A Game of Violence—The Male Strategy of Life

Chapter Three

A Game of Violence—The Male Strategy of Life

Violence is a central concept for the male characters concerning the theme of dominance and subservience that permeates most of Pinter’s plays. Pinter makes it an innate intuitive reaction whenever his male characters are provoked. They enjoy bellicosity. They wish to squash whoever challenges their authority, including the same sex. Yet violence in his gender plays is different from that in his all-male ones.

In his early and all-male

plays, the Pinteresque world is of absolute violence. It dominates the development of the plots throughout. Entailing few factors and sentiments, these plays revolve around, develop in, and finish with violence. It is often the instant reaction the leads have when troubles come, thanks to the

“effectiveness” as well as the “convenience” violence proffers. Thus the plays are often full of sterile, senseless but bloodthirsty plots.

The types of violence differ, too. The violence in the early and all-male plays is a “gang’s game “of merciless and cruel killing. Diverse from normal cases, violence concerning the atmosphere of clans carries a lot more bloody enforcement.

There is no “holdback” once they decide to “exclude” a person. There is no such thing as “talk”, “explanation” or “sympathy”, but instant implement and conquer.

These leads communicate only in violence. They fight and win by the strength of

“fists”. Often such violence in Pinter’s world of pure brutality refers to a deadly action, focusing on the life-and death issue and often ends with a person killed or kicked out of the game. Victory, for most of the male characters, does not come with these who surrender, but with those who are killed or “disqualified” by them.

For instance, even though Stanley in “The Birthday Party” displays some

“masculinity” by howls at Meg and Lulu, as he faces McCann and Goldberg, he

surrenders right away before they take any real action and reach for him. The violent aura of gangs has disarmed him. Stanley is even too scared to answer anything but “Uh-gug…uh-gug…eeehhh-gag…Caahh…caahh” (78). Yet Stanley’s cowardice fails to help him get away. At last, without any wrestle, Goldberg and McCann take Stanley away, which is strongly hinted as being killed by Petey’s stuttering guess that Stanley is still “asleep” (80). In fact, between McCann and Goldberg, they use the same way to decide the “Big Brother”, too. As McCann tries to steal power from Goldberg by making decision on his own and even calls him

“Nat”, Goldberg “murderously seizes McCann by the throat” (70) and warns,

“NEVER CALL ME THAT” (70)! Goldberg then “violently” gives McCann a lesson, “Have a look in my mouth…You know what? I’ve never lost a tooth…That’s why I’ve reached my position” (71). Without a lot of trouble in dealing and warning but by giving a little implication of killing, Goldberg suppresses McCann, who knows the authentic “practicability” of Goldberg’s words.

In “The Caretaker”, Mick is a ferocious “honcho” who applies a similar way to establish his “sphere of influence” as Goldberg. Appearing lazy to talk and fed up with Davies’ snitching, Mick “hurls the Buddha against the gas stove” (72) as his last warning. The implication of the broken Buddha is clear: disappear right away before I make you pieces like the Buddha. Though Mick does not put Davies to death, Davies has already and definitely been thrown out of the game.

However, though the threat of brutality is pervasive likewise in Pinter’s gender plays, unlike the vehement power of destruction in early plays that causes instantaneous submission, violence in Pinteresque gender issues is less “lethal” by comparison. For the first part, violence is treated as a kind of “strategies” to break the female defense in the sexual struggle instead of as a revolving theme of gangs’

style. Such violence, most of the time, links itself with many other considerations.

Thus it might not bring much shock in the first place, yet the work of its schemes does release a lot of “aftereffect” of fear afterwards. In his later works, Pinteresque male leads mainly surround the females with pressure of violence, which is more a mental burden meant to suppress as well as to deplete the will of the females. In the discussion of this violence, I divide it into two types of violence—namely, physical violence, and the collective ideology of violence within which I look at it by ways of physical gestures and language of violence. Of them, physical menace occurs less commonly than the other two and oftentimes and the power of it here is actually rather weak compared to that in the all-male plays. As it takes place, Pinter gives it a quick and casual mention because the most dreadful tension of violence does not lie in its occurrence, but the suspense of terror it brings about. Fearing the impending force may produce pressure on people so that they may disarm and yield; however as soon as hitting takes place in reality, the mental horror disappears and the intimidation loses its terrifying magic. When it comes to pervasive atmosphere of violence—the gesture part, through some actions of their bodies or behavior, the measure takers give out the messages of their aggression so as to stop things from coming up against their minds, or to serve as a tool for retaliation. In most of the gender combats in Pinter’s plays, non-physical violence suffices to serve as the warning of substantial smacks, especially when brute force renders lesser impact after females undergo

transformation. To save themselves from falling from dominance, male roles have to evolve into subtler and more sensitive characters in the “mind game”. As a result, the language of violence is given birth to. In other words, in most cases, males play

“the tug of war” for power with females with the intimidation comprised in their

language—until they run out of their patience. In this chapter, I aim not only to get

a clearer picture of violence, but also to demonstrate how violence varies as well as

works in each play for the male protagonists to survive in the gender struggles.

I will use plays such as Betrayal, Ashes to Ashes, A Slight Ache, Night School, and The Homecoming to illustrate my points.

Physical Violence

The first play I am going to discuss regarding physical violence is Betrayal.

Commenting on Betrayal, Lois Gordon observes,

Betrayal has been read as a comedy of modern manners. . . Robert Downs is more of a rake, who has betrayed Emma for years, while adhering to the convention of marriage. (27)

Yet it is more than a comedy. In the gender plays, Betrayal is the only case pertaining to real physical violence and it involves mutual betrayals instead of an unidirectional one. At the opening of the play, Robert has been straightforward to Jerry about his acts of violence on his wife:

“It’s true I’ve hit Emma once or twice. But that wasn’t to defend a principle. . .I just felt like giving her a good bashing. The old itch…you understand.” (33)

The primordial urge to whack, as a matter of fact, unreels a great many of Robert’s suppressed emotions. Since he knew the love affair of Emma, Robert’s reaction has been unusually cold. He expresses his indifference by telling Jerry, “You don’t seem to understand that I don’t give a shit about any of this” (33). Rather than to shout accusingly, Robert simply makes some inquiries out of curiosity:

Robert. Silence. Where does it take place? Must be a bit awkward. I mean we’ve got two kids, he’s got two kids, not to mention a wife…

Emma. We have a flat.

