The Giver was written by Lois Lowrey. It is a hard hitting book about the struggles of seeing the world differently than everyone else, and not being able to show others without being hurt. Such is the case when Jonah, the main protagonist, is chosen to become the receiver of his societies memories from The Giver. The Giver is an old man who has all of the memories and emotions of humanity. Ultimately growing up in a society where difference is met with release (what I assume is death), Jonah struggles to remain the same after the memories and emotions open his eyes to the corruption and lengths that his society will go in order to stifle individuality. Throughout the story Jonah gets more exposed to the truth behind his societies actions and grows more angry. By the end of the story The Giver and Jonah have come up with a plan to return the memories to the people and Jonah has taken a baby, named Gabe, who was going to be released. We never find out if they made it or not but it can be assumed that Jonah and Gabe die.
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A consistent theme throughout Lowrey's book is that pain should not be suffered through alone. One memory that really drove this message home was the memory of war. Here is an excerpt from the story in which the Giver has given Jonah the memory of war. "
Excerpt
Jonas heard a voice next to him. "Water," the voice said
in a parched, croaking whisper. He turned his head toward the voice and looked into the half-closed eyes of a boy who seemed not much older than
himself. Dirt streaked the boy's face and his matted blond hair. He lay sprawled, his gray uniform glistening with wet, fresh blood. The colors of the carnage were grotesquely bright: the crimson wetness on the rough and dusty fabric, the ripped shreds of grass, startlingly green, in the boy's yellow hair.
The boy stared at him. "Water," he begged again. When
he spoke, a new spurt of blood drenched the coarse cloth across his chest and sleeve.
One of Jonas's arms was immobilized with pain, and he could see through his own torn sleeve something that looked like ragged flesh and splintery bone. He tried his remaining arm and felt it move. Slowly he reached to his side, felt the metal container there, and removed its cap, topping the small motion of his hand now and then to wait for the surging pain to ease. Finally, when the container
was open, he extended his arm slowly across the blood-soaked earth, inch by inch, and held it to the lips of the boy. Water trickled into the imploring mouth and down the grimy chin. The boy sighed. His head fell back, his lower jaw drop-ping as if he had been surprised by something. A dull blankness slid slowly across his eyes. He was silent. But the noise continued all around: the cries of the wounded men, the cries begging for water and for Mother and for death. Horses lying on the ground shrieked, raised
their heads, and stabbed randomly toward the sky with their hooves" (Lowrey, The Giver p. 118-119)