"Bloodchild"

“I could have done that. I nearly did. That’s Qui’s away. I wonder if he knows.

(“Bloodchild,” p. 29)

One subject that we didn’t touch on in class yesterday (yes, I know this entry is somewhat late) but that still interested me was that of the role of Gan’s brother Qui in this story, and their different perspectives on what it means to be caged and free. Qui sees the Preserve as a cage, and tries to run away before he realizes that there is no “away” to run to. Unlike Gan, he sees T’Gatoi almost as their jailer rather than their protector, and claims that the Tlic don’t care about the Terrans as anything other than “host animals” for their eggs. What he is trying to escape though, is not so clear. He knows that as long as Gan is around, he will not have to carry any Tlic eggs, so it is not the fear of being implanted that causes him to run. I think it is knowing the reality of what will happen to his brother, and seeing how accepting Gan is of it all that makes him want to escape. We don’t see any other Terrans in this story beyond Gan’s family, but I imagine that in the past there were many more like Qui who couldn’t handle their place in this society. The only reason Terrans like Gan and Hoa are accepting of their fate, in his mind, is because they are never confronted with the reality of it. After seeing a human eaten alive by Tlic grubs, his response is t run, to try to escape the future he cannot stop. But he finds that there is nowhere to go.

The only escape Qui can find seems to be in the sterile eggs, where he can get lost in the drug-induced dream state and forget about the reality of the situation of Terrans. But he cannot stay in this state forever, and Gan thinks (as we can see above) that the only way Qui will find an escape is through destroying himself. Which, though tragic, makes sense: he cannot accept the world in which he lives, and has run out of ways to escape. It is interesting though, that when given the option for this “escape,” Gan doesn’t take it. He says it is because he cannot leave his sister to the fate that was meant to be his, but this is not the whole of it. I think part of the reason that he does not kill himself is that, unlike Qui, he has been brought up not to notice this cage—from birth, he has known what it is like to be encircled by T’Gatoi’s arms, and to see her as his protector rather than his jailer. He has been conditioned, almost, to not want to get away, to the extent that when he finally sees what will happen to him, he cannot bring himself to escape.

It is interesting, in the above passage, that Gan finally seems to have the upper hand. Throughout the story we see that Qui looks down on Gan for accepting what will happen to him, for not fighting back or running away. But it is Gan who has the last laugh, knowing as he does that his brother does not need any Tlic to destroy him, that he will ultimately bring it on himself. It is a somber tone set for the end of the book— it seems as if Gan’s surrender and Qui’s inability to stop it symbolize the last effort of the Terrans to break free of the Tlic. But, it is too late, their lives are too far intertwined, and there is no more point in trying to escape.

"Sexing the Body" and "The Five Sexes"

“The treatment of intersexuality in this century provides a clear example of what the French historian Michel Foucault called bipower. The knowledge developed in biochemistry, embryology, endocrinology , psychology and surgery has enabled physicians to control the very sex of the human body.” (The Five Sexes, 170.)

This quotation caught my interest, because it brings up an interesting question related to both of our readings this week: if humans have reached a point where we have the technology to redesign and alter biological sex, how does this change the way in which we define “sex” and how does it alter the apparent duality between sex and gender? Obviously, sex and gender have never been mutually exclusive ideas, but the working definition that I had for the two was that sex described your biological characteristics (i.e. chromosomes, gonads, genitalia and secondary sexual characteristics) while gender was the way in which you acted or were taught to act in relation to your biological sex. But this article has me questioning the way I think about “biological” sex.

Fausto-Sterling claims that this power we know have to alter human biology will become yet another way of “disciplining” gender norms, by eliminating the confusing and “unruly” intersex population, even though this power may present itself with the power to help people. But I have to disagree. Yes, it would be unfortunate if this ability to alter human biology were used to make people who fall outside the gender binary conform, but I don’t think we have to be so pessimistic. This power we have over biology, in this case, is an opportunity to induce a cultural shift in the way we look at sex and gender. Because when we make it relatively simple to alter the biological makeup of human bodies (be it through surgery, hormone use, or other methods) we show how arbitrary and constructed the concept of biological sex really is. In presenting society with a way to change that which we define as essential to determining biological sex, we open up a conversation about what we define as a “normal” or “natural” biological sex. I don’t see the power we have to alter the body as a means of trying to hide or assimilate intersex people, but rather as a way to begin a societal conversation about why someone might want to alter their sex, or not, as the case may be. With the power to make sex alteration a reality comes the responsibility to educate the world about why it is important that this option exist.

On a side note, the one problem I had with “The Five Sexes” was that by defining and describing three distinct “subsets” of hermaphroditism or intersexuality, it seemed as though Fausto-Sterling was acting against her own argument that the distinctions between the sexes is not clearly defined. I applaud her for creating a model that doesn’t lump anyone who falls outside of the male/female binary under and “intersex” umbrella, and for acknowledging the different variations that can be found in human sex, but it seems that creating another system in which people can be categorized by their biological sex is just a continuation of the old, flawed, system. What about the people who are not herms, merms, or ferms? Won’t this just further isolate them? I realize she acknowledges that her model cannot encompass the wide variety of biological sexes, but designing a model still based on discreet box-like categories seems counterintuitive to her argument. For someone who would so like to radically change the way in which we view human sex and gender, I would have expected a more radically different gender paradigm.

