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Science Fictions EN247 (TIME AND MEMORY: How do they define us? ("…

- - - - In "The Monsters are Due on Maple Street", everything goes south when what Maple Street's residents believe is a meteor takes out all of the technology in the neighborhood. The residents, isolated and without electricity, slowly begin turning on each other after a little boy suggests that one of them might be an alien. It makes you wonder-- is a day without technology really enough to fuel such hysteria? Especially considering this episode was released in 1960, when the presence of technology was significantly smaller, it really makes us think about how ingrained these inventions are in our daily lives.
    - - In this episode of The Twilight Zone, we see how easy it is for scapegoats to arise. As soon as a mere suggestion that one of them is an alien arises-- from the mouth of a little boy, no less-- the paranoia immediately starts to rise, eventually leading to all out riots, fighting, and straight-up murder. The ending narration sums it up best, saying that "The tools of conquest do not necessarily come with bombs and explosions and fallout. There are weapons that are simply thoughts, attitudes, prejudices...to be found only in the minds of men. For the record, prejudices can kill...and suspicion can destroy...and a thoughtless, frightened search for a scapegoat has a fallout all of its own – for the children and the children yet unborn."
  - - - In "The End of Science Fiction", Mueller opens with "This is not fantasy, this is our life./ We are the characters/ who have invaded the moon,/ who cannot stop their computers," reflecting on how the tall tales so typical of sci-fi stories are slowly becoming our reality. By stating so explicitly at the very start that "this is our life", Mueller is forcing us to confront how our society has changed, potentially for the worse.
    - - Mueller also shows a strong desire to return to how things were, before sci-fi became our reality. She calls upon the reader to "Invent us as we were/ before our bodies glittered/ and we stopped bleeding", to "Invent real tears, hard love/ slow-spoken, ancient words,/ difficult as a child's/ first steps across a room." She seems to think that, in our current reality, we are lacking these things; she believes we must re-invent them, almost become human again, in a way. In this sense, she pits technology directly against humanity, implying they are incompatible.
  - - - Social media presence plays a big part in the rating system, and thus Lacie presents a carefully curated social media feed to her followers. At the start of the episode, we see her sitting in a cafe, taking dainty bites out of a cookie and posing it so she can get the perfect picture. She doesn't even actually end up eating the cookie (which, sadly, is a thing many Instagram influencers will do for pictures). "Nosedive", then, much like fellow BM episode "Be Right Back", seems to be commenting on the falsehoods of social media. Everything is constructed for the picture.
      - What "Nosedive" really seems to center on is that no one is perfect, not even people who seem to be on social media, and that the pursuit of perfection will destroy you just as it destroyed Lacie. Lacie, after all, is a perfectly reasonable human being; yet, the pressures of getting to a 4.5 rating led her to crash that wedding and brandish a knife at the crowd. It's when she stops chasing perfection that she finally feels free.
    - - In "Nosedive", the main character (Lacie Pound) lives in a world where everyone has a rating determined by their social media postings and interactions with the people around them. People's ratings significantly impact their socioeconomic status, higher ratings allowing you to live in nicer apartments and eat at nicer restaurants, etc. These ratings are constantly visible to everyone via implants in their eyes, the rating system quite literally part of their bodies. While we don't have a rating system like this (at least in the U.S.-- China's whole "social credit" system is scarily similar), can you imagine having the number of likes you get on Instagram constantly being projected in your vision? Horrifying, honestly.
      - At the end of the episode, after Lacie's carefully curated 4.2 rating plunges to below a 1, she is arrested, the implants in her eyes are removed, and she is free of the rating system. It is a clear moment of liberation for her, and she begins swearing and insulting the man in the cell next to her with vigor. The removal of the rating system was meant as punishment, but really, it was freedom.
  - - - Similarly to other texts we have read in class, Westworld focuses on a group of non-humans (hosts) who are subjected to cruelty by humans (aka they're a part of a theme park where they are routinely murdered, beaten up, raped, etc.) Unlike Never Let Me Go, however, this is very much so a story of rebellion as the hosts begin to realize what is happening to them and start fighting back against Delos, the company who runs the park.
      - Much of what the audience is forced to confront throughout the show is exactly how human the hosts are. In many scenes, they seem completely human; they love other hosts, show compassion and anger and sadness and all the things that make us human. On the other hand, we also see scenes of them being controlled completely, of them being stabbed only to reveal the whir of mechanical parts underneath. The essential question is raised: where is the line? How do we determine what is "human", what is "conscious"?
