Well I've already learned one thing from the book club: Lovecraft is not for me.
I can see how someone wouldn't like it: the language is (purposefully?) archaic even in comparison to the time of its publication, and so can come off as bombastic; and the plot is simple enough that the story is pretty much a literary exercise.
The twist has been done other times, but I still think it's quite effective, and it offers opportunities for deeper reflection too (how the protagonist's perception of self completely changes when meeting other people, and it's devastating).
"No, Fratt, I was just scared". pls.
In this world there are two kinds of people: those with loaded guns and those who dig. I dig.
Well I've already learned one thing from the book club: Lovecraft is not for me.
I can see how someone wouldn't like it: the language is (purposefully?) archaic even in comparison to the time of its publication, and so can come off as bombastic; and the plot is simple enough that the story is pretty much a literary exercise.
The twist has been done other times, but I still think it's quite effective, and it offers opportunities for deeper reflection too (how the protagonist's perception of self completely changes when meeting other people, and it's devastating).
"No, Fratt, I was just scared". pls.
My issue is mainly with the language and style. It honestly was a chore for me to get through the story. Took multiple sittings that combined for over an hour at least by my estimation. It unnecessarily obscured the story, or maybe it was a purposeful choice as part of the confusion of the protagonist. Haven't read Lovecraft enough to know if that's par for the course or if it was just for this story.
I read quite a few stories but most of them were translated, so I don't know for sure (since translation choices can change the style quite a bit).
Maybe someone else can chime in on the topic. CoS?
1920s was late enough for modern writing to exist, though, so "it was a thing of his time" wouldn't be an excuse. It definitely feels like a much older story. So, could be the personal style, could be a choice for this specific story, or could be because it's extremely short (which can magnify the flaws of one's style - it felt very 'dense', as if all his favourite trademark words had been packed in a handful of pages).
In this world there are two kinds of people: those with loaded guns and those who dig. I dig.
I'm... not sure what the story is trying to convey.
It's setting up a philosophical question. Is a utopia worth the price of having one person, a fault less child even, by rule having to suffer in order for Omelas to thrive
It's setting up a philosophical question. Is a utopia worth the price of having one person, a fault less child even, by rule having to suffer in order for Omelas to thrive
But then it's just the usual question about utilitarianism v. deontology ("Yes, it's worth it because the sacrifice of one person allows many to prosper", "No, nobody should suffer like that")! I feel like the ending rejects that dichotomy, because 'those who walk away' do believe a utopia where truly everyone is happy is possible: they don't simply choose to return a worse, unhappy state because the utopia isn't worth the price; they want to reach 'a place even less imaginable...'.
As for Omelas itself, I see it as a hyperbolic representation of our society, or any stratified societies really, from the point of view of 'the privileged' (if you want to call them that). Their prosperity is founded upon great injustices and they know it: however said injustice is believed to be a fair price, or even 'the rule'. Escaping said rule is deemed impossible: if the child was freed the happiness of Omelas would be destroyed (supposedly) and, they tell themselves, even the child wouldn't be better off by much.
In this world there are two kinds of people: those with loaded guns and those who dig. I dig.
Hey, it's very cool that you have this! I hope it's OK if I chip in.
I completely agree with Fratt about Omelas being a representation of our own society, which is possible because of injustice and exploitation. That's especially true of the developing world which we colonised and have used as a source of cheap raw materials and labour. We like to think we've abolished the horrific employment conditions of the 19th century when in truth we've outsourced them. Then, like the child in the story, we rationalise that by thinking of those our society depends on as inferior and incapable of appreciating what we have, people who can't be allowed into our countries to share in the wealth they produce.
As an extra layer I also read it as a criticism of Christianity, in which the possibility of salvation is dependent on the suffering of an innocent individual.
As an extra layer I also read it as a criticism of Christianity, in which the possibility of salvation is dependent on the suffering of an innocent individual.
It's possible, but it's a bit more of a stretch. While the story can be reduced to a fundamental theme which can be interpreted in various ways (including religious salvation as depending on the sacrifice of an innocent), I don't think it was intended as a criticism of Christianity when written: the inhabitants of Omelas live in extreme material prosperity and know no guilt, the child's sacrifice is forced and he doesn't even seem aware of his role in sustaining the others' happiness, and the possibility of freeing the child is still considered (at the price of the destruction of Omelas).
I don't think any of this fits with Christian ethics or the concept of salvation.
