#walking away from omelas

[chamerionwrites]

Intellectually I understand where people are coming from, but personally I do THE biggest double take every time someone boils down conservative Christian ideology (and/or secularized cultural reflections thereof) to a kind of dour puritanism that proclaims happiness is sin/suffering is a moral good/everyone should be miserable all the time. Like I get it! I do. But also, institutionally, I have never met a group of more passionate worshippers and vicious defenders of their own comfort than evangelical Christians. There is a reason the common thread between my various weird triggers more or less boils down to "toxic positivity." There is a REASON my exvangelical tag is #walking away from omelas.

#one of my biggest problems with half-cooked critiques of christianity tbqh #and fundamentally it's just the flip side of the same coin #to liberal christians going 'well republicans aren't REAL christians bc they flout the teachings of their own holy text' #religions are socially as well as ideologically constructed! 'real' christianity is christianity as it is really practiced! #valid critique WITHIN the faith perhaps but not that meaningful (and in fact kind of willfully dense imo) take on christianity as a whole. #likewise trying to pin the evils of institutional christianity on some fatal underlying theological flaw is getting the issue backwards #in much the same way that treating race as a biological reality as opposed to a social construct is getting things backwards #empires do not rob and murder and enslave because they are racist. #they do those things out of naked self interest and invent racism to justify themselves and prop up their power. #walking away from omelas #my posts

[eelhound]

"The idea of reforming Omelas is a pleasant idea, to be sure, but it is one that Le Guin herself specifically tells us is not an option. No reform of Omelas is possible — at least, not without destroying Omelas itself:

If the child were brought up into the sunlight out of that vile place, if it were cleaned and fed and comforted, that would be a good thing, indeed; but if it were done, in that day and hour all the prosperity and beauty and delight of Omelas would wither and be destroyed. Those are the terms.

'Those are the terms', indeed. Le Guin’s original story is careful to cast the underlying evil of Omelas as un-addressable — not, as some have suggested, to 'cheat' or create a false dilemma, but as an intentionally insurmountable challenge to the reader. The premise of Omelas feels unfair because it is meant to be unfair. Instead of racing to find a clever solution ('Free the child! Replace it with a robot! Have everyone suffer a little bit instead of one person all at once!'), the reader is forced to consider how they might cope with moral injustice that is so foundational to their very way of life that it cannot be undone. Confronted with the choice to give up your entire way of life or allow someone else to suffer, what do you do? Do you stay and enjoy the fruits of their pain? Or do you reject this devil’s compromise at your own expense, even knowing that it may not even help? And through implication, we are then forced to consider whether we are — at this very moment! — already in exactly this situation. At what cost does our happiness come? And, even more significantly, at whose expense? And what, in fact, can be done? Can anything?

This is the essential and agonizing question that Le Guin poses, and we avoid it at our peril. It’s easy, but thoroughly besides the point, to say — as the narrator of 'The Ones Who Don’t Walk Away' does — that you would simply keep the nice things about Omelas, and work to address the bad. You might as well say that you would solve the trolley problem by putting rockets on the trolley and having it jump over the people tied to the tracks. Le Guin’s challenge is one that can only be resolved by introspection, because the challenge is one levied against the discomforting awareness of our own complicity; to 'reject the premise' is to reject this (all too real) discomfort in favor of empty wish fulfillment. A happy fairytale about the nobility of our imagined efforts against a hypothetical evil profits no one but ourselves (and I would argue that in the long run it robs us as well).

But in addition to being morally evasive, treating Omelas as a puzzle to be solved (or as a piece of straightforward didactic moralism) also flattens the depth of the original story. We are not really meant to understand Le Guin’s 'walking away' as a literal abandonment of a problem, nor as a self-satisfied 'Sounds bad, but I’m outta here', the way Vivier’s response piece or others of its ilk do; rather, it is framed as a rejection of complacency. This is why those who leave are shown not as triumphant heroes, but as harried and desperate fools; hopeless, troubled souls setting forth on a journey that may well be doomed from the start — because isn’t that the fate of most people who set out to fight the injustices they see, and that they cannot help but see once they have been made aware of it? The story is a metaphor, not a math problem, and 'walking away' might just as easily encompass any form of sincere and fully committed struggle against injustice: a lonely, often thankless journey, yet one which is no less essential for its difficulty."

