Two Novels About the Black Plague

Introductions and prefaces to old books can be frustrating. I would avoid them if I were you. They either spoil the story because the preface writer assumes you've already read the book you're about to read or by disparaging the skills of the author. If you really want to read prefaces and introductions, wait until you've finished the book before letting someone tell you what they think it means or how crappy the book you just enjoyed really was. It is a practice that puts people off, especially curious readers encountering a new book.

Don't sweat it. Rather than believe what everybody says about literature, you're better off reading books for yourself and making up your own mind. There's certainly nothing wrong with weighing opinions; literary criticism can be helpful, and the work that literary critics do has value, but to me, the be-all-and-end-all of judging a book is whether or not you liked it, rather than whether you're supposed to like it. That's what this blog is all about--I read books and tell you what I know, but after you download a book and start reading, you're on your own. And that's as it should be.

The following concerns a pair of novels about the 1665-66 plague and/or fire of London. Neither of these authors get much respect. The events depicted didn't have a lot of fans, either.

History of the Plague in London (a.k.a. Journal of the Plague Year) (1722) by Daniel Defoe

The uncredited introduction to this 1894 edition is a good example of the audience-repellent approach of souring the reader before the book is even read. In it, we learn that, despite Defoe's achievements, he was, in fact, a lousy writer and, while History of the Plague in London is one of his better works, it pretty much sucks, too.

In all fairness, Defoe can be a puzzle. He was a slippery character who wrote in favor of whatever political position personally benefited him. His pamphleteering got him into plenty of trouble and his natural instinct for the sensational casts doubts on the origins of this "history". Is it a true account actually written by his uncle Henry Foe about his experiences in 1665, or did the author just make it all up?

As the introduction points out, the phrasing of his sentences is a little weird, as is the structure of this plotless "novel". In fact, it feels like a personal journal. It is disorganized and repetitive, with dizzying, roundabout sentences. But the work does set the mood of the time and place with an eerie clarity and evokes the feeling of dread as it describes a proud city under a pestilential siege through dozens of anecdotes of human suffering and loss. One might conclude that Defoe was either a plagiarist, a third-rate writer barely in command of his craft, or a brilliant writer who was able to emulate the haphazard immediacy of a journal to convey eyewitness impressions of an overwhelming humanitarian disaster. Inspired or inept? Probably a little of both.

The narrative is told from the perspective of a merchant from the pandemic's beginnings in the spring of 1665 until the autumn of the same year. He relates very specific details about real places, tracks the plague's progress from West to East London, keeps a running body count from publicly posted bills, relates anecdotes of hardships and adventures, both from people he meets and from hearsay, describes the official government efforts to contain the disease and describes the horror and human grief and turmoil as the city quickly succumbs to the ravages of the plague. He documents government efforts to contain the disease and questions the efficacy of shutting up the homes of victims with their families which ultimately led to desperate escapes that spread the disease even further. Well-intended actions of a terrified populace made the nightmare even worse, and the specter of Divine retribution haunted the minds and hearts of Londoners as they tried to escape their fate.

Uplifting, isn't it? Sounds like lots of fun, huh? Why bother? Because his images of plague-stricken London stubbornly stick in the mind and because Defoe accurately describes the inevitable dissipation of the social fabric that occurs with widespread disaster. This is a true-to-life depiction of human beings under pressure in any age. He describes people at their best when friends, neighbors and families try to help one another, and at their absolute worst as quacks, thieves and opportunists line their pockets with the misery of others. The historical and geographical detail adds to the air of authenticity throughout, and Defoe's compassionate narrator, whether real or invented, lucid or disorganized, is the voice of the human conscience in the middle of a harrowing crisis. Despite the weirdness of its structure and questions concerning the work's origins, this is pretty stark, riveting stuff.

Download History of the Plague in London fron Project Gutenberg


Old St. Paul's (1841) by William Harrison Ainsworth

Fear of contagion looms large in our collective memory as a species. Long before we were able to understand the root causes of disease, we learned to fear its spread through close contact, and that fear has become a mechanism of survival rooted deeply in our evolutionary psychology. Ainsworth taps into that primordial terror by evoking a biblical, apocalyptic foreboding in which the many sins of London's inhabitants are juxtaposed with the disease and destruction that seals the city's fate.

