“Magnus of course is in whatever mood he needs to be in.”

Mary recognizes her husband’s ability to present himself as whatever the world needs him to be, but that doesn’t mean she truly knows him. Pym’s inherently inscrutable, chameleon-like nature means that no one is truly close to him. Those who come closest realize how distant and unknowable he truly is and content themselves with this unknowability.

“If a finger is to be pointed, point it here.”

Pym’s recollections about his father are a template for his own life. In writing to his son about Rick, Pym is providing Tom with everything he needs to understand Pym’s actions. Rick accepts the blame for the missing church funds, knowing that he’ll be able to charm his way out of the problem. He leans into the accusation, creating a new, unexpected reality in which he’s in charge. Rick is convinced of his own untouchability, a tendency that becomes key to Pym’s ability to lie to so many people for so long.

“Magnus keeps everything inside something. Everything must wear a disguise in order to be real.”

Pym hides everything about himself under layers of ironic misdirection, and wholesale lies. In creating this unknowable world, Pym projects it onto everything around him. Because he lives at the nexus of so much mistruth, he assumes that everyone else is operating similarly. Anything without a disguise is simply unreal, as it can’t figure into the world Pym sees as true.