Divergent Thinking (19 page)

Because the tone of the storytelling in
Divergent, Insurgent,
and
Allegiant,
along with the Tobias-centric side stories, can differ greatly depending on whether the subject in a given scene is science-fiction bioterrorism or a teenager trying to heal after escaping a violently abusive parent, it's almost surprising how coherently and consistently the themes of family rejection and then acceptance run through the story. Tris' arc, beginning as it does before her Choosing Ceremony, demonstrates how family plays a fundamental role in her emotional hero's journey. Tobias' struggle to work out what it means to be an adult, and to be Evelyn's child, when he has no blueprint to follow in playing those roles, is a different but equally important kind of heroism. As Tobias notes just before
Allegiant
's epilogue, there are so many ways to be brave in this world.

At the end of the hero's journey, the hero returns home with the prize they've attained. In Tris' case, the return is ideological, as she comes to embrace the morality taught to her by her parents, even when faced with the ultimate test of resolve. For Tobias the return is physical, and he becomes a key part of the rebuilding of Chicago. He becomes a better version of his parents, working diligently in the field of politics to fairly attain power, rather than using the violence and manipulation his mother and father employed. Both Tris and Tobias learn to be the best person they can be from their parents, either by positive example or by surviving their failings. Thanks to their families, both Tris and Tobias discover what things in the world are worth dedicating their lives to, whatever form that sacrifice might take.

       
Mary Borsellino
is old-school Dauntless, the kind who gets her bruises stepping between bullies and the vulnerable. She certainly has enough tattoos to get along with the Dauntless, and visits Chicago often enough to know she's pretty fond of riding its trains! She writes dark fantasy YA novels and short stories of all kinds, loves writing Smart Pop essays, is a quiet but flamboyant extrovert and/or a noisy but thoughtful introvert, and works in the charitable sector in Melbourne, Australia.

       
You could argue that the first two books of the Divergent trilogy are one big lie. Everything Tris knows
—
and therefore everything we know
—
about her world turns out to be wrong (or at least enormously deceptive). She and everyone she knows are living in a giant science experiment, constantly monitored and frequently manipulated to better suit the experimenters' goals.

           
The origins of Tris' city might be the biggest example of a lie revealed in the Divergent trilogy, but it's far from the only one. Debra Driza looks at secrets and lies in Tris' world, and whether Candor might not have had it right the whole time.

D
EBRA
D
RIZA

“The cruelest lies are often told in silence.”

—Robert Louis Stevenson,
Virginibus Puerisque

“Lies, lies, lies, yeah (they're gonna get you)”

—in the slightly less formal words of the Thompson Twins

When I was a
fledgling writer, still several years away from publication, I decided to get serious about this writing business. So, I did what any Super Serious Writer Type worth her weight in crumpled, tear-stained paper would do: I bought a magical storytelling pen. Okay, that's a lie—I mean, if I did have a magical storytelling pen, I certainly wouldn't be flaunting it to the entire world. Trust me, writers would KILL for that kind of precious.

No, the serious writer thing I did was join an online writer's forum. There, I was lucky enough to bond with other writers, both published and hoping-to-be-published; learn that stalking agents in bathrooms is frowned upon; and find critique partners. I struck up an early friendship with a young girl still in college, who was preparing to query agents with her novel. I remember my Extreme Awe at the snippets she'd post . . . snippets about a girl in a dystopian world where everything was divided into factions. When I was lucky enough to be among the first few to read an entire early draft, I knew. I just
knew.
This girl was going to get an agent, and then some.

And, WHOA. Did she EVER.

So, unlike my superlate introduction to both the Twilight craze (sparkle out!) and the Hunger Games phenomenon (okay, seriously, I love you, Suzanne Collins, but I can't lie—
Mockingjay
might make me a wee bit stabby!), I was a huge Divergent fan before the first book ever hit the stores. I've maintained an unabashed enthusiasm for Veronica's immense success all throughout her journey. (Wait—should I be calling her Ms. Roth? Or, once you serenade someone with Wham! hits, are last names a little silly?)

I imagine, at this point, my essay might seem a little digress-y (I do love a good digression. And bad dancing. Sometimes even to Wham!), but I did actually manage to squeeze two key words into the opening paragraph: lie and trust. Does that seem sneaky? Perhaps even a wee bit . . .
deceptive
? If so, what better way to start an essay on the Divergent series, which explores the nature of lying and deceit, and honesty and trust? The books caused me to think a great deal not only about who we lie to, why we do it, and how those lies affect relationships, but also about how governments use deceit to manipulate their citizens. At some point, I started wondering: Taken as a whole, what does the Divergent series have to tell us about honesty and trust? Does the series suggest that ultimate truth is found within the Candor faction and their notion that lies destroy and the truth equals peace? Or does Ms. Roth's series (curses—I'm doing that weird, formal-name thing anyway!) suggest that lying is an acceptable manipulation—basically just another tool in a bag of survival tricks?

