So, what does the Disembodied Plane of Dialogue have for us today?
"With Ender, we have to strike a delicate balance. Isolate him enough that he remains creative-- otherwise he'll adopt the system here and we'll lose him. At the same time, we need to make sure he keeps a strong ability to lead.”
Then why send him to Battle School? Honestly, it'd be pretty good military satire if the school was actually a failure, but was so popular with politicians and the press that the brass can't afford to shutter it.
"If he earns rank, he'll lead.”
"lt isn't that simple. Mazer Rackham could handle his little fleet and win. By the time this war happens, there'll be too much, even for a genius. Too many little coats. He has to work smoothly with his subordinates.”
"Oh. good. He has to be a genius and nice. too.”
"Not nice. Nice will let the buggers have us all,”
I mean, plenty of succesful military commanders have been nice dudes in their personal lives. Also, as has been pointed out, it's not like Ender is fighting against other humans, or carpet bombing a planet of pacifist kittens. This is a war against alien bug-monsters who
literally attacked first. They're the exactly the kind of enemy a dev would put in a video game that you could mow down without feeling bad about it.
"So you're going to isolate him.”
"I'll have him completely separated from the rest of the boys by the time we get to the School.”
So, you want him to be able to effectively command, so you're going to make him an isolated, hated figure amongst the boys who'll grow up to be work under him. This is what happens when your military is more concerned with orchestrating
bildungsromans than winning wars.
"I have no doubt of it. I'll be waiting for you to get here. I watched the vids of what he did to the Stilson boy. This is not a sweet little kid you're bringing up here.”
"That's where you're mistaken. He's even sweeter. But don't worry. We'll purge that in a hurry.”
Have we actually seen any evidence of Ender being a sweet kid? So far all we've seen him actually
do is calculatingly dispense violence.
Sometimes I think you enjoy breaking these little geniuses.”
"There is an art to it, and I'm very, very good at it. But enjoy? Well, maybe. When they put back the pieces afterward, and it makes them better.”
"You're a monster.”
"Thanks. Does this mean I get a raise?”
"Just a medal. The budget isn't inexhaustible.”
This is barely a step above
Power Rangers baddies gleefully proclaiming their own evil.
There were nineteen other boys in his launch. They filed out of the bus and into the elevator. They talked and joked and bragged and laughed. Ender kept his silence. He noticed how Graff and the other officers were watching them. Analyzing. Everything we do means something, Ender realized. Them laughing. Me not laughing.
He toyed with the idea of trying to be like the other boys. But he couldn't think of any jokes, and none of theirs seemed funny. Wherever their laughter came from, Ender couldn't find such a place in himself.
So, Ender is now among boys selected from across the entire planet for being in both the top percentiles of intelligence and suitability for space warfare, exactly like Ender was... and Card immediately makes it clear he's still going to be the school outcast, despite basically being among his own kind. You'd think an author might be interested in exploring what an entire institution of kids at the very edge of the bell-curve would be like, or how Ender copes with no longer being such a big fish in a small pond, but nope. Most of the other boys are treated as normal schoolkids compared to Ender, unable to approach the heights of his intellect and the depths of his inner world. I know a lot of gifted kids found solace in this book, but what
Ender's Game should've inspired was a nerdy battle royale to determine who was the
true special kid.
He was afraid, and fear made him serious.
Has Ender been anything but serious so far?
They had dressed him in a uniform, all in a single piece; it felt funny not to have a belt cinched around his waist. He felt baggy and naked, dressed like that.
Maybe children's fashion was different where and when Orson grew up, but I have never seen a six year old wear a belt. Was the secret of pants elastic lost when the buggers invaded? And before you say it's the future and fashions would've changed, like fuck Orson put that much thought into it.
He imagined himself being on TV, in an interview. The announcer asking him, How do you feel, Mr. Wiggin? Actually quite well, except hungry. Hungry? Oh, yes, they don't let you eat for twenty hours before the launch. How interesting, I never knew that. All of us are quite hungry, actually. And all the while, during the interview, Ender and the TV guy would slink along smoothly in front of the cameraman, taking long, lithe strides. For the first time, Ender felt like laughing. He smiled. The other boys near him were laughing at the moment, too, for another reason. They think I'm smiling at their joke, thought Ender. But I'm smiling at something much funnier.
