Tag Archives: jean baudrillard

“To be seen or not seen”: Art and Artifice in Don DeLillo’s ‘Zero K’

At 79 years old at the time of writing, it seems fitting that death looms large for Don DeLillo in his most recent novel, Zero K. Fitting also is DeLillo’s pseudo-scientific subject matter in an era driven by high-techological consumerism and the concomitant concerns regarding the potentially insidious role technology may play in our future.

“All plots move deathward” (221) DeLillo wrote in LibraZero K, however, “reverse[s] the text” (128), beginning with death as its subject and never leaving it. In Zero K death is not thematically revealed through plot, but takes center stage from the outset as DeLillo gets his teeth into the great existential debate of cryogenic freezing, whereby wealthy patrons can come to a scientific facility called Convergence to “Rewrite the sad grim grieving playscript of death in the usual manner” (76).

Critical responses thus far have tended to see Zero K in biographical terms as a repository for an ageing DeLillo’s own time-end meditations, or as prophecy of our society’s movement towards so-called “faith-based technology”(9). While there is certainly much ground to cover on both of these subjects, I would suggest that the novel’s central question has less to do with death or the sciences, and a great deal more to do with the position of art itself in the postmodern world – a question, perhaps, all the more intensely pondered by man acutely aware of the reality that his art will outlive him.

As a facility, Convergence lies somewhere between a laboratory, a chapel, and an avant-garde art installation, described as “a model of shape and form, a wilderness of vision, all lines and angles and jutted wings” (229). DeLillo’s protagonist, Jeffrey, leads us through a series of bare, sterile rooms and endless halls with pastel doors that appear to open on to nowhere. Jeffrey is keenly aware of the artifice of the whole spectacle, remarking on the “museum quality” (122) of the carefully constructed walled garden and asking the man he meets if he thinks the garden “suggests a kind of mockery” (123).

Indeed, this sense of fabrication and imitation is embodied by the very characters themselves: Ross and Jeffrey Lockhart carry a borrowed name whimsically chosen, while Ross’ wife – the archaeologist who leaves behind a life of uncovering the past for a presumed future – is saddled with the most obviously loaded first name, ‘Artis’. DeLillo’s choice of title also reveals much about his conception of the novel as a cultural artifact, “Zero K” being in itself a stylisation based on a scientific phenomena which is not even part of the cryogenic process: “The term, then, was pure drama” (143).

In all the novel’s self-aware artifice, DeLillo is engaging with postmodern theories of art and images, such as that of Signs and Simulacra in which Jean Baudrillard argues that we live in a state of hyperreality and can no longer distinguish reality from simulation.

“Simulation is no longer a referential being or a substance. It is the generation by models of a real without origin or reality: a hyperreality.” (Baudrillard I)

The notion of hyperreality is explored in the novel through the screens in the Convergence hallways, projecting a torrent of images of catastrophe. The introduction of these images to the story raises powerful questions of how violent images become embedded into our culture to the point of desensitization. Vietnam Monk

Jeffrey, although frequently overwhelmed by what he perceives to be his “role” to “watch whatever they put in front of [him]” (139), recognizes that these images are exactly that: “computer generated, none of it real” (152). Artis, too, is aware of this and it is precisely to escape this indefinite “referral of signifier to signified” (Derrida 25) that she turns to Convergence.

“We’re seeing only imitations. The rest is our intervention, our way of constructing what is actual, if there is any such thing, philosophically, that we can call actual.” (45)

The Convergence promises that its subjects will be reborn into a “deeper and truer reality”, with a new language based on “objective truth” (130).  In this way, DeLillo’s conception of Convergence presents an imagined escape from the intellectual cul-de-sac of postmodernism and its trappings of self-referentiality. Yet Artis’ soliloquy following her ‘death’ points up the utter fallacy of the Utopian notion of objective truth altogether: in her disembodied state the language her consciousness calls up is divorced from any meaning and exists only as words in the ether, “open prose of a third-person voice that is also her voice” (272).

