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Applied
Functional Analysis
THIRD EDITION
TEXTBOOKS in MATHEMATICS
Series Editors: Al Boggess and Ken Rosen
PUBLISHED TITLES
ABSTRACT ALGEBRA: A GENTLE INTRODUCTION
Gary L. Mullen and James A. Sellers
ABSTRACT ALGEBRA: AN INTERACTIVE APPROACH, SECOND EDITION
William Paulsen
ABSTRACT ALGEBRA: AN INQUIRY-BASED APPROACH
Jonathan K. Hodge, Steven Schlicker, and Ted Sundstrom
ADVANCED LINEAR ALGEBRA
Hugo Woerdeman
ADVANCED LINEAR ALGEBRA
Nicholas Loehr
ADVANCED LINEAR ALGEBRA, SECOND EDITION
Bruce Cooperstein
APPLIED ABSTRACT ALGEBRA WITH MAPLE™ AND MATLAB®, THIRD EDITION
Richard Klima, Neil Sigmon, and Ernest Stitzinger
APPLIED DIFFERENTIAL EQUATIONS: THE PRIMARY COURSE
Vladimir Dobrushkin
APPLIED DIFFERENTIAL EQUATIONS WITH BOUNDARY VALUE PROBLEMS
Vladimir Dobrushkin
A BRIDGE TO HIGHER MATHEMATICS
Valentin Deaconu and Donald C. Pfaff
COMPUTATIONAL MATHEMATICS: MODELS, METHODS, AND ANALYSIS WITH MATLAB® AND MPI,
SECOND EDITION
Robert E. White
A COURSE IN DIFFERENTIAL EQUATIONS WITH BOUNDARY VALUE PROBLEMS, SECOND EDITION
Stephen A. Wirkus, Randall J. Swift, and Ryan Szypowski
A COURSE IN ORDINARY DIFFERENTIAL EQUATIONS, SECOND EDITION
Stephen A. Wirkus and Randall J. Swift
PUBLISHED TITLES CONTINUED
Applied
Functional Analysis
THIRD EDITION
J. Tinsley Oden
Leszek F. Demkowicz
CRC Press
Taylor & Francis Group
6000 Broken Sound Parkway NW, Suite 300
Boca Raton, FL 33487-2742
This book contains information obtained from authentic and highly regarded sources. Reasonable efforts have been
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and the CRC Press Web site at
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In Memory of
John James and Sara Elizabeth Oden
and
Wiesława and Kazimierz Demkowicz
Contents
1 Preliminaries 1
Elementary Logic and Set Theory
1.1 Sets and Preliminary Notations, Number Sets . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
ix
x Contents
3.2 I n . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 210
Construction of Lebesgue Measure in R
3.3 The Fundamental Characterization of Lebesgue Measure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 222
Lebesgue Integration Theory
Contents xi
Elementary Topology
4.1 Topological Structure—Basic Notions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 269
4.2 Topological Subspaces and Product Topologies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 287
4.3 Continuity and Compactness . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 291
4.4 Sequences . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 301
4.5 Topological Equivalence. Homeomorphism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 308
Theory of Metric Spaces
4.6 Metric and Normed Spaces, Examples . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 309
4.7 Topological Properties of Metric Spaces . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 318
4.8 Completeness and Completion of Metric Spaces . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 323
4.9 Compactness in Metric Spaces . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 336
4.10 Contraction Mappings and Fixed Points . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 349
Closed Operators
5.10 Closed Operators, Closed Graph Theorem . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 396
5.11 Example of a Closed Operator . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 402
Topological Duals. Weak Compactness
5.12 Examples of Dual Spaces, Representation Theorem for Topological Duals of Lp Spaces . . 405
5.13 Bidual, Reflexive Spaces . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 417
5.14 Weak Topologies, Weak Sequential Compactness . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 421
5.15 Compact (Completely Continuous) Operators . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 430
Closed Range Theorem. Solvability of Linear Equations
5.16 Topological Transpose Operators, Orthogonal Complements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 434
5.17 Solvability of Linear Equations in Banach Spaces, the Closed Range Theorem . . . . . . . 439
5.18 Generalization for Closed Operators . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 446
5.19 Closed Range Theorem for Closed Operators . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 451
5.20 Examples . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 456
5.21 Equations with Completely Continuous Kernels. Fredholm Alternative . . . . . . . . . . . 461
7 References 599
Index 601
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‘Yes, let us,’ she said, moving away down the passage ahead of him; and
more plainly than ever, when they got to the big windows on the stairs and
she turned the bend of them before him, he could see how yellow she was,
and what a quantity of grey, giving it that terrible grizzled look, there was in
her hair.
