I expected a little bit of a different outcome in chapter five: a bit more Trystero, a little less madness. Everything turns around on its head, and what used to be no longer is. As the mystery unravels, we no longer know who is sane and who sets the pace for the craziest, or if they are simply all out of their minds. The whole plot up to this point has revolved around a mystery so tangled up in itself that seems unreal and plain inexistent. As I read, the mystery was no longer Trystero or W.A.S.T.E, but figuring out who the sane characters are this far into the satire, but as absurd as it sounds, none convinced me.
We have doctor Hilarious shooting people out of a whim. He believed he was being persecuted by Israelis for some absurd deed, explaining his fear as such: “Your Israeli has access to every uniform known… I can’t guarantee the safety of the ‘police’. You couldn’t guarantee where they’d take me if I surrendered, could you (110).” Not only has he gone mad, but he is Oedipa’s shrink, whom she comes to in hope of help to get some obsession out of her mind. Soon enough, she ends up talking him out of madness, exchanging roles making out of him a patient, out of a shrink a madman.
We have Mucho Maas in a inexplicable change of personality occurring in Oedipa’s absence. As she encounters him after meeting the mad shrink, she get approached by the program director, who mentions her husband’s weir behavior to Oedipa. As he puts it: “Day by day, Wendell is more himself and less generic. He enters a staff meeting and the room is suddenly full of people, you know? He’s a walking assembly of man (115).” This is where we wonder if it is the program director or her husband who has lost his mind, for clearly they both give us reasons to doubt their sanity, supported by the books satire. But then soon Mucho shows a simple trait of sanity: “You’ll think I’m crazy, Oed (116).” It is relieving to read the words, because a insane individual would never admit the possibility, making Mucho sane. But the joy is not very lasting, for soon he revels a musical superpower that bursts through the past words, plunging us into confusion.
This whole plot is completely mad by itself, making out of the story a target for its satire. Not only does Thomas Pynchon instill satire targeting all sort of different historical and social facts, but ultimately, his book becomes the target of itself. It is so absurd and crazy that he mocks it. Suddenly nothing makes sense, and words become victims of their cruelty. It is amazing how the whole objective shifts even as we read through the mystery, making the literal basically unimportant. Otherwise, why have all of them gone mad out of nowhere: who knows, maybe it’s me?
We have doctor Hilarious shooting people out of a whim. He believed he was being persecuted by Israelis for some absurd deed, explaining his fear as such: “Your Israeli has access to every uniform known… I can’t guarantee the safety of the ‘police’. You couldn’t guarantee where they’d take me if I surrendered, could you (110).” Not only has he gone mad, but he is Oedipa’s shrink, whom she comes to in hope of help to get some obsession out of her mind. Soon enough, she ends up talking him out of madness, exchanging roles making out of him a patient, out of a shrink a madman.
We have Mucho Maas in a inexplicable change of personality occurring in Oedipa’s absence. As she encounters him after meeting the mad shrink, she get approached by the program director, who mentions her husband’s weir behavior to Oedipa. As he puts it: “Day by day, Wendell is more himself and less generic. He enters a staff meeting and the room is suddenly full of people, you know? He’s a walking assembly of man (115).” This is where we wonder if it is the program director or her husband who has lost his mind, for clearly they both give us reasons to doubt their sanity, supported by the books satire. But then soon Mucho shows a simple trait of sanity: “You’ll think I’m crazy, Oed (116).” It is relieving to read the words, because a insane individual would never admit the possibility, making Mucho sane. But the joy is not very lasting, for soon he revels a musical superpower that bursts through the past words, plunging us into confusion.
This whole plot is completely mad by itself, making out of the story a target for its satire. Not only does Thomas Pynchon instill satire targeting all sort of different historical and social facts, but ultimately, his book becomes the target of itself. It is so absurd and crazy that he mocks it. Suddenly nothing makes sense, and words become victims of their cruelty. It is amazing how the whole objective shifts even as we read through the mystery, making the literal basically unimportant. Otherwise, why have all of them gone mad out of nowhere: who knows, maybe it’s me?
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