Divergent Thinking (20 page)

The biggest offender, though, has to be Natalie Prior. In the first book, Tris discovers that her mom was a faction transfer—she was from Dauntless, not Abnegation. That's earth-shattering by itself. But then, in the third book, Tris gets a peek at a young Natalie Prior's diary, and everything she thinks she knows about her mom flies out the window. As it turns out, Natalie wasn't a faction native at all. Natalie came from the land beyond their city—from the fringe. Tris learns that her mom was inserted into the Chicago experiment in order to save the lives of Divergents.

Since Tris didn't know about these lies initially, that means they didn't affect her childhood, right? What she didn't know couldn't hurt her, and all that good stuff. Except this is the mother who helped shape Tris and her brother, Caleb, as they grew up in the Prior household. And there are a whole lot of psychologists who believe that when your loved ones lie, it affects intimacy. Those on the receiving end of the lies can clue in on a subconscious level and guard themselves accordingly. But the liars themselves can also be responsible for withholding intimacy, either consciously or subconsciously. Without trust, there can be no true intimacy, and the lying party is always aware that, because they are not telling, or cannot tell, the other person something, trust has been breached.

Does that idea have merit? Perhaps. Because when Caleb and Tris decide to defect from their native Abnegation, what's the first thing they do? Suck it up and tell their parents? Share their anxiety with their friends? Grab a box of Chips Ahoy! (wait, this is Abnegation—so more like a couple of dry chicken breasts) and hide together in sleeping bags in their bedroom while admitting their faction fears? Of course not, because in the Prior household, secret keeping is the norm. In the same tradition as their mom and dad, they tuck that information close to their chests, both of them too scared to admit the potential for massive family upheaval in their hearts. They act the same way their parents did, omitting the truth until the last possible second—at the Choosing Ceremony. (Sure, the test rules say you aren't supposed to share your results with anyone else—suggesting the faction system by its very nature encourages secrecy of a sort. But I can't imagine that's a rule everybody follows.)

And it's not like Tris' family is the lone set of Abnegation truth-tweakers. All you have to do to dispute that notion is to take a look at the secrets in Four's closet.

When you consider the family and faction dynamics, it's almost no wonder that Caleb withholds his decision to work with Jeanine at Erudite in
Insurgent.
This particular lie of omission leads to disastrous consequences both for his relationship with Tris and for Tris' safety.

Okay, fine, forget family . . . at least Tris can be honest with her friends. Right?

Why Can't We Be Friends?

When Tris joins Dauntless as a new initiate, it's a chance for a fresh start. Finally she can shed the weight of the Abnegation selflessness that has burdened her for so long! Finally she can be free and start forming completely honest relationships in a faction where it's not frowned upon as selfish to talk about yourself! Finally she can eat something with more flavor than an old shoe! Except—before Tris can even begin leaping from trains and learning to throw a mean knife, she's informed that she must keep a new secret. From everyone. As Tori informs her during her test, she's an oddity known as a Divergent, and she must keep that information hidden, at all costs—and for good reason. If Tris tells, her life might be in danger.

But surely that's okay, right? Surely this one little thing doesn't put an instant strain on her fledgling relationships?

Let's take a look.

Tris forms bonds with Christina, Will, and Al, but even at the beginning, we note that Christina, a former Candor member, is much more skilled in honesty than Tris. When Christina and Will kiss, what's the first thing Christina does? She tells Tris. But when Tris kisses Four, does Tris run out and tell Christina? Nope. And a relationship imbalance like that can be problematic. While it could be argued that Tris keeps that information secret because Four is an instructor, it's also pretty obvious that Christina would have divulged it if their situations were reversed. And it's not like Tris only holds the Divergent secret close, while in other areas she's an open book. Hardly. Multiple characters note that Tris is guarded and prickly. We see this time and time again, like when she doesn't tell anyone about her plan to sacrifice herself to the Erudite, or when she fails to confess to Christina that she was the one who shot Will.

