Tales of the City

“‘This city loosens people up.’” 

After the first chapter introduces Mary Ann and her desire for change, the second reinforces the notion of the city as a place with transformative powers. Mary Ann meets with Connie. Though she was never exactly like Connie (who had been far more popular), Mary Ann is from the same town and even from the same school. They are from the same demographic background, but Connie is already in the process of being “loosened up” by the city. Her attitudes towards drugs, sex, and talking about these topics have become more liberal, and she gently teases Mary Ann about this. When Mary Ann tries to reply with a joke of her own, it backfires, and she insults Connie. Mary Ann will still have to learn the social boundaries which exist in San Francisco. 

“‘Jesus,’ she said in a frosty whisper, as a single tear plopped onto a box of Sara Lee brownies.” 

Connie tries to introduce Mary Ann to the dating culture in the city. Their first attempt—heading to a bar—ends with Mary Ann leaving early, so Connie recommends they try a supermarket. They head to the Marina Safeway, a famed local hookup spot. While there, Mary Ann’s first interaction is with a man who chases her along the aisles, asking whether she likes Chinese cooking. By the time he leaves Mary Ann alone, she is standing in the frozen foods section, bent over a “box of Sara Lee brownies” (19) as a single tear rolls down her face and onto the product. For someone who was hoping to experience the transformative effects of the city, these first two attempts have been nothing short of disastrous. The frostiness of Mary Ann’s whisper is reflected in her surroundings; the pathetic fallacy of the frozen foods adding to the chilled notes in her voice. The presence of Sara Lee—an American staple famed for its simplicity and its ubiquity rather than its quality—also hints at her bad fortune to come. Sexual encounters might well be ubiquitous, simple to obtain, and lacking in quality, but they will be far from nutritious. This issue is further compounded when Robert, the next man she meets (and briefly flirts with), turns out to be gay. Only five chapters into the novel, Mary Ann is struggling to come to terms with the true nature of the city. 

“‘Abstinence causes pimples.’” 

The extent to which San Francisco differs from small town America is evident in this short quote. Elsewhere in the country, the pearls of wisdom handed out in idiom form typically represent traditional (almost to the point of being conservative) received knowledge. In San Francisco, these expectations are turned on their head. Connie repeats the phrase to Mary Ann as though she has heard it a hundred times; Mary Ann has never heard it before, as she (sarcastically) makes a point of remembering it. The reversal of small patterns of speech such as this demonstrates the different moral values which are esteemed in San Francisco compared to—for example—Cleveland. 

“‘Garbage, you know, is very revealing. It beats the shit out of tarot cards.’” 

The introduction of Mona Ramsey provides the first real insight into the other tenants who live in Mrs. Madrigal’s house. Though the landlord herself has been introduced, the other tenants are still unknown to Mary Ann. It is almost fitting that she meets Mona while doing one of the least glamorous activities possible: taking out the garbage. Amid this unglamorous activity, Mona is able to display her wit. She jokes about the revealing nature of one’s trash, and she is able to make Mary Ann laugh. This is important for two reasons: firstly, it illustrates Mona’s wit and her insight, exactly the skills which have made her a successful copywriter; secondly, it shows Mary Ann that not everyone she meets in San Francisco will be unlikeable. Thus far, she has had bad luck with meeting people, but the introduction of Mona—and, eventually through Mona, Michael—will help her forge the kind of friendships she wanted when she decided to move to San Francisco. 

“She liked Beauchamp Day, actually, despite his irresponsibility. She may have even liked him for his irresponsibility.” 

As interesting, witty, and friendly as Mona is, Beauchamp is the character who catches Mary Ann’s attention the most. At this early stage of the novel, she finds herself growing suddenly infatuated. Though the relationship is doomed to fail, Mary Ann can already comprehend Beauchamp’s negative qualities and chooses to overlook them. In the quote above, she balances her carnal desires against her sensible analysis of his character and finds him wanting. However, she may like him “for his irresponsibility” (31). In other words, it is exactly these negative qualities which appeal to Mary Ann. Due to the nature of her desire to move west (wanting to change as a person), this infatuation with the rich, sophisticated, and thoroughly San Franciscan Beauchamp is easy to explain. Despite knowing better, Mary Ann is interested in Beauchamp precisely because he is a poor choice for a romantic interest. It is almost as though she wants to make the mistake and, until she does so, she will not understand how necessary the mistake is.  