Ainsworth's novel is largely a commentary on and expansion of Defoe's book. He takes the descriptions, events and overall tone of History and builds an actual story and characters around it.  Old St. Paul's works in the way nearly all of Ainsworth's historical romances work: If the plot seems a bit contrived and the characters a little predictable, the attention paid to setting and historical detail envelopes the reader in a hazy suspension of disbelief much like, as critic and author Stephen Carter points out, a big budget Hollywood disaster movie does. And like a movie, we're more apt to forgive flaws if we're being entertained. We don't necessarily expect everything to be perfect.

This is essentially the story of Leonard Holt, an assistant to a pious and hard-working green grocer, Stephen Bloundel. Holt is in love with the grocer's daughter, Amabel whose heart is set on the roguish Earl of Rochester who, despite the mounting crisis of the plague that might have otherwise distracted him, attempts to carry Amabel off numerous times against her will using a variety of rouses. Bloundel, like so many Londoners trying to protect their families from the ravages of the plague, stocks up on provisions and shuts hit house up until the pestilence passes. Other characters include Doctor Hodges, a skilled and compassionate physician, and Solomon Eagle, the doomsaying prophet who preaches repentance in the face of God's wrath and warns of the coming fire that will burn the city to the ground. Anselm Chowles, a casket maker and Mother Malmaynes, a corrupt and murderous nurse, seek to gain materially from the tumult and spend most of the novel plotting heists and hoarding their spoils. Even King Charles II, ever the skirt chaser, presides over his legendarily hedonistic court by enabling his barons in their relentless pursuits of debauchery and womanizing.

However, the main character of this story is really Old St. Paul's Cathedral itself. Outside its doors and within its walls and even deep within its cavernous vaults, plots and schemes are hatched and foiled. High atop Ludgate Hill, St. Paul's sits in silent judgement of a city besieged by disease and fire and of its people whose selfish motives and evil designs bring about their own ruin. Even the cathedral itself cannot escape complete destruction, but in the end, both the cathedral and the city are resurrected and, since this is after all a novel very much of the Victorian age, virtues are safeguarded, the sinful are punished and the good go on to live decent, fulfilling lives.

But don't let that put you off. When we watch a disaster movie, we're not so preoccupied with plot and characters as we are with effects and atmosphere, and these are delivered in spades. We're in it for the ride. Ainsworth's novels reward on a level other than plot and characterization, which in this case are easily sufficient to hold things together. His relentless research consistently imbued his work with authentic historical, geographical and architectural detail that immerse the reader in the drama of history. It's pure escapism, but very well-rendered escapism that often freely forsakes factual events for the sake of a compelling story. This is not an intellectual journey, but a visceral one intended for mainstream readers of his time. Ainsworth brings history and myth together in an inseparable whole intended to stir the emotions and spark the imagination. There's something to be said for any author who can do that successfully, and on its own terms, Old St. Paul's does so very well.

Download Old St. Paul's from Project Gutenberg

Antique Poverty: Voices of Reform 1844-1901

As children, most of us were harangued by our elders about how easy we have it compared to the drudgery they had to endure. It's a litany familiar to all generations: The snowy uphill walks to and from school; the severely rationed morsels of food they were grateful for even though they invariably only got cold liver and wood chips to eat; the threadbare, out of style hand-me-downs they wrapped their emaciated bodies in; the lack of any modern convenience whatsoever--these specters of an impoverished past have been used to taunt the young out of their smug, privileged complacency. Such efforts usually fail, as tales of real suffering tend to have a caricatured unreality in the minds of those who can scarcely imagine what real deprivation is like. Or so we're told.

My understanding of that kind of hardship is still only academic, but I have always been drawn to real life accounts of squalor and degradation, perhaps because my father was raised during the Great Depression of the 1930s and, typical of those of his generation, he revealed few details of his childhood. Growing up, I learned that those who were able to escape poverty possessed a certain inner resolve and strength of character. I also saw that not everyone was so fortunate.
 
A few writers, journalists, economists and philosophers have taken the time to document the hardships of those caught underfoot, sometimes to prove a theory, encourage or enact reform, or merely to express outrage. Here are a few non-fiction titles that critiqued and cataloged the growing humanitarian crisis that came about as the result of the Industrial Revolution in England between 1844 and 1901--roughly the span of the Victorian age. These books give us a clearer picture of real life as it was for the vast majority of people in nineteenth century Great Britain.


