Ender's World

by Orson Scott Card

  Especially on a second pass. Ender’s Game has so many levels of complexity that, upon a second (or third or twentieth) pass, it gains meaning. On every return to the novel, you bring added experience from your life. This is one of the best parts of revisiting a novel, especially when a marked change has taken place (childhood to adulthood, for example) in the interim, and particularly of revisiting a novel like Ender’s Game, which has a versatility of compassion for its characters: as an adult and educator, I can feel for both Ender and Graff as teachers in their own respect, but I know that if I read this as a kid, I’d immediately connect to Valentine struggling with the relationship she has with her parents and her brothers.

  D: Reading this as a parent, I connected from the other direction. When Valentine realizes her father admires Demosthenes, I felt the power of the scene from the father’s perspective, not Valentine’s. He appeared to be unaware of major aspects of her life. Though it also reminded me of all the things I hid from my parents.

  A: And the things I’ve hidden from mine. Not that I’ve ever done that.

  D: And not that I’ve ever secretly known some of those things you’ve never done. But we’ll talk about that later, in private.

  A: The concept of parents as autonomous agents reminds me of the realization that my parents are individuals themselves, and don’t just exist as extensions of my own life and experiences. Parenthood is an aspect of their lives, not the entirety of it.

  D: I’m pleased to have been granted an independent existence by she who I helped bring into existence. This makes me feel like a Borges character or part of an Escher engraving—but in a good way. Getting back to the idea of reader identification (and comfortably away from further discussion of our youthful misadventures)—readers may identify with different secondary characters at different ages, but readers also generally begin a book with a biased view of the main character. Readers assume characters share everything with them, and then are slowly disabused of the connections as they encounter conflicting evidence. Every time I pick up a book, the main character is an adult male of my size, weight, and beliefs. As I read, the attributes I imposed are sliced off like the limbs of the Black Knight in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. In Ender’s Game, as in most well-crafted novels, the reader learns the key differences within the first few pages. It would be jarring, and perhaps even disastrous, to get to page fifty before learning Ender’s age.

  A: Aside from the age of the reader, one of the most marked differences between readerships is gender. It’s common to see my female students read a novel written from a male perspective, but it’s less common to see a male student reading a novel that’s written from a female perspective.

  Ender is of course male, giving male students something in common with him. But Scott also has two incredibly well-crafted and dynamic female characters—Petra and Val. Their strength is important because they don’t merely serve supporting roles. They are guides for Ender. Valentine is Ender’s Beatrice: Ender’s taken this impossible quest with Valentine in mind, unable to envision a world where she’s torn apart by formics. And Petra is Ender’s Virgil: her guidance, support, and camaraderie give him the confidence to become the leader he needs to be.

  D: Writers deal with a certain body of conventional wisdom, including the idea that a girl will read a boy book but a boy won’t read a girl book, and that young readers prefer to read about someone two or three years older. Whenever I hear the latter belief mentioned, I point to Ender as a counter example. I suspect, if Valentine got her own novel, she’d be a good counter example for the former belief. I’m glad your students, both male and female, were able to identify with Ender in various and meaningful ways. And I’m pleased you’re teaching a novel that taught me so much. However, I can’t help wondering about one potential issue for anyone who teaches the book. In the introduction to the definitive edition, Scott mentions that he deliberately avoided “all the little literary games and gimmicks that make ‘fine’ writing so impenetrable to the general audience.” As someone teaching literature not to a general audience but to high school students at the highest levels, does the clarity of the text create any problems in the classroom?

  A: I don’t think it does—it just opens up an opportunity for students to see the text through different lenses. A text whose literal meaning is clear is more effective on a figurative level. I always teach science fiction with the idea that the genre has allegory at its core. The science aspect of science fiction, as well as the fantasy aspect, allows the enjoyer (I always tell my students to avoid writing about “the reader” when they should focus solely on the literature) to understand philosophical and, particularly, ethical issues. A discussion about true happiness is easier to understand if man can widely and readily attain complete physical complacency without repercussions (like the use of soma in Brave New World); a dialogue about racism can be easier to explore if you’re talking about aliens versus humans.

  Many of the ethical dilemmas brought up in science fiction are timeless, but science fiction’s frequent use of emergent technology allows these timeless issues to be tethered to both the science and technology present in the news and the science and technology present in science fiction: video games and the internet have changed the way that we can express and understand the human condition.

  D: As someone who was around when the internet was evolving, I can appreciate the ways in which the book came close. The idea of gaining a following is right on target, as is the idea of concealed identities. As for the bloggers influencing or shaping public opinion, that is dead on.

  A: The anonymity of the internet became a source of power for Peter and Valentine. Online, the enemy doesn’t know if you’re a teenage mean girl or a middle-aged socialist. The power that comes with concealing one’s identity can allow one to be not just effective, as Peter and Valentine are, but cruel in a way that’s safe for the bully.

  D: Or the online book reviewer with a grudge.

