Tag Archives: capitalism

The Subject and the Self in Don DeLillo’s Zero K

“But am I who I was”

                                                              – “Does it matter?

Don DeLillo’s novel Zero K follows the protagonist, Jeffrey, to the deserts of Central Asia in an underground facility called the Convergence that promises to relive humankind from the problems of mortality. After a conversation with his estranged father and billionaire Ross Lockhart, Jeff learns that this is going to be achieved by cryogenically freezing bodies in pods in an attempt to “reduce death to a cultural artifact” (DeLillo) so that the individual may achieve a “pure self” – unmediated by historical processes and entrenched conceptual categories.

At the heart of the Convergence, however, lies a sort of ideological violence.  The readers realise at the same time as the narrator does, that “the dead do not sign up before hand and then die […] They come here to die.” (DeLillo, 96) The escape from mortality then, is necessarily only available through its antithesis. However, death followed by the promise of a more advanced sense of self is not simply a ‘choice’ to “fill in the blanks on the application form” (DeLillo, 76), as the ‘Stenmark’ twins –the brains behind the operation-want the audience to believe. It is pregnant instead, with a politics of control that strips individuals of any agency and leads them to emerge as subjects.

The Convergence claims to deliver the promise of organised religion, “life ahead, beyond the last breath” (DeLillo, 64) without the overt acts of “submission, obedience and worship,” (DeLillo, 65) but it operates through the same structures of authority and power and exerts ideological control through ‘belief’ the way any ideological apparatus does. The audience is free only in so far as they have the illusion of a choice, but they are already saturated by anthropocentric fears and desires that the Stenmarks tap into and that allow the Convergence to exist in the first place. There is no empirical evidence throughout the novel to convince those entering the pods that they will ever come out of it ‘alive’ yet they enter them, funnily enough, to be “born into a deeper and truer reality [where the] senses (thus empirically measurable phenomena) will have to take precedence” (DeLillo, 46). But it is not after the Stenmarks market immortality that the audience chooses to believe it and becomes interpolated subjects – They chose to believe it, precisely because they already are subjects. Belief in the absence empirical proof is the necessary precondition of ideological violence to be able operate upon individuals and collectives. Much like

 “the Christian believer who does not believe in Christ because he has been convinced by theological arguments but is susceptible to theological arguments because he is already illuminated by the grace of belief” (Zizek).

This is precisely why Stenmarks (largely) succeed in their operation –they present the idea of a ‘post-ideological’ society that is convincing enough because of its inherent lack, its impossibility and thus its infallible success. For “in a universe in which all are looking for the true face beneath the mask, the best way to lead them astray is to wear the mask of truth itself.” (Zizek)

Ideology also operates through surveillance and the excess of simulacra on the screens. There would be something overtly perverse and almost redundant if the images were of past instances of destruction around the world. Instead they show what could happen to those who do not choose to enter the pods. Merely the threat of a future characterized by a lack of control is strong enough to enable visual representation to motivate desired choices. Jeffery wonders at different points in the novel if there are hidden cameras in the facility that monitor the way bodies function. The policing of the body reaches its logical extreme in the pods with the human body “enters a machinery of power that explores it, breaks it down and rearranges it […]and produces subjected and participated bodies” (Foucault).

Bodies atomised

The Convergence not only sells the idea of immortality through ideological violence but, I would argue, it is also inherently capitalist in nature – operating through alienation and objectification. It is not death but the pods that systematically decentralize socially formed identities resulting in a vague form of stream of consciousness that cannot establish its sense of self because recognition by the other is a necessary precondition for man to constitute himself. The bodies are not just separated and atomized but the re-affirmation of Cartesian dualities is so strong that the ‘consciousness’ cannot be certain of the existence of its own body as an ‘other’ against which it could metaphysically justify its existence. These dualities are further established when Jeffery learns that in certain instances the brains are separated from the body to be “colonised by nanobots” (DeLillo, 71). Moreover, any semblance of the self that might emerge out of the pods is completely at the mercy of the Convergence, so much so, that the narrator wonders if what they are looking towards is a “controlled future, men and woman being subordinated, willingly or not, to some form of centralized command” (DeLillo).

Woman inside a pod

Throughout novel the narrator feels the need to assert his presence and defend himself. This is most obvious when he is in his room saying the name of everything he sees out loud. But “language is constituted by difference” (Derrida), something that DeLillo forces the readers to confront when the narrator recalling his childhood explains how every word in the dictionary only deferred him to the other – then there exists no inherent meaning in signifiers, it is completely symbolic. Interestingly, one of the aims of the Convergence is to access “a language that will help [humankind] express what [it] can’t express now” (DeLillo, 72) and combat its “structural redundancy”. Once inside the pod however, Artis’s ‘consciousness’ struggles to come to an understanding of the self through language, through words, as she tries to ‘see the words’. However the Convergence threatens both Jeffery and her with a radical erasure of identity. It functions as the site of the collapse of the universal boundaries of spatiality and temporality- while Jeff finds himself spatially isolated and experiences temporal blurs, Artis’s body inside the pod, exist ‘outside history’ (DeLillo). The spatial-temporal imbalance no longer allows the self to constitute itself through language because the familiar reference points that construct symbolic order are no longer available. Identity loses itself in the perpetuating gap between the signifier and the signified and the self is no longer complicit in its existence. The question then, that I suppose DeLillo wants his reads to ask is that is whether it is possible to have a ‘pure self’ without knowing what it means to exist.


