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14- Year old Harrison is too clever, too athletic, too handsome for society. Read what happens to him.
Detalles de la lección
The story starts in 2081, a time when the government of the United States has finally established equality for all its citizens. This concept seems noble but has actually caused complete chaos. Instead of finding a way to improve the intelligence or strength of weaker members of society, the government handicaps the stronger members.
Harrison is one of those members... Here is the opening:
THE YEAR WAS 2081, and everybody was finally equal. They weren't only equal before
Harrison is one of those members... Here is the opening:
THE YEAR WAS 2081, and everybody was finally equal. They weren't only equal before
God and the law. They were equal every which way. Nobody was smarter than anybody
else. Nobody was better looking than anybody else. Nobody was stronger or quicker
than anybody else. All this equality was due to the 211th, 212th, and 213th
Amendments to the Constitution, and to the unceasing vigilance of agents of the
United States Handicapper General.
Some things about living still weren't quite right, though. April for instance,
still drove people crazy by not being springtime. And it was in that clammy month
that the H-G men took George and Hazel Bergeron's fourteen-year-old son, Harrison,
away.
It was tragic, all right, but George and Hazel couldn't think about it very hard.
Hazel had a perfectly average intelligence, which meant she couldn't think about
anything except in short bursts. And George, while his intelligence was way above
normal, had a little mental handicap radio in his ear. He was required by law to
wear it at all times. It was tuned to a government transmitter. Every twenty seconds
or so, the transmitter would send out some sharp noise to keep people like George
from taking unfair advantage of their brains.
George and Hazel were watching television. There were tears on Hazel's cheeks, but
she'd forgotten for the moment what they were about.
On the television screen were ballerinas.
A buzzer sounded in George's head. His thoughts fled in panic, like bandits from a
burglar alarm.
"That was a real pretty dance, that dance they just did," said Hazel.
"Huh" said George.
"That dance-it was nice," said Hazel.
"Yup," said George. He tried to think a little about the ballerinas. They weren't
really very good-no better than anybody else would have been, anyway. They were
burdened with sashweights and bags of birdshot, and their faces were masked, so that
no one, seeing a free and graceful gesture or a pretty face, would feel like
something the cat drug in. George was toying with the vague notion that maybe
dancers shouldn't be handicapped. But he didn't get very far with it before another
noise in his ear radio scattered his thoughts.
George winced. So did two out of the eight ballerinas.
Hazel saw him wince. Having no mental handicap herself, she had to ask George what
the latest sound had been.
"Sounded like somebody hitting a milk bottle with a ball peen hammer," said George.
"I'd think it would be real interesting, hearing all the different sounds," said
Hazel a little envious. "All the things they think up."
"Um," said George.
"Only, if I was Handicapper General, you know what I would do?" said Hazel. Hazel,
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Vonnegut, Kurt - Harrison Bergeron (ss) v1.0
as a matter of fact, bore a strong resemblance to the Handicapper General, a woman
named Diana Moon Glampers. "If I was Diana Moon Glampers," said Hazel, "I'd have
chimes on Sunday-just chimes. Kind of in honor of religion."
"I could think, if it was just chimes," said George.
"Well-maybe make 'em real loud," said Hazel. "I think I'd make a good Handicapper
General."
"Good as anybody else," said George.
"Who knows better then I do what normal is?" said Hazel.
"Right," said George. He began to think glimmeringly about his abnormal son who was
now in jail, about Harrison, but a twenty-one-gun salute in his head stopped that.
"Boy!" said Hazel, "that was a doozy, wasn't it?"
It was such a doozy that George was white and trembling, and tears stood on the rims
of his red eyes. Two of of the eight ballerinas had collapsed to the studio floor,
were holding their temples.
"All of a sudden you look so tired," said Hazel. "Why don't you stretch out on the
sofa, so's you can rest your handicap bag on the pillows, honeybunch." She was
referring to the forty-seven p
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