Authenticity vs. Originality Theme Analysis

In the alternate reality presented in The Man in the High Castle, Germany and Japan have won World War II and colonized the United States. In the Japanese half of the country (the Pacific States of America, or PSA), Japanese settlers highly prize American “antiques”—from valuable Civil War guns to seemingly throwaway milk bottle-tops. As the antiques market grows, more and more forgeries are being discovered—and the fakes themselves are usually functional and beautiful, even if they are inauthentic. Moreover, nearly half of the novel’s major characters assume false names, personas, and backgrounds, casting doubt on the authenticity of the characters’ identities. As the characters struggle to differentiate between the real and the fake, the entire concept of authenticity comes into question. In critiquing this focus on what is “authentic,” The Man in the High Castle suggests that when societies seek to verify old trinkets or customs, they trap themselves in an unknowable past. Only by seeking to create—by crafting new ideas and objects valued for their artfulness and originality—can a society look toward the future.  

Though many of the characters are obsessed with the idea of authenticity (or “historicity”), the novel makes clear that such ideas are unreliable and borderline absurd. Many of the objects or traditions that the Japanese consider “authentically” American are in fact trivial or stereotypical. Trade representative Tagomi, for example, treats a low-quality Mickey Mouse watch as a valuable artifact, and housewife Betty boasts of buying “authentic” American products like Coca-Cola. The Japanese colonizing forces have rushed to replicate the culture they have colonized without actually establishing any sort of cross-cultural relationship. Accordingly, Tagomi and Betty’s claims to “authentic” American-ness are more about bragging rights than a deep understanding of how Coca-Cola or Mickey Mouse function in American life. The idea of “authenticity” is thrown more directly into question when factory owner Wyndham-Matson shows his mistress Rita two identical Zippo lighters. One belonged to Franklin D. Roosevelt (and is therefore priceless), while one is just a normal lighter; the only way to distinguish between the two is a piece of paper declaring one of them “authentic.” Wyndham-Matson therefore claims that “the word ‘fake’ meant nothing really, since the word ‘authentic’ meant nothing really”— “authenticity” comes from people’s minds, not from objects. And the novel emphasizes that such concepts of authenticity are equally absurd when applied to identity. Plastics expert Baynes, frustrated with a Nazi artist he meets on a rocket trip, tells the man that he is actually Jewish—but he has had his “nose altered, [his] large greasy pores made smaller, [his] skin chemically lightened.” The Nazis were famous for racial purity tests, but Baynes’ claim that he has eradicated all physical traces of Judaism suggests the superficiality of such tests, especially in an era of increasing technology. But more than that, the novel never affirms or denies Baynes’ ethnicity, leaving the reader with an open question—and with the sense that identity is too complex to ever be “authenticated.”

Moreover, some of the so-called “inauthentic” objects are nevertheless useful and beautiful—just as some of the people using assumed (fake) identities are doing so for necessary reasons. To forge Colt .44s, metalworker Frank needs a plastic mold, but he also needs time, labor, and great skill; he reflects that one day, “the fakes [will] undermine the value of the real.” In fact, the people at the University of California charged with authenticating the fake guns are more impressed by the craftsmanship than they are horrified at the forgery. And because the fakes themselves have such artistic merit, the “real” things become both less rare and less unique. Even more confusingly, the fake guns are almost indistinguishable from real guns—and just as effective. When Tagomi fires his (likely fake) antique Civil War gun, he is able to kill two men. In this remarkable moment, a counterfeit object fulfills the purpose it was made for. The Man in the High Castle thus forces its audience to reckon with the difference between authenticity (measured in papers and scholarly pronouncements) and reality (measured in actions and consequences). The novel’s most pivotal exchange of information—in which the Japanese learn of the Nazis’ plan to drop a nuclear bomb on Japan—is made possible by false identities. Baynes is actually Rudolf Wegener, a German dissident and spy; his mysterious elderly colleague is in reality General Tedeki, an important Japanese policymaker. But under the dangerous eyes of the Nazis, these two men cannot meet as themselves. More than just questioning the concept of authenticity, then, the novel even posits that deception is sometimes necessary to dodge broken, totalitarian systems.

Ultimately, then, The Man in the High Castle suggests that rather than focusing on authenticity, societies should value creativity and originality. Tagomi, inspired by the Edfrank pieces’ strange novelty, reflects that the artist’s job is to bring “the dead to life”; in Edfrank’s jewelry, “the past had yielded to the future.” Similarly, antiques dealer Childan reflects that art possesses a great deal more longevity than even life itself. While the characters’ focus on authenticity traps them in the pre-war past, art and creation allow them to imagine a more hopeful “future.”  Juliana—whose commitment to forging ahead closes the novel—reflects that humans can similarly reinvent themselves, emerging anew as if “created out of nothing.” The novel demonstrates that in order to cope with changing political and personal circumstances, most people will have to abandon their self-conceptions, whether that is Baynes shrinking his pores or Frank changing his name. Even Juliana, who does not alter anything drastic about herself, gradually becomes capable of thoughts and actions she would never have thought possible at the beginning of the novel. Rather than holding people and objects accountable to backwards-looking notions of “authenticity,” The Man in the High Castle advocates for creation, invention, and change.