{"id":4121,"date":"2019-05-01T00:01:18","date_gmt":"2019-04-30T23:01:18","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/cassandravoices.com\/?p=4121"},"modified":"2019-05-01T00:01:18","modified_gmt":"2019-04-30T23:01:18","slug":"cassandra-classics-the-lottery-1948-by-shirley-jackson","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/2019\/05\/01\/cassandra-classics-the-lottery-1948-by-shirley-jackson\/","title":{"rendered":"Cassandra Classics: \u2018The Lottery\u2019 (1948) by Shirley Jackson"},"content":{"rendered":"

At Cassandra Voices we believe in contrasting the original work of our contemporary contributors with accomplished authors from yesteryear. Perennial favourites of such mastery, they appear as fresh and modern as the day they were first published.<\/strong><\/p>\n

For our May edition we bring you Shirley Jackson\u2019s \u2018The Lottery\u2019. A short story from 1948, and notorious for provoking the most vehement hate mail of any piece of fiction in the venerable New Yorker<\/em>\u2019s history. Loyal readers of the magazine went so far as to cancel their subscriptions in protest.<\/strong><\/p>\n

In Shirley Jackson\u2019s own words,<\/p>\n

Curiously, there are three main themes which dominate the letters of that first summer\u2014three themes which might be identified as bewilderment, speculation and plain old-fashioned abuse. In the years since then, during which the story has been anthologized, dramatized, televised, and even\u2014in one completely mystifying transformation\u2014made into a ballet, the tenor of letters I receive has changed. I am addressed more politely, as a rule, and the letters largely confine themselves to questions like what does this story mean? The general tone of the early letters, however, was a kind of wide-eyed, shocked innocence. People at first were not so much concerned with what the story meant; what they wanted to know was where these lotteries were held, and whether they could go there and watch.<\/em><\/p>\n

************************************************************************************<\/p>\n

The morning of June 27th was clear and sunny, with the fresh warmth of a full-summer day; the flowers were blossoming profusely and the grass was richly green. The people of the village began to gather in the square, between the post office and the bank, around ten o\u2019clock; in some towns there were so many people that the lottery took two days and had to be started on June 2th. but in this village, where there were only about three hundred people, the whole lottery took less than two hours, so it could begin at ten o\u2019clock in the morning and still be through in time to allow the villagers to get home for noon dinner.<\/p>\n

The children assembled first, of course. School was recently over for the summer, and the feeling of liberty sat uneasily on most of them; they tended to gather together quietly for a while before they broke into boisterous play. and their talk was still of the classroom and the teacher, of books and reprimands. Bobby Martin had already stuffed his pockets full of stones, and the other boys soon followed his example, selecting the smoothest and roundest stones; Bobby and Harry Jones and Dickie Delacroix– the villagers pronounced this name \u201cDellacroy\u201d–eventually made a great pile of stones in one corner of the square and guarded it against the raids of the other boys. The girls stood aside, talking among themselves, looking over their shoulders at rolled in the dust or clung to the hands of their older brothers or sisters.<\/p>\n

Soon the men began to gather. surveying their own children, speaking of planting and rain, tractors and taxes. They stood together, away from the pile of stones in the corner, and their jokes were quiet and they smiled rather than laughed. The women, wearing faded house dresses and sweaters, came shortly after their menfolk. They greeted one another and exchanged bits of gossip as they went to join their husbands. Soon the women, standing by their husbands, began to call to their children, and the children came reluctantly, having to be called four or five times. Bobby Martin ducked under his mother\u2019s grasping hand and ran, laughing, back to the pile of stones. His father spoke up sharply, and Bobby came quickly and took his place between his father and his oldest brother.<\/p>\n

The lottery was conducted–as were the square dances, the teen club, the Halloween program–by Mr. Summers. who had time and energy to devote to civic activities. He was a round-faced, jovial man and he ran the coal business, and people were sorry for him. because he had no children and his wife was a scold. When he arrived in the square, carrying the black wooden box, there was a murmur of conversation among the villagers, and he waved and called. \u201cLittle late today, folks.\u201d The postmaster, Mr. Graves, followed him, carrying a three- legged stool, and the stool was put in the center of the square and Mr. Summers set the black box down on it. The villagers kept their distance, leaving a space between themselves and the stool. and when Mr. Summers said, \u201cSome of you fellows want to give me a hand?\u201d there was a hesitation before two men. Mr. Martin and his oldest son, Baxter. came forward to hold the box steady on the stool while Mr. Summers stirred up the papers inside it.<\/p>\n

