Journal of the Plague Year by Daniel Defoe: Book review

Drink with this

Bloody Beer

Bloody Mary was the obvious choice of cocktail for a book which delights in dwelling on the screaming agonies of Londoners infected with the Black Death. Bloody Beer, a variation which substitutes vodka for light beer, is more appropriate given the gallons of ale guzzled by the denizens of London throughout their times of hardship. Bloody Beer is also commonly served with a ‘beef straw’ which sounds more like a 17th C pub nibble than a cocktail ingredient of today. The typical Bloody Beer adornment of Worcestershire sauce is satisfyingly English, while its black pepper and hot sauce are in keeping with the pungent remedies resorted to in vain attempts to stave off death.

What’s what

I discovered this book - to give it its proper name, A Journal of the Plague Year, written by a citizen who continued all the while in London - by way of an insalubrious Goodreads search for plague novels. Sometimes I feel as if The Stand has spoiled me for every other plague book out there - a sad realisation as my interest in infectious diseases has only burgeoned in the years since reading King’s masterwork.

Anyway I knew I had to have this Defoe as soon as I learned of its existence. Its not often I find a book which allows me to pretend to be intellectual whilst indulging my dirty literary cravings.

For a 17th C text this was surprisingly readable. I learned afterwards that it was an attempt by Defoe at historical fiction, and that the narrator is not actually meant to be Defoe himself but some anonymous third person. On these terms the book does not work at all. It is not a journal as we understand it today and doesn’t really have a narrative either.

“therefore I desire this account may pass with them rather for a direction to themselves to act by than a history of my actings, seeing it may not he of one farthing value to them to note what became of me.” Pg 5

However as a sort of unstructured collection of musings, speculation and facts on the infection in London in 1665 it’s worth a look. It’s written more like a report or a guide than a novel and is all the more interesting for that reason, with its dispassionate accounts of horrific scenes interspersed with comments on the official response to the disease and advice to future readers.

I did find it frustrating that we weren’t given more hands-on accounts of the fate of individuals and their families, or more details of the situation throughout the country as a whole. Some of the most interesting parts of the book were those which referred to the small everyday aspects of life in London in 1665, such as the mention of bear-baiting being banned due to the illness. Likewise it was very revealing of the prejudices and snobbery in place at the time. Defoe makes no secret of his contempt for the working classes or for women, or indeed for those who do not share his religious beliefs. It was instructional and more than a bit apposite in today’s climate to read his disapproval of the poor, including the ‘labouring poor’ who spent money ‘with abandon’. The more things change…

“But it was impossible to beat anything into the heads of the poor. They went on with the usual impetuosity of their tempers, full of outcries and lamentations when taken, but madly careless of themselves, foolhardy and obstinate, while they were well. Where they could get employment they pushed into any kind of business, the most dangerous and the most liable to infection; and if they were spoken to, their answer would be, 'I must trust to God for that; if I am taken, then I am provided for, and there is an end of me', and the like.” Pg 134

I loved the constant speculation on the causes of the plague and the efficacy of various treatments. It was remarkable and a bit spooky to read Defoe skirting around the edges of what we know now to be the facts of the Black Death.

“that many people had the plague in their very blood, and preying upon their spirits, and were in themselves but walking putrefied carcases whose breath was infectious and their sweat poison, and yet were as well to look on as other people, and even knew it not themselves; I say, they all allowed that it was really true in fact, but they knew not how to propose a discovery. My friend Dr Heath was of opinion that it might be known by the smell of their breath; but then, as he said, who durst smell to that breath for his information?” pg 130

Parts of the book are pretty gory, and these are the parts which read as a typical dystopian novel. In my opinion though the book isn’t nearly as grisly as I hoped expected, probably due to its focus on the facts and its distant and objective stance. With my historical ignorance coupled with my over-familiarity of cheap dramatic novelistic tricks, I expected the book to end with the whole of London and its plague-ridden inhabitants going up in cleansing flames as the city is consumed by the Great Fire. Spoiler: it doesn’t.

“lamentations were seen almost in every house, especially in the first part of the visitation; for towards the latter end men's hearts were hardened, and death was so always before their eyes, that they did not so much concern themselves for the loss of their friends, expecting that themselves should be summoned the next hour.” Pg 10

Verdict

Definitely worth a read if you are interested in the history of 17th century London or in disease. Otherwise you probably won’t find much to relish here.

On the big screen

Would love to see a BBC miniseries focusing on the plague in London in 1665. Ideally in the style of The Wire, illuminating the corruption and failed attempts to address the problem as much as the disease itself.

Highbrow/Lowbrow

Yes, the subject is about as grisly as it gets, but it still passes as highbrow due to its literary pedigree, its age, and its columns of statistics.

