The ravine symbolizes the unknown and, more specifically, the mysterious boundary between life and death. The ravine runs through the middle of town, separating Lavinia and her neighbors from the community’s main center, where Lavinia’s friends Francine and Helen live. Bradbury initially aligns the ravine with danger when Francine says she doesn’t like it; Francine warns Lavinia that if they stick to their plans of going to the movies, Lavinia will have to walk back through the ravine alone at night. This association with danger and the unknown gets heightened when the two friends descend into the ravine, described as “ancient,” “black,” and “secret.” As they follow a shortcut through the overgrowth, they discover the dead body of Elizabeth Ramsell, the Lonely One’s most recent victim. The ravine, Bradbury implies, is an in-between place, not only a literal divider separating the two parts of town but also a location where life ends and death begins. Later, when Lavinia crosses through the ravine alone, Bradbury reinforces this symbolism. As Lavinia begins to suspect the Lonely One is stalking her through the ravine, the imagery foreshadows that she is on the cusp of her own death: “Only the ravine existed and lived, black and huge, about her.” While the ending implies that Lavinia meets her fate in her home, the ravine is the site of her figurative crossing over from life to death.
The Ravine Quotes in The Whole Town’s Sleeping
The Whole Town’s Sleeping Quotes
They stood upon the edge of the ravine that cut the town half in two. Behind them were the lit houses and music, ahead was deepness, moistness, fireflies and dark.
“Maybe we shouldn’t go to the show tonight,” said Francine. “The Lonely One might follow and kill us. I don’t like that ravine. Look at it, will you!”
Lavinia looked and the ravine was a dynamo that never stopped running, night or day; there was a great moving hum, a bumbling and murmuring of creature, insect, or plant life. It smelled like a greenhouse, of secret vapors and ancient, washed shales and quicksands.
[…]
“Bosh!” said Lavinia Nebbs.
The ravine was deep, black and black, black! And the world was gone behind, the world of safe people in bed, the locked doors, the town, the drugstore, the theater, the lights, everything was gone. Only the ravine existed and lived, black and huge, about her.
She heard music. In a mad way, in a silly way, she heard the great surge of music that pounded at her, and she realized as she ran, as she ran in panic and terror, that some part of her mind was dramatizing, borrowing from the turbulent musical score of some private drama. […] She told her legs what to do, her arms, her body, her terror; she advised all parts of herself in this white and terrible moment, over the roaring creek waters, on the hollow, thudding, swaying almost alive, resilient bridge planks she ran, followed by the wild footsteps behind, behind, with the music following, too, the music shrieking and babbling.
There was nobody following me at all. Nobody running after me. She got her breath and almost laughed at herself. It stands to reason if a man had been following me, he’d have caught me! […] How silly of me. I wasn’t running from anything. That ravine’s as safe as anyplace. Just the same, it’s nice to be home. Home’s the really good warm place, the only place to be.
She put her hand out to the light switch and stopped.
“What?” she asked. “What, what?”
Behind her in the living room, someone cleared his throat.



