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as a feminization of the protagonist “most effectively depicted in his intimate
relationship with his apartment where he attains a certain existential stability
through purchasing the latest cutlery, shelves, furniture and sofa” (126). In the
same way that Roquentin masks his existential dilemma in his historical
endeavor, the protagonist of Fight Club hides his angst under “Njurunda coffee
tables in the shape of a lime green yin and an orange yang” and “Johanneshov
armchair[s] in the Strinne green stripe pattern” (43). The protagonist, however,
is not completely oblivious to his own entrapment, explaining “Then you’re
trapped in your lovely nest, and the things you used to own, now they own you”
(44). Despite the awareness of his own predicament, the protagonist is unable to
escape his “nest” and its vicious cycle, because, to this point in the narration,
there is nowhere else to which he can. Thus, the seeds of a Fight Club are sown
deep within the protagonist as an escape to his world of “Swedish furniture” and
“clever art” (46).
Besides his IKEA nest, the only other space the protagonist occupies is
found in his workplace, where his existential dilemma is only further
compounded and his sense of inadequacy further pronounced. As a recall
campaign coordinator for an insurance company, his job is simply to “apply the
formula”:
You take the population of vehicles in the field (A) and
multiply it by the probate rate of failure (B), then multiply the
result by the average cost of our out-of-court settlement (C). A
times B times C equals X. This is what it will cost if we don’t
initiate a recall. If X is greater than the cost of a recall, we
recall the cars and no one gets hurt. If X is less than the cost of
a recall, then we don’t recall. (30)
The dehumanizing effects of this formula—turning human beings into
statistics—perpetuate the protagonist’s detachment from the world around him.
Moreover, his detachment can more explicitly be seen through his continual
presence on an airplane. Because he must constantly travel, the protagonist finds
himself detached from his world, both literally and figuratively: “You wake up
at Air Harbor International [. ..] at O’Hare [.. .] at LaGuardia [. . .]” (25). In
Sartre’s Nausea, this notion of detachment is carried out through the imagery of
the roots of the chestnut tree under which sits Roquentin in the Jardin public:
“The roots of the chestnut tree were sunk in the ground just under my bench
(126) [...] Still detached from it—since I was conscious of it—yet lost in it,
nothing but it” (131). Seated beneath this looming monstrosity, Roquentin finds
himself envious of the tree’s attachment to its world, while he, on the other
hand, is merely floating through his, failing to find his own attachment. In
“Childhood of a Leader,” Sartre infuses this same detachment in Lucien from
the beginning. As a child, Lucien convinces himself that everyone around him is
merely an actor playing his or her role, even wondering if his parents are real: