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Content Warning: The source text and this study guide discuss oppression, mental and physical control, wartime violence, addiction, suicide, and sexual abuse.
Oppression through physical or mental control (or both) is a key theme in almost all of the stories in Liberation Day. In “Liberation Day,” for instance, Speakers and Singers are enslaved by a ruling class who pin them to walls and control when, and how, they can communicate. In “Ghoul,” a society has been sent underground and forced to comply with performative, theatrical rituals in the vain hope that, one day, visitors might come from the world above. In several stories, including “Liberation Day” and “Elliot Spencer,” humans are oppressed through brainwashing strategies on the part of more powerful entities. The various forms of oppression throughout Saunders’s collection allow Saunders to convey the dangers of unchecked authority, the decline of personal agency, and the insidious ways in which power and domination can creep into the daily lives of humans.
In several stories, oppression and control is a highly complex, and therefore dangerous, tool that serves various social groups. In “Liberation Day,” for instance, Jeremy sides with his oppressors due to his love for Mrs. U., thereby abandoning the other Speakers who are subsequently punished and brainwashed. In a moment that illuminates the extent of his oppression and brainwashing, Jeremy hands his weapon over to the people who are, in reality, his greatest danger: “…I see: desire, acceptance, a warm assurance that if I hand her the gun, she will do what is right” (56). The irony is, of course, that Mrs. U is a member of the ruling class which enslaves Jeremy and the other Speakers under subhuman conditions. The power of the oppressors’ control over Jeremy’s thoughts and emotions, however, causes him to, likewise, become an extension of that oppression as he turns against his own peers and against his own self-interest. This decision contributes to the story’s investigation into how oppression and control can be enacted by a ruling group but can also simultaneously be perpetuated by members of the oppressed group itself, due to mental, emotional, and physical control and manipulation. A similar sequence arises in “Ghouls,” which is set in a society that depends upon peer-to-peer surveillance for the maintenance of order. The Monitors, who are the voices of authority and law in this society, perpetuate a competitive “First Individual Forthcoming” system that encourages citizens to tell the authorities if a colleague is spreading “Regrettable Falsehoods” (147-148). This system depends upon citizens’ fear of brutal punishment and their willingness to endanger others to protect themselves; it illustrates, like the system in “Liberation Day,” how oppressive systems can spread control and manipulation not only from the ruling class downward but also through insidious channels among society itself.
Throughout several of the stories in this collection, Saunders treats oppression as a function of loss of autonomy. His dystopian social settings see groups of citizens lose their ability to speak freely, voice their opinions, express dissent, and even to recall their own individual livelihoods prior to oppressive control. Although Saunders presents stories that are hyperbolic and satirical, the crux of his concerns are rooted in tangible contexts, which he demonstrates through such allegories as the process of Westward expansion in the 19th century, which oppressed and erased Indigenous tribes. By combining historical allegory with imagined, fictional futures, Saunders explores the nuances of oppression in many forms and through many avenues, several of which are subtle, insidious, and difficult to eradicate.
Several stories, such as “Mother’s Day,” “Elliot Spencer,” and “My House,” deal with the theme of aging and death, often through characters who must confront the inevitability of their own mortality. Saunders places these three stories at the end of the collection (stories 7,8, and 9), so those stories which are concerned with death and the passage of time represent the coming end, or metaphorical death, of the story collection itself.
In “Mother’s Day,” two elderly women struggle with their pasts, especially surrounding their love of the same man and their relationships to their children. When Alma dies, she has a vision and sees her children, Pammy and Paulie, when they were babies. In the vision, she is unable to hold her children, despite her sense that they want and need her comfort: “She went for the boy. His eyes got wide at her hot hands. He toddled away. She went for the girl. She toddled away” (194). This frustrating series continues throughout the vision, and Alma feels lost as to what to do for her children. Although brief, this culminating moment shows that, at death, Alma feels unable to reach her children—a feeling that is derived from several decades of strained relationships between both children and their mother. That Alma’s children are so central to her last moment of consciousness is especially critical when considering her preoccupations throughout the story, which largely revolved around her complex feelings toward her cheating husband and her hatred for Debi. This sudden shift toward overt concern for her children suggests that Alma has been obsessing about Debi and her dead husband to avoid the more painful truth of her strained relationship with her children. In death, the subjects and regrets that Alma has hoped to avoid come to the fore, showing that her avoidance of these difficult topics and relationships inevitably appear in her weakest, most vulnerable moment. The narrator from “My House” has a similar experience, in which he uses an external subject to avoid thinking about the inevitability of his own death. The narrator becomes obsessed with an old decaying house, but its owner refuses to sell; toward the end of the short story, the narrator admits that his obsession was probably for naught, because his own time is coming anyway, and he would not have had long in the house. Like Alma, he fixates on an ostensible issue to avoid his own fading youth and health, but toward the end of his narrative, he comes to terms with the inevitability of death and gives up on the house, which symbolically tethered him to life: “I am ill now. My time is short. I burned that letter to prepare myself to face what is coming with as pure a heart as I can manage” (232). These stories suggest that accepting the inevitability of death involves confronting existential questions about one’s own life.
Several elderly characters across the collection fixate on figures or objects which, ultimately, end up being inconsequential. These figments—for Alma, her hatred of her neighbor, and for the narrator of “My House,” the house itself—serve as distractions from the reality of their inevitable mortality. In both stories, Saunders addresses the characters’ inevitable deaths only toward the very end of the narrative, in an imitation of the late moment at which the characters themselves will have to confront this inevitability as well.
In some way, all of the stories in Liberation Day deal with the differences between outward appearances and the underlying realities behind certain situations. In “Liberation Day,” for instance, Mr. U’s greatest concern is impressing his guests with his Speakers’ performance, which is bleakly ironic, given his lack of concern for his inhumane enslavement of human beings. In “Mother’s Day,” both Alma and Debi think they are presenting a certain image to the other woman, only for the narrative to reveal that neither is fooled by the other. In “The Mom of Bold Action,” Derek’s mother takes the “bold action”—a satirical term, given the context—of simply pretending like all is well within her family; she hopes to display a happy and joyful Christmas season and hide their troubles below the surface. Saunders illuminates the vast differences between appearances and reality by weaving between viewpoints and thereby revealing different sets of knowledge and different perceptions of the same situation; his use of multiple viewpoints within one story showcase how people can present believable falsehoods to the world without ever revealing their reality.
This is especially true in “A Thing At Work,” which predominantly follows Brenda and Gen as they navigate the situation of Brenda’s theft of company property and Gen’s theft of company funds. Saunders alternates between the two women’s perspectives and, in doing so, shows how myopic and shortsighted each of them is and how difficult it is for them to understand the reality of the other’s situation. Brenda is dealing with poverty and the anxiety of having to support her two adult children alone: “Rent was coming up. Sergei, their landlord, was a toughie. With three toughie sons” (125). The euphemistic word “toughie” thinly veils a clear threat of violence. To Gen, however, Brenda is only a disposable pawn in her attempt to gain her boss’s approval, as evidenced in Gen’s showing her boss, Tim, footage of Brenda stealing in the hope of earning his allegiance: “The video showed Brenda stepping into the break room, casting a surreptitious glance around, stuffing one, two, three coffee bags into her purse” (113). Although, on the surface, Brenda and Gen’s dispute is petty workplace drama, Brenda must simultaneously deal with underlying and severe anxieties about the livelihood of her family. Although Gen is aware of Brenda’s time in jail, she is unable to understand just how precarious Brenda’s financial situation is and thereby disposes of her in a petty act of retaliation.
In this story, and several others in the collection, Saunders explores the depth of characters’ inner worlds to reveal their anxieties, fears, and complex circumstances. The juxtaposition between these peeks into character consciousness and the outside world is stark—a characters’ behavior rarely reflects the reality of their conditions and feelings. Because of this juxtaposition between appearances and reality, characters like Gen and Brenda have no common ground and cannot share empathy with one another; both see the other as an unrelatable human whose concerns and idiosyncrasies are inferior to their own.
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By George Saunders