- Kurt Schiller, from "Omelas, Je T'aime." Blood Knife, 8 July 2022.

#kurt schiller #ursula k. le guin #quote #quotations #the ones who walk away from omelas #trolley problem #activism #introspection #discomfort #reform #revolution #suffering #ethics #morality

[crimsonclad]

I keep seeing Takes about how recent media like Glass Onion and The Menu aren’t taking “eat the rich” seriously enough to launch real change or revolution and like?? yeah??? popular crowd-pleasing entertainment where horrible rich people Suffer A Comeuppance for the pleasure of an audience is one of the oldest tropes in all of human history???? It is a crowd pleaser! It is the bread (ha) and butter of the Western canon! It is in Chaucer it is in Dante it is in Shakespeare it is the stuff of Dickens and 95% of Agatha Christie and almost every teen movie ever made??????? “look at these horrible rich idiots and hypocrites…and now enjoy their DESTRUCTION” transcends time and space and historical moments! It is so strange to be surprised that Hollywood returns to this well without any intention of seeking anything more transgressive than an audience having a hearty chuckle lmao

#it would be great if we could all walk away from Omelas but expecting billion dollar studios to lead the charge seems a bit misguided #spoilers #kinda but not really more than the trailers tell you #the menu #glass onion #Norton Anthology of Literature #etc #Clue! #The Sting! #now I’m just naming movies I’ve watched this week

[eikotheblue]

(source)

#oh my god #Omelas #the ones who walk away from omelas #memes

[tsaomengde]

The Ones Who Found The City

Ursula K. LeGuin's "The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas" is a classic short story, and obviously I knew of it, but I'd never actually read it until recently. Well, I finally got around to it, and as many timeless classics do, it got stuck in my brain. This story is my - response? homage? sequel? pale imitation? - to it. I suggest you go and read "The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas" if you haven't. Not because it's actually required reading for this story - I think it stands on its own more or less okay - but because it is a classic for a reason.

---

Initially, no one is quite certain of what they’ve found when the Animus breaches the next manifold layer.  This is in and of itself expected, of course.  Exploring psychspace is by its very nature an unpredictable venture.  Each of the various infinite layers is unique and bizarre in its own way, reflecting the archetypal underpinnings of an entire species present, past, or future across an infinitude of possible realities.  The crew of the Animus, therefore, has seen things so utterly alien and inexplicable that only the rigors of their training and the care put into their psychic warding saved them from insanity.

It is somewhat disappointing, then, to find that this sub-domain is just a city.  Definitely not Terranic, certainly not, but still following the Terranic modality, with no more than a seven-degree quantum drift.

“Towers,” Thromby says into the recorder as they sit at their post at the nose of the Animus’s command center.  “Following the standard skyscrape pattern.  Unclear if they’re domiciles or business centers or both.  Coastal city, bay appears to be oceanic rather than lake.  Pleasing blend of urbanization with natural setting.”  They glance at Vigil.  “Anything on the lifescope?”

Vigil shakes his head.  “Nothing.  It’s empty.  Totally empty.”

“That’s odd,” Katrina speaks up from the helm.  “The city doesn’t show signs of decay or reclamation by nature.”

“Entropy may not work in the usual way in this sub-domain,” Teasha reminds her.  “The city itself could be the natural growth, reclaiming the artificial countryside.  We’ve seen things like that before.”

Thromby feels Katrina’s unconscious bristling at the subtle reminder that she is the newest member of the crew and thus less experienced in the vagaries of psychspace than everyone else.  Next to Vigil, who is only nineteen, she is also the youngest.  “I would expect,” Katrina says, her voice cool, “that in a sub-domain so obviously based on human archetypes, entropy and nature-versus-civilization tropes would function more or less as usual.”

