I am reading Children of Men by P.D. James. (By the way, reading my review will not spoil the book.)
Written in 1992, the book is set in Britain in the now-not-so-distant future in 2021. The novel begins in 1995, referred to as Year Omega, when a catastrophe befalls the entire planet—universal infertility. The last generation of people born on earth are called Omegas, and the story opens with the death of the first human being of that generation, a 25-year-old, who is killed in a bar brawl.
England is ruled by a dictator and in the years between Year Omega and 2021, the nation that could once boast that the sun never set on its empire has degenerated to “strange faiths and cruelties: prison camps, mass organized euthanasia, roving bands of thugs.” Also on the rise is superstition, belief in extraterrestrials, and “evangelists” who sell salvation to humans who know their race is dying.
The novel jumps between a personal diary maintained by the main character, an Oxford professor, and a narrative about his activities. In the diary he gives a synopsis of the crisis which the planet should have seen coming in the 1990s when the population began to decline. But no one seemed concerned; after all it seemed to herald a reversal of overpopulation. “When Omega came it came with dramatic suddenness and was received with incredulity. Overnight, it seemed, the human race had lost its power to breed.” Even stored frozen sperm had lost its potency. The Omegas were the last best hope for the planet – until testing showed they too were incapable of “breeding.”
As for “Western science [which] has been our god,” it has utterly failed to find either a cause or a cure, though some nations slog on. “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.”
In universal bereavement all painful reminders of the loss have been removed – children’s playgrounds have been dismantled, all toys have been burnt. Except for dolls – in a strange commentary on the times, beautifully decorated and skillfully manufactured dolls and all their accessories have become treasured items, mostly to middle-aged barren women, who treat the dolls as lovely, “living” children. Animals also become cherished “children.” The author describes a macabre “baptism” of twin kittens dressed in fabulously rich christening gowns.
Because the Omegas were pampered and cherished for so many years, it was too late, once they are found to be infertile, to expect any kind of discipline from them. In an understatement, the professor reflects that “a regime which combines perpetual surveillance with total indulgence is hardly conducive to healthy development.”
Now, twenty six years after Omega, the attitude of many can be summarized by the proclamation of the protagonist’s former university mentor: “On the whole, I’m glad . . . This planet is doomed anyway. Eventually the sun will explode or cool and one small insignificant particle of the universe will disappear with only a tremble. If man is doomed to perish, then universal infertility is as painless a way as any. And there are, after all, personal compensations. For the last sixty years we have sycophantically pandered to the most ignorant, the most criminal and the most selfish section of society. Now, for the rest of our lives, we’re going to be spared the intrusive barbarism of the young, their noise, their pounding, repetitive, computer-produced so-called music, their violence, their egotism disguised as idealism. My God, we might even succeed in getting rid of Christmas, that annual celebration of parental guilt and juvenile greed. I intend that my life shall be comfortable, and, when it no longer is, then I shall wash down my final pill with a bottle of claret.”
Oh, by the way, speaking of Christmas … the movie Children of Men, released in Europe in September, will debut in the States on Christmas Day. The film, directed by the Mexican filmmaker who directed one of the Harry Potter films, is in the words of one reviewer “a withering satire on neo-[conservative] politics” and not as concerned with the “demography is destiny” message that I clearly receive in reading the book. Given that the movie’s “real topic is the Iraq war,” I think I may pass on viewing it.
God bless,