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The Lottery

by Shirley Jackson

Full Text below

The Lottery" is a short story first published in 1948 in the magazine The New Yorker.

When first published, it received an incredibly negative response from readers. This

controversial story was banned in America and became one of the most banned books

in schools and libraries. Over time, it has become a classic American story.

The reader is taken into a narrative journey which finds the traditions and values of

small town America twisted into a sort of barbaric violence. You may be surprised to

realize that the town's "lottery" is not at all what you imagine it to be…

The morning of June 27th was clear and sunny, with the fresh warmth of a full-

summer day; the flowers were blossoming profusely and the grass was richly green.

The people of the village began to gather in the square, between the post office and

the bank, around ten o'clock; in some towns there were so many people that the

lottery took two days and had to be started on June 2th. but in this village, where there

were only about three hundred people, the whole lottery took less than two hours, so it

could begin at ten o'clock in the morning and still be through in time to allow the

villagers to get home for noon dinner.

The children assembled first, of course. School was recently over for the summer, and

the feeling of liberty sat uneasily on most of them; they tended to gather together

quietly for a while before they broke into boisterous play. and their talk was still of

the classroom and the teacher, of books and reprimands. Bobby Martin had already

stuffed his pockets full of stones, and the other boys soon followed his example,

selecting the smoothest and roundest stones; Bobby and Harry Jones and Dickie

Delacroix- the villagers pronounced this name "Dellacroy"-eventually made a great

pile of stones in one corner of the square and guarded it against the raids of the other

boys.

The girls stood aside, talking among themselves, looking over their shoulders at the

boys. and the very small children rolled in the dust or clung to the hands of their older

brothers or sisters.

Soon the men began to gather, surveying their own children, speaking of planting and

rain, tractors and taxes. They stood together, away from the pile of stones in the

corner, and their jokes were quiet and they smiled rather than laughed. The women,

wearing faded house dresses and sweaters, came shortly after their menfolk. They

greeted one another and exchanged bits of gossip as they went to join their husbands.

Soon the women, standing by their husbands, began to call to their children, and the

children came reluctantly, having to be called four or five times. Bobby Martin

ducked under his mother's grasping hand and ran, laughing, back to the pile of stones.

His father spoke up sharply, and Bobby came quickly and took his place between his

father and his oldest brother.

The lottery was conducted - as were the square dances, the teen club, the Halloween

program - by Mr. Summers, who had time and energy to devote to civic activities. He

was a round-faced, jovial man and he ran the coal business, and people were sorry for

him. because he had no children and his wife was a scold. When he arrived in the

square, carrying the black wooden box, there was a murmur of conversation among

the villagers, and he waved and called. "Little late today, folks." The postmaster, Mr.

Graves, followed him, carrying a three-legged stool, and the stool was put in the

center of the square and Mr. Summers set the black box down on it. The villagers kept

their distance, leaving a space between themselves and the stool. and when Mr.

Summers said, "Some of you fellows want to give me a hand?" there was a hesitation

before two men. Mr. Martin and his oldest son, Baxter. came forward to hold the box

steady on the stool while Mr. Summers stirred up the papers inside it.

The original paraphernalia for the lottery had been lost long ago, and the black box

now resting on the stool had been put into use even before Old Man Warner, the

oldest man in town, was born. Mr. Summers spoke frequently to the villagers about

making a new box, but no one liked to upset even as much tradition as was

represented by the black box. There was a story that the present box had been made

with some pieces of the box that had preceded it, the one that had been constructed

when the first people settled down to make a village here. Every year, after the lottery,

Mr. Summers began talking again about a new box, but every year the subject was

allowed to fade off without anything's being done. The black box grew shabbier each

year: by now it was no longer completely black but splintered badly along one side to

show the original wood color, and in some places faded or stained.

Mr. Martin and his oldest son, Baxter, held the black box securely on the stool until

Mr. Summers had stirred the papers thoroughly with his hand. Because so much of the

ritual had been forgotten or discarded, Mr. Summers had been successful in having

slips of paper substituted for the chips of wood that had been used for generations.

Chips of wood, Mr. Summers had argued. had been all very well when the village was

tiny, but now that the population was more than three hundred and likely to keep on

growing, it was necessary to use something that would fit more easily into he black

box. The night before the lottery, Mr. Summers and Mr. Graves made up the slips of

paper and put them in the box, and it was then taken to the safe of Mr. Summers' coal

company and locked up until Mr. Summers was ready to take it to the square next

morning. The rest of the year, the box was put way, sometimes one place, sometimes

another; it had spent one year in Mr. Graves's barn and another year underfoot in the

post office. and sometimes it was set on a shelf in the Martin grocery and left there.

