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38 pages 1 hour read

William S. Burroughs

Naked Lunch

Fiction | Novel | Adult | Published in 1959

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Themes

Slang, Diction, and Identity

The first thing that any reader will notice about Naked Lunch is its unusual and distinctive style. In fact, this can make the novel initially hard to follow. In part, this is due to Burroughs’s attempt to capture the way of speaking common in the world of drug addiction and dealing, as in the extensive use of slang. For example, Lee refers to “stool pigeons” (3), or police informers; a “grass” (5), or someone who informs to the authorities; a “sawski” (4), or $20; “junk” (6), or heroin; and the “fuzz” (7), or the police. Likewise, characters have multiple names or pseudonyms. For example, Hassan is known, according to Lee, as “The Shoe Store Kid, alias Wrong Way Marv, alias After Birth Leary, alias Slunky Pete” (131) and several other names. Slang and pseudonyms help protect and conceal drug users from the authorities. Equally, knowledge of them (or lack thereof) helps distinguish those who are truly part of the using community. For instance, at the novel’s start, “a square who wants to come on hip […] talks about ‘pod’” (3); because he gets the lingo wrong, the man marks himself out as an outsider.

This slang, initially created for reasons of utility, develops into its own distinctive version of a language. However, the intent of the unusual, unnatural style of Naked Lunch is not merely to reflect a different way of speaking but also to connote a different, non-normal way of being that captures the experience of drug use. As Lee says, he wishes to write about, as a user, “what is in front of his senses at the moment of writing” (184). Since this experience is, by its very nature, exceptional and extreme relative to ordinary experience, the novel’s style must reflect this. One element of this is an attempt to the subvert an ordinary sense of time and narrative—which is why Lee says that “you can cut into Naked Lunch at any intersection point” (187). Just as a drug distorts and fragments a user’s narrative sense, the author distorts and fragments the narrative. The sequence of events, and its relation to place and character, becomes blurred. Another element is that the user can’t communicate these experiences through ordinary symbols and language. As ordinary direct language and style fundamentally reflects ordinary experience, such straightforward style can’t reflect the experience of addiction. Instead, the author captures this through disruptive and indirect ways of writing and different orders of symbols. As Lee says, “The word cannot be expressed direct […] It can perhaps be indicated by a mosaic of juxtaposition like articles abandoned in a hotel drawer, defined by negatives and absence” (97). Like “black insect lusts” (187) the negation and subversion of ordinary style and language conveys the exceptional experience of addiction.

Experiments, Experimentation, and the Brain

Many experiments take place on human beings throughout Naked Lunch. Some are conducted on just the body. For example, Dr. Benway uses a woman, Iris, to test whether “the human body can run on sugar alone” (161). Similarly, the doctors Schafer and Benway discuss the possibility of “simplifying” the human digestive system. As Schafer says, “Why not have one all-purpose hole to eat and eliminate? We could seal up nose and mouth, fill in the stomach, make an air hole direct in the lungs” (110). However, as bizarre and unethical as these experiments are, the more disturbing ones are on the human brain and psyche. Schafer is central again here. Just as he wanted to test whether the digestive system could be simplified, he seeks to show that “the human nervous system can be reduced to a compact and abbreviated spinal column” (87). This is effectively a test to determine if a human being with consciousness requires a properly operating brain. It results in the creation of a hideous “monster black centipede” (87).

The point of these experiments is difficult to fathom. On one level, they’re simply another part of Lee’s drug-inspired fantasies. Like the sexual revels at A.J.’s annual party or in Hassan’s rumpus room, they’re an expression of imaginative association unhinged from morality or reason. On another level, they represent a critique of social control and oppression under the guise of science—most obviously in Benway’s experiments in his Freeland Reconditioning Center, which are explicitly designed to see how far a subject can be broken down and then subjected to the will of another. This is especially evident in Benway’s experiments with sexual humiliation and the reversal of a subject’s sexuality. Likewise, it’s evident at the novel’s end, when Lee expresses the sentiment that he needed to kill the police officers and escape because it was “better than being a subject for experiments with ST” (shock therapy) (178). A real sense and fear in the US at the time was that “undesirables,” such as drug users and gay men, were fair game for medical and psychological experiments.

However, experimentation is significant in the novel for another reason too. Experimentation is not just something that one person inflicts on another. It’s often, as in the case of drug use, inflicted by the individual on themselves. The drug user, whether knowingly or not, experiments with what the body and brain can endure—and the effects of certain substances on them. This is evident when Lee talks about taking a drug “dihydro-oxy-heroin” that is “six times stronger than heroin” (55). Just one shot of such a potent drug can cause lifelong addiction. In this way, Benway’s and Schaffer’s “experiments” are metaphors for what drug users do to themselves. In simple terms, as with Schafer’s “compact nervous system” or Benway’s subjects with “Irreversible Neural Damage” (28), this is the destruction of consciousness and the brain—and Lee indicates its endpoint when he describes how “a panorama of naked idiots stretches to the horizon […] Complete silence—their speech centers are destroyed—except for the crackle of sparks […] as they apply electrodes up and down the spine” (22).

Bureaucracy and Control

Bureaucracy comes under attack many times during Naked Lunch. In fact, the novel has few more consistent targets. For example, when Lee is forced to go to the Old Court House to get an affidavit so that he can avoid eviction, he describes the building as a decaying and life-sapping labyrinth of files and obscurely organized rooms. Those unlucky enough to have a case transferred there will see “the proceeding inexorably dragging out until the contestants die or abandon litigation” (142). As Lee says, “This is due to the vast numbers of records pertaining to absolutely everything” (142). Further, what life exists there is, like the building, festering and rotten, like the racist and backward-looking County Clerk and his assistants. Lee describes Annexia similarly. Among the most nightmarish aspects of this dystopian state are the extent and arbitrariness of the bureaucracy. As Benway explains, “Every citizen of Annexia was required to apply for and carry on his person at all times a whole portfolio of documents” (19). The required documents constantly changed, and failure to have the right documents, or have them properly stamped, resulted in arrest.

It isn’t entirely clear what Burroughs objects to about bureaucracies and whether he opposes all bureaucracies or just those linked to oppressive or backward states. However, Lee makes an instructive point here when he contrasts bureaucracies with what he calls “co-operatives.” As he says, the purpose of a co-operative is to “meet needs of the people who participate in the functioning of the unit. A bureau exists on the opposite principle of inventing needs to justify its existence” (112). Bureaucracies, then, are parasitic. Lee even likens them to a virus or a cancer. That is, they depend on the real needs of people in communal life to exist—but then seek to produce more of themselves and carry on expanding until they choke the host. This explains, in part, the name Annexia and why the bureaucracies in it and the County Court House (as well as the real world) keep growing. It also explains why they’re increasingly arbitrary and oppressive as they move further from serving any real needs. The answer to why human beings tolerate this—and why individuals accept something that’s antithetical to human life—centers on a psychological tendency underlying bureaucracy and its replication. This is what Lee calls “the naked need of the control addicts” (19). “Control addicts”—which the Sender party symbolically expresses—seek to eradicate individuality and impose control over “physical movement, mental processes, [and] emotional reactions” (136). However, they don’t seek this control to achieve anything practical. Although they may disguise and deny this, as with any addiction, control is simply a means to more control. This explains the insidious nature of bureaucracies and why, like the addictions that underscore them, they continue to take over ever more aspects of human life.

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