The insecurity, uncertainty, and volatility of late boyhood—even more concentrated within the setting of an all-boys’ high school—is fertile ground for Robert Cormier’s tale of coercion, tradition, and the dangers of individualism. As the boys of Trinity haltingly and shakily approach manhood, their everyday interactions with one another become tinged with violence. Once Jerry rattles the foundations of their school, the student body’s collective desire “for [one another’s] blood” comes to a head. Cormier ultimately suggests that the environment of Trinity High, in its embrace of the negative aspects of masculinity, creates a constant struggle for power and control—between both its students and its teachers—that often leads to violence.
Throughout the novel, Cormier shows how the young male students at Trinity use violence as a means of attaining power over one another, and even over their teachers. The first pages of the book describe the violence of Jerry Renault’s first football tryout. He is so thoroughly beaten at the end that he drags himself to a bathroom stall and vomits. While physical violence is transpiring on the field, a different kind of violence is happening up in the stands as two members of the Vigils, Archie and Obie, plot what assignments they will give out in the coming weeks. Psychological violence as well as physical violence is a way of demoralizing one’s peers in the world of Trinity, and the Vigils are masters of this kind of dehumanization. The Vigils employ psychological violence against other students by forcing them to undertake “assignments” that vary in intensity from pranks and gags to serious personal risks. After The Goober is forced to carry out an assignment in which he loosens the screws on all of the furniture in Brother Eugene’s classroom, The Goober is psychologically distressed, and Brother Eugene is so shaken that he takes a leave from school. Though rumors swirl that the Brother was called away on a family emergency, the Vigils claim his departure from school as their own victory.
The Vigils resort to physical violence, too, as a means of sustaining their power. When Jerry refuses their order to accept the chocolates and participate in the schoolwide sale, the Vigils enact a campaign against him. Archie enlists a school bully, Emile Janza, to beat up Jerry in order to cow him into selling chocolates. Janza corners Jerry after football practice and taunts him for being a “fairy” and a “queer,” assaulting his masculinity and reputation. Jerry tries not to rise to Janza’s provocations, but when he calls Janza a “son of a bitch,” Janza reveals that he has brought a gang of neighborhood kids along with him to assist in the beating. As the group descends upon Jerry, he surrenders to their kicks and blows, knowing he doesn’t stand a chance against such an orchestrated attack. The novel culminates in a humiliating boxing match that greatly compromises the safety of both participants in it, Jerry and Janza. The Vigils stage the match in order to raffle off Jerry’s unsold chocolates, plus a catch prize—but really, the match signals the Vigils’ desperation to secure their stronghold over Trinity, and their desire for control over the student body; the group sees inciting Janza and Renault to violence and getting the rest of the school excited about witnessing it as the purest means of doing so.
The teachers at Trinity—all men—are referred to as Brothers. Though this title implies an equality and sense of fraternity with their students, many of the Brothers abuse their power—namely Brother Leon, who uses psychological violence (and indeed physical violence) as a means of maintaining power over his students. Brother Leon is a Trinity teacher with cruel teaching methods. Early on in the novel, Jerry is indignant and frightened when Leon singles out a student named Bailey in front of the class and accuses him of cheating. Brother Leon smacks Bailey on the cheek with his blackboard pointer and accuses him, again and again, of cheating. It is only when one boy at last speaks up to defend Bailey that Brother Leon reveals he was using Bailey to demonstrate the perils of silence and groupthink, encouraging them to stand up for one another in times of need. Though Brother Leon is attempting to impress upon his students the importance of fraternity, support, and justice, he is doing so in an inhumane manner that demonstrates violence as a way of holding a captive audience, foreshadowing the bloody, grisly end of the novel.