There was a great deal of fussing to be done before Mr. Summers declared the lottery

open. There were the lists to make up - of heads of families, heads of households in

each family, members of each household in each family. There was the proper

swearing - in of Mr. Summers by the postmaster, as the official of the lottery; at one

time, some people remembered, there had been a recital of some sort, performed by

the official of the lottery, a perfunctory tuneless chant that had been rattled off duly

each year; some people believed that the official of the lottery used to stand just so

when he said or sang it, others believed that he was supposed to walk among the

people, but years and years ago this part of the ritual had been allowed to lapse. There

had been also a ritual salute which the official of the lottery had had to use in

addressing each person who came up to draw from the box, but this also had changed

with time, until now it was felt necessary only for the official to speak to each person

approaching. Mr. Summers was very good at all this, in his clean white shirt and blue

jeans, with one hand resting carelessly on the black box. He seemed very proper and

important as he talked interminably to Mr. Graves and the Martins.

Just as Mr. Summers finally left off talking and turned to the assembled villagers,

Mrs. Hutchinson came hurriedly along the path to the square, her sweater thrown over

her shoulders, and slid into place in the back of the crowd. "Clean forgot what day it

was," she said to Mrs. Delacroix, who stood next to her, and they both laughed softly.

"Thought my old man was out back stacking wood," Mrs. Hutchinson went on. "and

then I looked out the window and the kids was gone, and then I remembered it was

the twenty-seventh and came a-running." She dried her hands on her apron, and Mrs.

Delacroix said, "You're in time, though. They're still talking away up there."

Mrs. Hutchinson craned her neck to see through the crowd and found her husband and

children standing near the front. She tapped Mrs. Delacroix on the arm as a farewell

and began to make her way through the crowd. The people separated good-humoredly

to let her through: two or three people said. in voices just loud enough to be heard

across the crowd, "Here comes your, Missus, Hutchinson," and "Bill, she made it after

all." Mrs. Hutchinson reached her husband, and Mr. Summers, who had been waiting,

said cheerfully. "Thought we were going to have to get on without you, Tessie." Mrs.

Hutchinson said. grinning, "Wouldn't have me leave m'dishes in the sink, now, would

you. Joe?," and soft laughter ran through the crowd as the people stirred back into

position after Mrs. Hutchinson's arrival.

"Well, now." Mr. Summers said soberly, "guess we better get started, get this over

with, so's we can go back to work. Anybody ain't here?"

"Dunbar." several people said. "Dunbar. Dunbar."

Mr. Summers consulted his list. "Clyde Dunbar." he said. "That's right. He's broke his

leg, hasn't he? Who's drawing for him?"

"Me. I guess," a woman said. and Mr. Summers turned to look at her. "Wife draws for

her husband." Mr. Summers said. "Don't you have a grown boy to do it for you,

Janey?" Although Mr. Summers and everyone else in the village knew the answer

perfectly well, it was the business of the official of the lottery to ask such questions

formally. Mr. Summers waited with an expression of polite interest while Mrs.

Dunbar answered.

"Horace's not but sixteen vet." Mrs. Dunbar said regretfully. "Guess I gotta fill in for

the old man this year."

"Right." Sr. Summers said. He made a note on the list he was holding. Then he asked,

"Watson boy drawing this year?"

A tall boy in the crowd raised his hand. "Here," he said. "I m drawing for my mother

and me." He blinked his eyes nervously and ducked his head as several voices in the

crowd said thin#s like "Good fellow, lack." and "Glad to see your mother's got a man

to do it."

"Well," Mr. Summers said, "guess that's everyone. Old Man Warner make it?"

"Here," a voice said. and Mr. Summers nodded.

A sudden hush fell on the crowd as Mr. Summers cleared his throat and looked at the

list. "All ready?" he called. "Now, I'll read the names - heads of families first - and the

men come up and take a paper out of the box. Keep the paper folded in your hand

without looking at it until everyone has had a turn. Everything clear?"

The people had done it so many times that they only half listened to the directions:

most of them were quiet. wetting their lips. not looking around. Then Mr. Summers

raised one hand high and said, "Adams." A man disengaged himself from the crowd

and came forward. "Hi. Steve." Mr. Summers said. and Mr. Adams said. "Hi. Joe."

They grinned at one another humorlessly and nervously. Then Mr. Adams reached

into the black box and took out a folded paper. He held it firmly by one corner as he

turned and went hastily back to his place in the crowd. where he stood a little apart

from his family. not looking down at his hand.

"Allen." Mr. Summers said. "Anderson…. Bentham."

"Seems like there's no time at all between lotteries any more." Mrs. Delacroix said to

Mrs. Graves in the back row.