Yellow; grizzled; what had she done, what had they done to her, to ruin
her like this, to take his Catherine from him and give him this instead? It
was awful. He was robbed. His world of happiness was smashing to bits.
And he felt such a brute, the lowest of low brutes, not to be able to love her
the same as before, now when she so much must need love, when she had
been having what he could well imagine was a simply hellish time.
Virginia again, he thought, with a bitterness that shocked him himself.
That girl, even in death spoiling things. For even if it was true what
Catherine insisted on telling him about dyes and doings-up, she never
would have thought it necessary to tell him, to make a clean breast, if it
hadn’t been for Virginia’s death. No; if it hadn’t been for that she would
have gone on as before, doing whatever it was she did to herself, the results
of which anyhow were that he and she were happy. God, how he hated
clean breasts, and the turning over of some imaginary new leaf. Whenever
anything happened out of the ordinary, anything that pulled women up short
and made them do what they called think, they started wrecking—wrecking
everything for themselves and for the people who had been loving them
happily and contentedly, by their urge for the two arch-destroyers of love,
those damned clean breasts and those even more damned new leaves.
He followed her like an angry, frightened child. How could he know
what she knew? How could he see what she saw? He was where he had
always been, while she had gone on definitely into something else. And
there were no words she could have explained in. If she had tried, all she
could have found to say, with perplexed brows, would have been, ‘But I
know.’
She took him into the garden. They passed her bedroom door on the way,
and he knew it was hers for it was half open, and the room hadn’t been done
yet, and the little slippers he had kissed a hundred times were lying kicked
off on the carpet, the slippers that had belonged to the real Catherine—or
rather, as this one was now insisting, to the artificial Catherine, but anyhow
to his Catherine.
For a moment he was afraid she would take him in there. Ice seemed to
slide down his spine at the thought. But she walked past it as if it had
nothing to do with either of them, and then he was offended.
Out in the garden it was easier to breathe. He couldn’t, in that public
place, with the chance of a gardener appearing at any moment, take her in
his arms, so he didn’t feel quite such a scoundrel for not doing it; and
walking by her side and not looking at her, but just listening to her voice, he
felt less lost; for the voice was the voice of Catherine, and as long as he
didn’t look at her he could believe she was still there. It was like, in the
night, hearing the blessed reassurance of one’s mother talking, when one
was little, and frightened, and alone.
She took him through the garden and out by the wicket-gate into the
park, where rabbits were scuttling across the dewy grass, leaving dark
ribbons along its silver, and the bracken, webbed with morning gossamer,
was already turning brown. And all the way she talked, and all the way he
listened in silence, his eyes fixed straight in front of him.
She told him everything, from that moment of their honeymoon when,
from loving, she had fallen in love, and instantly began to be terrified of
looking old, and her desperate, grotesque efforts to stay young for him, and
his heart, as he heard her voice talking of that time, went to wax within him,
and he had to gaze very steadily at the view ahead lest, turning to throw his
arms round Catherine, his sweetheart, his angel love, he should see she
wasn’t there, but only a ghost was there with her voice and eyes, and then
he mightn’t be able to help bursting out crying.
‘Is this far enough away from the poor baby?’ she asked, stopping at an
oak-tree, whose huge exposed roots were worn with the numbers of times
she had sat on them in past years during the long, undisturbed summer
afternoons of her placid first marriage. ‘You know,’ she added, sitting down
on the gnarled roots, ‘he’s the most beautiful little baby, and is going to
comfort all poor Stephen’s despair.’
