Long Day’s Journey into Night: Act One Summary & Analysis

When James tells Mary how pleased he is about her health, the audience intuits that she is not usually so fit or stable. This, of course, is most likely why her hands are constantly fidgeting—she is, it seems, a naturally nervous person. Although she’s in good health now, she clearly can’t forget whatever hardships have befallen her in the past. James most likely can’t forget these hardships either, as evidenced by the fact that he goes out of his way to praise Mary’s seemingly newfound stability. In turn, O’Neill intimates that the Tyrone family is burdened and haunted by the past. On another note, James’s assumption that his sons are making fun of him is an indication that tends to instinctively accuse others of malice. 

Although James and Mary are in seemingly good spirits, it’s worth noting their inability to avoid confrontation. However small, this dispute about McGuire suggests that Mary resents James for buying so much land. Furthermore, when she says, “I know it’s a waste of breath trying to convince you you’re not a cunning real estate speculator,” she reveals a certain kind of pessimism, or a worldview in which people are not only incapable of change, but also incapable of recognizing their own shortcomings, essentially living in denial of their flaws.

In this moment, James’s love for his wife comes to the forefront, as he worries in a vague way about her nervousness. Indeed, although the audience doesn’t yet know why he goes out of his way to make sure Mary isn’t too stressed about Edmund’s illness, it’s clear that something has unsettled him. This, it seems, is yet another indication that he—and perhaps Mary herself—is troubled by something that has happened in the past, which is why he wants to do what he can to keep Mary from getting “upset.” At the same time, this approach seems to encourage her to deny difficult feelings—a way of coping that is problematic in and of itself.

When Mary tells James that he shouldn’t “watch” her so closely because it makes her feel “self-conscious,” O’Neill suggests that whatever has taken place in the past for the Tyrone family has affected the ways in which they interact with one another. As James tries to pay attention to his wife, she finds herself resenting his attention. This is because his scrutiny perhaps makes her feel guilty for putting him through such emotional turmoil. In turn, though, she essentially makes him feel guilty for not leaving her alone. As such, the audience sees even in this early stage of the play the cycles of guilt that circulate throughout the Tyrone family’s relational dynamic.

As she complains about the grating effects of a nearby foghorn, Mary’s nervous sensibility surfaces once again. By showing the audience how easily she can be unraveled by a rather ordinary occurrence, O’Neill suggests that whatever ailment Mary has suffered in the past might be easily awoken, thereby lacing a sense of dread and pessimism through the play.

The familial tensions that run throughout the Tyrone clan are readily apparent in this moment. Indeed, one might argue that James is misplacing his stress by berating his son, Jamie. Unsettled by Mary’s recent nervousness—a sign that she might be headed for disaster—he focuses his own restless energy on his sons, ultimately blaming them for his own discontent.

When Jamie scrutinizes his mother, it becomes obvious that James isn’t the only one in the family who is worried about her. In fact, all three Tyrone men are apparently concerned about her well-being, as evidenced by the way they emphasize “how well” she looks. Given that they’re so eager to reassure her, it’s clear that whatever ailment has plagued Mary in the past is most likely emotional or psychological, since it seems related to her mood. Otherwise, her family members wouldn’t try so hard to keep her in good spirits.

In this quick back-and-forth, Mary both mocks and defends her husband, instantly switching allegiances when Edmund chastises his father for being so sensitive. This, it seems, is simply the way the Tyrone family operates. Constantly finding their way into arguments, they blame one another for small things, then retract what they’ve said because they feel guilty.

Once again, the Tyrones prove themselves incapable of avoiding conflict with one another. James is especially sensitive, clearly savoring any opportunity to criticize Jamie for not having enough “ambition in life.” What’s more, it’s worth noting that Mary interrupts Edmund’s story to tell him he shouldn’t be drinking because of his “summer cold.” As such, the audience realizes that Mary isn’t the only person the family worries about. Indeed, Mary herself knows what it’s like to love someone intensely and fret about their demise, as made clear by her insistence that Edmund avoid alcohol while he’s sick.

Again, the Tyrone family proves that it is especially prone to unnecessary conflicts, ones in which family members turn on each other quickly and without warning. What’s more, it becomes clear that Mary doesn’t want to consider the fact that Edmund might have something more than a “summer cold.” Indeed, she would rather deny this possibility, and James is all too willing to indulge this emotional reflex. This is because he himself is worried that any bad news might unhinge his wife. As such, he protects her from reality by trying to undo the harsh effect of Jamie’s realistic outlook.