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. Mr. Summers spoke frequently to the villagers about making a new box, but no one liked to upset even as much tradition as was represented by the black box. There was a story that the present box had been made with some pieces of the box that had preceded it, the one that had been constructed when the first people settled down to make a village here. Every year, after the lottery, Mr. Summers began talking again about a new box, but every year the subject was allowed to fade off without anything\u2019s being done.<\/p>\n

The black box grew shabbier each year: by now it was no longer completely black but splintered badly along one side to show the original wood color, and in some places faded or stained.<\/p>\n

Mr. Martin and his oldest son, Baxter, held the black box securely on the stool until Mr. Summers had stirred the papers thoroughly with his hand. Because so much of the ritual had been forgotten or discarded, Mr. Summers had been successful in having slips of paper substituted for the chips of wood that had been used for generations. Chips of wood, Mr. Summers had argued. had been all very well when the village was tiny, but now that the population was more than three hundred and likely to keep on growing, it was necessary to use something that would fit more easily into he black box. The night before the lottery, Mr. Summers and Mr. Graves made up the slips of paper and put them in the box, and it was then taken to the safe of Mr. Summers\u2019 coal company and locked up until Mr. Summers was ready to take it to the square next morning. The rest of the year, the box was put way, sometimes one place, sometimes another; it had spent one year in Mr. Graves’s barn and another year underfoot in the post office. and sometimes it was set on a shelf in the Martin grocery and left there.<\/p>\n

There was a great deal of fussing to be done before Mr. Summers declared the lottery open. There were the lists to make up–of heads of families. heads of households in each family. members of each household in each family. There was the proper swearing-in of Mr. Summers by the postmaster, as the official of the lottery; at one time, some people remembered, there had been a recital of some sort, performed by the official of the lottery, a perfunctory. tuneless chant that had been rattled off duly each year; some people believed that the official of the lottery used to stand just so when he said or sang it, others believed that he was supposed to walk among the people, but years and years ago this p3rt of the ritual had been allowed to lapse. There had been, also, a ritual salute, which the official of the lottery had had to use in addressing each person who came up to draw from the box, but this also had changed with time, until now it was felt necessary only for the official to speak to each person approaching. Mr. Summers was very good at all this; in his clean white shirt and blue jeans. with one hand resting carelessly on the black box. he seemed very proper and important as he talked interminably to Mr. Graves and the Martins.<\/p>\n

Just as Mr. Summers finally left off talking and turned to the assembled villagers, Mrs. Hutchinson came hurriedly along the path to the square, her sweater thrown over her shoulders, and slid into place in the back of the crowd. \u201cClean forgot what day it was,\u201d she said to Mrs. Delacroix, who stood next to her, and they both laughed softly. \u201cThought my old man was out back stacking wood,\u201d Mrs. Hutchinson went on. \u201cand then I looked out the window and the kids was gone, and then I remembered it was the twenty- seventh and came a-running.\u201d She dried her hands on her apron, and Mrs. Delacroix said, \u201cYou\u2019re in time, though. They\u2019re still talking away up there.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mrs. Hutchinson craned her neck to see through the crowd and found her husband and children standing near the front. She tapped Mrs. Delacroix on the arm as a farewell and began to make her way through the crowd. The people separated good-humoredly to let her through: two or three people said. in voices just loud enough to be heard across the crowd, \u201cHere comes your, Missus, Hutchinson,\u201d and \u201cBill, she made it after all.\u201d Mrs. Hutchinson reached her husband, and Mr. Summers, who had been waiting, said cheerfully. \u201cThought we were going to have to get on without you, Tessie.\u201d Mrs. Hutchinson said. grinning, \u201cWouldn\u2019t have me leave m\u2019dishes in the sink, now, would you. Joe?,\u201d and soft laughter ran through the crowd as the people stirred back into position after Mrs. Hutchinson\u2019s arrival.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, now.\u201d Mr. Summers said soberly, \u201cguess we better get started, get this over with, so\u2019s we can go back to work. Anybody ain\u2019t here?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDunbar.\u201d several people said. \u201cDunbar. Dunbar.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mr. Summers consulted his list. \u201cClyde Dunbar.\u201d he said. \u201cThat’s right. He\u2019s broke his leg, hasn\u2019t he? Who\u2019s drawing for him?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMe. I guess,\u201d a woman said. and Mr. Summers turned to look at her. \u201cWife draws for her husband.\u201d Mr. Summers said. \u201cDon\u2019t you have a grown boy to do it for you, Janey?\u201d Although Mr. Summers and everyone else in the village knew the answer perfectly well, it was the business of the official of the lottery to ask such questions formally. Mr. Summers waited with an expression of polite interest while Mrs. Dunbar answered.<\/p>\n

