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The Children of Men Kindle Edition
"A book of such accelerating tension that the pages seem to turn faster as one moves along." —Chicago Tribune
Civilization itself is crumbling as suicide and despair become commonplace. Oxford historian Theodore Faron, apathetic toward a future without a future, spends most of his time reminiscing. Then he is approached by Julian, a bright, attractive woman who wants him to help get her an audience with his cousin, the powerful Warden of England. She and her band of unlikely revolutionaries may just awaken his desire to live . . . and they may also hold the key to survival for the human race.
Told with P. D. James’s trademark suspense, insightful characterization, and riveting storytelling, The Children of Men is a story of a world with no children and no future.
The inspiration for director Alfonso Cuarón's modern masterpiece of a film.
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherVintage
- Publication dateOctober 20, 2010
- File size3867 KB
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Editorial Reviews
From Publishers Weekly
Copyright 1992 Reed Business Information, Inc.
Review
"As scary and suspenseful as anything in Hitchcock." —The New Yorker
"Extraordinary.... Daring.... Frightening in its implications." —The New York Times
"Fascinating, suspenseful, and morally provocative. The characterizations are sharply etched and the narrative is compelling."—Chicago Sun-Times
“[James] writes like an angel. Every character is closely drawn. Her atmosphere is unerringly, chillingly convincing. And she manages all this without for a moment slowing down the drive and tension of an exciting mystery.” —The Times (UK)
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
OMEGA
January—March 2021
1
Friday 1 January 2021
Early this morning, 1 January 2021, three minutes after midnight, the last human being to be born on earth was killed in a pub brawl in a suburb of Buenos Aires, aged twenty-five years two months and twelve days. If the first reports are to be believed, Joseph Ricardo died as he had lived. The distinction, if one can call it that, of being the last human whose birth was officially recorded, unrelated as it was to any personal virtue or talent, had always been difficult for him to handle. And now he is dead. The news was given to us here in Britain on the nine o’clock programme of the State Radio Service and I heard it fortuitously. I had settled down to begin this diary of the last half of my life when I noticed the time and thought I might as well catch the headlines to the nine o’clock bulletin. Ricardo’s death was the last item mentioned, and then only briefly, a couple of sentences delivered without emphasis in the newscaster’s carefully non-committal voice. But it seemed to me, hearing it, that it was a small additional justification for beginning the diary today; the first day of a new year and my fiftieth birthday. As a child I had always liked that distinction, despite the inconvenience of having it follow Christmas too quickly so that one present – it never seemed notably superior to the one I would in any case have received – had to do for both celebrations.
As I begin writing, the three events, the New Year, my fiftieth birthday, Ricardo’s death, hardly justify sullying the first pages of this new loose-leaf notebook. But I shall continue, one small additional defence against personal accidie. If there is nothing to record, I shall record the nothingness and then if, and when, I reach old age – as most of us can expect to, we have become experts at prolonging life – I shall open one of my tins of hoarded matches and light my small personal bonfire of vanities. I have no intention of leaving the diary as a record of one man’s last years. Even in my most egotistical moods I am not as self-deceiving as that. What possible interest can there be in the journal of Theodore Faron, Doctor of Philosophy, Fellow of Merton College in the University of Oxford, historian of the Victorian age, divorced, childless, solitary, whose only claim to notice is that he is cousin to Xan Lyppiatt, the dictator and Warden of England. No additional personal record is, in any case, necessary. All over the world nation states are preparing to store their testimony for the posterity which we can still occasionally convince ourselves may follow us, those creatures from another planet who may land on this green wilderness and ask what kind of sentient life once inhabited it. We are storing our books and manuscripts, the great paintings, the musical scores and instruments, the artefacts. The world’s greatest libraries will in forty years’ time at most be darkened and sealed. The buildings, those that are still standing, will speak for themselves. The soft stone of Oxford is unlikely to survive more than a couple of centuries. Already the University is arguing about whether it is worth refacing the crumbling Sheldonian. But I like to think of those mythical creatures landing in St. Peter’s Square and entering the great Basilica, silent and echoing under the centuries of dust. Will they realize that this was once the greatest of man’s temples to one of his many gods? Will they be curious about his nature, this deity who was worshipped with such pomp and splendour, intrigued by the mystery of his symbol, at once so simple, the two crossed sticks, ubiquitous in nature, yet laden with gold, gloriously jewelled and adorned? Or will their values and their thought processes be so alien to ours that nothing of awe or wonder will be able to touch them? But despite the discovery – in 1997 was it? – of a planet which the astronomers told us could support life, few of us really believe that they will come. They must be there. It is surely unreasonable to credit that only one small star in the immensity of the universe is capable of developing and supporting intelligent life. But we shall not get to them and they will not come to us.
