4. Lyric’s Political Life
It bears mention: The Locutor Series has nothing to say about our current political moment, it is not a parable of the times. It wrestles with the same questions of power, allocation, and procedure that all societies must settle for themselves – and is, in that sense, a novel with politicking – but the circumstances of the Nine Communities are entirely their own. In writing the books, I am more interested in examining what individuals do when change threatens the status quo. I was curious about probing the strength of systems and norms, and – when these begin to fail – the burdens that individual people must shoulder to make up the deficit.
For a brief time, I was a professor of political science, and my specialization was electoral politics outside of the United States. I no longer spend my days thinking about that stuff, but there are a few key ideas I encountered again and again in my studies that inform the political order of The Locutor Series. I’d roll these ideas into a sort of thesis statement about Lyric’s political disposition at the beginning of the novel: institutions help groups of people navigate uncertainty and structure their decision-making in a way that limits chaos.
Let’s unpack in three paragraphs or less.
First: rules matter. The land of the Nine Communities has a lot of rules, as well it should on the heels of a lawlessness that allowed for a calamitous war. The rules of this land create incentives to follow (i.e. citizens should not own weapons within a pacifist society) and provides a template for decision-making, even in novel or unique scenarios (i.e. violence cannot be utilized as a problem-solving technique, no matter what). The rules remind citizens of their place in this society (i.e. individuals are part of a greater collective) and offer assurances in the face of need (i.e. collectivism guarantees that everyone will have enough to eat).
Second: with these rules, we can tamp down uncertainty. When we think about people as social actors, we posit that they have preferences about outcomes and will take steps to achieve those outcomes. But life is rarely deterministic, so people often operate under varying levels of uncertainty: which decision will most likely lead to the result they desire? With uncertainty comes risk, and each of us have different underlying tolerances of risk. Designers of institutions try to draft guidelines that are widely robust in the face of uncertainty, so that individuals’ incentives are clear and the risks they navigate are small. But institutions that are not robust (or not sufficiently expressive) might leave individuals feeling exposed; this might cause second-guessing, conjecture, conspiratorial thinking and, yes, even an increased acceptance of risk.
Third: institutions, guidelines, and other types of norms or traditions all help us (humans) make choices more efficiently. Especially in group settings, too many choices is a bad thing. Strong group decision-making generally comes down to two things: clear agenda setting and well-ordered deliberation. As an example of the first, compare asking a group of children “what should we do today?” (which will generate a hundred different ideas) versus “should we go to the zoo or the pool?” (which, though not perfect, is likely to cause a bit less chaos). This is agenda setting in practice: putting some guardrails on the menu so that the decision can be made efficiently. And as an example of the second, compare asking everyone to “shout over each other until the loudest voice wins” versus “everyone gets to speak for one minute and then we’ll vote.” This is deliberation in practice: once we know the curated options, how do we go about deciding between them? The Locutor Series begins by depicting very clear mechanisms surrounding agenda setting and deliberation, but quickly charts the chaos that sets in once these mechanisms begin to fail.
The Featherweight Augur goes to great lengths to illustrate political institutions working well and fluidly. Indeed, Heathland is a highly functional and successful community, largely due to its citizens’ adherence to rules. The Silent Mountain wrestles with the negative consequences of uncertainty, how pulling the template out from under people pushes them toward risk and impulsiveness. And The Shattered City spends nearly half of its length navigating the dizzying array of choices presented to the leaders of the Nine Communities once their institutions have proven too brittle and uncertainty pervades the citizenry.
But all of that is academic. All of that is just background. What’s actually exciting is to watch Lyric, the hero of our story, try to figure out how best to journey through this landscape. I won’t be spoiling much to reveal that we watch as Lyric’s initial adherence to a well-ordered system is gradually whittled away and replaced by a new, brave identity as an individual. It’s certainly not a straight line from Point A to Point B, and within every curve and detour you’ll find a memorable conversation, event, or decision.
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