Divergent Thinking

by Leah Wilson

  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.

  The biggest offender, though, has to be
Natalie Prior. In the first book, Tris discovers that her mom was a faction transfer—she was from Dauntless, not Abnegation. That’s earth-shattering by itself. But then, in the third book, Tris gets a peek at a young Natalie Prior’s diary, and everything she thinks she knows about her mom flies out the window. As it turns out, Natalie wasn’t a faction native at all. Natalie came from the land beyond their city—from the fringe. Tris learns that her mom was inserted into the Chicago experiment in order to save the lives of Divergents.

  Since Tris didn’t know about these lies initially, that means they didn’t affect her childhood, right? What she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her, and all that good stuff. Except this is the mother who helped shape Tris and her brother, Caleb, as they grew up in the Prior household. And there are a whole lot of psychologists who believe that when your loved ones lie, it affects intimacy. Those on the receiving end of the lies can clue in on a subconscious level and guard themselves accordingly. But the liars themselves can also be responsible for withholding intimacy, either consciously or subconsciously. Without trust, there can be no true intimacy, and the lying party is always aware that, because they are not telling, or cannot tell, the other person something, trust has been breached.

  Does that idea have merit? Perhaps. Because when Caleb and Tris decide to defect from their native Abnegation, what’s the first thing they do? Suck it up and tell their parents? Share their anxiety with their friends? Grab a box of Chips Ahoy! (wait, this is Abnegation—so more like a couple of dry chicken breasts) and hide together in sleeping bags in their bedroom while admitting their faction fears? Of course not, because in the Prior household, secret keeping is the norm. In the same tradition as their mom and dad, they tuck that information close to their chests, both of them too scared to admit the potential for massive family upheaval in their hearts. They act the same way their parents did, omitting the truth until the last possible second—at the Choosing Ceremony. (Sure, the test rules say you aren’t supposed to share your results with anyone else—suggesting the faction system by its very nature encourages secrecy of a sort. But I can’t imagine that’s a rule everybody follows.)

  And it’s not like Tris’ family is the lone set of Abnegation truth-tweakers. All you have to do to dispute that notion is to take a look at the secrets in Four’s closet.

  When you consider the family and faction dynamics, it’s almost no wonder that Caleb withholds his decision to work with Jeanine at Erudite in Insurgent. This particular lie of omission leads to disastrous consequences both for his relationship with Tris and for Tris’ safety.

  Okay, fine, forget family . . . at least Tris can be honest with her friends. Right?

  Why Can’t We Be Friends?

  When Tris joins Dauntless as a new initiate, it’s a chance for a fresh start. Finally she can shed the weight of the Abnegation selflessness that has burdened her for so long! Finally she can be free and start forming completely honest relationships in a faction where it’s not frowned upon as selfish to talk about yourself! Finally she can eat something with more flavor than an old shoe! Except—before Tris can even begin leaping from trains and learning to throw a mean knife, she’s informed that she must keep a new secret. From everyone. As Tori informs her during her test, she’s an oddity known as a Divergent, and she must keep that information hidden, at all costs—and for good reason. If Tris tells, her life might be in danger.

  But surely that’s okay, right? Surely this one little thing doesn’t put an instant strain on her fledgling relationships?

  Let’s take a look.

  Tris forms bonds with Christina, Will, and Al, but even at the beginning, we note that Christina, a former Candor member, is much more skilled in honesty than Tris. When Christina and Will kiss, what’s the first thing Christina does? She tells Tris. But when Tris kisses Four, does Tris run out and tell Christina? Nope. And a relationship imbalance like that can be problematic. While it could be argued that Tris keeps that information secret because Four is an instructor, it’s also pretty obvious that Christina would have divulged it if their situations were reversed. And it’s not like Tris only holds the Divergent secret close, while in other areas she’s an open book. Hardly. Multiple characters note that Tris is guarded and prickly. We see this time and time again, like when she doesn’t tell anyone about her plan to sacrifice herself to the Erudite, or when she fails to confess to Christina that she was the one who shot Will.

  Even Tris herself is aware of the burden her secret keeping places on her new relationships. She thinks in Divergent, “I should not lie to my friends. It creates barriers between us, and we already have more than I want.” But perhaps even more telling is this quote: “I don’t know when I accumulated so many secrets. Being Divergent. Fears. How I really feel about my friends, my family, Al, Tobias. Candor initiation would reach things that even the simulations can’t touch; it would wreck me.”