Robert. Ah. I see. Pause. Nice? Pause. A flat. It’s quite well-established then, your…un…affair? How long? (70-71)

Yet such coolness is merely the exterior of things. From the above talk, Robert’s

silence, pauses and stutters have unconsciously disclosed some of his feelings. The

silence here is similar to what is discussed in the first chapter, but it comprises more

complexes. The first element of silence is suspense. As said, it produces mystery so that receivers are horrified by the unknown hazards. Indeed, this part of silence works to scare Emma a lot for before long, Robert notices some bodily movement of Emma and asks, ”You are trembling. Are you cold” (68)? Yet Robert’s “terse”

asking is more an expression of freezing irony, the hardened state of his mind and his hatred than his true concern.

Second, silence stands for his test on his own extent of rage as well as the

oppression of his true feelings, which is demonstrated in the coldness of his manners.

Robert’s wrath and his attempt to subdue it are plain in one short sentence, “I see.

Pause. Nice? Pause. A flat. It’s quite well-established then, your…un…affair” (71)?

The constant pauses in a simple sentence explain the difficulty for Robert to speak a sentence completely. Facing the deceit of his wife, Robert can hardly utter each word without swallowing each piece of his ire and bitter feelings.

No matter how hard Robert tries to conceal his gloominess, his feelings still are perceptible in some of his talk. During a lunch with Jerry after his return from Venice, Robert observes:

. . . .Mind you, it’s worse in Venice. They really don’t give a fuck there. I’m not drunk. You can’t get drunk on Corvo Bianco. Mind you…last night…I was up late…I hate brandy…. (98)

Terms such as, ”worse” “fuck”, “drunk” and “hate”, send out messages of his awful mood precisely. The fact that he “can’t get drunk” describes the torture of his smoldering anger that he can’t even have a good vent of his emotions. To augment his dejection, Robert again asks for drinks:

No, look, I’m sorry, have another drink. I’ll tell you what it is, it’s just that I can’t bear being back in London. . .” (99)

The eagerness for alcohol tells the desperation of Robert so as to trigger his drinking

complex to nullify himself. Both Venice and London are so reminiscent of bitter

disloyalty that he “can’t bear” it, and he finds no way out for his dilemma.

Nevertheless, except for some implications of his depression, after all, Robert is apathetical to the whole incident, especially to Emma. He rebuffs her from his life, though they still share the same roof. For example, when Emma suggests her joining lunch with Robert and Jerry, the husband denies her participation callously:

Well, to be brutally honest, we wouldn’t really want a woman

around, would we, Jerry? . . . What you want is your pint and your lunch.

You really don’t want a woman buying you lunch. You don’t actually want a woman within a mile of the place, any of the place, really. . .”

(57)

Subsequent to all the humiliation he gulps down, giving Emma a good hit and

divorcing her are not sufficient for Robert to retaliate on her betrayal. To bring more torment to Emma, Robert balances himself to keep calm to handle the matter for he knows perfectly that an outbreak of his wrath, for the time being, is devastation to his vengeance plans.

When it comes to his strategies, pauses and silence are his core shots because both allow Robert some moments to consider his next plots. After his short inquiry and some silence, Robert makes no further comment but tells Emma,” I’ve always liked Jerry. To be honest, I’ve always liked him rather more than I’ve liked you.

Maybe I should have had an affair with him myself. Silence” (72). The

“mindless-seeming” remark insinuates his long-term loss of interest in her. True or

false, Robert also conveys his envy at Emma for her “good luck” to get hooked with

the man he admires, which is more hurtful to Emma than the situation would be if he

loses his temper on the spot. The latter choice, at least, indicates that Robert takes

Emma to his heart. Being cold to the affair is a cruel indication of numbness. To

make things worse, Robert notes that he has “always” liked a friend more than his

wife, which constitutes the most violent part in his talk. It suggests Robert never

cares for her, which might be authentic from another response of Robert at the first time when he finds Jerry is seducing Emma in their early marriage:

Emma. Your best friend is drunk.

Jerry. As you are my best and oldest friend and, in the present instance, my host, I decided to take this opportunity to tell your wife how beautiful she was.

Robert. Quite right.

Jerry. It’s quite right, to…face up to the facts…and to offer a token, without blush. . .

Robert. Absoluetely. . . .

Jerry. I speak as your oldest friend. Your best man.

Robert. You are, actually. (116-117)

For their friendship, Robert keeps very positive attitude, neglecting Emma’s warning of danger. He even says nothing to soothe her. The fact is specially despairing to Emma when Robert again points out his preference for Jerry even after he discovers the betrayal. This is Robert’s first plot of avenge—to degrade her value.

What follows is the “silent torture”. Robert keeps mute about Emma’s affair.

Even after four years when the couple are going to separate, Jerry has no idea that

Robert has known his “defection” for such a long time. Robert intends to have

things proceed like this right after he is confirmed of the affair. He appears normal

and cordial to Jerry when he visits them after the Venice trip. Robert talks over a

couple of issues such as babies, book, and squash with Jerry as usual. Yet between

the couple, they know perfectly what goes on. Emma has to face Robert every day

but yet has also to affect to ignore the hiatus between them, which make her feel

painful. After Jerry leaves, Emma “puts her head on Robert’s shoulder, cries

quietly” (59) as a sign of her emotional crash. Because the time sequel of Pinter

time jumps from 1977 on Jerry’s visit to 1974 when Emma and Robert decide to

divorce without other depiction and since except the couple, no one else makes out

the whole issue, chances are that Robert lets their marital life go on as before on the

surface with some kind of his unvoiced malevolence, which makes Emma’s life wretched, spreading between. This is the second plot of Robert—he plans to torture her mentally.

The third way of his retaliation is to get even with what Emma has done to him, which can be interpreted as the body language of violence here. Robert develops his relationship with a couple of mistresses. Yet his betrayal is not learnt for years until he exposes it himself and definitely Emma is hurt again by this strategy:

Emma. You know what I found out…last night? He’s betrayed me for years.

He’s had…other women for years.

Jerry. No? Good Lord. Pause. But we betrayed him for years.

Emma. And he betrayed me for years. (18)

The pauses in her talk illustrate her astonishment and sadness to be deceived, too.

Judging from the effects of his strategies of violence, Robert gets the upper hand at first.

The calmness Robert appears is different from the female sobriety in the first chapter, for the latter ones, while struggling with the males, still keep cool detachment from them. Being very cool-headed is already a part of their nature. Making the males slip in the snare is not their main focus. The autonomy is always the priority.