“I’m certain you would,” Teasha replies, her voice equally cool.  “When you’ve been at this as long as me and Thromby, you’ll learn better.”

“Enough of that,” Thromby says before Katrina can reply.  They love Teasha, but she tends to be too harsh on new crewmembers.  A defense mechanism, they know, to insulate her from the all-too-common pain of losing them.  But Katrina has too much to prove.  The clash is natural and to be expected, and even useful at times, but now is not one of them.  “Vigil, get me readings on atmosphere, microbiome, and psychic radiation, if any.  Katrina, pick a spot on the coast and bring us down there.  I want to see if the ocean is actually an ocean or a liminality representation.  Teasha, get the Animus tuning to this sub-domain’s resonance frequency.  I don’t want any dissociation issues.”

The orders are mostly unnecessary, since everyone already knows what they’re about, but they serve their intended purpose, which is to re-focus everyone on the task at hand and redirect their nervous energies, particularly Katrina’s.  Thromby still isn’t sure she’s going to make the cut after this expedition is over, but there’s potential there.  They would be foolish to ignore someone with Katrina’s strength of identity grounding. 

There are plenty of sub-domains out there where it’s useful to be entirely certain of who you are, and not everyone can be.

---

The first day’s worth of exploration yields more questions than answers, which is normal and expected.  Thromby is indeed certain that Katrina’s initial assumption that this is a human-archetypal sub-domain is correct.  Human atmosphere, human shadow- and ontological concepts, Terranic fish in the very-real ocean.  But the iconography is sparse and mostly nonsensical.  It’s clear that the city was able to actually function as a city, but it feels purposeful, designed, in a way that actual cities outside psychspace rarely do.

“It’s a metaphor,” Vigil says as they sit around a campfire on the beach after the first day.

“Well, obviously,” Katrina agrees, and Vigil lights up – both visibly and psychically – at her concordance.  Thromby knows Vigil has been nursing burgeoning feelings for Katrina since she joined them, and has so far seen no need to make anything of it.  “But a metaphor for what?”

“We don’t have enough data,” Vigil replies.  “But I’m certain of it.  We just need to keep exploring.”

Thromby takes a bite of the fish they’ve been roasting over the fire.  It’s a pleasant change of pace to be able to eat something real, instead of the platonic nourishment suggestions dispensed by the Animus.  “Agreed.  I’m curious to see what the point of this place was.  We have five more days before we have to resurface and the expedition has been quite successful already.  I think we can spare the time.  Teasha?”

Taking a bite of her own fish, Teasha purses her lips as she chews.  “I concur, but I’m uneasy.”

Teasha is their psychometry specialist, so this makes all of them sit up a little straighter.  “Are we in danger?” Katrina asks.

“Of course we’re in danger, we’re in psychspace.  But in this particular sub-domain?  Metaphorical danger, as Vigil says.  Ideological or memetic patterning rather than physical.”

Thromby nods.  “I suspected that might be the axis of it, here.  We will need to split up to cover the necessary ground in the time we have left, so everyone stays in contact while exploring.  Mechanical and psychic.  No exceptions.”

None of them are particularly happy with this pronouncement, but they see the wisdom of it.  It’s distracting and somewhat draining to keep a four-way psychic connection going, especially over distance, but their implanted transceivers sometimes don’t function properly, depending on the sub-domain.  Electromagnetism and causality both seem to be standard here, but such things have been known to change in an instant depending on whether the sub-domain is actively malicious or not.

Thromby doesn’t feel any such malice here, though.  That doesn’t mean it isn’t present; such things are often quite good at hiding themselves.  But they’ve been exploring psychspace for seventy-eight years subjective.  They’ve learned to trust their instincts.

---

Two more days of exploration are frustratingly unrevealing.  The city is the size of a proper metropolis, and they know it will be impossible to actually explore any significant percentage of it in only a few days, but Thromby is still irritated by their lack of progress.  They find evidence of cultural signifiers, rituals, and traditions, but again, the iconography is vague and appears opaque to standard Jungian-Jingweian analysis.