At the start of the chocolate sale, Brother Leon goes through the roll and asks each student if he will accept the chocolates. Jerry is the only one to say no, drawing Brother Leon’s ire. Each day, as Brother Leon calls roll and asks his students to report how many chocolates they have sold, Jerry answers only “No”—and yet Leon continues calling Jerry’s name each day. In doing so, Leon is engaging in behavior antithetical to the “lesson” he tried to teach his class through Bailey; Leon is psychologically torturing Jerry, and putting him on the spot in front of all his other classmates. In the end, during the fight between Jerry and Janza, Obie spots Leon standing on a hill above the field—Leon, Archie later reveals, wanted to watch violence done unto Jerry. Leon, a teacher tasked with securing the well-being of his students, has failed his own “lesson”—he has encouraged the psychological and physical torture of Jerry Renault, and has wielded his own power as a teacher against the boy at each and every turn.
The tight-knit, all-male environment of Trinity High is a hotbed for aggression, desire, and posturing to begin with—but the escalating cruelty that emerges throughout the pages of The Chocolate War shows how violence pervades the Trinity community, creating an atmosphere where anything is possible, even the betrayal of students at the hands of their teachers, and even the chaos, intensity, and instability of all-out war.
Masculinity, Violence, and Power ThemeTracker
Masculinity, Violence, and Power Quotes in The Chocolate War
He had beaten the black box for three years—could he do it again? Or was his luck running out? Would the law of averages catch up to him? A tremor ran along his arm as he extended his hand toward the box. He hoped no one had noticed. Reaching inside, he grabbed a marble, concealed it in the palm of his hand. He withdrew his hand, held the arm straight out, calmly now, without shiver or tremor. He opened his hand. The marble was white.
The corner of Archie's mouth twitched as the tension of his body relaxed. He had beaten them again. He had won again. I am Archie. I cannot lose.
Brother Leon regarded them pityingly, shaking his head, a sad and dismal smile on his lips. "You poor fools," he said. "You idiots. Do you know who's the best one here? The bravest of all?" He placed his hand on Bailey's shoulder. "Gregory Bailey, that's who. He denied cheating. He stood up to my accusations. He stood his ground! But you, gentlemen, you sat there and enjoyed yourselves. And those of you who didn't enjoy yourselves allowed it to happen, allowed me to proceed. You turned this classroom into Nazi Germany for a few moments. Yes, yes, someone finally protested. “Aw, let the kid alone." Mimicking the deep voice perfectly. "A feeble protest, too little and too late…”
There was scuffling in the corridors, students waiting to enter. Leon ignored the noise. He turned to Bailey, touched the top of his head with the pointer as if he were bestowing knighthood. "You did well, Bailey. I'm proud of you. You passed the biggest test of all—you were true to yourself."
“Let me get this straight, Renault,” Brother Leon said and his voice brought the room under his command again. "I called your name. Your response could have been either yes or no. Yes means that like every other student in this school you agree to sell a certain amount of chocolates, in this case fifty boxes. No—and let me point out that the sale is strictly voluntary, Trinity forces no one to participate against his wishes, this is the great glory of Trinity—no means you don't wish to sell the chocolates, that you refuse to participate. Now, what is your answer? Yes or no?"
The Goober stared at Jerry in disbelief. Was this Jerry Renault who always looked a little worried, a little unsure of himself even after completing a beautiful pass, who always seemed kind of bewildered—was this him actually defying Brother Leon? Not only Brother Leon but a Trinity tradition?
"You may pick up your chocolates in the gym, gentlemen,” Brother Leon said, his eyes bright—wet-bright. "Those of you who are true sons of Trinity, that is. I pity anyone who is not." That terrible smile remained on his face. "Class dismissed," Leon called although the bell had not sounded.
It would be so easy, really, to yell “Yes." To say, “Give me the chocolates to sell, Brother Leon." So easy to be like the others, not to have to confront those terrible eyes every morning. Brother Leon finally looked up. The tempo of the roll call had broken.
“No," Jerry said.
He was swept with sadness, a sadness deep and penetrating, leaving him desolate like someone washed up on a beach, a lone survivor in a world full of strangers.
“Renault… zero," Brother Leon said, his voice a sibilant whisper. "Can you imagine that, Cochran? A Trinity boy who has refused to sell the chocolates? Do you know what's happened, Cochran? Do you know why the sales have fallen off?"
