Limitation of the freedom of speech is central to Ella Minnow Pea’s plot. On the island of Nollop, a statue in the main square commemorates the island’s namesake, Nevin Nollop, with each letter of the pangram (a sentence that uses every letter of the alphabet), “the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog” inscribed on tiles. When tiles of certain letters begin fall off of the statue, the governing body of Nollop (called the High Island Council) interprets this event as a sign from the late Nollop and it declares that each fallen letter will be outlawed in writing and in speech. At first, the limitations on language are surmountable obstacles for the citizens of Nollop. This is, in part, because the first three tiles to fall—“Z,” “Q,” and “J”—are relatively uncommon in English words. Yet as each successive tile falls, avoiding illegal words becomes more and more difficult and citizens are more and more in danger of breaking the Council’s statutes. Avoiding the banned letters leads to other fundamental shifts in how the Nollopians communicate and in and their society as a whole. With these changes, Dunn illustrates why freedom of speech is a necessary human right: language is a fundamental means of communication, an integral facet of culture, and perhaps the most important glue that holds modern society together.
Language is vital to Nollop’s collective identity, as the citizens take pride in their intellect and their creative uses of language. But as more and more letters are banned, the literal devolution of language becomes an illustration of how society itself is collapsing with its language. Ella’s cousin Tassie writes to Ella about her fear of the statutes, given the fact that language is so integral to the island’s identity: “[Nollopians] are a well-educated, well-versed, and well-spoken people whom Mr. Nollop has taught to elevate language to a certain preeminence unmatched by our vocabu-lazy American neighbors across the sound.” Language is a point of pride and a way of distinguishing them from other societies, and Tassie illustrates how their language usage is unique by inventing a word to describe them. By establishing the unique way in which Nollopians use words, the language’s eventual deterioration becomes even more stark.
Soon, the loss of several letters causes a noticeable degradation in language. When “D” falls, the characters must use replacements for the days of the week, and find a way to accommodate past tense without the form “-ed.” They also start to make up words as substitutions or they use archaic language. When “C” falls, they use “learny-house” instead of “school”; when “U” falls, they use “thee” instead of “you.” All of these alterations gradually add up, as readers can visibly see the degradation of language in sentences like, “This is, permit me to relate, why it was important that she exit thy hamlet so hastily.” Even by the time the fourth letter, “D,” falls, the citizens recognize how difficult it is to follow the Council’s statutes. Ella’s mother, Gwenette, describes this phenomenon: “All over town people hesitate, stammer, fumble for ways to express themselves, gripgrasping about for linguistic concoctions to serve the simplest of purposes.” Thus, losing letters robs the citizens of a fundamental means of communication. Ella’s aunt Mittie, a math teacher, feels helpless without the use of the word “and.” She says, “I cannot teach. Without that grammatical unifier. It is impossible. I plan to resign tomorrow.” Others similarly stop communicating entirely, finding it too exhausting. Thus, limitations on the freedom of speech ultimately prevent people from performing the crucial roles upon which society is built—or from engaging with others entirely. By the end of the novel, only five letters remain (L, M, N, O, and P), and Ella can hardly even express her horror at what has happened. In a final letter of protest to the Council, she writes, “No mo Nollop pomp! No mo Nollop poo poo! No mo 4 pop/1 moll Nollop looloo poop” This barely intelligible message shows the true cost of losing one’s fundamental rights: the citizens are left unable to freely express themselves through language or be understood by other people. Without the freedom of speech, people become isolated and society inevitably collapses due to a lack of communication.
