Flatland by Edwin A. Abbott

I’m rather surprised that I hadn’t read this book earlier in my life. It seems like the type of book I would have easily latched onto in high school or early in college.

From some source, likely Wikipedia, I had in mind that Flatland is a commentary on Victorian society, with its rather strict relationship standards, class structure, educational opportunities and introduction methodologies. It is an interesting parallel and one that is relevant even today, though some of more formal structures are more accessible to the various classes—in Flatland, once an isosceles, always an isosceles. Moving up the social hierarchy is only possible through your offspring. There is some opportunity for regularization of one’s sides, but it not possible to move up a class within your own life span. At least in American society, you can always remake yourself, even if the likelihood of succeeding is minimal, the hope is still there. And hope goes a long way to have something to strive for within one’s own life, not just living for the betterment of one’s children.

The other interesting comparison is between the different worlds: line, point and space. This might serve as a secondary commentary on the impact of a lack of contentment with one’s own place. Our hero, the square, is quite a happy person in Flatland, until he realizes the possibility of other dimensions to explore and experience. And his thoughts to this effect are clearly considered in having a destabilizing effect on Flatland. From a societal aspect, this makes sense, as discontentment with how things are causes revolution, if not stopped quickly and hierarchies have an interest in maintaining their power and therefor quashing any disconcerting thoughts.

This conclusion can also be drawn when the worlds of Lineland and Pointland are investigated—first from the standpoint of what is discussed in the story itself—when one is not aware of any other ways to live, other dimensions of life, one will fit their experience into the world they know, which the point and the King of Lineland do instantly. Additionally, much like our square, there is discontentment that can be bread within one’s self in even admitting that other possibilities exist—happiness does not lie in that direction. So, the reader is left with the conclusion from the investigations of these worlds, that it is really not worth the effort, if you want to be respected and happy, to push out of one’s born into station of life, whether that be a shape or a world of fewer dimensions.

Of course, the characterization of women as having one less dimension than men seems to be classically Victorian—unable to learn, driven only by emotion, the frailer sex, etc. Additionally, the view of the other worlds as quaint, wrong and foolish, reminds me of classical colonization mentality. The view of all “lesser” beings as requiring “enlightenment” (except for women, of course)—to be brought into “higher” worlds so they can view the travesty of their own— fits into the colonization viewpoint as well.

In the end, this book is a commentary, working to lay bare the hidden assumptions the contemporary readers deal with as part of everyday life. In many ways this is similar to Gulliver’s Travels, where a given behavior is characterized to be representative of the entire society or world view. Other than the rather tired view of women (a modern version would have one or two women that have overcome their station), the book has aged well and was an enjoyable read.

8/10