Game by Donald Barthelme

Good for you, Jack!

It seems that April is turning into Donald Barthelme month, which is totally fine with me. "Game" highlights the author's clever use of repetition to reflect the narrator's surmounting anxiety and fragmented consciousness. Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot might be an obvious comparison although Barthelme's version is set within the historical context of Cold-War paranoia. The two men have been stationed underground in some kind of top-secret military silo for 133 days but their actual purpose is somewhat unclear and seemingly superfluous. They each have keys that launch "birds" (missiles) into the sky, capable of causing mass destruction to some unknown enemy. However, it seems that their superiors have forgotten all about them in this dark dwelling. Feeling like abandoned prisoners in some twisted social experiment, they pass the time focusing on their individual obsessions. Similar to a caveman, the narrator writes on the wall with a diamond ring, chronicling modern history. His friend, Shotwell, spends the majority of his time playing jacks and studying for his Masters degree in Marketing. Despite the dire circumstances, the absurdity of it all is quite humorous. 

The narrator is also fixated on stealing the jacks but Shotwell is unwilling to share and such an attempt would prove dangerous. Each of them is armed and have been instructed to kill the other if one of them acts out of line. They are trapped in a nightmare scenario, engaged in psychological warfare where time ceases to exist. Hence, there is an established sense of routine and a tacit understanding between the two men regarding the unwritten rules of this dangerous game. The political satire is spot-on as they are both caught up in the follies of bureaucratic nonsense. In this sinister game, there is no winner. While the specter of nuclear annihilation looms in the background, the ending presents a surprising moment of tenderness between the two men. In pure Barthelme absurdist fashion, the fate of humanity hangs precariously on whether or not the narrator can secure Shotwell's jacks. It is both darkly comical and hauntingly ominous.