Ursula Le Guin Short Stories
Thoreau, LeGuin, and Moral Obligations
Written as an allegory for slavery and the way it affects the people who employ it, Ursula Le Guin’s “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” questions just how much of an impact living in a society has on one’s willingness to act in ways different from what they would do in an individual context. It is the story of a prosperous utopian village where every citizen lives a life of bliss and freedom except for one individual: a child who must be kept imprisoned and mistreated in order to sustain the happiness of everyone else. To Henry David Thoreau, the author of “Resistance to Civil Government” and “A Plea for Captain John Brown” and a major proponent of individual morality and judgment, the citizens of Omelas are no different from Americans who continue to live in a society where slavery is legal, since they both inhabit a world where their happiness and success is built upon a foundation of abusive and immoral treatment toward some sort underclass. In addition, he would commend those people who chose to leave Omelas for resisting a malevolent state, but would also ask more of them than to just ignore the injustice going on there.To Thoreau, the only aspect in which the people of Omelas would be considered “good” citizens is the fact that they follow the cruel instructions of their society to their exact specifications. They are the Skhlarian type of “good” citizens (cf. the philosophical works of Judith Skhlar), the kind that follow all of the rules of their state regardless of their morality or personal feelings toward them. With this type of people, “there is no free exercise whatever of the judgment or of the moral sense”; they have “put themselves on a level with wood and earth and stones, and wooden men can perhaps be manufactured that will serve the purpose as well” (Thoreau, “Resistance” 66). At some point, every citizen of Omelas is exposed to the horrible truth of the village: namely, that all of its prosperity is dependent upon the misery of a single child. Their initial horror reflects a sort of innate human revulsion to seeing others suffer:No matter how well the matter has been explained to them, these young spectators are always shocked and sickened at the sight. They feel disgust, which they had thought themselves superior to. They feel anger, outrage, and impotence despite all of the explanations. They would like to do something for the child (Le Guin, 422). Those feelings of horror, however, are quickly squeezed out of them by the corrupting influence of their civilization. Instead of seeing the blatant wrong in front of them, they instead try to dredge up a justification for keeping a child in a state of misery and squalor by emphasizing the necessity of his suffering to their prosperity. Were he to encounter the Omelasians and hear this argument, Thoreau would label it as hogwash and denounce them for trying to alleviate their guilt by acknowledging that what they’re doing is wrong and then not actually doing anything to fix the problem, as if just being aware of the injustice is enough. This idea — that the only step a people needs to take in order to alleviate their conscience is to “feel bad” about it — is the very same one he saw in his fellow Northerners and abolitionists and lashed out against, saying:There are thousands who are in opinion opposed to slavery and to the war, who yet in effect do nothing to put an end to them; who, esteeming themselves children of Washington and Franklin, sit down with their hands in their pockets and say that they know not what to do, and do nothing (Thoreau, “Resistance” 69).For Thoreau, the innate lack of momentum that organized society generates in its members is its biggest danger since society has the power to repress fundamental human morals and restrict the willingness of the people to take action against policies or actions they dislike for fear that “the remedy would be worse than the evil” (Thoreau, “Resistance” 73). Indeed, it is this dread over the consequences of what may happen — “that their happiness, the beauty of their city… even the abundance of their harvest and the kindly weathers of their skies depend wholly on this child’s abominable misery” — that the citizens of Omelas use an excuse to keep from doing anything to rectify the situation. Thoreau would instead flip this argument on its head and claim that their reluctance to change is not about some threat of disaster that will befall them if the child is set free; rather, it’s about the fact that the prosperity and happiness they have has conditioned them to enjoy and be comfortable with the way their society functions: “the rich man… is always sold to the institution that makes him rich” (Thoreau, “Resistance” 77). He believes that there is a correlation between the wealth of a state and its morality: “absolutely speaking, the more money, the less virtue; for money comes between a man and his objects” (Thoreau, “Resistance” 77). To Thoreau’s thinking, the inhabitants of Omelas are not good citizens because the evil of their civilization as a whole has impressed itself upon its individual members, eroding away their basic human revulsion toward enslavement and mistreatment and installing in its place a love of material and societal affluence that makes them feel as though their happiness is more valuable than one child’s suffering. Despite the suppressive effect that their way of life has had on their values, there are still some individuals in Omelas who, when exposed to the truth of what their world is based on, make the decision to walk away from their perfect little town:At times one of the adolescent girls or boys who go see the child does not go home to weep or rage, does not, in fact, go home at all. Sometimes also a man or a woman much older