sence. Her collapse thus unfolds not from a gap within her character but from a rupture in time and space, engineered by the now frivolous Ruth, who appears to Mary as an excessive, inexplicable, externalized cupidity, before which melodramatic subjects, Mary herself or the Bobbo of the Tower, can only experience her- or himself as prey. "How weak people are!" Ruth realizes. "How they simply accept what happens, as if there were such a thing as destiny, and not just a life to be grappled with" (p. 240).
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Frivolous Ruth, grappling with life, scarred into awareness by melodrama's self-squeezing regime of service and utility, cautiously conserves her own, incessantly jeopardized, power to maintain it and herself beyond the claims of any reference: the Swiss bank accounts. She has complete mobility. She can change her occupation, even her name, at will, while Mary and Bobbo remain stationed and targeted in the entirely vulnerable High Tower. Weldon's great comic image for this difference is, of course, Ruth's transformation of her own body, despite its enormous cost in suffering. She makes herself refer, quite literally, to the image she has chosen, rather than to the image the natural and social orders conspire to impose upon her. Frivolity displaces cupidity with obsession, centered on the ability to fold back on oneself, both semantically and erotically, rather than to point to a place within a fixed order of (suburban) identities. Frivolity thus becomes a term for "need left to itself, need without object, without desire's direction" (Derrida, p. 130). Ruth wants Bobbo back, not because she any longer loves, let alone desires, him, but because "the seeming repetition of desire without any object or of a floating desire" (Derrida) marks the essential triumph in the frivolous mind of the subject over her heretofore ordained subjugation.
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This contest between melodrama and frivolity comes to a head on the question of suffering. Aware that suffering is always indecent, and also likely to improve the position of someone other than the sufferer, the frivolous prefers, whenever possible, to be heartless rather than to celebrate heartache. But this heartlessness also allows frivolity to use rather than to be used by suffering. Melodramatic culture, loathing suffering but finding it inevitable, offers to convert pain into the price of wisdom and the bond that cements society. That's Styron's point, or pointlessness, if we read him with Starlady Sandra. Ruth, entirely frivolous, reads suffering in a very different way. "Il faut suffrir" ( She-Devil, p. 162), she acknowledges. But her suffering she herself selects: "The more you want the more you suffer. If you want everything, you must suffer everything." The melodramatic "suffer at random, and gain nothing." Not even dignity. Suffering makes Mary Fisher merely "petulant," and Bobbo ''depressed" (p. 161).
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