Year of the Flood by Margaret Atwood: Book Review

Drink with this: a Grasshopper.

 Sweet and frothy enough to dispel the grotesquery of Atwood’s dystopia.  The aggressive jade of the crème de menthe echoes the obsessive focus on nature recurring throughout the novel. Thick and sickly creaminess brings to mind the novel’s heavy-handed approach to allegory.  

Atwood is a writer I feel I should like more than I do. I loved The Handmaid’s Tale of course, but that’s a given really, no more profound than stating a fondness for cake, or an appreciation of bellinis. It’s easy to enjoy. Oryx and Crake I liked too: but in general Atwood’s writing strikes me as clever but lacking emotional depth. She skilfully creates vividly realised worlds, wrought by the powerful fault lines of the ideologies she explores. But her characters fail to engage the reader, and the ultimate impression is one of a writer bent on exhibiting literary techniques rather than constructing a compelling narrative.

Year of the Flood is no exception to this.  It follows two female characters, Toby and Ren, who seem to be the sole survivors of a devastating plague which has a struck an already blighted futuristic world. Sadly, Atwood doesn’t put her descriptive abilities to use actually telling us about the disaster which has hit Earth.  We don’t even get any satisfyingly gruesome passages describing the aftermath, along with all its de rigueur dystopian features. (Frenzied looting, city-wide stench from rotting corpses, realisation that the disaster has been worldwide.) The first half of the book lamentably sacrifices this kind of apocalyptic action entirely for scene setting and character development.

Despite her focus on the characters, I didn’t find either Toby or Ren particularly sympathetic. This might have been because of their involvement with the cult the book revolves around, the God’s Gardeners. Cults are bizarre and irritating, and if they have to be the subject of  books I don’t think it’s too unreasonable to expect some brainwashing and similar seedy practices from them. Atwood hints at some unscrupulous undertakings, but quickly moves on to explore in more detail their love for bees and celebration of organic vegetables. Tongue-in-cheek sermons and hymns at the start of each chapter are an attempt to inject some humour into the novel. But these passages are poised uncomfortably on the edge of satire, never quite coming close enough to compensate for the tedium of reading them.

Atwood’s treatment of environmental issues is one of the stronger aspects of the novel. She has argued that the bleak themes she develops in YOTF are all extrapolated from existing technologies and societal trends. There is definitely some basis for this in terms of her investigation into climate change and genetic engineering, and it’s great to see a mainstream novelist exploring these ideas. 

However, the world view she presents is rooted in an essentially pessimistic view of humanity. While I’m not an optimist by any stretch of the imagination, (on a good day, my attitude to life is similar to Eeyore’s) this is not the dystopian future I like to envisage. John Wyndham and Stephen King have taught me that there is one plot only appropriate to the post-apocalyptic novel. By right, it goes like this: massive disaster caused by error of a few misguided individuals; everyone dies bar a  few isolated strangers; process of rebuilding commences following struggle for survival; attempts are made to recognise and move on from mistakes of the past for the sake of future generations.

The final part of this plot structure is crucial. Atwood’s characterisation felt two-dimensional as there’s no opportunity for her characters to achieve any kind of redemption, or realisation that things must change. Even before the plague, they are annoyingly self-righteous.

As the God’s Gardeners, they stand apart from the mistakes made by humanity.  The sole real event of the book therefore changes virtually nothing – the cult continues to operate unscathed in much the same way as it did prior to the disaster.  Of course there are meant to be biblical parallels here, with only the chosen few surviving. Atwood seems to have intended the book to be a kind of fable, rather than a realistic depiction of human nature. 

Her CorpSeCorps is a corrupt organisation straight out a Bond film, or Alex Rider novel, with almost complete omnipotence and omniscience. Maybe I am a blind optimist after all, but I found the total control exerted and the lack of any kind of organised revolutionary movement a strain to credulity.  This was essentially my main objection to the novel. Being asked to swallow completely implausible plot details feels patronizing, and detracts both from my enjoyment and from the overall impact of Atwood’s message.

Verdict: Despite this overwhelmingly negative review, this book does deal with some important issues. Don’t buy, but borrow from the library, to scare yourself into taking climate change more seriously.  And feel free to skip the sermons.

On the big screen: I would however be interested in seeing a Hollywood adaptation of this. What this book needs is Spielberg to come in and force the plot into a 120 hour sentiment-fest, with all the dross cut out and the action increased. Susan Sarandon could definitely play Toby, and Jennifer Lawrence could pull off Ren. However, if we’re imagining a page to screen adaptation which is actually faithful to the spirit of the novel, then David Lynch all the way. I think he could take the more bizarre elements and make them beautiful.

Highbrow/Lowbrow: Closer to The Road than The Stand