falls silent for a day or two, then leaves home. These people go out into the street, and walk down the street alone. They keep walking, and walk straight out of the city of Omelas, through the beautiful gates. They keep walking across the farmlands of Omelas. Each one goes alone, youth or girl, man or woman (Le Guin, 422).It is necessary for them to leave because they are suffering from a sort of emotional pain stemming from their association with such an immoral situation, one that Thoreau likens to a “sort of bloodshed” that occurs “when the conscience is wounded” and through which “a man’s real manhood and immortality flow out, and he bleeds to an everlasting death” (Thoreau, “Resistance” 77). These are the few brave souls who, like Thoreau, “cannot recognize that organization as my government which is the slave’s government also” (Thoreau, “Resistance” 67). He would acknowledge those who depart Omelas for places unknown as fellow resistants and would admire their methods for being similar to his own, since he considers withdrawal to be one form of resistance to a way of life that one views as immoral: “it is his duty, at least, to wash his hands of it, and if he gives it no thought longer, not to give it practically his support” (Thoreau, “Resistance” 71). Those leaving Omelas are doing so because they simply cannot reconcile what they’ve seen with how they’re supposed to live like all the others have, and so they want absolutely nothing further to do with that kind of state. They do not expect to change anything through their departure, and they probably do not have any interest in actually liberating the child from his wretched lifestyle — they just cannot tolerate giving their implicit approval to the abuse by continuing to live in the village. Although he would encourage such behavior, saying that “it is not a man’s duty as a matter of course, to devote himself to the eradication of any, even the most enormous wrong” (Thoreau, “Resistance” 77), a true Thoreauvian dissident would find it within him- or herself to stand up for the principles that they believe in, just as John Brown did against slavery in Kansas. “I do not wish to kill nor to be killed,” Thoreau writes, “but I can foresee circumstances in which both things would be by me unavoidable” (Thoreau, “Plea” 133). For Thoreau, there is something romantic in the struggle against oppression: because he does see society as having a corrupting and retarding influence upon individual morals, it is therefore a noble cause to actively work against it. That is why he is so full of praise for someone like John Brown, who has shaken off the malaise of organized civilization and is taking an active stand against slavery. Such a man should be glorified for his passion and commitment to justice instead of being mocked for them by the newspapers since “truth is his inspirer” and his speech is a “Sharps’ rifle of infinitely surer and longer range” (Thoreau, “Plea” 127). However, he is also a realist, and he knows that not everyone will be able to make the kind of impact that John Brown had. Thoreau acknowledges that prejudice supported on a state-wide level is simply too massive for any one individual to defeat on his own, so it isn’t an individual’s responsibility to actively go out and defeat the evil in question. Rather, refusing to have anything to do with it is sufficient:As for adopting the ways which the State has provided for remedying the evil, I know not of such ways. They take too much time, and a man’s life will be gone. I have other affairs to attend to. I came into this world not chiefly to make this a good place to live in, but to live in it, good or bad. A man has not every thing to do, but something; and because he cannot do everything, it is not necessary that he do some thing wrong (Thoreau, “Resistance” 74).More importantly, Thoreau also believes that people “should be men first and subjects afterwards” (Thoreau, “Resistance” 65) and should therefore act for the reasons that they feel are best. He does lavish extra praise on those who do choose to rise up and do something about an issue that offends, saying that “for once the Sharps’ rifles and revolvers were employed in a righteous cause” and that he wishes that “the tools were in the hands of one who could use them” (Thoreau, “Plea” 133). He among all people would understand that the people of Omelas were making the decision they thought was right — namely, to abstain from their civilization — since it was he who wrote that his “primary obligation which I have a right to assume is to do at any times what I think is right” (Thoreau, “Resistance” 65), but he would also wish that their moral outrage would manifest itself further in some sort of direct political action against the policy of torture that made them decide to leave their homes in the first place.Living as he did in a world where slavery existed and even flourished, Thoreau dared to contradict the accepted values of society and speak out against the wickedness and hypocrisy of a free country keeping millions of human beings in chains. His steadfast commitment to individualism and the incredible belief he had in his cause gave him the courage to do what he thought was justified, and to preach to others to follow his lead by abandon and in some cases actively opposing any government that they thought was wicked. The city of Omelas would be one such example of a civilization that he would call on people to forsake and fight against. Its material prosperity had converted its populace to the thinking that it was acceptable to mistreat and abuse in order to selfishly preserve their own well-being. To his mind, he would be full of praise for their willingness to leave their state, but he would also remind them that fighting against such an immoral and hypocritical entity is even nobler.