"Seems like we got through with the last one only last week."

"Time sure goes fast.- Mrs. Graves said.

"Clark…. Delacroix"

"There goes my old man." Mrs. Delacroix said. She held her breath while her husband

went forward.

"Dunbar," Mr. Summers said, and Mrs. Dunbar went steadily to the box while one of

the women said. "Go on. Janey," and another said, "There she goes."

"We're next." Mrs. Graves said. She watched while Mr. Graves came around from the

side of the box, greeted Mr. Summers gravely and selected a slip of paper from the

box. By now, all through the crowd there were men holding the small folded papers in

their large hand. turning them over and over nervously Mrs. Dunbar and her two sons

stood together, Mrs. Dunbar holding the slip of paper.

"Harburt…. Hutchinson."

"Get up there, Bill," Mrs. Hutchinson said. and the people near her laughed.

"Jones."

"They do say," Mr. Adams said to Old Man Warner, who stood next to him, "that over

in the north village they're talking of giving up the lottery."

Old Man Warner snorted. "Pack of crazy fools," he said. "Listening to the young

folks, nothing's good enough for them. Next thing you know, they'll be wanting to go

back to living in caves, nobody work any more, live hat way for a while. Used to be a

saying about 'Lottery in June, corn be heavy soon.' First thing you know, we'd all be

eating stewed chickweed and acorns. There's always been a lottery," he added

petulantly. "Bad enough to see young Joe Summers up there joking with everybody."

"Some places have already quit lotteries." Mrs. Adams said.

"Nothing but trouble in that," Old Man Warner said stoutly. "Pack of young fools."

"Martin." And Bobby Martin watched his father go forward. "Overdyke…. Percy."

"I wish they'd hurry," Mrs. Dunbar said to her older son. "I wish they'd hurry."

"They're almost through," her son said.

"You get ready to run tell Dad," Mrs. Dunbar said.

Mr. Summers called his own name and then stepped forward precisely and selected a

slip from the box. Then he called, "Warner."

"Seventy-seventh year I been in the lottery," Old Man Warner said as he went through

the crowd. "Seventy-seventh time."

"Watson" The tall boy came awkwardly through the crowd. Someone said, "Don't be

nervous, Jack," and Mr. Summers said, "Take your time, son."

"Zanini."

After that, there was a long pause, a breathless pause, until Mr. Summers. holding his

slip of paper in the air, said, "All right, fellows." For a minute, no one moved, and

then all the slips of paper were opened. Suddenly, all the women began to speak at

once, saving. "Who is it?," "Who's got it?," "Is it the Dunbars?," "Is it the Watsons?"

Then the voices began to say, "It's Hutchinson. It's Bill," "Bill Hutchinson's got it."

"Go tell your father," Mrs. Dunbar said to her older son.

People began to look around to see the Hutchinsons. Bill Hutchinson was standing

quiet, staring down at the paper in his hand. Suddenly. Tessie Hutchinson shouted to

Mr. Summers. "You didn't give him time enough to take any paper he wanted. I saw

you. It wasn't fair!"

"Be a good sport, Tessie." Mrs. Delacroix called, and Mrs. Graves said, "All of us

took the same chance."

"Shut up, Tessie," Bill Hutchinson said.

"Well, everyone," Mr. Summers said, "that was done pretty fast, and now we've got to

be hurrying a little more to get done in time." He consulted his next list. "Bill," he

said, "you draw for the Hutchinson family. You got any other households in the

Hutchinsons?"

"There's Don and Eva," Mrs. Hutchinson yelled. "Make them take their chance!"

"Daughters draw with their husbands' families, Tessie," Mr. Summers said gently.

"You know that as well as anyone else."

"It wasn't fair," Tessie said.

"I guess not, Joe." Bill Hutchinson said regretfully. "My daughter draws with her

husband's family; that's only fair. And I've got no other family except the kids."

"Then, as far as drawing for families is concerned, it's you," Mr. Summers said in

explanation, "and as far as drawing for households is concerned, that's you, too.

Right?"

"Right," Bill Hutchinson said.

"How many kids, Bill?" Mr. Summers asked formally.

"Three," Bill Hutchinson said.

"There's Bill, Jr., and Nancy, and little Dave. And Tessie and me."

"All right, then," Mr. Summers said. "Harry, you got their tickets back?"

Mr. Graves nodded and held up the slips of paper. "Put them in the box, then," Mr.

Summers directed. "Take Bill's and put it in."

"I think we ought to start over," Mrs. Hutchinson said, as quietly as she could. "I tell

you it wasn't fair. You didn't give him time enough to choose. Everybody saw that."

