“Clothes Make the Man” is a whimsically literal interpretation of the common proverb, “clothing makes the man.” The proverb refers to the idea that a man must be well-dressed in order to portray the best version of himself; the saying further implies that a man who is not well-dressed is only half the man that he could be. By portraying the proverb in literal terms that border on the ridiculous, Matheson creates a world in which the man’s suit eventually gains a life of its own and takes over the man’s life, then sits down and is told the story of his own experience by the man’s brother. Because the suit sits in the dark and the brother is inebriated, he doesn’t notice who he is talking to until the end. The suit acts bored and unsurprised by everything he hears, which further hints at who he really is. The story suggests that if a man relies too much on his own image, he will lose all substance and become nothing more than the image he strives to project. This idea is reinforced by the assertion that the person spoken of in the story cannot think without his hat or walk without his shoes; he is completely useless and becomes a blank slate without his wardrobe. While the story is lighter in tone than most of Matheson’s work, it still communicates an important critique of the weight that people place on image and appearance.

Because “The Jazz Machine” is written in verse, its style stands out from the other stories in the collection, but this lyrical approach is meant to mirror its subject matter, echoing the eloquence and emotional intensity of music that has the power to convey the essence of the soul. Because the story examines the idea that music itself is a language, its form reflects the talents and quirks of its central character, a trumpet player who speaks with a rhythmic cadence. The story examines the purpose of jazz and the ever-present conflict that exists between the oppressed and the oppressor. Matheson therefore conveys the idea that jazz is a language of torment—of the expression of oppression and all life’s emotions. His narrative is designed to reflect upon the history of jazz, which was created by Black people who were oppressed by the injustices of the early 20th-century United States; Matheson also acknowledges that this music continues to resonate with people who have had similarly oppressive experiences. The rhythm of the story-in-verse encapsulates these undercurrents, for the white man invents a machine that is designed to exploit the very nature of jazz by stealing and exposing the essence of the human soul that underlies the music. Ultimately, the jazz musician breaks the machine because he cannot bear the thought of white people stealing the one thing that Black people can claim for themselves, although white people have stolen everything else.

In the final story in the collection, “’Tis the Season to Be Jelly,” Matheson employs a deceptively light and absurd tone to convey a much darker and more nihilistic idea, ominously indicting those who inflict long-term nuclear damage on the world. By contrasting the normalcy of a family dinner with the inescapable fact that the family members themselves are quickly disintegrating in the aftermath of nuclear war, Matheson emphasizes the existential crisis of this devastating technology even as he portrays the ignorance of those who suffer its consequences. When the grandfather yells, “We done pregnayted the clouds!” (200), his ungrammatical exclamation suggests that the family lacks intelligence and education and is living in ignorance of the consequences of war. Notably, the grandfather is particularly pessimistic, likely because he is older and grew up in a healthier world, and he sees no way of recovering from nuclear disaster. His grandson, on the other hand, is full of youthful naivety and optimism and still has eyes for a brighter future. The direct contradiction between Luke’s outlook and his decomposing body and world creates an incongruous picture of what Hope in the Wake of Destruction might look like.