For these females, they do not care that much whether they win or not. The secret is

that they never get themselves “involved”. However, as far as Robert is concerned,

whatever he does is to agonize Emma. In other words, Robert is tangled in the

avengement, too, which perils himself. Therefore he often feels the anger rushing up

and has to suppress it, “managing” to calm down. As a result, many of the words he

tells others are actually addressing to Robert himself. What and the way Robert says

to appease Jerry,”Oh, don’t get upset. There’s no point. Silence” (31) when Jerry

appears guilty for his betrayal sound so natural as if in reality he practiced them to

himself all the time. The silence following right after his comforting words proves

his brooding again, which he needs a lot to ease himself from the affliction. Since the coldness is feigned, the swing between his indignation and the oppressive poise may break some day. When he loses the balance and cannot endure anymore, he takes up the physical violence by instinct. What he tells Jerry is a demonstration:

“It’s true I’ve hit Emma once or twice. But that wasn’t to defend a principle. . .I just felt like giving her a good bashing. The old itch…you understand.” (33)

Obviously, the kind of “a good bashing” that fits his “old” nature serves as an

“effective” vent to his rage for a moment and indeed produces some temporary shocking impact on the receiver, yet the “side effect” is that his predominance is thus cut off, because the violence defines his loss of patience as well as his incapability to hold himself and to deal with Emma with more efficacious methods. In short, his weak points are exposed in front of Emma, who soon sees through him, frees herself from her dreads and leaves him.

Collective Ideology of Violence

Physical menace has lost its efficacy in the gender issues; instead another form of intimidation that brings more terror hovers. The phenomenon just echoes

Foucault’s theory in “Discipline and Punish”. In treating prisoners, at the very first,

they hold public executions as a controlling technique to scare people away from

crimes. Yet as time progresses, “one no longer touched the body, or at least as little

as possible, and then only to reach something other than the body itself” (Foucault 11),

which is the soul. In Pinter’s gender plays, Pinteresque male protagonists choose to

use as little physical violence as possible, for with the transformation of time, it loses

certain credibility and effects. Applying phenomenal “democracy” of “less cruelty,

less pain, more kindness, more respect, more ‘humanity’” (Foucault 16), these males

learns from Foucault, takes a more “humane” measure and hopes that they have better management and hold of the female ”soul rather than the body”. Mostly, they follow the concept of “Panopticon”, which is a designed architecture, where the caged person “is seen, but he does not see” (Foucault 200). “The major effect of the

Panopticon is to induce in the inmate a state of conscious and permanent visibility that assures the automatic functioning of power” (Foucault 201). To make it easier, because the prisoner is spied under the supervision of the unknown and because he is totally unaware of what will come over him next moment, the fear of the unknown inside him automatically forces him to behave well at any time. Pinteresque appropriation of such Panopticon theory is that they draw the whole fights under a pervasive social collective ideology, which chauvinist concepts dominate, and of which the males have long held control by their “strength” and power. Under the gaze of possible violence of male ideology, Pinter’s females are haunted by an

ever-suspended threat of terror because the time when the violence is going to initiate ambush is unknown. Therefore what’s really scary here is the bombing

psychological torture. Through the work of the “Panopticon control”, male roles expect to exhaust the female will to resist.

In my following discussion, I shall lay out first the two methods—physical gestures and language of violence—which the male leads employ to spread their long-standing ideology of chauvinist violence to women. Then after it, I shall see if the “controlling theory” works on Pinteresque female roles. Since the male ideology has long been the mainstream values in the society, some small gestures or words of

“masculinity” can cause mental pressure on the female protagonists. Such values seem to remind women of the powerful social structure that the males construct and deny the possibility that they shake off the influence on them or even to defeat it.

a. Physical Gestures

At times, male violence is displayed by some performance of gestures, which, through some movements of the bodies, conveys some kind of the power and threat.

Yet this type of violence is often rather mild, if the implications of body actions are presented vaguely and not interpreted in a right way. As a result, such “body

language” in the plays is more an announcement of the ubiquitous male values than an effective menace of suppression. A Slight Ache and Ashes to Ashes fit in with the theme and thus will become my focus in the coming paragraphs.

In the beginning of A Slight Ache, Edward’s behavior emits a kind of chauvinist air. He talks dictatorially to Flora, giving out command all the time, and listens little to what she says. In short, Edward’s attitude illustrates an enveloping ideology of male priority and shows his contempt for Flora as a woman. He specially makes a fuss over killing a wasp as a remarkable exhibition of “machismo” as well as his attempt to build his “authority”.

His movement here hints that if he can kill a wasp in such an easy way, he can

“squash” Flora supposed that she does not obey. Therefore, when he notices a wasp Edward turns from his languid attitude to a progressive one. He spends some time fussing over the wasp though he, meanwhile, pretends that he is engaged in some other business as an exhibition of his busy masculine image:

You do know I’ve got work to do this morning, don’t you? I can’t spend the whole day worrying about a wasp. (157)

Shortly after the fake complaint, he undertakes to get rid of the wasp and feels smug about his “great” quick wit to imprisons it in the marmalade jar:

Edward. Slowly…carefully…on…the…pot! Ha-ha-ha. Very good. (155)

However, Flora’s terrible suspicion of the final fate of the wasp is not dissipated by

Edward’s “unmatched valor”. She keeps her hysteria which in a way annoys Edward

for not trusting him, but which in another way much more satisfies his chauvinistic

needs because the frantic reaction is a sign of “typical women” who Edward is confident of handling easily. In addition, naturally his “paramountcy” is assured.

As a quick response, Edward condemns impatiently, “Rubbish. Take it away from the table. . .Put it in the sink and drown it” (156). It conveys that the little triviality definitely would not be a bother to a brave man like him and he disdains Flora’s exaggerating timidity over an insect. To make himself manlier in front of Flora, Edward exhibits the male nature for cruelty and killing—he squashes the wasp:

Edward. Ah, yes. Tilt the pot. Tilt. Aah…down here…right down…blinding him…that’s…it. . .There he is! Dead. What a monster. (158) The intensity and the hyperbole of his words to liken a wasp to a “monster” are the proofs of the fuss. He defeats the wasp devil as if he took a lot of energy to beat some boxing player but indeed the death of the wasp greatly pleases Edward’s ego, allowing some room for him to exert his “bravery” and “capability” considering the fact that he is only a homely pedant. Edward’s high spirits after the wasp incident are reflected on the weather. In the very beginning of the play, Flora invites Edward to the garden but he refuses, “It’s very treacherous weather, you know” (154).

However, right after the kill, Edward happily announces, “What a beautiful day it is.