DeLillo, Don. Zero K. Picador 2016

Derrida, Jacques. Writing and Difference. Routledge Classics 2001.

Foucault, Michele. ‘Disciple and Punish’. The Foucault Reader. Edited by Paul Rabinow. 1991.

Hawkes, David. Ideology. Routledge. 1996.

Zizek, Slavoj. The sublime object of Ideology. Verso, 1989.

Photo Credit

Image 1

Bodies Frozen in Pods


Image 2

Eleventh Hour- They Freeze Only Heads, by



Detective Fiction and the Corporate Stage: The Investigation of False Bodies in Dominique Manotti’s ‘Lorraine Connection’.

Dominique Manotti’s Lorraine Connection is a duplicitous creation and, like its tale of corporate espionage, murder and intrigue, defies readers and characters alike a central grounding on which to stabilise themselves. This piece would encourage readers to question the notion of what I call ‘false bodies’ – the repeated scapegoating of characters at the expense of the larger, untouched and anomalous, corporate deity that emerges from the novel largely unscathed, despite being the root cause of all the crimes. In its depiction of the nefarious exploits and exploitations of the Daewoo group and its employees, Manotti’s novel raises questions on the notions of labour and the capitalist machine, specifically within the genre of detective fiction.

“It’s as though the whole factory was a stage set, and we were acting in a play without understanding what it was all about…”

(Manotti, 134)

Throughout Lorraine Connection readers are encouraged to examine the dichotomy between the narratives of the poor, downtrodden workers at the Daewoo factory, the various discordant and self-interested nodes of the Matra-Daewoo alliance, and the forces of the opposing Alcatel conglomerate, one of whom is hardboiled private detective Charles Montoya. As a piece of genre fiction, readers come to the novel with preconceived notions on the detective novel, and on the very apparatus of the private eye. However, Manotti’s novel complicates Montoya’s investigation, by the proffering of sacrificial false bodies for him to chase, mainly that of Maurice Quignard. The villainy of the novel is that, “the lives of the working class count for nothing. We can be raped, crushed or hanged, and nobody gives a shit. (Manotti, 173), and the denouement of the novel means that the majority of the wealthy backers behind the corporate crimes get off scot free.

Workers were exploited by the Daewoo corporation | © Yann Duarte/ Flickr
Workers were exploited by the Daewoo corporation | © Yann Duarte/ Flickr


We might question whether Montoya himself acts as a dog of Alcatel interests, and not a shining paragon of the public but a dark spectre of the private. Manotti’s novel makes its P.I., usually a figure of (this essay would posit) ‘the people’, into a tool to be moved around by another capitalist entity for its own ends. Montoya himself has little agency, answering to his superiors at Alcatel, and his investigations gain little solace for the labouring workers who have suffered as pawns for their employers. The true antagonists of the novel are almost entirely divorced from the proceedings, “The fat cop was right: weapons, strategy, industrial restructuring, all a stage set. This is where the decisions were made, in the bogus accounts of a second-rate business.” (Manotti, 168), and are again false bodies to be chased but ultimately unable to be apprehended by Montoya.

“The detective’s truth generating capacity, more often characterized as a process of discovery rather than creation, demands scrutiny given the intuitional and class biases he or she is often called upon to serve.”

(Zi-Lang, 5)

The only true bodies of the novel are the workers in the Daewoo factory who, in their confrontations with the harsh violence of the calculating machinery of their employers, come to realise their all too corporeal reality. “Capitalist activity always induces destabilising scenes of productive destruction – of resources being made and unmade according to the dictates and whims of the market,” (Berlant, 192), and, like the assembly lines the men and women work on, they too become impersonal cogs in the corporate machine. However, I would posit that such corporeality is only physical, and is a surface-deep physicality – the workers’ bodies exist, true, but it is only when they strike that they begin to feel like agents divorced from the factory, “I felt as though I existed. I thought it was easy, and that I was changing my life” (Manotti, 107). However, this freedom is short-lived – undercut not only by the quashing of the strike but by the various murders that follow, murders that act as signifiers, painful reminders that the workers are still, and always will be, physical and breakable objects to be used at their corporation’s will.

The labyrinthine forces that the workers find themselves facing underline what I believe is the key focalisation of the novels events. Manotti skilfully creates a space for the performance and neutering of the detective genre. Montoya and the workers find no justice in their confrontation with the capitalist logos that seek to control and exploit them for, “transnational partnerships [like those between the various interlocking and interweaving corporate conglomerates] arise out of a web of public and private law” (Likosky, 12) and therein lies the problem. The obfuscation that corporate espionage and practices of blackmail and deceit inherently generate are unable to be fully penetrated or escaped by either the workforce or the detective. Manotti situates his novel within a defined genre then highlights the very inabilities of that genre and its heroes to fully triumph over the antagonists.

