Analysis: Harrison Bergeron

When reading Harrison Bergeron by Kurt Vonnegut, a number of themes and concepts are introduced to the reader. These themes run the gamut from conformity to desensitization toward violence. I intend to discuss these concepts, as well as to compare the different interpretations of this story.

 The short story starts with a married couple seated and watching television. The husband wears a mental handicap, which makes concentration almost impossible. The wife aspires to be the Handicapper General and they both watch ballerinas dance across the stage. Halfway through the program, a news bulletin announces the escape of one Harrison Bergeron, an athletic and ingenious teenager. Now, depending on how the reader interprets this story, two very different impressions can be derived.

 On one side, the story can have a bit of an elitist point of view. It describes average as being almost mentally retarded and incapable of moral outrage or even have the capacity for understanding human emotion. To be fair, the average American isn’t that impressive mentally or physically (e.g. being average), but when I first read this story, it felt like something a high school math-lete would have written after getting a swirly. It seemed like Vonnegut had a bit of intellectual frustration when he wrote this piece. Don’t get me wrong, it’s well written, but I got an impression from the story that the author had little or no confidence in average America. For example, in the beginning of the story, Vonnegut wrote, “the H-G men took George and Hazel Bergeron’s fourteen-year-old son, Harrison, away.   It was tragic, all right, but George and Hazel couldn’t think about it very hard. Hazel had a perfectly average intelligence, which meant she couldn’t think about anything except in short bursts” Now I’ve worked with the mentally handicapped and I’m pretty sure that they’d notice if there child of fourteen years was snatched away from them. So logically, a person of “average” intelligence would both notice and care deeply if their child was taken away.

 On the side of the coin, it also gives the impression of Orwellion revolution and of hope for people to be the best people they can be. If average is actually a metaphor for accepting the bare minimum, for permitting oneself, to live in the crowd. Then that would make the scene at the end of the story with, Harrison dancing with the ballerina, a demonstration of human excellence, a demonstration of what we all could do if we had the will to. He spoke of the two of them leaping 30ft into the air and of Harrison snapping metal like celery. These are extraordinary things, but with enough will and want a person could achieve these things.

 It also is delivering the obvious message of “Don’t-allow-yourself-to-live-in-the-crowd.” But although, I got both these messages, one of intellectual arrogance and a message of hope, I think it doesn’t have to be either/or. I’ll be the first to say that people from all walks of life can be dumb, but no matter how shallow the gene pool gets, people can still surprise you. Harrison Bergeron. I hope I succeeded in doing that as well as in discussing possible meanings hidden behind the words.

Over a Hundred Posts and Finally....

We've had over a hundred posts, here at the Dark Abby, but finally, we've atained Structure!

I'm not a very disciplined blogger. Those treasuresd few from America and scarse parts of Germany may have noticed that I randomly shoot my entire wod like an over-excited virgin. I, typically, post when I feel like it, which isn't conducive to gaining readership. A party train that shows up whenever it feels like it, is hard to jump on to.

So, with the new features on Blogger.com, I'm taming this party train. I'm still going to shoot my wod all at once, but it'll feel like I'm fucking you all night long. (That's gross, but it's the other half of this metaphor.)

So look out for new posts to come out every Sunday night at 10:00pm (Parific Daylight Timezone: United States)

Micro-Blog Post: Novel Status

I've recently made it to 23,600 words today on my No Magic For Luke Peters: Luke Peters is in Exiles Custody, Bobby Bland is in Police custody, and Sadie Perkins is soaked and afraid on the side of the Merrimack.

After a wild raid on the home of Sheila of the Wolves, Luke and Sadie were driven onto the street and ultimately into the Merrimack river with Bobby Bland attempting to smash in the windshield on Perkins' truck. Bobby turned out not to be the threat as the mighty Merrimack tossed my characters around like pinballs in a particularly exciting game. I was wondering if it's possible to use a Deus Ex Machina in reverse. 

I used the violence of the river to strip Luke of his allies and to tire both Luke and Bobby so that I could have them confront one another while not injuring one another too badly.  

