The story opens with Pollony waking at three a.m. to her husband Brendel's demands for an omelette, a routine that has soured. The domestic scene is laced with small cruelties: Brendel hits her, but she no longer derives satisfaction from it. Van Scyoc establishes a world where meals are punched from a cookgrid, opera tapes shatter the silence, and people collect everything from miniature horses to ballpoint pens. Pollony's mother collects men, tacking their cards on a bulletin board. Against this backdrop of casual accumulation, Pollony's desire for something beyond—a perfect, composed existence—takes shape.

The Weight of Objects and Routines

The story is dense with collected things: china roosters, peach-can labels, cereal box missiles, miniature horses, ballpoint pens. Brendel orders his smaller collections onto a storeshelf before sleeping. Pollony's mother collects men's cards, marking them with colored pencil. These objects are not mere decoration; they define relationships and status. The cookgrid, the timespot, the deposit clip—all are part of a material culture that mediates human interaction. Pollony's rebellion is not against objects per se but against the stasis they represent. She wants to stop being stupid, to become solid and adult, and she believes that can be achieved by attaching herself to the right person.

The Grammar of Escape

Van Scyoc uses a striking parallel structure to show Pollony's departure: "Even as Lukia was punching dinner... Pollony was whisking into a brisk trousersuit." The repetition of "Even as" links actions across space, emphasizing simultaneity and the emotional distance between characters. Pollony's flight is methodical—she checks her bank balance, raps on an apartment door, negotiates with Latsker Smith. Yet her resolve is undercut by small observations: she dislikes the way he comes down steps two at a time, his hair flops, his trousersuit is too short. These details hint that her ideal of perfection may be as fragile as the routines she fled.

The Unspoken Bargain

Pollony's arrangement with Latsker Smith is transactional: she shows him her deposit clip, he shows his. She offers silence and companionship; he offers direction. But the power imbalance is immediate. He orders her not to touch the car controls, heaves his suitcase into her lap, and then ignores her completely. Pollony's reaction is telling: she forgets her earlier reservations and knows she will not get out of the car so long as he is in it. The story leaves open whether this is liberation or a new form of captivity. The excerpts do not reveal what happens in Boston or whether Pollony's dream of composure survives contact with Latsker's indifference.

Readers should pay attention to the small physical details—the corner of a suitcase digging into a stomach, the way a trousersuit can look off-balance. Van Scyoc builds character through gesture and object, not interior monologue. The story's title, Pollony Undiverted, suggests a refusal to be turned aside, but the excerpts show a protagonist whose desires are shaped by the very world she tries to leave. The ending, as given, is a moment of decision, not arrival.