What's-His-Name — A Reader’s Guide

The Narrator’s Ironic Distance

The narrative voice in What's-His-Name consistently undercuts the protagonist’s dignity while maintaining a tone of detached amusement. When the hero, Harvey, receives a Christmas telegram from his wife’s manager—not from her—the narrator reports that “the light died out of his eyes” and that he “considered it beneath his dignity to invite her into a conspiracy.” The phrasing lets the reader see Harvey’s self-regard even as the situation deflates him. Earlier, the narrator describes him as “the type of man who ambles through life without being noticed,” a judgment that colors every subsequent scene. This ironic distance is not cruel but observational; it invites the reader to watch Harvey’s small defeats with a mixture of sympathy and detachment.

Dialogue as a Marker of Status

McCutcheon uses dialogue to reveal power imbalances. The opening exchange between the two actors is casual and dismissive: “That is What’s-His-Name, Nellie Duluth’s husband.” The friend’s incredulous “That?” reduces Harvey to an object of gossip. Later, the maid Annie’s cheerful “Oh, sir, I’ve always wanted to see Miss Duluth act” shows that even the household staff values the wife’s career over the husband’s presence. Harvey’s own speech is often hesitant or self-deprecating; when he admits to Bridget, “I clean forgot ’em last night,” his sheepish tone contrasts with her brisk, genial reply. The dialogue consistently places Harvey in a subordinate position, both in his home and in the wider world of the theatre.

Descriptive Details That Undercut

McCutcheon’s descriptive choices reinforce Harvey’s marginality. He is introduced as “not an imposing figure” and “the type of man who ambles through life without being noticed.” The narrator adds that “you could not have remembered looking once at him.” These physical descriptions are not neutral; they actively diminish the character. In the Christmas scene, details like “the windows were frosted; the house was cheerless” and Harvey’s discovery that the furnace fires are out create a setting of domestic neglect. The diamond-studded slipper sent by Butler—a gift clearly meant for Phoebe but with implications about Nellie’s relationships—triggers a violent reaction: “With a cry of rage he snatched the dainty trinket from her hand and threw it on the floor.” The contrast between the delicate object and Harvey’s clumsy rage is telling.

Structure and the Unnamed Hero

The novel’s title—What's-His-Name—is itself a structural choice that denies the protagonist a proper name until the reader has already formed an impression. The first chapter is titled “Our Hero,” but the narrator immediately undercuts that label. The table of contents lists chapters like “Miss Nellie Duluth” and “Mr. Fairfax,” placing Harvey’s identity in relation to others. The Christmas chapter shows Harvey sending his wife a brooch bought with money from selling his watch, while she sends only a manager’s telegram. The asymmetry is structural: Harvey’s gestures of affection are met with professional indifference. The novel’s organization around key events—Luncheon, Christmas, The Revolver—suggests a domestic drama, but the focus remains on Harvey’s inability to command attention within his own story.

Readers attentive to McCutcheon’s narrative voice will notice how the novel’s humor depends on the gap between Harvey’s self-perception and the world’s indifference. The excerpts suggest a story that is less about plot than about tone: the quiet comedy of a man who is perpetually secondary. The full text may deepen or complicate this impression, but the early chapters establish a consistent authorial stance—one that observes its hero with a steady, ironic gaze.

Reading the editorial notes on McCutcheon’s 1911 novel, I found myself slowing down at the irony woven into every domestic squabble. There’s a particular tenderness in how he lets his husband be ridiculous yet somehow intact, and that reminded me of the quiet mischief in The Green Carnation — Context and Discussion. Both books hide their sharpest observations under a layer of polite, grinning composure.