Once more, Mary demonstrates her wish to deny that Edmund might be seriously ill. By discounting Doctor Hardy, she attempts to erase all likelihood of Edmund having something more than a simple “summer cold.” As she goes on her rant about Hardy, Jamie and James stare at her uneasily, as if they can’t help but worry about her state of agitation. As such, they quickly try to reassure her that everything’s all right when she realizes they’re scrutinizing her. Yet again, then, O’Neill demonstrates how Mary’s family members try to hide the fact that they’re worried about her reverting to her old ways (though he hasn’t yet revealed what those ways are).

Despite the fact that Jamie is—according to his father, at least—lazy and unaccomplished, he at least understands the value of acknowledging the truth. Instead of simply letting his mother deny the possible reality of Edmund’s illness, he wants to make her “face it” so that she isn’t “shock[ed]” later on. Unfortunately, though, he exists in a family that doesn’t believe in handling problems this way, and so he’s forced to go along with the charade that Edmund only has a “summer cold.”

Jamie’s reaction to the possibility of bad news is worth noting, for it is a perfect example of how the Tyrones deal with misfortune. Although he believes in acknowledging harsh realities, he still adopts an escapist attitude when it comes to truly confronting difficult issues. Indeed, rather than making peace with the fact that Edmund might have consumption—otherwise known as tuberculosis—he immediately blames his father by saying that none of this would have happened if James had spent money on a better doctor. This essentially takes his mind off the situation at hand, ultimately manufacturing a superficial conflict that he can focus on instead of thinking about Edmund’s illness. As such, the use of blame becomes a method of emotional denial.

It's clear that the argument James and Jamie have about Jamie’s pathetic career is yet another form of denial. Eager to avoid any kind of true consideration of Edmund’s illness, they blame each other for other misfortunes. In turn, they distract themselves from the matter at hand.

Although James and Jamie have purposefully—though unknowingly—found their way into this argument, they eventually tire of it. This is why Jamie tells his father to stop referencing things that have happened in their tumultuous past. Once he stops the argument, then, it’s unsurprising that the two men are forced to return to their original conversation about Edmund, since they have exhausted their distraction. Interestingly enough, though, one gets the sense that they have genuinely forgiven each other for the nasty things they said throughout the course of their argument, a fact that suggests they’re quite accustomed to these kinds of disputes.

The peace that James and Jamie have just managed to strike only lasts for several moments, as James immediately accuses Jamie of corrupting Edmund. As such, the audience sees how volatile their relationship is, even when they’ve decided to stop “drag[ing] up” “ancient history.”

Once more, James and Jamie make up, forgiving one another despite the vehemence they’ve just displayed. What’s more, when Jamie says that no one could possibly influence Edmund, he destabilizes the notion that it’s possible to blame someone for another person’s shortcomings. In turn, O’Neill suggests that people are ultimately responsible for their own actions, despite how hard they—or others—might try to shift culpability onto their loved ones. 

Again, James and Jamie cycle through yet another revolution of blame and forgiveness. This time, though, it’s worth noting that Jamie appears somewhat jealous of Edmund’s relative success, which is why he’s so eager to diminish his little brother’s accomplishments. At the same time, though, he feels guilty for disparaging Edmund, suggesting that—despite his enviousness—he ultimately loves his brother.

When James says that Mary seems “a different woman entirely from the other times,” he reveals that she has gone through the same hardship multiple times. Although the audience still doesn’t know what, exactly, Mary struggles with, it’s now quite clear that it has to do with her “nerves” and her ability—or inability—to stay calm. This is why James wants to “keep the truth” of Edmund’s illness from her, ultimately wanting to keep her in denial because he thinks she will unravel if she has to confront reality.

When Jamie says that he “can’t forget the past” and “can’t help being suspicious,” the audience understands why the Tyrones are constantly scrutinizing Mary—they are closely attuned to her because she has previously demonstrated a seeming inability to remain stable. At this point, it begins to become obvious that the ailment Mary struggles with most likely has to do with addiction. After all, there are very few other reasons why her family members would be so “suspicious” of the fact that she’s walking around at night. Indeed, Jamie seems afraid that his mother’s “nerves” are going to encourage her to sneak off on her own and use drugs in the dead of night.

In the same way that James wants to help Mary deny the frightening possibility that Edmund is seriously ill, he himself desperately wants to deny the fact that his wife is about to relapse. This is why he yells at Jamie for being suspicious of Mary. Indeed, he buys into Mary’s narrative about the foghorn keeping her awake, ultimately enabling himself to avoid confronting the possibility that she’s using drugs again.