Yes, Ender, we get it, you had a copy of
Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy in your schoolbag.
"Go up the ladder one at a time," said an officer. "When you come to an aisle with empty seats, take one. There aren't any window seats.”
It was a joke. The other boys laughed.
Fuck them for laughing!
Ender was near the last, but not the very last. The TV cameras did not give up, though. Will Valentine see me disappear into the shuttle? He thought of waving at her, of running to the cameraman and saying, "Can I tell Valentine good-bye?" He didn't know that it would be censored out of the tape if he did, for the boys soaring out to Battle School were all supposed to be heroes. They weren't supposed to miss anybody. Ender didn't know about the censorship, but he did know that running to the cameras would be wrong.
That's an oddly omniscient narrator moment for how tightly focused the perspective has been on Ender. Also, pretty sure war propaganda has made use of soldiers' relatives for centuries.
He walked the short bridge to the door in the shuttle. He noticed that the wall to his right was carpeted like a floor. That was where the disorientation began. The moment he thought of the wall as a floor, he began to feel like he was walking on a wall. He got to the ladder, and noticed that the vertical surface behind it was also carpeted. I am climbing up the floor. Hand over hand, step by step.
And then, for fun, he pretended that he was climbing down the wall. He did it almost instantly in his mind, convinced himself against the best evidence of gravity. He found himself gripping the seat tightly, even though gravity pulled him firmly against it.
This is a nice bit.
The other boys were bouncing on their seats a little, poking and pushing, shouting. Ender carefully found the straps, figured out how they fit together to hold him at crotch, waist, and shoulders. He imagined the ship dangling upside down on the undersurface of the Earth, the giant fingers of gravity holding them firmly in place. But we will slip away, he thought. We are going to fall off this planet.
He did not know its significance at the time. Later, though, he would remember that it was even before he left Earth that he first thought of it as a planet, like any other, not particularly his own.
To be fair, it is very thinly sketched.
"Oh, already figured it out," said Graff. He was standing on the ladder.
"Coming with us?" Ender asked.
"I don't usually come down for recruiting," Graff said. "I'm kind of in charge there. Administrator of the School. Like a principal. They told me I had to come back or I'd lose my job." He smiled.
Ender smiled back. He felt comfortable with Graff. Graff was good. And he was principal of the Battle School. Ender relaxed a little. He would have a friend there.
Maybe Graff's manipulations and general shittyness would feel like more of a betrayal if he didn't open chapter explaining in great detail what a dick he was.
The other boys were belted in place, those who hadn't done as Ender did.
Are we sure the other boys are meant to be geniuses, or did Graff just steal a bunch of randoms to be extras in Ender's story? Anyway, blast off!
But because he had already reoriented himself, he was not surprised when Graff came up the ladder backward, as if he were climbing down to the front of the shuttle. Nor did it bother him when Graff hooked his feet under a rung and pushed off with his hands, so that suddenly he swung upright, as if this were an ordinary airplane.
The reorientations were too much for some. One boy gagged; Ender understood then why they had been forbidden to eat anything for twenty hours before the launch. Vomit in null gravity wouldn't be fun.
But for Ender, Graff's gravity game was fun
I'm kind of curious how developed space colonisation is in Ender's time. From what I know of the sequels, the asteroid belt is home to whole mining clans, so you'd think there'd be a bunch of kids way more experienced with freefall and maneuvering in three-dimensions.
And he carried it further, imagining that Graff was actually hanging upside down from the center aisle, and then picturing him sticking straight out from a side wall. Gravity could go any which way. However I want it to go. I can make Graff stand on his head and he doesn't even know it.
"What do you think is so funny, Wiggin?”
Graff's voice was sharp and angry. What did I do wrong, thought Ender.
"Did I just catching you acting like a bright child and not a short android, Wiggin?"
"I asked you a question, soldier!" barked Graff.
Oh yes. This is the beginning of the training routine. Ender had seen some military shows on TV, and they always shouted a lot at the beginning of training before the soldier and the officer became good friends.
Also a decent piece of child logic.
"I thought of you hanging upside down by your feet. I thought it was funny.”
It sounded stupid, now, with Graff looking at him coldly. "To you I suppose it is funny. Is it funny to anybody else here?”
Murmurs of no.
