Oedipa in an American Light

[Tim Strzechowski]

I'm rereading the final two pages (or, more appropriately, the final
paragraph) of Chapter One, and I'm stunned at the beauty of this
passage.  But more importantly, I like the confinement vs. liberation
theme that concludes the chapter and propels the narrative into all that
will follow.

The beginning of the paragraph tells of the early Oedipa, the seemingly
Bovaryesque Oedipa, who "gently con[s] herself into the curious,
Rapunzel-like role of a pensive girl somehow, magically, prisoner" of
romantic notions of protection and passivity.  Perhaps the sense of
"buffering [and] insulation" she experiences at that time has a
present-day manifestation in those Tupperware parties she attends.

Enter Pierce Inverarity, although Pynchon makes a point of stating that
it merely "turned out to be Pierce," and that, after attempting to climb
her hair and falling on his ass, he shims the lock (with his credit card
no less).  Pynchon states, "Had true guile come naturally to him, he'd
have [shimmed the lock] to begin with."  Not exactly the square-jawed
knight on a white horse. Ultimately, they "never escaped the confinement
of that tower," and as Oedipa gazes upon the Spanish paintings of the
heart-shaped faces of the girls (who are likewise prisoners in a tower),
she weeps.

In this passage, Oedipa seems to recognize, to a certain degree, the
futility and naivete of her own romantic notions.  Pierce was to be her
"knight of deliverance" but was ineffectual (and I wonder if Pierce,
with his credit cards and real estate and whitewashed bust of Jay Gould,
is a symbol of American capitalism, that which the '50's housewife was
*supposed* to marry, by God!). She recognizes this.  But she also
recognizes that to "escape" was futile; she is in fact captive by a
"formless magic."  And she realizes now that liberation doesn't come
from a knight of deliverance, nor from marrying a DJ, nor from
embroidery (again, a reference to '50's middle class suburban
housewifedom).  This concludes her thoughts.  In the next chapter, she
sets out.

In this light, Oedipa shares much the same sentiment as Ishmael, as
Huck, as even Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty --- a certain realization
that life, as it presently exists, is confining, is less than
satisfactory, and that "I've got nothing to lose by taking to the ship,
by lighting out, or by going on the road."  Together with the references
to Tupperware and fondue (a "melting pot"), Uncle Sam hallucinations,
disk jockying and selling used cars, therapy, credit cards, etc. ---
this novel is as much a critique of the American Dream as the so-called
Great American Novels that preceeded it.

Sorry this took so long to flesh out.  G' night.

Tim