Teasha spends the two days on a different investigative track than the rest of them.  “Psychometrically speaking the city is remarkably healthy,” she said on the morning of their second day.  “Most locations, metaphorical or otherwise, bear the echoes of trauma or strife, but this place seems to have been almost entirely peaceful.  Totally voluntary anarcho-communism or ordnung-socialism, perhaps, without the usual markers of systemic violence inherent to capitalistic or fascistic systems.  But there’s a thread somewhere that I keep detecting the edges of.”

“A thread of what?” Thromby asked.

“Pain, of course.”

It is on the evening of their third day in the city that Teasha calls them to her.  She uses their transceiver link rather than a psychic summons.  “To avoid contamination,” she explains.  “I’ve found the source of the thread.  Double your usual wardings and enter seclusive patterning before you come inside.”

Thromby does so, of course, though they dislike cutting themselves off from their extrasensory perception.  It feels like trying to see with only one eye.  When they arrive at Teasha’s location, however, they immediately understand why she insisted on it.  The possibility of psychic contamination here is very high.

“What is this?” Katrina asks, holding her nose in disgust.

“The point of the metaphor, of course,” Teasha replies.  She indicates the filthy cellar in which they’ve found themselves, the only part of the city so far that has seemed actively decrepit.  “I guarantee you that even if we spent the rest of our lives exploring this city we would find only this one place showing any signs of entropy.”

The cellar stinks of excrement, a combination of ammonia and fetid shit, despite the physical processes creating such smells having terminated long ago.  The floor is dirt.  There are no windows.  In one corner there are two mops, their heads stiff with drying waste, and a bucket, the metal bands around its circumference orange with rust.

“They concentrated all of the city’s entropy into a single space?” Vigil asks.

“Not entropy,” Teasha tells him.  “Cruelty.”

Katrina gapes, her hand falling away from her nose for a moment.  “Come again?”

“Something lived here,” Teasha explains to her.  “Or, more precisely, was forced to live here.  It functioned as a psychic magnet, of sorts.  The functioning of the city relied entirely upon its imprisonment and use as a scapegoat.”

“What was it?” Vigil asks.

“One of the innocence-sacrifice archetypes.  An animal or a child.  I suspect a child; an animal can feel pain and misery, certainly, but it doesn’t conceive of injustice in the same way a child does.”

Thromby feels their stomach turn a little.  “Ah.  I see.”

“See what?” Katrina demands.

“The point of the metaphor indeed,” Thromby replies.  “This entire city and all its inhabitants, predicated on the suffering on a child.  It’s a morality construct, and a good one, too.”

“A good one?” Vigil asks.  “It’s grotesque.”

“Your deontological leanings are showing,” Katrina tells him.  “From a utilitarian perspective it’s perfect.  Nothing exists without imposing an energy burden on the system in which it exists.  Even the nourishment suggestions the Animus feeds us in liminal space between manifolds is distilled from universal krill.  But this?  The concentration of all of a society’s utility burden onto a single individual.  The ultimate maximization principle.”

“And your teleological leanings are showing,” Teasha sniffs.  “You’re missing the point of the metaphor entirely, Katrina.  It isn’t about utility.  It’s about cruelty.  The cruelty is the point.”

Katrina’s nostrils flare and Thromby cuts in before she can start really arguing.  “Enough,” they say.  “A conflict here in this space could be dangerous.  We’re at the focus of the sub-domain and things have a way of rippling.  We’ve discovered the point of the metaphor, so we can go back to the Animus and leave in the morning.”

Both Katrina and Teasha look ready to argue the point with them, but then they master themselves and both nod.

“Do we have to wait until morning?” Vigil asks, looking around the cellar in transparent disgust.  “I would prefer to leave sooner rather than later.”

“You know the rules,” Thromby replies.  “We don’t transit without everyone being rested.  A tired mind is a vulnerable mind.”

