Through much of The Moviegoer, Binx appears to be, at best, a superficial philanderer who shows little consideration for women as individuals. In particular, Binx serially dates his secretaries, seeming not to regard them as distinct individuals but as almost interchangeable exemplars of feminine beauty. Through the (mainly physical) delight of such relationships, Binx hopes he will somehow find a shortcut to lasting happiness. However, his attempts inevitably founder because he doesn’t really know or care anything about these women as individuals; he’s only seeking his own pleasure, and as a result, he’s not assuming the risk of mutual commitment. Simultaneously, Binx’s care for his step-cousin Kate deepens, until they eventually agree to a loving yet unsentimental marriage, prompting Binx to drop his philandering ways. Through the progression of Binx’s attitudes toward women and dating, Percy argues that real love is deeper than superficial attraction, requiring self-sacrificial commitment to individuals, embracing their weaknesses as much as their beauty.
Binx mostly seems to use women for pleasure. He has dated most of his office secretaries, though none of these relationships lasts long or seems to have much substance. Reflecting on his serial relationships with his employees, such as his secretary Linda, Binx recalls, “The air in the office would begin to grow thick with silent reproaches. […] Telephone conversations would take place at all hours of the night, conversations made up mostly of long silences […] For in the end my Lindas and I were so sick of each other that we were delighted to say good-by.” Binx’s relationships are characterized by “silence,” whether the silence of unspoken rejection or of desire—but these initial silences eventually give way to the silence of indifference. Furthermore, Binx regards these women as interchangeable, categorizing them simply as “Lindas,” not as individuals with distinct traits.
When Binx goes on a spontaneous beach trip with his current secretary, Sharon, he describes the brief hope that he derives from their flirtation: “For an hour we swim and drink beer. Once when she gets up, I come up on my knees and embrace her golden thighs, such a fine strapping armful they are. ‘What do you think you're doing, boy?’” Sharon demands. “‘Honey, I've been waiting three weeks to grab you like this,’” Binx tells her. Sharon goes along with Binx’s amorous attentions for now, though she also makes it clear that she’s strong enough to put a stop to them when she chooses. Meanwhile, Binx takes it for granted that he will be able to fulfill his desires with the women who work for him and believes that Sharon will be the most satisfying of them all.
However, these serial, short-lived relationships never bring Binx what he’s longing for. On the way home from the date with Sharon, he finds that his brief, transcendent delight has vanished: “Sorrowing, hoping against hope, I put my hand on […] Sharon's thigh. She bats me away with a new vigor. ‘Son, don't you mess with me,” Sharon tells him this time. “‘Very well, I won't,’ I say gloomily, as willing not to mess with her as mess with her, to tell the truth.” Shortly afterward, Sharon tells Binx that she needs to get home so that she can meet her fiancé. The short-lived relationship has been a dead end the whole time, and Binx’s quickly fading desire (and Sharon’s “new vigor” in stopping him) seems to forecast this truth before it’s openly stated.
Binx only finds lasting love when he accepts that love demands commitment to another person’s well-being—and involves risk and self-giving as a result. When Binx finally commits to a single, long-term relationship (with his step-cousin Kate), it looks much different from his earlier flings. Kate, who suffers from anxiety and depression, finds comfort in a definite structure in life, and she sees marriage to Binx as a means of ensuring such a structure: “I don’t know whether I love you,” she tells Binx, “but I believe in you and I will do what you tell me. Now if I marry you, will you tell me: Kate, this morning do such and such, and if we have to go to a party, will you tell me: Kate, stand right there and have three drinks and talk to so and so? Will you?” Binx agrees, and this unconventional engagement marks the end of Binx’s serial, interchangeable relationships. In fact, when the pair tries to conclude this discussion by having sex, it doesn’t feel right, implying that their emotional intimacy outweighs all other attraction. This struggle symbolizes the ease of Binx’s flings giving way to the concrete challenges of a truly intimate relationship. Binx and Kate’s genuine love for each other means that they’ll have to confront the real risks involved in such commitment (especially Kate’s vulnerability and uncertainty).
As it turns out, Binx and Kate’s marriage takes shape in just this way. In the Epilogue, Binx describes how he coaxes Kate, now his wife, to complete an errand by describing exactly where she should go, what she should do, and how: “I've got to be sure about one thing,” Kate anxiously tells Binx. “What?” Binx asks. “I'm going to sit next to the window on the Lake side and put the cape jasmine in my lap?” Kate wants to know. “‘That's right.’ ‘And you'll be thinking of me just that way?’ ‘That's right.’” For Binx, who knows his cousin’s struggles intimately and savors beautiful images like streetcar rides with flowers in hand, caring for Kate’s unique needs comes naturally. Their tender exchange also suggests that Binx has matured beyond looking for an abstract ideal of beauty and individual satisfaction, now dedicating himself to Kate’s unique needs.
Women, Love, and Sex ThemeTracker
Women, Love, and Sex Quotes in The Moviegoer
The air in the office would begin to grow thick with silent reproaches. It would become impossible to exchange a single word or glance that was not freighted with a thousand hidden meanings. Telephone conversations would take place at all hours of the night, conversations made up mostly of long silences during which I would rack my brain for something to say while on the other end you could hear little else but breathing and sighs. When these long telephone silences come, it is a sure sign that love is over. No, they were not conquests. For in the end my Lindas and I were so sick of each other that we were delighted to say good-by.
Joy and sadness come by turns, I know now. Beauty and bravery make you sad […] and victory breaks your heart. But life goes on and on we go, spinning along the coast in a violet light […] We pull into a bay and have a drink under the stars. It is not a bad thing to settle for the Little Way, not the big search for the big happiness but the sad little happiness of drinks and kisses, a good little car and a warm deep thigh.
It was ten years ago that I last rode a train, from San Francisco to New Orleans, and so ten years since I last enjoyed the peculiar gnosis of trains, stood on the eminence from which there is revealed both the sorry litter of the past and the future bright and simple as can be, and the going itself, one's privileged progress through the world. But trains have changed. […] Our roomettes turn out to be little coffins for a single person. From time to time, I notice, people in roomettes stick their heads out into the corridor for some sight of human kind.
She takes the bottle. "Will you tell me what to do?"
“Sure."
"You can do it because you are not religious. God is not religious. You are the unmoved mover. You don’t need God or anyone else—no credit to you, unless it is a credit to be the most self-centered person alive. I don’t know whether I love you, but I believe in you and I will do what you tell me. Now if I marry you, will you tell me: Kate, this morning do such and such, and if we have to go to a party, will you tell me: Kate, stand right there and have three drinks and talk to so and so? Will you?'”
"I did my best for you, son. I gave you all I had. More than anything I wanted to pass on to you the one heritage of the men of our family, a certain quality of spirit, a gaiety, a sense of duty, a nobility worn lightly, a sweetness, a gentleness with women—the only good things the South ever had and the only things that really matter in this life. Ah well.”
"I've got to be sure about one thing […] I'm going to sit next to the window on the Lake side and put the cape jasmine in my lap?"
"That's right."
"And you'll be thinking of me just that way?"
"That's right."
"Good by."
"Good by." […] I watch her walk toward St Charles, cape jasmine held against her cheek, until my brothers and sisters call out behind me.