For most people, the pressure to conform begins even before we are born. Once the ultrasound images arrive, our rooms, toys, and soccer pajamas become gender-themed. In elementary school, we are systematically ranked in terms of brand vs. generic binders and snacks. In high school, we carefully designed our clothes and backpacks to achieve that effortlessly cool look. Let’s not even start with what we do in college.
Despite being such a normal part of everyday life, there is something inherently creepy about groupthink. Whether you’re a Borg, a Stepford wife, or just a nervous freshman, everyone needs an occasional reminder why not run with the pack. To call to arms really big, here are three classic literary scenarios that can help you wave your freak flag high.
Scenario one: Colonial Africa. The landscape is wild, the natives are unfamiliar, and the Europeans are doing their best to ruin it. Enter Mr. Kurtz from Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. Kurtz, a British ivory merchant living deep in the Congolese wilderness, is a charismatic and intelligent Type A. Who also happens to be a psychopath. Living a unique twist in Into the Wild, Kurtz abandons European civilization, amasses a private army of indigenous and European henchmen, and goes on a murderous rampage.
By the time our narrator, Charlie Marlow, locates him, Kurtz is decorating his private jungle fortress with impaled heads. What’s worse, despite Charlie a) chasing after Kurtz knowing what he’s capable of, and b) witnessing Kurtz’s insanity firsthand, his experience leaves us wondering whether or not he too succumbed to Kurtz’s influence. Although Heart of Darkness gives us an interesting look at the power of a person’s persuasion, there is also something to be said for the overwhelming momentum of mob rule. Which brings us to our second literary classic.
Scenario Two: Colonial America. The continent is huge, the colonies are small, and the pioneers are so tense that the Church of England doesn’t want them. Add a reverend’s daughter and a mysterious illness to the mix and you’ve got Arthur Miller’s The Crucible, a play about the Salem witch trials. Beginning with the witchcraft accusations of an angry girl, the story multiplies when the entire town turns on itself in a fight to the death to the death.
In the end, the victors are accusers or (false) confessors, while those who try to keep their noses clean are summarily executed. What makes this more terrifying than Kurtz’s private army is the fact that a witch hunt doesn’t require a mastermind; Combine ten parts of society and one part of fear and you have a recipe for disaster. Of course, the mafia mentality formula also works in the absence of civilization. Just take a look at our third literary classic.
Scenario three: the desert island. The island is small, the little ones are even smaller and the chances of being found are slim or nil. When you combine all the worst parts of Heart of Darkness and The Crucible, the resulting horror story can only be William Golding’s Lord of the Flies, a story about a schoolyard accidentally moved to an island in the middle of the world. Peaceful. Guys polarize around the two strongest personalities, but since they probably still used nightlights in their previous lives, they’re not exactly immune to old-fashioned mass hysteria, either.
By the time the boys have painted their faces, ritualistically slaughtered wild boars, and waged war on each other, one begins to wonder if “youthful innocence” is a contradiction in terms. The story ends with the boys being discovered by civilized grown men in the midst of a civilized, grown-up world war. You know, just in case you felt happy for a second there.
Married together, these three stories warn us against the corrupting influence of influential leaders and mindless mobs, social constructs and savage savagery, respected adults and smelly tweens, hysterical girls and barbarian boys. In short, trust no one but yourself.
What is the point.
