Homesick for Another World

Mr. Wu’s obsession with the arcade worker is rooted in a misogynistic desire to possess and control her, as opposed to genuine affection or desire. His plan for convincing the arcade worker to go on a date with him is to insult her. He believes that if her self-esteem is low, then she will feel desperate enough to accept him. Moreover, as soon as she considers going on a date with him, he immediately begins thinking about how he can change her. Mr. Wu’s treatment of the arcade worker is rooted in his own disgust with himself. He sees her as unattainable because, to him, she represents everything he is not. When she agrees to meet up with him, his image of her changes in a manner reminiscent of the old Groucho Marx joke: “I don’t want to belong to any club that would accept me as a member” (Simple, Josephine. “Groucho Marx’s Comedy Is Pure, Bleak Nihilism.” Slate.com, 6 Jan. 2016). She becomes a real person, not fundamentally different from himself and therefore not desirable. When she ultimately rejects him, he feels relieved, and the story ends with him walking home “in victory” (35). He feels victorious not in spite of the rejection but because of it. In rejecting him, she confirms what he already believes about himself and returns to her position in his mind as an object of unfulfilled desire, which Mr. Wu realizes is what he wanted all along.

The unnamed narrator of “Malibu” is characterized by his eating disorder, which dominates all aspects of his life, especially his relationships. Although the narrator seeks to distance himself from his uncle, they are connected by their disordered eating. The narrator recognizes that his uncle’s eating habits are unhealthy, but he does not recognize the harm in his own bulimic behaviors, presenting them in a casual manner to both the reader and other characters in a way that belies the severity of the illness. The narrator’s final sexual encounter with Terri—in which he shoves his hand down her throat, mirroring the act of bulimia—demonstrates the devastating impact of the eating disorder on his life and relationships. The only way he can connect intimately with this woman is by hurting her in the way he hurts himself.

The unnamed narrator of “The Weirdos,” like many of Moshfegh’s characters, wants desperately to improve her circumstances, but is ultimately unable to do so. She hates her boyfriend, but not enough to leave him; she hates her life, but not enough to change it. The narrative suggests that she is drawn to things that might be upsetting others: She loves her town because it’s “ugly” and her apartment complex because it’s run-down. The clearest example of this is the birds that surround the apartment. While the narrator’s boyfriend sees the birds as an evil omen, and other residents see them as a pest, the narrator understands the birds to be a sympathetic presence, commiserating with her daily emotions. The fact that she instantly likes and trusts the new tenants (the titular “weirdos”) highlights her attraction to the “unusual.” It is perhaps this attraction that leads her to stay with her boyfriend and to believe he may be her perfect match.

Early in the story, the narrator Charles establishes himself and his brother MJ as foils for each other: Charles describes himself as an intelligent, curious, musical child, and his brother MJ as a “mess” who has an addiction to video games. Charles claims that this distinction, visible even in childhood, grows as the brothers become men. Charles attends law school, marries a “suitable” woman, buys a home in New York City, and obtains all of the trappings of a cultured upper-class life. On the other hand, MJ is described eating and having sex like a wild animal; this comparison is central to Charles’ identity. The power of the story comes from the irony of its ending, when Charles has sex with one of MJ’s girlfriends with a sex toy that the reader is led to believe belonged to MJ. Despite his insistence on the vast differences between himself and MJ, Charles’ moment of most significant character growth comes when accepts the wildness that he had previously assigned to his brother alone.

Larry is a 64-year-old widower working at Offerings, a private residential facility for adults with developmental disabilities. Although Larry describes himself as a caring man, the story indicates that his work is not purely the result of a selfless concern for others. He explicitly says that he took the job after his wife’s death because he likes being needed; his description of his marriage suggests that he did not feel needed while his wife was alive. The narrative’s juxtaposition of stories about the men of Offerings with stories about his wife suggests that Larry is aware of the connection between these two eras of his life, and that the men he cares for benefit from this comparison. He felt infantilized by his wife, and his work allows him to elevate himself to the status of an adult by infantilizing others. Although he is always nice to the men in his care, he uses outdated and offensive terms to describe people with developmental disabilities, and is often condescending, dismissing their desires and concerns. His attitude toward the men at Offerings does not change across the story.

The title reflects the unnamed narrator’s attitude toward the town where she spends her summers: Although she believes that her life is inherently better than the lives of the people of Alna, she is drawn to the city’s gritty aesthetics, atmosphere, and sense of danger. The perceived difference in social class between the narrator and the full-time residents of Alna results in a feeling of disconnection. The narrator sees herself as superior to the people of Alna, and her summers in the town as a grungy, exciting escape from reality. However, the narrator’s behavior and drug addiction suggests that she may be more well-suited to the town of Alna than she’s able to admit. Despite the demeaning language she uses to describe people with substance use disorders, the narrator herself has an addiction, buying drugs from the “zombies” at the bus depot three times a week. This disconnect between the narrator’s delusions about her life and the reality of the situation ties this story to others in the collection, in which the line between disgust and attraction is thin, and characters feel disgust when they see themselves reflected in others.

