Rushdie: Society is High, Deep, and Outta Here!

The image is endearing: an entire stadium of people stand on their feet as thousands of cameras flash, each fan holding their breath in anticipation of witnessing history. The slugger stands at home plate; he takes a ball, a strike, fouls a few off, and runs the count to full against a pitcher clamoring to keep his name out of the record books. Then it happens—the lefty unloads on a 3-2 fastball, his powerful, compact swing driving the baseball 430 feet to dead center. Duane Kuiper shouts over the telecast: “Bonds hits it high! Hits it deep! It is OUTTA HERE!” The ball sails into the frenzied crowd as dozens descend upon it, kicking and wrestling for the winning ticket in Cooperstown’s high stakes lottery. The scrum in center field is reminiscent of the Hells Angels at the Stones’ Altamont Speedway concert; here, greed transcends fanhood, spectatorship, Love of the Game. As Barry Bonds addresses San Francisco over the PA system, the young man who escaped the fray with home run number 756 is ushered away by police. He grins uncontrollably, pumping his fists in the air. Hell, who wouldn’t? The most hallowed record in sports captured in one tiny leather sphere, wrapped between his fingers. Predictably, however, the “fan” has little interest in holding onto this prized memorabilia, nor does he intend to send it to the Hall of Fame for baseball fans to enjoy for generations. No, he mumbles something about the tax implications of his priceless catch and quickly puts it up for auction on EBay like every other “fan” to snag a historic baseball in the last ten years. Everything is for sale. Had Salman Rushdie’s “At the Auction of the Ruby Slippers” been written in late 2007 it’d be interesting to see what Rushdie would have to say about the Barry Bonds fiasco, because he pretty much covers everything else. The short story is one big indictment, specifically targeting various people, places, and the current state of things, and generally targeting our mindless consumerism and globalization.

History Made

The story begins as Rushdie rattles off the various attendants of an auction to sell away Dorothy’s famed Ruby Slippers of Wizard of Oz lore. Movie stars, memorabilia junkies (with “collagen-implanted lips,” a brief reference to our rampant vanity), philosophers, quantum scientists, homeless tramps, gun-wielding gangsters, political exiles, religious fundamentalists, and even fictional characters from movies and literature are in attendance to bid on the magical shoes. Each of these characters, interested in the slippers to meet their individual needs and demands, plays as a point of commentary for Rushdie. The “jumpsuited Latino janitor” (90) is an obvious reference, with the stereotype of Hispanics doing our dirty work rolling over into the futuristic setting. The “cult of the ruby slippers,” or legions of fanatics in Wizard of Oz- inspired garb, is in the mold of the Star Wars and Star Trek geeks who turn out for conventions and movie premiers in full Darth Vader ensembles (Conan O’Brien’s Insult Dog said it best when interviewing an adult Vader-wannabe, inquiring about the various buttons and switches on the Star Wars fan’s authentic costume: “Which button do you press when you want your mommy to come pick you up?”) The movie stars with “glossy, spangled auras” reference our habit of placing celebrities on a pedestal, in this case to the point where the Rich and Famous have actually applied physics to enhancing their red carpet clout. The “Uzi-armed gangs high on crack or smack or ice” represent gun violence and drug abuse, particularly in the drive-by shooting ranks of inner-city American gangbangers.

The narrator notes that these futuristic auctions are commonplace, with historical landmarks like the Taj Mahal and Statue of Liberty often pawned off under the gavel. “Ruby Slippers” portrays the worst case scenario that Rushdie warns us could occur if we keep on our current path of globalized consumerism. Nothing is sacred; “everything is for sale.” The narrator’s revelation at the end is particularly important, as his plight in winning back his girlfriend/cousin Gale (a subplot reveals this as his motivation for seeking the ruby slippers) suddenly seems unimportant. In the “courtroom of desire,” he understands in one alarming moment that allowing our material desires to overcome our logic is what has driven humanity into its sorry state. “In fiction’s grip, we may mortgage our homes, sell our children, to have whatever it is we crave,” the narrator realizes (102). Nothing—not the limits of our incomes, the environmental consequences of limitless materialism, the fabric of society or our families, the preservation of our hallowed pastimes—seems of more importance when we allow greed to take the reigns. It’s the same observation that television’s South Park made in its indictment of Wall-Mart, as the South Park, CO town residents submit to the store’s deals even when life depends on escaping (“This screwdriver set is only $9.98—the bargain is just too great! Go on without me!”) Everything is for sale, and Salman Rushdie warns us to step back from “fiction’s grip” before the bargains seem simply too great to resist, and our society erodes.

While the commercialization of baseball is a topic for another Blog, it’s hard not to look at Matt Murphy—the young man who caught Barry Bonds’ record-breaking homer—as the “auctioneer” in Salman Rushdie’s “courtroom of desire.” America’s Pastime is the society that we must preserve from materialistic implosion, and Murphy is the seller, putting a price on our children, our husbands, our wives; on “all the wonders of the world” (98). Another Conan O’Brien quip seems strangely appropriate: in discussing AT&T Park (the site of Bonds’ blast and Murphy’s fortune-making grab)’s recent implementation of stadium-wide wireless internet for laptop-carrying fans, Conan joked, “Yeah, it combines two of America’s favorite pastimes- baseball and pornography.” Our modern habit of applying nonsensical technologies to everything, of slapping dollar signs and price tags on the institutions and landmarks whose sanctity should not be tarnished by our greed, will be the end of us. Rushdie cautions that if our materialistic desires hold, our society will soon be auctioned away by pornographers; by all the Matt Murphys clamoring for an easy dollar.