Twenty years ago, when the world was already half convinced that our species had lost for ever the power to reproduce, the search to find the last-known human birth became a universal obsession, elevated to a matter of national pride, an international contest as ultimately pointless as it was fierce and acrimonious. To qualify the birth had to be officially notified, the date and precise time recorded. This effectively excluded a high proportion of the human race where the day but not the hour was known, and it was accepted, but not emphasized, that the result could never be conclusive. Almost certainly in some remote jungle, in some primitive hut, the last human being had slipped largely unnoticed into an unregarding world. But after months of checking and re-checking, Joseph Ricardo, of mixed race, born illegitimately in a Buenos Aires hospital at two minutes past three Western time on 19 October 1995, had been officially recognized. Once the result was proclaimed, he was left to exploit his celebrity as best he could while the world, as if suddenly aware of the futility of the exercise, turned its attention elsewhere. And now he is dead and I doubt whether any country will be eager to drag the other candidates from oblivion.
We are outraged and demoralized less by the impending end of our species, less even by our inability to prevent it, than by our failure to discover the cause. Western science and Western medicine haven’t prepared us for the magnitude and humiliation of this ultimate failure. There have been many diseases which have been difficult to diagnose or cure and one which almost depopulated two continents before it spent itself. But we have always in the end been able to explain why. We have given names to the viruses and germs which, even today, take possession of us, much to our chagrin since it seems a personal affront that they should still assail us, like old enemies who keep up the skirmish and bring down the occasional victim when their victory is assured. Western science has been our god. In the variety of its power it has preserved, comforted, healed, warmed, fed and entertained us and we have felt free to criticize and occasionally reject it as men have always rejected their gods, but in the knowledge that despite our apostasy, this deity, our creature and our slave, would still provide for us; the anaesthetic for the pain, the spare heart, the new lung, the antibiotic, the moving wheels and the moving pictures. The light will always come on when we press the switch and if it doesn’t we can find out why. Science was never a subject I was at home with. I understood little of it at school and I understand little more now that I’m fifty. Yet it has been my god too, even if its achievements are incomprehensible to me, and I share the universal disillusionment of those whose god has died. I can clearly remember the confident words of one biologist spoken when it had finally become apparent that nowhere in the whole world was there a pregnant woman: “It may take us some time to discover the cause of this apparent universal infertility.” We have had twenty-five years and we no longer even expect to succeed. Like a lecherous stud suddenly stricken with impotence, we are humiliated at the very heart of our faith in ourselves. For all our knowledge, our intelligence, our power, we can no longer do what the animals do without thought. No wonder we both worship and resent them.
From the Trade Paperback edition.
Product details
- ASIN : B0046A9JEI
- Publisher : Vintage; Reissue, Reprint edition (October 20, 2010)
- Publication date : October 20, 2010
- Language : English
- File size : 3867 KB
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Sticky notes : On Kindle Scribe
- Print length : 292 pages
- Page numbers source ISBN : 0571204651
- Best Sellers Rank: #216,727 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- Customer Reviews:
About the author
P. D. James is the author of twenty previous books, most of which have been filmed and broadcast on television in the United States and other countries. She spent thirty years in various departments of the British Civil Service, including the Police and Criminal Law Departments of Great Britain's Home Office. She has served as a magistrate and as a governor of the BBC. In 2000 she celebrated her eightieth birthday and published her autobiography, Time to Be in Earnest. The recipient of many prizes and honors, she was created Baroness James of Holland Park in 1991 and was inducted into the International Crime Writing Hall of Fame in 2008. She lives in London and Oxford.