Feminist and Postcolonial Critique of Le Guin’s “Sur”
Ursula K. Le Guin’s short story “Sur” lends itself easily to feminist literary criticism. As a fantasy of alternate history about polar exploration, the story tells of nine women arriving at the South Pole over a year before Roald Amundsen’s all-male team gained the Pole on 14 December, 1911 (Encarta, Amundsen article). However, the women are Spanish-speaking (presumably of European rather than Native American descent, though that is implied rather than explicit in Le Guin’s text) Argentinians, Peruvians, and Chileans, which also opens up the possibility of postcolonial commentary. The feminist critical angle is interesting not only because the women felt that they were forced to conceal their expedition from the wider world, for fear of public criticism or perhaps even active prevention of the pursuit of their goal, but also because of the women’s concealment in their own private and familial spheres, the powers in which would have equally censured the journey. The public and private oppression were of differing, but equal, strength, and forced upon the women explorers a level of subterfuge that required secrecy not only before and during their expedition, but also for generations after it. The postcolonial critical approach is not quite so straightforward. Because there are few references to First People populations in this short story, the overt oppression by the conquering culture of Spain over the subjugated peoples of South America is not a subject for extensive analysis. But the fact that the women are from Argentina, Peru, and Chile, traditionally thought of as “technologically developing nations [of] … South America” (Tyson 420), makes this an example of consciously pro-colonialist but ideologically conflicted literature, in that there are references to the First World, and an obvious deference to the dominance of those countries; but there seems to be little criticism of that state of affairs. The very fact that the women are from the Third World, no matter their feeling toward the First World’s dominance, makes this a conflicted piece.1 There is a minor degree of double-consciousness (“a consciousness or a way of perceiving the world that is divided between two antagonistic cultures: that of the colonizer and that of the indigenous community” Tyson 421) between the wisdom of the indigenous culture, to which the women ostensibly do not belong but have appropriated some skills, and a greater degree of double-consciousness between their own Spanish South American culture, and the culture of the Europeans dominant in their field of exploration. What will be explored in this paper is the ways in which the South American women were oppressed, and how they privately subverted their oppressors through their secretive and wholly anti-patriarchal expedition. The principles of feminist and postcolonial criticism contain overlapping concepts: …[There are] a number of similarities in the theoretical issues that concern feminist and postcolonial critics. For example, patriarchal subjugation of women is analogous to colonial subjugation of indigenous peoples. And the resultant devaluation of women and colonized peoples poses very similar problems for both groups in terms of achieving an independent personal and group identity;…. And finding ways to think, speak, and create that are not dominated by the ideology of the oppressor. (Tyson 423) This paper will endeavor to show the ways in which the explorers’ oppression manifested itself was as tied to colonial ideology almost as much as to sexist ideology. The story begins with an example of the kind of coincidence or good fortune, rather than accepted social and economic methods, which enabled the group of women to plan and make their expedition. The nameless narrator, who we know is married, later has children, and has a cousin named Juana, manages to procure funding through a “benefactor”, who is also never named, through the networking of one of Juana’s friends in Chile. This benefactor, who we suspect is female but it is never known, gives the women the requisite money to buy expensive equipment and supplies, and procures the services of a Chilean government ship, the Yelcho. This powerful and wealthy person requires nothing of the women other than their willingness to go on the voyage, and is complicit with their mission of complete secrecy on both sides. Therefore, this expedition is completely private and, even if the benefactor is male, a completely female-networked success. This kind of “sisterhood”, binds the women together to shield them from familial disgrace (“embarrassment or unpleasant notoriety thus to be brought on unsuspecting husbands and sons” italics mine, Le Guin 377), and specifically the disgrace of the male members of their family, but also a complete shielding from the outside world. The fact that the mission had to be undertaken with the utmost secrecy is directly related to the kind of sexist oppression which would have never allowed a group of ladies in the 1900s to set off for the South Pole. There was no way that the women could have undertaken the journey otherwise. There would be no public raising of funds, as there would have been for a National Geographic expedition, or an expedition for the Royal Society, in those days. A women’s expedition, if not actively discouraged, would have attracted only derision and, possibly, even disinterest. Once resolved to go on their expedition, the women struggle with family obligations which would have not plagued Mr. Amundsen or Captain Scott’s male crew. They worry about “An ailing parent; an anxious husband beset by business cares; child at home with only