Creative Reality in Philip K. Dick's The Man in the High Castle

I've only just finished rereading The Man in the High Castle, and have already encountered one insipid review and one decent one. Both are linked at the bottom of the novel's Wikipedia article, version linked here. I won't name names regarding which of the two is insipid, but it is not, as I almost typed just now, without value. Reading it has convinced me to put a few Unicode characters in sequence for the benefit of whosoever chooses to read this entry; I feel that my addenda (brief, I assure you!) have some merit.

To begin with, I would like to point out that the Wikipedia article version linked above is quite good, and only truly annoys me at two points: 1) the notation of some fool reviewer's reaction to The Grasshopper Lies Heavy in that section of the article, which is tasteless, uninformative, and deserves to be removed. 2) In the "Major Themes" subheading, the first bullet point refers to the difficulty within the novel of determining the legitimacy of a counterfeit Colt .44. The article claims that it is "indistinguishable from a genuine antique by all except an expert." Apart from being something of an awkward phrase, this is misleading, as it does not mention that the expert in the novel is in fact Frank Frink, who knows beforehand that the article is fake, as he has been producing them for his employer and is merely attempting to destabilize his employer's business relationship with Robert Childan. Therefore his expert opinion may or may not be rooted in actual fact.

These two issues aside, the article, while doubtless imperfect, is quite serviceable. I may edit it, but then again, I may not. It is after midnight already.

In any case, there are a number of points not specifically addressed in the reviews I have read which I would like to cover. The first is the question of original work and its relationship with the Oracle. Mr. Wyndham-Matson introduces the novel-within-a-novel to the reader while engaging in an affair during his wife's absence. He lectures the woman on "historicity," or the quality of lived experience possessed by objects in the minds of their owners or observers.* He draws a distinction between an ordinary lighter and one which was in FDR's possession when he was assassinated, demonstrating that they are not perceptibly different without a highly regarded "objective" voice, in this case a certificate of authenticity. Wyndham-Matson owns (rather, his wife owns) a copy of The Grasshopper Lies Heavy, yet does not recognize the similarity between his lecture and the novel's content due to his lack of interest in reading it, or even of discussing it with his wife. In fact, it might well be noted that woman being subjected to Wyndham-Matson's lecture is interested in the novel, and not his lecture, as is his wife; later, it will be Frink's estranged wife Juliana whose interest in the novel (juxtaposed with her ignoring Joe) leads to her conversation with its author.

That these characters are all women (The other readers of the novel are Childan's young Japanese couple -husband and wife- and the disguised assassin Joe, whose dog-eared copy incites him to simulated, fake Italian patriotic rage, as well as "actual" anger once his cover story becomes known to Juliana) is not under discussion here, but I would like to note it nevertheless.

Wyndham-Matson catalyzes the creation of new material (Edfrank Jewelry) by his firing of Frank and ensuing financing of his venture. Ed's idea is confirmed by Frank's oracle, but with the reservation that "the hour of doom is at hand" contained within the message of temporal success for their business (50). They create new artwork, pieces of which initiate change for Childan and Tagomi, both of whom experience spiritual revelations that appear mutually incomprehensible; Tagomi's reality-bending contemplation of his triangular piece leads to his refusal of the order to hand over Frank, who has been apprehended on suspicion of his Jewish heritage.

The other original creation in the novel comes from The Grasshopper Lies Heavy and its interpretation by the characters who read it. Juliana’s act of interpretation mirrors her mistrust of Joe’s motives, as well as his murder. She reads the oracle in the text of the novel, and then inquires beyond Hawthorne Abendsen to get at the final truth, that the events of the novel are “true” as presented by Abendsen from the oracle. The oracle itself is a kind creative act on the part of those who use it, requiring form and imagination to render meaning from the hexagrams, an act of interpretation.

An aside: it should be noted that Frank attempts to send a pair of earrings to Juliana, but she does not receive them. Juliana searches for earrings in Denver, but is not able to purchase any; after killing Joe, she tries to contact Frank by telephone, but is unsuccessful. This failed confluence of two major creative forces in the novel is itself worthy of study. Is their separation to be reconciled, or does that separation itself yield creativity?

This overview of some of the portrayals of creativity and original work in the novel leads me to suspect that it would be fertile ground not only for phenomenological inquiry but for fact-based cataloguing as well. One thing is certain, though: the novel posits a world in which originality and perceived “historicity” are extremely valuable, but in which it seems that only original creativity is capable of really moving people. The case of the young Japanese couple, the Kasouras, as intelligent interlopers into American culture might be of particular interest in the context of pure reading as an act of creation.

The next thing I would like to address is a series of questions regarding the nature and role of The Grasshopper Lies Heavy in the overall thematic construction of the novel. My initial reading led me to think that Grasshopper was “true” as a formal criticism of any fixed notion of history that could be understood by a person (i.e. received unanalyzed without moral/rational considerations on the part of the reader/listener). This latest reading raised a number of other questions, although the above conclusion is still quite valid:

1) Is Grashopper as written a faithful interpretation of the oracle’s intentions (if any such exist, although this seems to be assumed by Juliana near the close of the novel)?

2) If so, is the oracle’s version of history meant to be an actual revealed truth, one meant to invalidate not only the world of Man in the High Castle but also the historical conception of the reader?

3) If it is (or is not), does that imply that it is meant to suggest either a) the general falsity of any objective reality (or its relation as history), or b) the lack of veracity of the supposed “truth” of the oracle?

4) Does the novel simultaneously deny history, the writing of history, the reading of history (reading in the sense of “correct” interpretation), the creation of history (in the sense of meaningful action in the world which is both lasting and recoverable in the memory of either participants, witnesses, or relations of their stories?), or even all of these?

