My oldest son read, discussed, and wrote an essay on the book “The Giver” by Lois Lowry. He was told he had to write his essay on who he determined the ‘villain’ of the story to be. He does his own homework. I almost never check in on how or what he is doing anymore because he has taken on this responsibility in his life and rarely needs my help. But this assignment was different. My son, 13 years old (or rather “a thirteen,”) was so upset about the requirement. He insisted there isn’t a villain, or if there is there isn’t enough hard evidence in the book to support writing about it. I realized that I had never read the book, and after seeing how deeply moved he was I decided I must. If you plan to read the book and do not want spoilers read no further. The following is a letter I sent to the author Lois Lowry.
Dear Mrs. Lois Lowry,
I am writing to you about your book “The Giver” published in 1993. My son has recently read it for class and was told to decide who the villain of the story is and write an essay. He was overcome with emotion and insisted there really isn’t a villain, or if there is it was the society at large, and there were was not enough evidence to support writing an essay about it, considering they were ignorant to their own evil. He then decided the only credible option for a villain would be the Giver himself, but it pained him to write an essay supporting that notion, since it was not what he really believed. He settled on writing about the Giver as the villain since he felt sure the Giver knew Jonas would die out there alone in the wilderness trying to escape, and still he sent him away. I encouraged him to write a letter to his teacher about how this made him feel. He did, explaining it was difficult to hand in since he didn’t believe what he wrote to be the truth.
I have just a few more years of wisdom on my son, and after reading your book, felt compelled to write to you about it. You and I are similar. I too have four kids and married at a fairly young age. I love to write and create worlds allegorically. I know loss, but not like you do. And I’m inclined to think God’s hand was on you when you wrote this book.
I know, as you stated in your forward, many people have written letters to you over the years. Let me start by saying you accomplished something extremely difficult when you wrote the Giver. It is a very short read; a very simplistic read. Yet it is almost incomprehensible to process. I knew instantly you must look at life, human connection, pain, and love with great depth and a profound desire for all to be right in the world. I too feel this way. Growing up it was easy for me to feel angry and not understand why. Looking back I believe I was sometimes not emotionally ready for what I was processing intellectually. I believe life is like that.
Often, in today's society, and with the ease of streaming information, we offer a great deal of intellectual information that is too difficult for the younger generation to emotionally process effectively.
This morning I told my son, “I know who the villain is.”
He was eager. “Who?”
“The Sin of man.” I said.
You see none of us are above sin. We have all done it and we continue to do it. God knows this. He knew it all along. Yet He still gives us the choice to follow Him or not. Our sin causes other people pain. It distorts the view of children. Our sin knows no bounds. It is violent and selfish and destructive, and we justify it. There is no such thing as utopia here on earth, because without pain, depth, color, joy, sexual desires, anger, peace, freedom, loss, choice, and love- there is no life. Without the warmth, the family, the community, the human connection, the love, there is nothing. Not knowing those things means not having truly lived at all. But having experienced true pain, our selfish desire to be content in all things whether they are fair, or good, or right might cause us to make a society like this one- if we could. In some ways I think we do, turning a blind eye to injustices, choosing not to help someone else if it makes us uncomfortable, choosing our own contentment in spite of other’s misfortunes.
It must be simultaneously exhilarating and nauseating to have people tell you the meaning of the book you wrote. I wonder if that was part of the point. I wonder if you wanted people to tell you what it meant to them. Having created a world of blissful ignorance at the horrors of war, death, and wrong choices feels both cautionary and enticing. Somehow it wakes you up to coldness of snow, the redness of apples, the depth of desire, and the simple joy of the sun on your skin or a bike ride on the river with someone you like. When we lose someone, no matter how terrible the grief, we are not inclined to wish they never existed. Love means inevitable loss. Life means inevitable joy and pain. We know this, yet we can not understand why fully. Surely what we know; no matter how much pain comes with the joy, once we have experienced truly living, we can never go back.
Sincerely,
Brittany Benjamin