Beautiful. I think I shall work in the garden this morning” (158).

Now that Edward has a good performance of audacity in showing his power, Flora’s admiration makes her abide by and respects whatever he commands during the wasp issue. Nevertheless, good times never last long. Thereafter, Edward

constantly shows slips as well as weakness until he should be vanquished by a feeble dotage who does nothing to defy him.

The unintentional intervention of the matchseller around his house flings Edward

into a flurry. Though again, Edward is eager to show his clout so that he stops his

wife from calling police to send the matchseller away. Yet he is too panicking to

subdue anyone, except himself. The gestures of violence suddenly jump to defeated manners. His talk with the outsider is at first supposed to be a menace, yet it turns out to be his chatters along deficient in force. Apparently the violent messages transmitted from his body language does not equal to substantial fights. As a matter of fact, it would be more suitable to say Edward is defeated by his phony conceit than by an old matchseller since genuine power does not fear defiance. With slight commotion, Edward’s swagger tatters away. On one hand, Edward wants to chase the old man away so as not to sabotage his place at home. On the other hand, he does not even own the power to deal with the old matchseller. Flora sees through his bluff and discomfiture, “You’re frightened of a poor old man. Why” (162)?

Gradually Flora believes no more Edward’s “power myth”. Moreover, the moment Edward exposes frailty is a good time to build her power, and in the end, Flora takes the dominant place, enjoying herself with the matchseller whereas Edward, whose counterfeit is “unmasked”, is scorned as a servant in return under Flora’s command to take the trays away. In A Slight Ache, the tactic of “body language” does not work smoothly to reach the goal.

Gestures of menace take place in Ashes to Ashes, too, but worse than that in A Slight Ache, it seems to arouse no panic, or to say obedience, with its more unnoticed

performance when Devlin puts his arm on Rebecca’s throat in the end of the play because Rebecca seems oblivious to the outer threat. During her confession of the love affair, Rebecca is extremely infatuated with the sadist-masochistic relationship with her mysterious lover. Her tone is very sensual whenever she recalls the affair,

Well…for example…he would stand over me and clench his fist.

And then he’d put his other hand on my neck and grit it and bring my head toward him. His fist…grazed my mouth. And he’d say, “Kiss my fist”. (395)

The pressure of her lover’s hands on her throat thrills her so much that her “legs were

opening” (397), which is a strong implication of sex, as a response to the flirtation.

She responds fierily, “I said, ‘Put your hand round my throat.’ I murmured it through his hand” (396).

Yet compared to her fervent depiction of her lover, Rebecca is detached and cold to Devlin, as if they were not close. As a matter of fact, the diagnostic dialogues that permeate the play give a misconception that it is some talk happening between a psychiatrist and his patient. Devlin’s identity is not known at the start of their talk until he clarifies his stance, “You live here with me. This is our house” (424) and

“Why have you never told me about this lover of yours before this? I have the right to be very angry indeed” (426). The “right” itself declares Devlin’s role in the play as Rebecca’s husband and clearly Rebecca informs him of her love affair without candid confession. She shuns away from Devlin’s questions for many times by changing topics suddenly:

Devlin. I thought you said he worked for a travel agency?

Rebecca. And there was one other thing. I wanted to go to the bathroom.

But I simply couldn’t find it. . . (406)

Even Rebecca refuses intimacy with Devlin, keeping distance from him on purpose:

Rebecca. Well, how can you possibly call me darling? I’m not your darling.

Devlin. Yes you are.

Rebecca. Well I don’t want to be your darling. It’s the last thing I want to be.

(401)

Then she tells Devlin frankly, “We can’t start again. We can end again” (425).

Seeing that Rebecca is so happy with the man who “suffocated and strangled” her, Devlin decides that it is the violence that captures Rebecca’s heart instead of the man himself and therefore he inquires after the details to make sure that Rebecca gets much pleasure from it:

Devlin. I’m talking about your lover. The man who tried to murder. . .Do you to death.

Rebecca. No, no. He didn’t try to murder me. . .He felt compassion for me.

He adored me. (414)

To regain her, Devlin in the end of the play does exactly what Rebecca’s lover does to her, forces her to say the masochistic spelling and presses her throat with strength and this is where violence arouses tension because Rebecca by far resists to respond.

Facing Devlin’s gloomy questions and his gestures of menace, Rebecca intentionally stays motionless and before long starts to float to another fantasy of her lover again.

As a matter of fact, the sense of strain is accumulated throughout the play and reaches its climax when Devlin put his hands on Rebecca’s throat. The doctor-patient circumstance that Devlin purposefully creates tactically places Devlin and Rebecca under a relationship of “relative strengths”, where the set ideology of common people has made Devlin the powerful one, and Rebecca, the one who should be “treated”.

As Devlin’s continual efforts to play a doctor confronts Rebecca’s struggle to rid of his “gaze” and control, the tension arises. For instance, during the process of

“therapy”, Devlin and Rebecca dispute over a “pen”. Throughout the debate, Devlin tries to “negate” whatever Rebecca says—by speaking whatever nonsense. In refuting Rebecca’s interpretation of “this perfect innocent pen”, Devlin answers,

“Because you don’t know where it had been. You don’t know how many other hands

have held it, how many other hands have written with it. You know nothing of its

history. You know nothing of its parents’ history” (410). Yet when struck numb by

the challenge from Rebecca that “a pen has no parents” (411), Devlin answers

highhandedly, “You can’t sit there and say things like that. . .I’m saying that you’re

not entitled to sit in that chair or in or on any other chair and say things like that and it

doesn’t matter whether you live here or not” (411). Obviously, even running out of

words, Devlin attempts to outdo her by the “authority” of a “superior” “therapist” and

half-forces her into his logic—despite the fact that he is not logical at all. Finally

like a balloon going to blow up, the utmost tension freezes in the air as Devlin puts his

hands on Rebecca’s throat. He could have subdued Rebecca at that timing since his manners and gestures have totally displayed the common ideology of male superiority and may have “hypnotized” Rebecca into his ideology.

However, Devlin fails. For one part, Devlin has made erroneous judgment on violence that works only on threat instead of attraction that is his real aim. The strength on Rebecca’s throat is more begging for her attention than forceful attack.

In other words, all his efforts of collective male ideology and gestures are to match Rebecca’s sexual preference. Yet he fails to realize that Rebecca loves the violence of her “lover” in place of him. As lethal threats, his movement is not fierce enough to bring any impact. Finally Rebecca dispatches the strained aura simply by her inert reaction. Consequently, far from finding favor again with Rebecca, the intended violent body movements expose his impotence and desperation.