“‘Nixon, Watergate, Patty Fucking Hearst, the Bicentennial. The Media got bored with 1967, so they zapped it.’” 

The novel is set in the 1970s, an era marked by a sharp snap back toward reactionary politics in comparison to the more progressive, more radical 1960s. Sat at a dinner party table with two unknown guests and Mrs. Madrigal, Mary Ann learns about how the hippie movement of the 1960s is not just dead, but was “‘killed’” by “‘The Media’” (42). As a 25-year-old who grew up in Cleveland, Mary Ann is divorced from the authentic hippie-orientated 1960s. She only knows her contemporary environment, so it falls on the people at the dinner table to explain it to her. The Media (capitalized in an attempt to make the media a single, cohesive force) sought to kill the progress made by those in San Francisco in the 1960s. The emergence of politicians, such as Nixon and Reagan, as well as the paranoia brought about by paradigm shifts like Watergate, wound back the progressions made during the 1960s. To Mary Ann, San Francisco still seems utopic to the point of being futuristic. To those who have been in the city longer, they are currently existing very much after the gold rush. 

“‘Single people can call the shots.’” 

When Mary Ann goes out for lunch with Beauchamp, there is an interesting power dynamic between the two. Mary Ann cannot help but be interested in the man who is not only married, but is also technically her boss. She admits to herself that she has “thought of nothing else all morning” (52). This places Mary Ann in a difficult predicament: She is becoming romantically involved in a situation in which the dynamic is very much not in her favor. She is the one who is becoming infatuated, Beauchamp has the power to take away her job, yet he sits across the table and tells her that she is among the people who is in control. Though Beauchamp insists that this is true, Mary Ann is ill-equipped to deal with the situation. She follows Beauchamp obediently into the affair, and it never seems as though she is the one driving the relationship between the two of them. It is not until much later, when the infatuation has ended, that the single Mary Ann Singleton will truly be in a position to call the shots. 

“‘You’re the same way, Mary Ann. Like this building. You should never know what you are […] or your magic will disappear.’” 

While Mary Ann is romantically interested in Beauchamp, comments such as this one reveal that he is treating her more as a novelty than a genuine love interest. Throughout their early courting, including the drive up to the cabin, there is a sense that Beauchamp has done all of this before. He is practiced in the art of conducting an affair. For him, Mary Ann is just the latest in a string of women who have helped to distract him from his boredom and ennui. He values her innocence and her optimism, which act as a tonic for his jaded hedonism. He might not be happy with their quarters, but Mary Ann’s willingness to live in the moment allows him to do the same vicariously, even if just for a short time. When Mary Ann realizes this, she will come to dislike Beauchamp. In this moment, she notices his comment without truly processing it. Much like the condition of their cabin, she hopes to focus on the positives. 

“In her opinion, the parrots were annoyingly arrogant. You could buy the most beautiful one in town, she observed, but that wouldn’t make it love you. You could feed it, care for it and exclaim over its loveliness, but there was nothing to guarantee that it would stay home with you.” 

In this excerpt, one of the earliest insights into DeDe’s character, she provides a thinly-veiled metaphor for her husband’s infidelity. The man she married is—in the metaphor—the equivalent of one of the parrots she sees around the city. He is well-regarded, attractive, and unfaithful. She is clearly the richer of the two parties in the marriage (as they are frequently borrowing money from her father), but no matter how much fiscal security she provides for Beauchamp (or how much she feeds him, in a metaphorical sense), there is no way that she will ever make him truly love her. That she is able to acknowledge and give voice to this idea provides the audience with an insight into DeDe’s character: she is not stupid. She might be vain and romantic, but DeDe is at least able to discern the truth about her husband better than most people. 

“The love he offered was deceitful, destructive, and dead-end.” 

