In “Speech Sounds,” guns represent the thin line between chaos and order. Knowing that communication is difficult and violent outbursts are common, Rye always carries a gun on her, hoping that simply displaying a weapon will discourage others from messing with her. The gun, in other words, is itself a form of nonverbal communication, sending others a message that Rye is dangerous. Paradoxically, then, the gun keeps the peace by promising violence, showing how order and chaos, as well as peace and violence, are intricately linked. Even though displaying a gun helps both Rye and Obsidian (during the incident with the bus driver) maintain peace, Octavia Butler still insists throughout the story that guns are dangerous and that the peace one establishes by carrying one can easily be turned on its head. For instance, when Rye learns that Obsidian can read, she is suddenly filled with envy and becomes aware of the fact that her gun is nearby, suggesting that she has the impulse to harm or kill him. Although she doesn’t decide to use it, the gun reveals the fragility of the peace they have established: in a second, she could turn their partnership and connection into chaos. Similarly, Rye’s loaded gun always gives her the option of taking her own life, which she implies several times that she’s been close to doing. Finally, at the end of the story, Butler shows Obsidian’s gun—which has so far helped keep peace—creating unbearable violence. When Obsidian tries to break up a fight between a man and a woman on the street, the man grabs Obsidian’s gun from its holster and fatally shoots him. Throughout the story, displaying a gun has successfully deterred violence, but here it does the opposite: the man sees in Obsidian’s weapon not a warning, but an opportunity, and he uses it to end Obsidian’s life. In this way, Butler illustrates how fragile peace and order are. Because peace and order are interlinked with violence and chaos, they can disappear at any moment.
Guns Quotes in Speech Sounds
As a result, she never went unarmed. And in this world where the only likely common language was body language, being armed was often enough. She had rarely had to draw her gun or even display it
Obsidian lifted her hand and looked under it, then folded the map and put it back on the dashboard. He could read, she realized belatedly. He could probably write, too. Abruptly, she hated him—deep, bitter hatred. What did literacy mean to him—a grown man who played cops and robbers? But he was literate and she was not. She never would be. She felt sick to her stomach with hatred, frustration, and jealousy. And only a few inches from her hand was a loaded gun.
Obsidian had been the protector, had chosen that role for who knew what reason. Perhaps putting on an obsolete uniform and patrolling the empty streets had been what he did instead of putting a gun into his mouth. And now that there was something worth protecting, he was gone.