ignorant or incompetent servants to look after it: these are not responsibilities lightly to be set aside” (Le Guin 379). The fact that the women are required to put family concerns first, rather than their own desire for accomplishment or self-aggrandizement, is a direct form of sexist oppression. Even when they have selected their crew ready for “hard work, risk, and privation” (379), one, Maria, must stay at home and care for an ailing husband. One would wonder if Maria’s husband, if the situations were reversed, would have given up a trip to the Pole if his wife were ill.2 The private nature of the expedition, (for which the women used the excuse either of going to a Bolivian convent, or Paris for the six months required – two acceptable female activities; praying and shopping!) was kept by the explorers, also, out of a strange kind of ego-protection for male European explorers they had never met. They protect “Mr. Amundsen” by not making footprints at the Pole, and not leaving anything behind. They know that “he would be terribly embarrassed and disappointed” (392) not only to know, it is implied, that someone reached the Pole before him, but also a group of women who sledged there without aid of dogs or charters from any Royal Societies. The male scientific and exploratory ego, it is held by these intrepid female polar voyagers, is such a fragile and easily broken thing, that they daren’t trumpet their stunning achievement to what would be, they probably fear, a disappointed and possibly even disbelieving world. “But then, the backside of heroism is often rather sad; women and servants know that. They know also that the heroism may be no less real for that. But achievement is smaller than men think. What is large is the sky, the earth, the sea, the soul.” (Le Guin 383). Here the narrator is explaining her feelings about the “achievement” of her band of women first setting foot on Antarctic soil. The group did not start out, as did Amundsen’s and Scott’s parties did, with the goal of reaching the South Pole. In fact, when the women reach it (and not all of them did – Zoe turned back because her friends were ill, though she was fit enough to go on – another example of how women are other-centered rather than self-centered, as Beauvoir said the “inessential [being] which never becomes essential” Tyson 97) they were unimpressed rather than jubilant over their achievement. The women were more interested in the journey, the beauty and strangeness of the land, and their friendship in adversity, than in an empty geographic accomplishment. Whether that other-centered-ness is in fact a strength innately found in womankind, and a virtue to which all human beings should strive, or is a negative inessentiality produced by generations of patriarchal ideology which strips women of their right to put themselves first, is a question left up to the reader. But in this story, the cooperative nature of the women, and their lack of vanity and desire for notoriety are what propels them first to the Pole, and brings them all home alive. There is a less obvious colonial oppression going on in “Sur”, however. The indigenous people of South America, on whose continent these (again, presumably, for it is implied by their social status and names, but it is never actually asserted, European and not First People or mestizos) women live in such proximity to the South Pole are referred to in passing a few times. But the difference between the “Indians”, the indigenous people of South America, who pilot Zoe’s tiny pirogue (Le Guin 379) and the British, whom the narrator describes when attributing to Florence Nightingale as an inspiration “that very brave and very peculiar lady seemed to represent so much that is best, and strangest, in the island race” is very great, with the South American colonizer women as a separate group between them. This is an example of “othering,” (Tyson 427) both up and down, between the women and the two different groups. The women use British-made instruments, for those were the best available and are a testament to the dominance of that country in this field, and are admiring of Shackleton, Scott, and Amundsen – all European male explorers who have mapped and named parts of the Antarctic that the female sledgers ultimately conquer with far fewer resources and no deaths – and these same women are ostensibly disdainful of their “ignorant or incompetent servants” (Le Guin 379) back at home, whom we assume to be indigenous or mestizos. But there is an underhanded kind of admiration for the indigenous peoples going on here – as well as discomfort with the dominance of the Europeans. When the women decide who will be in charge of the expedition, they dub the leader “Supreme Inca” in honor of the great First People nation of the narrator’s homeland, Peru. To name a Spanish lady that, at that time and place, must either have been a joke, or to have been a mark, among the women in private, of particular distinction. The second-in-command was named, comically, a native South American chicken, La Araucana. That this might have been a reference to the usefulness of that native fowl, with a funny undertone from the amount of wine the women had drunk that night, speaks to the complicated attitude the women had to native South American ideas and people. In addition, one of the ways which the women have an advantage over the Europeans was “the quantity and quality of our food made a very considerable difference. I am sure that the fifteen percent of dried fruits in our pemmican helped prevent scurvy; and the potatoes, frozen and dried according to an ancient Andean Indian method, were very nourishing yet very light and compact – perfect sledging