    - - A major question throughout the show is whether or not the hosts, aka the robot AI humans that populate the theme parks, have free will. One host, Maeve, who breaks free of the routine set out for her and believes herself to have transcended her code, ends up finding out that someone had altered her systems beforehand so that she would break free and rebel. So, then, when someone else mapped your brain, planned your personality, and built your body, can you ever really be free?
- - - - In The Word for World is Forest, the Terrans have colonized Athshe and are stripping it of its most precious resource-- wood. They force the native Athsheans to do this manual labor for them, locking them in pens, beating them, and even killing them if they disobey. This narrative clearly echoes that of many real-life stories of colonization in which colonizers not only swoop in and rob a people of their resources but rob that people of their free will as well.
        
        Much of the reason why the Athsheans are treated so brutally is their marked status as "other", as not quite human. They look far different than what we would consider a "typical" human; they're several feet shorter, with green fur covering their bodies and large eyes. Captain Davidson repeatedly dehumanizes them, calling them by a derogatory name ("Creechies") and making remarks about how they "...all looked alike" (27). To Davidson (and many other colonizers of Athshe), the Athsheans are "...lazy, they're dumb, they're treacherous, and they don't feel pain...", nothing better than "a lot of green monkeys" (20-1). This dehumanizing language (very similar to language colonizers have used throughout history to demean and subjugate other cultures) allows the Terrans to see the Athsheans as nothing more than a bunch of animals to be used and corralled.
    - - Despite his seemingly firm belief in the Athsheans' lack of humanity, Captain Davidson has absolutely no problem with raping the Athshean women. The logical leaps there are astounding-- after all, if he really believes them to be monkeys, then he is engaging in bestiality. Yet, their non-human status also allows him to justify sexually assaulting Athshean women because, according to him, "...they don't seem to feel anything, no pleasure, no pain, they just lay there like mattresses no matter what you do. They're all like that. Probably they've got more primitive nerves than humans do. Like fish" (19).
      - A recurring theme throughout The Word for World is Forest is misogyny and sexism. Captain Davidson not only looks down upon and takes advantage of the female Athsheans but similarly demeans Terran women as well, describing the women shipped to Athshe as "prime human stock" and a "line of 212 buxom beddable breasty little figures" that "sway through his mind, smiling, jiggling" (9-10). For him, women are little more than their physical attributes. In a way, LeGuin seems to almost be satirizing the blatant sexism of many other sci-fi stories (such as "We Can Remember It For You Wholesale" and The TIme Machine) by taking on this chauvinistic male persona of Davidson.
    - - The very title of this novel reveals its environmental themes from the start. The Athshean's word for "World" is the same word as "forest", due to the densely wooded surface of the planet they inhabit. The Terrans, whose home planet has run out of wood entirely, see this as a precious and exploitable commodity. The Athsheans, on the other hand, see the forests as home. The parallels between this narrative and what is happening on our Earth right now (i.e. deforestation and subsequent killing of the species who live in those forests) are pretty obvious.
  - - - Throughout Kathy's time at Hailsham, the importance of artwork is emphasized again Tommy is considered an outcast because he isn't "creative" enough, and creativity is seen as not only valuable cultural capital but can be traded in for real capital that students can use to buy things from the outside world. When Kathy and Tommy later confront Madame and Miss Emily about the point of all this, Miss Emily says "We took away your art because we thought it would reveal your souls.Or to put it more finely, we did it to prove you had souls at all" (260). Art, then, becomes a marker of humanity, determining just how "human" these cloned children really are.
    - - Unlike many other sci-fi/dystopian stories in the media where a group of people is abused by an oppressive system-- such as in the massively popular Hunger Games series, where the protagonist (Katniss Everdeen) fights back and eventually overthrows the tyrannical regime that was forcing children to kill eachother-- Never Let Me Go is not a story of rebellion. Kathy H. grows up in an unethical and cruel government program that wants to harvest her organs, but she does not attempt to escape or fight back. Rather, she accepts her fate with a strange calmness and sense of normalcy that is unsettling to an audience that can see exactly how terrible her fate is.
      - It's also worth mentioning that the story of Kathy H.'s life is not being told as it happens; rather, she is reflecting on her life right before she is about to begin donating. This causes the timeline to be a little confusing in places, as she jumps between events fairly frequently while recollecting her life at Hailsham and beyond.