Tactics of gestures in Pinter’s gender plays are weak because, unlike straight attacks, the target of their movements is easily missed if receivers do not catch the implication. Especially after the ideology of female subject rises, these female leads in the plays often choose to ignore the interpretation. Hence it does not have great effect of suppression.

b. Language of Violence

Language of violence actually entails more sophisticated elements than swearing words or angry yells, making the Pinteresque sexual fights more like a contest of wits.

Similar to the gestures, language of violence carries the same appeal but through the

expressions of words, more ideology of male dominance is embraced in it. The

intricate changes of the tones, the ways words are uttered as well as the texts in each

speech gives it an extra aura of intension and aggression. It does not necessarily

comprise terms of intimidation, but malignance is lying in wait in discussion of common subjects—as Francesca Coppa observes, “Menace depends on ignorance; the terror of it stems from the vagueness of the threat” (Raby 52). Being subtle and complicated, the male characters possessed of the power emit in the language the ingredient of suspense, which is persistent until it achieves its goal to make other roles surrender, female or male. In the following I am going to analyze several plays to make clear some elements and changes of language exclusive for the Pinteresque males.

Night School—A Violent Connotation to Turn Defeat into Victory?

Walter in Night School is a quintessential model who is eager to establish his power relations. At his early entrance on the stage as a prisoner released again, he works hard to build an image of a person of popularity welcomed by his aunts and who knows the skills of socialization well. After giving out compliments on the cakes and the place, Walter shows his love for them by “bringing some chocolates”

(187). He then inquires after every tiny thing in the house, “What’s the matter with the curtain?”(187), and their old friend, Mr. Solto as another indication of his concern for the family, “How’s Mr. Solto” (188)? From appearance, he is a caring person.

However, before long it proves to be simply a trick of his to pave his road back

“home”. After all, after nine months of absence at home again, Walter needs to gauge his “remaining” power through the inspection of every small incident that may leak out some warning messages so as to contrive his next measures. No sooner had he paid his regards than he insinuated to ask about the condition of his room:

Walter(sighing). Ah, you know, I’ve been thinking for months…you know

what?…months…I’ll come back here…I’ll lie on my bed…I’ll see the

curtains blowing by the window…I’ll have a good rest, eh? (188) What follows next is his financial plan on Mr. Solto, “I’m going to ask him to lend me some money” (188). To Walter’s disappointment, his bearing devises are manifested failure soon. As a matter of fact, after being in and out of the jail, Walter has lost his clout and accountability in the family however hard he contrives to recuperate it. As an instance, after notifying him of the let room, whatever protests Walter makes, his aunts refuse to yield to him the room, which is a symbol of his power and therefore which he expects to sleep in with nothing being changed, including the “curtains”.

The loss of his room is equivalent to the announcement of deprivation of his power in the house and vice versa. Feeling mortified and humiliated, Walter holds himself back, only slams the table and groans resentfully, “If only I could get my room back! I could get settled in, I could think, about things” (203)! To make things worse, he cannot make it in borrowing money from Mr. Solto, which he is confident to succeed in at the start. Solto rebuffs his pleading, “Two hundred here, three fifty-five there—what do you think I am, a bank manager” (202)?

Though failing to attain what he wants in the beginning, nevertheless, a man of subtlety like Walter who knows the techniques of “survival” would not burst into anger impulsively because he always comprehends the best ways to benefit himself.

He knows when to yield and when not as long as there are things he can exploit.

Hence except some muffling annoyance, Walter dares not lose his temper on his aunts who offer him staples and lodging. While keeping courting favor from his aunts, he turns to Sally, the stranger, to emit his vexation, where his threatening language would not spare, “You’ve take my room. . .There’s a put-u-up downstairs” (197).

Neglecting Sally’s pleading, Walter proceeds to expel her from “his” room:

Sally. I don’t trust those things, do you? I mean, this is such a lovely bed.

Walter. I know it is. It’s mine. (197)

The straightforward manner of his words brings a sense of arbitrary violence

demanding right compliance. The terseness in his language that produces uneasiness and awkwardness, which come up to some verbal threats to chase her out, expresses his detestation of the “incomer” and indicates the outbreak of his emotion any time to hurt her. Walter’s disgust and hostility speed to the full when he enters the room to look for his case:

Walter. Look at those frills. Frills…all over the place. Bloody dolls’ house.

My damn room. (198)

Nevertheless, Walter’s attitude changes abruptly right after he leaves the room, holding a photo of Sally in a night club which might adumbrate her secret identity.

He turns extremely polite, “I’m sorry I disturbed your…evening” (198).

As a matter of fact, Walter has felt quite pent-up after he comes home.

Everything goes against his mind. The adorable affection his aunts feel for Sally as well as the fact that she has his room seems to suggest that Sally has taken his place at home. It is little wonder Walter is furious and immediately bears hostility toward her.

Nonetheless, in the meanwhile Walter’s reaction reflects his helplessness about his present situation. Failing to claim anything, he has neither room nor money.

Feeling unreconciled to fall petty, Walter, in the beginning, wants to grab back his room as an exhibition of his power, but Sally’s photo gives him better counters in the power game. Holding the Achilles' heel of Sally, Walter, who thus stands in an advantageous place, is confident of his strength, waiting to vanquish her at any time.

Aggression naturally replaces hostility.

What deserves to be noticed here is the purpose of the aggression. It is not to

oust Sally, but, by contraries, is to make her stay, because settling Sally under his

power structure guarantees his status in the family. More than that, Walter may

make a profit from her due to the other identity of Sally—a night-club girl. Feeling

self-assured of the highly possibility of his success of extortion, Walter takes his time

to “catch” her and thus unlike the impulsive language attack he takes at the start, his assault moves become intriguing. His language, most importantly, is varied with dominantly mystical aura as if he already put the “captive” in his bag and such self-confidence constitutes more violence and dangers.

At the second round of their encounter, Walter conducts four changes of tones in a dominant manner, much baffling Sally, who, at first, is stupefied, and later is

alarmed. Although she manages to cool down Walter’s heat, in some way Sally loses at the second game.

First of all, Walter overshadows his intention with extreme hospitality of wine, courting friendly response with the excuse that they have to live together as

roommates in the future. He half-forces Sally to drink as a sign of make-up by filling up her glass coercively despite Sally’s clarification of her non-drink stance, true or false:

Walter. Do you drink?

Sally. Oh, not really. . .