rations.” Not only the traditionally gender-specific womanly art of food preparation saved the women (a feminist victory), but a native South American method for preservation of food gave them considerable advantage over the food the Europeans brought. To make a particular note of this would mean that the narrator was giving the First People who invented it credit – and contrasting it with the presumably more knowledgeable British explorers’ methods.The terms in which the narrator speaks of the “brave” Mr. Amundsen (Le Guin 392) and the “dashing” Captain Scott have the element of irony to them. Who could be braver than the narrator, and Juana, and Zoe, and even young Teresa, who gave birth on the Antarctic continent? Who could be more dashing than the nine women, without motorized machinery or dogs, and in complete secrecy, gained the Pole and came back, every one of them alive? The narrator, who “reread a thousand times” the account of Captain Scott’s 1902-1904 expedition, and assumed that she could not add to the “body of scientific knowledge” (Le Guin 377) because of her lack of training, was so indoctrinated in the ideology of Eurocentrism, that she would not think of her accomplishment as worthy or proper to be put up with accomplishments of European men. Her simple words and emotionally restrained, yet beautiful, account of the journey treat it as an entirely personal voyage, and not one to be considered the property of science and the world, as Amundsen’s and Scott’s expeditions were. While Ms Le Guin, an American, writing in the guise of a South American woman of a hundred years ago, could not have directly experienced the kind of sexist and colonial oppression that the narrator of “Sur” would have experienced, she carefully writes of a woman who balanced the limitations her sex and national origin placed on her with her desire for adventure. This kind of story, the sexist and Eurocentric ideologies would insist, could only take place in a fantasy – which, indeed “Sur” certainly is. But Ms Le Guin writes in such a factual way, with the highly plausible excuse of the narrator’s modest desire for secrecy for the protection of herself and her companions from the censure of their families. The author makes it seem highly likely that, while wholly able to successfully complete a truly epic polar journey and reach the South Pole before anyone else, a group of South American women would hardly be accepted by the world as the discovers of the southernmost point on earth. In this setup of the story, the author both accepts and attempts to subvert the very ideologies of female and Third World oppression. That this story couldn’t have been written as a fantasy in which the women are encouraged by their menfolk, and lauded by the male polar explorers whom they beat to the Pole, is an example of how the patriarchal and colonial ideals were still holding sway when Ms Le Guin first published this in 1982. If it were written that way, it might have been described “fantastic” (read: unbelievable) rather than “fantasy”. Perhaps if a similar story were published as fantasy today, with the advances in both feminist and postcolonial thought, it would be better accepted. The narrator of the story has that hope, when she writes “I think it would be nice if a grandchild of mine, or somebody’s grandchild, happened to find it (the account of the journey) some day” (Le Guin, 376, parentheses mine). . Works CitedLe Guin, Ursula K. “Sur.” 1982. The Penguin Book of Modern Fantasy by Women. Ed. A. Susan Williams. London: Viking/Penguin, 1995. 376-92.”Roald Amundsen,” Microsoft® Encarta® Online Encyclopedia 2007http://encarta.msn.com © 1997-2007 Microsoft Corporation.Tyson, Lois. Critical Theory Today. New York: Routledge, 2006.”Ursula Le Guin,” Microsoft® Encarta® Online Encyclopedia 2007http://encarta.msn.com © 1997-2007 Microsoft Corporation. Notes1Ursula K. Le Guin, an American who grew up in Berkeley, California, is a European non-Hispanic American who cannot in any way be construed as a member of a colonially oppressed group. She writes, however, in “Sur” in the person of a Spanish-speaking Peruvian woman, a member of an oppressor class over the Native Inca population of her country. Also, as stated in this paper, the Hispanic South Americans, no matter their race, ethnicity, or appearance, are considered Third World (or in the case of the indigenous people, possibly Fourth World, Tyson 422) people by the traditional colonial hierarchy, thus there are two layers of oppressing classes, and possibly a two-way double-consciousness possible in such a person (Hispanic European non-indigenous person, oppressing an indigenous population, but in turn oppressed by the First and Second World nations.) (Encarta, Le Guin Article)2This is a feminist reading. There could be an entirely different reading, which might assume that Maria and her husband had a particularly close marriage, and neither would consider leaving the other in illness (but in such a close marriage, would secrecy be kept between husband and wife? This is another feminist critique.) There also could be a counter-feminist reading that the women, acting as upholders of patriarchy, should they have had husbands who were bound for the Pole, would have despised them as womanly and weak if they had stayed at home in favor of caring for family members, but rather required “manliness” of their men to go out and prove themselves by a dangerous journey. There is not enough evidence from the text to explain the motivations of these characters fully. This paper concerns itself with feminist and postcolonial readings; but the writer does not assert that other readings are not possible or incorrect.
