Contacting Your Potsmaster: The Written Message in The Crying of Lot 49
Why is everybody so interested in texts?—Randolph Driblette
“Communication is the key!”---John Nefastis
The poststructuralist notion that everything is a text and that “reality itself is
textual” is integral to any deconstructionist reading (Barry 64). Deconstructionists
attempt to demonstrate the arbitrary nature of language by emphasizing that “words are
not the things they name, and, indeed, they are only arbitrarily associated with those
things” (Murfin 538). Instead of creating precise meanings, language provides only a
“verbal sign” that is “constantly floating free of the concept it is supposed to designate”
(Barry 64). Individual words play a large role in deconstructionist criticism because the
multiple and often contradictory meanings of words are the sources of these “signs.”
Deconstructionist readers attempt to become aware of all such “signs” and to involve
themselves in the work by moving from one sign to the next. They are always, of course,
trapped within the limitations of what language can express.
A similar movement between multiple meanings occurs on a larger scale between
different texts. Bennett and Royle define intertextuality as “the displacement of origins to
other texts, which are in turn displacements of other texts and so on” (Bennett and Royle
6). Entire texts, then, also lead the reader from one meaning to another, drawing
connections between the connotations of words in one text and the works of literature or
media that utilize them. Like language, which creates only elusive “verbal signs,” texts
defy a single interpretation. Neither words nor texts can be assigned a definite
interpretation because they are caught in a repeating circuit that constantly references
other words and texts. This circuit of language and texts is central to any form of written
communication. In The Crying of Lot 49, Oedipa becomes involved with a conspiracy in
the mail system. Letters are a very obvious form of written communication, and her
involvement in the conspiracy therefore reflects one of the major concerns of
deconstructionists. Throughout the novel, complications of the written message exist on
the level of both individual words and entire texts, ultimately creating multiple meanings
for Oedipa and the reader alike.
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Abbreviations are a major source of multiplicity and confusion within the text of
The Crying of Lot 49. When Oedipa first encounters a reference to the postal conspiracy,
she reads the name of the underground group as WASTE, a single word (38). Koteks,
however, later scolds her for not acknowledging the acronym W.A.S.T.E., which is later
determined to stand for We Await Silent Tristero’s Empire (70, 139). Since Oedipa had
only seen the organization referenced in writing, she managed to interpret it much
differently than its members intended. More ambiguity is created when she has to mail a
letter by the system and must “look closely to see the periods between the letters” on the
mailbox, which could easily be mistaken for a garbage can (105). Oedipa encounters
another abbreviation concerning WASTE, this one spelling out DEATH. Fortunately, she
notices that someone has penciled in the true interpretation this time: Don’t Ever
Antagonize The Horn (98).
Along with complications of single words within the text are multiple facets of
intertextuality. Many other texts exist within the novel itself in the form of letters and
messages. The first such text appears at the beginning with Oedipa’s receipt of a letter
from a law firm informing her of her role in executing Pierce Inverarity’s will, which is
another book-pervading text (2). Once Oedipa becomes involved in the postal conspiracy,
texts serve her as clues. She begins with a written message on a bathroom wall (which
she, seemingly at random, writes down) and its connection with an absent-minded doodle
on an envelope (38, 67). As the mystery unravels, stamps become texts for study, and the
marking on her husband’s letter telling her to contact her “potsmaster” becomes more
important than the letter itself, which she concludes is “newsless inside” (33). The
WASTE symbol and abbreviation become a significant means of communication, and
Oedipa begins seeing them everywhere. She is driven to her psychiatrist because they are
“all but saturating the Bay Area” (107). Written messages are crucial to the conspiracy,
but Oedipa begins to see the absurdity of the messages ever making sense to her or to
anyone else. They are everywhere but only inform her that, “If you know what this means
. . . you know where to find out more” (99). The written messages are endless, but
following the symbol only brings her “back where she’d started” (106). In obliging the
various written messages like the law firm’s letter, Pierce’s will, and the symbol, Oedipa
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has, in essence, gotten nowhere. There are simply too many connections for her to be able
to understand the situation.
As if the letters and messages aren’t enough, Oedipa must also make use of other
texts to solve her mystery. The most obvious other text is The Courier’s Tragedy. Upon
hearing that the play contains a reference to human bones used for products, Oedipa
attends the production and asks the director to see a copy of the script or the original
book, intending to research the bones. However, neither are immediately available, and
she ends up asking about the “Trystero thing” instead (again, seemingly at random) (63).
From this point, she begins her research of other “outside” texts, starting, of course, with
the original Jacobean play, which she must hunt down in a used book store (61). In order
to piece together the beginnings of the Trystero, Oedipa consults numerous texts,
including “obscure philatelic journals . . . an ambiguous footnote in Motley’s Rise of the
Dutch Republic, an 80-year-old pamphlet on the roots of modern anarchism, a book of
sermons.” (130-131). Oedipa searches through endless texts, pursuing connections
between them and grasping any clue she can. At one point, she even thinks to herself that
her education has suited her to be “unfit perhaps for marches and sit-ins, but just a whiz
at pursuing strange words in Jacobean texts” (83)
Oedipa’s nickname provides a link between her own struggles with written
communication and that of the reader. Mucho often affectionately refers to her as “Oed.”
This nickname can also be construed as OED, or the abbreviation for the Oxford English
Dictionary. As Oedipa encounters a plethora of written works, the reader begins to realize
that the character herself is a text and, as such, cannot be pinned to a specific
interpretation. “Oed” also serves as a representative of language in that she calls to mind
an unfathomable number of words—every word, in fact, known to English speakers. The
reader’s predicament in attempting to understand Oedipa’s existence and her story is
similar to that of a person looking up a word in a dictionary. That person is given only
more words, each of which is defined by yet more words, in his effort to define the
original concept he wanted to understand. Thus, he cannot ever find a single conclusive
understanding that is independent of language and the dictionary itself.