Aye, and Gomorrah...

“And went up."

("Aye, and Gomorrah..." p. 133)

I appreciated the symmetry in the way this story ended (see above) and began: “And came down in Paris.” Just like in “Lathe of Heaven,” the reader is dropped into the middle of an unfamiliar world, and lands in Paris with the spacers, confused and disoriented. As events unfold, things become more clear, but the reader is never quite sure of where they are, because in the next moment… “And went up.” And once again you’ve landed somewhere new and have to reorient yourself again. This, I thought, was an extremely effective way of getting the reader into the mindset of the characters in the book. They are not tied down to one place, and don’t fit in anywhere on earth, and so continue in a nomadic sort of existence, not sure where they will land again. I got the impression that they don’t actually have much control over where they land—they don’t plan where they’re going at any rate. They don’t seem to care much where they’re going, as long as it’s away from where they are. This ability to just up and leave, however, further isolates the spacers from society. It sets them apart, but also on a pedestal. “You have your glorious, soaring life…” a frelk tells the narrator “…You spin in the sky, the world spins under you, and you step from land to land while we… We have our dull, circled lives, bound in gravity, worshipping you!” (130.) But whether they’re idolized or reviled, the spacers are separate. Any human connection they might make disappears when the go up, because no one can follow them. Any friendships, arguments, realizations—any of the things that make us human—get left behind. And they go up.

A major factor in this isolation and constant relocation is the fact that the spacers are no longer seen as male of female, since their reproductive organs have been removed. And because they don’t fit into the gender binary on earth, the only people they feel they can connect to are each other. This may be a work of science fiction, but the gender issues it brings up are anything but fiction. How different is the situation of the spacers from that of many transgender or gender queer people in the world today? By many, they are seen as freaks, and the people who love them are also given that label. They don’t fit in to the male/female dichotomy, and so are looked down upon, seen as less than human even. They have their community, but do not ever feel accepted in the larger world. This is not a perfect metaphor, but it does raise interesting questions about the way we see those outside of gender norms in our society today, and how dependent we are on our gender to assign us a role, a community. But if no community accepts you as you are, what is there left to do, but to go up?

Lathe of Heave: Balance, Human Nature, and Science

“… you are so sane as to be an anomaly…in quantifiable terms, you’re a median… Neither dominant nor submissive. Independence/ dependence—same thing. Creative/destructive… same thing. Both, neither. Either, or. Where there’s an opposed pair, a polarity, you’re in the middle; where there’s a scale, you’re at the balance point. You cancel out so thoroughly that, in a sense, nothing is left.” (137)

George Orr, as a character, has become more enigmatic to me over the course of this novel. Every time I think I understand who he is, the understanding only lasts for a few pages before I have to redefine him again. He is an elusive protagonist, to say the least. The above passage in particular yet again redefined my thoughts of him, but also gave insight into some of the larger themes that Le Guin is addressing in this novel.

To begin with, it is important to note that it is Haber who is describing Orr in this passage. For most of the novel, we have been seeing Orr’s personality in terms of how it is a foil to Haber’s: weak where Haber is strong, submissive where Haber is dominant, etc. But I would argue that the view the reader gets of Orr here, as a perfectly balanced, evenly weighted personality, makes him a more perfect foil to Haber than before. Orr is still very much the opposite of Haber: where Haber is single-minded and has a personality that deals only in extremes, seeing what he wants to see in stark black and white, Orr knows that there are shades of grey. But Haber scoffs at the idea that this balance is a desirable quality; for a man defined by extremes, balance in personality means that “nothing is left.” This is, I think, why Haber is constantly tweaking the worlds he is creating, why he can’t stop trying to make things just slightly different; without an inner sense of peace and balance, he cannot find it in the world around him. It was also interesting to compare Haber’s reaction to this revelation about Orr to Heather’s, earlier in the novel. Haber sees Orr’s balance cancel out into nothingness, while Heather sees “the being who, being nothing but himself, is everything” (96.) And again we find Orr in the middle: between everything and nothing, what remains is just himself.

What was also striking about the above quote was how much it reminded me of a scientific text of some sort, and I don’t think that this is unintentional on the author’s part. Orr is described here in scientific terms: “an anomaly,” “in quantifiable terms… a median,” and “the balance point” of a scale. These are terms used in talking about data, about test subjects, but not about people, about human nature and personality. It’s disorienting, hearing these terms in this context, and I think is used by the author to highlight how dehumanizing science can be. When we define ourselves in terms of science, we lose that which makes us human. Haber, here and elsewhere in the novel, is trying to quantify things which unquantifiable: human nature and dreams. These are not things that can be explained scientifically, or follow logic or reason, and when Haber tries to make dreams (and humans) into something they’re not, destruction follows. Le Guin here addresses the fears that many of us have (I think) of losing our sense of self, of uniqueness, in a world of increasingly complex, dehumanizing and isolating technology. No wonder Orr struggles against Haber’s control—he is, in a sense, fighting for his humanity.