Workers on strike/ © Neil Moralee/ Flickr
Workers on strike | © Neil Moralee/ Flickr


In the end, we, as readers are confronted with a perfunctory and dissatisfying finale, that only serves to undercut any hopes of resolution for the workforce, “THOMSON BACK TO SQUARE ONE” (Manotti, 190). The disenfranchisement of the workers is never resolved – worse than that, the true killers of Étienne, Aisha and Rolande’s mother are never brought to justice and the Alcatel group stymie Matra-Daewoo’s hopes of winning the Thomson bid. In a genre that centres around the twin modes of investigation and discovery, the novel reveals that Manotti’s Montoya has, in fact, done his job too well and the private conspiracy he has discovered has proven far too large and powerful to combat. Worse still, combatting the power dynamic would bring ruination down upon everyone involved. In short, Manotti’s detective novel creates a dais for the tearing down of idealised notions of detection – the detectives never investigate for the right reasons, the people truly behind the wrongdoings are never caught, only the false bodies are ever blamed, and the revelations that are uncovered never bring anyone any solace.



Berlant, Lauren. “Cruel Optimism.” Differences. A Journal of Feminist Cultural Studies. vol. 17. no. 5. Brown University Press, 2006.

Likosky, Micheal. “The Privatization of Violence.” Private Security, Public Order. The Outsourcing of Public Services and Its Limits. Ed. Chesterman, Simon and Angelina Fisher. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009.

Manotti, Dominique. Lorraine Connection. Trans. Hopkinson, Amanda and Ros Schwartz. London: Arcadia Books, 2006.

Zi-Ling, Yan. Economic Investigations in Twentieth Century Detective Fiction. Expenditure, Labor, Value. Oxon: Routledge, 2016.

McCarthy, Klein, and the overlooked crisis

In this talking point, Aimee Walsh reads Cormac McCarthy’s The Road through the lens of Naomi Klein’s ground-breaking This Changes Everything: Capitalism versus Climate.

Post 9/11 America is in an on-going, ignored-by-the-masses crisis. It is a warranted fear for our safety and not from any bombs, threats or debts. It is much bigger than that. There is a crisis going on that is being overlooked; the world is in the midst of an environmental crisis. America, as the biggest super power and second highest carbon emitting country, are notably looking the other way.

The lack of safety from a natural, environmental disaster is a theme that runs through Cormac McCarthy’s The Road. The dystopian novel gives a glimpse into the nightmarish world that America, amongst other high emitting countries like China, is currently taking marching steps towards.

The absence and search of natural light in The Road heeds a warning of the fragility of the  global climate; the environment is not secure and definitely cannot be sustained at current levels of deforestation, carbon emissions and consumption of fossil fuels. Whilst battling to survive in the snow, the nameless father and son attempt to kindle the light as if it alone can give relief from the unnamed disaster. “The fire was little more than coals and it gave no light and the wood was nearly gone and the trees were falling all about them in the darkness” (McCarthy 102). The pair’s unsuccessful attempt to harness and sustain light throughout the novel is used as a hope for emotional security to the uninhabitable surroundings. There is a fear of the darkness and the unknown that lurks beyond their circle of light. The Earth has rejected civilisation as a whole despite the accountability in carbon emissions lying with the second highest emitting country America.

The male duo in The Road are continually searching for light and a (false) feeling of safety that it provides. They are hiding from the darkness and the unknown of what civilisation Earth will continue on to, if any. “They lay in the woods like fugitives. Nowhere to build a fire. Nowhere safe” (McCarthy 198). They are prisoners to the extreme effects of years of disregard from America for the preservation of the global environment.  However, Naomi Klein’s This Changes Everything argues that complete environmental disaster, like that seen in The Road, is avoidable only if we act now (4). So, why is the world reluctant to change?

America’s current reality, one of consumerist and capitalist driven ideologies, toes the capitalist nation party-line on climate change through soothing tones from the megaphone of political and corporation driven media; climate change is not a serious issue yet. The United Nation’s Climate Summit 2014 uses ‘catalysing action’ as the programme’s current slogan, though the World’s governments have been reluctant in the past to enter into binding agreements to decrease the fossil fuel consumptions or greenhouse gas emissions. Klein states that “preliminary data shows that in 2013, global carbon dioxide emissions were 61 percent higher than they were in 1990, when negotiations toward a climate treaty began in earnest” (Klein 11). A recent agreement was reached this week (12 November 2014) between America and China, the top two carbon emitting countries, which will aim to decrease carbon emissions. China, which is still a developing country and is heavily reliant on coal, has agreed to cap emissions by 2030 when a peak is reached, whilst the U.S. has committed to a 26 percent reduction in carbon emissions by 2025. While this is a historic step in the right direction for tackling climate change we must keep in mind that there is no set limit on the peak which China’s emissions can reach by 2030. We are not in the clear yet. Klein calls for a movement and as a result to obtain a “far more just economy” (10). For this to be reached a global community’s interests must be considered when ‘catalysing action’ but still allowing an increased, and unlimited, peak in emissions to be reached in 2030 before a cap is set.

McCarthy’s hellish dystopia shows America’s, and indeed the world’s, “ecological amnesia”(Klein 4) to be a false and unwarranted sense of safety. The mother in The Road, prior to her suicide, says, “We’re not survivors. We’re the walking dead in a horror film”(McCarthy 57) in response to being told by the father, over the security of the lamp light, that they are survivors of this disaster. Klein states “a great many of us engage in this kind of climate change denial” (3) in believing that we can be “survivors”(McCarthy 57) of the disaster. If there is not change now our reality will be “the walking dead”(McCarthy 57) unable to survive in the uninhabitable landscape we have created.

