Ella Minnow Pea

“[U]nlike our feathered neighbors who protest the tiniest importunities against their dignity, we will keep our beaks clamped tightly shut, not emitting even so much as a peep of dissatisfaction.”

The quote compares the citizens to geese that protest any issue to their existence. However, as seemingly obedient citizens who far outnumber the Council, they keep their mouths shut against the banished letters leaving their vocabulary.

“I am angry and rebellious. In my head, I am reciting what I recall of my niece’s last letter, allowing the illegal words to baste and crisp. I cook the words, serve them up, devour them greedily. In the sanctuary of my thoughts, I am a fearless renegade. Yet in the company of the children I cringe and cower in the most depreciating way.” 

Rebellion for the lost words continues in the citizen’s minds. However, as the previous quote hints, their mouths remain shut. Rebellion starts in the mind and builds.

“All were speakers of the banned words—words overheard upon the lanes, in schoolyards and church pews, and on the common greens. Neighbor turning upon neighbor, perpetuating old grievances with this new weapon unleashed upon us by the High Island Council.” 

Neighbors turn against one another—they use the illusion of power to gain something over those who wronged them before. However, the society harms itself rather than working together.

“As Mum holds tightly to Pop I watch them trying to feel what once came so soft and easy. Yet the growing fear coils about us in such a way that affection becomes like a bud-never-bloom. The sweet scent is there—the innate desire to blossom, but the cold wind locks the bud in place. All because of this tiny Nollop-cursed letter. I have yet to fully understand its awesome power” 

Ella witnesses what happens when communication is removed from a relationship. She begins to ponder the power of letters and the illusion of power the Council feels by removing and controlling the letters.

“I am in agreement with you that as our anger against the Council grows, it has yet to exceed in potency the abject fear which invades all aspects of our readjusted lives.” 

The quote explains why the citizens do not rise up against the Council. After all, their fear and confusion makes them complacent (although they are still angry). The budding police state is allowed to grow because few people object, and those who do are removed from the island.

“We believe, Miss Purcy, as you obviously do not, that there is full cause and merit to the statutes recently passed by the Island Council. We believe, further, that Nollop does indeed speak to us from his place of eternal rest, through manipulation of the tiles upon his hallowed cenotaph, and that the Council services only as his collective interpreter.” 

The police state is furthered by citizens backing the Council’s decisions. After all, Nollop is a symbol of trust and pride for the island. However, it is their belief in the symbol that creates the problems harming the island. Although the Council calls them people of words, they use their power to take away words.

“The falling tiles can represent only one thing: a challenge—a summons to bettering our lot in the face of such deleterious complacency, and in the concomitant presence of false contentment and rank self-indulgence.” 

As mentioned above, the Council uses the islanders’ fear and their belief in Nollop to create a police state. In an official letter to the citizens, they explain the tiles are a challenge they must accept in the name of Nollop, and to do otherwise is heresy against Nollop, who, before the tiles fell, was nothing more than a symbol. 

“I baked my raisin-pecan cookies…because there is little else I can do. What is happening here to you and me, to our families and friends—it frightens me so that I sometimes find myself standing for long periods of time in the middle of my kitchen much like a statue—much like that infernal statue of Mr. Nollop—immobile, unable to do anything except return by cursed rote to the baking of my cookies.” 

Islanders become segregated in their fear and pain—they cannot use the words they once used frequently. It seemed silly, easy at the beginning. However, as time progresses, individuals pull further from society and find it harder to get through the day without the words they once used.

“The tide which washes the shores of this beleaguered island can be depended upon to follow the moon’s directives from now until the death of the planet, but lovely storm tides…do strike our beaches now and then, and leave change in their wake. Perhaps we are about to see such a storm. We will proceed on hope, comfixed in one mind and purpose upon these elite, self-deluded flayers of children.” 

How wise these words are! The island is just beginning to feel change. More letters fall and more words leave their vocabulary. In many ways, the metaphor here explains the happenings perfectly—a storm is pounding down on them, but, eventually, the storm will end.

“[T]here was slippage from each of us as the evening wore on, our tongues becoming looser….But we were lucky in that when such a misspeak took place, there were no ears pressing themselves against the portals or fenesters to overhear.” 

Even though readers never witness the citizens commit acts against Nollop’s decreed wishes, they are told by those writing the letters that it is happening. And why not? Can everyone be expected to make it through the changes without a slip? Did the Council make a good decision to allow only three offences?

