In Catching Teller Crow, linear clock-time is a misleading way of organizing reality. In the world of the novel, people should understand time as an index of their growth and progress: if they aren’t growing and changing, they aren’t really moving forward, even if the clock-hands keep ticking. This understanding of time is exemplified in Beth Teller and her father Michael Teller. Beth is a ghost, eternally 15 years old and always wearing the dress she had on when a car lost control in the rain and killed her. She remains haunting the physical world due to her father Michael’s obsessive grief, which called her back to the physical plane when she was about to move on. When the novel begins, Beth feels responsible for helping Michael return to the healthier psychological state he occupied before her death, so she tries to act as alive and happy as possible, not phasing through solid objects or crying where he can see. Beth’s unchanging physical appearance represents how her father’s grief is preventing her from accepting a dramatic change in her existence, i.e., her death, and progressing to an afterlife more appropriate to her new state. Though clock-time continues to move forward, Beth does not—until she realizes that remaining stuck in the living world with her father, half-pretending that she’s still alive, is psychologically unhealthy for both of them. This realization forces Beth to grow, change, and eventually move on. As Beth leaves the physical plane for the afterlife, she gains the ability to transform from a changeless ghost into a bright streak of yellow. That is to say, Beth’s appearance becomes capable of change only when she takes a dramatic step forward in her existence—suggesting that time is best measured by personal growth, not seconds and hours.
Time ThemeTracker
Time Quotes in Catching Teller Crow
The ‘when’ didn’t matter so much though, since I didn’t count minutes or hours any more. Days began when the sun rose and ended when it set. In between, the connections I made—like the ways I helped my dad, or didn’t help him—were what told me if I was moving forwards or backwards. As my Grandpa Jim had once said to me, Life doesn’t move through time, Bethie. Time moves through life.
“That’s your plan now? Hang about and hold your dad’s hand for the rest of his life?”
“No. Not exactly.” Even I could hear the lie in my voice.
She pointed to the door. “Get out of here, Teller. Come back if you ever want help doing what you’re supposed to be doing and move on.”
“Oh, it was a long time ago. Twenty years . . . seven months . . . six days. Not that I’m counting!” She tried to laugh, but it broke in the middle. “Sarah just vanished a week before her fifteenth birthday. She got off the bus from school, same as always, but she never made it home.”
[…]
Twenty years, seven months, six days . . . Was Dad going to be like this, decades from now when he talked about me? I didn’t want him making my death some kind of depressing mathematical reference point for his life.
Mum had been there my whole life, helping me be a butterfly girl.
Maybe all hopeful thoughts were just someone who loved us, reaching out from another side. Which meant I could be there for my family even after I’d crossed over!
I couldn’t bear to say that the colours weren’t real.
People can time travel inside their heads.
Remember into the past.
Imagine into the future.
But sometimes you can’t escape the now.
No ticking clocks.
Just choices.
They measure the distance between who we are and who we’re turning into.
“Of course you’re here at the end. So what? It’s the beginning that hasn’t happened yet.”