The Dark Tower 4.5: The Wind Through The Keyhole - Review

How I rank this book among the others? DT 7, DT5, DT4, DT2, DT6, DT3, DT 4.5, DT1 (This isn't to say any of these books are at all bad. If my house was on fire, it's just that this is the order I'd save the books.)

Stephen King glimpsed through Gan's navel once again and brought back this tale of Roland and his ka-tet weathering a fiercesome storm (called a Starkblast) in an abandonned town hall. While waiting out the Starkblast, Roland tells his ka-tet two stories which wrap around one another. The first tale speaks of his time hunting a "Skin-Man" in the distant coal-mining town of Debaria with his boyhood friend, Jamie Decurry. The second story was of brave Tim Ross who ventures into the Ironwood forest and the swamps beyond after his father is allegedly killed by a dragon.

This novel was officially released April 24, 2012, so I'm going to refrain from too many spoilers in this review.

At 322 pages, "The Wind Through The Keyhole" is the second shortest novel in The Dark Tower series. It's that fact (along with the fact that there's a whole lot in this book) that makes me think this would be perfect for a newcomer to the series. Eddie, Sussannah, Jake and Oy are all present, but none of their fates are exposed for someone hungry for more Dark Tower goodness. For a constant reader, however, you're reminded of the bigger adventures that you've already seen. This novel has the smallest in the series, regarding scope. Roland travels to Debaria with quiet, some would say uninteresting Jamie Decurry on a mission from Roland's father. Roand and Jamie carry out the mission with hardly any snags and then they go home. The reason why the story isn't called "The Skin-Man of Debaria" is because that plotline is the weaker of the two. Buried in the middle, like a chocolate center is "The Wind Through The Keyhole." Here, we have major loss, conflict, sorrow, magic, dragons, friendship, loyal, bravery and glimpses of both Merlin and the sinister, long-lived Man in Black.

"The Wind Through the Keyhole" is closer to "The Eyes of The Dragon" and "Insomnia" in my opinion. By that, I mean that it's a world hovering close to The Dark Tower rather than a full extension of the story. That isn't a bad thing, just like this isn't a bad book. I'm not sure how he could have done it, (most likely, he would have had to just make the two stories into a novellas in an anthology) but I kind of wished that Stephen King had distanced this from the rest of the series. I'm sure that hardcore Dark Tower fans would have loved these two tales much more if they'd been released like "The Eyes Of the Dragon", "Insomnia" or "The Little Sisters of Eluria."

The Dark Tower: Wind Through A Keyhole

Holy Shit, dude.

I somehow forgot that "Wind Through The Keyhole" by Stephen King was coming out in April. How? How? How was I allowed to forget the lastest extension of Roland, the Gunslinger's journey to the Dark Tower. I checked it out on Itunes and the audiobook is actually read by Stephen King, himself. Needless to say, this shall be mine. Destined to flood my ear holes for the next 10 and 28 minutes.

Speaking of the Dark Tower, I thought I'd mention something I noticed about the Dark Tower series. If Stephen King were to author a new Dark Tower story, he could explore the nature of Susannah's membership in Roland's Ka-tet. Every member of the ka-tet has had an opportunity to see a Dark Tower analog except for Susannah. Jake found the rose. Eddie met Stephen King. Roland met Stephen King, saw the rose and went to the Tower. Susannah was held back from all of it. It's probably unconscious, but its an interesting avenue to explore.

The Last Reich: The Killing Kind - Book 1: Ch. 4

4.

The water had been warm. The water had been shockingly warm and it took Macy a few moments to figure out how to stop the water from scolding her. For a while, she thought that she would have to settle for icy, cold water, but figured the glass knob and the water came to a tolerable temperature. She wouldn’t have showered if the woman hadn’t been there, the man’s woman it seemed. The man had been nice, but men had a way of getting nasty if a girl was careless enough. But the woman had been there, smelling vaguely of flowers and tending to the small cuts and scratches on her hands and face. Her breath smelt like mints and Macy thought that she was such a lovely looking woman. She was old compared to Macy, possibly up into her forties, but Macy couldn’t help but admire the woman’s clean black hair streaked with brown strands. The woman had gorgeous blue eyes like Clod’s eyes and Macy bore the sting of the rubbing alcohol because Macy knew she was trying to help and because the woman smelt so nice.