Approaches to Injustice: Comparing “A Party Down at the Square” and “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas”
In the short stories “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” and “A Party Down at the Square,” authors Ursula LeGuin and Ralph Ellison depict desensitized scenes in which communities show an extreme lack of empathy to human beings receiving unjustified abuse. Such bleak characterization is paired with a lack of acknowledgment of the matter by doing nothing to stop such injustices. With this, both authors critique society’s role in the “Bystander Effect” and in the human rights abuses that pervade the lives of many people today.
The theme of conscientious objection is present in both stories. In “A Party Down at the Square”, this theme is demonstrated through the boys’ response to the lynching of an African American man. Although not delighted by the scene like the objectors around him the boy says, “I had enough. I didn’t want to see anymore. I wanted to run somewhere and puke,” (Ellison,209) but yet, disturbingly he stays. This is similar to the line, “They all know it is there, all the people of Omelas. Some of them have come to see it, others are content merely to know it is there”(Le Guin, 200), found in “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas”. Both lines describe a consciousness of the abuse that both the man and child are enduring yet nothing is being done to help them, save them, or stop it from being done to others. This is a direct example of what John M. Darley and Bibb Latané coined as the Bystander Effect or the psychological phenomenon in which individuals placed within or around large crowds are less likely they to the aid of others. Ellison creates a gruesome scene to the reader as the boy notes how one “could smell his skin burning,” or “Every time I eat barbeque I’ll remember that never forget it. Every time I eat barbecue I’ll remember that nigger.”(Ellison,209 ).These lines have such a dramatic effect on his reader because they are able to see how it has no effect on the narrator. Using sensory imagery such as the smell of burning skin or the sight of a man as barbecue is cringe-worthy and provokes an extremely unsettling tone into the story. This is also done with the line “It is so thin there are no calves to its legs; its belly protrudes; it lives on a half-bowl of corn meal and grease a day. It is naked. Its buttocks and thighs are a mass of festered sores, as it sits in its own excrement continually.”(Le Guin, 200). As the reader can imagine the taste of corn meal and grease paired with the smell of continuous and aged bodily excrements that are in direct correlation to the unhealthy diet of corn meal and grease, LeGuin too has created an uncomfortable and noisome atmosphere. With both scenes, the reader feels to be somewhere else and they are not actually in the situation. Yet both the narrator and the townspeople in both stories stay and endure the sights, smells, and unsettlement and do nothing to put an end to it. Ellison and LeGuin present people who regardless of the injustices, are willing to make themselves uncomfortable and distressed thus demonstrating the Bystander Effect and it’s deeply rooted effects on humankind.
These effects are shown through the characters lack of guilt for their conscientious objections and their desensitization to the violence of the scenes. LeGuin presents the idea that some within the city find themselves able to cope with the idea that their luxurious lives are built upon the back of an innocent person’s pain.When the narrator mentions “One thing I know there is none of in Omelas is guilt.”(LeGuin, 199), the reader can reasonably conclude it’s because they feel they have nothing to feel guilty about. It becomes deliberately clear that their lack of guilt is a calculation. Their happiness comes from their willingness to sacrifice one human being for the benefit of the rest. They know of the violent and cruel conditions of the child locked in the room yet through the existence of the child and their knowledge of its existence,”that makes possible the nobility of their architecture the poignancy of their music, the profundity of their science.” .(LeGuin, 199) The narrator speaks of when being young you learn of the child and at that age, they want to help and do some about it, but with age, we find that most are taught to accept the situation and relatively accept knowing about the child’s situation. In short, they learn to reject guilt. The boy from “A Party Down in the Square” is taught the same as his uncle tells him “You get used to it in time”.(Ellison, 210) Ellison constructs the boys the internal dialogue in such a way to presents to the reader how the boy understands the physical agony the Africa American man is facing. The line “It was some night all right. It was some party too. I was right there, see. I was right there watching it all. It was my first party and my last. God, but that nigger was tough,”(Ellison, 210) depicts the lack of humanity in the boy. His lack of guilt is shown as describes the horrid scene as a party and something he will decide to not attend. Ellison specifically uses the word party to emphasize how belittled these murders were and by the boy describing the event of a usually innocent African American man being tortured and murder as a party is symbolism for a lack of guilt. The same is in “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas,” as a “Festival”(LeGuin, 198) is occurring at the beginning of the story. One could consider a Festival being the act of ignoring a child being tortured in a small room because it occurs at the same time. Both stories have abominable events taking place yet the author purposely use the words party and festival to emphasize what is really dark, violent, and sinister as fun, happy, and guilt free.