‘But he isn’t going to comfort mine,’ said Christopher, standing with his
eyes fixed on the distant view.
She was silent. Then she said, ‘Is it as bad as that, Chris?’
‘No, no,’ he said quickly, his back to her, ‘I didn’t mean that. You’ll get
well again, and then we’ll——’
‘I don’t see how I can get well if I’m not ill,’ she said gently.
‘Why do you want to take hope from me?’ he answered.
‘I only don’t want any more lies. I shan’t look different again from what
I do now. I shan’t go back, I mean, to what I was. But perhaps presently—
when you’ve had time to get over——’
She hesitated, and then went on humbly,—for she was vividly conscious
of the wrong she had done him, vividly aware that she ought to have saved
him from himself whatever the pressure had been that was brought to bear
on her, however great his misery was at the moment,—‘Presently I thought
perhaps I might somehow make up for what I’ve done. I thought perhaps I
might somehow comfort you——’
She hesitated again. ‘I don’t quite know how, though,’ she said, her voice
more and more humble, ‘but I’d try.’ And then she said, almost in a whisper,
‘That is, if you will let me.’
‘Let you!’ he exclaimed, stabbed by her humbleness.
‘Yes. And if it’s no good, Chris, and you’d rather not, then of course I’ll
—let you go.’
He turned round quickly. ‘What, in God’s name, do you mean by that?’
he asked.
‘Set you free,’ said Catherine, doing her best to look up at him
unflinchingly.
He stared at her. ‘How?’ he asked. ‘I don’t understand. In what way, set
me free?’
‘Well, there’s only one way, isn’t there—one way really. I meant, divorce
you.’
He stood staring down at her. Catherine talking of divorcing him.
Catherine.
‘How can you at your age be tied up, go on being married, to some one
like me?’ she asked. ‘It isn’t even decent. And besides—in that flat together
—you might think I—I expected——’
She broke off with a gesture of helplessness, while he still stared at her.
‘I haven’t an idea how we could manage all the—the details,’ she said,
bowing her head, for she felt she couldn’t endure his stare. ‘It would hurt
so,’ she finished in a whisper.
‘And so you think the solution is to divorce me,’ said Christopher.
‘What else is there to do? You’ve only got to look at me——’
‘Divorce me,’ he said, ‘when we have loved each other so?’
And suddenly he began to shout at her, stamping his foot, while hot tears
rushed into his eyes. ‘Oh you little fool, you little fool!’ he shouted. ‘You’ve
always been such a little fool——’
‘But look at me,’ she said desperately, throwing back her head and
flinging out her arms.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, don’t go on like this!’ he cried, dropping on the
ground beside her and burying his face in her lap. Divorce him ... condemn
him again to that awful loneliness ... where he couldn’t hear her voice....
‘Why couldn’t you go on letting me believe?’ he said, his arms tightly
clutching her knees while he kept his face buried. ‘Why couldn’t you? As
though I cared what you did before! It made us happy, anyhow, and I wish
to God you’d go on doing it. But you’ve only got to get away from this
infernal place to be as you used to be, and you didn’t always go to that
woman, and I fell in love with you just as you were, and why shouldn’t I
love you just as you are?’
‘Because I’m old, and you’re not. Because I’ve grown old since we
married. Because I was too old to be married to some one so young. And
you know I’m old. You see it now. You see it so plainly that you can’t bear
to look at me.’
‘Oh, my God—the stuff, the stuff. I’m your husband, and I’m going to
take care of you. Yes, I am, Catherine—for ever and ever. Useless to argue.
I can’t live without the sound of your voice. I can’t. And how can you live
without me? You couldn’t. You’re the most pitiful little thing——’
‘I’m not. I’m quite sensible. I haven’t been, but I am now.’
‘Oh, damn being sensible! Be what you were before. Good God,
Catherine,’ he went on, hiding his face, clutching her knees, ‘do you think a
man wants his wife to scrub herself with yellow soap as if she were the
kitchen table, and then come all shiny to him and say, “See, I’m the Truth”?