A short time after returning from their weekend away, Mary Ann has a better reading of Beauchamp’s character. The innocence she exhibited when she first arrived in the city (and which Beauchamp found so alluring) is beginning to fade. Now, she can see the reality of her situation, which mirrors that of DeDe. She has come to recognize Beauchamp’s affection for what it is: “deceitful, destructive, and dead-end” (81). This learning process is a vital part of Mary Ann’s development as a character and as a resident of San Francisco. The emotional maturity she develops as a result of her failed fling with Beauchamp helps her to better navigate the difficult social waters of the city. 

“‘There’s no stability here. Everything’s too easy. Nobody sticks with anybody or anything because there’s always something just a little bit better waiting around the corner.’” 

As the novel approaches the midway point, Mary Ann has become disillusioned with what San Francisco has to offer. Her failed fling with Beauchamp and a string of antagonistic interactions have left her questioning whether she even belongs in the city. She arrived in the city as someone without local roots and without stability but, after a few months, deplores her inability to establish either. She complains about the nature of the locals to Michael, who is himself having a similar problem. While Mary Ann aims to deal with the problem by leaving San Francisco, Michael disagrees in the strongest possible terms. As a gay man, this is partly due to the freedoms afforded to him in San Francisco compared to elsewhere in America. However, it is also because everything Mary Ann valued about the city when she first arrived is still true: it is progressive, transformative, and truly unique. Mary Ann must see beyond her issues in order to rediscover what it was about San Francisco which so tempted her to move from Cleveland. 

“‘There ought to be an American Legion for pacifists.’” 

The chapter titled “Vincent’s Old Lady” gives some of the best insights into the atmosphere in San Francisco and how it contrasts with the 1960s. Vincent’s ex-girlfriend, his titular old lady, was deeply involved in the anti-war movement and spent a lot of her time protesting the Vietnam War. When the war finished, she lost her purpose in life. She was a fighter, in Vincent’s eyes, just as much as the soldiers who were actually in Vietnam. Just like those soldiers, she struggled to deal with integrating into society once she had won her battle. As Vincent describes, she tried a number of different causes, but none provided the same level of satisfaction. Existence after the heady peaks of the 1960s is not as gratifying or as satisfying, and many characters find themselves disillusioned with life. In the quote above, Vincent suggests that such people need a level of institutional support similar to the veterans returning from Vietnam.

“‘You didn’t choose Barbary Lane. It chose you.’” 

The relationship between Mrs. Madrigal and Mona is one of the most complicated in the book (and one which is only fully explained in the sequels). In this chapter, the two are enjoying a moment together, and Mona expresses her gratitude that she chose to live in Barbary Lane. Mrs. Madrigal corrects her, though does so with a slight mistruth. Mrs. Madrigal’s comment suggests that the apartment block has almost magical qualities and that it is able to choose its inhabitants and guide them inside almost like a lighthouse. As is revealed later in the book, Mona’s arrival at Barbary Lane was not entirely by chance. Mrs. Madrigal had been following Mona’s copywriting career, purposefully tracked her down, and made sure she moved into the apartment. The reason she gives later is that she found Mona’s work so striking that she felt compelled to bring her into the fold. While this takes away from the idea of the building itself as a kind of magical epicenter, it does imbue Mrs. Madrigal herself with many similar properties. She is all-knowing, determined, and seemingly working with a plan. Though the relationship between the two is incredibly complex, it is also one of the most fascinating in the book.

“He had stopped truckin’ a long time ago.” 

The novel is packed with many moments of wry irony. Vincent’s entire character could be considered a darkly humorous addition to the book, though he meets a tragic end. Part of Vincent’s role as the “last hippie” (170) is to provide a comedic element. He is a suicidal man who works at a suicide hotline, the last hippie who lives with very little joy or love in his live; he is a paradox. One of the best examples of his failure to reconcile the past and the present is the “Keep on Truckin’” poster. The poster itself is a familiar 1960s hallmark, popular almost to the point of cliché. It still hangs on Vincent’s wall, long after he has given up any chance of adhering to its mantra. Thus, the only way Vincent can reconcile his present self is to “stop truckin’,” to stop being the last hippie, and to join his fellow hippies in the past. He tears down the poster and, with it, tears down the last element of himself. By this point, his death is inevitable. Vincent dies and takes with him the last remnants of the hippie age. 

