» Graphic Narrative

One Devious Device

Three images of woman with cell phone tripping on a dog and cracking phone screen. Text reads: It had to happen eventually. All indicators pointed to a new screen. At the time, this tragedy seemed to evidence my conflicted relationship with my iPhone. Like most people I know, I have it with me at all times, in case of some urgent need for information... " — Click image to view in slide show.

Images of woman surrounded by birds, then standing on her hands. Text reads: "... or if I'm driving, and and want to hear erroneous directions from an annoying disembodied voice, or if I need to get an essential communique. By the time I dropped by iPhone, I'd begun to question whether this was such a healthy relationship. I'd become one of those people I deride, standing on the subway platform or waiting in line somewhere, staring adoringly into my own palm, looking for--what? a reflection of myself, or confirmation of my place in the world."

Image of woman looking at cell phone from above with birds and animals. Text reads: "Sometimes, I would peer into my phone for a thrill-seeker's adrenaline rush, by looking for something truly terrifying. I knew that my phone was siphoning my attention from the real world around me, the whole marvelous world of babies in little pink baby-suits, clowns on unicycles, flowering wisteria, all the surprising and delightful things in this world, and fellow humans and other animals experiencing life, distraught or cracking up or laughing or--well, or staring into their cell phones.

Images of various people on cell phones. Text: "My conflict about my phone had also recently been deepened by an unsettling interview I heard with Brian Merchant, author of The One Device, about just where we get the stuff that's used in manufacturing our phones. He said that children are used to mine the tin, in Brazil or the silica, in the Democratic Republic of Congo. He said children are used in the mines because we've dug so deeply that the crevices are getting smaller and smaller and smaller. How could I replace my screen knowing this? I put the question to my ESL class of Chinese freshmen. They are remarkably attached to their phones, tapping away at them even as we discuss cell phone addiction."

Images of a circus performer and horse, and of students sleeping at their desks. Text: "On the week my screen was cracked, we were talking about 'The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas,' Ursula LeGuin's short story that presents a glorious utopia complete with dancing horses... ... that can only exist because a child is being held in a dank basement cell, deprival of love, light, and proper nutrition. The part of the story that always gets to me, and I'm not sure why, is that the mops propped in the corner are particularly disturbing to the child. My freshmen, like freshmen everywhere, are not what you'd call great conversationalists in the classroom."

Image of naked child sitting on tile floor. Text: "But when I told them about my cell phone screen, they perked right up, either because they liked being included in the real-life moral dilemma of their teacher or because they like their phones so much that they're always eager to talk about them, thte way someone newly in love manages to work the beloved into any conversation. I asked them what I should do about the screen. Get a new one, they said. But what about the children working in the mines? What about the child in the basement of Omelas?"

Text: "My not getting a new screen wouldn't do anything, they said. You're just one person, they told me. You'd have to get millions of people to do the same thing. There are just too many people buying phones, they said. There are just too many people. They should know. They're from China. When you're one of 40 billion, it's easy to feel like your lost and alone. Just as it is when you're one of 8 million. And then I thought I understood their attachment to their phones a little better: in a world of so many people, it's comforting to look into a glowing light in the palm of your hand, and see that someone's thinking of you." Image: dialogue bubble saying "Almost there!"

Image of a woman carrying flower bouquet and letting a dog smell her hand. Text: "I still haven't replaced the screen. I could pretend it's because I'm so altruistic, and so disturbed at the thought of the child in the basement, those children in Brazil and The Democratic Republic of Congo. But the truth is, I've come to like my cracked screen. Every time I open my phone and see the fractured glow, I'm reminded that I live in a world that defies my comprehension. And that makes me look around, and watch where I'm going."

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Sarah Van Arsdale

sarahvanarsdale.com

Sarah Van Arsdale’s fifth book, The Catamount, a narrative poem with her watercolor illustrations, was published by Nomadic Press in 2017. She is the author of four books of fiction: Toward Amnesia, Grand Isle, In Case of Emergency, Break Glass, and Blue, which won the 2002 Peter Taylor Prize for the novel. Her poetry and essays have been widely published in literary magazines; she has an essay on setting and atmosphere in fiction in a forthcoming issue of the AWP Writer’s Chronicle. She teaches creative writing in the low-residency MFA program at Antioch University, at New York University, and privately; in January, 2019, she’ll be co-leading a workshop in Oaxaca, Mexico. She holds an MFA in creative writing from Vermont College of Fine Arts.

One Devious Device

Sarah Van Arsdale

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