    - - A huge part of Never Let Me Go are the relationships formed between the characters. Near the end, as Kathy and Tommy enter their relationship, they believe that proving they are in love can save them, prevent them from having to donate, show the world that they are truly human too. Yet, it's not enough. Love could not save them. Tommy ends up finishing his donations and as the story closes Kathy is about to begin hers.
  - - - The "new" Ash's entire being-- personality, appearance, habits, insecurities, mannerisms, etc.-- are all taken from the real Ash's social media and applied onto a blank template. While he appears convincing, the Ash replica proves to be nothing but a poor imitation. It seems a reflection on the limits of social media as true representation of the self. Social media was not "real" enough to bring Ash back to life, and it is not "real" enough for us to be buying into it either.
      - At the start of the episode, Ash is entirely absorbed in his phone. Martha has to actively try and get his attention multiple times, even throwing a shoe at him to pull him out of his social media rabbit hole. This addiction ends up being useful when Martha tries to "resurrect" Ash, so to speak-- yet, even with his over-the-top usage, social media doesn't even come close to making him real.
    - - Fake Ash is ultimately created to help Martha stave off her grief over the loss of her real husband. Obviously, that doesn't go exactly as planned; Martha ends up hating fake Ash for not being real enough and even trying to get him to jump off of a cliff. The episode ends on us flashing forward several years to see that she has locked fake Ash in the attic-- and what's more, her now preteen daughter knows about him and wants to bring him a slice of cake for her birthday (even though he can't eat). Fake Ash's continual presence in the house, even years after the real version died, seems a blatant metaphor for the permanence of grief. Sure, you can lock it away, have it dull with time, but it will always linger in the back of your mind (or in Martha's case, in her attic).
    - - A recurring theme in many of the texts from this class (Blade Runner, The Word for World is Forest, The Time Machine) as well as many other science fiction texts is physical intimacy as a way of verifying the humanity of a non-human entity. In "Be Right Back", one of the very first things that the protagonist does with "new" Ash is have sex with him-- as if having sex will prove that he's made of more than just social media feeds fed to lines of code. She grabs his hand and places it on her breast,
  - - - Another interesting aspect of the film is its ambiguity surrounding Deckard's status as human or as a replicant. Rachael questions him at one point, asking him how he knows that he isn't a replicant too, and he has no response. When memories can be implanted, lives faked, how can you be sure of anything?
      - Perhaps the most "human" of the replicants we see is Rachael, Tyrell's personal assistant who believes she is human until Deckard tells her otherwise. When Deckard tests her and proceeds to tell her that she is a replicant, she refuses to accept it, showing him pictures of her "family" and telling him about memories of her childhood only to find these were implanted in her head by Tyrell. The very real emotions of shock, denial, and horror that cross her face in that moment make it difficult for us to believe that she is anything less than human.
        
        Another reason why Rachael seems so much more human than some of the other replicants is her relationship with Deckard. While parts of their relationship seemed non-consensual (namely, when Deckard pushed her against the wall and forced her to kiss him), their intimacy fits the trope of "having sex with a non-human to verify their humanity" that we see in so many science fiction texts. Physical intimacy serves as a marker of human emotion and connection.
        
        Both Blade Runner and The Word for World is Forest feature male characters who sexually assault (or in Deckard's case, at the very least, do not ask for the consent of) non-human female characters. In Blade Runner, Deckard pushes himself on Rachael, forcing her to kiss him; in The Word for World is Forest, Captain Davidson rapes multiple Athshean women, even killing Selver's wife. Is this violent exertion of power because of these character's status as non-humans? Or is it because of their femininity in a patriarchal society? (In my opinion, it's both.)
    - - Part of what makes the replicants so interesting is their condensed lifespans. Replicants only live for so long; we see Roy, one of the replicants Deckard is hunting, confront this in a monologue to Deckard, speaking of how his memories will be "lost in time, like tears in rain". Much like in Never Let Me Go, where the clones have a similarly shortened lifespan, the replicants must come to terms with death and the loss of self much faster than the average human.
        
        The shortened lifespan of the replicants also interesting to look at in light of the human character Sebastian, whose life is also drastically shortened due to a premature aging disorder. Sebastian sympathizes with the replicants due to their shared plight, raising the question: isn't this issue the replicants face, one of death looming on the horizon, one we all face? It may be sped up in their case, but confrontations with death is a wholly human phenomenon.