Not only is creating an unliveable environment an issue for the capitalist epicentre, America, it is a global crisis. The Earth, when eventual environmental destruction occurs as shown in The Road, will take no consideration of borders, race or wealth when it cracks under the pressures that increased greenhouse gas emissions, deforestation and the consumption of fossil fuels are causing. The boy in the novel, who was born into this nightmarish world and knows no alternative life, asks his father:


“Why are they the state roads?

Because they used to belong to the states. What used to be called the states.

But there’s not any more states?

No.” (McCarthy 43)


This breaking down of borders gives us a sense that we should seek to come together as citizens of one global community where we are all affected by the same issues. Instead of the segregated geographical communities we live in that are largely dictated by capitalism and corporate agendas. Shouldn’t we put human survival before profit?

The nameless two wanderers in The Road trudge through the barren landscape in a daily renewed longing for food and light to keep them safe and alive. In one scene in the novel the father retrieves a can of Coca Cola from a tipped over vending machine amongst scattered “coins everywhere in the ash”(McCarthy 22). It was the boys first, and probably, last can of Coke. This symbol of American capitalism being extracted from the rubble is not vision of hope, but rather one that begs the reader to question what good capitalism is in the face of civilisation crumbling at the hands of catastrophic, global disasters. What good is the government’s dollar funding economic recovery when the efforts to keep our very habitats from climate change is minimal? What good will wealth be when civilisation itself begins to wilt?

America’s and the majority of the World’s governments lack of urgency in implementing solutions to the climate change crisis is nothing short of terrifying for the safety of the population of the world. There is a disregard of communities being anything more than consumers. “Clearly, what gets declared a crisis is an expression of power and priorities as much as hard facts” (Klein 6). The economic crash, that started on Wall Street, in 2008 and the destruction of the Twin Towers as symbols of economic dominance and growth on 11 September 2001 both received ‘crisis’ status from American government. “Climate change has never received the crisis treatment from our leaders, despite the fact that it carries the risk of destroying lives on a vastly greater scale than collapsed banks or collapsed buildings” (Klein 6). It begs the question, can governments really have a population’s best interest in mind when publicly recognising a crisis if “power and priorities”(Klein 6) are in the equation?

The lack of support from governments to stem the climate change since 1990‘s beginning of the continuing journey to reach a climate treaty has only made the battle harder. Klein states that we have already reached a stage where what we are doing on a daily basis, what we are consuming and what we are refusing to change on a global scale has gone beyond being able to edge backwards to have a look at the bigger picture. The bigger picture has hit us in the face and nobody is seeing it. Klein argues that we are “faced with a crisis that threatens our survival as a species, our entire culture is continuing to do the very thing that caused the crisis, only with an extra dose of grease behind it” (2). An effort from all countries is needed to battle this global crisis.

To avoid this nightmare world that is foreseen both by scientists and in the dystopian world in The Road there must be continued commitment to keep tackling climate change and indeed increase efforts to stem it. We must act as one global community through action on local levels for the human species to stand a chance in surviving this environmental crisis. So, as Klein rightly questions, why is nobody acting?



Atkin, Emily. What Scientists Have To Say About Obama’s Deal With China. ThinkProgress, 12 Nov 2014. Web. 13 Nov 2014.

Klein, Naomi. This Changes Everything: Capitalism vs the Climate. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2014. Print.

McCarthy, Cormac.  The Road. London: Picador,  2006. Print.

Taylor, Lenore and Tania Branigan. US and China strike deal on carbon cuts in push for global climate change pact. The Guardian. Web. 12 Nov 2014.

United Nations. UN Climate Summit Programme. United Nations, n.d. Web. 12 Nov 2014.

Postmodernism and the Absolute

In this Talking Point, Rebecca Dillon considers two extremes of capitalist absolutism and wonders whether they represent end points of an America-centric global narrative, or points on a cyclical timeline.

Jean Baudrillard has taught us that postmodernism and Las Vegas go hand in hand.  Yet the bleak postmodern setting of Cormac McCarthy’s The Road seems the complete opposite of Vegas.  McCarthy’s road is drenched in darkness and rain; Las Vegas is the city of lights in the desert.  However, they both present ideas of postmodern absolutism and map America through these ideas.

The settings of both The Road and Las Vegas present ideas of absolutism and truth; they differ only in what that absolute force is.  In The Road, nature and the earth are the final absolute in the novel’s dystopian environment, 

he saw for a brief moment the absolute truth of the world.  The cold relentless circling of the intestate earth … The crushing black vacuum of the universe.  And somewhere two hunted animals trembling like ground foxes in their cover (McCarthy 138). 

Here McCarthy presents the overwhelming power of an earth that lives on, despite no longer sustaining life.  After the fall of American civilisation, the earth continues to circle in its yearly procession without ceasing, not thriving and not declining.  This creates an absolute force as the earth lives, despite the disconnection that exists between it and man.  

The American natural landscape featured so heavily in The Road is mapped onto the back of this earth, “Once there were brook trout in the streams in the mountains … On their backs were vermiculate patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming” (306-307).  It exists without relation to any other entity and maps its meaning within itself.  The last truth in the destroyed American setting of The Road is the earth and its continual and everlasting existence separated from the lives of the creatures that happen to cling to its surface. 