“‘We all lived in this lovely, enlightened kingdom that sank beneath the sea a long time ago. Now we’ve come back to this special peninsula on the edge of the continent […] because we know, in a secret corner of our minds, that we must return together to the sea.’” 

Mrs. Madrigal talks with Edgar about the nature of San Francisco. Once again, the city is imbued with an almost-magical quality. It has broadcast itself to the people around the country who are different and has drawn them toward the city. This, she explains, is because the people of San Francisco were all once citizens of Atlantis. While Atlantis itself sank beneath the sea, the residents have been drawn back to San Francisco to watch over the water on this “‘special peninsula’” (175). One day, they will all return to the sea together. This story combines elements of fate and mysticism, suggesting that there is some great unseen force which connects the people in the story. It also suggests that one day in the future, they will all meet their collective demise. They will sink back into the sea, a mystic event which will be accompanied by a real-world disaster: “‘[t]he earthquake’” (175) Edgar notes; even the uncultured old man has some innate understanding of that Atlantean spirit. 

“He had died as organically as possible.” 

Though Vincent’s death seems inevitable, the true tragedy is the effect it has on Mary Ann. It is another instance in which an element of her innocence and her optimism is slowly stripped away. Just like the aftermath of the affair with Beauchamp and her string of failed interactions with men, Mary Ann’s discovery of Vincent’s body is a shock to her system. The closing sentence of the chapter combines the bitter irony of Vincent’s existence with the wry detachment which is becoming more and more familiar to Mary Ann. The “organic” nature of Vincent’s death speaks to his status as the self-proclaimed last hippie, while reminding the reader that—no matter how spectacular his death—Vincent will be returning into the ground just like everyone else. 

“Would she ever stop feeling like a colonist on the moon?” 

The disconnect between Mary Ann’s character and the character of the city is one of the major focuses of the novel. Trying to reconcile this tension has led to Mary Ann’s detachment, her homesickness, and her failure to understand many of the other residents. Now, in the wake of Vincent’s suicide, she is reflecting on the way in which she simply does not seem to belong to San Francisco. To her, it is an alien world, a moonscape which is as distant and unknowable as a celestial body. In this world, Mary Ann feels like a colonist, an outsider who is settling down to try and extract wealth from the land. She feels as though she will never truly belong and is now—after a series of tragedies—able to give voice to these thoughts and feelings. This self-reflection is an important step in Mary Ann’s character development and will help her to understand what it means to live in San Francisco. 

“‘Why not? I’m a citrus grower, Alice. We raise fruits!’” 

With the book set entirely in San Francisco (a city in which the newest arrival is Mary Ann), the introduction of Michael’s parents serves to remind the audience of the wider nature of American society and how it contrasts with the more progressive ideals evidence in the west coast city. Throughout the time Michael’s parents spend in the city, there is a pervasive sense of dramatic irony: they are not aware of Michael’s sexuality and find themselves running into situations in which it might be rapidly and uncomfortably revealed. Michael wishes to keep this secret, so simply nods and smiles when his parents’ more archaic views are espoused. In the quote above, Michael’s father dabbles once again in homophobia. His frequent comments (and his inability to comprehend how they could be in any way negative) reveal the latent homophobia in American society, especially in areas which are not San Francisco. When he is placed into settings familiar to the readers and the characters of the book, this tension is palpable. Michael, fearful of his family discovering the truth, says nothing. Instead, he has to sit and listen to remarks which would otherwise cause offense, struggling to reveal his true identity to his parents while retaining their affection.

“‘Fine. Go get somebody else to knock you up.’

Throughout the course of the novel, Beauchamp has revealed himself to be something of a villain. One of his primary victims, DeDe, has been enjoying a recent Renaissance in their relationship. However, she is guarding a secret: not only is she pregnant, but she is pregnant with the baby of the Chinese delivery boy. Beauchamp, as revealed in this chapter, does not want children. This forces DeDe into a difficult position and one which an unaware Beauchamp treats with sneering sarcasm. He reveals that he could not possibly comprehend a world in which DeDe would do to him what he would not hesitate to do to her. Despite being DeDe’s husband, he is still unable to comprehend her as a fully-fledged person. His comment is designed to be patronizing but, with the dramatic irony inherent in what the audience already knows, the comment reveals Beauchamp to be something of a fool. 

