The Captured Woman by Donald Barthelme

I'm cookin' steaks fah dinnah. I expect you to stay.

The Captured Woman is really weird, even by Donald Barthelme standards. Beneath its wry humor and fragmented style lies a dark critique of sexual stereotypes and the rigid roles imposed by heteronormative domestic life. At the center of the narrative is a bizarre premise: a group of men who kidnap women and form a support group to share "best practices" for emotional and psychological control. It sounds absurd, and it certainly fits that bill. The author uses this absurdity to provide some sharp commentary on how power operates within traditional gender dynamics.

In one particularly twisted moment, a man advises the narrator on how to win his captive’s affection with poetic manipulation: “Speak to her. Say this: My soul is soused, imparadised, imprisoned in my lady.” Barthelme is fond of wordplay, which shows up plenty here. Much to the man's initial annoyance, the narrator mixes up the order of imparadised and imprisoned, which changes the meaning: "No. Imparadised, imprisoned. It actually sounds better the way you said it, though. Imparadised last." The ironic reference to Milton's Paradise Lost is both comical and chilling where the poetic language of romantic devotion is used as a manipulative tool for control. The misogynistic relationship is anything but a paradise; rather, it's the complete opposite: hell. 

Who exactly holds the most power in this relationship? Something to ask yourself when reading this story. It largely revolves around performance and not just in the literal sense of role-playing, but in the performance of gender itself. The men adhere to a strange set of rituals and rules, playing out their roles as dominant figures while encouraging each other to adopt increasingly performative and contradictory behaviors. Meanwhile, the narrative voice constantly shifts. The "I" becomes "you" or turns into "we", blurring the boundaries of identity and authority. The result is a dizzying cacophony of voices, like a dissonant dance between captor and captive. 

It is this use of reversals that makes the story so intriguing even if the wackiness strays into outlandish territory. The power dynamic is constantly in flux: although these women appear to be prisoners, they often seem to hold the real power. The men, for all their authority and control, are portrayed as emotionally fragile and desperate. So much so that the narrator even resorts to doing the dishes in a desperate attempt to make his hostage stay. This moment, simultaneously domestic and pathetic, underscores Barthelme’s central irony: in trying to assert their dominance, these men become trapped in the very roles they are trying to enforce.

Ultimately, the story deconstructs the fantasy of male authority within the domestic sphere. The men cling to outdated notions of control, but their actions only reveal their deep insecurities and their dependence on the very women they claim to dominate. Barthelme dismantles the power structures of traditional gender roles by blurring the lines between control and submission, masculine and feminine. Above all else, they are rendered entirely superfluous.