BOOK REVIEW OF 'THE GIVER'

BOOK 2 OF 2023

THE GIVER BY LOIS LOWRY

GENRE: DYSTOPIAN/SCI-FI

The Giver by Lois Lowry is the first instalment in this quartet.

The story begins in an unassuming manner with enough hints at a dystopian genre. As the story proceeds you wish ( I wished…) that were were trigger warnings given on various levels. Coming back to that in a while, there is an unreal world out there.

They call themselves a community where—

People live by the rules and follow them no matter what.

People don't ask questions as it's considered rude.

Food is delivered at each doorstep and the boxes collected after meals.

Children go to school , go to mandatory volunteer duties after school and adults go to work.

Utopian much? Not really! The twists and turns comes in waves. Peeling off each layer unravels the dark setup behind the scenes.

Following a concept of 'Sameness', it's revealed that the population is genetically engineered. It's a black and white world where people are deprived of seeing colours...

They don't know what singing and music is!

They don't feel human emotions and go about their lives robotically without questioning. Questioning is out of the question!

The community is taken care of by a group of Elders. Every child born out of an assigned Birthmother is called a New child and a ceremony is held every December to mark a year. Every year the child is given a milestone to upgrade and give up certain privileges.

At twelve they attend their final ceremony and go headlong into training to prepare themselves for adulthood. Jobs are assigned accordingly.

Everything is taken care of…or so we think.

People hold no memories of the past, know nothing about what lies beyond the community dwelling, have no knowledge about rain, snow or even sunshine! They haven't seen animals and birds! It's a climate controlled dwelling with a flat topography.

The Elder called The Giver holds the memories for everyone so that people don't burden themselves with pain and sadness. And now it's time to pass on those memories to our protagonist Jonas who turns 12 and has been assigned as The Receiver of Memories.

The memories unfold dark and disturbing for Jonas as it does for the reader. Ample triggers are in store but I would like to leave it at this and not give away spoilers.

Despite receiving accolades and the prestigious Newbery Award, this book was temporarily banned and was on the list of frequently challenged books. It has met with enough opposition from parents to remove it from school libraries, for obvious reasons.

The second book in the quartet is Gathering Blue.

Comments

ABERCROMBIE LOCKE MANSION

This post is part of the Blogchatter A2Z Challenge 2026. CHAPTER 1 ABERCROMBIE LOCKE MANSION The sky bled bruises of plum and cherry over the rolling hills. A full moon hung low against the mauve casting silver shards through the trees. The mansion made of cold greystone loomed large beyond the rusted iron gates. It grated on the gravel, rasping on the hinges and yawned open like a predator's jaw as Goldwynn booted it open with her foot. Her sneakers squished heavily on the mulch of dead leaves. Clutching her backpack, she looked up at the towering, grim structure forebodingly. "Are you sure you want to do this?" her friend Lexi whispered, hesitating by the gate. "This mansion's totally cursed, they say." Lexi's voice was a thin thread. A chill crept up her back and she tight...

Moxie N' Mettle

MOXIE N' METTLE In slivers and fragments as my sleep tiptoes, did I do right or wrong my heart needles… Some skies are born of black holes and tempest wreck, There glitters not a ray of light, nor a speck When curtains turbid hold all light hostage, Sandstorms, hailstorms, dust storms, snowstorms, windstorms assail and ravage Spanning my wings as a raging fire Or as a mellow glow of a fairy light in the distant darkness, quite debonaire I'll ignite my spark from within like a star born into itself spurting lava Or explode leaving trails of cosmic dust like a Supernova I will be the Sun creating galaxies and many a constellation. Or burn like a single flame of the candle to keep my hopes and dreams alive with determination! I will be at my own pace I will be whoever and whatever I want to be—in my own race Collapse, crash and crumble! But I'll...

RUTHLESS REVELATIONS (DAY 16, LETTER R)

CHAPTER 15 RUTHLESS REVELATIONS The Three Little Pigs stood triumphant in the whimsical cottage's living room, surrounded by mismatched furniture and waltzing dust motes. Baconne , Porkinn , and Swinedell grinned at each other, puffing out their chests like gangsters. Baconne swaggered closer to the makeshift bar. "You know," he said, stroking his shoulder, "the Big Bad Wolf wasn't so bad after all, was he?" His grin split wide, showing a gold-capped tooth. The pigs snorted, their belly laughs vibrating the chandeliers above. Swinedell poured three tiny glasses of wild truffle liqueur with a theatrical flourish. "Cheers to us!" he growled, hoisting a glass. "We wanted his posh cottage for ourselves. Wolfie mutt was just defending his pad." His eyes glinted like cheap jewels. Goldwynn's face paled. She stammered as she whispered, " Wha...

THE BIG BAD WOLF( DAY 17, LETTER T)

CHAPTER 16 THE BIG BAD WOLF The pigs snarled like proper rascals, fixing their cold steely eyes on the Wolf's cottage. How dare he refuse to part with his cottage! When the pigs demand, it's given to them---no questions asked! Porkinn limped, Baconne was soggy, Swinedell rubbed a sore bump on his head, but they were far from defeated. Swinedell snorted, a crooked grin spreading across his face. "Wolf thinks 'e's posh, don't 'e? " Baconne sniffed the air, his nostrils flaring. "We want the cottage!” He growled. Porkinn cracked his fingers, his sly glance darting about. The pigs crept towards the back door, their footsteps silent on the soft grass. They spotted the Wolf through the kitchen window, stirring a pot of steaming stew for dinner. They kicked the door in, the wood splintering jaggedly. The latch gave in....

ANAM CARA

The waves are soft and frothy. Laced with gossamer frills tenderly kissing the tips of my toes covered with the grainy sand of the rugged seashore where I'm sitting, wistful. A gust of briny breeze tousles my hair as I gaze as far as my eyes can see. A flock of terns wheel overhead, their sharp, shrill cries punctuating the air as they dive and swoop over the surfs. A lone frigate bird , its crimson belly dazzling like a jewel skims majestically above, its long, slender wings outstretched as it rides the thermals high above the ocean. I absorb the sights and sounds of the late afternoon while absentmindedly scooping seashells beside me. As the afternoon phases, the furthest rim of the ocean is fringed in a gilded hem and the sleepy sun yawns, its dipping glow streaking the sky in a mellow tangerine and warm cherry. As I continue sitting there, the ships and yachts appear --specks of light from the portholes glimmering in the distance, reminding me of the phrase “That ship has sai...

Sangeetha Kamath

Search This Blog