“Her liberal consciousness, however, wouldn’t permit her to discard the issue.” 

The relationship between Mona and D’orothea is one of the most complicated in the book. Not only does it bring together questions of race and sexuality, but the time they have spent apart and the relationships which both share with their respective parents mean that trying to find contentment for either character is difficult. Mona confronts D’orothea about her parents anyway. D’orothea (who has her own reasons to remain estranged from her white parents) tells her to drop the subject but, as evidenced in the quote, Mona cannot quite bring herself to do that. Mona, herself a combative and sure-minded person, would resent another person involving themselves in the relationship between her and her mother, but Mona’s “liberal consciousness” (223) means she cannot help herself. It is the same kind of mindset which D’orothea pointed out in Brian, and it is one of the few ways in which the novel tackles ideas of race. However, given the nature of D’orothea and her relation to race, this minor inquisition is given an entirely different meaning by the time the novel ends. 

“Gay was not Good in OB/GYN.” 

Jon is introduced via Michael, and their relationship ends when he sees Michael debase himself in front of a large crowd. However, the thought of Michael stays with Jon even as he bounces around between relationships (including a brief fling with Beauchamp). Jon’s internal conflict seems to stem between the idea of gay culture, which surrounds him in the city of San Francisco, and the notion of being a respectable doctor. The above quote speaks to this conflict, using a sardonic quip to outline the difficulties which a gay man can still have while working in a chosen field. Sexuality affects even the more academic careers; as good a doctor as he is, his homosexuality will always be a factor in how he is regarded. This is, perhaps, why he tries to distance himself from much of the gay community; he resents the attachment and wishes to demark himself as being separate from the cultural identity of homosexuality. By the end of the book, however, he is more able to reconcile this conflict as he realizes that he cannot stop thinking about Michael. 

“She had moved, without so much as a skipped heartbeat, from the benevolent autocracy of Edgar to the spineless tyranny of Beauchamp Day.” 

The quote above is DeDe’s crowning moment of self-realization. Her situation is precarious: she is about to have a baby which does not just belong to a man who is not her husband, but to a different race; she has slept with a gossip columnist to keep news of her potential abortion quiet; her husband is cheating on her with men as well as women; and her father is—unknown to her—dying. At long last, DeDe realizes that she has failed to stand up for herself for her whole life. She understands that she needs to seize the initiative and bring an end to the manipulation and control which she has experienced her whole life. To demonstrate this, she makes a decision. She calls her doctor and tells him that she wishes to keep her baby. This decision may well haunt her and could bring an end to not just her marriage, but her social standing. DeDe does not care; she has finally understood the importance of stepping out of the shadow of the men in her life. The decision to have the baby is DeDe reclaiming her agency and asserting control over her own destiny. 

“Everything he did, in fact, seemed a hideous parody of the things she had once admired about him.” 

Mary Ann’s journey from a naïve, innocent girl from Cleveland to a true resident of San Francisco is never truly complete. Even when she begins to feel at home and as though she belongs in the city, her life is about to be rocked by the biggest revelation yet. The exposure of Norman as a pedophile and a child pornographer shows Mary Ann that a man she had once cared about could have been a loathsome, unpitiable monster. When she confronts Norman, she is not only confronting him about his crimes, but she is confronting herself and trying to determine how she could have been tricked by him. In this moment, she looks beyond the façade of his character and sees his true nature; those aspects of him that she once admired have become a “hideous parody” (258). Norman’s true nature is the final destruction of Mary Ann’s innocence and the final lesson she must learn; that she is now able to see beyond the veneer of respectability shows that Mary Ann has enjoyed the transformative effects of the city that she so craved at the beginning of the novel. In this moment, Mary Ann becomes a true resident of San Francisco. While her journey is far from typical, it equips her with the tools (the cynicism, the perception, and the understanding) needed to survive in the city.