Dunn also explores the cultural, artistic, and historical ramifications of citizens losing their freedom of speech. When the first letter, “Z,” falls, the library in Nollop shuts down because every book has the letter printed within it. The same thing happens with the radio stations: they begin to play only music without words, due to the fear that a song lyric will contain the illicit letter. Thus, mainstays of society start to collapse alongside the collapse of language. Additionally, the loss of free speech means reports of the island’s history are called into question, showing how limitations of language can effectively erase a society’s past as well as threaten its future. When “Z” falls, Ella notes the problem of trying to describe what has happened in future history books. She explains to Tassie that they “cannot even write of its history. Because to write of it, is to write it. And as of midnight, it becomes ineffable.” The society’s past has become indescribable, and without a historical record, the letters (and the freedoms) that once existed will inevitably be forgotten. This becomes true in a broader sense when “D” falls. Ella writes once more to Tassie, saying that “In taking ‘ed’ away (Goodbye, Ed!), the most useful tool to express the past tense in the English language, [they] are being robbed of great chunks of [their] very history.” Not being able to communicate the past suggests that that past will soon be lost.
The Nollopians’ loss of free speech makes it clear that language is crucial to the individual expression and communication that form the bedrock of a free society. When the freedom of speech is taken away, society itself collapses.
Freedom of Speech ThemeTracker
Freedom of Speech Quotes in Ella Minnow Pea
I have, in scanning the text of my epistle to you thus far, discovered only three merest of uses: in the words “gaze,” “immortalized,” and “snooze.” Would you have lost my meaning should I have chosen to make the substitutions, “looked,” “posteritified,” and “sleep”?
The books have all disappeared. You were right about the books.
We will have to write new ones now. But what will we say? Without the whizz that waz.
For we cannot even write of its history. Because to write of it, is to write it. And as of midnight, it becomes ineffable.
While we still receive the weak signal of the limited island radio broadcasts, music is almost all that is sent up to us these days. Music without words. The station management, I assume, does not wish to examine song lyrics for words containing the outlawed letter. Besides making us all fearful, this edict has turned some among us into shameful indolents.
I do respect Mr. Kleeman for his protest, yet am disappointed by the cowardly exit. He has left this town with a yawning communicational chasm—a great lacuna which I see no one stepping forward to fill.
When I bake, I do not have to speak. When I bake, I do not have to make sense of anything except the ingredients summoned by memory that I have laid out in front of me. Sometimes the children offer to help, but I do not accept. This is something best done alone. Something I do well. One of the few things I can actually do.
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.
The prospect of actually being able to control the outcome of this ghastly assault on our collective spirit, let alone our very humanity, by turning this offensive upon its cephalus, has sent some among our subterra movement to heights of unencompassable ecstasy.
I value, nonetheless, your going to the learny-house to help my son. Little Timmy values it as well.
He is gone now. Timmy. This morning. With Nash, my spouse. I must remain. I must remain, as I am without violation.
Please exonerate me. In your heart. I am so sorry that I was the one to report your violations. I’m so sorry that I was to learn what is truly important in our lives too, too late.
This is to inphorm ewe oph Statoot 28-63 past this morning with implorment phrom high elter R. Lyttle. Hensephorth, sitisens may—in graphy only—espress themselphs when warrant, threw yoose oph proxy letters, yet only as hear-twins.
How it happen is not easy to tell: he yoose an illegal letter in interphew aphter poleese see him ant Tom going threw wintow into yew-niphersity hall— trespassing. He yoose the letter, then when the poleese go to tie his hants to transport him to Pier 7, he ant Tom try to phlee so teportation will not happen.
The poleese shoot him. They shoot him in the het.
He is immetiately tet.
I am, again, sorry to tell yew this. I most say, tween we two, that I helt high hopes phor his sassess.
No mo Nollop pomp!
No mo Nollop poo poo!
No mo 4 pop/1 moll Nollop looloo poop!
No no no mo plop, plop, plop, plomp!
No mo Nollop!
No, mon, no! O Noooooooo!
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
— “LMNOP”
All the Council members save Lyttle have tendered their resignations. Immediately thereafter Harton Mangrove attempted suicide with his necktie. It was a clumsy attempt and quickly foiled. Following our excursion to the vault, Lyttle, Tom and I proceeded to the cenotaph, climbed to the top, and with sledgehammers in hand, initiated, in earnest, an act of destructive revisionism.