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literary letter
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Dear Ms. Lowry,
Being human is, in a word, tough. There’s all that emotion, all that pain, all
that suffering – things I have wished away countless times throughout my life. Yet,
in The Giver, you showed me that humanity isn’t just about being alive – it’s about
that emotion, that pain, that suffering. We wouldn’t be human without it.
I first read The Giver as a wide-‐eyed 11-‐year-‐old just in search of something
new to read. I didn’t get it. But then I read it again several months ago, a 16-‐year-‐old
quickly growing tired of both life and humanity, and found a whole new meaning in
the book.
In the utopian society of The Giver, there is no emotion, pain, or suffering.
That sounds great to anyone alive right now – we wouldn’t have to deal with such
matters as heartbreak or war, and who wouldn’t want to get rid of those? But these
things, while they seem to be pointless suffering, show and emphasize the value of
what is truly important. How would we know the value of love if not for the absence
of it, or the value of life if not for the inevitability of death? People take so many
things for granted – for example, their parents. My father lives around 7,000 miles
away in South Korea. He’s lived separately from the rest of my family for the last 12
years, and I’m lucky if I get to see him once every two years. I saw so many kids
around me brush off their fathers or take them for granted, and I got so angry that
they had something that I could barely imagine, that they didn’t realize how lucky
they were to have their fathers by their side. I used to focus on the negative part –
that I didn’t get to see my father or talk to him often. But I found that life became so
much happier when I focused on the fact that he was alive and well and whenever I
did get to see him, it made that time all the more meaningful.
One of the greatest things that stuck out to me in the novel was that people in
the utopia could not see color or hear music – as both a musical and visual artist, I
am certain that this is one of my worst nightmares. I can’t even begin to imagine not
being able to see the breathtaking colors in a sunset or not being able to hear the
notes in a moving melody. Both photography and music are such an integral part of
my life that I can’t imagine losing either of them. The former is something that
allows me to find the beautiful in the ordinary and share that beauty with others
who may not notice it. The latter has saved me countless times, both from boredom
and from the fear of silence. Music fills the empty spaces in my life – I listen to it
constantly and I play it at every given opportunity. As I came to realize that aspects
of both sight and sound could be taken away, I came to appreciate my senses even
more than I already did.
Another quality of the utopia that caught my eye was the lack of freedom of
choice – in particular, the concrete assignment of a job. Growing up, I had a constant,
unrelenting pressure to become a doctor. Brainwashed from an early age by an
overbearing mother, I never really considered any other profession – until I reread
your book and realized that, in this world, I have the freedom to decide my own
future and this is something I’ve promised myself I’ll never forget.
I’d like to think I’ve suffered my fair share of pain in this world so far – I
hated every second of struggling with depression and anxiety (I still do), every
moment I spent with my head between my knees, every night I laid awake thinking
life wasn’t worth living. The Giver showed me that this wasn’t for nothing, that this
very suffering was what made me human. It made me realize what the blessings in
my life were, and helped me to sincerely appreciate them. I can’t thank you enough.
Esther Cho