She ended the water and pulled away the white water curtains. She stood nude in the small, steamy bathroom, her arms curled up over her chest. She was suddenly nervous about where she was and was eyeing the small bathroom window. She had done the same in the man’s vehicle. She kept staring as the world rolled by, rumbling dully. Her hands had been cold, but she was trying to hide it from the man. She didn’t know exactly why, but she hid her shivers anyway. It hadn’t been enough because the man had looked over to her and cranked a knob, causing more hot air to flood into the cabin.

“Put your hands on the vents. You’ll feel better.” The man had told her and she did feel better. He actually took off his gloves and offered them to her when her hands still shook and took them as well.

“Thank you.” Macy had said softly. The man had been nice. She didn’t get the dangerous feeling from this man that she had gotten from other men. She still believed that she was in her time, her homespun,  gun-toting time. When she had fallen with Toby, she was in a cold place and she was in a cold place now. She was in a high place and now she was in a low place and she reasoned that she had fallen from that high place. Had she given it any real thought, she would have known that was nonsensical. Had she fallen from the mountain the compound sat upon, Toby and her would have been torn up, broken apart and dead. She had also seen the water on one side of the river and a field on the other. There were no mountains for her to have fallen from. She’d figure it out later on, but there was too much to consider. There were lights everywhere, scattered freely like they were trying to shoo away the night. Along with the lights, there was so much noise, honking, puttering and music wafting down from windows and out from storefronts. So loud and so bright and it was all nonsensical. There were so many people and all of them just scrunched together. Everything was so close and there were so many people.

We’ll call social services…

She heard that there the door of the bathroom door and it sounded vaguely sinister in her ear. She couldn’t think of what ‘social services’ was or why the man and his wife would call them. Social services. Services for society. Something deliberately vague. There wasn't enough context for her to define what she had heard, but she thought that social services took people away. She thought of the Slavers and the Pester Gang. Pester hadn’t been nice by any stretch of the imagination, but he had taken care that she wasn’t spoiled by anyone. Pester had wanted her health for the Slavers. Maybe the Slavers were called social services in this part of the world. If so, she needed to get out, run away and quick. The Slavers being social services didn’t quite sound right, but she still felt nervous. Macy snaked a fluffy, white towel off a hook mounted on the wall. She rubbed the towel through her hair and then wrapped the towel around her body. There was a gentle knock on the door.

“Yes?” Macy called through the door.

“I have a pair of pants. A blouse as well.” It was the woman and Macy opened the door a crack. The woman smiled to Macy and passed clothes through the crack. Macy’s eyes and the woman’s eyes met for a lingering moment and Macy returned the smile, but she still felt unnerved.

“Thank you.” Macy said, taking the clothes and then softly closing the door again. The pants were slightly loose on her hips, but had fit better than the pair she had before. She realized that the pants had been cut for a woman. It wasn’t an absolutely ridiculous concept, but she hadn’t ever owned a pair of pants like that. Her last pair had been stole off from a gut-shot man. Her dress had been torn up by the man’s brother. The white blouse was slightly baggy, but she hadn’t minded that at all. She wiped the fog off the mirror and looked at herself. She looked like a different person on this side. Why would see think that? She looked like a cleaner person, yes. That wasn’t the part she was thinking about. On this side? This side of the mountain, maybe? Macy looked out the window and didn’t see mountains like black triangles against a purple backdrop. There were towers all around and so much light, but no mountains. On this side?

She had a cut under her left eye, looking like a deep, dark pink teardrop. She had another cut on her cheekbone and another on her chin. The cut on her cheekbone was surrounded by a purple bruise and she supposed that the cut had come from being hit by a knuckle. All of it was a blur. Her knuckles had been bad, swollen and red. A few of them had been cut open and she supposed that had happened when she was hitting Toby.  There was a shallow cut on her palm. She had gotten that from a piece of stone she had pulled out of a wall because she didn’t have any other weapon. There was another knock on the door and Macy went to it.