Mr. Graves had selected the five slips and put them in the box. and he dropped all the

papers but those onto the ground. where the breeze caught them and lifted them off.

"Listen, everybody," Mrs. Hutchinson was saying to the people around her.

"Ready, Bill?" Mr. Summers asked. and Bill Hutchinson, with one quick glance

around at his wife and children. nodded.

"Remember," Mr. Summers said. "take the slips and keep them folded until each

person has taken one. Harry, you help little Dave." Mr. Graves took the hand of the

little boy, who came willingly with him up to the box. "Take a paper out of the box,

Davy." Mr. Summers said. Davy put his hand into the box and laughed. "Take just

one paper." Mr. Summers said. "Harry, you hold it for him." Mr. Graves took the

child's hand and removed the folded paper from the tight fist and held it while little

Dave stood next to him and looked up at him wonderingly.

"Nancy next," Mr. Summers said. Nancy was twelve, and her school friends breathed

heavily as she went forward switching her skirt, and took a slip daintily from the box

"Bill, Jr.," Mr. Summers said, and Billy, his face red and his feet overlarge, near

knocked the box over as he got a paper out. "Tessie," Mr. Summers said. She

hesitated for a minute, looking around defiantly. and then set her lips and went up to

the box. She snatched a paper out and held it behind her.

"Bill," Mr. Summers said, and Bill Hutchinson reached into the box and felt around,

bringing his hand out at last with the slip of paper in it.

The crowd was quiet. A girl whispered, "I hope it's not Nancy," and the sound of the

whisper reached the edges of the crowd.

|"It's not the way it used to be." Old Man Warner said clearly. "People ain't the way

they used to be."

"All right," Mr. Summers said. "Open the papers. Harry, you open little Dave's."

Mr. Graves opened the slip of paper and there was a general sigh through the crowd

as he held it up and everyone could see that it was blank. Nancy and Bill. Jr.. opened

theirs at the same time. and both beamed and laughed. turning around to the crowd

and holding their slips of paper above their heads.

"Tessie," Mr. Summers said. There was a pause, and then Mr. Summers looked at Bill

Hutchinson, and Bill unfolded his paper and showed it. It was blank.

"It's Tessie," Mr. Summers said, and his voice was hushed. "Show us her paper. Bill."

Bill Hutchinson went over to his wife and forced the slip of paper out of her hand. It

had a black spot on it, the black spot Mr. Summers had made the night before with the

heavy pencil in the coal company office. Bill Hutchinson held it up, and there was a

stir in the crowd.

"All right, folks." Mr. Summers said. "Let's finish quickly."

Although the villagers had forgotten the ritual and lost the original black box, they

still remembered to use stones. The pile of stones the boys had made earlier was

ready; there were stones on the ground with the blowing scraps of paper that had

come out of the box Delacroix selected a stone so large she had to pick it up with both

hands and turned to Mrs. Dunbar. "Come on," she said. "Hurry up."

Mr. Dunbar had small stones in both hands, and she said, gasping for breath. "I can't

run at all. You'll have to go ahead and I'll catch up with you."

The children had stones already. And someone gave little Davy Hutchinson few

pebbles.

Tessie Hutchinson was in the center of a cleared space by now, and she held her

hands out desperately as the villagers moved in on her. "It isn't fair," she said. A stone

hit her on the side of the head. Old Man Warner was saying, "Come on, come on,

everyone." Steve Adams was in the front of the crowd of villagers, with Mrs. Graves

beside him.

"It isn't fair, it isn't right," Mrs. Hutchinson screamed, and then they were upon her.

Understanding the Text

Here are a few questions to see how well you have understood what you just read.

1. Who are the leaders in control of the rest of the town? 2. Why does the author choose to avoid explaining what the lottery tradition is

until the end of the story? Why is this an effective method of storytelling?

3. In the third paragraph, what suggests that the lottery is a serious event? 4. What are the rules concerning people who canâ€™t attend the lottery? 5. Normally, a person "wins" the lottery. In this story, however, the word "win"

is never used. What expression is used instead?

Discussions

1. What sort of message might the author be illustrating? Think about the message it may be implicating in terms of democracy, religion, or even the

fragility of family loyalties.

2. Examine the text from beginning to end and note the changes in Tessie's attitude over the course of the story. What kind of themes can you take from

these changes? What themes are evident in this story?

3. The setting takes place in a small, peaceful town. How does the setting contrast with the plot and characters? How do these elements of the story

create interest and contradiction? How does the author fool the reader?

4. What hints does the author give us that all is not what it appears to be? Give examples of "foreshadowing" which leads up to the stoning.

References: American Literature, Wikipedia, English Teachers Network

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