Authors Ursula LeGuin and Ralph Ellison both use detailed imagery, language, and setting to emphasized the dehumanizing abuse happening within each story, specifically Ellison, who excessively uses the word “nigger” in his story to stress the lack of humanity given to the tortured African American man. This is also done by his use of her when the narrator explains the crashing of a nearby airplane. The plane is personified as a female, “Then I saw her. Through the clouds and fog, I could see a red and green light on her wings” (Ellison, 208 ). The narrator describes the crashing plane in a mystical and glorified way much unlike the burning of an actual human being, which is instead described as a “lifeless barbecued hog” (Ellison, 209 ). As Ellison specifically gives life to non-living things, LeGuin specifically took life away from a living thing. The description of the child from Omelas is one of dread and almost disgust. The lines, “It is feeble-minded. Perhaps it was born defective or perhaps it has become imbecile through fear, malnutrition, and neglect. It picks its nose and occasionally fumbles vaguely with its toes or genitals, as it sits haunched in the corner farthest from the bucket and the two mops. It is afraid of the mops. It finds them horrible. It shuts its eyes, but it knows the mops are still standing there, and the door is locked, and nobody will come.”,(LeGuin, 200) describes a child who is unworthy of a gender or a name. Rather LeGuin depicts a community who is willing to completely dehumanize a child and consider the child as a “thing” that receives unlimited misery for their joy.
The loss of humanity within both stories is found in both the abused subjects and within the communities and narrators themselves. In “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” it is made very clear that everyone in Omelas, the narrator included, knows about the suffering child. Most have even come to see it for themselves. As Le Guin writes, “They all know that it has to be there.” (LeGuin, 200) she makes the point that the community itself lost their humanity as they dehumanize the child locked in the room. The community fully understands,”the beauty of their city, the tenderness of their friendships, the health of their children, the wisdom of their scholars…the kindly weathers of their skies depend wholly on this child’s abominable misery”. (LeGuin,200) Ellison displays the same through the fallen airplane scene. During the towns “party” a plane manages to crash extremely close to the square. This was used only as a momentary distraction from the spectacle brought by the burning man. There is something inhuman in the crowd’ s enjoyment of this spectacle. A woman was electrocuted, and nobody mourned her, but rather everybody wanted to get back to the equally inhumane act of burning a man alive. After this crash occurs the crowd rushes back to the original “party” and this is when Ellison makes his most significant comment about humanity. Just as both communities dehumanize a person, they dehumanize themselves for being able to commit such heinous atrocities. LeGuin and Ellison make powerful statements about internal evils that can be found in people. By choosing innocent people to suffer in both stories the authors display society as barbaric and callous people, both qualities that can be used to describe a monster.
Although their stories were published thirty years apart, both authors seemed to create a critiquing tone by means of societal norms found in America. With powerful messages found behind both stories, the reader is able to see how through setting and point of view there is an appraisal of the ostracization and abuse of selective people. Both authors extend this critique by displaying communities that find no guilt from this abuse and dehumanization. This was a common pattern in American history being that child abuse laws and awareness wasn’t significant until the 1960s and the uprising of racism found in the 1990s. Each story speaks out against these injustices and through details and close reading LeGuin and Ellison tell the stories of those who face these issues every day.
LeGuin, Ursula. “The Ones Who Walk away from Omelas.” The Best Short Stories Ever Written Course Packet. Compiled and Edited by Jessica Manry. Rapid Copy Publishing, 2017.
Ellison, Ralph. “A Party Down in the Square.” The Best Short Stories Ever Written Course Packet. Compiled and Edited by Jessica Manry. Rapid Copy Publishing, 2017.