I first read The Giver when I was 12. Like many other schoolchildren, it was assigned to read in English class. I was both fascinated and terrified by the concept at that age, and I would visualize what this Community might look like and ultimately, how empty it would be to live there. With my renewed interest in dystopian fiction, I thought it best to reread the book to refresh my memory, and to prepare to read the other books in The Giver Quartet, which I’ve been wanting to do for years. I knew that rereading it now, as an adult, would be a different experience. There are a few things that struck me this time.
The nature of the Community is revealed in installments, I would say three. These installments come as Jonas learns more about how it operates. As a child, the Community is all good. You’re fed, have a family, have friends, ceremonies to anticipate, skills to develop. Life is more exciting. After Jonas begins to learn what emotions feel like, and everything in life there is to experience, the Community seems progressively worse. The implications of living as an adult in this world come to light: a dull, monotonous, repetitive life. Now that Jonas knows emotions, he starts to see the lack of feelings in his friends, now that he’s no longer equal to them. Lastly, the final revelation comes in the truth about release. It makes the Community much more sinister—a society that demands obedience, conformity, and superficiality. They never worry about hunger, pain, or sorrow—but only if they’re deemed worthy.
I continue to find the premise for the book very compelling. In my early days of reading and enjoying it, I would mull over the idea that by stripping away all the negative emotions, it means removing the positive ones too. Life is meant to be a mixture of positives and negatives, and we are built for a range of emotions. As much as we might not like negative emotions, the Community is a far more sobering prospect.
My reread is also where more criticisms of the book surfaced. The number one would have to be the transfer of memories. This is never adequately explained, and it sounds more magical than realistic. Transferring memories is so powerful it can cause literal change in a body: Jonas made Gabe’s body warm by transferring memories of heat. I never understood this as a kid, but it makes even less sense now. Aspects of Community set-up are incongruous. Why doesn’t the Community have sunshine, which is pretty essential to human health (what, are they covered by a giant dome?), but they *do* have access to a river, where they can easily drown—and have! There are other examples, but those are what come to mind.
The Giver serves as a good introduction to children or anyone who wants to try the dystopian genre, but I would not count it as an outstanding work of literature. The premise motivates me to think, but the application requires much suspension of disbelief. Perhaps too much.
The Giver
I first read The Giver when I was 12. Like many other schoolchildren, it was assigned to read in English class. I was both fascinated and terrified by the concept at that age, and I would visualize what this Community might look like and ultimately, how empty it would be to live there. With my renewed interest in dystopian fiction, I thought it best to reread the book to refresh my memory, and to prepare to read the other books in The Giver Quartet, which I’ve been wanting to do for years. I knew that rereading it now, as an adult, would be a different experience. There are a few things that struck me this time.
The nature of the Community is revealed in installments, I would say three. These installments come as Jonas learns more about how it operates. As a child, the Community is all good. You’re fed, have a family, have friends, ceremonies to anticipate, skills to develop. Life is more exciting. After Jonas begins to learn what emotions feel like, and everything in life there is to experience, the Community seems progressively worse. The implications of living as an adult in this world come to light: a dull, monotonous, repetitive life. Now that Jonas knows emotions, he starts to see the lack of feelings in his friends, now that he’s no longer equal to them. Lastly, the final revelation comes in the truth about release. It makes the Community much more sinister—a society that demands obedience, conformity, and superficiality. They never worry about hunger, pain, or sorrow—but only if they’re deemed worthy.
I continue to find the premise for the book very compelling. In my early days of reading and enjoying it, I would mull over the idea that by stripping away all the negative emotions, it means removing the positive ones too. Life is meant to be a mixture of positives and negatives, and we are built for a range of emotions. As much as we might not like negative emotions, the Community is a far more sobering prospect.
My reread is also where more criticisms of the book surfaced. The number one would have to be the transfer of memories. This is never adequately explained, and it sounds more magical than realistic. Transferring memories is so powerful it can cause literal change in a body: Jonas made Gabe’s body warm by transferring memories of heat. I never understood this as a kid, but it makes even less sense now. Aspects of Community set-up are incongruous. Why doesn’t the Community have sunshine, which is pretty essential to human health (what, are they covered by a giant dome?), but they *do* have access to a river, where they can easily drown—and have! There are other examples, but those are what come to mind.
The Giver serves as a good introduction to children or anyone who wants to try the dystopian genre, but I would not count it as an outstanding work of literature. The premise motivates me to think, but the application requires much suspension of disbelief. Perhaps too much.