Looking at this another way—are honesty and the truth black and white, as the Candor see it? Or is the truth more like Fifty-plus Shades of Grey? (Oh, c'mon—you didn't really expect me to pass up an opportunity for a
Fifty Shades
joke, right?)

Actually, the way events play out in the series, I believe that lies and truth really are depicted in many shades of gray (just not, you know, shades of Christian Grey, because that's a TOTALLY different essay. Ahem. Moving on . . . ). In fact, I'd argue that the best approach to truth and lies in the series, and in real life, mimics Candor's symbol: the unbalanced scales.

But before we explore that notion, let's look a little closer at how secrets, lies, and trust work in the context of the different relationships within the books.

DIRTY LITTLE SECRETS: GOVERNMENT, LEADERS, AND LIES, OH MY!

Oh, politicians. Whether we're talking present-day Rod Blagojevich auctioning off Senate seats while his wife works the reality television circuit, or
Divergent
's futuristic, experimental Chicago, it seems like nothing ever changes in the Chicago political arena. There's always one thing you can count on: chances are, if politicians' lips are moving, they're probably not reciting a list of ways they've messed up. Or even the lyrics to “Thrift Shop” (though that would be super cool, wouldn't it?).

Though the various leaders in the Divergent trilogy are different in a number of ways, they all have one big drawback in common: they lie. To the extent that sometimes it seems as if they wouldn't know how to tell the truth even if they had a permanent IV drip of truth serum implanted in their respective, um . . .
arms.

As with many dystopian novels, the leaders seek to control the masses. When it comes down to control in this series, faction (or lack thereof) seems to matter little, whether we're talking Jeanine from Erudite, Marcus from Abnegation, Evelyn with the factionless, or David at the Bureau. If there's one thing they can agree on, it's this: the key to controlling the masses is absolute power. And the tool each uses to obtain and retain that power is deception.

From the Erudite simulations that mind control the Divergent into killing the Abnegation in the first book, to Evelyn relieving her Dauntless allies of their weapons in
Insurgent,
to the multiple schemes the Bureau has going on in
Allegiant,
it's obvious that the power holders in this futuristic world have no qualms with fudging the facts. Actually, they're so good at hiding things we don't even find out who's running the show, or discover that Divergent-era Chicago is really just a giant petri dish over which the real folks in power hover with their magnifying glasses, “hmmming” and “ahh-hing” as they see what transpires, until the final installment. Double crosses, machinations, plots and counterplots—Machiavelli would be rubbing his (supergrody, decomposing) hands together in this world, where those in charge behave as if the ends totally justify the means, and then some.

But maybe they use all those lies for good reason (well, if the good reason is “to keep people under their thumbs”). As Four ponders in
Allegiant,
“the truth changes everything.” He agrees with Nita that by lying about the existence of war and violence prior to the genetic experimentation, the Bureau stole the people's right to decide for themselves what they believed about GDs. He concludes that “here, now, a lie has changed the struggle, a lie has shifted priorities forever.” Finally, he realizes why it was so important to Tris to share Edith Prior's message: the truth is powerful. The truth can change the way people view the world around them and, in turn, change who and what they fight for.

Does the reason behind the constant manipulation really matter, though? Surely a morally sound government has an obligation to educate the citizens to the best of their ability and allow them to make informed decisions. To do otherwise is to treat them as something subhuman, or perhaps as toddlers, incapable of making rational decisions on their own. Even worse, when officials keep the masses underinformed in hopes of achieving a “greater good,” it relieves the government of accountability and opens the door to corruption.

Can we really say, even in modern democratic countries, that the government never acts alone, secretively, supposedly to further the interests of its citizens? And if the citizens are kept in the dark, how can they ever trust that the government's decision making is both ethical and sound? One thing is for sure—the food for thought provided throughout the series on the ethics of leaders is quite a bit heartier than the Abnegation's dry bread.

In Divergent, the citizens are just pawns to maneuver as the leaders see fit. And on the societal level, it's clear that lying isn't given a rousing endorsement by the main characters. If anything, lying and corruption in government seem to go together like Edward and Bella (only with much less sparkle).

WOULD I LIE TO YOU? SECRETS AND TRUTHS WITHIN RELATIONSHIPS

While it's obvious that Divergent makes a case for more truth in politics, what does the series have to say about truth in personal relationships? Does it make a case for the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth? Well, that can be a little trickier to discern.

Family Ties—Matter or Trust

Lying by those in power is one thing; lying in the homestead another. Surely Tris can rely on those close to her to be up front with her?

Not so fast. In the dystopian chaos of the Divergent world, secrets are as much a staple in her Abnegation family relations as that dry bread (a big reason I never would have made it in that faction—butter is a glorious thing). By nature, the Abnegation faction seems to encourage lies of omission, since it's considered self-centered to talk about yourself. Secrets certainly aren't unfamiliar to those living in the Prior abode, whether it's Andrew Prior never mentioning the reason he hates Erudite so much is because he grew up there or Tris and Caleb never talking about feeling out of place in their parents' faction.