Photo credit Ulla Montan
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I chose a fascinating story by a mystery writer, P.D. James, a well-known Englishwoman. Phyllis Dorothy James was born in 1920, and died just two months ago. She became famous for her crime fiction, many featuring the suave, intelligent police officer Adam Dalgleish.
Children of Men begins in England on January 1, 2021. Dr. Theodore (Theo) Faron, an Oxford don, writes in his diary that the last human to be born on earth has been killed in a pub brawl.
In 1994, the sperm counts in human males dropped to zero all over the world. The last people to be born were the “Omega” generation, born in 1995. They are described as spoiled, over-entitled, remote and unstable. They are known to show undisguised contempt for their elders.
Since everyone knows that eventually, humans will all die off, there are discussions about what to do with our beautiful creations on earth, our universities, libraries, museums and churches.
While no more humans are being born, animals continue to be born, and it turns out that many, mostly women, have turned their attention of bringing up their animals—cats and dogs—like children, dressing them in clothes, pushing them around in prams. They hold elaborate christening ceremonies for newborn pets.
Women also dote upon dolls the same way. Many spend thousands on beautiful dolls, and likewise push them around in prams, etc.
There are no children’s playgrounds—the government demolished all of them several years ago. There are no toys, and schools have been turned into storerooms, or just abandoned. Since there are no births, the population is gradually dropping, worldwide.
England is ruled by a Warden, named Xan Lyppiatt, a sort of benign dictator. He and Theo grew up together, he from a noble family, and Theo from a less privileged part of the same family. They spent summers together in the English countryside.
Xan and his council of five are preparing the country for the eventual extinction of all citizens. They have established the Isle of Man as a prison colony, and citizens found guilty of a crime are sent there. They don’t come back, and they don’t escape. Parliament acts in an advisory capacity; judges rule in criminal cases without any jury. And of course, there is a secret police organization.
As people grow old and need more care than is available, they have the opportunity to engage in “Quietus”, wherein older people may “voluntarily” elect to go aboard a special vessel that goes out a distance from shore and sinks, with all chained to the deck. Some, it is reported, didn’t actually choose to do this.
Theo is approached by a nice young woman named Julian. It turns out she is one of a group of dissidents called The Five Fishes. They are determined to upset Xan’s tidy world, by fighting to release the prisoners on the Isle of Man, end the Quietus voyages, and return England to democracy. The other “Fishes” are Rolf, Julian’s husband, Luke, a former priest, Miriam a midwife who for 25 years has had no babies to deliver; and Gascoigne, who is quite clever with explosives.
The Fishes want Theo to approach Xan and ask for various reforms and a more democratic system. He travels to meet with Xan and his council. That meeting does not go well.
Theo goes on a long trip for several months in Europe. When he returns, Julian contacts him. Gascoigne has been arrested as he tried to blow up the landing for a Quietus ship, and the Secret Police will soon be looking for the other four Fishes.
Julian discloses that she is pregnant. In a world where no one has been pregnant for 25 years, this is a big deal. Theo joins the group, and they all take off in the car of a professor friend of Theo’s, heading for Wales, and some place where they can hole up until the baby is born.
That is the part in this tale which is full of adventure and intrigue. As they drive through the English countryside they encounter a gang of wild Omegas, all with wild face-painting, dancing around their car. They force the Fishes out, beat them, killing Luke, then burn their car.
The climax in the tale comes when the Fishes find a place to stop, just in time, because Julian is about to deliver. She delivers a fine baby boy. By this time, Julian is the last of the five Fishes—the others have been killed. Xan arrives on the scene with the secret police. Xan hates to do it, but aims and shoots at his cousin. He misses. Theo, who has been carrying a pistol with one bullet since this escape began, shoots, and kills Xan. Theo takes Xan’s huge coronation ring and puts it on his own finger, and takes over England. Just like that.
What was P.D. James trying to say in this story? Is she suggesting that modern society, in its effort to reduce “unwanted pregnancies” has over-corrected and created mass sterilization?
What about the ladies with the dogs and cats and dolls in prams?
What about the wild young Omegas?