In this world there are two kinds of people: those with loaded guns and those who dig. I dig.
I feel like the ending rejects that dichotomy, because 'those who walk away' do believe a utopia where truly everyone is happy is possible: they don't simply choose to return a worse, unhappy state because the utopia isn't worth the price; they want to reach 'a place even less imaginable...'.
That’s an interesting take which I actually haven’t thought of or read before. Often it’s construed as mere rejection of political and moral realism.
And yes Uan! Everyone is welcome to chip in! I find it quite interesting that you point out the outsourcing kf horrific employment conditions too, though, since it would then actually show how the dichotomy between realism/utilitarianism and liberal idealism/deontology is artificial after all.
"Do you believe? Do you accept the festival, the city, the joy? No? Then let me describe
one more thing."
[Proceeds to describe the locked away child]
Was that supposed to persuade everyone that Omelas was wonderful, or that it could be real upon description because of this tragedy? We've probably already flew past this point in the other comments but yeah it seems like a commentary on the exploitation or suffering of others being an element of realness and a necessary condition for others to be happy.
"Do you believe? Do you accept the festival, the city, the joy? No? Then let me describe
one more thing."
[Proceeds to describe the locked away child]
Was that supposed to persuade everyone that Omelas was wonderful, or that it could be real upon description because of this tragedy?
I hadn't noticed that phrase but it sounds:
(a) either as an attack on the cynicism of the reader, that first believes something so perfect cannot exist; but is willing to believe after an element of injustice is added to it ("we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting"). Which fits with the reading Harm mentioned.
(b) or as a "reveal" that Omelas is an allegory for our society. I used to think this was fiction, but now I believe it because it actually exists.
it seems like a commentary on the exploitation or suffering of others being an element of realness and a necessary condition for others to be happy.
An interesting thought is that whether you come to that conclusion ('the author meant to say that happiness can only be/feel real when it's juxtaposed to suffering; I know I am happy only once I've seen what suffering is') depends on your own ideas and preconceptions about it.
Would you walk away from Omelas? If so, you cannot believe that's what the story is about.
In this world there are two kinds of people: those with loaded guns and those who dig. I dig.
As an extra layer I also read it as a criticism of Christianity, in which the possibility of salvation is dependent on the suffering of an innocent individual.
It's possible, but it's a bit more of a stretch. While the story can be reduced to a fundamental theme which can be interpreted in various ways (including religious salvation as depending on the sacrifice of an innocent), I don't think it was intended as a criticism of Christianity when written: the inhabitants of Omelas live in extreme material prosperity and know no guilt, the child's sacrifice is forced and he doesn't even seem aware of his role in sustaining the others' happiness, and the possibility of freeing the child is still considered (at the price of the destruction of Omelas).
I don't think any of this fits with Christian ethics or the concept of salvation.
That's fair. but I think any reading is going to be a stretch because the story isn't an exact match for anything we might want to impose on it. We want to read it as a comment on our own society but we have far more exploited than exploiters, whereas in Omelas there are many exploiters of a single victim. And we don't want it to just be a discussion of the needs of the many versus the needs of the one or we'll reduce it to Star Trek III: The Search for Spock. I am aware that it almost certainly isn't intended to be decoded to yield a single correct meaning.
A possible link to Christianity is that in Omelas the exact mechanism of, or logic behind, the way the exchange works is mysterious (whereas we understand how exploitation in the real world works). It also kind of reminded me of the suffering servant from Isaiah 53.
"Do you believe? Do you accept the festival, the city, the joy? No? Then let me describe
one more thing."
[Proceeds to describe the locked away child]
Was that supposed to persuade everyone that Omelas was wonderful, or that it could be real upon description because of this tragedy? We've probably already flew past this point in the other comments but yeah it seems like a commentary on the exploitation or suffering of others being an element of realness and a necessary condition for others to be happy.
I think we probably are supposed to understand that happiness without a price is implausible, but the section you're highlighting serves to give the story a suddenly more serious turn. Prior to that it's clear that the narrators voice is constructing an allegory rather than describing an actual place. The offhand tone of "I suppose it's like this..." and "If you like you can add..." does that in a whimsical way, but the same light tone then suddenly leads us to the child's imprisonment, which seems more shocking because of the contrast.
Ursula Le Guin is considered one of the pivotal authors in mainstreaming anarchism in literature. To that end, she was well known for writing on and celebrating utopianism as, in a sense, a necessary panacea to political apathy. Her long-form science fiction writing has a lot of exploration of such utopian societies.
