54 pages • 1 hour read
The Joke explores the relationship between the pre-revolutionary past and the post-revolutionary present in mid-20th-century Czechoslovakian society. The structure of the novel is split between these two eras, with the nonlinear narrative beginning in the present as Ludvik returns to the town where he was born and raised, a journey that sends him into a self-reflective reverie. The more Ludvik explores his memories, however, the more the narrative reveals these memories to be entirely subjective. Ludvik’s relationship with Lucie, for example, is one of the definitive moments in his life. Despite the profound impact Lucie has on him, however, he does not truly know her. As revealed from Kostka’s perspective, Ludvik does not understand the abuse that Lucie survived in the past nor the ways this abuse shaped her views of sex and love. Ludvik’s Lucie is an artificial creation, an artifact of the past that is personal to his interpretation of the future but that—as shown through narrative juxtaposition—is fundamentally incomplete. Ludvik’s relationship with his artificial past represents the unknowability of existence. The structure of the novel emphasizes these subjective contradictions and illustrates that no character can possibly have a complete or authentic understanding of the past.
Ludvik’s issues with the artificial past apply to a broader cultural issue that affects every character in the novel. Ludvik is aware of this problem, actively critiquing Jaroslav’s efforts to create modern folk songs in the Czech tradition. Ludvik explains to Jaroslav that these songs are the product of the contemporary desire to project modern politics onto the past, resulting in songs that lack the authentic, working-class experience that made the traditional songs so compelling. However, Ludvik and the other characters fail to extend this critique to the modern sense of alienation that drives their characters. Ludvik can recognize the artificiality of the past when it affects other people, but not when it has such a denigrating effect on his own sense of well-being. His idea of Lucie is as inauthentic as Jaroslav’s folk songs. Likewise, Jaroslav and Kostka recognize how artificiality plagues Ludvik’s life, yet they cannot discern the same issues in their own experiences.
Despite this sense of artificiality, the characters are able to create meaning in their present lives. Ludvik and Jaroslav reunite after years of estrangement by playing the same songs that Ludvik critiqued for their artificiality. The songs’ content becomes irrelevant as they gain meaning through the act of playing. In the final chapter, Ludvik pays no mind to the songs’ lyrical meaning or their traditional structures. Instead, he focuses on their contemporary meaning concerning his friendship with Jaroslav. This creates a modern, sincere, and authentic meaning that is separate from a cultural past but vital to their interpersonal relationship.
The Joke depicts the culture of a theoretically totalitarian society, yet rather than wallowing in the tragedy of such a system, the novel revels in its absurdity. Whereas the traditional literary portrayal of totalitarian societies is dystopic and pessimistic in nature, The Joke explores totalitarianism through the lens of the eponymous joke. Ludvik reflects on the way society punished him for an offhand remark made in jest to a girlfriend. This joke altered the course of his life, and from his position in the present, he can recognize the absurdity of the situation. He may not laugh out loud, but his original joke—an ironic comment about the nature of oppressive regimes—becomes the catalyst for his own political disenfranchisement and social alienation. Ludvik might have succeeded in Czechoslovakia’s totalitarian society, potentially living a life like Zemanek’s. He did not, however, so the joke becomes the dominating moment of his entire existence. Something fleeting and minor becomes permanent and serious, and, absurdly, Ludvik is victimized by a form of totalitarianism that he continually suspects is an elaborate and absurd joke.
The joke itself is essential to this depiction. The structure of the novel emphasizes Ludvik’s romantic intent with the comment. He attempts to seduce Marketa, a woman whom he and his friends delight in teasing because she seems immune to irony. Once the postcard falls into the wrong hands, however, Ludvik discovers that Marketa is far more representative of the bureaucratic regime than he could ever hope to be. Like Marketa, the bureaucrats who read and rule on the joke are unable to entertain irony. When they drag him before the tribunal, he cannot explain the nuances of the joke in a manner that satisfies the administrative requirements of post-revolutionary communist society. Much like Marketa herself, communist Czech society is still young; it has not yet developed a robust justice system that can navigate the nuances of his comment. The absurdity of this newly totalitarian society is that it is not total in its understanding of its citizens. Rather, it is the societal equivalent of Marketa, naïve and well-intentioned but utterly unprepared to manage the subtleties of the real world. Ultimately, Ludvik’s failure to defend himself is a failure to understand society and Marketa herself. He refuses to back down from his joke, even though he cannot fully justify it. Ludvik’s stubbornness reveals that he is just as absurd as the society he inhabits.