Walter. But you’ll have a drop of this?. . .I’ve got them.

Sally. All prepared, eh? He opens the bottle and pours. (206)

Afterwards, during the talk, Walter, time and again, adopts the same forceful mode of pouring drink and gestures her to swallow it, which is his first step to demand Sally’s obedience and which Sally can resists little since Walter is “prepared” to be a

“cordial” friend:

Walter. Well, it’s cozy in here. Have another one.

Sally. Oh, I…

Walter (pouring). Just one. (207)

On the part of Sally, she appears quite at a loss as to what Walter wants from her.

Under bewilderment she obeys his toasts of drink temporarily while keeping an eye

on the ongoing of the situation. Following the drink issue, Walter goes on pressing

further to petrify her. This time, he switches to another one to enhance his

“fire-power”, trying to overwhelm her by two contrasting qualities—his potential perils and his attraction, which, on the one hand, aims to make a bluff, and on the other, to pacify her to surrender automatically. To adumbrate the macho danger his fierce inclination would bring as his “gallantry”, Walter notes, “I’m a

gunman. . .there’s plenty of worse occupations. You are not frightened of me now you know I’m a gunman, are you” (207)? The more he says a gunman is nothing to be afraid of, the more deliberate his intention is to set up the aura of his dangers in order to distinguish his power more. After giving information of his pillage history, Walter brags his charm and talents as a display of his “amicability”:

Walter. That’s why I got on so well in prison, you see. Charm. . .I was the best librarian they ever had. The day I left the Governor gave me a personal send-off. . .He told me that if I’d consider giving up armed

robbery he’d recommend me for a job in the British Museum.

(207-208)

Here, Walter wants not only to impress her with his capability but also to ensnare her with his unparalleled charisma. In other words, he continuously stresses the

prominent future his genius is sure to bring as a bait to make Sally stay by him. Yet it all the more depicts Walter’s eagerness to win her in a short time—as a way to prove himself. As for Sally’s part here, she resumes herself from the panic-stricken state at the second stage, composed in socializing with Walter with short but

complying answers such as “No, I think you are charming” (207) and “I should think that’s quite a skilled job” (208). Compared to Walter’s lecture-like talk, Sally’s terse replies indicate a state of pondering. She watches closely what will happen next because Sally has no idea of Walter’s intention on her up to the present situation.

Subsequently Walter pushes to unfold his “foreseeable” capability as his

mysterious power, hinting his “danger” to catch her at any time and definitely Sally is

scared to be seen through:

Walter. You’re a Northerner?. . . I can tell the accent.

Sally. I thought I’d lost it…

Walter. There’s something in your eyes too. You only find it in Lancashire girls. . . (209)

He then moves closer to Sally, asking “You seem a bit uncomfortable with me. Why’s that?” (209). To deepen Sally’s fear and to crash her defense, Walter goes on with his “gentle” attack, “Why’s that, then? You seem a bit uneasy” (209), and pushes her to drink again. After barrels of attacks, Walter swerves his policy again, which is proved not too successful because he exposes his intention to retain her and loses the feeling of suspension, “I think they think they’ve found me a wife” (209) and which Sally immediately gets the whole picture and stops her fear. He seduces and flirts with her candidly and unilaterally decides Sally must fall in love with her as well:

Walter. Thinking about me last night?

Sally. You?

Walter. . . . I bet you are thinking about me now.

Sally. Why should I be?

Walter. I’m thinking about you. Pause. . .to tell you the truth, I’m still looking for Miss Right. (211)

After all the toil, when there is no more shocking response from Sally, who coldly replies, “could we?” (211), Walter knows his attitude should turn hard again, forcing her to obey again, with imperative commands:

Walter. Sit down.

Sally. What?

Walter. Sit down. (Pause.) Cross your legs.

Sally. Mmmmm?

Walter. Cross your legs. Pause. Uncross them. Pause. Stand up. Pause. Turn round. Pause. Stop. Pause. Sit down. Pause. Cross your legs. Pause.

Uncross your legs. (211-212)

Such violence in language naturally gives Sally a fright “again”. Though Sally

obeys, his aim to vanquish her fails in the end for she leaves the next day. Walter’s

bold move without doubt successfully ambushes Sally’s defense, yet at the same time

raises her alert. As I have discussed in the last chapter, in order to keep herself from the commotion, Sally chooses to leap out of the game, leaving Walter in amazement.

From a perspective, though Walter fails to hold her in control, he, at least, holds an advantageous position for some moment, and has his room back again.

The Homecoming—The Linguistic Violence in a Scuffle

The power game in The Homecoming is chaos with all the male roles pitting the role of the family host against each other. Among them, Lenny is the cruelest and the fiercest one, breaking down the defense of others with poignant buffets on their weak points. Therefore, before Ruth comes, the power stratum in the family is almost set, no matter how unwilling Max or other members are to submit. Ruth’s showing up flares up the bellicosity in all of them. Everyone is keen to vanquish Ruth’s defense and makes her his “subject”. In other words, her appearance

intensifies the dramatic tension more, causing the effect of power re-shuffle. What’s odd is that, in the end, not much of the power order is changed but everyone, except Lenny, seems very content with the arrangement.

In the play, as a matter of fact, every male role makes effort to gain the

dominant status at home. For instance, Max, the old father who has lost supremacy

due to senility, is the first one trying hard to reclaim his “authority”. He manages to

get his power by holding onto the position of “Father” and by insulting others, which,

in a rough sense, could be called “violent language” because in his talks, if they are

not of paternal lecturing tone, they are full of acrimony, malignance, or threats. As

soon as the play begins, there is conflict between Lenny and his father, Max. Having

been insulted by Lenny, Max threatens him with his stick, saying "Don't you talk to

me like that. I'm warning you" (15). Before long, to give out further intimidation,

Max adds, “Listen! I’ll chop your spine off, you talk to me like that! You understand”

(17)? However, nothing comes of these threats. Facing Sam, his younger brother, Max is even more scornful. He mocks and doubts Sam’s reputation as a taxi driver,

“What you been doing, banging away at your lady customers, have you?” (22) Whatever Sam answers, Max would retort with disdain, making an imposing manner to press Sam under his dominion. Max then ensues to “exert” his authority by warning Sam, “As soon as you stop paying your way here. . .I’m going to give you the boot” (27). Yet Sam in no time reminds him it is their parents’ which he has no rights to do so and in return, jabs the “power” balloon Max blows for himself. As for his manners with Joey, Max lectures with the tone of a father so as to demonstrate his authority, “I’ll tell you what you’ve got to do. What you’ve got to do is you’ve got to learn how to defend yourself, and you’ve got to learn how to attack” (25). Max talks as if he were an expert imparting professional tactics. However, his direction that asks Joey to learn “defense and attack” in boxing is next to rubbish. There is no way here to exhibit his power; instead, he exposes his ignorance, courting more contempt for him. Consequently, though Max grabs each opportunity to declare his prerogative, and also his language is rather menacing and tempestuous, in the end, because nothing ensues after his verbal threats, for the other members, Max is nothing more than a quacking dotage whose power can only be traced back in the old good times.

