Tag Archives: flowers for algernon

[January 28, 1966] The Book as Rorschach Test (Flowers for Algernon)


by Victoria Lucas

The View from Here

[Six years ago, Daniel Keyes made science fiction history with his revolutionary novelette, Flowers for Algernon. The very height of his triumph was the author's undoing; though he has produced several stories since then, none have had the impact as that first great piece. It was perhaps inevitable that he would revisit the well in pursuit of the success that eluded him. Vicki Lucas, a relatively nufan who had not previously encountered Keyes' work, gives her take on the novelization of the original story.]


current edition of Flowers for Algernon

Try as I might, I have great difficulty thinking of this novel as a science-fiction story. It could be conceived of as a psychological thriller, but no one dies except a mouse. It is deeply psychological and delves as far into the brain as anyone can get right now, accepting Freudian analysis as routine, while it is Jung's "individuation" that the main character, Charlie Gordon, seeks without a guide except for his reading.

Epistolary writing rare in science fiction

As far as I can tell from the short biography I was able to get hold of the author's background is steeped in science fiction, horror, and comic-book-hero writing and editing for publishers. Keyes writes in a style unusual in science fiction but more well known in the horror genre, in which the narrative unfolds in a series of letters ("epistles") or reports. His knowledge and expertise in styles may be why he teaches creative writing at Wayne State University now. The epistolary style is perfect for this story, in which so much of the action takes place in Charlie's brain.


Sometimes the brain is a maze

The Experimental as Science Fiction

The reports are "Progress reports" from Charlie, who begins with an IQ of 68, seeks knowledge beginning with reading and writing, and early in the novel undergoes experimental surgery that rapidly increases his IQ to 185. In the 7 months from his surgery to, well, the ultimate failure of the experiment, he traverses a lifetime of knowledge, emotional turmoil, and sexual longing and finally fulfillment (which is why the book is banned in places). The theory and practice of the experiment of which he becomes a part is currently science fiction, although who knows what the future of biochemistry and neurosurgery will bring?

"Pulling a Charlie Gordon"

Charlie struggles with his anger, his longing, his need to be respected, and his lack of discipline that inevitably get in the way of his accomplishing what he finally wishes he had been able to do. His anger is the biggest hurdle, and he never conquers it, despite the therapy in which he participates. At first he is angry because a mouse who has also undergone the surgery, Algernon, beats him at solving a maze. Then he is angry because he does not like the way Algernon is treated and eventually absconds with him. And the list goes on, as he executes a more intelligent version of what the men who worked with him called "pulling a Charlie Gordon," in which he makes a fool of himself. It is the treatment of Charlie by his mother, little sister, other children, people he thought were his friends, and quacks who flim-flam his mother that has earned his anger. And I really can't blame him. Much of the novel details the kind of thing that happens to "morons," who are perceived as less than human and locked away, often in institutions. Late in the book we go along as he tours such an institution, and it is treated sympathetically, with recognition of those who devote their lives to people rejected and ill-used by society. Again and again he is faced by the need to stop being selfish and focus on others, but his emotional maturation cannot keep pace with his too-rapidly growing intelligence quotient.


Algernon at his most intelligent

From "Exceptional" to "Exceptional"

In an early progress report after his intelligence begins to increase, Charlie complains that, "Before, they had laughed at me, despising me for my ignorance and dullness. Now, they hated me for my knowledge and understanding." As he nears the peak of his intelligence, he has spiritual experiences that he describes with elegance: "It's as if all the things I've learned have fused into a crystal universe spinning before me, so that I can see all the facets of it reflected in gorgeous bursts of light," so that Charlie is "living at a peak of clarity and beauty I never knew existed." Unfortunately, these experiences are brief and he cannot learn from them any more than he can quell his anger to prolong a love affair that brings him great joy for a short time.


A Rorschach card

The climb is too quick after 33 years of persecution and pain. The fall, like the falls of all those who seek to climb too high in dramatic terms, is swift and complete. I recommend this book, no matter its genre, and hope that anyone who reads it finds him- or herself touched by the plight of both those who are "exceptional" on the low end and those "exceptional" on the high end.

What will you see in it?

I see five stars.






Flowers for Algernon (April 1959 Fantasy & Science Fiction; 2-20-1959)

Wow.

The April 1959 Fantasy & Science Fiction opens with a bang.  The lead novella, Flowers for Algernon, is destined to go down as a classic, I'm sure. 

But first, a quick detour to Asimov's column for the week.  The old polymath (older than me–I don't turn 40 until tomorrow!) has been on a gloom kick lately.  First it was melting ice caps.  Now, he points out that the limiting factor to the density of life on Earth is the limited quantity of terrestrial phosphorous.  Sure, there are lots of chemicals that are vital to life, but phosphorous is the one with the greatest imbalance between its concentration in living things and its abundance in nature.

Basically, living things have used up all the phosphorous, and if we want any more, we have to get it from the dead.  In the ocean, this cycle is maintained by currents that scoop up dead creatures from the bottom and bring them to closer to the surface.  On land, however, our rivers pour thousands of tons of soil into the ocean every year, and it comes back much more slowly than it leaves.  COULD THIS SPELL DOOM FOR LIFE ON EARTH?

I suspect not.  I am willing to wager that there is a nice equilibriating mechanism that we just haven't discovered yet, much like the one that regulates the ocean's salinity, sadly for those who wished to use the ocean's salinity as a yardstick to determine the age of the Earth.

But back to Flowers.  Its writer is Daniel Keyes, who I know slightly from his work for Atlas Comics and as editor of the long defunct pulp, Marvel Science Stories.  It follows the life of high-functioning moron Charlie Gordon, who wishes to become smarter.  Diligent and good-natured, he is selected for a radical brain surgery that, if successful (as it had been for the eponymously named lab mouse, Algernon) will treble his I.Q.

The story is written in the style of a journal kept by Charlie.  We get to see him progress from a barely functional human being to the highest level of genius–and then back down again.  It turns out that the effect of the process lasts only a few weeks, barely enough time for Charlie to taste of brilliance before sinking to his former state.

What makes this novella is the writing.  Keyes really captures the phases of Charlie's transformation.  At first, Charlie is a simple person.  Not childlike, which would have been, perhaps, easier to pull off.  Just stupid, barely managing to write, and only after months of prior effort.  Charlie is then made a genius, and that is when childishness enters the style, because Charlie is really a newborn at that point.  He spends a lonely several weeks in virtual isolation, unable to communicate, as those he once found unspeakably brilliant become universally less gifted than he.  This part resonated with me, a fairly bright person (though by no means a genius).  I remember in 4th Grade, a teacher once chastised me saying, "you think you are so smart–how would you like it if everyone was as smart as you?"  I replied, earnestly, "I'd love it!  Then I'd have people to talk to!"

The poignancy of the story as Charlie declines and nearly dies is tear-jerking, but what really affected me was Charlie's condition at the end of the tale.  He may still have an I.Q. of 68, but now he has the memory of being a genius.  He is aware of his former place in society–a laughing-stock.  Now Charlie burns to accomplish something, to recover, by the dint of his own effort, even the barest fraction of what he has lost.

And thus, we're left with hard questions: Is it better to have been smart and lost it than never to have been smart at all?  Is ignorance bliss? 

What do you think?



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