I think that the progress of the above questions outlines my concerns quite well. Only a detailed analysis of the novel and relevant portions of the academic literature will yield substantive answers, but I find it distressing that the notion of the abjuration of objective reality outside the novel is never really considered in the criticism I have encountered.

Without and within this novel, Philip K. Dick questions the relationship between creative expression and objective valuation of reality and its structure. I find that the role of creative expression in the context of both interpretation/reading (the novel, history, the truth of Americana, the machinations of the political world, the deliberate facades of the characters, and the oracle) and creation (Grasshopper, analysis of the oracle, replica guns, original jewelry) has not been adequately explored. If I read the novel a thousand times more, I likely would not walk away with any firm answers, but this is part of Dick’s design: he has given us a novel which illustrates the problem (and subjectivity) of its own interpretation as well as its creation. Ursula LeGuin called Dick “our own homegrown Borges.”

I’ll drink to that.

*It may be relevant here to interject with some Merleau-Ponty, but this is really outside the scope of my initial foray here. Suffice it to say that the notion of immanent and/or objectively recognizable reality (not even history) is duplicitous at best.

Final note- the textual citation comes from ISBN 0679740678.

Nabokov's "L'Envoi" in Lectures on Literature

A few months ago I read Vladimir Nabokov's Lectures on Literature, a wonderful selection of adapted classroom notes and lessons from Nabokov's literature course at Cornell.  In this volume is a two-page address (at least it seems to be, rather a kind of commencement to be given after a successful semester perhaps), titled "L'Envoi."  In it, Nabokov details his intentions in teaching a course on literature, and comments on the real (as he sees it) reason to read literature at all.  

I have strong feelings (pardon the reference) regarding both the intellectual and emotional nature of literary study, and this small entry really puzzled me.  It is not as though I ever expect to agree fully with anyone regarding literary criticism or analysis, but I have always felt such joy reading Nabokov that I suppose I had expected to find my own thoughts on the page; instead, I found his.  Nabokov states the following, with which I agree in large part: "I have tried to make of you good readers who read books not for the infantile purpose of identifying oneself with the characters, and not for the adolescent purpose of learning to live, and not for the academic purpose of indulging in generalizations, I have tried to teach you to read books for the sake of their form, their visions, their art."  He goes on in the final paragraph: "... the thrill of pure science is just as pleasurable as the pleasure of pure art.  The main thing is to experience that tingle in any department of thought or emotion."  

I concurred with much of the sentiment that I read; literature should be approached for joy, for edification, and for the tingle of appreciation which it grants the initiate.  Nevertheless, I was alarmed at the suggestion that many other motives for reading are without value, blind alleys or useless efforts.  I did not then and do not now wish to undervalue the subjective reading experience of anyone, no matter how trite or limited I may consider it to be.  Every one of those readings has value, and so I walked home from campus somewhat dejected.  Had my favorite author betrayed me?  

Of course not; Nabokov's love of literature is what set the bar for his criticism.  Reading must, for him, have had value at all levels.  As I walked home, the volume in one hand off-balance with my messenger bag, I was struck with the desire to write through the problem.  So, I did.  Here is my solution, penned sometime last year, in the fall I believe: 

p. 381 --  this is Nabokov at his most intellectual, his most aristocratic; his casual dismissal of the motives for reading to which he does not (ostensibly) ascribe is designed to lure the student in, to draw the bright ones out, to give to them the impression that the first and second and third motives for reading are themselves of little consequence; it should not be forgotten that this is a teaching tool, and a piece of writing, and is written by a master of the pose: this essay then, is a pose, of the most subtle and even autodeceptive sort.  Nabokov fools us, and perhaps fools himself.  

Reading is an act of engagement, an act of love, for Nabokov as it is for anyone who has felt the feather-thrill of prose or poetry; "identifying with characters," "learning how to live," and "indulging in generalizations" are the pointedly inferior modes of enjoyment which Nabokov derides in favor of a more sensual love of literature as artistic endeavor, a kind of man-made beauty that exists solely by the hand of man and therefore should be treasured.  Literature, great literature, is about more than cleverness or craftsmanship: it is the genius of human experience, and it is here that Nabokov's pose revels itself.  

Those three motives for reading are an eternal part of the experience, not as entries in a ledger or steps leading to enlightenment, not a telos or a catalogue of failures, but rather as beads on a rosary, circled over and over but forever a part of the lived experience.  Nabokov's own work gives a lie to his casual dismissal; who can read Van and Ada's fatally flawed young courtship and escape without tasting their passion, their love?  And this is certainly part of Nabokov's design; he does not divorce his characters from that passion, nor does he subordinate them whole-cloth to his whims as author.  They draw breath between the leaves, in the turning of the pages and in the silent, magical interplay of marks on paper.  Nabokov wants his readers to be led to understand another bead on that rosary, but he does not himself deny its immanence, whether this essay claims it or not.  

Aesthetics give the lie to that dismissal, as they do to the criticism of Nabokov as a snob; that line about generalization, nestled comfortably in a jibe against academics, tells the whole story.  

Generalizations obscure.  Particulars enlighten.  And literature, great literature, is ever a joy to read.  

I managed to work through the difficulty to my satisfaction, and indeed I feel as though the experience enriched my reading of the criticism afterward.  In discarding a hierarchal order of readings, I was liberated, and I believe I found a place of real agreement with the author. 

Nabokov closes his brief "L'Envoi" with a wonderful bit of advice, worth quoting here: "We are liable to miss the best of life if we do not know how to tingle, if we do not learn to hoist ourselves just a little higher than we generally are in order to sample the rarest and ripest fruit of art which human thought has to offer."  We should all aim so high.