\u201cHorace\u2019s not but sixteen yet.\u201d Mrs. Dunbar said regretfully. \u201cGuess I gotta fill in for the old man this year.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRight.\u201d Mr. Summers said. He made a note on the list he was holding. Then he asked, \u201cWatson boy drawing this year?\u201d<\/p>\n

A tall boy in the crowd raised his hand. \u201cHere,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019m drawing for my mother and me.\u201d He blinked his eyes nervously and ducked his head as several voices in the crowd said thin#s like \u201cGood fellow, lack.\u201d and \u201cGlad to see your mother\u2019s got a man to do it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell,\u201d Mr. Summers said, \u201cguess that’s everyone. Old Man Warner make it?\u201d \u201cHere,\u201d a voice said. and Mr. Summers nodded.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A sudden hush fell on the crowd as Mr. Summers cleared his throat and looked at the list. \u201cAll ready?\u201d he called. \u201cNow, I\u2019ll read the names–heads of families first–and the men come up and take a paper out of the box. Keep the paper folded in your hand without looking at it until everyone has had a turn. Everything clear?\u201d<\/p>\n

The people had done it so many times that they only half listened to the directions: most of them were quiet. wetting their lips. not looking around. Then Mr. Summers raised one hand high and said, \u201cAdams.\u201d A man disengaged himself from the crowd and came forward. \u201cHi. Steve.\u201d Mr. Summers said. and Mr. Adams said. \u201cHi. Joe.\u201d They grinned at one another humorlessly and nervously. Then Mr. Adams reached into the black box and took out a folded paper. He held it firmly by one corner as he turned and went hastily back to his place in the crowd. where he stood a little apart from his family. not looking down at his hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cAllen.” Mr. Summers said. “Anderson.\u00a0Bentham.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSeems like there\u2019s no time at all between lotteries any more.\u201d Mrs. Delacroix said to Mrs. Graves in the back row.<\/p>\n

\u201cSeems like we got through with the last one only last week.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTime sure goes fast,\u201d Mrs. Graves said.<\/p>\n

\u201cClark.\u00a0Delacroix\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere goes my old man.\u201d Mrs.Delacroix said. She held her breath while her husband went forward.<\/p>\n

\u201cDunbar,\u201d Mr. Summers said, and Mrs. Dunbar went steadily to the box while one of the women said. \u201cGo on. Janey,\u201d and another said, \u201cThere she goes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re next.\u201d Mrs. Graves said. She watched while Mr. Graves came around from the side of the box, greeted Mr. Summers gravely and selected a slip of paper from the box. By now, all through the crowd there were men holding the small folded papers in their large hand. turning them over and over nervously Mrs. Dunbar and her two sons stood together, Mrs. Dunbar holding the slip of paper.<\/p>\n

\u201cHarburt.\u00a0Hutchinson.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGet up there, Bill,\u201d Mrs. Hutchinson said. and the people near her laughed. \u201cJones.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey do say,\u201d Mr. Adams said to Old Man Warner, who stood next to him, \u201cthat over in the north village the\u2019re talking of giving up the lottery.\u201d<\/p>\n

Old Man Warner snorted. \u201cPack of crazy fools,\u201d he said. \u201cListening to the young folks, nothing\u2019s good enough for them. Next thing you know, they\u2019ll be wanting to go back to living in caves, nobody work any more, live hat way for a while. Used to be a saying about \u2018Lottery in June, corn be heavy soon.\u2019 First thing you know, we\u2019d all be eating stewed chickweed and acorns. There\u2019s always been a lottery,\u201d he added petulantly. \u201cBad enough to see young Joe Summers up there joking with everybody.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSome places have already quit lotteries.\u201d Mrs. Adams said.<\/p>\n