Contrary to this, in Las Vegas, nature takes a back seat and capital becomes the absolute force that exists and thrives in the American landscape.  In fact nature suffers at the hands of capital and those that work within it,

But Las Vegas haughtily disdains to live within its means.  Instead, it is aggressively turning its profligacy into environmental terrorism against its neighbours.  ‘Give us your water or we will die,’ developers demand of politicians grown fat on campaign contributions from the gaming industry (Davis 88).

The absolutism of capital in Las Vegas is totalitarian.  The gaming industry that thrives in the city provides the means through which developers and politicians can demand that water be given to them. 

Not only is the allocation of a life-sustaining element such as water controlled by capital, but so is the provision of open space within Las Vegas’s urban sprawl,

Las Vegas, meanwhile, has virtually no commons at all … This park shortage may mean little to the tourist jet-skiing across Lake Mead, or lounging by the pool at the Mirage. But it defines an impoverished quality of life for thousands of low-wage service workers who live in the stucco tenements that line the side streets of the Strip (95).

The continued demands from corporations to build more hotels and more casinos means that land is not set aside for actual residents of the city.  This creates the notion that the ultimate power of capital within Las Vegas fences in its own residents, reducing them to a cattle-like work force that graze on left overs in strip malls.  The lack of green space within the city also continues the city’s environmental warfare against its landscape, ensuring that the city becomes the absolute and final mirage allowed to exist within the dry desert beyond.

Between them, The Road and Las Vegas present two ideas of postmodern absolutism and their effects of both the present and future American landscape.  The question that remains is, will the capital-driven environmental terrorism of Las Vegas absolutism eventually lead to the dystopian absolutism of the earth in The Road?  Is America’s doom mapped out already?



Davis, Mike. Dead Cities and Other Tales. New York New Press, 2002

McCarthy, Cormac. The Road.  London: Picador, 2010

Hyperreality in Late Capitalism

In this Talking Point, Simon Mernagh discusses the enduring implications of the logic of late capitalism and Jean Baudrillard’s notion of the hyperreal.

According to Fredric Jameson, postmodernism is “the cultural logic of late capitalism” (550). In addition to the expansion of forms considered ‘literary’ and a dedicated interrogation of hitherto unchallenged cultural metanarratives, postmodernism is partially defined by considerations of ‘hyperreality’, or a reality dominated by symbols and signs which signify no deeper meaning. America, as a bastion of postmodern literary movements and capitalist ethos, boasts a profoundly hyperreal society and culture.

Throughout his Travels in Hyperreality, Eco recounts the American museums filled with updated and ‘improved’ reconstructions of classical ancient and Renaissance artworks, noting that visitors “enjoy the conviction that imitation has reached its apex and afterwards reality will always be inferior to it” (46); to contemporary audiences, a three-dimensional, human-scale diorama of Da Vinci’s Last Supper, complete with audible dialogue and a hymnal soundtrack, is more appealing than a mere painting.

As an inherently visual medium, simulation is vividly expressed in film. The depiction of the cinematic simulacrum of Las Vegas in Casino and Ocean’s Eleven mirrors Baudrillard’s definition of Disneyland as a location “presented as imaginary in order to make us believe that the rest is real” (10); Las Vegas is regarded as the zenith of capitalist extravagance and overwhelming hedonism, as if the typical American city of ‘late capitalism’ did not espouse these same ideals.

Simulation harbours severe socio-political ramifications. Baudrillard argues that the Watergate ‘scandal’ acts as a hyperreal decoy used to defer attention away from the truly scandalous effects of neoliberal economics. Similarly, the German police in Anton Corbijn’s adaptation of John Le Carré’s A Most Wanted Man demand a swift apprehension of the titular Chechen refugee in order to publicly present a victorious battle amidst the ‘War on Terror’. If “it takes a minnow to catch a barracuda” and “a barracuda to catch a shark” (Corbijn), a minnow supersedes a shark in this artificial, rhetorical hyperreality.

However, to evoke Arendtian thought, it is in the banal where simulation manifests in its most insidious form. A ‘Big Mac’ bought in Belfast will match those available in Boston and Belgrade. Yet, ‘McDonalds’ is not real – the buildings exist in the physical realm, as do its staff and produce, but there is no singular entity which can be highlighted and categorically designated as ‘McDonalds’; the restaurants are individual signifiers, representing an unreal, or hyperreal signified.

How do we respond to a world dominated by simulacra? Do we accept it as a harmless by-product of free-market globalized capitalism, or should we adopt the “psychotic” (Žižek, 9) position of maintaining a critical distance from the symbolic order of hyperreality?



A Most Wanted Man. Dir. Anton Corbijn. Perf. Philip Seymour-Hoffman, Rachel McAdams, Grigoriy Dobrygin, and Willem Dafoe. Lions Gate Entertainment, 2014. Film.

Baudrillard, Jean. “The Precession of the Simulacra”. Simulacra and Simulation. Trans. Sheila Faria Glaser. University of Michigan Press, 1994. 1-30

Eco, Umberto. Travels in Hyperreality. London: Pan Books Ltd., 1987.

Jameson, Fredric. “Postmodernism, or, the Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism”. Media and Cultural Studies: Keyworks. Malden: Blackwell Publishing. pp. 550–587

Žižek, Slavoj. “How the Non-Duped Err”. Qui Parle. Vol. 4, No. 1. (Fall 1990). 1-20.

