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A Journal of the Plague Year

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Probably one of the first examples of journalistic fiction, Defoe's "A Journal of the Plague Year" is a pseudo-eyewitness account of the London plague of 1665. Writing this in 1722, Defoe casts himself into the role of his uncle whom he calls H.F. and who recounts the events in grisly detail but with magnanimous compassion. Aside from the prose, the book has a surprisingly modern edge in the way it combines facts about a sensationally dire historical event with "human interest" stories for personal appeal. It seems so factual that at times it's easy to forget that it's just a fictitious account of a real event.

The plague (H.F. writes) arrives by way of carriers from the European mainland and spreads quickly through the unsanitary, crowded city despite official preventive measures; the symptoms being black bruises, or "tokens," on the victims' bodies, resulting in fever, delirium, and usually death in a matter of days. The public effects of the plague are readily imaginable: dead-carts, mass burial pits, the stench of corpses not yet collected, enforced quarantines, efforts to escape to the countryside, paranoia and superstitions, quacks selling fake cures, etc. Through all these observations, H.F. remains a calm voice of reason in a city overtaken by panic and bedlam. By the time the plague has passed, purged partly by its own self-limiting behavior and partly by the Great Fire of the following year, the (notoriously inaccurate) Bills of Mortality indicate the total death toll to be about 68,000, but the actual number is probably more like 100,000 -- about a fifth of London's population.

Like Defoe's famous survivalist sketch "Robinson Crusoe," the book's palpable moralism is adequately camouflaged by the conviction of its narrative and the humanity of its narrator, a man who, like Crusoe, trusts God's providence to lead him through the hardships, come what may. What I like about this "Journal" is that its theme is more relevant than its narrow, dated subject matter suggests: levelheadedness in the face of catastrophe and the emergence of a stronger and wiser society.

The Penguin edition restores Defoe's original punctuation, with capitals for nouns and colons for stops, so that the writing has the vitality, weight and elasticity that Defoe meant when he wrote it.

To enjoy this book you need to read it as creative journalism rather than fiction otherwise it will seem dull, and Daniel Defoe is never dull. It can't satisfy as fiction because it isn't fiction. It doesn't have any of the benefits of fiction such as plot, author's whimsy, or character development. The Journal is based on the eyewitness experience of his uncle Henry Foe, which has been expanded by Defoe's own journalistic research after the event. He has simply taken the eyewitness experience of his uncle and created a masterpiece out of it for posterity.

This technique began with his first book, The Storm, except that in that book the eyewitness accounts - perhaps spruced up by Defoe himself - and his own work were separated. In the Journal of the Plague Year these are blended together so that his book has the vividness of the eyewitness view of the events as well as all the talent and research that history would wish of an account of these events.

By misclassifying the book as fiction (and by modernizing the punctuation) we have been degrading the book's value to history and to readers.

I wish the typeface was bigger and printed blacker and this applies to the Modern Library edition too, as does the above review.

Defoe has pulled off something brilliant here. Although he was only 5 years old in 1665 (the year of the title), in 1720 he set down a narrative full of rich details blending fact and imagination. The thoroughness of his descriptions and the constant realism come close to convincing you that these are first-hand observations: but these are *not* first hand observations; his narrator is a fiction, recalling events he saw as an adult.

The persuasiveness of Defoe's fiction comes from his specificity, and little comments suggesting the narrator has an additional life outside the Journal. He mentions not only the dead (and the increasing losses), but the quacks taking advantage of the gullible, the quarantining of infected houses, the marks on the doors, the efforts to escape from quarantined houses, the efforts of the mayor's offfice to limit the spread of infection, and the public pits where the bodies were thrown. And so on into the facets of everyday life. Through it all, his portrayal of the narrator also has a personal richness, a consistent first-person perspective; the conceit is reinforced by insertions such as "what I wrote of my private meditations I reserve for private use, and desire it may not be made public on any account whatever." The narrator is a product of Defoe's imagination, of course, and similarly, any private meditations such a narrator would have. But Defoe has cleverly made the narrator real.

Daniel Defoe put a lot of research into his 'Journal of the Plague Year,' yet it doesn't read like a history report. Rather, this is a novel so realistic you can quite literally feel what it must have been like to have lived in London at the time of the plague. The facts as he knew them, both from reading and interviews with those who lived through it, are revealed to us throughout the narrative. You get every detail of the plague, from the symptoms to the hysteria to the steps the government took to help insure the safety of the people. 'Journal of the Plague Year' is a fascinating and imminently readable book.