The dramatic tension in this story results from the difference in perspective between the primary character, an old man named Jeb, and his unnamed, younger female neighbor. The third-person perspective shifts between these two characters, and Moshfegh uses free indirect discourse to reflect each of their voices in turn. Jeb sees himself as a simple, curious, folksy old man seeking to establish a “neighborly” relationship, and for most of the story the narration reflects that, presenting him innocently and obscuring his decidedly anti-social behaviors. A vent in his wall allows him to surreptitiously listen to the neighbor when she is alone in her home, and over time he develops something like an imaginary relationship with her, reflecting his Social Isolation. When she comes over for drinks, he speaks to her in a self-consciously formal manner, attempting to present himself as he hopes to be seen. In the final scenes of the story, however, the narration shifts to reflect the neighbor’s perspective, and Jeb is described in monstrous terms. This sudden shift in characterization demonstrates the impossibility of accurately describing yourself, and the power of stereotypes in informing human interactions. Jeb acts as an allegorical figure for the impossibility of true self-awareness.

Of all of Moshfegh’s characters, John is perhaps the one who defies audience expectations most dramatically. At first glance, the romantic tenderness of “The Beach Boy” offers a welcome break from the pain, explicit sexuality, and violence of the stories that have come before. John is presented as a loving husband, a caring friend, and, later, a genuinely grieving widower. As soon as he finds “evidence” of his late wife’s infidelity, however, John’s personality changes dramatically. The love and affection he had for his late wife becomes violent jealousy and despair. The strongly misogynistic language John uses to describe his late wife suggests that he might not be as loving and sensitive as previously indicated. His desire to have sex with the male sex worker he believes his late wife patronized is equally unexpected; nothing in the story up to that point indicated a history of sexual encounters with men. The John that ends the story—drunk, naked, alone on a beach—could not be farther from the John that begins it. This contradictory characterization is indicative of Moshfegh’s interest in the elements of human nature we try to suppress or hide.

The unnamed narrator of “Nothing Ever Happens Here” is a young, attractive actor whose characterization is marked by a desire to be taken seriously as an adult. The narrator’s most significant relationships in this story are with his mother—who does not understand his desire to be an actor, and who belittles his attempts—and his landlady, Mrs. Honigbaum, who supports the narrator both emotionally and literally, providing him cheap accommodation and pointing him to auditions. These two relationships are central to the narrator’s understanding of self. His mother is the obstacle he has to escape in order to be famous, while Mrs. Honigbaum gives him the confidence to continue to audition despite rejection. Although Mrs. Honigbaum is constantly encouraging the narrator to contact his mother, the narrator cannot see the connection between the two women, nor does he explicitly acknowledge their impact on his life. His characterization cannot be separated from these two women, suggesting his deep need for a maternal figure at this stage of his life.

Initially, Nick’s obsession with Britt is described in terms of sexual desire. He first speaks to her crotch, not her face, and throughout the story, Nick explicitly describes his sexual fantasies, including licking her neck and hearing her scream his name. The emphasis on sexuality in Nick’s obsession with Britt helps to build his characterization as a sex-driven individual. However, Nick’s encounter with the Polish bartender in the second half of the story reveals the self-destructive nature of his desires. What he really wants from his relationship with Britt is “to be ruined” (237). Although Nick is initially embarrassed by the disgust he sees in the Polish bartender’s eyes, he eventually admits that “I wanted someone—Britt Wendt, maybe—to come and destroy me” (237). This admission clarifies Nick’s characterization as self-destructive: Britt—with her permanent look of revulsion—is appealing to Nick because he perceives her as potentially dangerous.

The narrator of “The Surrogate” is only known by her fake name, Stephanie Reilly, demonstrating how deeply she immersed herself in the character she is paid to play. Her acceptance of this persona as her true identity is connected to her habit of dressing in a long trench coat and sunglasses at nightclubs. Both are a method of disguising her true self in a socially-acceptable costume. The irony in this characterization is that her professional disguise is possible due to her physical beauty, while her nightlife disguise is inspired by her physical insecurities. Although Stephanie Reilly is hired explicitly because she’s beautiful, her personal life is defined by a refusal to engage in sexual acts. The end of the story—which briefly describes her satisfying sexual life with an unnamed magician—represents a certain degree of growth, as “Stephanie Reilly” reveals her true name and finds a compassionate lover. However, this personal growth is checked by the admission that she still hears voices, and attributes them to demons.

The narrator of “The Locked Room” is one of Moshfegh’s protagonists, and her youth is central to her characterization. Moshfegh captures the tone of a teenage girl talking to her friends with phrases like “how it happened was so funny” (264) and “what happened next is absolutely true” (267). This youthful tone is a startling departure from the cynical narration of the other stories in the collection, and contrasts with the upsetting nature of the story itself. Although the story describes a serious situation—she is trapped in a small room with her boyfriend who behaves erratically—the narrator’s relative innocence protects her from the reality of the situation, and she’s able to leave the experience with a positive message: live to please yourself. However, this naiveté also puts the narrator in danger, as when she’s planning her escape and estimates that a two-story fall would be non-lethal. The juxtaposition of the narrator’s youthful naiveté and the distressing nature of her circumstances is unsettling for the reader.