Oryx, he says. I know you're there. He repeats the name. It's not even her real name, which he'd never known anyway; it's only a word. It's a mantra. Sometimes he can conjure her up. At first she's pale and shadowy, but if he can say her name over and over, then maybe she'll glide into his body and be present with him in his flesh, and his hand on himself will become her hand. But she's always been evasive, you can never pin her down. Tonight she fails to materialize and he is left alone, whimpering ridiculously, jerking off all by himself in the dark.
In this scene from "Oryx and Crake," the character attempts to summon Oryx, a figure from his past, through the repetition of her name. He acknowledges that it is not her real name but a representation of her essence, acting as a mantra that allows him to momentarily connect with her memory. This process is both spiritual and physical, as he yearns for her presence to fill the emptiness he feels. He hopes that through the act of invocation, Oryx can become a part of him, merging their identities even if just in his mind.
However, the effort proves futile as Oryx remains elusive, highlighting his profound loneliness. He is left in a state of vulnerability, engaging in a solitary act that underscores his desperation. The scene conveys a deep sense of isolation, where the character grapples with the absence of someone who once held significant meaning in his life. The emotional weight of the moment emphasizes themes of longing and the struggle to bridge the gap between memory and reality.
