Shatter the Wall — Reading Companion
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They were a charming family and everybody loved them to death--especially Amanda!
There he stood, Bass McDowall, life-size on the Wall. She made herself look at the hateful broad-shouldered image with the deliberately penetrating black eyes. She made herself watch his boy-image bend over Kippie's slender girl-image, made herself listen to his mellow voice gasp, "Kippie, sweetie-bug."
Savagely she thrust upward on the ebony lever. Bass McDowall, Wall idol, and Kippie lurched and disappeared. Lights glowed from fixtures recessed into the ceiling, illuminating the long, windowless Wall room.
Kathryn, whose hair was a snug, dark Kippie-cap, leaped from the Wall seat. "Don't turn it off now! Couldn't you even tell, Mother? He's going to kiss her! Turn it back on this minute!"
Amanda stationed herself before the lever, shaking her head. "Not until I've spoken to you," she said. "Kathryn, I don't think you realize yet what it means, but you're the youngest person, the very youngest, living in this city."
"Quit calling me that! Everyone has to call me Kippie." She cocked her dark head, Kippie-like. The red mark caused by the constant prodding of her index finger against her cheek glared. "Bass loves Kippie. He called her sweetie-bug."
"I refuse to call you Kippie." She folded her arms. "I don't want to discuss your name again, Kathryn."
"It will be Kippie." She squirmed into a Kippie-like position. "Soon as I'm twenty-one, I'll change it. You wait!"
"Perhaps you will, Kathryn. But I'll never call you Kippie."
"Oh, quit being silly and turn it on. He might kiss her again." She focused her blue eyes upon the Wall. "Turn it on."
"Kathryn, I want to talk to you, and I intend to do so without Bass McDowall staring over my shoulder." She sat down beside her daughter. "Now, Kathryn, you're nineteen years old, and you're certainly attractive by any--"
"I don't have dimples like Kippie does." Remembering, she poked her finger back into her cheek.
"I'm not talking about Kippie." She stared at the finger sunk into her daughter's cheek, wondering how many times she had explained that it wouldn't cause a dimple. "I want you to get married, Kathryn."
"I've told you a million times, I won't. You're always after me!" she wailed. "Bass won't ever marry anyone, not even Kippie, and she's got dimples. Bass says--"
"Bass McDowall is not a real person. He's only an actor."
"He's the realest thing in the world. But he won't marry me, so you'd better forget it." She stepped to turn the Wall on again.
Instantly the ash tray was in Amanda's hand, the massive glass tray Dell had given her. She hurled it at the Wall, which shattered with a brittle explosive splintering.
Kathryn jumped back, wailing. "I hate you!" Frantically she manipulated the lever and twisted the ebony dials. "Bass, come back. Bass!"
Amanda patted the Wall seat. "Sit down, Kathryn."
Finally the girl sat down, sullenly rubbing her eyes with her fists.
"Kathryn, have you noticed that we never see infants on the Wall? We never see small children, either, because, Kathryn, you're the youngest person in this city. The week after you were born, the city hospital's obstetrical ward closed permanently."
Kathryn sobbed convulsively. "Who needs babies? I want Bass!"
"The human race needs babies! Kathryn, you sit so complacently in front of your Wall and pretend there isn't a world! There won't be unless you wake up."
"I'm not. Kathryn, you may be the youngest person in the world, for all I know. Forty or fifty years from now this planet will be cluttered with blank Walls. There'll be no one to watch them."
"Well, there's nothing I can do about it. I'm not different, like you."
"Kathryn, marry. Have children. Persuade your friends at the office--"
She laughed shrilly, rocking back against the Wall seat. "Friends! They hate me, every one of them, and I hate them. Even if Bass did marry me, they'd only take him away."
Amanda clutched her fists. "I don't want you to marry Bass. You must find some nice boy your own age."
"Oh, Mother! You want me to marry some stupid, ugly boy! You can't make me!"
"Kathryn, he needn't be dull. There are hundreds of boys, each interesting in--"
Hearing a sound, she looked up to see Dell, thin and red-headed, standing in the doorway staring at the shattered Wall.
Kathryn jumped up. "Mother broke it. She threw that big green ash tray and broke it all to pieces."
Dell looked questioningly at Amanda. "Honey, why'd you do that?"
"She's jealous of Bass!"
Van Scyoc opens with a domestic confrontation that immediately establishes the story's central tension: Amanda Davis watches her daughter Kathryn mimic the gestures and speech of Kippie, a character on the Wall. The narrative voice is tight and immediate, drawing the reader into the claustrophobic Wall room. Amanda's act of shattering the Wall with an ashtray is a violent, decisive break from the passive consumption that defines her world. The prose is lean, with short, punchy sentences that mirror Amanda's frustration and the relentless pace of the Wall's programming.
Voice and the Imitation of Desire
The story's voice shifts between Amanda's internal resistance and the seductive, mellow tones of Bass McDowall, the Wall idol. Van Scyoc uses direct dialogue to highlight the conflict: Kathryn insists on being called Kippie, parroting the character's speech patterns. The narrator notes that Kathryn's finger is constantly pressed into her cheek, trying to create a dimple like Kippie's—a small, obsessive detail that underscores the erosion of self. The prose is unadorned, relying on repetition and short clauses to build a sense of entrapment. Amanda's thoughts are often fragmented, as when she wonders about the curl of Bass's hair, signaling her growing suspicion that the Wall's reality is manufactured.
Structure and the Escalation of Doubt
The narrative proceeds in a series of escalating confrontations, each punctuated by Amanda's attempts to disrupt the Wall's influence. After shattering the Wall, she visits Editor Gray, only to find him absorbed in the same programming. The structure mirrors a cycle of resistance and defeat: Amanda acts, but the Wall's grip tightens. The story's pace quickens as Amanda notices discrepancies—a scar beneath Bass's eye, a curl that curls wrong—suggesting that the actors are replaceable. Van Scyoc uses these small, accumulating details to shift from domestic drama to a broader critique of a society that consumes itself. The final realization that there are hundreds of Basses and Kippies waiting in reserve is delivered in a flat, declarative sentence, heightening the sense of futility.
Setting and the Claustrophobia of the Wall Room
The Wall room is the story's sole setting, a windowless space lit by recessed fixtures. Van Scyoc describes it in sparse terms, focusing on the ebony lever and the Wall itself. The room's lack of windows emphasizes the characters' isolation from any external reality. The Wall is both a screen and a mirror: it reflects the characters' desires while trapping them in a loop of imitation. Amanda's act of throwing the ashtray is a rare physical intervention, but the room quickly returns to its default state. The setting reinforces the story's theme of inescapable mediation; even after Amanda kills the actors, the Wall is replaced and the show continues. The claustrophobia is psychological as much as physical, with the Wall's constant presence eroding the boundary between performance and life.
Van Scyoc's story rewards attention to its small, telling details: the scar that appears, the curl that changes direction, the repeated gesture of a finger pressed to a cheek. These observations accumulate into a quiet but devastating critique of a culture that consumes its own image. Readers may find that the story's power lies not in its plot but in its precise, unadorned language and the unsettling way it mirrors contemporary anxieties about media and identity.
That afternoon the rain softened the edges of the living room, and I kept thinking about Amanda's quiet, furious watchfulness—how a glance could mean a threat. When I finally set the book down, my hand drifted to another shelf, and What Shall It Profit? — Inside the Classic fell open almost by itself, so I let it. The two stories felt like different rooms in the same house, each with its own kind of silence.
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