Daniel Defoe's A Journal of the Plague Year is an interesting volume that blends fact and fiction quite indiscriminately, as the author intended. It is easy to forget it is fiction as it reads as fact (and it seems likely there are enough actual facts strewn throughout as to enhance this perception). Defoe was less concerned about these issues concerning fiction and non-fiction than modern readers and writers and it is fascinating to see an example of the early beginnings of novel writing. The style could frustate some readers (there is virtually no attempt at characters and only small strands of a narrative per se) but the descriptions of a town in crisis were both gripping and fascinating. An unique volume.

What I like best about DeFoe is that he is very readable and can hold your attention for hours. Sure, he can contradict himself at times and he does have a flair for repetition and while he is not above pointing out the obvious, DeFoe is extremely interesting. "A Journal of the Plague Year" contains all the things DeFoe is noted for including a sharp eye for detail and sly humour. I liked this book and recommend it mainly because much of what DeFoe observed about human nature in the early 18th century is still relevant today.

This fictionalised journal (written decades after the event when Defoe was only 5 years old) argues its case better by a bald statement of facts, than by any elaborate literary devices. This reads like it is meant to be, a journal, bringing home the horrors of that awful time in a way that a second-hand description could never do.
Having said that, this account IS second-hand; it is only Defoe's journalistic expertise, boyhood memories and down-to-earth style that make it so believable.

BUT - anyone who reads this should not expect another Gulliver's Travels - it IS heavy going; it's not a book that one can curl up with & relax, you have to work for your entertainment.

The main point that comes across is the constant religious undercurrent, which was, I guess, typical of the time (if not of Defoe) and the willingness to attach blame for anything unusual to outsiders, or God's will, rather than examine their own circumstances (so what's changed in 339 years!?). As one of the few records of that terrible year, this deserves a place on any amateur historian's bookshelf.

This is one man's (fictional) account of the infamous Black Plague that came close to massacaring the entire population of London in 1665. Monthly reports were issued indicating the epidemic steadily increasing until close to 100,000 lives were eventually taken. Fear and desparation became rampant in London. Its Lord Mayor responded to the rapidly spreading infection by locking up everybody in their homes. Despite the posting of watchmen to prevent anyone from evading the strict quarantine, a number of people some how managed to escape.

A common scene in London were carts towing away the dead; bodies piled up on top of one another were then dropped into multiple make shift graves. Someone who felt well one moment would often die the next. There was no way to predict who would die next. Whole families and a servant or two would die within a short time of each other.

Commerce came virtually to a stand still as people became fearful of catching the plague from goods being sold. Eventually the horrible plague abated; people who abandoned their homes for rural areas started moving back to London. Life was getting back to normal again.

What was particularly interesting about the book was Daniel Defoe's decision not to choose characters with whom the reader could directly identify with. No one in the account had a name. Nevertheless, this did not prevent me from feeling the intense sufferings of the victims nor the intense joy of the eventual survivors.

I have long wanted to read this classic account of the Black Death in London. Couldn't believe all the typos, which a notice at the beginning attributes to OCR--the pages are scanned rather than typed. The publisher's excuse is they need to keep costs down. Like they couldn't find a graduate student in English or History who wanted to pick up a bit of money proofreading? I would rather pay more for a properly edited book.

I agree with a previous reviewer that Defoe's "Journal of the Plague Year" is a journalistic history, not fiction. He describes an event that happened when he was only, I think, an infant. He has used family and other accounts of the last great epidemic of the Black Death to strike England. It is readable and instructive.

To me, the most interesting part of the tale, is the 'knowledge' people had of this disease before knowledge of microbes and their transmission. Animals, especially dogs, cats and rats, were identified as possible transmission agents and were shot on sight. Infected people are quarantined in their homes along with their relatives. Although these homes were guarded by armed people, breakouts from quarantine were common. The disease spread and uninfected villages on the outskirts of London, themselves set out guards, preventing panicked refugees from entering and infecting their towns. An interesting tale of desperation.

Ron Braithwaite, author of novels--"Skull Rack" and "Hummingbird God"--on the Spanish Conquest of Mexico.