Flowers for some, death for all!

I'M BACK! AN OUTMODED FORMAT'S STORY

Guys, it's been far too long. Here's what I've been up to in the five years (yeah, I don't know how that happened, either) since I yelled about a YA book, in no particular order:

1. Earned a doctorate in educational leadership
2. Switched jobs twice (and switched roles in each year)
3. Moved into a new house; discovered that building things and remodeling things is costly, but rewarding
4. Got into podcasting on subjects other than YA books.
5. Followed KISS around on their last three farewell tours. 

One of the above items isn't true; I wish it was number one. Let's put that degree, which will pay for itself in 17 years at this rate, to use, and discuss the themes in the timeless, Hugo- and Nebula-winning (and Hugo- and Nebula-deserving) novel Flowers For Algernon by Daniel Keyes, despite its being written in the dreaded EPISTOLARY FORM. 

Flowers! Is there an Al Jarreau N. here?

SCIENCE FICTION: MY HAPPY PLACE

We all know that science fiction is the hip, newfangled place to couch contemporary social commentary, as the disguise of aliens/technology/funny looking weirdos is just enough to get away with your morality tale. Well, usually. Just as with any fiction that threatens the milquetoast status quo and challenges us to actually THINK ABOUT SOMETHING OTHER THAN MEMES, Algernon has subject to attempts at school censorship throughout the decades since its publication.  Therefore, I already admire it. Not to mention that Keyes adapted his own short story to novel length, because he had a BIG IDEA that needed more fleshing out. 

Such is Algernon, although Keyes eschews the metaphors and goes right for the jugular with a realistic take on the question of what would happen if people could become instantly intelligent, or perhaps, what if we were all geniuses? As if that wasn't enough, he retells the adolescent sexual awakening (Oh, so that's why repressed dorks don't want their kids reading this!) through Charlie, who at 32 is just now becoming self-aware after undergoing a treatment that increased his intelligence. Keyes gets into some of the technobabble around it, but I'd rather he just called in the MacGuffin Procedure and moved on. 

So, where to begin? How about a list of themes and nuggets in convenient list form?

• Theme: No level of intelligence can solve interpersonal relationships. 
• Runner-up theme: We'll never know all there is to know, nor will we transcend our corporeal beings to become one with the universe, isn't that, like, tragic?
• Nuggets:

1. Growth and change (physical and intellectual)
2. Ethics of manipulating human traits/physiology
3. Social taboo of being the "other" 
4. Society's treatment of people with disabilities
5. Post-traumatic stress, particularly navigating the effects of child abuse
6. Societal alienation
7. Self-actualization
8. I want to beat up those jerks at the bakery, those jerks at the lab. Know what? I want to beat up everyone but Alice. Okay, there is some closure with most everyone at the end, but it takes ages for anyone to actually stand up for Charlie, especially after he reverts. 

So there's tons to unpack here, and Keyes gives us a lot to run with, think about, discuss, AND with the benefit of the book being 60 years old, we can see how far we've come (spoiler: three inches!). That said, although Keyes makes massive statements via Charlie about how we treat those around us who do not conform to the norm (who sets the norm, anyway? Boring people, that's who), be it intellectually, stylistically, and so on, Charlie is not entirely woke: 

At least Fay combats that dumb perspective. Don't worry! We'll get to these issues off and on for 70 years, make/change laws, but sustain barely discernible progress as a society.  But SERIOUSLY, the entire sexual awakening of Charlie is tied into his stunted emotional being, and for teenagers** who are dealing with their own version of that, which, as I recall, isn't too far off what Keyes wrote, it can be a comfort to witness another's similar confusion and know they're not alone. Sure, he's 30-something and also now the smartest person in the world, but he's still a total dodo with the ladies. Hey, confidence boost for me! Although there is a fair amount of sex and sexual situations in the book, Keyes is trying to PROVE A POINT with them, not be pornographic. It's this content that surely led to the book being challenged numerous times. Lastly on this topic, Charlie's romantic relationships are problematic, but he himself is aware of that, which is intentionally communicated to the reader as a what-not-to-do when one's feelings get all twisted up for a romantic other. You mean, we can LEARN from BOOKS?! 

**My copy is a discard from a middle school library. Okay, 8th grade is waaay too young for 98.5% of readers to pick up this book and be able to identify with it. 10th grade would be my personal threshold for teaching it. 

I didn't mention this as one of the nuggets, but it does deserve recognition: the idea of human isolation. Charlie lives in the New York City but is essentially a loner when we meet him. His friends abuse him, he's seen as less than human by the scientists who want to experiment on him, and Alice is the only one in the whole city who treats him with the respect he deserves. After the procedure, as his intelligence grows exponentially, Charlie is able to finally communicate effectively with people, but he's STILL ALONE with his thoughts and books. Even on the backslide at the end, he all but barricades himself in his apartment and doesn't want the world to see him for what he "really" is; the scarred, frightened child who just doesn't understand. 

Ugh, there's so much to talk about, so why not reference the name in the book's title. Algernon is an avatar for Charlie, and Keyes does well to avoid the save-the-cat trope with him. We feel bad when Algernon's mental health takes a turn, and he ultimately dies, because that portends Charlie's fate. Plus, he's a cute fuzzball. 

Back to the idea of 70 years of perspective being cat upon this book: in all honesty, not much has changed. Those we cannot or will not care for are institutionalized; those institutions are understaffed, underfunded, and the people who keep them afloat should be on our currency. Experiments on humans, at least, need more thorough oversight before they remotely have a prayer of moving forward. And, although it's mostly used clinically in the book (and not much anymore in that regard), we still can have the conversation about the stigma of the dreaded r-word. I don't have much to say about it other than: you know better. 

One final note: the author's stylistic choice to write in epistolary form actually enhances the novel, and allows him to explore the grammar and syntax of writing at differing levels of perception and intelligence. I paid particular attention to how Charlie's writing mechanics, as well as ideas and organization, improved soon after the procedure. The author doesn't point it out, but makes subtle shifts that affect readability and SHOULD make us aware that Charlie is changing. When the reverse happens near the end, well, get the tissues. Ugh, the frustration he feels as he loses his faculties? We all get to experience that one, and don't need big brain surgery to make it so.

I'd continue, but you get the picture. Read the book, choose a nugget, and chew on it for hours. This is a must read for any science fiction fan, given that it braves its time to deliver scathing, but insightful, social commentary, yet easily appeals to the masses for its message and an ending that narrowly averts melodramatic disaster. 

NEXT TIME, I YELL ABOUT

The debut novel by a guy who fronted a band named The Butthole Surfers. Let's just say I'm going to stay out of the water!

BORING STUFF

Flowers For Algernon

Daniel Keyes

1966 Harcourt