But Daniel Defoe's book is not a real account. It is a sort of meta-fiction, based no doubt on experiences that Defore had related to him, and, at times it references real people and places. But it is fictional. While the numbers quoted might be real, the reader is forced at times to question what might be real and what might be imaginery. Again, the lack of clarity, might be something familiar to those who survived Covid-19.
That said scholars do tend to think there is a lot of reality present. The account is signed HF. Defoe had an uncle with those initials, and in a slightly incongrous moment in the text, there is a reference to a cemetary, where the author is buried. The tempation to read the book as fiction, or as non-fiction remains everywhere. Nonetheless Defoe captures the experience in ways that are tempting to link to our own times.
Defoe, or his narrator, care little for the experiences of the rich and powerful. There are few references to the Court, the Royal Family, or famous figures other than those who play some role in relieving or helping the population such as the Lord Mayor. Instead Defoe demonstrates a concern for the ordinary person, reflecting the worry and uncertainty of a city whose population is leaving in droves. Take the servants that Defoe describes as worrying about their future if their masters leave:
Their Question generally was, after the first demand of, Will there be a Plague? I say, the next Question was, Oh Sir! For the Lord's sake, what will become of me? Will my Mistress keep me, or will she turn me off? Will she stay here, or will she go into the Country? And if she goes into the Country, will she take me with her, or leave me here to be starv'd and undone.
These questions Defoe says were addressed chiefly by maidservants to the various quacks and astrologers who plyed their trade in the early days. Not a few workers asked similar things of their bosses, trade unions and colleagues in the days of lockdown.
Defoe bemoans who the poor, tricked into buying useless potions were "carried away in the Dead-Carts" and "thrown into the common Graves" of every Parish. He describes these tragedies. The sudden deaths and the occasional miraculous escape. Above all he is obssessed with the empty homes and shops. More often he is also fascinated by the experiences of those found with the plague - locked into their family homes to survive as they could - and guarded by watchment. Defoe's narrator takes a salacious delight in telling the stories of those that escaped, the occasional bribery of officials or the sneaking out of back windows.
But these examples aside the book actually chronicles a time of solidarity and support. Kindness and compassion. There are many people who stay at their posts. Or try to help. From physicians to politicians, but most often church figures - Defoe impresses on the reader that while there is crime amidst the horror, what characterises things are those who try to help. In particular I was struck by his descriptions of priests. Their numbers denuded by death and escape, dissenters who previously would have been shunned are drawn in to play the role offering prayers and salvation. And home important this was to the 17th century population:
As it brought the People into publick Company, so it was surprizing how it brought them to crowd into the Churches, they inquir'd no more into who they sat near to, or far from, what offensive Smells they met with, or what condition the People seemed to be in, but looking upon themselves all as so many dead Corpses, they came to the Churches with the least Caution, and crowded together, as if their Lives were of no Consequence, compar'd to the Work which they came about there.
Readers might also notice then that the disease democratised the religious space.
Interestingly Defoe is also impressed by the official response. He lists the rules and regulations (that modern science knows made little difference) but he also talks of the relief efforts. Those who remained in London and were well did not starve. Though Defoe does acknowledge that there would have been rebellion had such aid not been forthcoming.
While it's not a historical account, Defoe's book feels real. It is, perhaps, an early example of historical fiction. It is also a meandering book in two ways. The first is that Defoe's narrator meanders in his account. This is not a account that follows a time line of events. Rather its like a slightly drunk storyteller who goes back and forth, returning to themes and anecdotes. Secondly, and most of interest to the modern reader, is that this is a book that meanders through space. Defoe takes us down the streets and alleyways of London, making sure we know exactly where things are and who lived where. This is not the London of the Tower, or famous bridges. It's the London of backstreets and cheap housing. His readers would have recognised every nook and crany, for much of it was rebuilt on the same plan after the fire of 1666.
A Journal of the Plague Year is a remarkable book. An insight into a previous disaster, one whose shadow long hung over the city. A tragic and shocking year that must have felt even more frightening for the lack of any real explanation. Supernatural mixes with the latest science in Defoe's telling. Don't wait till the next pandemic before you read it.
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