Book 19: The Giver

The Giver

Lois Lowry

The Giver is undoubtedly my favorite book of all time, and it has been since I first read its incomparable final sentence. I revisited it after a long absence after reading a number of articles about the recent movie adaptation and I was, as expected, just as enthralled as I was as a preteen in the late '90s. The movie that runs in my own head is the same as the one I first envisioned so long ago, the characters as familiar to me as any from the books I've read more recently. As with most books that completely blow you out of the water, it's hard to say what, exactly, it is that makes The Giver so great, both as a gateway book into the world(s) of dystopian fiction and as a novel in its own right. Upon reflection, I think that the great power of the book lies in its simplicity, which sets it apart from the glut of similar stories. There is something to be said for the subtle cruelty Lowry's imagined community of Sameness and the way she presents it; who is the story's villain when it seems that the people have done this to themselves? More importantly, though, would the people make the same choice if they knew that they even had a choice to make in the first place? Lowry's great talent is that she writes accessible fiction for preteens and young teenagers that doesn't shy away from tangled ambiguities that are capable of tantalizing an adult mind accustomed to such stories, worlds, and problems.

Unlike many of its peers, The Giver doesn't rely on excessive moralization or on polarized views of Right and Wrong; though we have a hero in Jonas, it's not quite clear who the villains should be, or if they are even to blame for their misdeeds. More importantly, Jonas is a relatable dystopian hero, a boy of twelve who acts like a boy of twelve might in a similar situation, reflecting a younger readership's desire to file things neatly away despite the real world's reluctance to be so easily compressed and understood. As he experiences the greater complexity of the world beyond all that he has ever known, Jonas tends to approach problems first as black and white (ha), though they are always far more complex than the easiest, most comfortable conclusions might suggest. Lowry balances Jonas's (and the reader's) shoot-from-the-hip assumptions with the Giver's hard-earned wisdom, which forces Jonas (and reader alike) to fully appreciate the difficulty and depth of the problems he confronts. Rather than presenting a dystopia with a clear sense of good and bad and ugly, she writes about a future world that is just as messy as the one we currently occupy. Lowry's not one to pull punches, either, and the book includes fully realized depictions of physical and emotional pain, to say nothing of heart-wrenching tales of Release and examples of Jonas becoming quickly ostracized from his community, forced to play a role that is unexpectedly thrust upon him.

I think a large part of the book's greatness and a the fundamental reason for the enduring impression it has left on many readers is Lowry's refusal to condescend to her readership and her reliance on- and trust in- her readers' intelligence. The book's community is defined not with the broad strokes of expository authorial meddling but rather with a careful use of language and real-time examples. It is no accident that the book opens with Jonas carefully distinguishing fear and apprehension, and even when linguistic mishaps are played for laughs they reveal much about the way the characters- and the communities around them- operate. The language Jonas, his family, and friends use explains so much about the way they (have been taught to) view the world around them, and it offers even young readers quick and easy insight into the community's values and structure. And, importantly, our introduction to the community is as pleasant as Jonas's; on some level, it does seem like a pleasant place to live, again unlike the easy-to-hate hells that populate similar books.

If, then, the great strength of The Giver is the ambiguity that fuels its world-building, character development, and plot, there is no greater testament to its genius than its final sentence. It is a haunting, piercing piece of prose that so perfectly encapsulates all that came before it, though it alternately leaves the impression of the happiest and most tragic possible outcomes. Within the context of the book alone, it is, after all, impossible to know what really happened to Jonas, and each of the most popular interpretations offers a satisfying conclusion. Whether or not this final ambiguity is as intentional as the other examples found throughout the book, it is as fitting a conclusion as I've read, up there with (but existing as a sort of counterpoint to) the eerie finality of 1984's parting words. I don't for a minute believe that it is literary nostalgia alone that draws me back to this book time and again; perhaps its great power lies in the careful weight of every incident, every example, every carefully chosen word, or perhaps it is the book's unflinching devotion to hard truths and its resulting emotional core that drew me in and keep me there. Perhaps it is something else entirely. Regardless, it is, and remains, my perennial favorite. For me, The Giver simply is, as it always has been...back and back and back. 

Grade: A