James’ Children of Men reminds me of Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World, published 60 years earlier, in 1932. And also George Orwell’s Animal Farm (1945) and 1984 (1949).
Huxley foretold of state control of reproduction and in vitro fertilization techniques, designer babies and a marvelous plan to create a whole population of compliant, willing servants of the state.
Orwell in his two books warned us about Communism and Stalin at a time (at the end of World War II) when increasing numbers in England and America were becoming intrigued by the idea of communism. I read both books when I was a teen ager, and it helped me to look at the USSR with more critical eyes. I later got to spend two years in the USSR and confirm for myself that Orwell had it right.
These writers are trying to tell us something, and it may be worth it to pay attention.
We see the story through the perspective of the main protagonist, Theo, who is a professor. The author switches between diary entries by Theo and a third-person narrative. The flipping back and forth is a strange choice, and I'm not sure if I liked that element. The point of this was to build-up Theo's background and flesh out his relationship with the story's chief antagonist, his cousin, Xan.
Theo's whole life has been ineffectual, spending most of his childhood growing up in the shadow of Xan whom excelled at everything he set his mind too. Both Xan and Theo have sort of detached relationships with their families and people in general, however it's clear that Xan is even more detached. Xan's character seems to be ambitious merely for the challenge of it. As if Xan has sat back and observed society simply to figure out what people consider interesting and then decided that that is what he ought to do. Indeed his adept abilities propel him so far a front that he manages to get himself appointed dictator of England in this new world, taking the title "Warden".
Xan has managed to take power, but maintains some illusion of democracy by installing three goals for this government's last hurrah in the fading future: freedom from fear, freedom from want, and freedom from boredom. He caters to the base needs of man. The Isle of Man becomes a dumping ground for prisoners and dissidents and nobody even dreams of forgiveness and redemption or second chances. People are forced to learn skills that will be necessary in the future. Fertility tests are mandatory for society's best and brightest in the hope that there might still be a small chance that someone will be able to reproduce. The old are encouraged to end their lives with dignity before they become too much a of a burden on society's waning population, a phenomenon called "The Queitus." Also, the state has opened pornography centers to cure boredom.
Theo, being Xan's cousin, enjoyed an advisory role on the Warden's special council. However, when the story begins, we learn that Theo has left this position because he discovered that nobody really cared what he had to say. We get the impression that even though, he had no real "voice" in things, Xan wanted him there-perhaps as a last vestige of human connection. Both of them are detached, but they have no real family relationships other than each other. That bond can't seem to die, however seemingly unimportant the two make of it.
The character of Theo is deeply flawed and it is difficult to completely give over to him. We learn that his life is marred by a failed marriage, one that he had entered into because his chosen mate seemed to fit all the necessary requirements. He was never motivated by love. He doesn't seem to know how to love. This trait is, of course, echoed ten-fold by Xan, whose decisions are based on reason, pragmatic rationality and ambition. However, Theo's past is further scarred by the horrible death of his own child, which he has disassociated himself from.
What is really deep and profound in this story, is the love that does motivate these two apathetic characters. Theo has not ever learned what love is and perhaps Xan's detached disposition has rubbed off on him. So, when Theo leaves the Warden's council he has an opportunity for personal growth.
Xan is driven by ambition and power and though his methods are cruel, he seems to lack a sadistic mindset or will. He doesn't have these kind of feelings. Steps are taken which will bring about the logical results he wants. If certain unpleasantness must be engaged to accomplish his goals, then that is just what is necessary-he takes no particular pleasure from this. Is Xan an amoral Vulcan?
And yet, there is still a thread of desire in Xan for something more. He hangs onto Theo as if the protagonist is his last chance at being a "real" person. Theo is his sole representative of family--of brotherhood--of connection beyond simply a means to an end. He is not happy that Theo has left the council, but he will not dismiss him outright--even when he suspects Theo is plotting against him. In the inevitable show down between the two, Xan loses himself. Although it is not immediately apparent, I feel that Xan has hesitation about ending their relationship, not simply by happenstance, but because there is some tiny, fractional, minuscule, infinitesimal part that wants to feel love and a true connection or bond with another human. Perhaps Xan knows that if Theo is gone, then so is his last remaining piece of humanity? This trope of evil incarnate is not necessarily new, but it is so very believable for this character. Darth Vader had trouble killing Luke even at the behest of his boss, the Emperor.