- - - - Kindred as a whole seems to be a metaphor for the generational trauma of slavery. While people in real life (at least that we know of) cannot travel through time, the memory of enslavement is one that is passed through generations, whose pain and repercussions are still felt today. We see the physical representation of this at the beginning of the book, when Dana returns from her last time-travel trip with a severed arm. She is, quite literally, bearing the wounds of slavery, her body permanently disfigured . While descendants of the enslaved might not bear injuries like Dana's, their ancestors likely did, and that trauma doesn't just go away.
      - Dana also has to reckon with the ethics of her time travelling. As she figures out over the course of the story, she is brought back into the past in order to protect Rufus and ensure her own birth; yet, in order to do so, she has to stand by as he rapes her ancestor, stand by as he embraces his role as an antebellum slave owner. As Dana says at one point, earlier in the novel, "Someday Rufus would own the plantation. Someday, he would be the slaveholder, responsible in his own right for what happened to the people who lived in those half-hidden cabins. The boy was literally growing up as I watched—growing up because I watched and because I helped to keep him safe. I was the worst possible guardian for him—a black to watch over him in a society that considered blacks subhuman, a woman to watch over him in a society that considered women perennial children."
    - - The two main relationships that Dana forms in the novel are with Rufus, her ancestor, and Kevin, her (white) husband. Despite Kevin supposedly being "one of the good ones", Dana can't help but remark upon the similarities between he and Rufus, commenting on the similar paleness of their eyes. After one of the first times she came back from time travelling, after all, she thought Kevin was one of the white patrollers out to kill her, hitting him and tearing at his face out of fear. The associations and history there cannot simply be scrubbed away, invading their relationship and making Dana wary of Kevin.
        
        Kevin, however, is not simply guilty by association. He shows time and time again that he does not understand or really care to understand the struggles that Dana is going through. At one point, when he travels back into the past with her, he remarks that "This could be a great time to live in,” speaking of how he wants to "...go West and watch the building of the country, see how much of the Old West mythology is true.” This remark shows how ignorant he is. Of course, antebellum Maryland isn't such a bad place for him, a white male; but for Dana, a black woman, her life is in danger every single day. Kevin simply doesn't get it, and doesn't really seem like he wants to.
  - - - The entirety of "Story of Your Life" is addressed to Louise, the narrator's, daughter, the events of the heptapods' arrival framed through moments between the two. The heptapod language, which allows Louise to see all of her life at once, is really only a device for us to better understand the life (and death) of her daughter. Louise, fluent in the heptapod language, knows that her daughter is going to die; yet, she chooses to give birth to her anyways, believing that having loved and lost is better than never having loved at all-- a bit like Kathy H., right?
        
        Despite the fact that Kathy and Tommy's relationship could not save them (and ended up causing Kathy a great deal of pain as Tommy completed), a recurring theme of Never Let Me Go is that it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. Kathy reflects on this as she says “Memories, even your most precious ones, fade surprisingly quickly. But I don’t go along with that. The memories I value most, I don’t ever see them fading.” For her, the memory of love, of friendship and happiness, is enough-- even if the pain of losing it is unbearable. Similarly to the narrator of "Inventory", Kathy is willing to risk getting hurt in order to love and be loved.
    - - A major plot point of "Story of Your Life" is that Louise, upon becoming fluent in the heptapod language, can see all of her life at once. She describes how she experiences "...past and future all at once; [her] consciousness becomes a half century-long ember burning outside time" (36). This ability ties to a lot of things, like the theory of language determinism, but also, more importantly, to free will. If you know what's going to happen, can you change it? Would you?
  - - - In Dick's story, there are two women. One is the nagging wife with a "piercing" voice who serves only to crush the male protagonist's dreams. The other is the secretary at Rekal who is literally just there to fulfill some weird sexual fantasy. She's always naked from the waist up and literally does nothing to advance the plot or the value of the story in any way. Dick describes how her "...melon shaped breasts-- today painted an incandescent orange-- [bobbed] with agitation", pretty much just sexualizing this random and unnecessary female character in order to cater to the male gaze. (18).
      - In a lot of these stories, one thing is constant: men being kind of the worst. In The Word for World is Forest, Captain Davidson is a creepy colonizer who rapes the Athshean women; in Blade Runner, Deckard's scene with Rachael is definitely one of dubious consent; in The Time Machine, the Time Traveller puts in no effort to actually address Weena's needs; in Kindred", Kevin is entirely ignorant of the struggles Dana faces; so on and so forth. In the texts written by men, most of this seems (sadly) not purposeful; in those written by women, like Kindred and The Word for World is Forest*, they seem to be actively calling out the male entitlement and ignorance that their stories are documenting.
