Giving Destruction a Name and Face

[Dave Monroe]

... and still from Vincent King, "Giving Destruction a
Name and Face: Thomas Pynchon's 'Mortality and Mercy
in Vienna,'" Studies in Short Fiction, Vol. 35, No. 1
(Winter 1998), pp. 13-21 ...


While Siegel aspires to transcend human limitations
and problems, he tends to regard those around him as
inhuman. At first, Grossman seems equally callous,
doubting "the presence of any civilization outside of
Cook County ..." (188). One night, however, under the
influence of Santayana, Eliot, booze, and "the company
of Radcliffe girls," Grossman admits, somewhat
grandly, "that maybe there were a few human beings in
Boston after all" (188). Siegel complains that this
was "the first tiny rent in that mid-western hauteur
which he [Grossman] had carried up to now as a torero
carries his cape" (188). Grossman's recognition of 
other human beings, according to Siegel's logic,
leaves him as vulnerable as a matador without a cape.
Siegel admires (and shares) Grossman's sense of
superiority, and when Grossman adopts a more
egalitarian worldview, he loses Siegel's respect.
Siegel explains that "after that night it was all
downhill" for Grossman (189). This assessment seems to
be corroborated when Siegel finds Grossman "standing
in front of the mirror, umbrella under one arm,
eyebrows raised superciliously and nose arched
loftily, reciting 'I parked my car in Harvard yard,'
over and over ..." (189). 

The absurdity of this scene, coupled with the fact
that Siegel flinches at "the extent of his roommate's
dissipation," coaxes the reader into overestimating
Siegel's moral acumen and into overlooking the
importance of Grossman's discovery that he wasn't the
only human being in Boston (189). Gross-man's mistake
is not that he drops his hauteur, as Siegel claims,
but that Grossman recognizes only a few human beings
in
Boston--namely those who attend elite universities.
Grossman is a snob, but, unlike Siegel, he is slowly
emerging from his suffocating solipsism. While Siegel
remains single, Grossman marries (a "Wellesley girl"),
and although we can imagine Grossman and his wife
living narrow, bourgeois lives, his marriage indicates
a willingness to enter the human arena of love and
loss--even if he does so by posing as a Boston Brahmin
(189).

Siegel, however, is the story's most accomplished
poseur. His masquerade as a savior or a father
confessor fools everyone--not just the reader. Lucy
believes that Siegel has "sympathy for anybody who
gets kicked around" (190). Similarly, Debby Considine
confides to Siegel that he appears "compassionate"
(193). Even Brennan has heard that Siegel is "a pretty
sympathetic guy" (198). Nevertheless, Siegel's
priestly demeanor is only a diversion. Like the
torero's cape, it distracts and protects, allowing
Siegel to distance himself from others. While this
appears to be an unusual goal, Siegel's refusal to
ecognize other human beings allows him to remain free
of guilt and prevents him from being burdened with
caring for others. In short, if the people around him
are inferior, somehow less than human, he can avoid
the realm of moral obligations. 

But the effectiveness of Siegel's hauteur/cape depends
on his ability to identify the beast that threatens
him. And Siegel, like the reader, initially has
difficulty identifying destruction. He reflects in the
story's opening pages that "here he was, thirty and on
the way to becoming a career man, and not particularly
aware of destruction mainly because he was unable to
give it a name or a face, unless they were Rachel's
and this he doubted" (183). Associating Rachel, his 
girlfriend, with destruction seems odd. But as we have
just seen, establishing a genuine human relationship
would expose Siegel to the vagaries of the human
heart. So, while he can pose as a boyfriend or a
father confessor, he cannot afford to let that pose
drop. Irving Loon, then, presents two distinct threats
to Siegel. First, if Siegel remains in the apartment,
he runs the risk of being gunned down. Second, Loon's
impending rampage presents a moral dilemma, a "case of
conscience" that forces Siegel to consider whether he,
like Grossman, should let down his hauteur and
recognize other human beings (199). Siegel, of course,
finds this option too risky and walks away. Appalled
by his indifference, the reader discovers that life in
the badlands, with all its risks and confusion,
is preferable to Siegel's "monumental . . . coolness"
(194).



		
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