Years ago I read the book, Ender’s Game, and last night I saw the film adaption. It had been such a long time I couldn’t remember what it was that I’d liked about the book, or if I really wanted to go. But a friend of mine was excited to see it, and asked me to go. Prepare to be disappointed, I told myself. (It’s on our family crest.) Instead I was delightfully surprised. I’d forgotten how brutal the story is. How it brilliantly conveys what the world is like when authority is absent or decides not to get involved in the lives of the defenseless.
Afterwards I turned to my friend and asked what it was that she so liked about the story. She’s not exactly Ender’s Game’s target audience. She likes to scrap book, and has a pink wallpapered room with a frilly lace bedspread. But she did have her fair share of rejection at the hands of classmates growing up. She turned to me and said, “Well, I always liked Lord of the Flies, too.”
I thought that about summed it up.