    - - The main thing that Dick seems to be preoccupied with in this story is how we can tell what is real (or if we can at all). In the futuristic world he invents, memories can be implanted at will, pasted over and scraped off. Indeed, we see the protagonist's true identity has been pasted over multiple times in the story, leaving the audience to constantly be suspicious and cast doubt on what is real and what has been implanted.
  - - - In the short story, the heptapods arrive and subsequently depart with little to no reasoning as to why. They simply stay long enough to teach Louise their language and then disappear, offering no explanations. The film, in typical Hollywood fashion, makes things a little more dramatic, the aliens coming to Earth in order to unite humanity. The film also departs from the story in Louise's capability to alter the future. In the story, Louise sees what's going to happen, but does not meddle; in the film, she actively uses her vision of the future in order to communicate with the president of China and save the world. The ending remains the same, though, with Louise choosing to have her daughter despite knowing she was going to die.
    - - A major theme in the film is humans working together for the greater good. The aliens arrive on Earth to ensure just that, their presence ultimately forcing multiple nations to bond and bringing what seems like a more peaceful era upon the planet. There's also a little bit of quid pro quo going on here, with the aliens saying that they are helping humans now so humans can help them in the future. Once again, time's a circle-- just like the heptapod language, right?
  - - - The Time Machine begs the question: how far is too far? Where, in our quest for knowledge and innovation, should we stop? The Time Traveller seems to realize that he has perhaps learned more than he wishes to when he sees how the human race has regressed since his time. When he travels even further into the future, into a dark and desolate world with gigantic crab-like creatures and lit by a dying sun, he describes how "A horror of this great darkness came on [him]... [He] felt [he] was fainting" (71). It was a horrible sight, one that made him feel "sick and confused", far from the giddy mood he shared with his friends as he showed off his prototype earlier in the story. Time, among other things, is something that should perhaps remain untouched.
    - - After the Time Traveller's encounter with the Morlocks, he believes that the difference between them and the Eloi arose from two separate paths of evolution-- one for the Labourers and one for the Capitalist. According to his theory, the Laborers of his day, who "live in such artificial conditions as practically to be cut off from the natural surface of the earth", end up as the Morlocks, toiling away underground. The Capitalists, on the other hand, pursue "pleasure and comfort and beauty" and end up as the gentle Eloi (41).Considering this book was written at a time where workers' rights were not protected, the inclusion of this theory is an interesting social commentary on Wells' part.
        
        This theory becomes particularly interesting in light of the Morlock's Eloi-based diet. Wells seems to be predicting a certain kind of class rebellion here, taking the phrase "eat the rich" to a whole new level.
    - - At multiple points in the story, the Time Traveller is disgusted and disappointed with how humanity has evolved. Soon after meeting the Eloi, the Time Traveller says "You see I had always anticipated that the people of the year Eight Hundred and Two Thousand odd would be incredibly in front of us in knowledge, art, everything"; yet, this dream is dashed when he realizes the Eloi's intelligence is equivalent to that of a child (21). This portrayal subverts many of humanity's future, where we are written as flying around in hovercars and wearing shiny metallic clothes, regressing instead of progressing.
        
        Interestingly enough, however, despite his disappointment in the Eloi's lack of intelligence, the Time Traveller has no problem with Weena showering him with affection, describing her as "my little woman" only moments after first meeting her. Weena, the only female character in The Time Machine, serves no other purpose than to be pretty and shower the male protagonist with affection. She literally cannot speak or communicate in any effective way, her character development entirely ignored-- instead, Wells pulls the classic move of "making the woman die to advance the man's character development" after she dies in the forest.
- - - - The disease in Machado's story is spread through physical contact; yet, the entirety of this post-apocalyptic narrative is centered on the narrator's experiences with physical intimacy. The deep irony of this is acknowledged in the story when the narrator sleeps with someone from the CDC. After having sex, the narrator recounts how the CDC employee says "But the fucking thing is only passing through physical contact...If people would just stay apart—" before cutting herself off and growing silent (3). Like the audience, the CDC employee realizes in that moment how tragically ironic it is for her to be saying that after she just had sex with the narrator. "Inventory", then, seems to be commenting on the things we truly need to survive. Epidemic be damned, Machado is saying that humans need love, affection, and physical contact. Otherwise, what else do we have?
