55 pages • 1 hour read
Patricia HighsmithA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Tom is an orphan, brought up by an uncaring relative after the death of his parents. He has been alone for many years and has always felt himself to be an outsider, longing for acceptance. Throughout the novel, Tom strives for insider status, but it continually evades him.
One reason that Tom always remains on the outside is that he disdains every group that includes him. Groucho Marx famously said, “I don’t want to belong to any club that would accept me as a member.” Tom seems to agree with this notion, as he disdains his friends in New York. But when he goes overseas, his same standards apply. When he gains popularity in Venice, he looks down on everyone there—even as he has gained insider status, he places himself on the outside. When he stumbles into a cocktail party, Tom finds himself in the company of titled Europeans, and yet he is not impressed: “He often asked people to repeat what they had said. He was terribly bored. But he could use them, he thought, to practice on” (206). Even when he is in danger of being caught by the police, he never seriously considers leaving Europe, just because of his standards: “he could never acquire the circle of friends—not unless he went to Istanbul or Ceylon, and what was the use of acquiring the kind of people he would meet in those places?” (176) He longs to be an insider but makes it nearly impossible for himself to achieve that status.
Tom has a very specific idea of the group he wants to be a member of and will accept nothing less—essentially, Dickie’s European and American counterparts, who equal him in social status and wealth. But this is complicated by the fact that he can never be close to anyone of Dickie’s social status because his secret might be exposed. This obstacle did not occur to Tom in his dreams of becoming Dickie: “He had imagined himself acquiring a bright new circle of friends with whom he would start a new life. Now he realized that it couldn’t be. He would have to keep a distance from people, always” (176). He tries to put a positive spin on this knowledge: “If he had to drift about the world entirely alone, so much the better: there was that much less chance that he would be found out. That was one cheerful aspect of it, anyway, and he felt better having thought of it” (176). But, although attaining Dickie’s wealth has given Tom some of what he wants, Dickie’s social status was what he was really after, and in an ironic twist, by seeking to steal it, Tom has ensured that it is now permanently out of his grasp.
Tom’s desire to be an insider and his fear of being thrust to the outside provides the final impetus for Dickie’s murder. Tom experiences his closest sense of belonging during the height of his relationship with Dickie. However, on the train to San Remo, he begins to sense that Dickie is withdrawing from him: “Dickie’s polite cheerfulness on the train was like the cheerfulness of a host who has loathed his guest and is afraid the guest realizes it” (93). He believes that “he had failed with Dickie, in every way” (97) but blames Dickie: “his failing had not been his own fault, not due to anything he had done, but due to Dickie’s inhuman stubbornness” (97). When he realizes that he will soon be an outsider again, he blames Dickie, and it becomes the motivation to kill him.
The only time Tom feels like an insider, outside of his brief relationship with Dickie, is when he is in Paris, impersonating Dickie. After Tom assumes Dickie’s identity, he goes straight to Paris, which he has been longing to see since he arrived in Europe. He quickly falls in with a group of French people and American expatriates, social equals of Dickie. At first, he is elated: “How many Americans alone in Paris could get themselves invited to a French home after only a week or so in the city?” (122). He is excited by his sudden insider status, which he attributes to the persona he has assumed as Dickie: “Tom felt completely comfortable, as he had never felt before at any party that he could remember. He behaved as he had always wanted to behave at a party” (122). He is briefly fully confident and accepted by the Parisian aristocratic class, which, as he notes, is notoriously exclusive. Yet he returns to Rome, again leaving acceptance behind.
At the end of the book, Tom is alone, traveling to Greece, and appears to have resigned himself to being an outsider. The only connection he forges is with an elderly English woman on the ship, another character who belongs to the social class to which Tom aspires. He imagines taking her flowers, illustrating the depth of his isolation by narrowing his possible connections to those who, even if they may not interest him personally, live up to his high standards. Tom, it seems, is doomed to be an outsider. But by the end of the novel, it is clear that the only person keeping Tom on the outside, and alone, is himself.
Tom is a restless, ambitious, intelligent character. While he seems to be seeking the security and safety of wealth and social status, it becomes clear that if he ever does achieve it, he will inevitably have to find something else to keep himself stimulated. He is compelled to put himself in risky positions, even when unnecessary—as he notes, “Risks were what made the whole thing fun” (170). Tom uses risk to keep himself interested and alert, so even when he does achieve some safety, he immediately becomes bored with it.
As the novel begins, Tom is being pursued by an unknown man whom he suspects is with the police (although it turns out to be Herbert). Tom has been running a scam in which he impersonates a tax agent, calling people to tell them they owe money. This is just one of many scams that Tom has perpetrated over the years, but a notable aspect here is that unless one of the people he is scamming sends cash, Tom cannot actually make any money. Those being scammed send checks he cannot cash, but that fact does not bother him. In fact, he finds the situation laughable, saying, “[I]t amounted to no more than a practical joke, really. Good clean sport” (16). Although Tom may even believe that he is engaging in this con for the money, he is clearly chasing the feeling he gets when he is taking risks and under threat, feeling it more akin to entertainment, or a prank, than crime.
