Requiem for a Harlequin: Two Perspectives on Time, and a Celebration of Kairos, in Three Stories by Harlan Ellison by Michael Spence
In Harlan Ellison’s long career of resisting genre labels, none of his stories has proved more label-elusive than the one most frequently reprinted, “‘Repent, Harlequin!’ Said the Ticktockman.” The story is not precisely science fiction as opposed to fantasy: the world is presumably our earth, yet the society appears archetypal as well as the only one on the planet, with no explanation why. Nor is it precisely fantasy as opposed to sf: the setting is futuristic, the lifespan-controlling power of the Master Timekeeper is described in technological terms, and one also finds familiar sf devices such as slidewalks).
Perhaps the story is better categorized by dramatic form, in line with Ellison’s experience as a dramatist in television and film. As his “Adrift Just Off the Islets of Langerhans: Latitude 38° 54′ N, Longitude 77° 00′ 13″ W” (which similarly partakes of both quasi-realistic sf and outré fantasy) takes the form of a “sci-fi” monster-movie epic, so “‘Repent, Harlequin!’” is an amalgam of medieval morality play and slapstick comedy. The players wear representational costumes (the Ticktockman’s mask, the Harlequin’s motley) and, when active in the story, are identified by representational names (even Pretty Alice, whose name suggests that she is as much a token as a person).1 We are not intended to take its point in historical terms (as opposed to hard-science fiction) but mythic, not as Historie but Geschichte. There is indeed a point to this morality play, stated loudly and clearly.
The purpose of this article is to bring out in the story a nuance that is not always easy to see. For unless a combatant is a mere anarchist, he or she fights not only against something but also for something else. By invoking Thoreau’s Civil Disobedience at the beginning of the story, the author announces that the Harlequin is no simple anarchist, but is there to serve the state. Ellison belongs to the “if it ain’t broke, break it” school of business management: when he announces that he is “foursquare for chaos” (Ellison, Letter) he is not favoring chaos for its own sake but as a means of clearing the way for a new, better order. The Harlequin, then, is not merely destroying, but replacing; in the exuberance of his campaign against the Ticktockman, we should not miss what it is he is campaigning for.
As with most if not all political disputes, the issue is perspective: in this case one’s perspective on time. The two sides can be expressed in two words found in both classical Greek and New Testament koinē: chronos and kairos. Through the rise and fall of the Harlequin, Ellison demonstrates that a healthy appreciation of kairos is the solution to the tyranny of the clock.
1Oddly enough, in this light the Ticktockman’s initial demand to know who the Harlequin is rather than what he is seems especially significant to us. We don’t need to know who the Harlequin is, but what he is is all-important. By reducing the Harlequin from archetype to identifiable human being, the Ticktockman would break the morality-play form.
