David Schwinghammer's Blog - Posts Tagged "freud"
Jack of Spades
JACK OF SPADES is an unusual mystery, even for Joyce Carol Oates. It's about an author of best-selling, traditional mysteries, a rung below Stephen King, whom he envies.
But then he begins writing noirish type mysteries that push the envelope. Andrew J. Rush uses a pseudonym to write them, Jack of Spades. He writes them after he's finished working on his Andrew J. Rush novels, well past midnight. He tells no one, not even his wife. They're much easier to write. It's almost as if they write themselves. Worse yet, Jack of Spades begins to talk to Andrew.
Then he gets a summons to appear in court. He's being sued by a woman who claims he's broken into her house and stolen her work, publishing it as his own. His publisher furnishes him with a lawyer, who makes good on his promise “to bury her.” But before the court date, the lawyer tells him not to call C.W. Haider. At this time, Andrew doesn't know why she's suing him. He calls her anyway, and she has a conniption fit.
What makes things easier for Andrew is that C.W. Haider has sued other famous authors: Stephen King, Peter Straub, even John Updike. John Updike? Come on lady! Andrew's lawyer tells him this sort of thing is par for the course; it's surprising he hasn't been sued before. Andrew gets unsolicited manuscripts all the time; he even reads them sometimes, and offers advice. He's asking for it, in other words.
Oates has a reputation for not answering all the questions a reader might have about what's going on in her stories, and that's the case here, too. Is this guy nuts? Does he have a split personality? It seems so. After the case is thrown out of court, he can't help but drive by C.W. Haider's house. Is this the sensible Andrew J. Rush who labors over almost every word, or is it Jack of Spades whose books Andrew barely remembers writing?
To further complicate matters, we learn that Andrew once had a brother who died under suspicious circumstances in a diving accident. Some people thought Andrew was responsible. Jack of Spades even writes about it.
Okay, here's the part that really bugs me. Andrew talks his way into C.W. Haider's house. He has a present for her, MISERY, one of Stephen King's books, with a snarky dedication to C.W. Haider, forged by Andrew or Jack or whomever. He finds all kinds of first editions in her library. Bram Stoker's DRACULA. THE IMP OF THE PERVERSE by Edgar Allen Poe. FRANKENSTEIN. Andrew collects rare books, but he doesn't have anything close to this. He takes some of them. He also finds Haider's old manuscripts and journals. Some of them sound an awful lot like the books she claimed other authors stole from her, and they predate the best sellers. Stephen King's THE SHINING; Peter Straub's GHOSTS; even John Updike's THE WITCHES OF EASTWICK, all under different titles but definitely the same ideas. There's even one of Andrew J. Haider's novels there, with a slightly different title.
What are we supposed to believe here, that John Updike stole THE WITCHES OF EASTWICK from an obscure old woman who's only publication was released by a vanity press? Andrew's answer is that she had the ideas but not the talent to make them publishable. That might happen with one book, but not with several different famous authors. Oates leaves this thread hanging.
I do like the theme that we are all plagued by childhood events, if not quite as traumatic as Andrew's, and that we all have a perverse nature like Jack of Spades. Think about it. Do we behave because we're afraid we'll get caught if we don't? Freud had a theory that the personality is made up of the id, the superego, and the ego. Most of us are rotten little kids at heart, but our conscience, the Superego, keeps us under control. But sometimes the Id needs to get what it wants, or we'd be miserable. We fall off our diet. We start smoking again after quitting for a year.
I think it's Andrew's Superego that wins out; he doesn't think he deserves what he has, and that's why Jack of Spades gets stronger and stronger.
But then he begins writing noirish type mysteries that push the envelope. Andrew J. Rush uses a pseudonym to write them, Jack of Spades. He writes them after he's finished working on his Andrew J. Rush novels, well past midnight. He tells no one, not even his wife. They're much easier to write. It's almost as if they write themselves. Worse yet, Jack of Spades begins to talk to Andrew.
Then he gets a summons to appear in court. He's being sued by a woman who claims he's broken into her house and stolen her work, publishing it as his own. His publisher furnishes him with a lawyer, who makes good on his promise “to bury her.” But before the court date, the lawyer tells him not to call C.W. Haider. At this time, Andrew doesn't know why she's suing him. He calls her anyway, and she has a conniption fit.
What makes things easier for Andrew is that C.W. Haider has sued other famous authors: Stephen King, Peter Straub, even John Updike. John Updike? Come on lady! Andrew's lawyer tells him this sort of thing is par for the course; it's surprising he hasn't been sued before. Andrew gets unsolicited manuscripts all the time; he even reads them sometimes, and offers advice. He's asking for it, in other words.
Oates has a reputation for not answering all the questions a reader might have about what's going on in her stories, and that's the case here, too. Is this guy nuts? Does he have a split personality? It seems so. After the case is thrown out of court, he can't help but drive by C.W. Haider's house. Is this the sensible Andrew J. Rush who labors over almost every word, or is it Jack of Spades whose books Andrew barely remembers writing?
To further complicate matters, we learn that Andrew once had a brother who died under suspicious circumstances in a diving accident. Some people thought Andrew was responsible. Jack of Spades even writes about it.
Okay, here's the part that really bugs me. Andrew talks his way into C.W. Haider's house. He has a present for her, MISERY, one of Stephen King's books, with a snarky dedication to C.W. Haider, forged by Andrew or Jack or whomever. He finds all kinds of first editions in her library. Bram Stoker's DRACULA. THE IMP OF THE PERVERSE by Edgar Allen Poe. FRANKENSTEIN. Andrew collects rare books, but he doesn't have anything close to this. He takes some of them. He also finds Haider's old manuscripts and journals. Some of them sound an awful lot like the books she claimed other authors stole from her, and they predate the best sellers. Stephen King's THE SHINING; Peter Straub's GHOSTS; even John Updike's THE WITCHES OF EASTWICK, all under different titles but definitely the same ideas. There's even one of Andrew J. Haider's novels there, with a slightly different title.
What are we supposed to believe here, that John Updike stole THE WITCHES OF EASTWICK from an obscure old woman who's only publication was released by a vanity press? Andrew's answer is that she had the ideas but not the talent to make them publishable. That might happen with one book, but not with several different famous authors. Oates leaves this thread hanging.
I do like the theme that we are all plagued by childhood events, if not quite as traumatic as Andrew's, and that we all have a perverse nature like Jack of Spades. Think about it. Do we behave because we're afraid we'll get caught if we don't? Freud had a theory that the personality is made up of the id, the superego, and the ego. Most of us are rotten little kids at heart, but our conscience, the Superego, keeps us under control. But sometimes the Id needs to get what it wants, or we'd be miserable. We fall off our diet. We start smoking again after quitting for a year.
I think it's Andrew's Superego that wins out; he doesn't think he deserves what he has, and that's why Jack of Spades gets stronger and stronger.