Illuminating the hyperreal

In this extended Talking Point, Kelsie Donnelly reads George Saunders’ short story ‘Jon’ (In Persuasion Nation, 2006) through the lens of Jean Baudrillard’s celebrated theory of hyperreality (Simulacra and Simulation, 1981).

According to Baudrillard, hyperreality is a ‘model of the real without origin or reality’ (Selected Writings 166). It is constructed from ‘simulacra’, which challenge truth, objectivity, and ‘reality’ by feigning the existence of reality. The ‘reality’ which is constructed within the hyperreal, thus, appears to be more real than reality. Consequently, the boundaries which demarcate illusion and real collapse. The Facility, which Saunders constructs, embodies Baudrillard’s definition of hyperreality. Baudrillard argues that the sign, be it words, images, symbols, or objects, originally reflected a ‘profound reality’; later, it evolved to distort or ‘denature’ reality; then, it pertained to ‘the absence of a profound reality (6). Finally, the sign’s relationship with reality has dissolved to the extent that it exists as a ‘simulacrum’ or a copy of the real. I propose that Saunders’s Jon displays the unravelling stages of Baudrillard’s ‘sign’ which impels his readers to reconsider what constitues the truth and reality in today’s society.

Baudrillard’s second phase in the evolution of the sign signifies a distorted reality. The managers of the facility employ hyperbolic rhetoric which dilutes and disguises the truth. One such instance is Mr Dove’s attempt to persuade Jon to stay within the Facility. He says:

why would a talented young person like yourself wish to surrender his influence in the world and become just another lowing cattle in the crowd, don’t you know how much people out there look up to you and depend on you? (47).

Appealing to Jon’s ego, and painting a grossly exggerated misrepresentation of Jon’s status, Mr Dove conceals the most pertinent reason for retaining Jon: that he has been well conditioned to life within the Facility. Thus, Jon does not think autonomously, and he is productive having won awards for his assessing prowess. At the time of Dove’s plea, Jon is not disillusioned with the quasi-totalitarian state of the Facility. Dove and his fellow authoritarians nourish the development of self-satisfied assessors who do not desire anything other than what is imposed on them, and who do not seek the truth. Dove twists the true state of the situation to conjure up a polished view where Jon is showered with compliments, celebrated to the extent where he assumes a God-like status. Undeniably, in a consumerist society, where the importance placed on products is paramount, an assessor of goods and services is indeed valuable. Jon, however, exists in the Facility as a product himself. Jon’s passive confirmation of Dove’s allusion, ‘And that was true’ (47), contradicts precisely the distorted image of the all powerful Jon which Dove has sewn. Dove’s subversion infiltrates the true state of reality, which illustrates the ease with which meaning and truth, the unreal and real, can blur into one.

In The Vital Illusion (2000), Baudrillard writes, ‘virtual history is here in place of real history; the information the replica stands for, stands in for, the definite absence of that real history (50-51). He adds that society salvages fragments of history for infotainment value; Western culture selectively chooses and erases historical documents and events in accordance with the historical narrative they wish to construct, namely a more perfect, mythic past. In a world where truth is relative, historical events are refashioned and recuperated to fulfil our ‘retro fascination’ (Simulacra 44). In his depiction of the Facility, Saunders illuminates the selective erasure of historical facts to demonstrate the unreality which plagues contemporary society. The figure of Jon’s ‘mom’ on the Memory Loop epitomises Baudrillard’s third stage of the unravelling of the sign, for it masks the absence of a basic reality. The figure of Jon’s fictitious mother is that of the archetypical family matriarch ‘baking a pie’, who is a mouthpiece for the Facility operators. ‘Her’ reason for parting with Jon is dripping in sentimental language, ‘I love you so much, which is why I did the most difficult thing of all, […] so that you could use your exceptional intelligence to do that most holy of things, help other people’ (39). The mother is an illusion; an image constructed by the Facility, to mask the absence of Jon’s familial history: the reality he was born into prior to becoming a product of the Facility. She features on Jon’s ‘memory loop’ (39), which ‘stands in for’ the absence of Jon’s real history, until he is shown footage of, what is supposedly, his ‘real’ mother. Jon responds to ‘his mom’s’ explanation by saying, ‘Thanks, Mom, you have always been there for me…’(39). The hyperreal appears to be more ‘real’ than reality. Consequently, his ‘mom’ appears real and is not deemed fictional, although she is a simulacrum. Baudrillard writes:

When the real is no longer what it used to be, nostalgia assumes its full meaning. There is a proliferation of myths and origins and signs of reality; a second hand truth, objectivity and authenticity […] the production of the real and the referential (1989:171)

The managers of the Facility have erased Jon’s history and replaced it with a whitewashed version in order for Jon and his fellow assessors’, ‘own good, not wanting you to feel bad about who your real mothers were’ (52). The stylized mother’s explanation for leaving her ‘son’ is a refracted from Jon’s ‘real’ mother’s. His original mother’s own reason is, ‘due to my relation with the dad’ (51), with the extension of giving her child a better life, the latter vocalised by the ‘unseen guy’ (51) who primes her.  In this way, historical truth is volatile for it is dependent on those who seek to refashion it. In addition, the renaming of Jon ruptures the relationship between sign and signifier, that is the name of Jon no longer signals Jon embodied. ‘Jon’ is thus rendered a simulacrum by the managers, a representation or a copy of the real Jon. The fabric of the representation of ‘Randy’ is woven from ideological, predominantly capitalist, threads and stitched together through illusory stories and images, ‘Aurabon’, and the psychobabble of the management.