\u201cNothing but trouble in that,\u201d Old Man Warner said stoutly. \u201cPack of young fools.\u201d \u201cMartin.\u201d And Bobby Martin watched his father go forward. \u201cOverdyke.\u00a0Percy.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI wish they\u2019d hurry,\u201d Mrs. Dunbar said to her older son. \u201cThey\u2019re almost through,\u201d her son said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou get ready to run tell Dad,\u201d Mrs. Dunbar said.<\/p>\n

Mr. Summers called his own name and then stepped forward precisely and selected a slip from the box. Then he called, \u201cWarner.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSeventy-seventh year I been in the lottery,\u201d Old Man Warner said as he went through the crowd. \u201cSeventy-seventh time.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWatson\u201d The tall boy came awkwardly through the crowd. Someone said, \u201cDon\u2019t be nervous, Jack,\u201d and Mr. Summers said, \u201cTake your time, son.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cZanini.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

After that, there was a long pause, a breathless pause, until Mr. Summers. holding his slip of paper in the air, said, \u201cAll right, fellows.\u201d For a minute, no one moved, and then all the slips of paper were opened.<\/p>\n

Suddenly, all the women began to speak at once, saving. \u201cWho is it?,\u201d \u201cWho\u2019s got it?,\u201d \u201cIs it the Dunbars?,\u201d \u201cIs it the Watsons?\u201d Then the voices began to say, \u201cIt\u2019s Hutchinson. It\u2019s Bill,\u201d \u201cBill Hutchinson\u2019s got it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cGo tell your father,\u201d Mrs. Dunbar said to her older son.<\/p>\n

People began to look around to see the Hutchinsons. Bill Hutchinson was standing quiet, staring down at the paper in his hand. Suddenly. Tessie Hutchinson shouted to Mr. Summers. \u201cYou didn\u2019t give him time enough to take any paper he wanted. I saw you. It wasn\u2019t fair!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBe a good sport, Tessie.\u201d Mrs. Delacroix called, and Mrs. Graves said, \u201cAll of us took the same chance.\u201d \u201cShut up, Tessie,\u201d Bill Hutchinson said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, everyone,\u201d Mr. Summers said, \u201cthat was done pretty fast, and now we\u2019ve got to be hurrying a little more to get done in time.\u201d He consulted his next list. \u201cBill,\u201d he said, \u201cyou draw for the Hutchinson family. You got any other households in the Hutchinsons?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s Don and Eva,\u201d Mrs. Hutchinson yelled. \u201cMake them take their chance!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDaughters draw with their husbands’ families, Tessie,\u201d Mr. Summers said gently. \u201cYou know that as well as anyone else.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt wasn\u2019t fair,\u201d Tessie said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI guess not, Joe.\u201d Bill Hutchinson said regretfully. \u201cMy daughter draws with her husband\u2019s family; that\u2019s only fair. And I\u2019ve got no other family except the kids.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThen, as far as drawing for families is concerned, it\u2019s you,\u201d Mr. Summers said in explanation, \u201cand as far as drawing for households is concerned, that\u2019s you, too. Right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRight,\u201d Bill Hutchinson said.<\/p>\n

\u201cHow many kids, Bill?\u201d Mr. Summers asked formally. \u201cThree,\u201d Bill Hutchinson said.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s Bill, Jr., and Nancy, and little Dave. And Tessie and me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right, then,\u201d Mr. Summers said. \u201cHarry, you got their tickets back?\u201d<\/p>\n

Mr. Graves nodded and held up the slips of paper. \u201cPut them in the box, then,\u201d Mr. Summers directed. \u201cTake Bill’s and put it in.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think we ought to start over,\u201d Mrs. Hutchinson said, as quietly as she could. \u201cI tell you it wasn\u2019t fair. You didn’t give him time enough to choose. Everybody saw that.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mr. Graves had selected the five slips and put them in the box, and he dropped all the papers but those onto the ground, where the breeze caught them and lifted them off.<\/p>\n

\u201cListen, everybody,\u201d Mrs. Hutchinson was saying to the people around her.<\/p>\n

\u201cReady, Bill?\u201d Mr. Summers asked. and Bill Hutchinson, with one quick glance around at his wife and children. nodded.<\/p>\n

