The Giver (The Giver, #1)

by Lois Lowry

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.

Most of the people on the night crew had not even been given spouses because they lacked, somehow, the essential capacity to connect to others, which was required for the creation of a family unit.

Two children—one male, one female—to each family unit. It was written very clearly in the rules.

JONAS RECEIVER OF MEMORY Go immediately at the end of school hours each day to the Annex entrance behind the House of the Old and present yourself to the attendant. Go immediately to your dwelling at the conclusion of Training Hours each day. From this moment you are exempted from rules governing rudeness. You may ask any question of any citizen and you will receive answers. Do not discuss your training with any other member of the community, including parents and Elders. From this moment you are prohibited from dream-telling. Except for illness or injury unrelated to your training, do not apply for any medication. You are not permitted to apply for release. You may lie.

the rules for being the receiver

“I have great honor. So will you. But you will find that that is not the same as power.

“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.

Jonas realized something. “That means,” he said slowly, “that you have memories of destruction. And you have to give them to me, too, because I have to get the wisdom.” The Giver nodded. “But it will hurt,” Jonas said. It wasn’t a question. “It will hurt terribly,” The Giver agreed.

“But why can’t everyone have the memories? I think it would seem a little easier if the memories were shared. You and I wouldn’t have to bear so much by ourselves, if everybody took a part.” The Giver sighed. “You’re right,” he said. “But then everyone would be burdened and pained. They don’t want that. And that’s the real reason The Receiver is so vital to them, and so honored. They selected me—and you—to lift that burden from themselves.”

Reminded me of Leguin's The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas

Jonas hesitated. “I certainly liked the memory, though. I can see why it’s your favorite. I couldn’t quite get the word for the whole feeling of it, the feeling that was so strong in the room.” “Love,” The Giver told him. Jonas repeated it. “Love.” It was a word and concept new to him.

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

Here’s the fascinating thing: Nothing that the child describes actually happens in the book. The child—as we all do—has brought her own life to a book. She has found a place, a place in the pages of a book, that shares her own frustration and feelings.

From the acceptance speech, talking about a letter that a child had written her

The man that I named The Giver passed along to the boy knowledge, history, memories, color, pain, laughter, love, and truth. Every time you place a book in the hands of a child, you do the same thing. It is very risky.

I hand books out to kids all of the time. It is very risky.