The Giver (The Giver, #1)

by Lois Lowry

For a contributing citizen to be released from the community was a final decision, a terrible punishment, an overwhelming statement of failure.

There were only two occasions of release which were not punishment. Release of the elderly, which was a time of celebration for a life well and fully lived; and release of a newchild, which always brought a sense of what-could-we-have-done.

This evening he almost would have preferred to keep his feelings hidden. But it was, of course, against the rules.

No one mentioned such things; it was not a rule, but was considered rude to call attention to things that were unsettling or different about individuals.

“Sir?” Jonas said shyly. “Yes? Do you have a question?” “It’s just that I don’t know your name. I thought you were The Receiver, but you say that now I’m The Receiver. So I don’t know what to call you.” The man had sat back down in the comfortable upholstered chair. He moved his shoulders around as if to ease away an aching sensation. He seemed terribly weary. “Call me The Giver,” he told Jonas.

He felt himself overwhelmed with a new perception of the color he knew as red.

“There could be love,” Jonas whispered.

The next morning, for the first time, Jonas did not take his pill. Something within him, something that had grown there through the memories, told him to throw the pill away.

These were deeper and they did not need to be told. They were felt.

“The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain. It’s the loneliness of it. Memories need to be shared.”

The life where nothing was ever unexpected. Or inconvenient. Or unusual. The life without color, pain, or past.

But if he had stayed . . . His thoughts continued. If he had stayed, he would have starved in other ways. He would have lived a life hungry for feelings, for color, for love.