I taught this a couple times (Soph Eng Lit survey), instead of Moll or Robinson (or, indeed, Pamela or pt of Tristram). Of course it's a historical reconstruction: Defoe was 5 in the Plague Year, a year before the Great Fire, and two before the Dutch sailed to Chatham, on the Bay of Thames, and captured the Royal Charles, its transom still featured in Rijksmuseum.
I think those semesters AIDS featured in news. (Also useful for teaching Freshman Oedipus R, which begins in citywide mortality--to be cured by executing the cause, a man hated by the Gods bec NOT aborted/"exposed until death"). Hmmm… Might be a good approach. ( Was Harry Whittington hated by the gods, or the drunk who shot him at cocktail hour in TX? )

It was the most Serge Gainsbourg's preferred book.
Daniel defoe is not a only-one-book man (Robinson Crusoe).
It is an aesthete book which one exchanges the name between friends.
What is extraordinary, it is the realism of story. All descriptions are extraordinary. They agree elsewhere with what was described. As of the appearance of the signs, death occurred in a few hours.
The plague is well known since the Middle Ages as an apocalyps. René Girard in "the scapegoat" says that people did not even dare to pronounce the name of it. We have forgotten that yhe last plague epidemy in occident was in France Marseilles 1925 !!!!!
What is brilliant, it is that we live the epidemy in the middle of the population.
His style is perfect, descriptions are a seizing naturalism.
A masterpiece.

Diario del año de la peste es exactamente lo que uno esperaría encontrar. Su título es tan honesto y descriptivo como cabría esperarse de un literato del siglo XVIII: Daniel Defoe nos describe cómo se desarrollo la epidemia de peste que asoló Londres entre los años 1665 y 1666. Dos años estos funestos para la historia de la City, pues al poco de retirarse la enfermedad un enorme incendio la redujo a cenizas. Pero, como he dicho antes, este libro se titula Diario del año de la peste y no Diario del año de la peste y del año del incendio, así que no esperéis un relato de este trágico suceso: aquí Defoe solo nos habla de eso, de la peste.

Muchos académicos afirman que estamos ante el primer texto periodístico de la historia, y en parte es cierto. Defoe narra y describe de manera exhaustiva hechos documentados y probados, actas de defunción en mano; no cae en la especulación, y cuando lo hace no deja de señalarlo para evitar equívocos. Sin embargo, hay una trampa en todo esto, y es que Defoe no vivió la peste. Si bien es cierto que estaba vivo en aquellos años, tenía cinco años, y dudo mucho que nada de lo que aquí se recoge provenga de sus recuerdos de infancia. Este punto es quizá el argumento que ataca más a esa naturaleza periodística que se le presupone a la obra. Defoe no narra lo que vivió, sino lo que otros vivieron, recurre a documentación administrativa y hechos probados, sí, pero también relata muchas episodios y sucesos que le ocurrió a gente, algunos anónimos otros con nombres y apellidos, que forzosamente hubo de escuchar de segunda mano de gente que sí sobrevivió a la enfermedad y lo dejo recogido por escrito o fue pasando a la siguiente generación a través de relatos familiares. Además, mucha información que recoge en el texto acerca de cómo las autoridades gestionaron la epidemia y cómo los londinenses la afrontaron. Por tanto, sí, hay un importante componente periodístico, pero no de primera mano, y también hay mucha elucubración y especulación, y quizá hasta un poco de literatura. Con todo, Defoe es un narrador tan prudente como piadoso, sobre todo esto último.

Para cuando me decidí a leer este libro había olvidado por qué lo incluí en primer lugar en mi listas de pendientes. Luego me fije en la fecha en que lo guardé y me quedó claro. Durante el confinamiento, tanto los medios como algunos sujetos en internet se lanzaron a recomendar novelas y películas que trataran la pandemia, bien fuera por entregar un medio de racionalizar algo tan alejado en el tiempo como en el espacio para el europeo promedio, bien para capitalizar la tragedia de alguna manera. Yo fui uno de tantos que busco asideros en la literatura para afrontar el desconcierto pandémico, y así fue como leí La peste de Albert Camus y comprobé lo que ya barruntaba, a saber, que da igual el evento catastrófico, la época en que ocurra o la sociedad que lo sufra, que el ser humano siempre manifestará los mismos comportamientos; o dicho de otro modo, que en parte somos más esclavos de la biología de lo que creemos, y que son tantos y variados los tipos humanos que siempre habrá alguien que actué de manera inesperada, como la excepción que confirma la regla. En ese aspecto, Diario del año de la peste ofrece el mismo consuelo y aporta el mismo conocimiento que La peste, es decir, ninguno.

Leyendo este libro hay dos cosas que llaman poderosamente la atención. La primera, que las decisiones que se tomaron en el siglo XVII fueran tan acertadas como absurdas a las de nuestros gobernantes contemporáneos. Y segundo, lo bien coordinada que estaba la administración inglesa de su tiempo para poder mantener dichas medidas y lograr frenar el avance de la enfermedad. No hay que olvidar que no fue hasta el siglo XIX que no se identificó a los microorganismos como las causas de la mayoría de las enfermedades, por lo que es muy llamativo que ciertas medidas adoptadas por los galenos de entonces fueran tan cercanas a las prescritas por un facultativo actual, medidas como apartar a los enfermos de los sanos, evitar las aglomeraciones, ventilar las estancias y quemar las ropas y objetos que hubieran estado en contacto con los enfermos, ahumar los edificios públicos, las calles y las casas con sahumerios para opacar los miasmas, ordenar cuarentenas, etc.

