Rivers, a mysterious and ever-present element of the characters’ lives, symbolize life, death, and all the unknowns that surround them. The river is especially meaningful to the Lamb family, who suffered the loss of Fish Lamb’s clever mind when he nearly drowned in a river at the beginning of the novel. As the Lambs blame God for this tragedy, the river could also symbolize the whims of a higher power who gives and takes away without offering a satisfying explanation as to why. This is reflected in the constantly shifting nature of the river, as it seems to both help and harm the families at Cloudstreet at various points in their lives. The river claims Fish’s sharp mind and eventually his life, and the son of the serial killer also drowns in the river towards the end of the novel. At the same time, however, Quick’s worldview is ultimately changed for the better after he finds out that the serial killer had a son, and Quick might have never married Rose if he hadn’t encountered her one night while rowing on the river with Fish. Quick and Fish also shared the strange experience of the river becoming a starry sky earlier in the novel, demonstrating the mysterious and beautiful potential the river holds along with its dangers. Even when the river takes Fish’s life at the end of the novel, his death is portrayed as more of a relief or an inevitability than a tragedy. The river gives Fish his mind back and offers him a glimpse of enlightenment in his final moments, and his death also lets Oriel make peace with herself and move back into Cloudstreet at last. The river literally and figuratively surrounds the family for their whole lives, carrying them through the strangeness of life and reminding them that everything comes to an end, only to begin anew.
The River Quotes in Cloudstreet
Fish will remember. All his life and all his next life he’ll remember this dark, cool plunge where sound and light and shape are gone, where something rushes him from afar, where, openmouthed, openfisted, he drinks in river, whales it in with complete surprise.
The sky, packed with stars, rests just above his head, and when Quick looks over the side he sees the river is full of sky as well. There’s stars and swirl and space down there and it’s not water anymore—it doesn’t even feel wet. Quick stabs his fingers in. There’s nothing there. There’s no lights ashore now. No, there’s no shore at all, not that he can see. There’s only sky out there, above and below, everywhere to be seen. Except for Fish’s giggling, there’s no sound at all.
How you longed, how you stared at me those thundery nights when we all tossed and the house refused to sleep. It’s gone for you now, but for me the water backs into itself, comes around, joins up in the great, wide, vibrating space where everything that was and will be still is. For me, for all of us sooner or later, all of it will always be. And some of you will be forever watching me on the landing.
Every important thing that happened to him, it seemed, had to do with a river. It was insistent, quietly forceful like the force of his own blood. Sometimes he thought of it as the land’s blood: it roiled with life and living. But at other moments, when a dead sheep floated past, when the water was pink with storm mud, when jellyfish blew up against the beaches in great stinking piles, Quick wondered if it was the land’s sewer. The city had begun to pile up over it as the old buildings went and the ugly towers grew. But it resisted, all the same, having life, giving life, reflecting it.
I’m a man for that long, I feel my manhood, I recognize myself whole and human, know my story for just that long, long enough to see how we’ve come, how we’ve all battled in the same corridor that time makes for us, and I’m Fish Lamb for those seconds it takes to die, as long as it takes to drink the river, as long as it took to tell you all this, and then my walls are tipping and I burst into the moon, sun and stars of who I really am. Being Fish Lamb. Perfectly. Always. Everyplace. Me.