“I don't know, Brother Leon," Brian said lamely.
“The boys have become infected, Cochran. Infected by a disease we could call apathy. A terrible disease. Difficult to cure."
What was he talking about?
“Before a cure can be found, the cause must be discovered. But in this case, Cochran, the cause is known. The carrier of the disease is known."
Brian knew what he was getting at now. Leon figured that Renault was the cause, the carrier of the disease. As if reading Brian's mind, Leon whispered “Renault . . . Renault. . ."
Like a mad scientist plotting revenge in an underground laboratory, for crying out loud.
"Look, Jerry. There's something rotten in that school. More than rotten." He groped for the word and found it but didn't want to use it. The word didn't fit the surroundings, the sun and the bright October afternoon. It was a midnight word, a howling wind word.
"The Vigils?" Jerry asked. He'd lain back on the lawn and was looking at the blue sky, the hurrying autumn clouds.
"That's part of it," The Goober said. He wished they were still running. "Evil," he said.
"What did you say?"
Crazy. Jerry would think he'd flipped. "Nothing," Goober said. “Anyway, I'm not going to play football. It's a personal thing, Jerry." He took a deep breath. "And I'm not going out for track next spring."
They sat in silence.
"What's the matter, Goob?" Jerry finally asked, voice troubled and loaded with concern.
"It's what they do to us, Jerry."
"Listen, I think Leon's in deep trouble. There's more than chocolates involved here, Archie."
Archie resented Cochran's familiarity, the use of his name. But he didn't say anything, curious about what the kid had to say.
"I overheard Leon talking with Brother Jacques. Jacques was trying to back him into a corner. He kept mentioning something about Leon abusing his power of attorney. That he’d over-extended the school’s finances. That was his exact word, ‘overextended.’ The chocolates came into it. Something about twenty thousand boxes and Leon paying cash in advance. I didn't hear all of it . . . I got out of there before they could find out I was around . . ."
“So what do you think, Cochran?" Archie asked, although he knew. Leon needed at least twenty thousand dollars to draw even with the school.
"I think Leon bought the chocolates with money that he wasn't supposed to use. Now the sale's going lousy and he's caught in the middle. And Brother Jacques smells a rat…"
Carter blew air out of his mouth in exasperation. He was losing patience with Archie's cat and mouse crap. He had sat here for two years watching Archie play his silly games with kids, having Archie act the big shot as if he ran the show. Carter carried the responsibility for the assignments on his shoulders. As president, he also had to keep the other guys in line, keep them psyched up, ready to help make Archie's assignments work. And Carter wasn't crazy about this chocolate stuff. It was something beyond the control of The Vigils. It involved Brother Leon and he didn't trust Leon as far as he could throw him. Now, he watched the kid Renault, looking as if he was ready to faint with fright, his face pale and eyes wide with dread, and Archie having fun with him. Jesus, Carter hated this psychological crap. He loved boxing where everything was visible—the jabs, the hooks, the roundhouse swings, the glove in the stomach.
The morning after that first night phone call, Jerry opened his locker and shook his head in disbelief. His poster had been smeared with ink or some kind of blue paint. The message had been virtually obliterated. Do I dare disturb the universe? was now a grotesque jumble of unconnected letters. It was such a senseless, childish act of vandalism that Jerry was more awed than angered. Who'd do such a crazy thing? Looking down, he saw that his new gym sneakers had been slashed, the canvas now limp shreds, rag-like. He'd made the mistake of leaving them here overnight.
Ruining the poster was one thing, a gross act, the work of the animal—and all schools had animals, even Trinity. But there was nothing prankish about ruining the sneakers. That was deliberate, somebody sending him a message.
The telephone calls.
That attack on the football field.
He closed the locker quickly so no one would see the damage. For some reason, he felt ashamed.