Baudrillard offers a framework in which to understand Saunders interest in advertisement discourse and its misrepresentations of reality. Baudrillard argues that advertising fragments the relationship between a sign and its reference in reality. It is the constructed representation of the product, its sign-value, rather than its component qualities, its use-value, which matter. Advertisements operate as an ‘automised medium i.e. as an object referring not to real objects, not to a real world or a referential dimension, but from one sign to the other, from one object to the other, from one consumer to the other’ (Simulacra 125). Accordingly, the value attributed to the advertised product is allocated according to its portrayal, that is, a representation of a representation or a simulation of a simulacrum. In the advertisement for ‘Lysol’, a cleansing product, the creation of meaning and subsequent prominence placed on its sign-value, bears testimony to Baudrillard’s theory. Firstly, the bottle assumes vocal capacities, as it delivers the ultimatum, ‘you are either with me or agin me’ (31).  The depiction of the bottle declaring an iconic ultimatum is not grounded in historical meaning or in actuality. Rather, it is meaningful with respect to the world of the theatrical fight of good versus evil or hero against the enemy. In this context, ‘Lysol’ becomes the ‘sign’ of this web of associations and assumes a new meaning. The advertisement does not convey information about the functioning quality of ‘Lysol’, but situates it in a sphere along with other un-related signs, such as the grease stain embodying ‘evil’, characterised by the Mexican bandolera and ‘threatening fist’ (31). Effectively, the Lysol’s cultural significance is enhanced and it is valuable according to its embodiment of ‘goodness’. Subsequently, the Lysol product is moralised which catapults it toward the realm of unreality even more so. The fact that upon perceiving Carolyn’s statement, ‘you are either with me or agin me’ (31) Jon immediately recalls its reference in the advertisement demonstrates the extent to which reality, for him, is entrenched in unreality. It is the simulation of a simulacrum which facilitates his understanding.  Incidentally, it cannot escape one’s notice that the ultimatum Lysol delivers is a variant of that uttered by Bush, ‘Either you are with us, or you are with the terrorists’. Nor is it accidental that the grease stain is portrayed as a cultural other. Bush uttered the words in the ‘real’ world, but now they are being articulated by a talking bottle. Bush plucked the ultimatum from a world distinct from the ‘real’ world where morality is not such a dichotomous issue. In doing so, Saunders conflates the real and the hyperreal which propels the reader to question their assumptions of the constitution of reality and who constructs it.

Jon’s linguistic incapability also illuminates how advertisement discourse promulgates hyperreality. The advertisement discourse becomes the lingua franca. Jon’s self-deception is apparent for he believes that he is adequately expressing his own feelings. He declares:

‘I do not want to only speak of my love in grunts! If I wish to compare my love to a love I have previous knowledge of, I do not want to stand there in the wind casting about for my metaphor![…] if I want to say Carolyn, Carolyn, LI34451, check it out, that is how I feel about you – well, then, I want to say it! (30-31).

Jon’s articulations are dependent on the retention of the simulations which the media generates, the only means through which Jon can draw insight and meaning.

Baurdillard writes, ‘by shifting to a virtual world, we go beyond […] negativity […] ‘we are dealing with an attempt to construct an entirely positive world, a perfect world, expurgated of every illusion, of every act of evil and negativity…’(The Vital Illusion 66). The Facility attempts to construct this utopian state but it does so on the basis of eradicating disorder and human desire.  This is evident from the beginning of the story when Jon recounts the instructional video, ‘It’s Yours to Do With What You Like!’ in which, ‘teens like ourselfs speak on the healthy benefits of getting off by oneself and doing what one feels like in terms of self-touching’ (23). Love is described as a ‘mystery’, but the ‘mechanics of love’ need not be (23). The mystery of love is unknown to them, and the managers of the Facility do not appear to have facilitated their understanding of it for they have no advertisement to draw insight from. Self-love through masturbation, however, can be operationalised and contained. Mutual love and eroticism epitomise Baudrillardian ‘evil’ in the facility.  Josh’s sexual escapade with Ruth disrupts the perfectly functioning order. Josh moves ‘snakelike’ into the girls’ quarters (24), which conjures up associations with the serpent tempter who instigated man’s fall in the paradisiacal Garden of Eden. Josh’s act leaves ‘evil’ in its wake; the outpouring of collective grief, a human emotion but unproductive, when Amber dies. To exorcise the ‘evil’, Jon and his fellow assessors are plied with Aurabon to readmit them to the realm of delusion.