"Well why isn't it?" Graff looked at them all with contempt. "Scumbrains, that's what we've got in this launch. Pinheaded little morons. Only one of you had the brains to realize that in null gravity directions are whatever you conceive them to be. Do you understand that, Shafts?”
He's just talkin' 'bout the Shafts. Also, good to know none of these boys had swimming pools back home.
The boy nodded.
"No you didn't. Of course you didn't. Not only stupid, but a liar too. There's only one boy on this launch with any brains at all, and that's Ender Wiggin. Take a good look at him, little boys. He's going to he a commander when you're still in diapers up there. Because he knows how to think in null gravity, and you just want to throw up.”
This wasn't the way the show was supposed to go. Graff was supposed to pick on him, not set him up as the best. They were supposed to be against each other at first, so they could become friends later.
Look, Ender, it's more important that your story resemble the inner-narrative of the mildly bright boy reading this than it make sense.
"Most of you are going to ice out. Get used to that, little boys. Most of you are going to end up in Combat School, because you don't have the brains to handle deep-space piloting. Most of you aren't worth the price of bringing you up here to Battle School because you don't have what it takes. Some of you might make it. Some of you might be worth something to humanity. But don't bet on it. I'm betting on only one.”
So, no, most of the boys who are enrolled in Battle School don't grow up to be Kirk or Picard, they end up being one of the anonymous soldiers in
Starship Troopers. The movie, not the book. I'm guessing a book about a Combat School student would be a lot more grimdark than this, and probably a fair whack more compelling. Like an elementary school version of
Forever War.
"Looks like you've got it made here," whispered the boy next to him.
Ender shook his head.
"Oh, won't even talk to me?" the boy said.
"I didn't ask him to say that stuff," Ender whispered.
He felt a sharp pain on the top of his head. Then again. Some giggles from behind him. The boy in the next seat back must have unfastened his straps. Again a blow to the head. Go away, Ender thought. I didn't do anything to you.
Again a blow to the head. Laughter from the boys. Didn't Graff see this? Wasn't he going to stop it? Another blow. Harder. It really hurt. Where was Graff?
That's right, kids, it's barely been two chapters, we haven't even made it Battle School, and it's time for another bullying scene! It's frankly starting to feel a bit pornographic.
Start as you mean to continue.
Just as the next blow was coming, Ender reached up with both hands, snatched the boy by the wrist, and then pulled down on the arm, hard.
In gravity, the boy would have been jammed against Ender's seat back, hurting his chest. In null gravity, however, he flipped over the seat completely, up toward the ceiling. Ender wasn't expecting it. He hadn't realized how null gravity magnified even a child's strength.
Aww, now I'm sad that
Superman comics haven't made it to the nebulous future. Or
John Carter if you prefer.
It took only seconds. Graff was already there, snatching the boy out of the air. Deftly he propelled him down the aisle toward the other man. "Left arm. Broken. I think," he said. In moments the boy had been given a drug and lay quietly in the air as the officer ballooned a splint around his arm.
Ender felt sick. He had only meant to catch the boy's arm. No. No, he had meant to hurt him, and had pulled with all his strength. He hadn't meant it to be so public, but the boy was feeling exactly the pain Ender had meant him to feel. Null gravity had betrayed him, that was all. I am Peter. I'm just like him. And Ender hated himself.
I fucking hate this humble-bragging shit. "Ooh, I'm too good at violence and it makes me so sad! I'm just like my brother the fucking antichrist! Marvel at how tender-hearted I am, even though the only decisions I ever seem to make are to beat the shit out of people."
Graff stayed at the front of the cabin. "What are you, slow learners? In your feeble little minds, haven’t you picked up one little fact? You were brought here to be soldiers. In your old schools, in your old families, maybe you were the big shot, maybe you were tough, maybe you were smart. But we chose the best of the best, and that's the only kind of kid you're going to meet now. And when I tell you Ender Wiggin is the best in this launch, take the hint, pinheads. Don't mess with him. Little boys have died in Battle School before. ”
How? I've seen what goes on at Battle School, you aren't exactly doing live-fire exercises. Was the station built by the lowest bidder? Did a kid have a peanut allergy? Or has Graff just fostered such a dysfunctional atmosphere that eight year olds are regularly shiving each other.