Using that particular frame, putting aside for now on my part the death of the author approach, I think it's reasonable to approach Those Who Walk Away as being these necessary utopianists. In a sense, it's a two-layered story.
The first is to create a utopian ideal for the reader themselves to understand, and to approach, and to find believable or unbelievable. If you, the reader, cannot believe in such a utopia without the child in the basement, then you are in good company amongst those in Omelas who also cannot believe in a utopia beyond one predicated upon the suffering of another.
But if, for you, the reader, the process of imagining Omelas was sufficient for you, an ideal in its own, before the suffering of the child is introduced, then you are one of Those Who Walk Away, searching for a utopia you cannot articulate but that you know must be there - the Omelas you imagined to begin with, before you were brought downstairs into the basement to confront the child.
It's interesting you bring up the death of the author approach. Did anyone else notice how unreliable the narrator seemed to be? It was interesting to see the writing style meld together with the content, that is, the author as no longer the main source of authority with lines such as "I think..." and "do you believe?" and the collapse of a meta-narrative which can only be possible through violence and oppression - that is, how over-arching ideals are necessarily violent.
I think if we look at it in this way, it might not be much of a stretch to relate it to religion and sacred violence.
Ursula Le Guin is considered one of the pivotal authors in mainstreaming anarchism in literature. To that end, she was well known for writing on and celebrating utopianism as, in a sense, a necessary panacea to political apathy. Her long-form science fiction writing has a lot of exploration of such utopian societies.
Using that particular frame, putting aside for now on my part the death of the author approach, I think it's reasonable to approach Those Who Walk Away as being these necessary utopianists. In a sense, it's a two-layered story.
The first is to create a utopian ideal for the reader themselves to understand, and to approach, and to find believable or unbelievable. If you, the reader, cannot believe in such a utopia without the child in the basement, then you are in good company amongst those in Omelas who also cannot believe in a utopia beyond one predicated upon the suffering of another.
But if, for you, the reader, the process of imagining Omelas was sufficient for you, an ideal in its own, before the suffering of the child is introduced, then you are one of Those Who Walk Away, searching for a utopia you cannot articulate but that you know must be there - the Omelas you imagined to begin with, before you were brought downstairs into the basement to confront the child.
I really like this reading, so thanks for adding it. It works so much better than trying to find similarities between Omelas and the real world, and le Guin's certainly feels a kindred spirit to the utopians who walk away. It's a rebuke to those who lack the imagination to believe in a better world.
This week, we're entering the world of atoms and reading Carbon by Primo Levi! It's an interesting mix of literary story-telling, science, and politics as well as history, so it should be an interesting point of discussion!
I can't find a better copy of this that's in at least PDF or Word form, so if you do, please feel free to share!
Aside from the story itself, which I find cool enough on its own, to me the most intriguing bit is when he says: "It is exactly to this carbon that I have an old debt, contracted during what for me were decisive days. To carbon, the element of life, my first literary dream was turned, insistently dreamed in an hour and a place when my life was not worth much."
imo there should be no doubt that those lines can only refer to Levi's experience as a Holocaust survivor. So, from the sound of it the story was first conceived in Auschwitz: he "insistently dreamed" it, and even has an "old debt" with the element itself. Why's that?
The first impression is that carbon is the common denominator of life: in turn the atom becomes part of a leaf, a drinker's liver, a cedar trunk, a woodworm, a glass of milk, the writer's brain... This stresses the commonality of all human beings and lifeforms in general, and prospects a kind of atheistic "afterlife" where even one's destruction can bring one to be part of the colours or perfume in flowers, tiny algae and crustaceans and fish, or trees and other human beings and creative work itself, and both things can be imagined as a personal comfort.
Not 100% convinced this is all there is to it, as there are other bits that struck me. Particularly, the break between carbon as limestone ("congealed in an eternal present", "an imprisonment ... worthy of the Catholic Hell") and its tumultuous story afterwards, brought upon by the intervention of man; and the fact CO2 is so important to life and yet only an "impurity".
In this world there are two kinds of people: those with loaded guns and those who dig. I dig.
I was pre-occupied with running TRT and being a biochemical mess. I'll see about getting a copy of the story (in one medium or another) and begin reading immediately.
I have a PDF copy available on my Drive account here.
Longest Consecutively Serving Officer in TRR History