Reluctantly, Vigil nods, too.  The four of them walk away from the cellar, their thoughts opaque to one another.

---

Thromby is jolted out of sleep by Teasha screaming.

They sit bolt upright and look down at Teasha in the bed next to them.  She is clutching at her head, shaking, writhing beneath the sheets.  “Teasha!” Thromby snaps.  “Focus!  Center yourself!”  They grab her by the wrists and pry her hands from her face; her nails are leaving bloody marks in her skin.

“Too much, it’s too much!” she shrieks.  “I’m lost!”

Thromby forces their way into her mind.  She previously gave them her consent for this, knowing that it might be necessary in a moment like this one.  What they see there –

“Aquinas,” they say aloud.  The implants in Teasha’s cochlear nerves pick up on the trigger word and activate, sending the kill-signal to other implants deeper within her brain.  She stops screaming and slumps, unconscious, temporarily brain-dead.  When Thromby says the word again she will be switched back on, but for the moment she is safe from the psychic contamination that was attacking her along her psychometric vector.

Which, of course, means that Thromby has to deal with this issue alone.

They dress quickly and exit the Animus into a beautiful summer day.  Pennants and banners wave atop the rigging of ships in the harbor, bells sound from the city, and people, so many people, cavort and revel on the beach, in the waves, in the streets.  There is laughter, merriment, the intoxicating psychic swell of happiness and excitement.  Thromby threads their way through the crowds in the streets – mothers carrying their infants, children running through the streets in elaborate games of some variation of Terran tag, huge parades of horse-drawn carts with animalistic balloon totems floating in the air above them.  Vendors call out to Thromby, offering delicious food, intricately made jewelry, amazing clockwork-mechanical toys, sensory-enhancing drugs, and a thousand other variegated temptations.  Street musicians play upon cunningly crafted instruments – strings, pipes, percussion, keys – and revelers cavort to the tunes.

Thromby can feel the bright sparks of all of these people in their mind.  These are real, thinking, feeling beings.  They belong to the metaphor, certainly, but Thromby could speak to them, touch them, verify their self-consciousness and interiority, even invite them to come and join them onboard the Animus and explore psychspace.  They could bring them up into the real, return home with them, have a life with them.  That is how it has to be, of course.  Thromby knows they themself may belong to a different metaphor of a different order, after all.  The real is only real because enough people agree it is.

But they do none of these things.  They just walk, stolidly, back to where they know they have to go.

Katrina is waiting for them outside the cellar, barring the way in.  Thromby has their wards up at triple strength and has been in seclusive patterning since before leaving the Animus, but they don’t need to be psychic to read her mind.  Everything she is feeling and thinking is there in plain sight – the proud and defiant way her chin is thrust out, the blaze in her eyes, the way she has her arms crossed and feet at shoulder width.  She is ready to fight.

“Let me through,” Thromby says without preamble.

“No.”

Well, that’s their respective positions, Thromby thinks, articulated clearly and easily enough.  “Why not?” they ask.

“Vigil consented.”

“Vigil is in love with you and you know as well as I do that consent is a matter of framing,” Thromby snaps.  “Move.”

“No.  I explained everything to him and he consented.  It has nothing to do with whatever feelings he might have for me.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it, but fine.  For the sake of argument, tell me how you explained it.”

Katrina hesitates, and Thromby can tell she wasn’t expecting them to actually offer her a chance to proselytize.  “The point of the metaphor is that no matter how great and beautiful the society, if it’s predicated on cruelty, it’s unjust,” she says.  “Deontological thinking, obviously, but cruelty is by definition nonconsensual.  I explained to Vigil that if he allowed it, we could collaboratively put blocks in his mind, purposefully regress him to a childlike mental state, and put him in the cellar to suffer for a specific length of time.  Then we can pull him back out, remove the blocks, and even erase the memories of the trauma.  The child-Vigil won’t, can’t, consent, but it also won’t exist for more than a day, and pragmatically speaking never will have.”