Throughout Long Day’s Journey into Night, characters often begin to say something fraught and disturbing, but stop before they finish. This creates a sense of mystery and vagueness that illustrates just how unwilling the family members are to acknowledge hardship. However, it’s possible to infer what they mean when they begin certain sentences. For example, when James says, “It would be like a curse [Mary] can’t escape if worry over Edmund—It was in her long sickness after bringing him into the world that she first—," it’s reasonable to assume that Mary’s ailment first started when Edmund was born. What’s more, the fact that the process of Edmund’s birth brought on a “long sickness” suggests that Mary was most likely in pain. In turn, the audience can intuit that she was given pain-killing drugs, and from here it’s obvious that this must be how she became addicted in the first place. This is why James finds irony in the idea that Mary might relapse as a result of worrying about Edmund, whom he underhandedly suggests was the reason for her addiction in the first place. In this way, he once again uses blame to help himself cope with a difficult situation. Jamie, for his part, resents his father for making such ghastly implications. However, he proceeds by blaming James for hiring an incompetent doctor to treat Mary, ultimately casting blame onto his father in the same way that James tries to blame Edmund for Mary’s addiction.

Mary’s obsession with the fog seems to correlate with her nerves, as she is apparently incapable of ignoring the possibility of its return. In this way, it is similar to her family’s fear that she is going to relapse. Indeed, the Tyrones all have pessimistic attitudes that cause them to resign themselves to the possibility of a bleak future. This is why Jamie goes out of his way to tell his mother she shouldn’t worry about Edmund so much, though it’s worth noting that this goes against what he said earlier about not hiding the truth from Mary. By spotlighting this contradiction, O’Neill shows the audience that how hard it is for loved ones to decide what’s best for one another.

Once more, Mary goes out of her way to diminish the severity of Edmund’s illness. When she says that he’s “a baby” who simply wants attention, it’s clear she’s simply trying to convince herself that she need not worry about him. This attitude is somewhat self-centered, since Mary tries to dismiss her worries for her own sake instead of acknowledging what Edmund is actually going through.

When Mary praises her neighbors and says they have “decent, presentable homes they don’t have to be ashamed of,” she reveals her desire to live in a house she truly believes is her own. What’s more, she also implies that she feels lonely and isolated, as made evident by the fact that she jealously says her neighbors aren’t “cut off from everyone.” Strangely enough, though, she then goes out of her way to uphold that she doesn’t actually want what her neighbors have. As such, O’Neill suggests that what Mary truly wants is to get rid of her own loneliness. Because this has nothing to do with living in “decent, presentable homes,” though, she’ll never be able to shake her feelings of isolation.

In this conversation, Edmund recognizes the detrimental emotional effects of using blame to avoid thinking about one’s own shortcomings. Telling his mother it’s “bad for [her] to forget” about her addiction, he encourages her to “remember” what she’s been through in the past. This, he intuits, is the only way to keep herself on “guard.” Blaming James, Edmund suggests, will only make it easier for Mary to avoid taking responsibility for her own actions and, in doing so, slip back into her old habits.

Although it may be true that her family members’ suspicions make it “harder” for her to remain sober, it seems in this moment that Mary is purposefully guilt-tripping her son for encouraging her to acknowledge her history of addiction. By making Edmund feel ashamed for bringing up her troubled past, she essentially forces him to trust her. This, it’s worth noting, is exactly what a person who is on the verge of relapsing might do in order to avoid scrutiny.

When Mary says, “That was when—,” O’Neill once again provides the audience with only the first half of a sentence that would undoubtedly be fraught with meaning if it were to be finished. He does this in order to emphasize the extent of the Tyrone family’s denial. Indeed, Mary is hesitant to talk about her addiction, and even Edmund—who supposedly believes such matters must not be forgotten—is perfectly happy to cut his mother off so he doesn’t have to hear her talk about her troubled past. Of course, this willingness also has to do with the fact that his mother has shamed him for “suspecting” her. Suddenly, he is eager to convince her that he trusts her, though it’s obvious he should not, since she says it would “serve” her loved ones right if their suspicions were true.

Mary is quite good at making her loved ones feel bad about watching her closely. In fact, she’s a bit too good at this for someone who supposedly has nothing to hide. Indeed, she shames Edmund into pretending as if he doesn’t “suspect” her, telling him that he is “hurt[ing]” her. What’s more, she blames his sickness for her uneasiness, claiming that she’s out of sorts because she’s worried about him—a statement that no doubt makes him feel even worse about himself. By doing this, she encourages him to leave her alone, ultimately enabling herself the kind of autonomy and privacy she would need if she were to relapse without her family finding out. In short, she plays on her son’s love as a way of manipulating his trust.

In this final moment of Act One, it is overwhelmingly obvious that Mary is purposefully manipulating Edmund by making him feel guilty for “suspecting” her of relapsing. When she declares that she wants to go upstairs alone—a telltale sign that she’s planning to use drugs—she says, “Or are you afraid to trust me alone?” In doing so, she forces Edmund to act like he does indeed “trust” her. Given the tormented way she behaves after he leaves, though, it’s clear she’s about to do exactly what he fears.