Every child slated to be unwound has every right to be angry—deciding to unwind one’s child suggests, to kids like Connor who grew up in loving families, that their parents don’t love or care about them anymore, while for kids like Risa who grow up as wards of the state, being unwound reflects the government’s unwillingness to value the lives they’re supposed to care for. In this sense, anger is a natural state in which to find oneself in the world of Unwind, but the novel also goes to great lengths to show that there are a variety of different paths available to angry and traumatized teens facing the reality of being unwound. Anger and desperation, the novel suggests, can be productive and cathartic when people develop the tools to deal with their anger—but if individuals never get those tools, their unbridled anger can lead them down a dangerous and destructive path and, in extreme cases, to radicalization and terrorism.
Connor’s parents choose to unwind him because he’s angry, which emphasizes how, within the world of Unwind, openly expressing one’s emotions can be a liability. For vulnerable individuals like teenage Connor, anger can literally put them in danger—no matter how reasonable their feelings might be. Though he grows up in a loving and supportive family, once he reaches his teen years, Connor finds that his anger consumes him. He begins to act out at school, get into fights, and take risks such as sitting on a freeway overpass for the thrill of it. It is precisely this reckless, anger-fueled behavior that makes his parents choose to have Connor unwound.
However, Connor begins to reevaluate how he manages his anger and impulsiveness once he’s on the run with Risa, who’s also angry but is far more adept at hiding it. Further, Risa is calculating in how she goes about achieving longer-term goals—primarily staying alive, something that Connor’s anger and impulsiveness jeopardizes at every turn—and she begins to teach these skills to Connor. As the two spend more time together, they spend more time plotting for their survival rather than actively fighting for it. Over the course of the few months that Connor and Risa are together, Connor transforms entirely from a terrifying, out-of-control boy to a trusted and beloved leader at the Graveyard, a refugee camp of sorts for Unwinds in the Arizona desert. There, his growing love for Risa, coupled with the mentorship that the Admiral, the leader of the Graveyard, shows him, Connor learns to channel his anger to improve conditions at the Graveyard and ultimately, ends up taking the Admiral’s place after the Admiral becomes too ill to fill the role. Importantly, he says outright that he likes channeling his anger in this way, as it gives him more control over his world and gives him a sense of purpose beyond just surviving to his 18th birthday (at which point he’s too old to be unwound and will therefore be safe).
In terms of his relationship to anger, Lev, a 13-year-old who briefly travels with Connor and Risa, is in many ways Connor’s exact opposite. Lev grows up in a religious family that believes in offering children as tithes—that is, sacrifices to be unwound, something they believe is called for in the Bible. Because of this, Lev grows up believing that his eventual sacrifice makes him superior to everyone else, as his religious beliefs state that tithes are almost more than human. All of this means that Lev isn’t angry about the prospect of being unwound but is unspeakably angry when Connor “ruins” his unwinding by kidnapping him from his parents’ car on the way to the harvest camp. Though Lev initially directs his anger at Connor and Risa, his opinions on unwinding and being a tithe begin to change as he sees firsthand the horrifying consequences of unwinding: he watches a traveling companion with an Unwind’s temporal lobe, CyFi, fall at the feet of the Unwind’s parents begging to not be unwound—this Unwind, Lev sees, has no idea that he’s been unwound. This fills Lev with unspeakable anger at the entire establishment that promotes unwinding, as well as his religion which glorifies the practice, and ultimately leads him to get involved with the clappers, a terrorist organization that essentially engages in suicide bombing by replacing participants’ blood with explosive liquid.
Unwind takes great care to lay out exactly how and why Lev reaches the point of radicalization. His anger, combined with his yearning for the sense of community he felt as a child in his church, makes him vulnerable to recruiters who offer him community, purpose, and a method of getting revenge. The trajectories of Lev and his clapper companions shows how perfectly normal people have the potential to become clappers when they find themselves angry, disillusioned, and isolated from the kind of mentorship or purpose that Connor receives from the Admiral. However, the novel also forcefully condemns the clappers’ actions by making it clear that dying and taking others with them won’t fix anything; the thought that it will is, the novel suggests, a “dangerous deception.”
Importantly, when it does come time for Lev to “clap” and commit his suicide bombing, Lev chooses not to, and instead turns himself in. While Lev isn’t able to fully come to grips with his anger and his choices by the end of the novel, his childhood pastor, Pastor Dan, suggests that Lev’s choice to back out and turn himself in was far more meaningful than clapping and dying ever would’ve been. With this, and through Connor’s trajectory of channeling his anger and becoming a major resistance fighter in the process, Unwind encourages readers to recognize that violence does nothing to help one’s anger or the situation at hand. Rather, channeling one’s anger and using it for good is one of the most meaningful and productive things a person can do.
Anger, Violence, and Radicalization ThemeTracker
Anger, Violence, and Radicalization Quotes in Unwind
Lev had agreed to go with him because he knew the two filled a need in each other. CyFi was like a preacher with no flock. He couldn’t exist without an audience, and Lev needed someone who could fill his head with ideas, to replace the lifetime of ideas that had been taken from him.
The fighter in him screams foul, but another side of him, a side that’s growing steadily stronger, enjoys this exercise of silent power—and it is power, because Roland now behaves exactly the way he and Risa want him to.
And all at once Cy realizes that Tyler doesn’t know. The part of that boy which comprehends time and place isn’t here, and never will be. Tyler can’t understand that he’s already gone, and nothing Cy can do will ever make him understand. So he goes on wailing.
“The Admiral’s out of touch,” he would say. “He doesn’t know what it’s like to be one of us. He can’t possibly understand who we are and what we need.” And in groups of kids he’s already won over, he whispers his theories about the Admiral’s teeth, and his scars, and his diabolical plans for all of them. He spreads fear and distrust, using it to unite as many kids as he can.
“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.”
He could join them just out of spite, but that’s not enough—not this time. There must be more. Yet, as he stands there, Lev realizes that there is more. It’s invisible, but it’s there, like the deadly charge lurking in a downed power line. Anger, but not just anger: a will to act on it as well.
“All right, I’m in.” Back at home Lev always felt part of something larger than himself. Until now, he hadn’t realized how much he missed that feeling.
“How can you do this?” she asks during one of their breaks. “How can you watch them day after day, going in and never coming out?”
“You get used to it,” the drummer tells her, taking a swig of water. “You’ll see.”
“I won’t! I can’t!” She thinks about Connor. He doesn’t have this same reprieve from unwinding. He doesn’t stand a chance. “I can’t be an accomplice to what they’re doing!”
Lev was terrified of these people, and yet he felt a kinship with them. They understood the misery of being betrayed by life. They understood what it felt like to have less than nothing inside you. And when they told Lev how important he was in the scheme of things, Lev felt, for the first time in a long time, truly important.
It is only when a clapper brings his hands together that the lie reveals itself, abandoning the clapper in that final instant so that he exits this world utterly alone, without so much as a lie to accompany him into oblivion.
“You may be responsible for your actions,” Pastor Dan says, “but it’s not your fault you weren’t emotionally prepared for life out there in the real world. This was my fault—and the fault of everyone who raised you to be a tithe. We’re as guilty as the people who pumped that poison into your blood.”