Even Tris herself is aware of the burden her secret keeping places on her new relationships. She thinks in
Divergent,
“I should not lie to my friends. It creates barriers between us, and we already have more than I want.” But perhaps even more telling is this quote: “I don't know when I accumulated so many secrets. Being Divergent. Fears. How I really feel about my friends, my family, Al, Tobias. Candor initiation would reach things that even the simulations can't touch; it would wreck me.”

At least Tris is honest about her MO, which for much of the first books, seems to go something like this:
when in doubt about someone's reaction to the truth, hide it.
Even though her innate distrustfulness isn't doing her relationships any favors.

Tell Me Sweet Little Lies —Fudging the Truth with Significant Others

At first, it appears that the one person who might break through Tris' trust issue is Four. I don't think it's a coincidence that in
Divergent,
Four is both a) one of two people who know the truth about her and b) the person she becomes the closest to, and vice versa. Okay, so sure, the fact that Four is ethical (in a crowd of the morally challenged), strong, and more than just a little hot probably has a teensy bit to do with Tris' attraction. But is it just a coincidence that Four is also the only one who knows her Divergent status? Since Four has already discovered her closely guarded secret, Tris doesn't have to hold back with him, which undoubtedly fosters a unique sense of intimacy between them. In sharing that secret, they create a bond. He knows the real her. Not only that, he shares his own deep, dark secret, letting her in to see the real him—the young boy, frightened of an abusive father. Tris is the only one, outside of Four and his parents, who knows about the abuse he and his mom withstood at the hands of his politician father, and he shows her in one of the most personal ways ever—via insertion into his private fear landscape. Talk about trust.

In this sense, we are presented with a strong case for the argument that the truth can bind us to others. In other instances, Tris shows us that lies can wedge us apart.

For example, when Tris doesn't tell Four that she killed Will, he senses something is amiss. He even asks her outright if something is wrong and if she still trusts him. Though the weight of keeping secrets feels terrible—“maybe time would not feel as heavy if I didn't have this guilt—the guilt of knowing the truth and stuffing it down where no one can see it”—she lies yet again. By the time Four discovers the truth during the truth serum confession, he feels understandably betrayed. But maybe it's easier for her to remain guarded, since she knows Four is holding things back from her, too. Big things, as it turns out—that his mom is still alive and that he's been considering allying with Evelyn and the factionless. Perhaps the real lesson here is that the trust that comes from honesty starts out as a two-way street, but when one lane shuts down, the other does as well.

Luckily, the same principle works in reverse: when Tris and Four start being more honest with each other again, their relationship grows. In
Allegiant,
Nita tries to persuade Four to keep Tris in the dark about their meetings by telling him the information would put her in danger. But Four is far too aware that their recently restored trust is fragile and that in order to preserve their relationship, he must tell the truth. Though they still have their ups and downs after this point, Tris and Four are finally able to trust each other enough to be fully open and vulnerable, and that leads to them consummating their love via physical intimacy (or as we in the YA world like to say: sexy times).

SELF-DECEPTION IN DIVERGENT-LAND—AN ACCEPTABLE SUBTERFUGE IN A HARSH WORLD?

We've talked about lying and deceit in regard to multiple relationships throughout the Divergent series—on the part of leaders, among family, between friends and would-be lovers. But what about your most intimate relationship? What happens when you lie to yourself?

Nothing good, that's for sure. If there is one truth to be had in the Divergent series, I believe it's this: that you can lie to your friends, and you can lie to your nose, but you can't ever . . . wait. Strike that. You can totally lie to your friends' noses. Actually, it's this: that lying to yourself is never okay, and that ultimately, the person it's most important to always be truthful with is yourself. When you try to hide or subvert your true feelings or nature, things can go horribly, terribly wrong. When Tris refuses to acknowledge the depth of her despair over her role in Will's death, for example, that little self-deception almost gets her killed.

Ironically, as tear-jerking and Kleenex-grabbing a thing as self-truth is, I believe this is the key to understanding the importance of Tris' ultimate sacrifice in
Allegiant.
She has to search deep inside to realize not just the truth behind her brother's actions—that he's sacrificing himself out of guilt, not love—but also the truth that beats in her own heart about what she can live with, and what's worth dying for.

