Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Crying of Lot 49: Did Oedipa Escape the Tower?
hopeless relationships
Monday, January 23, 2012
A Summation of Confusion
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Fantasy State of Paranoia
The Hyperreal in The Crying of Lot 49
For some reason, the scene where Mucho interviews Oedipa after she has tried to talk Doctor Hilarius down is very memorable and interesting for me. It’s interesting because of the complex way that it deals with distortion and alteration as brought about by the process of simulation and reproduction. What really interests me is the idea that Mucho is aware of the types of alteration that will occur and even though he asks Oedipa to “just be [her]self” he calls her Edna on the air because of the “distortion on these rigs, and then when they put it on the tape” (113-114). First, this is interesting to me because it engages with the problems inherent in Baudrillard’s claim that the world has become basically hyperreal. When I was first introduced to the idea of the hyperreal my knee-jerk reaction was “so what?” That is, I couldn’t understand what the big deal was with the replacement of one reality with a simulation of that reality that is functionally indistinguishable, except for the fact that this hyperreality was ostensibly less “authentic.” So this section of the novel brings to light the problem of the hyperreal- that the simulation invariably alters whatever it claims to imitate.
Next, and more interestingly to me, is the idea that Mucho attempts to preempt this alteration in his description of his wife over the airwaves. What occurs is that Mucho is actualizing what he expects will ultimately be the hyperreal within the real. That is to say, instead of dealing with the real (in this case Oedipa’s actual name) he changes it in its initial utterance (the real) into the alteration that would occur through the process of media. This is a perfect dramatization of the way that that the hyperreal in Baudrillard’s conception comes in to existence because, once it’s broadcast in its “original” form (i.e. when Mucho’s utterance of “Edna” has been altered back to “Oedipa” by the radio) it is several steps removed from the actual original content of Oedipa’s name and her “being herself.”
This type of removal from “original” or “actual” content or acts happens constantly over the length of the novel. For instance, I’m reminded of the origin story for the Peter Pinguid Society where there are so many things that “might” have happened and that “possibly” occurred; they can’t be any more specific because no witnesses remain. Even more, although it is described as the first conflict between Russia and America, it becomes clear that nothing actually happened, “attack, retaliation, both projectiles deep sixed forever and the Pacific rolls on” (36). So, that the whole Peter Pinguid Society is based on a basically unverifiable historical story shows that it is, in a way, a hyperreal entity.
Communication Breakdown-Zeppelin and Pynchon
"Communication breakdown, its always the same, I'm having a nervous breakdown, Drive me insane"
These are such wise words from Bonham, Jones, and Page, words that apply eerily well to Pynchon's The Crying of Lot 49. At its core, the novel is all about communication. Although it could be said that the most prevalent theme is Oedipa’s search for meaning, what goes hand in hand with her desire for meaning is the communication of that meaning. Oedipa perpetually and eagerly awaits the arrival of “the word”. During her “religious instant” while observing the “printed circuit” that is San Narciso, she is comforted by the “unexpected, astonishing clarity” she gains from the appearance of the place (14). She gets a “sense of concealed meaning, of an intent to communicate,” and feels as if “words were being spoken” (14). The connection between the greater Truth she seeks and communication is quite obvious here, and it continues on throughout the novel. Looking for signs on the walls of a woman’s latrine, she cannot explain why, but she feels “threatened by this absence of even the marginal try at communication” (53). Oedipa desires “the word,” or a sign, really any indication of communication, so badly that the absence of it is actually intimidating to her. She takes comfort in communication and fears the lack of it. This absence however, is inevitable, as is made clear by the Courier’s Tragedy. Oedipa and the reader are made aware of a “ritual reluctance” which will become characteristic not only of the play within the novel, but of the novel itself (55). Oedipa and the reader, I believe, are meant to take this as a warning from Pynchon. This “ritual reluctance” is a reluctance to communicate, it is stated that “certain things” “will not be spoken aloud,” that the Duke in the play and the novel itself “may not, enlighten us” (55). Then there is the Nefastis machine debacle, in which “Communication” is said to be “the key” (84). It represents yet another failed attempt at communication for Oedipa. Immediately after she it told how communication is key, she responds by saying “you’re not reaching me,” which, oddly enough, in keeping with the rock music theme of this passage, makes me think of Pink Floyd’s “Comfortable Numb” (85). The excessive intake of information from the machine makes communication impossible. Just as the excessive amount of information that Oedipa attempts to take in eventually makes communication impossible for herself. Her search for a “direct, epileptic Word” leads her to the deaf-mute congregation in a hotel lobby, which becomes her “anarchist miracle,” the very thing she is most fearful of, a complete loss of communication (107). “Like literary critics,” Oedipa is “utterly devoted” to the Word, and, in the long run, as she waits for a “winged brightness to announce its safe arrival,” she only finds “silence” (128). She is forced to come to terms with the fact that “she could not communicate” (134). And, as was mentioned in the Zeppelin song, Oedipa is left with only a nervous breakdown, and encroaching insanity.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
What is in a name?
The main character, Oedipa, is one such example. Obviously, the first thing we think of when we see this name is of the play by Sophocles, Oedipus Rex. Pynchon further alludes to this connection when Oedipa goes to see The Courier's Tragedy in chapter 4. Pynchon wants the reader to make this connection--he wants us to try to find meaning where there is none. Oedipa's story, her character, her thoughts have no connection to the Greek play and yet that is the first place our minds jump.
Furthering the name-play is Oedipa's therapist/doctor, Dr. Hilarious. We see that he is aptly named in the first chapter with his conversation with Oedipa. Not only does he wake her up in the middle of the night, he doesn't seem to even treat her like a doctor who believes in her condition saying when Oedipa mentions that she's having a hallucination, "Don't describe it . . . Well. Was there anything else you wanted to talk about" (8). It is as though Pynchon is making fun of this 'quack' doctor by giving him such a ridiculous name. And this of course encourages the reader to make a connection where there is none.
Other such names that Pynchon uses to make fun of the absurd nature to find meaning is found with the meeting of Mike Fallopian, Randolph Dribblette, and Stanley Koteks. All three of these character's names allude to something that has absolutely no relation with the plot or what is happening with the story--yet they encourage the reader to attempt to make connection. Mike Fallopian perhaps alluding to Oedipa being trapped into her gender role of suburban house wife. Randolph Dribblette referring to the dribbles of information he spills that connects Oedipa to a sort of paranoi. Stanley Koteks with a certain brand of feminine products not exactly known for their absorbent qualities.
The connections between these names mean nothing and Pynchon is teasing the reader--taunting them, asking them to try to connect the dots.