Thromby massages their temples.  “Congratulations.  Once again, you have missed the point of the metaphor.”

“Damnit, Thromby, I’m not a child!  I have the same training and grounding in theory that you and Teasha do.  Everything I’m doing is teleologically sound, and Vigil agreed that with the steps we’re taking –”

“You’re trying to outsmart it,” Thromby cuts her off.  “That’s how I know you’ve missed the point.  You can’t outsmart this, Katrina.  There is no perfect set of circumstances you can construct to get around the simple fact that this city functions, exists, because of deliberate and terrible cruelty.  That’s the entire point of it, just like Teasha said.  Teasha, who, by the way, is currently in a coma.  I had to put her into it to keep Vigil’s misery from damaging her.”

“It’s a thought experiment,” she argues, obviously not addressing the point about Teasha because she knows she won’t win that argument.  “There’s always a correct answer for them.  The trolley, the Gettier, the –”

“It’s about fucking sin,” Thromby sighs.

“Are you joking right now?  You’re going back to the religious well?”

“Yes, because that’s what’s happening right now.  The city is a sin, Katrina.  The excesses of its beauty, its wonder, its perfection, are obscene precisely because of how and why they function.  It’s rooted in the ideology of disgust and taint.  Utility, teleology, all of these justifications and rationalizations exist and have their use, but at the end of the day, answer me one question: will you trade places with Vigil?”

Katrina hesitates.

It’s only a bare moment, less than a second, even, but it’s there.  And Thromby sees it, and Katrina sees it.

“Yes,” she says, finally.

“I knew that would be your answer.  But you know that the answer doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Katrina lowers her head.  “No.”

“You know why you hesitated.”

“Yes.”  She looks back up at them.  “But – there’s no such thing as absolute morality, any more than there’s a single objective reality.”

“Of course there isn’t.  And yet, you hesitated.”

They just lock eyes for a few seconds.  Then she lowers her gaze again.  “And yet, I did.”

Thromby steps past her and opens the cellar.

#writing #my writing #story #short story #short stories #creative writing #omelas #the ones who walk away from omelas #ursula k leguin #leguin #science fiction #sci fi #sci-fi

[kazz-brekker]

finished reading the golden enclaves and idk if this is a hot take but i feel like it had better exploration of the importance of communal unity and the necessity of societal change than like 99% of books that people like to classify as hopepunk these days simply for not just being like "working together is so good, i love community, together we can accomplish so much and change the world for the better <3" and was instead like "yeah, this work is going to be really fucking hard. it's going to suck, and it's going to be unpleasant, and people are going to hate you for doing it. and maybe you'll feel like giving up because it feels like too much, and being complacent and just going along with the status quo would be easiest. but you still need to do it, because it's what needs to be done, and eventually the world will be better for it."

#i feel like so many books people classify as hopepunk are like 'uwu working together is so fun i love other people let's fix everything <3' #and el higgins in the scholomance is like 'listen up fuckers your houses are built on torture dungeons and we ARE going to change that' #'and i don't care how much you hate it because that's what has to be done' #pie says stuff #the scholomance #the golden enclaves #naomi novik #books #anyway. good conclusion! love when someone looks at a walk away from omelas situation and is like Fuck No

[brightbluedot]

[in the smouldering ruins of omelas] well well. look who finally came out of their room.

#my two cents #the ones who walk away from omelas

[shortstorytournament]

SHORT STORY TOURNAMENT - FINALS

THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO by Edgar Allen Poe (1846) (link) - tw: death

“I drink,” he said, “to the buried that repose around us.”

THE ONES WHO WALK AWAY FROM OMELAS by Ursula K Le Guin (1973) (link) - tw: child abuse

Do you believe? Do you accept the festival, the city, the joy? No? Then let me describe one more thing. In the basement under one of the beautiful public buildings of Omelas, there is a room. It has one locked door, and no window. ... In the room a child is sitting.