"You listen,” Janza said, cool now, knowing he had struck a vulnerable spot. “You're polluting Trinity. You won't sell the chocolates like everybody else and now we find out you're a fairy." He shook his head in mock, exaggerated admiration. "You're really something, know that? Trinity has tests and ways of weeding the homos out but you were smart enough to get by, weren't you? You must be creaming all over—wow, four hundred ripe young bodies to rub against . . ."
"I'm not a fairy," Jerry cried.
“Kiss me," Janza said, puckering his lips grotesquely.
"You son of a bitch," Jerry said.
The words hung on the air, verbal flags of battle. And Janza smiled, a radiant smile of triumph. This is what he'd wanted all along, of course. This had been the reason for the encounter, the insults.
"What did you call me?" Janza asked.
“A son of a bitch," Jerry said, measuring out the words, saying them deliberately, eager now for the fight.
"What do you say, Renault? Do you accept the rules?"
What could he say? After the phone calls and the beating. After the desecration of his locker. The silent treatment. Pushed downstairs. What they did to Goober, to Brother Eugene. What guys like Archie and Janza did to the school. What they would do to the world when they left Trinity.
Jerry tightened his body in determination. At least this was his chance to strike back, to hit out. Despite the odds Archie had set up with the raffle tickets.
“Okay," Jerry had said.
“I don't know how you do it, Archie," Carter was forced to admit.
"Simple, Carter, simple." Archie reveled in the moment, basking in Carter's admiration, Carter who had humiliated him at The Vigils meeting. Someday he'd get even with Carter but at the moment it was satisfying enough to have Carter regarding him with awe and envy. "You see, Carter, people are two things: greedy and cruel. So we have a perfect set-up here. The greed part—a kid pays a buck for a chance to win a hundred. Plus fifty boxes of chocolates. The cruel part—watching two guys hitting each other, maybe hurting each other, while they're safe in the bleachers. That's why it works, Carter, because we're all bastards.”
Carter disguised his disgust. Archie repelled him in many ways but most of all by the way he made everybody feel dirty, contaminated, polluted. As if there was no goodness at all in the world. And yet Carter had to admit that he was looking forward to the fight, that he himself had bought not one but two tickets. Did that make him like everybody else—greedy and cruel, as Archie said?
Triumphantly, he watched Janza floundering on weak, wobbly knees. Jerry turned toward the crowd, seeking—what? Applause? They were booing. Booing him. Shaking his head, trying to reassemble himself, squinting, he saw Archie in the crowd, a grinning, exultant Archie. A new sickness invaded Jerry, the sickness of knowing what he had become, another animal, another beast, another violent person in a violent world, inflicting damage, not disturbing the universe but damaging it. He had allowed Archie to do this to him.
And that crowd out there he had wanted to impress? To prove himself before? Hell, they wanted him to lose, they wanted him killed, for Christ's sake.
"It'll be all right, Jerry."
No it won't. He recognized Goober's voice and it was important to share the discovery with Goober. He had to tell Goober to play ball, to play football, to run, to make the team, to sell the chocolates, to sell whatever they wanted you to sell, to do whatever they wanted you to do. He tried to voice the words but there was something wrong with his mouth, his teeth, his face. But he went ahead anyway, telling Goober what he needed to know. They tell you to do your thing but they don't mean it. They don't want you to do your thing, not unless it happens to be their thing, too. It’s a laugh, Goober, a fake. Don't disturb the universe, Goober, no matter what the posters say.
“Maybe the black box will work the next time, Archie," Obie said. “Or maybe another kid like Renault will come along."
Archie didn't bother to answer. Wishful thinking wasn't worth answering. He sniffed the air and yawned. “Hey, Obie, what happened to the chocolates?"
"The guys raided the chocolates in the confusion. As far as the money’s concerned, Brian Cochran has it. We'll have some kind of drawing next week at assembly."
Archie barely listened. He wasn't interested. He was hungry. “You sure all the chocolates are gone, Obie?"
“I'm sure, Archie.”
"You got a Hershey or anything?"
The lights went off again. Archie and Obie sat there awhile not saying anything and then made their way out of the place in the darkness.