What Lies Beneath a Verbal Exchange
T’Gatoi, an alien who needs human hosts to reproduce. Gan, a human and friend to T’Gatoi, who must choose whether or not to sacrifice himself or let his family member take the burden.
From “Bloodchild,” by Octavia E. Butler:
She looked back, then raised nearly half her length off the floor and turned to face me. “These are adult things, Gan. This is my life, my family!”
“But she’s… my sister.”
“I have done what you demanded. I have asked you!”
“But—”
“It will be easier for Hoa. She has always expected to carry other lives inside her.”
Human lives. Human young who should someday drink at her breasts, not at her veins.
Look at the length of Gan’s verbal response (“But she’s… my sister.”) to T’Gatoi’s first statement. The second. The third.
Short.
Shorter.
Blank.
Look again, this time at T’Gatoi’s forcefulness and tone. First statement (“These are adult things...”). Second. Third.
Direct and protective.
Standing her ground.
Rationalizing.
Each character moves through their own small arc in this piece of the overall conversation.
Gan retreats. His speech decreases and physicality lessens. You can hear and feel him shrink. His influence — the characters shape, if you will — becomes smaller.
T’Gatoi digs in. She raises her body. You see her puffed-up figure represent her argument. In contrast to Gan, her shape grows.
Yet for all T’Gatoi’s forcefulness matched against Gan’s retreat, I think Gan ‘wins’ this part of the struggle. He may say less, and his physical expression may become less pronounced, but the depth of feeling that lies underneath his statements grows.
In only three lines, Gan absorbs the full impact of T’Gatoi’s request. You see him realize that his sister, someone he cares deeply for, will be harmed. You then experience his dismissal as he’s interrupted when trying to defend his sister’s life, and by extension the fate of his family. Finally, you step inside his mind and consider the primary conflict of the story: whether or not humans and aliens should coexist in this way.
Meanwhile, T’Gatoi says only the same basic message three times over: I want. I want. I want.
In those moments at least, she refuses to listen to the opposing argument, which gains momentum within Gan. Though Gan speaks only a minimal amount, his viewpoint gains much more ground than T’Gatoi’s has.
It’s by the end of this exchange that you might think about a separate set of shapes — those which lie underneath the surface. Gan grows, despite his physical representation. T’Gatoi remains static, despite her aggressive posture and vocalization.
You’re then left to consider which shape matters more. Is it the loud but rationalizing argument or the silent and contemplative argument that becomes the victor?
In an afterward to the story, Octavia Butler comments that “Bloodchild” is a story of love. That one word, one emotion, comprises much. It holds commitment and fear and good feelings and bad feelings in a single concept.
The way Butler handles the complexity of love with these small character arcs expresses how deep the bond runs between these characters. The way she structures this scene shows how an interruption, a forceful statement, a change in posture, or a shrinking of voice can mean more than its outward appearance.