42 pages • 1 hour read
James Tiptree Jr.The Girl Who Was Plugged In
Fiction | Novella | Adult | Published in 1973A modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Symbols & Motifs
The Carrier Field
What Tiptree imagined and called “the carrier field” is uncannily close to the internet of today. It’s a global digital network that allows the instant transfer of information and performance of tasks. It’s a potent image of the power of technology, and a hidden system that both empowers and controls people, again somewhat like the internet.
We first hear about the “carrier field” when Delphi is licensed to start her life. She’s assigned another name, “a long string of binaries” (53) which enables her to access, use, and purchase things. It’s projected to a satellite and returns as energy into the carrier field, which has every name and every piece of information. Here, the narrator emphasizes the scale of the field; the way it instantaneously encompasses and connects the globe. It’s what beams holovision shows into people’s houses, controls automated vehicles, sets access rights for all kinds of activities, and enables P. Burke’s brain waves to be projected into Delphi’s body and back in an instant. P. Burke and Delphi literally exist and die via this field—it’s the digital puppet strings that hold them together.
The carrier field effectively dispenses with distance. Even a mind and body can be connected in an instant, though they’re thousands of miles apart. And this sense of distance is also emphasized in the story. It’s a tightly controlled world, but Delphi has the illusion of a jet-setting lifestyle. She’s flown to Colorado, then to Barcelona, then to Chile, but controlled every step of the way. By contrast, Burke remains stationary throughout, the still center around which the story orbits.
Names
Tiptree takes an intriguing and idiosyncratic approach to naming characters in her story. Some figures like P. Burke take on multiple names, some characters are known only by first names (like Joe), some by surnames (Mr. Cantle), and some by no name at all (the sharp faced lad). In part, this provides a kind of short-hand characterization—Joe establishes a more intimate and personal relation, than the fatherly and authoritative Mr. Cantle. The anonymity of the sharp faced lad encourages us to see him at a distance but also hints at how power really works in GTX—the ones who wield it the most are the best hidden.
In the case of P. Burke, the various names she’s given and adopts reveals something about her journey and the way her identity changes. “P. Burke” sounds both impersonal and unfeminine. Her first name, Philadelphia, is given just as an initial, and her surname, is both a harsh sound and a synonym for idiot.
When GTX are launching Delphi they discuss the issue of what name to go with, like people in the music business might mull over a pop-band’s name. Delphi is agreed on, as it comes from Philadelphia—Joe thinks it might “help identification” (50) between Burke and her new body to share this evolution of a name. By contrast to Burke, Delphi has a soft, feminine sound. It also has mythological associations. In Greek mythology, Delphi was the ancient sanctuary and home of an Oracle who the gods consulted and considered by some to be the center of the earth. It thus ties in neatly with Delphi’s new role as a mortal god. Delphi gets another, hidden name in the form of that digital code that becomes part of the carrier field. And yet another name when she’s with Paul, who calls her either by pet names like “wild kitten” “little bird,” or simply “Dee.”
Naming is itself a form of power—to give someone a name is a way to define and control them. It’s emphasized again in the final scenes; when Burke has just died, Delphi speaks her own name: “I’m Delphi” (77) expressing perhaps an attempt to lay claim to her own identity as it slips away, or maybe just Burke’s burning desire to be free of her old self and fuse fully with Delphi.
The “Gods” and the Masses
Very early on in the story, we’re introduced to the notion of celebrities as gods and their importance. The gods are mere mortals’ they live and shop and do all the things ordinary people do, but “but…smashing” (43). The use of ellipsis here suggests just how inexpressible the difference really is. They’re beautiful, they live beautiful contented lives, and they’re elevated by the love and adoration that’s bestowed upon them by ordinary people, us mere mortals. Like the Greek gods, there are many of them—a whole pantheon—with different roles and attributes for different groups: “whatever turns you, there’s a god in the future for you, custom made” (43). While we’re shown just one group of mainstream gods, we’re told this is just the tip of the iceberg. There are gods for all different types of people, but the social function they serve is similar—to captivate and influence, to foster obedience, channel desire, and encourage people to follow in their footsteps and buy the products they use. It’s ironic that the gods of this culture serve a particularly worldly and materialistic purpose. That’s because underlying the facades of these celebrity-gods is the real god this culture serves—money—and along with it, the preservation of the social order.
For all this talk of gods, the culture Tiptree describes is resolutely non-religious. There’s a reference to Christians, “the followers of the fish” (72) as something of the past. It’s a secular capitalist society that on the surface valorize people, lifestyles, and goods (and behind that, wealth and order). There’s nothing spiritual about it in that sense. Even the senior figures at GTX seek only a quiet life, and the perpetuation of the order. As Paul puts it: “I don’t think they have a plan except to keep things going round and round” (68). And yet the religious impulse still exists in this society. There’s a religious ardor in the way P. Burke looks up to the three gods she encounters on the street: “The crowd moans. Love!” (43). And that continues in the way P. Burke loves Paul.
From the perspective of the masses, the gods are completely separate and unattainable. P. Burke’s story is of a girl who crosses that line and joins the gods. We’re reminded by the narrator, right at the beginning, of what happens to mortals who cross that line: “No one ever told her about mortals who love a god and end up as a tree of a sighing sound” (43). In classical mythology, human encounters with the divine are almost always destructive. They’re sometimes hubristic narratives of human’s reaching too far, attempting to see or grasp too much of a divine reality which is too intense for mortal minds. Burke is arguably guilty of this, in her bid to become Delphi. But they’re also often narratives of accidental or unfortunate encounters—hapless mortals caught up in the plans and desires of gods, in greater forces, that change or destroy them. This too is reflective of Burke’s story, as she’s drawn into the world of GTX, of celebrity gods, and those who control them.
One last irony is that being a god in this futuristic world is not really all it cracked up to be. From the outside looking in, they’re beautiful, quasi divine beings, living a life of freedom and contentment. But as P. Burke learns, the reality is these gods are more constrained and controlled than ordinary people. Every decision is plotted out for them. Far from being beautiful and content, they’re inherently self-divided: part pretty puppet and part buried monster—people like P. Burke. They’re not even able to taste or feel the beautiful life they live. They’re ultimately not real at all, but crafted illusions to serve the purpose and pleasures of others. Perhaps Burke’s tragic flaw is her honesty and innocence; her willingness and desire to find something real and truthful in this world of illusions.