When it comes to Joey, he is definitely the strongest physically among them as a

boxer. However, his problem lies in his non-confidence in himself though Joey is

somewhat desirous of holding the dominion over the family. He always talks loudly

in the beginning but turns timid afterwards. For instance, Joey gives a hint of his

physical strength, “I’ve been training with Bobby Dodd. Pause. And I had a good go

at the bag as well. Pause. I wasn’t in bad trim” (25). It may produce some power for

Joey when he announces his identity as a boxer but his “pauses” make known his hesitation of diffidence in himself. The rape that he and Lenny commit is another evidence of his physical strength. They "told the ... two escorts ... to go away" (75) and then they "got the girls out of the car" (75). Nevertheless, his insufficiency in brainpower and confidence fails him again. As an online reference points out, “his violence is undermined by his lack of intelligence. He cannot even tell his own story without omitting what Lenny considers to be "the best bit"

(http://www.dreamdust.co.uk/work/homecoming.html). Throughout the description of the incident, Joey speaks with great uncertainty though he clearly wants to show some of his ability. He even needs Lenny to help him utter each sentence:

Lenny. The Last bird! When we stopped the car…

Joey. Oh, that…yes…well, we were in Lenny’s car one night last week…

Lenny. The Alfa.

Joey. And er…bowling down the road…. (75)

Without delicate plotting, Joey’s physical strength is equivalent to imbecility. He is, at best, a chessman in a game, maneuvered by the players.

As for Teddy and Sam, they are different from the rest of the family. The online Dreamdust notes, “They are calmer and more passive in their ways of striving for the

man of the family” (http://www.dreamdust.co.uk/work/homecoming.html). Both of them stand for nice images of the domestic men, who are mild, helpful and

responsible in the family. They use civilized ways to talk with the family, hoping the family would listen. Yet such civility is too meek to be valued and hence their opinions are never taken seriously. To put it in another way, the nature of their characters is the detrimental to their intention, preventing them from controlling.

Neither Teddy nor Sam is able to exert much power over the other members of the family. Teddy even lacks the power to bring back his wife to America with him.

Although many of the characters try to exert power, none of them, except Lenny,

gets his purpose. Lenny has the combination of the physical power, wits and guts.

He is also good at plotting, which is part of his capability in employing language to help him produce the aura of violence. Bodily violence or impulsive nature itself only can never lead to obedience from others because such corporal force is often counter-balanced by other male characters in the play. Genuine language of violence emits a kind of verbal cruelty that petrifies the enemy in an inexpressive

psychological vibration.

Of all the characters in The Homecoming, Lenny is the only role who masters such skills of mental affliction, managing delicate equilibrium between bodily strength and acute raids of each speech. He is also charged with strong will of aggression that demands the adversaries to bow before him at once. In addition, he is deft in different ways of dealing with different personalities, which illustrates the agility of his tactics.

In the opening scene of the play, Lenny’s authoritatively indifferent manner has told the audience of his place in the family. Facing Max’s hysterical yelling, Lenny does not care to make a response. It is after a long while of Max’s whimpering

“monologue” that Lenny opens up his mouth to stop him, “Plug it, will you, you

stupid sod, I’m trying to read the paper” (17). The terse swearwords of Lenny carry

a sense of impatience with a disdainful tone as one would often react when he is

chasing away a disturbing gnat humming around his ears. Apparently, Lenny pays

little attention to his old father and even the newspaper weighs more than Max. His

purposeful negligence of Max is the most merciless silent language of violence,

building an impression that Max is not even qualified to be an adversary at all, which

aggravates Max all the more. In addition to the silent violence, the short comment

Lenny gives Max transmits some holding back of his temper and warns Max against

crossing his line considering the consequences. The subtle balance of power is thus

set up between Lenny and Max, which Max himself would not dare to break.

Regarding Lenny’s relationship with Joey, he plays the role of a big brother, giving Joey a hand and showing his concern all the time. He makes an impression of intimacy and reliability by coaxing Joey, “Joey, you tell tour brother everything” (73).

As Joey is stuck in a dilemma as to the way to amaze his family, Lenny saves him from the embarrassment, “Tell him about the last bird you had, Joey” (74). In other words, Lenny provides a sense of safety and accountability for Joey, which he can hardly acquire from other members in the family. However, Lenny’s caring for Joey would rather be thought as a trick to attain his power than as an act of fraternity because, except for making the conversation easier for Joey, Lenny has little respect for Joey’s feelings or opinions. Under Lenny’s surveillance, what Joey says is corrected or supplemented. Without his approval, Joey cannot act as he wishes.

For example, although Lenny asks Joey to give a description of the rape, he keeps intervening. At last, Lenny even concludes, “You’ve missed out the best bit” (75) as censure for Joey’s ill job of elaboration. Moreover, as Joey protests repeatedly, “I don’t want to share her” (80), Lenny ignores him. It is only until Lenny goes beyond his patience that he answers back with his malicious language, “I’ve got a very

distinguished clientele, Joey. They’re more distinguished than you’ll ever be” (81).

Again, Lenny uses the same trick to deal with Joey as what he does to Max. Lenny’s short comment on Joey’s objection implies his running short of tolerance as well as his coming violence. The “more distinguished than you’ll ever be” suggests his actual feeling toward Joey—contempt, which denotes that he barely expects that Joey can accomplish anything or be some big person. The insinuation of a loser easily squashes Joey’s confidence, which is difficult to set up, and works effectively to make Joey shut up. Thereafter, Joey stops yelling and listening to Lenny’s arrangement.

In short, Lenny’s kindness is an appearance to make Joey affiliate to and obey him.

He demands “obedience”. Lenny may be, or manages to be nice when the other members are yielding. Otherwise, his violence and acridity emerge to attack. He is always all set to be merciless if his family members do not listen.

