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A Small Village
The Lottery is set in a small village. So small that it takes only a small amount of time for it to be finished; two hours, in fact. On June 27, the Lottery was to begin.
This day was fruitful, it was beautiful. Everything about the day screamed birth: new flowers, ripe grass. It was a warm day, comforting even. In some towns the Lottery took a longer time.
Everyone gathers for the Lottery; you must, it is annual, for the Harvest. We must ensure that the grass stays green, the flowers stay blooming, that summer stays clear and fresh. Rebirth; naissance.
The small village; a Lottery of Intimacy. The summertime was fresh and new. Everyone was ready for summer. When school was out, children were fearful of hope. Can hope remain?
The children select beautiful stones. Have you ever searched for smooth stones, perhaps to skip across the water? Or heavy, rugged stones to lay on a beach blanket to keep it from flying in the wind? The kids select stones, on a summer day, a typical childhood activity. Truly nothing about this town stems from the standard.
Just like any other activity, the Lottery was conducted by Mr. Summers. Just like any normal day. Shirley wants us to be familiar, comfortable, but weary of the villagers’ smiles instead of laughter. They still joke, and jeer, and go about their business, but they don’t laugh today; they smile.
The Lottery begins in a small village on a familiar day. The beginning of summer. A favorite time of the year for most people; beautiful, kind, birth. The Lottery must commence for such beautiful conditions to ensue.
Tradition, Old Man Warner
“They do say,” Mr. Adams said to Old Man Warner, who stood next to him, “that over in the north village they’re talking of giving up the lottery.”
Old Man Warner: in many small towns he exists. He wanders about, reminiscing about the town’s conditions 50 years ago or so. He misses the way things used to be. There was a town not far from here that spoke of getting rid of the lottery. Old Man Warner did not approve of such efforts at modernity.
We all have an Old Man Warner; a traditionalist. He is crotchety yet you can’t help but like him, respect him even.
He is adamant that the Lottery stay the same. How else can we ensure good Harvest? We simply cannot and no matter how modern or ethical we may want to be we cannot leave the Lottery because that is what we do.
I wonder if the towns without the Lottery enjoy good Harvest?!
And if i know one thing, if there is something that we do arbitrarily for years upon years, it is the one thing that we must continue to do indefinitely. There is no better reason for continuity than continuity itself. Until it’s at the expense, of YOU.
Mrs. Hutchinson
Tessie, dear, don’t you want to live in this town?
Tessie Hutchinson surely thought that she played the Lottery by the books; I mean, she made it this far, didn’t she?
I suppose Tessie fell victim to the things we never admit to.
Tessie was late to the town square; her “clean” forgot what day it was. I do not think that the Lottery appreciated this lack of respect. Surely Tessie didn’t forget; surely Tessie wouldn’t be punished for forgetting.
“Get up there Bill,” she says.
Almost jokingly, confidently, too confidently?
Tessie is simply not a likeable person; she doesn’t follow the conventions that we use to determine if someone is likeable. She is late, seeks attention. She cannot accept fate. She believes she is entitled to more.
She does not think Bill got enough time to draw. Is Tessie trying to fight the Lottery? Or did they shorten his time as punishment for her disrespect?
Tessie claims things weren’t fair, were they?
Shut up Tessie. Be a good sport, Tessie.
I suppose that the conventions of the Lottery musn’t be bent for anyone. Do they like her? Do they hate her? Are they silencing her because this is all an elaborate plan or is it really a…
Lottery?
Nobody says really much of anything when she claims that everybody saw the unfairness.
Her paper wasn’t blank.
She does not fight; “it wasn’t fair,” she says. She complies but rests in her certainty that it wasn’t fair. And I am starting to wonder if Tessie is the villain, the unlikeable woman. Or if they were done with her. And I’m starting to wonder if the Lottery is a Lottery or just a way to manage those who step out of line, but I suppose we will never know because suddenly
They were upon her.
In a small town, they had to ensure that the harvest would prosper. In a small town, Tessie didn’t belong.
In a small town, tradition matters.
Shirley released this novel and outrage ensued.
People thought it was real.
I suppose it isn’t far from real, despite how grotesque it would be if it were real. But darling, isn’t it real?
A woman who does not belong. A game. A life for a crop. Stones. Killing. Murder.
A game of life!
The Lottery, 1969
The villagers are normal people. This is important to remember.
The film captures the villagers as normal people doing normal things on a normal day. I think the film attempts to replicate this normalcy that Shirley uses to create horror. The horror of inhumanity within normalcy.
I suppose the adaptation replicated the film quite well. Normal people, but somewhat strange. Smiling not laughing! Half human, humanity is fleeting.
I think that Shirley shows us half humanity to show us that nobody really is truly humane. Why else would everyone believe the story is real? We hold ourselves to a high moral standard that is perhaps simply fake; we are all inhumane.
It’s just another day, and that is what haunts us. The film succeeds in haunting us because it is real. Children helping murder. Children holding stones. But don’t children blindly follow their parents? Don’t parents lead by example? Is it really all that different, than say, a child supporting Trump because daddy says he’s “re-pub-li-can” and wants America great again? I certainly don’t think so.
And Shirley didn’t belong in her little New England town full of people who judged her and never understood her and perhaps even thought she was haunted. So maybe Shirley was Tessie. But certainly not. Shirley did not blindly follow tradition; she questioned things. If Shirley assimilated, she would be Tessie.
If Trump deported white men, they would certainly be Tessie.
I think that the fault of the film was Tessie’s death. We heard her die. This isn’t really supposed to happen; we are supposed to imagine. Why? Because hearing her death makes it all too real and it takes out the fear. No longer are we in a haunting, but rather in a crime scene. Nothing about the Lottery is a crime scene.
The lottery is the game of life!
