel me an orange.’
‘I'm very thirsty’ he says. ‘Peel me an orange.’
Now is the time to say ‘Peel it yourself’, now is the time to say ‘Go to hell’, now is the time to say ‘I won’t be treated like this’. But much too strong—the room, the street, the thing in myself, oh, much too strong....I peel the orange, put it on a plate and give it to him.
Just the sensation of spending, that’s the point. I’ll look at bracelets studded with artificial jewels, red, green and blue, necklaces of imitation pearls, cigarette-cases, jewelled tortoises....And when I have had a couple of drinks I shan’t know whether it’s yesterday, today or tomorrow.
He takes my hand in his and looks at my ring, his eyes narrowing.
‘No good,’ I say. ‘Only worth about fifty francs—if that.’
‘What, your hand?’
‘You weren’t looking at my hand, you were looking at my ring.’
‘Oh, how suspicious she is, this woman! It’s extraordinary. But you will come this evening, won’t you ?’
‘Oh no, not yet, not yet. When I ask her for something it’ll be something. But one mustn’t do that too quickly, of course. She must be ready....She’s nearly ready. I think perhaps tomorrow she’ll be ready.’
He looks straight into my eyes all the time he is talking, with that air of someone defying you.
‘Then what are you afraid of? Tell me. I’m interested. Of men, of love?...What, still?...Impossible.’
You are walking along a road peacefully. You trip. You fall into blackness. That’s the past—or perhaps the future. And you know that there is no past, no future, there is only this blackness, changing faintly, slowly, but always the same.
I have my arms round him and I begin to laugh, because I am so happy. I stand there hugging him, so terribly happy. Now everything is in my arms on this dark landing—love, youth, spring, happiness, everything I thought I’d lost. I was a fool, wasn’t I? to think all that was finished for me. How could it be finished?