American pastoral

Reading Roth's American Pastoral this morning, I had what felt like a blazing insight, which perhaps means a belated recognition of the obvious.

The Swede, whose perfect life has imploded (leaving out reams of complicating details here), catches a glimpse of his perfect but devastated wife being mock-fucked over the kitchen sink by their mutually half-despised neighbor. How easily these things seem to happen. In shock, he says nothing and flees back to the party on the terrace.

My early years, between marriages one and two, could be described as a series of pointless fucks, gleefully performed and sometimes as pointlessly repeated. Most of the men I didn't even like that much. Some were complete strangers. So, why? Each person, needy and probably unhappy somewhere deep inside, solicits a response and is so surprised at getting a positive reaction, because nobody loves me or even likes me much, yet this other person is eager to be "intimate" with me, which must mean that I am lovable after all. And it was so easy, so I must be really lovable! Each fills the other's need with pathetic illusion. Afterward, uneasy, but denial sets in, and off we go to repeat the thrill as soon as possible with somebody else! It's not so different from watching television instead of living, though messier, especially when it pokes at an already off-balance marriage. It's about as satisfying, long term, as a movie theatre sack of popcorn soaked in fake butter.