This attitude and behavior foreshadows Tom’s continued pursuit of risk while he travels through Europe. At one point, he tries to persuade Dickie to travel to Paris with him in a coffin as a part of a smuggling operation. When Dickie declines, Tom is livid, not understanding that Dickie does not seem to need risk to alleviate boredom. After he kills Dickie, Tom spends most of his time evading capture and risking discovery, but even so, he still has moments of boredom and restlessness that he cannot abide. In Venice, he invites Herbert to stay at his house, a risky invitation that is totally unnecessary: “It wasn’t necessary to bend over backward, Tom realized. It was as if he were really inviting trouble, and couldn’t stop himself” (217). This, on top of the fact that Marge is already staying with him, puts Tom in a very precarious position, and yet he cannot resist the impulse. Luckily for him, Herbert declines his invitation, which even Tom views with relief.
Toward the end of the novel, even after all he has been through, Tom still puts himself at risk of being found out when he sends Dickie’s forged will to Herbert. This risk is completely uncalled for, and yet Tom cannot resist: “The very chanciness of trying for all of Dickie’s money, the peril of it, was irresistible to him. [...] each day that went by had seemed to confirm his personal safety and to emphasize the dullness of his existence” (26). Boredom is Tom’s worst enemy. Even as, at the end of the novel, he seems to have it all, it becomes clear that this boredom and dullness he feels will never be assuaged. Tom will continue to take risks even though he now has the money to never resort to crime again. In fact, Tom clearly suspects it himself and raises the specter of pursuit, wondering, “Was he going to see policemen waiting for him on every pier that he ever approached?” (274). While this may be an actual fear, at this point it seems more likely a way to keep himself from feeling bored and lonely. If he cannot imagine the thrill of the chase, his life will be dull and colorless.
Tom engages in playing minor roles throughout the novel; while traveling to Europe, he plays “a serious young man with a serious job ahead of him” (37), and in covering up Dickie’s murder he moves through San Remo as “an athletic young man who had spent the afternoon in and out of the water because it was his peculiar taste” (107). But the two major roles he plays in the novel are those of Dickie Greenleaf and Tom Ripley. Although he is just impersonating Dickie at first, soon the connection goes below the surface, and Tom starts to feel, physically and emotionally, the role he is playing.
It is a widely held belief that a successful con is dependent on the perpetrator himself believing the con. Tom illustrates this theory, as he is able to convince others by first convincing himself. He notes: “His stories were good because he imagined them intensely, so intensely that he came to believe them” (239). He repeatedly makes the assertion that if one acts like something is true, it becomes true: “Hadn’t he learned something from these last months? If you wanted to be cheerful, or melancholic, or wistful, or thoughtful, or courteous, you simply had to act those things with every gesture” (182). Tom discovers that he can convince himself, as well as others, of his lies, and that the corresponding emotions and physical feelings will manifest as a result, as when he ”feels” a hangover after Freddie’s murder: “the terrible, jumpy kind that made him stop halfway in everything he began doing” (145). Although this might be attributed to nerves, Tom thinks differently:
He knew it was a matter of mental suggestion, and that he had a hangover because he had intended to pretend that he had been drinking a great deal with Freddie. And now when there was no need of it, he was still pretending, uncontrollably (145).
Though he knows better, his mind and body are convinced of the lies he is telling, and he cannot control his own reactions.
Tom also learns to use this propensity to assuage his own fears—whenever he is anxious, he assumes Dickie’s manner. By acting as if he is Dickie—wealthy, entitled, and confident—he is able to set aside his worries: “He ran his fingers through his hair, as Dickie sometimes did when he was irritated. He felt better, concentrating on being Dickie Greenleaf for a few seconds, pacing the floor once or twice” (163). Just adopting Dickie’s manner infuses him with Dickie’s confidence and charisma. Tom also uses the deep voice that he associates with Dickie when he needs to reassure himself. In one notable instance, he sings “in Dickie’s loud baritone that he had never heard, but he felt sure Dickie would have been pleased with his ringing tone” (171). Tom’s association of a deep voice with Dickie is a motif that recurs throughout the book; he uses it to create this sort of confidence time and again.
After inhabiting Dickie’s identity for some time, when Tom is forced to reassume his own identity permanently, it is as if he is creating another character. This is foreshadowed earlier in the book, when he reverts to himself to speak to Marge: “It was a good idea to practice jumping into his own character again, because the time might come when he would need to in a matter of seconds, and it was strangely easy to forget the exact timbre of Tom Ripley’s voice” (117). He is not being himself; he is playing himself, even referring to himself in the third person: “He wore Tom Ripley’s shy, slightly frightened expression” (167). He even considers developing the Tom Ripley character further, to suit his needs:
He might play up Tom a little more, he thought. He could stoop a little more, he could be shyer than ever, he could even wear horn-rimmed glasses and hold his mouth in an even sadder, droopier manner to contrast with Dickie’s tenseness (187).
His Tom Ripley character now stands as a counterpoint to his Dickie Greenleaf character, so he amplifies everything about Tom that will serve to contrast with Dickie.
By the end of the novel, Tom seems to have found a way to combine these two disparate identities into one:
It gave his existence a peculiar, delicious atmosphere of purity, like that, Tom thought, which a fine actor probably feels when he plays an important role on a stage with the conviction that the role he is playing could not be played better by anyone else. He was himself and yet not himself (132).
By turning his own identity into just another role and combining it with his Dickie Greenleaf character, Tom is able to bring the two together to coexist within him. Through playing both roles, he takes the most useful parts of each character to create the persona he will inhabit going forward.
By Patricia Highsmith