And she isn’t the truth. She’s no more the truth shiny than powdered—she’s
only appearance, anyway, she’s only a symbol—the symbol of the spirit in
her which is what one is really loving the whole time——’
‘What has happened is much more than that,’ she interrupted.
‘Oh yes, yes—I know. Death. You’re going to tell me that all this sort of
thing seems rot to you now that you’ve been with death——’
‘So it does. And I’ve finished with it.’
‘Oh Lord—women,’ he groaned, burying his face deeper, as if he could
hide from his unhappiness. ‘Do you suppose I haven’t been with death too,
and seen it dozens of times? What do you think I was doing in the War? But
women can’t take the simplest things naturally—and they can’t take the
natural things simply, either. What can be more simple and natural than
death? I didn’t throw away my silk handkerchiefs and leave off shaving
because my friends died——’
‘Chris,’ she interrupted again, ‘you simply don’t understand. You don’t
—know.’
‘I do—I know and understand everything. Why should the ones who
didn’t die behave as though they had? Why should you send our happy life
together to blazes because Virginia is dead? Isn’t that all the more reason
for us who’re still alive to stick firmer than ever to each other? And instead
you talk of divorce. Divorce? Because there’s been one tragedy there’s to be
another? Catherine, don’t you, won’t you, can’t you see?’
And he lifted his head from her lap and looked at her, tears of anger, and
fear, and love driven back on itself burning in his eyes; and he caught her
crying.
How long had she been crying? Her face was pitiful, all wet with tears,
in its frame of grizzled hair. How long had she been crying quietly up there,
while he was raving, and she at intervals said sensible calm things?
At the sight of her wet face the anger and the fear died out of him, and
only love was left. She couldn’t do without him. She was a poor, broken-up
little thing, for all her big words about divorce and setting free. She was his
wife, who couldn’t do without him—a poor, broken-up little thing....
‘I’ve cried so much,’ she said, quickly wiping her eyes, ‘that I believe
I’ve got into the habit of it. I’m ashamed. I hate whimpering. But—Virginia
——’
He got up on to his knees, and at last put his arms round her. ‘Oh my
Catherine,’ he murmured, drawing her head on to his breast and holding it
there. ‘Oh my Catherine——’
An immense desire for self-sacrifice, to fling his life at her feet, rushed
upon Christopher, a passion of longing to give, give everything and ask
nothing in return, to protect, to keep all that could hurt her away from her
for ever.
‘Don’t cry,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t cry. It’s going to be all right. We’re
going to be happy. And if you can’t see that we are, I’ll see for you till your
own eyes are opened again——’
‘But I do see—every time I look in the glass,’ she answered, instinctively
understanding the feeling that was sweeping over him, and shrinking away
from exploiting this that was being thrust upon her of the quick, uncounting
generosity of youth. How would she be able to make it up to him? She
couldn’t, except by loving him with utter selflessness, and then, when he
found out for himself how impossible the situation was, setting him free. It
was the only thing she could do. Some day he would see himself that it was
the only thing.
‘Obstinate, aren’t you,’ he murmured, holding her face close against his
breast, for when he was doing that it was hidden, and it hurt him too
desperately as yet to look at it, it made him too desperately want to cry
himself. Of course presently ... when he had got more used....
‘You’ll have to grow out of that,’ he went on, ‘because we can’t both be
obstinate, and have deadlocks.’
‘No, no—we won’t have deadlocks,’ said Catherine. ‘We’ll just——’
She was going to say, ‘love each other very much,’ but thought that
might sound like making a claim, and stopped.
They were silent for a while, and so motionless that the rabbits began to
think they weren’t there after all, and came lolloping up quite close.
Then he said very gently, ‘I’m going to take care of you, Catherine.’
And she said, her voice trembling a little, ‘Are you, Chris? I was
thinking that that’s what I’m going to do to you.’
‘All right. We’ll do it to each other, then.’
And they both tried to laugh, but it was a shaky, uncertain laughter, for
they were both afraid.
THE END
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