“I cannot teach. Without that grammatical unifier. It is impossible. I plan to resign tomorrow.” 

“D” is purged from the vocabulary. Mittie, already reeling from neighbors turning her in for the first offence, worries whether she can continue to teach without “and.” Semi-colons, she speculates, is far too complicated for young children to grasp yet. The first jobs to go on the island are those that rely on words to educate—the newspaper editor and the teachers.

“We now live in an official police state, be sure of it.” 

The citizens finally understand they are in a police state. They are being watched. They are trapped. The L.E.B. takes on an almost K.G.B. like quality, which can be explored as a possible underpinning in the novel.

“My sweet Mittie, it is strange, so terribly strange how taxing it has become for me to speak, to write without these four illegal letters, but especially without the fourth. I cannot see how, given the loss of one more letter, I will be able to remain among those I love, for surely I will misstep. So I have chosen to stop talking, to stop writing altogether.”

The removal of letters taxes the citizens so much, some choose to leave the island altogether. Some, like Mittie’s friend, choose instead to stop speaking, which is rebelling in another way: if Nollop was a man of words and they are people of words, removing words is the ultimate dismissal of nationalism.

“[E]ach of us in pursuit of the magical, temporarily elusive sentence that shall result in our emancipation—to be sure, our very salvation! Albeit, a more corporal form of salvation. Our souls, though, are another matter altogether.” 

Although the citizens believe in Enterprise 32, they still feel nationalistic pride for their island and the man who created the original sentence. They want to complete Enterprise 32, but fear they will subject their own souls to critical review.

“[S]everal on their way to Pier Seven (then on to the States) wrote parting letters without employing the necessary caution with respect to the current alphabetical restrictions, only to have the recipients themselves brought up on charges! Remember, as well, that L.E.B. thugs are still wont to engage in spot home searches.” 

The police state grows stronger. People live in fear. They do not want to possess anything that could get them in trouble; however, they also do not want to back down. They must continue to pursue Enterprise 32.

“Yes, that is now the topic on every lip. This salient, impertinent Hamlettian choice. To leave or not to leave. To waive claim to our homes. To renounce our mother soil.” 

Leaving the island means renouncing their nationalism. Leaving the island means giving up on the place they call home. With the growing police state, claim to one’s home is disappearing, regardless of the choice made.

“In the event there is a guilty ruling, expulsion will not constitute a legally punitive option. Such a ruling will only result in something much, much worse. Something I venture not even to say.” 

Fear has become integrated into society. Tassie threatens the Council, and with her threats, larger threats about her punishment hang in the air. She cannot simply be banished, not for using words against the ruling order. The citizens are not used to these changes and fear the potential behind her crime.

“Now rests almost solely upon you Enterprise 32. You will triumph, we are sure.” 

Ella is left alone. She is the individual put up against the whole of society. Yet, her family and friends believe in her. However, she does not believe in herself.

“Perhaps we may sup together tomorrow night at the unilearnity.” 

With fewer letters available, the citizens become more creative with their words. University turns into unilearnity. Other words become new words. Some words are transformed entirely and require additional thought to understand.

“Wanting to say something, with anxiety stilling erstwhile galloping yammers. It is important that we say something to one another—any little thing. We are not low-tier animals. We are higher entities, am I right? Say something. A greeting. Anything.” 

Ella pleads with one of her neighbors. Even with the loss of letters, wanting to speak is natural. She asks her neighbor to say something. After all, they are more than a low-tier animal, like those pesky geese who protested at the beginning of the story. If only the citizens spoke up before they lost all their letters.

“It hit him right on his het. The priests are there pronto pronto to get the tile. They see my sister’s man lying there, eyes not open. They gather the tile peeses. They stroll away, not ephen looging at him. Totally ignoring ingert man.” 

The Council and the newly appointed Nollopian priests no longer care about their citizens. They only care about the message from Nollop. When a man is lying on the ground, in pain, they walk away, worried about the newly fallen letter instead.

“No mo Nollop.” 

Down to L, M, N, O, and P, Ella has few letters with which to craft the perfect triumph sentence. However, she accomplishes it. No more Nollop. He is gone because Enterprise 32 succeeded.

“Put them in the little crates; they’ll be easier to convey that way. Would you mind doing this one last thing for me? Pack my box with five dozen liquor jugs?” 

The paragraph Ella finds with the perfect, 32-letter sentence. Pack my box with five dozen liquor jugs. An everyday sentence with enormous impact.