Underworld

“Everything’s at the same time.”

As Cotter Martin rushes the turnstiles with the other boys, time seems to slow down and speed up at once. The delirious energy of the moment coalesces, to the point that everything seems to be happening at the same time. This feeling and this moment echo the structure of the novel as a whole. The nonlinear narrative illustrates how everything is happening at the same time, how events of the past color the future and the present.

“I don’t know about empty—planes that used to carry nuclear bombs, ta-da, ta-da, out across the world.”

The planes from the Cold War may no longer have their bombs. They may never have dropped their bombs. But they fascinate Klara because they are relics, invested with the apocalyptic destructive potential that was never released or resolved. They are unfired weapons, bristling with the memory of potency. By redecorating the planes, Klara hopes to recontextualize these weapons of war and show people that they are more than just drab gray skeletons that have been abandoned in the desert.

“I noticed how people played at being executives while actually holding executive positions.”

In his professional life, Nick notices how much of social interaction is actually a performance. People are so alienated from their societal roles that they “play at” being themselves. Just like Nick, they are struck by the nagging feeling that there is something unreal and performative about modern existence, yet they perpetuate this feeling with their cynical performance of what society expects them to be.