The somber mood pervading this story, the awful lingering question of "What's the point of anything anymore?" is well developed by PD James. How quickly would society devolve into chaos and struggle to hold order when the future is taken from it? This story is a strong exploration into the meaning of life. So much of living seems to be purposed on propagation, people's ability to leave something behind of themselves to share with the world. And yet, intermixed with this is mankind's self-awareness. Beyond reproduction-what then? Perhaps that is the back on which society is born--the building block of morals and values? Of mutual respect and dignity.
Theo's redemption from abject callousness begins with the Five Fishes. This small group of miscreants has formed as a counterpoint to Xan's puppet council of advisors. The group protests the apathy in which society is fading away. The lack of dignity in it all. They seem to cry out, that there is a point to life beyond the mere continuation of the species, beyond satisfaction of man's most base animalistic needs. Being a direct relation to Xan, the group seeks Theo's intercession--a last plea for change before things need to resort to violence. Theo is still floundering in his pointless existence and not particularly motivated to help them, so they urge him to see things as they really are. Here we learn that, unsurprisingly, Xan is not really meeting all society's needs as well as he could. People are baptizing pets and treating dolls with unnatural attachment. The solution to crime, removing all troublemakers to an island to fend for themselves, may not be so straightforward a solution as it seems. And of course the Quietus, Theo is finally turned to the rebel cause, when he realizes that these dignified suicides are not so dignified or voluntary as he was led to believe when he was employed by Xan.
The second part of the book becomes a sort of "Lord of the Rings" quest, when Theo wholly throws his lot in with the Five Fishes and they must race against time to fulfill their destiny. They scramble through the wilder parts of the world and attempt to do this one thing that might change everything, if only they can be left alone long enough to let it happen. It's not so difficult to suspect what this might be, or where this story will end up. Yet, what is heartfelt is the sacrifices that the characters must make to accomplish their goal. Even more important is Theo's discovery that he can actually feel real empathy and genuine love. The protagonist's progression from his apathetic beginnings, devolution and surrender into ultimate detachment until at last he finds redemption for his soul and a purpose for all the buried pain is heartfelt. This is the real story. The imperfection of love and life and society, and how these pieces do not fit so cleanly together. In the end, Xan's more rational, more calculated and more reasonable stratagems cannot win. Theo's character is well-crafted and perhaps masterfully developed in his faults, and faltering growth.
This book is the sort of thing that moves along at a decent enough pace. I'm not familiar with PD James' other works, but I suspect this one differs from her more "thriller" type background. Initially, Theo's career as an Oxford professor and his strange relationships in this dystopian future are stuffy and not overly interesting. That said, the setting is intriguing enough to peak your interest from the outset and the story finds its legs as it progresses along. However, the deeper themes and questions and evolving relationships are such that you don't get a sense of what's happened until you've finished reading. Then you set the book down and later it hits you. Wow.
Podcast: If you enjoy my review (or this topic) this book and the movie based on it were further discussed/debated in a lively discussion on my podcast: "No Deodorant In Outer Space". The podcast is available on iTunes or our website.
Top reviews from other countries
I couldn't imagine Phyliis James, pillar of the establishment stooping to sci fi. Yet she did it very well. The book is compelling. The world building simple but credible and the characters all well drawn. As expected the air of menace is unrelenting and there are one or two striking and upsetting passages such as the mass "Quietus" of the elderly on a beach followed by a seaside landlady's refusal to see what has just happened.
Some might baulk at the ending - PD James was religious and a fan of the Cranmer prayer book, but for me it did not detract from a superb book.
Sadly PD James has passed on, because I really would have liked to know what she made of the film. It seems to me all the director wanted was the central idea, and the names Julian and Theo for characters. The rest of the book was ignored.
Strange how one idea can generate two such different piece of art.
L'espèce humaine ne parvient plus à se reproduire, l'organisation politique est basée sur un dictature.
La notion de bonheur n'existe plus.
Superbement écrit, se lit très facilement en anglais.
Lecture recommandée.