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28 pages 56 minutes read

Ray Bradbury

Dark They Were, and Golden Eyed

Fiction | Short Story | Adult | Published in 1949

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Themes

The Meaning of Names

The original title of the story, “The Naming of Names,” indicates its central interest in the relationship between a name and the thing it describes—i.e., what power a name holds. Early on, Harry muses how “the Earthmen had felt a silent guilt at putting new names to these ancient hills and valleys” that used to have Martian names (634). The guilt of this renaming arises despite the fact that there are no Martians left by the time the Earth people arrived, which suggests that the features of the land itself—the “hills, rivers, Martian seas left nameless in spite of names” (634)—are what have been mistreated, as if the new names improperly describe them. By the end of the story, the settlers from Earth have begun calling these landmarks by their Martian names again, as if agreeing with Harry’s early claim about the link between places and names on Earth: “[T]he American settlers had shown wisdom, using old Indian prairie names: Wisconsin, Minnesota, Idaho, Ohio, Utah, Milwaukee, Waukegan, Ossea. The old names, the old meanings” (634). The suggestion is that the name evokes the essence of a place, or its true nature, and to change that name is to misrepresent it.

The treatment of characters’ names throughout the story further develops this idea. By the end, the children Dan, Laura, and David have become Linnl, Ttil, and Werr—Martian names that match their now dark skin and golden eyes. The elder son, Dan, earlier makes the case for changing his name, arguing that when his parents called him he “didn’t even hear. [He] said to [him]self, That’s not my name. I’ve a new name I want to use” (641). Dan’s feeling that his Earth name no longer describes him shows the impact that the new environment has had on his character and underscores that a name relates to its bearer in a deeply interior way. By contrast, Harry’s name is asserted frequently throughout the first part of the story, when he is resistant to adapting to life on Mars. In conversation with the men from the village, most of whom Bradbury leaves unnamed, they repeat his name frequently, teasing him, “A rocket, Harry? To go back to all that trouble? Oh, Harry!” (636) This over-emphasis on Harry’s name drops off over the course of the story as Harry adapts to the Martian way of life and, it is suggested, the name becomes less applicable to him.

The question of naming comes to a head in the final sentences of the story when the military arrives on Mars. The lieutenant tells his captain, “[W]e found native life in the hills, sir. Dark people. Yellow eyes. Martians” (644). While the reader knows that these people are the same settlers from Earth and the lieutenant is mistaken to call them “Martians” in a literal sense, it is left open-ended whether the name “Earthman” still meaningfully applies to people who have so adapted to life on Mars.

Colonization and the Repetition of History

Closely related to the question of naming is the interest in colonization and how aspects of history repeat themselves. The settlers of Mars replicate their lives on Earth, at least for a time, building a village in an American style, waking up to alarm clocks, eating breakfast, and going to work. Harry participates in this as a kind of civilizational project, saying that these are “colonial days all over again” and looking forward to a day when there will be a million Earth people on Mars (632). He considers it lucky that there are no Martians there to “resent [the settlers’] invasion” (632), evoking the unrealized possibility of a violent encounter. Harry views the Earthmen’s presence on Mars not merely as a refuge from nuclear war but also as an exportation of the Western lifestyle to other planets, the same way that European colonial projects spread a way of life across the North American continent and elsewhere.

However, the eventual dissolution of the settlers’ way of life over the course of the story questions the value, or at least the viability, of the colonial enterprise. When rockets from Earth return at the end of the story, the captain expresses a desire to create “new settlements. Mining sites, minerals to be looked for. Bacteriological specimens taken” (645)—goals in line with historical colonialism, which frequently involved both the establishment of settlements and the extraction of natural resources. However, his ambitions are tempered by his lieutenant staring off into the distance, seemingly bewitched by the foreign environment of Mars that has so changed the Earth settlers. The implication is that the captain’s lofty goals will similarly be laid waste on this strange planet. Whether the story regards this as a good thing is less clear. The assimilation of the settlers into an “indigenous” lifestyle—complete with a physical shift away from whiteness—may reflect colonialist anxieties about the fragility of their culture and race when transplanted abroad. On the other hand, the story takes place against the backdrop of nuclear war, while the “Martians” (i.e., the assimilated settlers) strike the military observers as “surprisingly peaceful.” This juxtaposition at the very least raises questions about whether the colonizers’ culture was worth preserving, tied as it was to mass slaughter and environmental destruction.

More to the point, the story suggests that the rise and fall of civilizations is a mere matter of course—not good or bad, but comparable to the natural processes the story depicts, like fossilization. Bradbury likens the ruins of the ancient Martian civilization around the settler village to “little white chess cities lying for their twelve-thousandth year in the shallows” (638). The description of grand cities made “little” over this large span of time hearkens to Harry’s response when news comes of the bomb hitting New York. Thinking of what had been a web of space travel originating from Earth, he now thinks of “the web gone, the rockets lying in jigsaw heaps of molten girder and unsnaked wire” (634). The similarity between this image and the ruined Martian cities creates a connection between the two fallen civilizations, further questioning such projects’ ability to achieve enduring stability and painting all history as a series of collapses of grand designs.

Change as Death, Change as Survival

Perhaps the most pervasive theme in the text concerns the human ability to adapt to change. The central conflict of the story pits Harry’s resistance to the changes happening on Mars against the rest of the villagers, who do not share his concerns. Harry’s initial concern at the strangeness of Mars is that it “could dissolve his intellect and burn away his past” (631). In other words, he is concerned that the climate will remove the two things that make him human and, more specifically, himself: his intelligence and his memories. Harry’s refusal to eat the subtly altered Martian-grown food reveals the same concern. His wife tells him that “it’s not poisoned,” but he insists, “[I]t is. Subtly, very subtly. A little bit. A very little bit. We mustn’t touch it” (636). Harry and Cora appear to have different definitions of “poison”; while she means that it will not hurt their health, Harry means that it will cause in them the small alterations that he already sees at work elsewhere. These changes to Harry are akin to poison because they will undo his identity—a kind of death. On the other hand, if Harry does not eat, he will literally die, as the references to him growing thinner and weaker underscore.

The epigenetic changes that the Earth settlers undergo over the course of the story visually evoke this question of how much change a person can undergo without ceasing to exist. The transformation’s obviousness to Harry yet imperceptibility to those undergoing it gets at the heart of this problem. When Harry asks how long Cora’s eyes have been yellow and she responds, “Always, I guess” (639), it is likely that the truth is closer to Harry’s belief that the change occurred within the last few months. However, as Cora has undergone the change, she seems unable to see it. She may also be correct, in a sense: Cora’s eyes might once have been a different color, but if she has already grown beyond that identity, perhaps the eyes of the person now speaking have “always” been yellow.

Though the story does not gloss over what is lost in this transformation, it ultimately casts it as preferable to the alternative. As Harry swims with his family, his view of change itself shifts from one emphasizing death to one emphasizing continued, if altered, life: “If I lie here long enough, he thought, the water will work and eat away my flesh […] And then the water can build on that skeleton—green things, deep water things, red things, yellow things. Change” (640). The final scene in which the Bitterings appear takes the metaphor a step further. Now fully Martian in appearance, Harry “seem[s] almost as young as their eldest son” (644), suggesting that he has not merely survived but been rejuvenated by the transformation.

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