Throughout the protagonist’s childhood, his Great Aunt Mary admonishes him, “don’t be so inquisitive.” “Secrets” asks readers to consider this warning: is it good to question everything? Or are there some instances when unbridled curiosity does more harm than good? By demonstrating how the protagonist’s youthful curiosity leads him to lose Aunt Mary’s trust forever, “Secrets” suggests that curiosity can be harmful if it is not paired with respect for others’ privacy, and that learning one another’s secrets can actually drive people further apart rather than bringing them closer together.
While the protagonist and Aunt Mary have a loving bond, as a child, the protagonist does not have much compassion for his aunt, who’s a very guarded and reserved person. Instead, like many curious children rebelling against authority figures, the protagonist disrespects Aunt Mary’s boundaries in order to find out more about her past. He sneaks into her room to read her letters from her old lover, John—the only items in the room she has explicitly forbidden him from touching. Through reading these letters, the protagonist learns that John ended their romantic relationship when he became a Catholic monk (and changed his name to Brother Benignus) after fighting in World War I. But learning this secret from his aunt’s past doesn’t bring the protagonist and Great Aunt Mary any closer—instead, his invasion of privacy ruins their relationship and deepens the mystery of Aunt Mary’s life rather than resolving it. Her anger at the protagonist’s betrayal makes sense: after suffering heartbreak, Aunt Mary has spent most of her life not trusting others, mirroring Brother Benignus’s monastic isolation. Because the young protagonist was one of the few people she let enter this private life, his betrayal hurts her deeply. As a young child, the protagonist is unable to see that his actions could have hurt Aunt Mary, whom he perceives as an unemotional authority figure. In this way, his curiosity isn’t tempered with compassion and thus results in harm.
However, when Aunt Mary dies years later, the protagonist (who is now a young adult) has learned from his past mistakes, and he checks his curiosity with compassion. Despite his ongoing interest in Brother Benignus, he lets his mother burn the letters in the fireplace rather than reading them, out of respect for Aunt Mary’s privacy. The story thus suggests that although curiosity can be a good quality, it must be moderated with a genuine care for other people’s emotions.
Secrets and Curiosity ThemeTracker
Secrets and Curiosity Quotes in Secrets
When he was bored he would interrupt her and ask about the ring. He loved hearing her tell of how her grandmother had given it to her as a brooch and she had had a ring made from it. He would try to count back to see how old it was. Had her grandmother got it from her grandmother? And if so what had she turned it into? She would nod her head from side to side and say, “How would I know a thing like that?” keeping her place in the closed book with her finger.
“Don’t be so inquisitive,” she’d say. “Let’s see what happens next in the story.”
He reached over towards the letters but before his hand touched them his aunt’s voice, harsh for once, warned.
“A-A-A,” she moved her pen from side to side. “Do not touch,” she said and smiled. “Anything else, yes! That section, no!” She resumed her writing.
“Who is that?” he asked.
“Why? What do you think of her?”
“She’s all right.”
“Do you think she is beautiful?” The boy nodded.
“That’s me,” she said. The boy was glad he had pleased her in return for the stamps.
My love, it is thinking of you that keeps me sane. When I get a moment I open my memories of you as if I were reading. Your long dark hair—I always imagine you wearing the blouse with the tiny roses, the white one that opened down the back—your eyes that said so much without words, the way you lowered your head when I said anything that embarrassed you, the clean nape of your neck.
“You have been reading my letters,” she said quietly. Her mouth was tight with the words and her eyes blazed. The boy could say nothing. She struck him across the side of the face.
“Get out,” she said. “Get out of my room.”
The boy, the side of his face stinging and red, put the keys on the table on his way out. When he reached the door she called him. He stopped, his hand on the handle.
“You are dirt,” she hissed, “and always will be dirt. I shall remember this till the day I die.”