The Condition of the Working Class in England in 1844 (1845) by Friedrich Engels

Engels describes firsthand the piteous working and living conditions of the English working class at a time of unprecedented industrial growth in excruciating detail, backed up by cited research and very telling quotes from government reports and newspaper stories of the day.  Child labor, brutally long workdays, hazardous working conditions, grim living standards, poor public sanitation, crime and low wages were steadily on the increase in 1844 as industry rushed to meet the demands of an emerging global marketplace for goods produced in Great Britain. Most of his observations concern the city of Manchester, where--and no small irony here--he ran a textile mill owned by his family and donated most of his salary to his pal, Karl Marx to help him finish Das Kapital.

The work of Friedrich Engels and Karl Marx fell out of fashion after their names and theories became attached to oppressive twentieth century Communist regimes, but their criticisms of the emerging industrial world inspired much needed social reforms. Politics aside, Engels raises some good questions. The debate over the responsibility of private corporations for the well being of the communities in which they operate makes this work still relevant to twenty-first century readers. Not exactly an easy read, but it does put our own times into perspective. Some of the political and economic theorizing may cause your eyes to glaze over a bit, but the shocking reality he describes and his sincere concern for the state of things will bring you back to Earth.

Download The Condition of the Working Class in England in 1844 from Project Gutenberg


Reminiscences of a Workhouse Medical Officer (1889) by Joseph Rogers, M.D.

In 1834, Parliament passed the Poor Law Amendment Act which ended an over 200 year old system of of parish-based relief to England's poor. This system was replaced by the workhouse system in which the homeless, sick and infirm were warehoused in a prison-like environment designed to save money and discourage indigence. Neither of those goals was achieved. The workhouse system was badly run and the workhouses themselves became nightmarish dens of human suffering. Joseph Rogers was a London medical officer in the workhouse system who bravely sought and achieved many landmark reforms in the battle for better, more humane public health.

For thirty years, Rogers fought corruption, cronyism, graft and institutional dysfunction to strengthen cleanliness standards, establish public mortuaries, set up dispensaries, set dietary guidelines and hire qualified nurses and staff. His very public crusade for reform brought him into conflict with his superiors, but his tenacity led to the establishment of laws and standards that not only improved the condition of workhouse wards, but proved that acting humanely and compassionately towards the inmates actually saved money and improved public health for the entire population. Sixty years after his death, the workhouse system of health care for the poor would be supplanted by Britain's National Health Service.

The dry, understated prose of his memoir contains a few touching stories about the patients he served. He also describes in some detail the bureaucratic battles he fought on their behalf, often to his own professional detriment. This is a very matter-of-fact but nonetheless dramatic tale of a man steadfastly committed to the practice of medicine who spearheaded much needed reforms against incredible odds. I'm surprised no one has made a movie based on this book. It would be a real corker.

Download Reminiscences of a Workhouse Medical Officer from Archive.org
 

The People of the Abyss (1902) by Jack London

This a short but harrowing piece of investigative journalism in which American author Jack London goes undercover to better understand the hardships of the impoverished people of East London. He lived among them, slept in doss houses and charitable shelters which were more like prisons, talked with people he met and observed firsthand the often savagely indifferent  ways in which the working poor and homeless were treated in an empire at the very peak of its wealth and world influence. Informative of our age, dense with chilling realism and well written, this is perhaps Jack London's most poignant survival story.

About halfway through, the focus of the book shifts from his personal experiences to cited statistics and quotes from a series of newspaper articles that reveal glaring inequities in British law towards the poor. In 1901, the penalty for stealing even a loaf of bread was much steeper than the penalties for assault or domestic abuse, and the author indicts the British legal system for criminalizing poverty itself. His tone is grave and full of compassion and outrage, His firsthand observations create a fascinating snapshot of the end of the glory days of the British Empire by looking straight into the eyes of its most downtrodden people. Well worth a look.

Note: This book also inspired George Orwell to write Down and Out in Paris and London, an alleged "novel" that documents Orwell's real life experiences working in the kitchens of Paris and on the bum in England in the late 1920s. It's a pretty fabulous piece of writing with a large cult following. You can find it at your local library or your favorite bookseller. 

Download The People of the Abyss from Project Gutenberg
 

In a future post, I'll explore how growing public awareness of the plight of the poor surfaced in the novel in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.