The only character who really avoids his own truth is Peter, and that's only through resetting his memories entirely—a very drastic step. (Okay, the folks at the Bureau did, too, but they didn't exactly wrestle Four to the ground for the chance. Involuntary avoidance doesn't count.) People can attempt to disregard the reality of who they are, but deep down, they just can't ignore it. Just like when Tris tries to pretend that it's okay for Caleb to sacrifice himself for the wrong reasons—she can hide from the truth for only so long. Ultimately, she realizes that if she allows Caleb to die because of guilt versus love, she will never be able to live with herself. She would rather die being true to her beliefs than live suppressing them. She'd rather accept her values and go down fighting for them. By the end of the Divergent trilogy, it appears that self-realization and honesty trump all.

Hold up, though. We've seen how lying and deception abound in the Divergent-verse, even at the hands of our heroine, Tris. Does that mean that, gasp!, Candor was the way to go, all along? Was Ms. Roth pulling a fast one on us? Should we all tattoo the Candor manifesto on our bodies and read it to each other every night before bed?

CANDOR: BRUTAL HONESTY FOR THE WIN, OR JUST PLAIN MEAN?

The Candor faction was formed by people who blamed all the world's problems on deception and dishonesty. They believe the root of war lies in duplicity. They even say, point-blank in their manifesto, that “Dishonesty makes evil possible.”

Does that hold up to scrutiny within the pages of the books? On a macrolevel, yes. In terms of government and big lies, Candor might just be on to something. The biggest evil in the book seems to center around the corruption of power, and that corruption is without fail linked to duplicity. But does that mean that Candor is always right, even in regard to smaller-scale interactions? Because the Candor have a lot to say there, as well.

Candor is the faction responsible for such gems as “politeness is deception in pretty packaging” and “lying to spare a person's feelings, even when the truth would help them to improve, damages them in the long run.”

That latter sentiment might sound noble in theory, but who gets to decide which truths help people improve? Isn't it possible that some truths are just hurtful?

What Candor is basically saying is that the greatest moral good is honesty. That truthfulness is more crucial than anything else—even causing others pain. Does the series support this claim? Not so much.

Candor might be honest, but they're also often seen as cruel. There's a reason their workplace is dubbed the “Merciless Mart.” A reason they're always bickering. A reason people in their faction are seen as a little abrasive.

Plus, their motto that “honesty leads to peace”? That sounds a wee bit oversimplified. So, if the Bureau had just fessed up to the folks in Chicago that they were the lucky participants in a massive experiment in Faulty Genes, everything would have been a-okay? Doubtful.

What is the series' final position on lying, then?

By the end of
Allegiant,
I think a clear case has been made that lying is not the worst sin you can commit in Divergent-land. There are too many instances when lying is supported by positive outcomes. Granted, this type of dishonesty in the book usually only comes guilt-free when employed in life-and-death scenarios, like when Peter lies to save Tris from Jeanine, or when Tris lies under the truth serum to save Cara and Christina from being labeled as traitors, or when Tris lies to David to save the people in Chicago. If dishonesty and deception were being depicted as the scourge of all mankind, then Candor would have ruled the day at the conclusion, case closed.

Of course, the converse—keeping the peace at all costs, even if it means lying—is not shown in a necessarily flattering light, either. Amity's ease at lying isn't really portrayed as the be-all and end-all of faction manifestos, either.

Instead, the truth lies somewhere in the middle, and different factors necessarily weigh into decisions to lie or not to lie. Self-serving lies are possibly shown to be the most damaging—like those of the leaders to the citizens, or when Tris lies about shooting Will. But lies to protect yourself or others from danger? There we are, back in that gray zone. There's no easy answer, which makes this dilemma a more compelling one for discussion. I don't think the books suggest that lying is always the worst thing you can do and telling the truth is always the best—or vice versa.