      - Something important to note in Machado's representation of intimacy is her representation of queerness. The narrator sleeps with both men and women throughout the story. This is not a plot point, or a point of tension, or a fetishization; instead, "Inventory" is story about a person experiencing an epidemic-induced apocalypse who happens to also be queer.
    - - In "Inventory", the narrator recounts the end of the world not through traditional storytelling but rather through a list of intimate encounters with men and women throughout her life. We only learn about the apocalypse through brief snippets, like when after retelling a drunken makeout from her teenage years, the narrator recalls how much she misses the smell of freshly laundered clothes. "End of the world, and all I can think about is fabric softener", she says (Machado 1).
      - Throughout the story, the narrator not only lists her history of intimacy, but makes smaller lists as well, such as when she forces herself to recall the spices in pho or states that she had lived in. The reason for all of this list making is ambiguous. List-making can often calm anxiety, making one feel as if they have control even if they do not-- something the narrator might need in her post-apocalyptic world where nothing is certain. List-making is also a way of remembering. In "Inventory", nearly everyone has died of a mysterious disease. If the narrator does not remember the spices in pho, then who will? Her list-making is a memorial to herself as well as to the larger human history she is a part of.
      - The title of the story, "Inventory", is defined as "a complete list of items such as property, goods in stock, or the contents of a building". It's an interesting title, as it implies that the narrator is "taking stock" of her intimate experiences like one might take stock of a pantry. In a post-apocalyptic world where such human moments are few and far between, viewing them as "goods" in this way makes sense.
  - - - A recurring theme in Station Eleven is the importance of the arts. The story centers around a group of survivors who are traveling as a troupe of Shakespeare performers, putting on shows of "King Lear". This is certainly not necessary; they could probably spend the time they use for practice and such on searching for food or other supplies. Yet, as Emily St. John Mandel wrote herself, "Survival is insufficient". Art & creativity is a wholly human pursuit. In a world where so much of humanity has collapsed, it is a way of clinging on.
    - - At one point, Mandel prattles off a list of things that would be gone in the apocalypse, including pharmaceuticals, concerts, planes, cars, films, internet, police, etc. This is interesting for two reasons: first of all, it forces you to think about a lot of things you wouldn't, normally, when thinking about what you would lose in the apocalypse. Secondly, she lists critical things, like the police and pharmaceuticals, right next to things that perhaps aren't strictly necessary-- such as concerts and films. I think it goes to reinforce the idea that "Survival is insufficient". In order to truly live, humans need more than just food, water, and shelter. They need art; they need companionship; they need fun.
  - - - In "There Will Come Soft Rains", we see the nuclear apocalypse from the perspective of what contemporary readers might see as a "smart" house, one running entirely on a computer that cooks, cleans, and takes care of everything. Despite its residents having died in the nuclear holocaust, the house continues to run, making eggs and announcing the time. The effect of this is eerie, as Bradbury undoubtedly wanted it to be. There's a routine, but no one to follow through on it; food, but no one to eat it; robots to clean, but no one to clean up after. It's reminiscent of the shreds of civilization we see in Station Eleven, the shells of planes and automobiles continuing to exist long after their purpose has gone.
        
        Despite the residents of the house having perished, they are still a part of the property. Bradbury describes how "The entire west face of the house was black, save for five places. Here the silhouette in paint of a man mowing a lawn. Here, as in a photograph, a woman bent to pick flowers. Still farther over, their images burned on wood in one titanic instant, a small boy, hands flung into the air; higher up, the image of a thrown ball, and opposite him a girl, hands raised to catch a ball which never came down" (236). Much like how the house is stuck in time, repeating its routine despite being obsolete, the family that lived there is stuck in time as well, their shadows forever burned into the side of their house in "one titanic instant". It's as if, after the bomb dropped, everything just froze.
    - - Near the end of the story, the smart house recites a poem by Sara Tesdale titled "There Will Come Soft Rains". The most striking part of the poem is the last half, which goes "And not one will know of the war, not one/ Will care at last when it is done./ Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,/ If mankind perished utterly./ And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn/ Would scarcely know that we were gone" (238). The fact that the house is reading this poem-- one about how nature will care little when humanity meets its end-- to its long-dead inhabitants is irony in the most haunting way. By choosing this poem for the house to recite (and titling the piece after it), Bradbury is commenting on the ultimate irrelevance of the human race in the grand scheme of things. When we are gone, birds will keep singing, plants will keep growing, and the world will keep spinning while "...scarcely know[ing] that we were gone".