Although Oedipa herself proves to be unfathomable, her experiences with word
connotations are mirrored and shared by the reader. While she struggles with various
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interpretations, the reader is also affected by different connotations of written words. The
most obvious of these connotations can be seen in names. While Hilarius is, to Oedipa,
the name of a psychiatrist, it is to the reader a commentary on his ridiculous nature. Other
characters, such as Mike Fallopian and Genghis Cohen likewise suggest absurdity
through their inappropriate references. Stanley Koteks, Clayton Chiclitz, and Rear
Admiral Popov suggest brand names to a modern American reader, who automatically
associates these three characters with feminine hygiene products, chewing gum, and
vodka, respectively. Mucho Maas is a name that brings to mind Catholic mass, mazes,
and, most simply, the concept of “much more.” Oedipa’s name brings to mind the central
character of Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex and thus suggests incest and mystery. While these
characters do not seem to take note of the meanings implied by their own names or the
names of others, most readers are certain to recognize the references. Readers are also
likely to observe that the radio station KCUF is actually the word fuck spelled backwards,
another association that appears to go unnoticed by the characters in the novel. Thus,
there is dissonance between an outside interpretation of the characters, and one from
within. To these characters, the written words represent only names. Oedipa, Mucho, and
the others exist in a world where these connections we notice might not exist. While the
words are, first and foremost, names to the characters, they represent something much
more to the reader. Thus, the seemingly simple matter of names is complicated by other
associations.
The reader’s experience is also parallel to Oedipa’s in that the novel is full of
intertextual references to actual works. While Oedipa wrestles with obscure and possibly
fictional works, the reader struggles alongside her, communicating with other texts while
trying to read her story. Many other works are drawn into the mystery at hand.
Obviously, elements of Oedipus Rex are present in Oedipa’s name, and the mystery
element of the story is suggested through this name. (Oedipus was, in essence, an early
detective in that he solved the riddle of the sphinx). Other references to Greek works
abound. The word Narciso appears several times as the name of a town and a saint. The
Book of the Dead, a Tibetan or Egyptian work outlining the processes to be undergone
after death, is directly mentioned and also inferred through the number forty-nine (the
number of days of the Interim, or waiting period after death) and the presence of a Mr.
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Thoth, who brings to mind the Egyptian god of death (137). Several modern works are
also cited, such as T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land and Hemingway’s writing in the
references to the word “nada.” A suggestion of Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby is also
communicated through the text in the last chapter in the orchestral chime that Oedipa
imagines. Perhaps the most noticeable intertextuality, however, is the link between
Oedipa’s story and the Bible. The word Lot subtly suggests a biblical character of the Old
Testament. The Bible, frequently referred to as “The Word,” ties in with the starting
concept of the written word and its many interpretations. At one point, it is said of
Driblette that he was a “peculiarly moral man. He felt hardly any responsibility to the
word” (125). The ambiguity in this statement lies in whether it is in reference to religion,
or the concept of the written word, which may be of equal importance. A similar
comment drawing a parallel between religion and the importance of the written word is
made by Bortz, who points out that “Puritans were utterly devoted, like literary critics, to
the Word” (128).
Bortz’s statement is perhaps crucial to a basic parallel that is drawn between the
action in The Crying of Lot 49 and the process of postmodern literary criticism. Oedipa
wades through endless texts, hoping to find meaningful connections, but instead ends up
being led in circles. Oedipa only gets closer to the answer to the conspiracy when her life
becomes free of books and she is about to come into contact with a possible human
suspect. The anonymous “book bidder” whom she must identify decides to attend the
auction in person, thus sparing her from any more searching through texts for answers
(151). Though we never find out whether Oedipa catches him and discovers the
conspiracy, there is at least a hint that she is finished with texts for the present. Similar to
Oedipa, postmodern critics tend to read everything as a text and attempt to build
connections between word meanings within a text and references to other works beyond
the text. Thus they are caught in an endless cycle of “letters,” written messages that move
about without human context and leave room for endless interpretation.
In The Crying of Lot 49, Thomas Pynchon dramatizes the fundamental and
complicated nature of the written word. Endless meanings and an overwhelming stream
of associations with single words leave Oedipa baffled and often create a gap between the
characters in the novel and the reader. Intertextual references within the novel lead
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Oedipa on a wild goose chase, while such references between the novel and other written
works strongly influence the reader’s response. Both the characters and the reader are
ensnared in a communication crisis with the written word. Through this multi-level crisis
of understanding, Pynchon seems to be exploring and exaggerating poststructuralist
criticism and its obsession with the written word, which immerses both character and
reader in a bewildering flux of meanings. At one point in the text, Nefastis cries out,
“Communication is the key!” (84). Driblette wonders, “Why is everybody so interested in
texts?” (61). Perhaps these two statements provide a clue to a major insight of Pynchon’s
novel: communication is a crucial part of human society, but the written word is a
problematic means of communicating.
Works Cited
Barry, Peter. Beginning Theory. New York: Manchester University Press, 1995.
Bennett, Andrew and Royle, Nicholas. Introduction to Literature, Criticism, and Theory.
New York: Prentice Hall Europe, 1995.
Murfin, Ross C. What Is Deconstruction? Published in Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte.
New York: Bedford/St. Martin’s, 1996.
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