“I’ve got meatloaf, if you’re hungry? Some leftover mashed potatoes as well.” The woman had offered and Macy smiled at the thought. It took someone saying it for her to realize how hungry she actually was. She stepped out from the bathroom and followed the woman  back into the kitchen where a plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes awaited.

The Last Reich: The Killing Kind - Book 1: Ch. 3

“Why is a strange teenage girl in our shower?” Ray Nickels’ wife, Amanda asked. She had her arms crossed before her, leaning up against their gas ranges which had been coated in a thin coat of grime. She’d been lax in cleaning it after gaining her RN license and neither she nor Ray had ever gotten Lauren to bother with its upkeep. Lauren was out working at the music shop and would be until nine o’clock. Her absence was fortunate because when the teenage girl got out of the shower, Ray expected Amanda to offer the girl some of her daughter’s clothes. Lauren wouldn’t notice her clothes missing if she didn’t actually see them part from her possession. She had enough clothes and Amanda had been after her to send some of it to the Salvation Army. Amanda supposed that some of Lauren’s clothes were going to charity after all.

“I didn’t know what else to do. I found her out on the road, slapping the shit out of some guy. I think he had gotten fresh. I think he had tried something and she kicked the crap out of him.” Ray said, smiling at the thought.

“Why not bring her to the police? Straight there?” Ray made a grimace and then leaned back in the black and silver kitchen chair.

“Well. She made me think of Lauren. I didn’t like dumping her off like that. She’s a runaway. She admitted that much. I haven’t gotten much either out of her.” That seemed to be enough of an explanation for her. She had already chosen a pair of jeans that Lauren had grown out of the previous summer, a bra, a pair of panties and a white blouse Lauren had purchased and discarded for Senior class pictures.  

“We’ll call social services, but I’m thinking it wouldn’t be a bad thing to get some food in the girl. Get her cleaned up and rested a while.”

“Food definitely wouldn’t be a bad thing for that girl. Did you see how skinny see is? Like a stick.” Amanda said, demonstrating her thinness by holding her hands about an inch apart. Ray hadn’t noticed how skinny the girl was. He had focused on all the cuts and scratches on the girl. Ray noticed that she had bruises on her body and she had actually needed a shower. Ray didn’t notice how skinny she was because all he saw was a scared and injured girl.

When Ray found her on the road, scrabbling with a boy who had been equally filthy and banged up. The boy had been crying over and over that he didn’t want to and Ray thought that the boy might have been a nut. He had actually pulled the girl off the boy, hurrying to his defense. He had only the vaguest idea of why they had been fighting. She had wanted to leave, get to another person, but the boy had attempted to stop her and she beat the hell out of him. Ray had guessed that she had runaway from home and met the boy on the streets and then got cold feet. The boy hadn’t liked that and she gave him hell. He knew that it seemed crazy to take a strange girl in, especially in the city. Ray had seen plenty of drug addicts and crazies in the city and to let a stranger into his third floor walkup apartment seemed crazy. Why would he bring her to his home, then? Even if he felt sorry for the girl. Even if he had felt the pangs of fatherly responsibility for her, why didn’t he just take her down to the hospital? They could have patched her up as easily as Amanda had and they would have had more experience taking care of runaways. Ray, honestly, didn’t know. He had just looked at the girl, remembered Lauren and trusted her. He hadn’t been surprised that Amanda had accepted the girl as easily as he did, telling her to sit down and turn her face toward the light before Ray had offered any explanation. Amanda had picked tiny bits of gravel out of the girl’s wounds with a pair of tweezers and then washed the wounds with a paper napkin soaked with rubbing alcohol. The girl had sucked in pained breaths of air at the alcohol like a small child might. It wasn’t exactly that, though. It was more like she had been surprised by the alcohol’s sting like she’d never had a wound disinfected.