I am not a killer, Ender said to himself over and over. I am not Peter. No matter what he says, I wouldn't. I'm not. I was defending myself. I bore it a long time. I was patient. I'm not what he said.
What, a secret alien insect? Now that would be a twist.
"Was it a good flight, Ender?" Graff asked cheerfully.
"I thought you were my friend." Despite himself, Ender's voice trembled.
Graff looked puzzled. "Whatever gave you that idea, Ender?”
"Because you--" Because you spoke nicely to me, and honestly. "You didn't lie.”
"I won't lie now, either," said Graff. "My job isn't to be friends. My job is to produce the best soldiers in the world. In the whole history of the world. We need a Napoleon. An Alexander. Except that Napoleon lost in the end, and Alexander flamed out and died young. We need a Julius Caesar, except that he made himself dictator, and died for it. My job is to produce such a creature, and all the men and women he'll need to help him. Nowhere in that does it say I have to make friends with children.”
Remember what I said about Card unintentionally "mythologising" common childhood experiences? This is a great example of that. Plenty of smart kids have gotten picked on because the teacher singles them out for praise. Here, it's not only the result of natural envy (which is already pretty flattering) but a deliberate conspiracy by the grownups to turn the groundlings against you, the genius boy, because it'll help them exploit or gliterring genius.
"You made them hate me.”
"So? What will you do about it? Crawl into a corner? Start kissing their little backsides so they'll love you again? There's only one thing that will make them stop hating you. And that's being so good at what you do that they can't ignore you. I told them you were the best. Now you damn well better be.”
And what if they just refuse to work with him because you made it clear he's the teacher's pet and they're kids?
"What if I can't?”
"Then too bad. Look, Ender. I'm sorry if you're lonely and afraid. But the buggers are out there. Ten billion, a hundred billion, a million billion of them, for all we know. With as many ships, for all we know. With weapons we can't understand. And a willingness to use those weapons to wipe us out. It isn't the world at stake, Ender. Just us. Just humankind. As far as the rest of the earth is concerned, we could be wiped out and it would adjust, it would get on with the next step in evolution. But humanity doesn't want to die. As a species, we have evolved to survive. And the way we do it is by straining and straining and, at last, every few generations, giving birth to genius. The one who invents the wheel. And light. And flight. The one who builds a city, a nation, an empire. Do you understand any of this?”
Cooperation, what's that? Also, four chapters in, and we've already been told Ender is equilveant to the guy who invented the wheel. This is making Nyx's speech to Zoey Redbird look restrained.
Ender thought he did, but wasn't sure, and so said nothing.
"No. Of course not. So I'll put it bluntly. Human beings are free except when humanity needs them. Maybe humanity needs you.
Don't you live in a society that strictly controls reproduction?
We might both do despicable things, Ender, but if humankind survives, then we were good tools.”
"Is that all? Just tools?”
"Individual human beings are all tools, that the others use to help us all survive.”
"That's a lie.”
"No. It's just a half truth. You can worry about the other half after we win this war.”
Graff, just tell him the twist ending if you're going to give him the rest of the Cliff-Notes.
"It'll be over before I grow up," Ender said.
"I hope you're wrong," said Grail. "By the way, you aren't helping yourself at all, talking to me. The other boys are no doubt telling each other that old Ender Wiggin is back there licking up to Graff. If word once gets around that you're a teachers' boy, you're iced for sure.”
Bit late for that, Graff!
Graff watched him go.
One of the teachers near him said, "Is that the one?”
"God knows," said Graff. "If it isn't Ender, then he'd better show up soon.”
"Maybe it's nobody," said the teacher.
"Maybe. But if that's the case, Anderson, then in my opinion God is a bugger. You can quote me on that.”
Because all wars are won by one dude.
"The kid's wrong. I am his friend.”
"I know.”
"He's clean. Right to the heart, he's good.”
I'll take your word for it. Wait, no I won't.
"I've read the reports.”
"Anderson, think what we're going to do to him.”
Anderson was defiant. "We're going to make him the best military commander in history.”
"And then put the fate of the world on his shoulders. For his sake, I hope it isn't him. I do.”
"Cheer up. The buggers may kill us all before he graduates.”
Graff smiled. "You're right. I feel better already.”
God I hope so.
renamed them back.)