Summary Of Consent By Octavia Butler

Consent is now, more than ever, a hot-button topic of conversation. The questions of what is consent, who can give it, and when is it necessary are being played out in courtrooms, the legislature, and the news. The cost of public opinion is loud, fractured, and far from the consensus needed to come reach a verdict. Part of the problem with discussions about topics like consent, are that they are spoken about in a vacuum. When consent is discussed, it is almost exclusively talked about in the context of sex and sexual assault, however, sex is not the only interpersonal interaction around which issues of consent exist. One of the difficulties with discussing consent is that everyone comes to the metaphorical table with preconceived ideas already
ingrained into their sense of moralities. Although biases and misconceptions are often obvious to an observer, they are often so innate, so implicit that the holder is unable to even engage in a conversation with opposing views.
Just opening this dialogue, forcing people to open their minds to the possibility that there is a perspective other than their own or a situation that does not fit into the clearly marked boxes they have laid out. Octavia Butler succeeds where so many activists, journalists, and angry social media users have failed; in her fiction, she turns the very idea of consent so on its head that she forces readers to look, not only outwards, but in at themselves, forcing them to reengage in a personal dialogue about what is or is not consent that they thought they had long since put to bed. “Bloodchild” has appeared to many readers as a story about slavery, in fact, that reading has been so prevalent that Butler felt the need to address it in her afterward. I admit to being one of those readers, it was not until I read Butler’s words that I went back and say a more layered
story, a more interesting and engaging tale then the one I had originally read. The story is told through the eyes of Gan, a young boy, who has been promised to T’Gotoi as a host in which to lay he eggs. T’Gatoi is a Tlic, large, alien creatures with stingers and many legs. Gan is initially happy about this arrangement, he sees T’Gatoi’s presence in their family as an “honor” (“Bloodchild” 4). It is not until he sees the reality of what he is going to go through that he begins to question the arrangement. He sees another host ‘give birth’ to the Tlic offspring. It is a painful endeavor as the man is cut open, the grubs removed from his stomach before they could eat him alive (15). The arrangement for Gan to be used by T’Gatoi in such a way made before he was born, and as such, he had no say in the conversation and therefore unable to give his consent. Once he is confronted with the harsh realities of what is to come he becomes weary at the prospect. It is then that he realizes that “no one ever asks [them” and that “[she] never asked [him]” (23). He raises a gun to T’Gotoi, first threatening to shoot her and then himself because “At least [it would be] a decision [he] made” (24). She tries to appease him, first by assuring him he is not an animal to her but then by finally offering him a choice. The choice makes all the difference. It is the reminder that someone, some human made this agreement that eventually dociles him. He agrees because someone, though not himself, consented to this arrangement and so he allows himself to be used and endangered.
It is easy to read this story this way. To see the through Gan, the humans as indentured to these strange, terrifying beasts. But upon closer inspection, that is not the world that Butler has created. The Tlic are not the alien species, but rather the humans are. They fled earth and landed on their home planet, proceeding in a traditionally colonial manner to kill the Tlic as “worms” (25). Despite the human’s violence, the Tlic created the Preserve so that the humans could live on. The Tlic are not the aliens in the story nor are they the villains, but it is too easy to read them that way, too easy to fall into the trap that Butler presents for us. Fledgling attacks these issues of consent in an even graver manner.
We are introduced to the world through the eyes of a traumatized child who cannot remember who she is or where she comes from. She is picked up on the side of the road be a man named Wright who brings him home with her. He remarks that “[she] can’t be any more than ten or eleven” (Fledgling 27). However, once they are back at his house this does not stop him from having sex with her. She tells him it’s ok and “he was very careful at first, afraid of hurting [her], still afraid that [she] might be too young for this, too small” (58). As a reader it does not matter that she ‘consented’, that she told Wright it was ok. We see her has a child and how could we not, this is how Butler has introduced her to us. Wright initially seemed like a good guy, intent on bringing this young child to safety—the Hospital or Police. Despite this, his actions instantly turn him into a predator. No matter how strange the circumstances, what other explanation other than that he is a pedophile are there for choosing to have sex with a child. He must be the predator and Shori the victim, socialized in the world that we live in it is the only conclusion we can come to, but this is a trap that Butler has set for
us. Butler presents us with an alternative explanation; the world she creates playing with our definitions of consent. Shori bit Wright in the car and it turns out that there are chemicals in her saliva that “pacified people and pleasured them” (67) even addicted them to her. Wright was chemically drawn to Shori, unable to stay away. It turns out that despite her young appearance, it is not Shori who cannot consent to the relationship but Wright. She asked him before she bit him for a second time but although “[she] heard consent in his voice” (35), it was not informed and therefore not valid. Wright had no idea what that meant, would not understand until he was too far gone to leave her the hold her venom gave her over him. This impedes Wright’s ability to think, to resist, and to make choices. He is unable to consent to their relationship which casts Shori in the role of predator. This is yet another trap. Shori’s memory loss further complicates matters. She does not remember—is not aware—of her abilities, of the effect she has over Wright. She does not want to trap him, but by the time she is aware of what she is doing it is too late. Without either of them ever getting the opportunity to make an informed decision, they are trapped in a symbiotic relationship. While it is a relationship they both come to need and enjoy, it is not one that either of them consent to. We all want consent to be simple and easy—to be so black and white it can be explained in a comic about tea. Butler uses her prowess at world building to create worlds different, but not so different, from our own that we are forced to shift our perspective. Although as a reader it can feel a little murky to work out how consent is working in her novels, Butler’s argument is not that consent is a grey area that cannot be parsed out. Instead, her novels remind us that power and knowledge underscore every relationship and that we need to pay attention to more than just the not so stark lines of yes and no.