The result of Ludvik’s situation is that everything in the novel is turned into a ludicrous situation. Helena’s suicide attempt, for example, does not lead to her death because she consumes a full bottle of laxative pills rather than anything that might physically damage her. She survives, even though she is humiliated in the presence of the man who has just rejected her declaration of love. Ludvik, after trying to orchestrate an elaborate revenge plot against Zemanek, discovers that Helena’s and his marriage is already over. These characters’ lives—even at their most tragic—are absurd. Only when Ludvik accepts the inherent absurdity of his existence is he able to find meaning in his life. The Joke’s totalitarian society is not totalitarian in its desire to dominate or control the lives of its citizens. Rather, the totalizing effect of this society is to turn everything within it into an elaborate joke at its citizens’ expense. Kundera asserts that a totalitarian society is, fundamentally, a joke, creating absurdity in the place of social equality. It succeeds, however, in reducing everyone to an equal level of absurdity.
The characters in The Joke are deeply invested in the public performance of their identities. In a nascent communist state where the characters feel that they are being constantly surveilled to ensure ideological compliance, their public performances carry extra importance. Ludvik is a prime example of this: The joke he sends to Marketa undermines his public identity as a devoted member of the Party. Ludvik and Marketa’s letters are being surveilled for ideological infractions, reminding the characters that even their private correspondence should perform the identity that is approved by the party. Throughout the rest of the novel, the characters are aware of this necessity, even if they do not always follow the rules. Both Helena and Pavel have affairs, while other characters regularly break rules and laws. These violations show that the consequences of failure to perform are not always fatal, but the characters’ desire to keep these violations a secret suggests that they are aware of the importance of maintaining at least the veneer of compliance. They do not need to completely devote their lives or identities to adhering to the law, but they must perform socially permissible identities in the public sphere.
The necessity of this public performance of identity creates a deep unease in the characters. The juxtaposition between private and publicly performed identity can lead to a sense of alienation. Ludvik sets the tone for this juxtaposition by refusing to adhere to the Party’s expectations regarding his joke. He does not back down or apologize for his ironic comment, refusing to perform the identity of a devoted Party man the way the authorities expect him to. As a result, he is socially exiled and sent to the labor camps. The ultimate consequence of this is that Ludvik becomes disillusioned with the very political message that defined his youth. He is not only socially alienated from mainstream society but also ideologically alienated. After being forced to confront the consequences of his failure, he cannot return to a state of ideological compliance. He recognizes the vapidity and hollowness of these performances. Likewise, Jaroslav’s recognition that Vladimir is not a part of the Ride of the Kings is a literal undermining of public performance. Jaroslav recognizes that his emotional investment in his son taking part in the folk tradition is rendered meaningless by both his son’s lack of enthusiasm and his own inability to determine whether Vladimir is actually the veiled king. The public performance is revealed to be a sham, as the identity that meant so much to Jaroslav is divorced from reality.
The irony of this conflict between inner personality and the public performance of identity is that the novel ends with a literal performance. To reaffirm their friendship, Jaroslav and Ludvik perform folk songs. The difference, however, is that the actual audience is not the intended audience. The two men are performing as an interpersonal act rather than as a social obligation. They play music because they once enjoyed playing music with each other, even if they have both recently suffered tragedies and have both become disillusioned with their society. This performance is important to the two men because they are finally able to recognize each other after so long apart. They are sincere in their friendship and desire to reconnect. Their actual past identities emerge in the public performance, and, for the first time in many years, neither man is performing for the sake of a surveillance state but rather for their platonic love for a friend. This is a public performance of identity, but one that gains meaning from the private bond that forms its foundation.
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By Milan Kundera