Now that Lenny is so ready in respect of his power in the family, “intruders” as Teddy and Ruth just arouse Lenny’s bellicosity to subjugate them instantly as another demonstration of his clout. Lenny encounters little difficulty in beating Teddy whose gentle nature makes him appear a weakling in the struggle of power. Teddy shrinks and panics when he senses the hostility and challenges from Lenny:

Lenny. . . .What do you teach?

Teddy. Philosophy.

Lenny. Well, I want to ask you something. Do you detect a certain logical incoherence in the central affirmations of Christian theism?

Teddy. That question doesn’t fall within my province. (59)

The question is by far an uncomplicated one that can be answered with little effort even if Teddy were not a professor since Lenny simply uses it to confront Teddy.

Therefore, any response would be better than Teddy’s cowardly elusion to say it is not his specialty. Afterwards, while Lenny pushes him to answer, Teddy merely answers,

“I’m afraid I’m the wrong person to ask” (60). His behavior is actually a form of surrender to Lenny metaphorically. As a scholar, Teddy should be petrified by a pimp’s simple question. Lenny’s aggression definitely has thwarted Teddy. To put it in another way, Teddy is, thus, not actually shocked by the casual inquiry, but by Lenny’s domineering manner. Feeling the forthcoming of Lenny’s threats, Teddy’s instant response is to take Ruth back to America as soon as possible, “Well, we were here for only a few days, weren’t we? We might as well…cut it short, I think” (62).

Yet since he lacks the guts, he loses even his wife. At last, without any slight resistance, Teddy bows before Lenny and goes back to America alone.

Although Lenny meets no problem in commanding his family, Ruth is a hard

person for him to handle. At his first sight with her, Lenny starts his barrels of attacks, trying to establish a dominant position in relation to Ruth. His first step is to debase her and shatter her self-value. Thus, Lenny arbitrarily judges Ruth’s identity as some mistress to Teddy, “You must be connected with my brother in some way”

(36). In spite of Ruth’s clarification of herself as Teddy’s wife, Lenny insists on doubting her and asking twice if Ruth happens just to “sort of live with him over there” (37). Whatever and however she justifies herself to be, Lenny hints Ruth, according to his discernment, is no better than a whore, who is easy for a pimp like him to do with. He then ensues to thwart Ruth with his inclination for cruelty such as a good kill in an army, “I’d almost certainly have gone through it with my

battalion” (38). To enhance the accountability of his violence so as to stupefy Ruth, the innocent house-wife in his first-sight opinion, Lenny gives substantial life

examples of his aggressive behaviour towards women to boast of his familiarity with an underworld of corruption and violence. In this way, again, violence and his language are intermingled, indicating his potential of destruction whenever he likes—if Ruth disobeys his will.

Lenny. Well, this lady was very insistent and started taking liberties with me down under this arch, liberties which by any criterion I couldn’t be expected to tolerate, the fact being what they were, so I clumped her one. . .It was on my mind at the time to do away with her, you know, to kill her. . .so I just gave her another belt in the nose and a couple of turns of the boot and sort of left it at that. (39)

Feeling certain Ruth must be frightened after a succession of “horror attack”, Lenny acts boldly, ready to take over his latest quarry, “Do you mind if I hold your hand?”

(38). Nevertheless, to his astonishment, not fluttered at all, Ruth composedly asks him, “Why” (38)? More shockingly to Lenny, Ruth takes action to fight back while Lenny behaves more rudely to tackle her. Ruth not only calls him the name

“Leonard” which is only used by his mother and which makes him feel like a spoilt

child, but also plays him around by pretending to seduce him, suddenly letting go of him and perplexing him a lot. Lenny’s language-of-violence strategy meets some frustration with Ruth and therefore, he maintains silence for a while, waiting for the right timing to initiate fights again. Lenny would take every chance to get back at Ruth after being insulted by her. Keeping alert, the moment he is certain of Ruth’s staying, Lenny jumps out to guide all the arrangement again. His intention is clear.

Lenny would do everything to destroy Ruth, displaying his true power in the family.

Therefore, as the family are fidgeting about the cost Ruth may cause, Lenny interrupts:

Lenny. There’s no need for us to go to all this expense. I know these women.

Once they get started they ruin your budget. I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t I take her up with me to Greek Street? (80)

In other words, Lenny proposes to sell Ruth to the hooker market, which would reverse his disadvantaged position, manipulating Ruth as one of the whores under his hand. Lenny obviously feels conceited about himself, because at the end of the play while other members gather around Ruth to get her attention, only Lenny stands and watches the whole scenario as if a vulture hovering above the sky kept an eye on his prey. Yet on the other hand, Lenny’s silence in the end is also an implication of his plotting again. He is watching Ruth and devising his next steps because, as a matter of fact, his strategy may draw somewhat a match of balance between his war and Ruth but that does not follow he wins. Though there are chances of his controlling Ruth because he arranges Ruth’s job, yet, at the end, it is Ruth who gets the final attention of the whole family. Hence, Lenny’s standing position actually opens up a world of possibilities for the play.

Observing the various performances on the male side, I induce some common traits of masculine in gender plays that tell them apart from those in early period.

For one part, they have, more or less, adjusted their state of mind since the

impendence of a new era has been inevitable and they recognize the necessity for a change. Therefore, men in gender issues discard extremity of life-death fights and absolute contempt against female ones. In facing feminine leads, Pinteresque men restrain pride as well as eruption of tempers and perform comprehensive rationality.

What’s more, male characters have learned to fight with “tactics” instead of “fists”.

The use of collective power illustrates their progress from barbarian wrestles. They have got tips of new “tricks” to survive in a new world. Thus violence here does not necessarily have to be an action but the “strategic attitude”. On the one hand, they sustain the aura of violence to force upon feminine. On the other, by ridding of the behavior, Pinteresque males try to legitimate and justify themselves as the authentic dominators. In short, their tactics may be considered the “the carrot and the stick”

operation.

Nevertheless, whereas Foucault’s “Panopticon theory” responds to the

phenomenon in the society, the use of collective ideological male dominance does not fully reign over Pinteresque female leads, though it has apparently acquired some power to counterbalance the rising female power. In addition to the female defiance, mostly the root is their unready mindset now that they have fallen from the absolute throne of dominance to an arena of a power “pull and drag” game in which they are competitors. It also explains the reason why not every one of them is practiced in employing the skills as they are still undergoing a rough transition. Under the unstable state, Pinteresque males seem to have a long way to go before they take back their “regime”.

As both sides continue battles with their innate advantages on their own, they

share a tactic—“pretense”. In the next chapter, I am going to elaborate on the faked

interaction.