  A: Ender wants to use this kind of anonymity for good, rather than ill, when he identifies himself as “God.” We can still, however, see a dichotomy of good and evil in the range of all of the characters’ ethical options, and Ender’s place in the middle. This power through anonymity is the beginning of Ender’s extreme burden of responsibility and his eventual despair: he’s constrained by his morals, yet his mind enables him to comprehend and rationalize man’s capacity for both good and evil when given any amount of power.

  D: Even in the fantasy game, where no real blood is shed, Ender struggles with the morality of his decisions. Though what really caught my interest, as a writer, is that the fantasy game is a volitional dream. The player/dreamer can take conscious actions and has free will, but the results of his actions and the experiences he encounters fall into the realm of fantasy. Every writer writes dream sequences, and most of us would be better off if we then deleted them. (I know from my own failures that it is very easy to let this sort of scene get out of control or become as self-indulgent as bad poetry or unschooled abstract art.) Although Ender does have some brief traditional dreams and nightmares, especially toward the end of the novel, the game allows him to spend an extended time in a world that reflects his deepest thoughts—without it feeling contrived or arbitrary.

  A: And in games, you can always get “multiple lives.” Second chances exist in video games. It’s safe to fail, and it encourages learning. We connect to games, and even project ourselves (in true Avatar fashion) onto the pixels that we control. If Link failed to save Zelda, I failed to save Zelda. If Link died, I died. But we were both reborn. Scott writes the following about Ender’s first experiences playing the game: “He had lots of deaths, but that was OK, games were like that, you died a lot until you got the hang of it.” Dying is a necessary part of the game and of the learning experience, but this (putting aside all arguments for reincarnation) is impossible for us—to have the opportunity of trial and absolute error, resulting in death, without harming one’s self, instead of one
’s avatar, makes learning available where it otherwise might be impossible.

  D: Games allow us to practice making decisions and solving problems without penalty, just as fiction allows us to learn to cope with and process a variety of emotions and situations in a safe environment. I’m not preparing to fight formics, but I have on occasion found myself in micro-versions of some of Ender’s dilemmas where I had to rely on my mind to find a way to defeat a physically superior force or avoid an unpleasant task.

  A: Video games are more than choose-your-own adventure books; they take away the need for imagination but replace it with a greater (though still finite) amount of free will. A lot of games provide the player with morally ambiguous situations—the heroic Link in Legend of Zelda can also throw and slash at chickens in the town, and the protagonist in Infamous can choose a good or evil path. The player can choose to be the hero or the villain, making it possible to save humanity or safely play the bad guy.

  D: Ender, through the qualities endowed in him by his creator, is more than a hero. Though portrayed as human, he is almost a super-hero. He cannot lose any game or battle. His powers of reasoning allow him to be one step ahead, not just in formal games, but in the larger game of life. This is one of the reasons he is so appealing to the reader. When we read Stephen Gould’s Jumper, we imagine ourselves with the power of teleportation. When we watch Spider-Man, we picture our own silky smooth flight among the skyscrapers. And when we spend time with Ender, we see ourselves triumphing against all challenges.

  A: Many of us have experienced the luck of winning when we didn’t think we could, but Ender never loses; he always wins. And this could partly be explained by Ender’s expectations about his own reactions and the control he exhibits over his emotions. Even when mad, Ender is a “cool” mad, not a “hot” mad, which is ultimately destructive. Using even the most destructive emotion, anger, to propel him forward prioritizes rationality and deliberation in his thought and actions. We all want to know we’ll win all of the time, but we don’t. Rooting for Ender, and feeling him win and succeed, even when he loses a lot in his sacrifice for it, provides the catharsis that solidifies Ender’s place in the pantheon of literary heroes.

  D: Perfection is also a powerful dramatic hook. The fact that Ender has never failed yet doesn’t guarantee that he will win his final battle. No promise is made to the reader. The fact that we learn of his final victory at the same time that he does bonds us more closely to him by way of both celebration and relief. The wire-walker has reached the platform. Somehow, Ender has survived everything Graff and Mazer have thrown at him. Not only has he survived—he’s triumphed, vindicating Graff’s cold-blooded methods. As a parent, when I think of Graff’s approach I am reminded of my constant battle to allow my child total freedom vs. my instinct to do everything for her and to protect her from all possible harm.

  A: And as a child (who has experience as a teacher but not as a parent), I always took comfort in the safety net, even when I was running from it. But Ender is different—for Ender to become the person that the world needs him to be, he has to cultivate complete self-reliance. This also brings up the idea of the “easy way out”—sometimes there is none. Sometimes we need to claw through the Giant’s eye to survive.

  D: This holds true for both characters and their creators. The writers who take the easy way out are not the ones who get published. Or, at least, are not the ones who publish books that endure. If the path is one every reader can immediately see, why bother taking the trip? I suspect it wasn’t easy for Scott to kill off characters, even if Ender’s victims were unlikeable bullies, or kill off an entire species.

  A: Kill your darlings?

  D: I can think of no greater proof of good parenting on my part than the fact I taught you that phrase of Faulkner’s, and no greater proof of good daughtering (to coin a phrase) than that you remembered it, and knew not only when to pull it from the quiver but how to sharpen the tip with multiple meanings.

