A Horrific Metamorphosis

If “God is Change,” as the fictitious religion of Earthseed intones, then Parable of the Talents is a divine sequel. Its evolution is more drastic even that of The Fall of Hyperion (now, only the second-most distinctive sequel I’ve ever read).

From the very first page, it’s clear that at least the narrative context is more complex. The same woman’s journal entries tell both stories, but where Parable of the Sower is presented simply as her diary, Talents introduces a new character who curates the subsequent entries, inserts writing from others, and provides commentary of her own. It also spans a far longer period, making much larger leaps in time between entries.

The change in theme is perhaps less dramatic but no softer. Sower, with its wanton gangs of fire-obsessed addicts and totally decadent societal structure, paints a pretty bleak picture of the future. Talents, despite describing a slightly less chaotic time, is even darker. Like, “I can’t take this right now” dark. The sequel feels still more relevant than its predecessor because its atrocities more strongly evoke sins past (e.g. chattel slavery, the genocide of native Americans, and the internment of Japanese immigrants) and present (e.g. the exploitation of the incarcerated and the inhumane treatment of asylum-seekers), tempering modern rhetoric about social progress.

The novel’s characters occasionally offer somewhat heavy-handed commentary, but I’m inclined to chalk that up to it’s disturbingly-prophetic nature. Readers in 1998 probably needed a little more help recognizing the plausibility than they do today. For crying out loud, Parable of the Talents describes Christian fundamentalist paramilitary groups supporting a demagogic President–a man elected using the slogan “make America great again!” Aside from a handful of inconsequential pieces of technology, the novel could have just as well been set in ‘23 rather than ‘32.

Against all this, we watch Olamina (formerly Lauren) continue to change, and not necessarily for the better. I’m no writer, but I can’t help but marvel at the craftsmanship in dispassionately chronicling how such a sincere, innocent, and lifelike character is compromised (particularly years after introducing her to the world with critical acclaim). Butler portrays ambiguity in Olamina’s development, impartially offering the embittered (yet emotionally distant) Asha as a foil to the bias in Olamina’s memoir. Reconciling Olamina’s self-image with Asha’s judgement is an uncomfortable yet enthralling process, and I’m not sure I’ll ever complete it. So while Parable of the Talents is not for the faint of heart, it’s a gift for those who can witness it.