The authenticity of human emotion remains with Carolyn as she cannot take Aurabon to quell the grief. Consequently, she appears more in tune with nature, devoid of the artificiality which envelopes her fellow assessors. This is reflected not only in her desire to leave the Facility but also in her language. She states, ‘wake up and smell the coffee, you feel bad because a baby died, how about honouring that by continuing to feel bad, which is only natural…’(29) and on hearing Slippen’s ironic statement that, ‘Nobody can know someone else’s experiences’ (33), Carolyn responds, ‘Larry, no offense but you are talking shit’ (33). In a world where language is removed from human emotion and meaningless, Carolyn’s words resound for they are the only source of truth and individuality in the Facility. Saunders creates a relationship of equivalence between Carolyn’s name and embodiment, sign and signified: Carolyn is the ‘real deal’, as they say, and the simple articulations of her emotions reverberate in the text as they are meaningful and do not mask her true intentions. As Eve ate from the tree of knowledge then encouraged Adam to do so, Carolyn’s desire to exit prompts Jon’s ‘fall’ from the Eden-like Facility.  When Jon peers out of the door at the outside world he describes it so:

Looking out, I saw no walls and no rug and no ceiling, only lawn and flowers, and above that a wide black sky with stars, which all of that made me a bit dizzy, there being no glass between me and it (55).

Jon merely catches a glimpse, and it is framed within the confines of hyperreality, but the disorientating effect it has demonstrates the profundity of nature which the Facility has forsaken. Saunders reveals that life on the outside is not necessarily more ‘real’. Images and models of reality dominate daily living in hyperreality and the children living on the outside seek a glimpse of Jon. They:

come over and stand in our lava rocks with our Trendsetters & TasteMakers gum cards upheld […] when we would wave to them or strike he pose we were posing on our gum cards, they would race back all happy to their crappy apartments (47-48).

Jon and his fellow assessors signify status and fame, they are worshipped, and the supposedly ‘real’ children uphold this. Jon is portrayed as ‘trendsetters’ and ‘taste makers’ on the gum cards rather than assessors. It is, again, their sign value not rooted in reality, which will encourage consumers to purchase the gum cards. Moreover, the consumer society on the outside is, to some extent, organised around the knowledge gained from the facility as they rank products sold to the outside. When Jon has left the Facility his thoughts are still permeated by the hyperreal, ‘Maybe we can come to be normal, and sit on our porch at night, the porch of our own house, like at LI 87326, where the mom knits and the dad plays guitar…’ (60). What constitutes ‘normal’ is defined according to the image depicted in the advertisement. The nation, thus, is constituted from thousands of ‘images and stories’ (32) or simulacra. Media generated simulations dominate the ‘outside world’ as well as the hyperreal, thus the two become interchangeable. Jon’s epiphany is centred on his change of perception and how he perceives his social environment. He treasured his existence in the Facility and wished Carolyn realised how ‘lucky we were’ (39), however, this former paradise is exposed as unrewarding. His dalliance outside alerts his consciousness to a world departed from superficiality which cannot compare to the splendour of natural beauty. Natural flowers are ‘even better’ than ‘the silk on that Hermes jacket’ he craved (55). So too, does he recognise Carolyn’s natural beauty, ‘tell you the truth, even with a DermaFilled neck-hole and nada makeup and huge baby belly, still she looked so pretty…’ (57). Moreover, Jon wishes to think autonomously and find meaning distinct from the images which swarm his mind. He ponders, ‘when we look at the stars […] if choosing to do that, we will not think of LI 44387…’(60). Saunders’s story encourages the reader to open their eyes to the beauty of nature, an Emersonian notion, for nature and natural beauty may be the only authentic real in a world where artificiality reigns supreme.

In today’s world Colbert’s concept of ‘truthiness’, that is, the relativity of truth, predominates (cited in Hayes-Roth 5). Saunders’ exploration of the untruths and artificiality of simulated realities is necessary. By illuminating the connections between Saunder’s Jon and Baudrillard’s insightful commentary on the simulacra rampant in society, I have aimed to reveal how simulated realities have transformed America into a hyperreality. Consequently, in Jon, Saunders invites us to read our own lives as well as those depicted in the Facility. In assessing the assessors’ lives, we are called to reassess our own, which resemble the assessors more than perhaps we would like to admit. The world which we inhabit today is a version of the Facility; the antics of trending celebrities garner more attention, to an extent, than the unfolding of ‘real’ events which impact our lives. In an age of text messaging and social media, to what extent do our ‘communication skills’ contrast Jon’s? In a world where human emotions can be medicalised, we have our own versions of Aurabon, which control our psychic well-being. In the midst of this, Saunders still retains hope for the world and humanity. He demonstrates that true love, in the case of Carolyn and Jon, cannot be suppressed. Carolyn demonstrates that language can be redeemed; it can be used to testify to the truth. Even when entrenched in a world where real and unreal are intertwined, she can still differentiate between language which expresses truth and language employed to subvert and distort it. This can only be achieved, however, Saunders reveals, if we too, like Saunder’s name-sake Jon, ‘wake up and smell the coffee’ (29).

– Photo montage by Ralf Roletschek via wikicommons


Baudrillard, Jean. Selected Writings. Ed. Mark Poster. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1989.

–  – – . Simulacra and Simulation. 1981. Trans. Sheila Faria Glaser and Ann Arbor. Michigan: University of Michigan Press, 1994.

–  –  – .The Vital Illusion. Ed. Julia Witwer. New York: Columbia University Press, 2000.

Hayes-Roth, Rick. Truthiness fever: how lies and propaganda are poisoning us and a ten-step program for recovery.  USA: Naval Postgraduate School Information Sciences Department, 2011

Saunders, George. ”Jon” In Persuasion Nation. New York: Riverhead Books, 2006.  23-61.