  At least Tris is honest about her MO, which for much of the first books, seems to go something like this: when in doubt about someone’s reaction to the truth, hide it. Even though her innate distrustfulness isn’t doing her relationships any favors.

  Tell Me Sweet Little Lies —Fudging the Truth with Significant Others

  At first, it appears that the one person who might break through Tris’ trust issue is Four. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that in Divergent, Four is both a) one of two people who know the truth about her and b) the person she becomes the closest to, and vice versa. Okay, so sure, the fact that Four is ethical (in a crowd of the morally challenged), strong, and more than just a little hot probably has a teensy bit to do with Tris’ attraction. But is it just a coincidence that Four is also the only one who knows her Divergent status? Since Four has already discovered her closely guarded secret, Tris doesn’t have to hold back with him, which undoubtedly fosters a unique sense of intimacy between them. In sharing that secret, they create a bond. He knows the real her. Not only that, he shares his own deep, dark secret, letting her in to see the real him—the young boy, frightened of an abusive father. Tris is the only one, outside of Four and his parents, who knows about the abuse he and his mom withstood at the hands of his politician father, and he shows her in one of the most personal ways ever—via insertion into his private fear landscape. Talk about trust.

  In this sense, we are presented with a strong case for the argument that the truth can bind us to others. In other instances, Tris shows us that lies can wedge us apart.

  For example, when Tris doesn’t tell Four that she killed Will, he senses something is amiss. He even asks her outright if something is wrong and if she still trusts him. Though the weight of keeping secrets feels terrible—“maybe time would not feel as heavy if I didn’t have this guilt—the guilt of knowing the truth and stuffing it down where no one can see it”—she lies yet again. By the time Four discovers the truth during the truth serum confession, he feels understandably betrayed. But maybe it’s easier for her to remain guarded, since she knows Four is holding things back from her, too. Big things, as it turns out—that his mom is still alive and that he’s been considering allying with Evelyn and the factionless. Perhaps the real lesson here is that the trust that comes from honesty starts out as a two-way street, but when one lane shuts down, the other does as well.

  Luckily, the same principle works in reverse: when Tris and Four start being more honest with each other again, their relationship grows. In Allegiant, Nita tries to persuade Four to keep Tris in the dark about their meetings by telling him the information would put her in danger. But Four is far too aware that their recently restored trust is fragile and that in order to preserve their relationship, he must tell the truth. Though they still have their ups and downs after this point, Tris and Four are finally able to trust each other enough to be fully open and vulnerable, and that leads to them consummating their love via physical intimacy (or as we in the YA world like to say: sexy times).

  SELF-DECEPTION IN DIVERGENT-LAND—AN ACCEPTABLE SUBTERFUGE IN A HARSH WORL
D?

  We’ve talked about lying and deceit in regard to multiple relationships throughout the Divergent series—on the part of leaders, among family, between friends and would-be lovers. But what about your most intimate relationship? What happens when you lie to yourself?

  Nothing good, that’s for sure. If there is one truth to be had in the Divergent series, I believe it’s this: that you can lie to your friends, and you can lie to your nose, but you can’t ever . . . wait. Strike that. You can totally lie to your friends’ noses. Actually, it’s this: that lying to yourself is never okay, and that ultimately, the person it’s most important to always be truthful with is yourself. When you try to hide or subvert your true feelings or nature, things can go horribly, terribly wrong. When Tris refuses to acknowledge the depth of her despair over her role in Will’s death, for example, that little self-deception almost gets her killed.

  Ironically, as tear-jerking and Kleenex-grabbing a thing as self-truth is, I believe this is the key to understanding the importance of Tris’ ultimate sacrifice in Allegiant. She has to search deep inside to realize not just the truth behind her brother’s actions—that he’s sacrificing himself out of guilt, not love—but also the truth that beats in her own heart about what she can live with, and what’s worth dying for.

  The only character who really avoids his own truth is Peter, and that’s only through resetting his memories entirely—a very drastic step. (Okay, the folks at the Bureau did, too, but they didn’t exactly wrestle Four to the ground for the chance. Involuntary avoidance doesn’t count.) People can attempt to disregard the reality of who they are, but deep down, they just can’t ignore it. Just like when Tris tries to pretend that it’s okay for Caleb to sacrifice himself for the wrong reasons—she can hide from the truth for only so long. Ultimately, she realizes that if she allows Caleb to die because of guilt versus love, she will never be able to live with herself. She would rather die being true to her beliefs than live suppressing them. She’d rather accept her values and go down fighting for them. By the end of the Divergent trilogy, it appears that self-realization and honesty trump all.