Emby Character Analysis

“You might think I’m stupid, but I got a good reason for the way I feel,” Emby says. “When I was little, I was diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis. Both my lungs were shutting down. I was gonna die. So they took out both my dying lungs and gave me a single lung from an Unwind. The only reason I’m alive is because that kid got unwound.”

“So,” says Connor, “Your life is more important than his?”

“He was already unwound—it’s not like I did it to him. If I didn’t get that lung, someone else would have.”

“The unborn have souls. They have their souls from the moment they get made—the law says.”

Connor doesn’t want to get into it again with Emby, but he can’t help himself. “Just because the law says it, that doesn’t make it true.”

“Yeah, well, just because the law says it, that doesn’t make it false, either. It’s only the law because a whole lot of people thought about it, and decided it made sense.”

“Then we proposed the idea of unwinding, which would terminate unwanteds without actually ending their lives. We thought it would shock both sides into seeing reason—that they would stare at each other across the table and someone would blink. But nobody blinked. The choice to terminate without ending life—it satisfied the needs of both sides. The Bill of Life was signed, the Unwind Accord went into effect, and the war was over. Everyone was so happy to end the war, no one cared about the consequences.”

“What do you do with the club feet, and the deaf ears? Do you use those in transplants?”

“You don’t have either of those, do you?”

“No—but I do have an appendix. What happens to that?”

“Well,” says the counselor with near infinite patience, “a deaf ear is better than no ear at all, and sometimes it’s all people can afford. And as for your appendix, nobody really needs that anyway.”

“You might think I’m stupid, but I got a good reason for the way I feel,” Emby says. “When I was little, I was diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis. Both my lungs were shutting down. I was gonna die. So they took out both my dying lungs and gave me a single lung from an Unwind. The only reason I’m alive is because that kid got unwound.”

“So,” says Connor, “Your life is more important than his?”

“He was already unwound—it’s not like I did it to him. If I didn’t get that lung, someone else would have.”

“The unborn have souls. They have their souls from the moment they get made—the law says.”

Connor doesn’t want to get into it again with Emby, but he can’t help himself. “Just because the law says it, that doesn’t make it true.”

“Yeah, well, just because the law says it, that doesn’t make it false, either. It’s only the law because a whole lot of people thought about it, and decided it made sense.”

“Then we proposed the idea of unwinding, which would terminate unwanteds without actually ending their lives. We thought it would shock both sides into seeing reason—that they would stare at each other across the table and someone would blink. But nobody blinked. The choice to terminate without ending life—it satisfied the needs of both sides. The Bill of Life was signed, the Unwind Accord went into effect, and the war was over. Everyone was so happy to end the war, no one cared about the consequences.”

“What do you do with the club feet, and the deaf ears? Do you use those in transplants?”

“You don’t have either of those, do you?”

“No—but I do have an appendix. What happens to that?”

“Well,” says the counselor with near infinite patience, “a deaf ear is better than no ear at all, and sometimes it’s all people can afford. And as for your appendix, nobody really needs that anyway.”