Quote 1
"It was so complicated. So difficult. And I... I said she was in hospital. And I know it wasn't true. But once I'd said that... I couldn't... I couldn't change it. Do you understand... Christopher...? Christopher...?" (157.42)
This just reinforces the sinister nature of lying – that once you start lying, it's really difficult to back out. Christopher's father expects him, of all people, to understand. We'll also point out again how conflicted he is about just how he ended up telling his son this awful lie.
Quote 2
Then he said, "I did it for your good, Christopher. Honestly I did. I never meant to lie." (157.39)
Three very fraught sentences here. In the first, he claims that the lie was intentional, to protect Christopher from harm. In the third, he claims that the lie was <em>un</em>intentional. And nestled in between, the delightfully damaged word "Honestly" – as if anything this person says can be trusted now.
Quote 3
And Father said, "Christopher, do you understand that I love you?"
And I said, "Yes," because loving someone is helping them when they get into trouble, and looking after them, and telling them the truth [...]" (137.9-10)
Is this love? Yes, we know that's a Bob Marley song too, actually. But seriously, what is it? Is it these things? What else might it be? Doesn't it sound as if Christopher was once given a list of things that represent loving someone? Does that work, or is love something we have to just spontaneously know?
Quote 4
And then Father nodded and he didn't say anything for a short while. Then he said, "Thank you."
And I said, "What for?"
And he said, "Just... thank you. Then he said, "I'm very proud of you, Christopher. Very proud." (233.125-27)
Christopher's father's speechlessness here manages to express his love for his son more than any of his agonized pleas earlier on in the book. Like Christopher's beautiful image of his mother's ashes, the book's most profound words about love don't include the word "love" at all. It's funny how that works sometimes.
Quote 5
"OK, maybe I don't tell the truth all the time. God knows, I try, Christopher, God knows I do, but... Life is difficult, you know. It's bloody hard telling the truth all the time. Sometimes it's impossible. And I want to know that I'm trying, I really am. And perhaps this is not a very good time to say this, and I know you're not going to like it, but... You have to know that I am going to tell you the truth from now on. About everything. Because... if you don't tell the truth now, then later on... later on it hurts even more. So..." (167.16)
This is a pretty moving speech from Christopher's father. We feel for him – we really do. We feel kind of bad dissecting his logic but, hey, that's our job. We're definitely with him about it being "bloody hard" to tell the truth all the time. Like when your friend offers to cook you dinner, but you know she's not exactly the best "chef." You don't want to hurt her feelings, so you tell her you have plans to go out for pizza with your parents. We know, it's okay. Heck, Christopher even has to find ways around telling the whole truth. Really, telling the whole truth all the time might be "impossible." But then how can he turn around and promise he'll always tell the truth from then on? What evidence does he have that it's somehow going to get easier in the future?