October Nightmares IV #23: The Lottery (1948) by Shirley Jackson - May the Odds Be Never In Your Favour

People. People certainly are a bunch of easily-led bastards.

Well, that was quicker than normal. Job done: time to run off like Nigel Farage before anyone asks any questions.

See you tomorrow.

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Ok, ok, I'll do a 'proper' review. Ungrateful swines.

The Lottery is a short story by Shirley Jackson, author of such horror classics as The Haunting of Hill House and We Have Always Lived in the Castle. Perhaps those books would have been a better fit for October Nightmares, but I haven't read them so here we are.

I (briefly) touched upon The Lottery in my Battle Royale review, stating that they deal with similar themes of authoritarianism and scapegoatism. The Lottery is very well known, of course, having been famously banned in The Union of South Africa upon its released. Oh no.

For those unfamiliar with the story: every June 27th, a small New England village draws lots in order to determine who will be the annual sacrifice that's needed to ensure a good harvest. There are hints that this tradition is carried out all over America, and perhaps even the world. And before you laugh at these yokels, just remember there are real people who think that trying to win the actual lottery is the same thing as a life-plan; or those who ritualistically vote for Conservatives and then complain about public transport.

What's interesting about The Lottery is, despite the grim premise and bleak ending, the way Jackson presents the setting is so quaint and twee that it initially seems like a charming snapshot of rural life. Just look at the opening line: "The morning of June 27th was clear and sunny, with the fresh warmth of a full-summer day; the flowers were blossoming profusely and the grass was richly green." You can practically picture fucking Noddy or Postman Pat strolling in the background.

The narrative proceeds in such fashion as the town begins to assemble for the lottery. We're treated to descriptions of gathering children breaking into boisterous play, men discussing such titillating topics as "planting and rain, tractors and taxes", gossiping housewives following their husbands, and references to "square dances, the teen club, the Halloween program". It brings to mind the sort of towns with white picket fences and sexy housewives who shag milkmen.

Even the 'bad guy' who runs the town's lottery, Mr Summers, is described as "a round-faced, jovial man and he ran the coal business, and people were sorry for him". He probably wins the annual scarecrow competition and is a massive twat about it.

Slowly the quaintness gives way to the sinister undertones. Tradition repeatedly comes to the forefront of proceedings. Why do they do the lottery? Tradition. Why do they draw lots from a moth-eaten old box? Tradition. Why do they stone people to death? Tradition. Why is the old guy an absolute arse who makes everyone else uncomfortable for no reason? Tradition. Horrible old people forcing young ones to play a terrible game, because it's tradition? That's goddamn Christmas.

The Lottery was very controversial upon publication, with many readers sending hate mail into The New Yorker. Obviously it struck a nerve. And I can see why, because it's fucking nihilistic. The people are fucking morons, clinging to old proverbs like "Lottery in June, corn be heavy soon" in lieu of logic and reason. They stupidly cling to tradition because it's fucking tradition, and that's just the way things are. They act against their own interests, because it's presented in a 'sexy' way and fuck thinking about things for yourself. And they believe that anything is justifiable if enough people go along with it. Oh look, she's drawn a slip with a black slip on it, she must be the devil: let's kill her. Where does it end?

People will always let you down. They will support idiotic notions and madmen. They will repeatedly fail to do the 'right thing'. They will champion mediocrity and punish genuine thought and creativity. They will place their faith in obviously evil, dickless charlatans; like Donald Trump, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, Jair Bolsonaro, and Tommy Robinson.

Fuck those people, and fuck you too.

Now if you excuse me, I've got to stone my neighbour to death. My house plants are looking a bit withered.

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