The main plot of The Waves follows the lives of its six protagonists from early childhood to death, and the interludes that punctuate that story track of the sun as it moves across the sky during a day. Light and dark thus symbolize life and death. As the sun gets higher in the sky—and as Bernard, Neville, Louis, Susan, Rhoda, and Jinny grow in wisdom and experience—its light softens and diffuses, enabling a wider perspective. In the middle chapters, the sights described in the interludes gradually widen until readers see beyond the garden to the surrounding countryside. Importantly, no matter how much light there is in the sky, within the house—in the realm of human experience—the shadows grow small but never disappear entirely. The shadows represent death, and thus the book reminds readers that they, like the book’s protagonists, are mortal. In the book’s final paragraphs, an aged Bernard walks out of the warm environment of a restaurant into the darkness of late night. Yet, even as he faces his own death, he remembers that the dawn will break again. He finds reassurance in the through that the cycle of light and dark is natural and eternal—he will die but life itself will go on.
Light and Dark Quotes in The Waves
“I see a ring,” said Bernard, “hanging above me. It quivers and hangs in a loop of light.”
“I see a slab of pale yellow,” said Susan, “spreading away until it meets a purple stripe.”
“I hear a sound,” said Rhoda, “cheep, chirp; cheep, chirp; going up and down.”
“I see a globe,” said Neville “hanging down in a drop against the enormous flanks of some hill.”
“I see a crimson tassel,” said Jinny, “twisted with gold threads.”
“I hear something stamping,” said Louis, “A great beast’s foot is chained. It stamps, and stamps, and stamps.”
“Look at the spider’s web on the corner of the balcony,” said Bernard. “It has beads of water on it, drops of white light.”
“The leaves are gathered around the window like pointed ears,” said Susan.
[…]
“Islands of light are swimming on the grass,” said Rhoda. “They have fallen through the trees.”
Again I see before me the usual street. The canopy of civilisation is burnt out. […] But there is a kindling in the sky whether of lamplight or of dawn. There is a stir of some sort—sparrows on plane trees somewhere chirping. There is a sense of the break of day. I will not call it dawn. What is dawn in the city to an elderly man standing in the street looking up rather dizzily at the sky? Dawn is some sort of whitening in the sky; some sort of renewal. […] The stars draw back and are extinguished. The bars deepen themselves between the waves. The film of mist thickens on the fields. A redness gathers on the roses, even on the pale rose that hangs by the bedroom window. A bird chirps. Cottagers light their early candles. Yes, this the eternal renewal, the incessant rise and fall and rise again.