In Zero K DeLillo comes to largely ignore the many debates initially posed by his science-fiction premise. Instead, he sets out to question the very nature of art itself, setting it up against science and death only to reclaim it as a means of representing and organizing reality. As DeLillo himself stated, “art is one of the consolation prizes we receive for having lived in a difficult and sometimes chaotic world” (qtd DeCurits 74). There is no beauty to be found in death, no art, and it is with this assurance that the novel comes to a close – with the rejection of “heaven’s light” (274) and the abundantly alive cries of a young boy.


Baudrillad, Jean. Signs and Simulacra. Michigan: University of Michigan Press, 1994.

DeCurtis, Anthony. “An Outsider in this Society: An Interview with Don DeLillo”. Conversations With Don DeLillo. Ed. Thomas DePietro. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 1995.

DeLillo, Don. Zero K. London: Picador, 2016.

DeLillo, Don. Libra. London: Penguin, 1989.

Derrida, Jacques. Of Grammatology. Trans. Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak. John Hopkins University Press: Baltimore, 1976.

Image Citations

Browne, Malcolm. “The Burning Monk”. Rare Historical Photos. 2nd April 2017 http://rarehistoricalphotos.com/the-burning-monk-1963/

The Desert of the Real: Las Vegas


Jean Baudrillard writes, ‘Simulation is no longer that of a territory, a referential being or a substance. It is the generation by models of a real without origin or reality: a hyperreal […] The desert of the real itself. (1)  Simulacra are copies without originals which construct a non-referential ‘hyperreality; a reality dominated by symbols and signs bereft of profound meaning. Vegas, a bastion of capitalist extravagance and postmodern city, boasts a hyperreal society and culture.  Rothman writes that Scorsese’s depiction of Vegas in Casino is ‘more fairy tale than social commentary’(308). Casino privileges simulacra over the complex intricacies of Vegas and Nevada integral to the non-scripted actuality on which the film is based.

Scorsese draws on pastoral ideals and situates them in a hyperreal world of depthless stereotypes.  A key element of national identity, pastoral idealism provides America with a blank page on which to write a new, ‘revised’ story of its self, dissociated from history. Vegas, the magician of rejuvenation, spellbinds with its offer of self-reinvention and actualisation of fantasies. In the eyes of Casino’s Rothstein, Vegas is the manifestation of Eden. He reminisces, ‘I was given paradise on earth’. Like R.W.B. Lewis’ ‘liberated’ ‘forward thrusting’ American Adam (28), who detaches himself from his past to embark on his autonomous adventure, Vegas purifies the sins of the past and glorifies the individual. He claims, ‘Anywhere else in the country, I was hassled by cops’ but in Vegas, he continues, ‘I’m Mr Sam Rothstein’. Representations of the West as the Promised Land depict it as a land of spiritual fecundity abundant with treasures.  The conflict between spiritual renewal and the intoxicating allure of riches is mollified by Rothstein who unashamedly boasts that Vegas is a ‘morality car wash’.  Scorsese’s sprinklings of Christian iconography, exemplified by statues of Christ and Santoro’s scourging, evocative of the flogged Christ, comprise a mosaic of simulacra in a world operating on hyperreal constructions and superficial appearances. The ungodly Santoro is morally bankrupt and his exhibition of brutality reveals his lascivious preoccupation with carnality.

Frederick Jackson Turner describes the ‘frontier’, as a ‘line’ between civilised and savagery where American social development; ‘perennial rebirth’ and ‘expansion westward with its new opportunities’ was established (2). He represents the West as a wilderness to be won by generating ‘progress out of the primitive’ (Milner 2). Akin to pastoral representations of the West as Virgin Land, for Casino’s Santoro, Vegas is ‘untouched’.  Santoro intends to colonise it with unrestrained imperialist values which breed competition and greed. The psychosexual dynamic of the mythologised West’s coalescence with capitalist ideologies is embroiled in Rothstein’s relationship with his wife Ginger.  Unsurprisingly, in a world which deifies money, where the ‘sacred’ count room is ‘the holy of holies’, Rothstein and Ginger’s marriage is centred on ownership and possession. Ginger perceives Rothstein’s marriage proposal as a business offer, asking ‘What’re you pitching me, here?’ Ginger, formerly a prostitute, represents not the Virgin land but the reification of the utopian ideal. Rothstein muses, ‘But my greatest pleasure was watchin’ my wife, Ginger, work the room’. In a world which ‘[sells] dreams for cash’, Ginger, like the elusive American Dream, is a fetishized object in which Rothstein libidinally and financially invests. Tellingly, Ginger explains to Amy that, ‘Daddy gave me all this jewellery because he loves me so much’. The pursuit of happiness now resides in capital and simulacra. Santoro’s, Ginger’s and Rothstein’s voracious appetites for wealth and simulacra enflames their self-ruination and descent into damnation rather than self-renewal.