THE YELLOW WALLPAPER by Charlotte Perkins Gilman (1887) (link) - tw: depression, insanity

John is so pleased to see me improve! He laughed a little the other day, and said I seem to be flourishing in spite of my wall-paper. I turned it off with a laugh. I had no intentions of telling him it was because of the wall-paper — he would make fun of me. He might even want to take me away.

#short story tournament #literature #the cask of amontillado #the ones who walk away from omelas #the yellow wallpaper #edgar allen poe #ursula k le guin #charlotte perkins gilman #fiction #short stories #tournaments #finals #polls

[illuminatedferret]

y'ever think about hong-er as a human sacrifice? forced to absorb god knows how much misfortune on the day of his birth, shunned and scorned for his bad luck and yet by virtue of him having it, countless people across the mortal realm are spared from suffering it themselves.

yet, do they need to be? whose lives are made better by the absence of a little misfortune? is the suffering of one little boy worth the comfort of a thousand?

#tgcf #hua cheng #tian guan ci fu #heaven officials blessing #anyway hong-er reminds me a lot of 'those who walk away from omelas' #illuspeaks

[chamerionwrites]

This for the record is why*, to me, genre descriptions such as "cozy fantasy" "cozy mystery" or even "cozy horror" (?????) are an anti-recommendation that make me all but physically shudder and run screaming in the opposite direction.** It’s not that soothing/fluffy/formulaic/low-stakes/"escapist" fiction is inherently evil or that anyone who enjoys it is some kind of fascist-in-waiting (a point which the linked essay makes). It’s because the uncritical elevation of ""cozy"" art as the best and most moral kind does have a lot of conservative authoritarian undertones, and unfortunately a considerable chunk of people who describe fiction as cozy (see also "hopepunk") ARE engaging in that sort of moralizing as opposed to just using the word as a morally-neutral descriptor.

*also because the way in which people deploy "cozy" as a genre descriptor frequently smells very strongly of twee faux-progressive "idk why but cottagecore is for girls and dark academia is for boys" gender essentialism.

**The STRENGTH of this reaction is, self-admittedly, probably because I have personal baggage in this area.

#tragedy stan blogging #purity discourse #on warnings #gender stuff #culture industry stuff #walking away from omelas #my posts

[rustchild]

one of the wild things about people’s stubborn insistence on misunderstanding The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas is that the narrator anticipates an audience that won’t engage with the text, just in the opposite direction. Throughout the story are little asides asking what the reader is willing to believe in. Can you believe in a utopia? What if I told you this? What about this? Can you believe in the festivals? The towers by the sea? Can we believe that they have no king? Can we believe that they are joyful? Does your utopia have technology, luxury, sex, temples, drugs? The story is consulting you as it’s being told, framed as a dialogue. It literally asks you directly: do you only believe joy is possible with suffering? And, implicitly, why?

the question isn’t just “what would you personally do about the kid.” It isn’t just an intricate trolley problem. It’s an interrogation of the limits of imagination. How do we make suffering compulsory? Why? What futures (or pasts) are we capable of imagining? How do we rationalize suffering as necessary? And so on. In all of the conversations I’ve seen or had about this story, no one has mentioned the fact that it’s actively breaking the fourth wall. The narrator is building a world in front of your eyes and challenging you to participate. “I would free the kid” and then what? What does the Omelas you’ve constructed look like, and why? And what does that say about the worlds you’re building in real life?

#ursula k le guin #omelas #There are so many ideas in this story that simply do not get engaged with! #I’ve heard it argued that a central element of anarchism #as a political philosophy #is the expansion of the imagination: what is truly possible if we forget the structures we are raised in? #if we forget what we have been told is or is not possible? #le guin wasn’t an anarchist but her work is heavily inspired by anarchist thought #Also the idea that the compassion of citizens of omelas is possible only because they are able to see themselves in relation and contrast t #the kid #very interesting stuff there #arguably a searing critique of moderate liberals #who feel compassion from on high but rationalize the ways in which those who suffer cosmically deserve it #in order to maintain structures of suffering #This short story is breaking the fourth wall Constantly to grab you by the collar and ask #what do you think is possible in the world and what do you think is good and what do you think is necessary #If you want to free the kid then what! What does that mean! #ALSO if omelas is a place being constructed as an idea #are the ones who walk away meant to be literally deserting a place #or are they rejecting an idea #hmmm much to think about

[fictionadventurer]

You've gotta give Doctor Who credit for having multiple episodes that understand that the point of Omelas isn't to stay in Omelas, or leave Omelas, but to save the child.

