Pet Pt. 2

            In the latter half of the book, Jam (with Redemption) discovers the monster hiding in the supposedly monster-less Lucille. But what stood out to me as the novel concluded was the exploration of right and wrong—or, rather, the approach to ethics that Pet and Jam take in their quest. As we discussed last class, the society of Lucille seems to be a sort of utopia—except there’s still danger, even though no one will admit it. Lucille’s declaration of “no more monsters” seems to be more prescriptive than descriptive, as we learn with Pet’s arrival. If this is the case, is Lucille a moral state? What rules govern this society if wrong—supposedly—has been eradicated?

            I found Pet’s approach to the hunt and to monsters particularly fascinating, if not concerning. When in Redemption’s house, Pet states: “There is no right thing…There is only the thing that needs to be done” (160). In Pet’s moral framework, “right” and “wrong” seem to be arbitrary ascriptions to phenomenon—there’s only monsters and non-monsters, and the monsters must be removed. But Jam rejects this approach; later, she responds to Pet’s statement, saying: “There is right. Moss is a child. We don’t need to be a part of this moment” (164). Perhaps in the ethereal framework of the angels, good and evil play different roles, but in the midst of human affairs—as asserted by Jam—what’s right and wrong holds meaning and weight. 

            Similar to what I pointed out in my last blog, I thought the attention to other forms of communication was interesting—but more than that, it points to the desire for harmony, which I would argue is the grounding for ethics in this narrative. Often, Jam notices the discord of things in communication; before, things worked together because there was an illusion of peace and perfection. I find this most evident in her description of sounds. In keeping Pet—and thus lying to her parents—Jam feels unbalanced, describing her life as “bubbled and warped” because: “Pet was a loud secret in her, a wrong note in the usual harmony of her house, making it discordant, guilty” (103). Sounds seem to hold more meaning than sight or appearance. As the novel concludes, Hibiscus is revealed to be the monster and his sight is taken away—but his voice, his testimony seals his fate. In Lucille, things may be unseen, but they aren’t always unheard.

            The book ends with a promise of justice—but there’s so much more I want to know. Are there more monsters? Will Lucille actually change? I suppose I’ll have to read Bitter to see where it all began.