\u201cRemember,\u201d Mr. Summers said. \u201ctake the slips and keep them folded until each person has taken one. Harry, you help little Dave.\u201d Mr. Graves took the hand of the little boy, who came willingly with him up to the box. \u201cTake a paper out of the box, Davy.\u201d Mr. Summers said. Davy put his hand into the box and laughed. \u201cTake just one paper.\u201d Mr. Summers said. \u201cHarry, you hold it for him.\u201d Mr. Graves took the child\u2019s hand and removed the folded paper from the tight fist and held it while little Dave stood next to him and looked up at him wonderingly.<\/p>\n

\u201cNancy next,\u201d Mr. Summers said. Nancy was twelve, and her school friends breathed heavily as she went forward switching her skirt, and took a slip daintily from the box \u201cBill, Jr.,\u201d Mr. Summers said, and Billy, his face red and his feet overlarge, near knocked the box over as he got a paper out. \u201cTessie,\u201d Mr. Summers said. She hesitated for a minute, looking around defiantly. and then set her lips and went up to the box. She snatched a paper out and held it behind her.<\/p>\n

\u201cBill,\u201d Mr. Summers said, and Bill Hutchinson reached into the box and felt around, bringing his hand out at last with the slip of paper in it.<\/p>\n

The crowd was quiet. A girl whispered, \u201cI hope it\u2019s not Nancy,\u201d and the sound of the whisper reached the edges of the crowd.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not the way it used to be.\u201d Old Man Warner said clearly. \u201cPeople ain\u2019t the way they used to be.\u201d \u201cAll right,\u201d Mr. Summers said. \u201cOpen the papers. Harry, you open little Dave\u2019s.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mr. Graves opened the slip of paper and there was a general sigh through the crowd as he held it up and everyone could see that it was blank. Nancy and Bill. Jr.. opened theirs at the same time. and both beamed and laughed. turning around to the crowd and holding their slips of paper above their heads.<\/p>\n

\u201cTessie,\u201d Mr. Summers said. There was a pause, and then Mr. Summers looked at Bill Hutchinson, and Bill unfolded his paper and showed it. It was blank.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s Tessie,\u201d Mr. Summers said, and his voice was hushed. \u201cShow us her paper. Bill.\u201d<\/p>\n

Bill Hutchinson went over to his wife and forced the slip of paper out of her hand. It had a black spot on it, the black spot Mr. Summers had made the night before with the heavy pencil in the coal company office. Bill Hutchinson held it up, and there was a stir in the crowd.<\/p>\n

\u201cAll right, folks.\u201d Mr. Summers said. \u201cLet\u2019s finish quickly.\u201d<\/p>\n

Although the villagers had forgotten the ritual and lost the original black box, they still remembered to use stones. The pile of stones the boys had made earlier was ready; there were stones on the ground with the blowing scraps of paper that had come out of the box Delacroix selected a stone so large she had to pick it up with both hands and turned to Mrs. Dunbar. \u201cCome on,\u201d she said. \u201cHurry up.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mr. Dunbar had small stones in both hands, and she said. gasping for breath. \u201cI can\u2019t run at all. You\u2019ll have to go ahead and I\u2019ll catch up with you.\u201d<\/p>\n

The children had stones already. And someone gave little Davy Hutchinson few pebbles.<\/p>\n

Tessie Hutchinson was in the center of a cleared space by now, and she held her hands out desperately as the villagers moved in on her. \u201cIt isn\u2019t fair,\u201d she said. A stone hit her on the side of the head. Old Man Warner was saying, \u201cCome on, come on, everyone.\u201d Steve Adams was in the front of the crowd of villagers, with Mrs. Graves beside him.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt isn\u2019t fair, it isn\u2019t right,\u201d Mrs. Hutchinson screamed, and then they were upon her.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

At Cassandra Voices we believe in contrasting the original work of our contemporary contributors with accomplished authors from yesteryear. Perennial favourites of such mastery, they appear as fresh and modern as the day they were first published. For our May edition we bring you Shirley Jackson\u2019s \u2018The Lottery\u2019. A short story from 1948, and notorious […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":25,"featured_media":4124,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[2,1],"tags":[206],"class_list":["post-4121","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-culture","category-uncategorized","tag-2019may"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4121","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/25"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4121"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4121\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4121"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4121"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/casswp.eutonom.eu\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4121"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}