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Society of the spectacle

In an era where literary criticism often devolves into a contest of moral posturing, a recent piece from The Baffler offers a startlingly different lens: it suggests that the most dangerous thing a reader can do is take a novel literally. The article argues that Missouri Williams's new book, The Vivisectors, is not a commentary on current culture wars, but a mirror designed to reflect the reader's own desperate need for certainty back at them. This is a crucial distinction for anyone tired of the performative outrage that has come to define public discourse.

The Trap of Literalism

The piece opens with a jarring admission from the novel's narrator, Agathe, who declares, "Readers, I despise every last one of you." The Baffler notes that this hostility is not a flaw in the writing but the central mechanism of the story. Agathe is a character who views the world through a lens of pure abstraction, detached from the messy reality of human suffering. The article argues that Williams uses this character to expose how easily we, as a society, fall into the trap of conflating the author with the narrator. As the piece explains, Agathe's uncle advises her that "if you wanted to write something terrible about somebody then it was best to use the first person, because they'll never be able to accept that you were capable of betraying them so utterly."

Society of the spectacle

This insight reframes the entire reading experience. Instead of asking what the book is about, the reader is forced to ask what the book is doing to them. The article posits that The Vivisectors is a deliberate exercise in misdirection, designed to make the reader project their own anxieties onto a blank slate. "The Vivisectors is not just about whether its narrator means what she says," the editors argue. "It's about what we risk, and what we stand to gain, by taking her at her word." This is a bold claim, suggesting that our hunger for clear moral binaries is actually a weakness we bring to the text, not a feature of the text itself.

You see your face when you look in a mirror, but you're not looking at yourself. You're looking at something else.

The Prism of Academic Decay

The commentary shifts to the setting of the novel, a university city where social life is governed by "abstract discourse." The Baffler describes a world where "the academics wanted a world sapped of strength," preferring a reality dominated by concepts rather than tangible objects. This setting serves as a sharp critique of the modern institution of higher learning, where language has become untethered from reality. The article highlights a moment where a character observes, "Although there were more and more words, it was becoming increasingly harder to attach them to objects."

This detachment is portrayed not as a triumph of intellect, but as a fatal flaw. The novel depicts a society that is "seeking its own extinction" because it has lost the ability to engage with the physical world. The piece draws a parallel to the companion deep dive on The Society of the Spectacle, noting how the characters in The Vivisectors are trapped in a cycle of self-reference, much like the spectacle described by Guy Debord. The article suggests that the "prism" metaphor used throughout the book is key to understanding this decay. Agathe's boss describes her people as those who "rotated events like glass prisms that revealed unseen colors when placed in new light," yet this rotation prevents them from ever seeing the object itself.

Critics might argue that this portrayal of academia is overly cynical, ignoring the genuine progress made in fields like social justice and environmental science. However, the piece counters that the novel's target is not the pursuit of knowledge, but the "decadence" of a culture that prefers metaphor to truth. "In The Vivisectors, a preference for metaphor represents a culture at its apex; it becomes a stand-in for all other forms of decadence," the article states, quoting the author directly.

The Danger of Extreme Literalness

Perhaps the most provocative argument in the piece is its defense of ambiguity against the rising tide of "extreme literalness." The article notes that while many contemporary voices fear the deconstruction of objectivity, Williams suggests that the real danger lies in the refusal to imagine. "It seems to me that extreme literalness is much more dangerous," the author is quoted as saying. "I prefer a reckless imagination to a limited one."

The commentary connects this to the broader cultural moment, where debates over free speech and DEI often devolve into a contest over the precise definition of words. The piece argues that The Vivisectors exposes this as a "moral panic" that distracts from the "primal vitality of the environment." The novel's gardeners, who struggle to contain the overgrowth of nature, represent the reality that the academics try to ignore. The article suggests that the "clash the novel explores through its portraits of cities and gardeners and academics is very old," framing the current cultural moment not as a unique crisis, but as a recurring failure of human imagination.

The piece concludes by examining the novel's ending, where a story about a whale serves as a parable for faith and trust. Agathe notes that "it takes great strength of character to insist on coincidences," suggesting that the ability to believe in something unseen is the only antidote to the nihilism of the spectacle. The Baffler ties this back to the philosophical work of Stanley Cavell, noting that the novel is ultimately about the difficulty of "recognizing the other, to acknowledge the existence of other minds."

Bottom Line

The strongest part of this argument is its refusal to let the reader off the hook; it forces us to confront our own complicity in the culture of outrage and literalism. The biggest vulnerability is that the novel's heavy reliance on allegory may alienate readers seeking a more direct engagement with current events, a risk the article acknowledges but ultimately defends as necessary. For the busy reader, the takeaway is clear: in a world obsessed with decoding every message for hidden meaning, the most radical act may be to stop decoding and start imagining.

Deep Dives

Explore these related deep dives:

  • The Society of the Spectacle Amazon · Better World Books by Guy Debord

  • Unreliable narrator

    The article hinges on the distinction between the author and Agathe, using this literary device to explain why readers mistakenly conflate the narrator's abusive worldview with Missouri Williams's own beliefs.

  • The Doloriad

    This specific 2022 novel provides the necessary context for the 'literary vlogosphere' reaction and the comparisons to Moshfegh that the author critiques as superficial marketing rather than genuine engagement.

  • The Society of the Spectacle

    As the article's title suggests, this Guy Debord concept explains the mechanism by which influencers and critics consume 'disturbing' literature as a performance of taste rather than engaging with the text's actual substance.

Sources

Society of the spectacle

Before I discuss The Vivisectors, the new novel by Missouri Williams, let me get something off my chest. Readers, I despise every last one of you. You’ve failed at every turn to recognize my achievements with due approbation. You’ve lavished praise on the most undeserving of my competitors, while refusing to allow my vastly superior efforts the most meager approval. For a long time, I assumed I was the one at fault. That so many could be so lacking in sophistication and taste was simply not possible. How naive I was to think so. As time has worn on, I’ve only seen more clearly how little I can expect of any of you. I have no illusions that my candor here will do anything to change your minds or hearts but know regardless that your profound collective weakness has not gone unnoticed. You are all lesser life forms, vermin scurrying about my feet. You repulse me, and you should be ashamed. All of the above notwithstanding, your greatest turpitude of all would be to take me literally. On the first page of Missouri Williams’s The Vivisectors, the novel’s narrator, Agathe, a pathologically cynical young adult from an all but loveless literary family, recalls her uncle advising her, “If you wanted to write something terrible about somebody then it was best to use the first person, because they’ll never be able to accept that you were capable of betraying them so utterly, and so instead of seeing the obvious they’ll look at just about anything else.” From this, he extrapolates that “to mix up the author and their narrator was the most cardinal of literary errors.” The novel is written in the first person, and rich in abrasive admissions like “I had never really believed in anything” and “I thought that I hated women more than anybody else ever could.” That the narrator is of the unreliable variety is hardly worth mentioning, but The Vivisectors is not just about whether its narrator means what she says. It’s about what we risk, and what we stand to gain, by taking her at her word. Upon its publication in 2022, no one discussing Missouri Williams’s debut novel The Doloriad in public could describe the book they had read. Set in a disaster-torn and radically depopulated Prague and featuring a legless protagonist whose gleefully abusive family members cart her around by wheelbarrow, its preoccupation ...