Dissecting ‘The Lottery’ by Shirley Jackson
‘All ready?’
This is a tale that people refer to as one of the best to ever have been penned, and it’s easy to see why. First published in the New Yorker in 1948, it is (reportedly) the story that received the most complaints in their history, with many people cancelling their subscriptions at the time.
Somewhere, there’s an alternate universe where social media existed back then and people went nuts about it. Can you imagine cancelling Shirley Jackson? I don’t think she would’ve cared very much…
If you want to read the tale and join me for my analysis below, you can read it here. I spoil the hell out of everything from this point on.
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We’re approaching 250 subscribers to our wee Short Story Club, which is nuts. I strongly believe that taking our time, deep-reading something excellent is way better than rushing through all the novels just to get them done with. It’s how we grow as people and how we learn as writers. It’s free, and it always will be.
A breeze through the story
As I’m analysing a story, I like to pause at each sequence to evaluate what I’m feeling and the questions I have as a reader.
‘Lottery in June, corn be heavy soon.’
So, we start the story in somewhat of an idyllic setting. A nice summer’s day (27 June is when the story was published in the New Yorker as they asked her to make it that date).
One thing I take from rereading this is how it’s not the setting of a horrific tale. You almost feel the languid air, the nice day, the townspeople mulling about, just wanting this lottery thing to be done and out of the way so they can go about their business.
Bobby Martin had already stuffed his pockets full of stones, and the other boys soon followed his example, selecting the smoothest and roundest stones.
We get our first mention of the stones (I go more into that word choice below). The way it’s dropped in catches our intrigue, given the zeroing in of the choice of the roundest and smoothest ones.
Jackson plays her deft hand throughout this whole tale. It’s marvelously done. We feel that there’s something creeping up on us, solely on the power of small descriptions of nervousness.
…their jokes were quiet and they smiled rather than laughed.
We see everyone arriving at the square, greeting each other with niceties. Why are they there? Mr. Summers arrives, carrying his black box. Oh, what’s in the box? we think as the sight of him carries murmurs through the gathering crowd.
Just a note on name choice here. Mr. Summers is the conductor, and Mr. Graves is his helper. I love this yin yang contrast in names. It’s made all the more relevant when we get to the end of the tale (the lottery helps the crop (summer) because they send someone to their grave).
The original paraphernalia for the lottery had been lost long ago, and the black box now resting on the stool had been put into use even before Old Man Warner, the oldest man in town, was born.
So, this is a tradition that has gone on for a very, very long time. Over the next section, we understand that there used to be a recital of some sort, a tuneless chant, among other things that have been lost to the years.
We get some murmuring that other towns have stopped the lottery, and the reason behind the lottery in the first place. Doing so grants them a nice harvest (apparently). So, whatever they are about to do, is for the good of the town (apparently).
“Who is it?,” “Who’s got it?”
There’s a few pieces of snappy conversation and we feel the nerves go through the crowd as the draw starts. We get the inclination that it’s a prize no one wants, as they all turn to each other, asking who it is.
The hutchinson family is picked, and Tessie goes a bit nuts, saying how it isn’t fair, that everyone, “You didn’t give him time enough to choose. Everybody saw that.”
This is where the tension ramps up for me. We had the suspicion before that the prize of the lottery isn’t a good thing. Now we know it isn’t, thanks to Tessie and her (almost) outburst. The silent actions of the father, too, ratchet up the tension.
I can only imagine what the result of the New Yorker readers’ outrage would’ve been if Jackson went all the way there, giving the baby the black mark. This section is what adds a lot to the tale when rereading it, for me. Although on first read, we feel relieved, we know on second read where she could’ve went with it.
It’s Tessie
We see the results and see who our ‘winner’ is. And she is stoned to death in a rush because the villagers just want it over with.
At the story level, this tale is up there with the best. But what are some of the things that make it so effective?
Stone, not Rock
In short fiction, word choice matters. You can’t get caught blethering like you can in a novel (which is all about immersion). Every single word counts. The word I kept coming back to was the use of the word Stone throughout this tale.
Aristotle himself said that the language we use must be “appropriate in sound and in sense”. The music of the word has to back up the word’s intended effect.
Jackson could’ve used the word Rock quite easily here, for in the first instance (imo), it is the harsher sound, the most hurtful. But when you think on the story and its meaning, Stone is perfect. It’s that ‘own’ sound that provides a finality of sorts. Plus, people get stoned to death (which is bizarre in this day and age, but anyways…). So, for connotation, sound, and meaning, Jackson used the perfect word, and sticks to it throughout (she doesn’t use Rock once although the child at the end does get pebbles.).
This shows the effort that masters go to when penning a tale. They squeeze everything from every word, punctation mark, image, all to combine to the story’s impact.
Everyday nature to horror ending
This is Jackson at her domestic best. In fact, it’s rare that she steps outside the house in her tales, as they usually centre around the family household.
“Seems like we got through with the last one only last week.”
I’ve touched on it in my cantor through the tale above, but the everyday setting, the warm day, the nice town, the way they just want it done cause it’s a nuisance and to go about their day, is what makes this tale so very effective.
“All right, folks,” Mr. Summers said. “Let’s finish quickly.”
It would be remarkably easy to paint the town broken, the weather to be raining, everyone to be crying and fearful, but Jackson doesn’t. It’s the contrast that serves for the sucker punch to be delivered (and is what probably led to all of those complaints).
Jackson really brings to life the small details, the subtext and undercurrent of fear through small nervousness.
‘People ain’t the way they used to be’
So, what can we take from the tale? What does it leave us with?
For me, what stands out is the commentary against traditions that do us harm. They’ve done this lottery for as long as they can remember, but why? They think about replacing the black box every year, but they end up not doing it. They gather to do this so they get luck for the crops to grow.
Although the villagers had forgotten the ritual and lost the original black box, they still remembered to use stones.
But, within this, there are murmurs that other towns have stopped this lottery. The old people say that the youth are silly for doing this, but we (I) get the feeling that there is a revolt coming, eventually. How much more people have to die in order to set it off? What if little baby Davy ended up drawing the black spot?
This feels like the key thing that was in Jackson’s mind when she wrote this. How long do we go on with the things that harm us as a society? How long before the horrific feels normal?
Personally, I jump to social media use, rage farming, and the things we do to diminish our attention spans. How much can we take of this? Who will save us in the end?
No one, probably. Maybe we’ll keep on doing the things that cause us harm, as long as it’s not us getting picked, right?
Outside of that bleak thought, I love this tale, and I think it holds so much value for anyone rereading it. A classic well worth every piece of legend thrown at it.
What did you think? Did I blether on too much again? Did I miss anything?
There are no wrong answers, and all thoughts are valid. So whether this is the first short story you’ve ever read, or whether you’re a seasoned pro, let us know what you took from this one.
Until next time.
May your shadow never grow less,
Paul O