And what is that reaction? Effective violence, and genius, all at very early ages. Ender was 10 in the final battles. He had mastered violence, mastered strategy.
As a purely practical matter, most minds and reflexes peak at about 17 or so. This is the rough age of many Israeli fighter pilots, who are chosen to be the best possible, accounting for all factors. 12 is still prepubescent for most. The brain has not fully matured.
But emotionally, this must have been a powerful liberation for Card. And what does he wind up with? A caring Mother–displaced psychologically by being made an insect–and a de facto child for whom he must now take responsibility, which I would suggest could be viewed profitably by taking it to be his own unrealized self, his own thwarted–but no more?–possibilities. That egg is innocent.
And I would suggest his brother represents another aspect of himself he is or was wrestling with, another possible path, one not hindered by considerations of empathy and compassion. These, too, are common enough outcomes of trauma.
We tell ourselves in our stories. We cannot but do so, and this is a powerfully good thing. I am telling myself, am I not, in my Rorschach? It is a good thing that stories are told. As I near the end of “Great Expectations”, I can well imagine how this may have done a great deal to build sympathy and empathy among classes and people in that very cold nation.
But I relate to Ender. My own reaction, like most, was one of emotional disconnection, depression, a ruthlessly elevated self importance at times, and sense of a loss I could neither define nor express.
I continue to map out hell, to measure its textures and moods, its landscape. I continue to learn how one lives in hell, how one gets there, and how one stays there. This is all highly useful information. I could think of no higher compliment than that which I will offer myself: map maker.