  A: Archery skill is genetic.

  D: Beyond those slain characters, there are many other ways in which Scott doesn’t take the easiest way out. The largest of all is in his choice of hero. This is another reason the book is a classic. The easy way to generate empathy is to create a character cut of the same cloth as the reader. It’s difficult to get a reader to empathize with a character who is totally unlike the reader in most ways. Nobody who reads Ender’s Game is six years old, an unwanted third child, and a staggering genius. But we all feel his pain.

  A: I think it’s Ender’s isolation that we can all feel. Many of us are told that we are unique and special and wonderful, but with that comes the isolating aspect of being so unique and special and wonderful. In a way, it’s the commonality in our individuality that makes the connection to Ender so instantaneous.

  D: Speaking of unique and special and wonderful, daughter dearest, given that you gave me the first word, I’ll give you the last.

  A: And the last word is almost as good as a parachute.

  David Lubar has written thirty books for young readers, including Beware the Ninja Weenies and Other Warped and Creepy Tales (the seventh book in a series of story collections that have sold more than two million copies), and Hidden Talents. His novels are on reading lists across the country, saving countless students from a close encounter with Madame Bovary. He has also designed and programmed many video games, but he’d much rather spend his time writing books and trying to gain influence on the internet. In his spare time, he takes naps on the couch. He lives in Nazareth, Pennsylvania, with his wife and various felines. His daughter speaks for herself.

  Alison S. Myers née Lubar teaches high school English and has also saved countless students from a close encounter with Madame Bovary. She lives with her husband, Mark, and her crazy little shiba, Kira. She recently developed a Philosophy and Literature class, and is hoping to avoid all offerings of hemlock. Alison also has less to say about herself than her father.

  Q. How long was the Battle School open before Ender started? And was it always for children that young?

  Did the military always recruit children into Battle School, or did they recruit any genius?

  A. Battle School was conceived of as a school for children, precisely because they were young enough to be trained out of the gravity-centered mindset of the Earth-born. The school would shape their lives toward war in space from earliest childhood in order to maximize their readiness as adults. But it was not the plan to use them, as children, in combat leadership roles. It was only the calendar that eventually forced that, since by the time the fleets arrived at the formic worlds there was no time for the children who were most skilled to grow up!

  Even the first class of Battle School students believed that they might grow up to be the overall commander in the final battles, though of course they had no idea that the battle would not be fought in their solar system. But they expected to take such a position as adults, perhaps after years of experience in fleet maneuvers in real ships.

  As the inevitable and unpostponable final battles approached—as the human war fleets prepared to reach their destinations within days of each other—the time for training kept compressing. Since they had not yet found that betterthan-Mazer commander when the fleet was ten years out, they knew that the commander, if they found him, would be ridiculously young, and Mazer prepared for command.

  Then they found Ender and, a little later, Bean. They knew when Ender came to Battle School that he would have to be made ready by the age of twelve. Thus when they watched him through his monitor, they knew that they only had seven years left. That’s why they accelerated his training so radically. Having bean as possible backup gave them a bit more security, but their ultimate backup was always Mazer Rackham himself.

  However, the Battle School experience had gone on long enough for the teachers to see that having children in command would not necessarily be a bad thing, as long as they could be shielded from the knowledge of what they were doing. That is bec
ause they had long since learned that, like mathematicians, soldiers slow down as they age. Nobody would follow a twelve-year-old into battle under ordinary circumstances, yet the twelve-year-old is far quicker of reflex and thought than the same person would be at thirty-two.

  Rackham himself could see how much sharper these kids were than he was. It’s the experience adults have when children start beating them at videogames. There is a greater depth of knowledge and experience in adults, however, and that’s what the teachers in Battle School were trying to duplicate in Ender’s training. They had to put him in situations that no child would normally be placed in during Battle School, in order to give him a fund of experience that would rival Mazer’s own, and make him ready to take command when he was barely twelve years old, for, ready or not, that was when the battle fleets would reach their targets.

  So, with the use of children forced upon them, they made a virtue of necessity and then set about framing the situation so that adults would follow children into battle and the children could command without knowing they were doing so. But by no means was this the original plan when Battle School was founded.

  —OSC

  MIRROR, MIRROR

  ALETHEA KONTIS

  So you’re attending Battle School with Ender and Bean. You’ve signed your name into the desk (and probably hacked into the teacher accounts) and now it’s time for more frivolous pursuits, so you log on to the game. You’ve passed the Giant’s Drink, you’ve survived Fairyland, and you’re standing at the End of the World, looking into the mirror. Who do you see? Ender? Bean? Peter? Valentine?

  Mirrors are some of the most powerful objects in literature, and in fairy stories old and new in particular. Mirrors can be used for locating one’s enemy (Snow White) or defeating them (Medusa). They are handy when a fictional character needs to travel to another universe (Through the Looking Glass), reveal one’s heart’s desire (Harry Potter), or get insight into one’s true inner self (The Neverending Story).