The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas

[Jackpine Radical]

Anybody remember this old LeGuin story?

You can find it as a pdf here:
http://www-rohan.sdsu.edu/faculty/dunnweb/rprnts.omelas.pdf

A number of threads today caused it to surface in my memory.

With a clamor of bells that set the swallows soaring, the Festival of Summer came to the
city Omelas, bright-towered by the sea. The rigging of the boats in harbor sparkled with
flags. In the streets between houses with red roofs and painted walls, between old
moss-grown gardens and under avenues of trees, past great parks and public buildings,
processions moved. Some were decorous: old people in long stiff robes of mauve and
grey, grave master workmen, quiet, merry women carrying their babies and chatting as
they walked. In other streets the music beat faster, a shimmering of gong and
tambourine, and the people went dancing, the procession was a dance.

…

Joyous! How is one to tell about joy? How describe the citizens of Omelas?

…

Do you believe? Do you accept the festival, the city, the joy? No? Then let me describe
one more thing.
In a basement under one of the beautiful public buildings of Omelas, or perhaps in the
cellar of one of its spacious private homes, there is a room. It has one locked door, and
no window. A little light seeps in dustily between cracks in the boards, secondhand from
a cobwebbed window somewhere across the cellar. In one corner of the little room a
couple of mops, with stiff, clotted, foul-smelling heads stand near a rusty bucket. The
floor is dirt, a little damp to the touch, as cellar dirt usually is. The room is about three
paces long and two wide: a mere broom closet or disused tool room. In the room a child
is sitting. It could be a boy or a girl. It looks about six, but actually is nearly ten. It is
feeble-minded. Perhaps it was born defective, or perhaps it has become imbecile
through fear, malnutrition, and neglect. It picks its nose and occasionally fumbles
vaguely with its toes or genitals, as it sits hunched in the corner farthest from the bucket and the two mops. It is afraid of the mops. It finds them horrible.

…

[Arkansas Granny]

1. Oh, yes I do. I haven't read that in years.

Many of her stories have a dark side to tem.

[djean111]

2. I love that story, and am reminded of it constantly. Sadly.