#random thought of the day #doctor who #the ones who walk away from omelas #magpie brought to mind snw's omelas episode #(which was the direct inspiration for my sleeping beauty take on it last year) #(cuz i was ticked at how they handled it) #(though i didn't watch the whole thing cuz content) #and since then i've thought a lot about how dw does it right #it's quite satisfying

[chai-en-kaadhale]

thinking about anthy himemiya and the ones who walk away from omelas...

like the way everyone's ambition depends on the suffering of the rose bride

#revolutionary girl utena #the ones who walk away from omelas #rgu #anthy himemiya #idk its a biiiiit of a stretch #but like its a thought #words

[specialagentartemis]

tumblr refreshed and I lost the nostalgic list of Fucked Up Short Stories We Read In High School so: yes I read all of these in English class between the ages of 11 and 17 or so. Yes some of 'em still haunt me to this day.

#I never read 'The Veldt' till about a year ago. and not for school. otherwise I'd add that because Jesus #I don't *think* we read The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas in high school but I may be wrong. I forget. It was more than a decade ago 4 me #but if you had to read a Fucked Up Short Story for school add it in the tags! #lovingly traumatizing children with Literature is an important rite of passage #polls #short stories #literature

[eelhound]

"'The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas' is a work of almost flawless ambiguity.

At once universally applicable and devilishly vague, Ursula K. Le Guin’s 1973 short story examines a perfect utopia built around the perpetuation of unimaginable cruelty upon a helpless, destitute child. It spans a mere 2800 words and yet evokes a thousand social ills past and present, real and possible, in the mind of the reader — all the while committing to precisely none of them.

Is it about income inequality? Unequal treatment under the criminal justice system? The tension between extractive bourgeois and extracted proletariat? Any one of these would feel simplistic in the face of the story itself, which bucks and weaves between gentle fable and pointed taunt, never quite allowing the reader to get their footing, leaving them to marinate in unease and uncertainty over what somehow feels like a pointed accusation despite never — quite — being spoken aloud.

One moment Le Guin dwells on rich descriptions of the Omelans’ happy lives (parades, horses with braided manes, jolly flute music), the next she interrogates the reader about whether they believe the utopia laid out before them is even possible, while hinting darkly at the revelation to come. And once the titular 'ones who walk away' do appear — those unhappy Omelans who, once they know the horrible secret, can no longer stomach their utopia and wander off into the desert in desperate search of something else — it is not to give the reader relief or a sense of shared triumph over a cruel system, but to simultaneously implicate us for our own inactions and remind us that moral righteousness alone is not enough to guarantee happiness and success.

'Omelas' is a masterpiece, a fable that is all the more gripping for its puzzling lack of moral. But this powerful ambiguity is at the heart of both the story’s staying power and its strange ability to confound both readers and other writers — a pointed refusal to provide an easy answer that makes the story so good, so lasting, and so effective, and yet simultaneously such a broad target for misguided interpretations and bad-faith criticism alike."

- Kurt Schiller, from "Omelas, Je T'aime." Blood Knife, 8 July 2022.

#kurt schiller #ursula k. le guin #quote #quotations #the ones who walk away from omelas #short stories #literature #storytelling #fantasy #ambiguity #activism #inequality

[omnybus]

A lot fewer people have been walking away from Omelas ever since we swapped out our load-bearing tortured child for a more efficient model. Now instead of one child being kept in perpetual pain and misery we have it spread out between twelve kids at a time, each of whom only have to spend about a week feeling kind of itchy and tired

#shitpost #ramblings #the ones who walk away from omelas