The pervasive influence of hyperpastoral idealism is nurtured by a lack of historical memory. Vegas lives in the millennial present as its chameleon skin, its skyline and visual history peel away when culture and capital demand. Unlike Vegas, Scorsese’s characters cannot overwrite their histories. Although Rothstein attempts to sever Ginger’s ties with the past reminding her ‘That part of your life is over with’, she is possessed by history. She returns to her former lover and prostitution. History haunts Rothstein for it is through Santoro’s notorious reputation and friendship with Rothstein that we witness the return of the repressed.


Like the recurrent content and structure of Casino, Vegas’ reinvention is cyclical but its reconstructions are whitewashed with Vegas’ magical wand.  Umberto Eco contends that mini-cities exemplify America’s desire for the real which is attained in the ‘absolute fake’ (8). They don’t simply imitate or reproduce reality, they attempt to improve it. Today, Vegas is the quintessential postmodern city which produces sanitised reconstructions of historical epochs and ‘miniature cities’ (Jameson 12). To illustrate, the ‘Middle Ages’ is dehistoricised and rejuvenated in fantastical medieval castles. Against the backdrop of national panic following the atrocities of September 11th, Vegas’ New York exorcises the ghosts haunting the real New York and offers tourists the (arguably xenophobic) illusion of holidaying abroad without having to undertake potentially dangerous journeys. Although Venturi et al. argue that  Vegas, ‘includes at all levels’ (53), Vegas’ symbolic swallowing and rescaled regurgitation of Venice, New York and Paris domesticates and contains the ‘exotic’ other within American borders. Vegas controls and compartmentalises culture akin to Turner’s attempt to unify and corral the complex histories of the West at the expense of marginalising others. Such compartmentalisation reduces reality to a set of symbols representing white homogenised middle class American perspectives of the world.

Rothstein informs us, ‘It’s all been arranged just for us to get your money’. Tourists buy into a reality no less hyperreal than ‘everyday reality’ but one infinitely more spectacular where the question of which historical epoch to visit supplants the banalities of Vegas’ ‘environmental terrorism’: its water shortage and air pollution (Davis 95). Although Vegas is superfluous and fantastical it is simultaneously centred on a lack; a desert city whose pastoral water displays, foliage and lighting are simulacra. Just as Casino quenches viewers’ thirst for cinematic spectacle, Vegas paradoxically satisfies tourists’ desire for the real by bombarding them with the ‘absolute fake’. Both the hyperreal Casino and mutable Vegas Strip are manipulated representations lacking authenticity.


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

Casino. Dir. Martin Scorsese. Universal, 1995. Film.

Davis, Mike. “Las Vegas Versus Nature”. Reopening the American West. Ed. H.K. Rothman. Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 1998. 85-105.

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

Jameson, Frederic. The Cultural Turn: Selected Writings on the Postmodern 1983-1998. London: Verso, 1998.

Lewis, R.W.B. The American Adam. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1955.

Milner, C.A. Major Problems in the History of the American West. Lexington: D.C. Heath, 1989.

Rothman, Hal K. “Colony, Capital, and Casino; Money in the Real Las Vegas”. The Grit Beneath the Glitter: Tales from the Real Las Vegas. Eds. Hal K. Rothman and Mike Davis. Berkley: University of California Press, 2002. 307-334.

Turner, Frederick Jackson. The Frontier in American History. Ed. R. Billington. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1962.

Venturi, Robert., Denise Scott Brown and Steven Izenour. Learning From Las Vegas. 1972. Cambridge: MIT Press, 1996.


Photo Credits

Las Vegas Desert City Image by Jon Sullivan Via Wikimedia Commons.

Vegas Boulevard Road Image by Russavia via Wikimedia Commons.



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.