El valor como testimonio histórico de Diario del año de la peste es incuestionable, y está muy por encima de su valor literario, pues la crónica, además de tener una estructura bastante caótica, está redactada de forma farragosa y confusa por un narrador que va improvisando su discurso conforme lo escribe, y no le importa detenerse en mitad de una explicación o razonamiento para lanzarse a uno nuevo o retomar uno previo, muchas veces repitiendo lo dicho con casi las mismas palabras. Quien quiera acercarse a este libro tenga muy en consideración esto último que digo: es una obra muy interesante a nivel histórico, pero no es una lectura agradable ni por lo que cuenta ni por cómo lo cuenta.

Recunosc că m-a interesat Jurnalul lui Defoe în primul rînd ca să compar reacția de acum a oamenilor în fața COVID-ului cu cea din 1665, în fața ciumei, pentru a vedea dacă s-a schimbat ceva în comportamentul omenesc după patru secole. Ei bine, nici măcar n-am fost prea dezamăgită să aflu că nici pe departe: e reconfortant într-un sens lejer masochist

A tedious, highly repetitive read by any accounting, made all the worse by the often needlessly verbose 17th century writing style. The first 40% or so was suitably fascinating, even engrossing to a certain extent, but I cannot remember when I've read any book from beginning to end that I was more glad to finally see the end of.

All the frequent "bills" and various detailed accounts and lists of the victims of the plague could be omitted from the text without harming Daniel Dafoe's obsessive prose in any appreciable way, shape or form. Yet I must confess that I am myself no fan of abridged classics.

Although I'm glad I persevered in my seemingly never ending and relentless slog through 'A Journal of the Plague Year,' it is certainly not a book that I would recommend to just anyone. In fact, if reading it has taught me anything at all, it is that I should, in the future, appreciate brevity all the more when I find scholarship that makes much better use of it than this inexplicable classic.

‘It was very sad to reflect how such a person as this last mentioned above had been a walking destroyer perhaps for a week or a fortnight before that; how he had ruined those that he would have hazarded his life to save, and had been breathing death upon them, even perhaps in his tender kissing and embracings of his own children. Yet thus certainly it was, and often has been, and I could give many particular cases where it has been so. If then the blow is thus insensibly striking—if the arrow flies thus unseen, and cannot be discovered—to what purpose are all the schemes for shutting up or removing the sick people? Those schemes cannot take place but upon those that appear to be sick, or to be infected; whereas there are among them at the same time thousands of people who seem to be well, but are all that while carrying death with them into all companies which they come into.’

I’d read this book several times over the years, but now passages like this really came home. Constant uncertainty - wondering who might be infected and fearing I might unknowingly infect others, haunt us all. When an old book speaks to our precise situation, it’s a true classic.

In 1664, Borif De Pfeffel Jonffon was the Mayor of London. He was widely popular with his flowing blonde wig and extravagant ruff. Having invented the highly successful sport of peacock wiff-waff, where live cocks were thwacked across a bronze table with scimitars, then skinned and served whole to the victors, his electoral success was secured. In spite of his various mistresses, several of them chambermaids and lower-ranking countesses, his re-election the following year seemed certain. He promised the electorate new steam-powered horse and carts, a plumbing system that reduced pong by 34%, a complete ban on orange jerkins, and a promise to invent peroxide by 1669. A year later, Borif was re-elected. Everyone loved his extravagant, lying ways. He was such a character! He was such a cad, a bounder, a cuddly fluffy bugger-upper, such a British bumbler! Two weeks into his second term as Mayor, the Plague erupted across the city. Borif promised a million vaccines. He promised a hundred tubes of Savlon per household. By the end of the year, 70,000 people had perished from the plague. In 1666, Borif claimed a rousing victory at having seen off the virus single-handedly, with hardly no assistance from his recently sacked adviser Dominick Cummingf. A few weeks later the Great Fire broke out, and Borif promised 100,000 water cannons to arrive within the hour. By the end of the year, 436 acres of London was destroyed. At the next election, Boris was re-elected with a landslide, wherever there was land or people left. History teaches us nothing.

Daniel Defoe was an English writer and journalist in the early Enlightenment era. His ordinal name is most likely Daniel Foe, and he was born in London in 1660. Defoe later added the more aristocratic sounding "De" to his name, and on occasion, claimed descent from the family of De Beau Faux. In his childhood, he experienced the Great Plague of London in 1665 and the Great Fire of London in the following year. Additionally, his mother died when he was only about ten years old. Nonetheless, he is probably most known for his novels, although he has many political pamphlets and satirical poems. He is most known for his book "Robinson Crusoe".

"A Journal of the Plague Years" refers to the before-mentioned Great Plague, which killed more than 100.000 people between December 1664 and February 1666 in London. The story is fictionalised based on the events that Defoe has witnessed as a young child. The author of the journal H.F. notes that Londoners believe that the plague might return to London as newspapers report cases in nearby Holland. The first cases in London appeared in December 1664. The city experiences relatively few cases at first until May 1665. The author considers fleeing the city to live with H.F.'s elder brother in the countryside. A Bible passage convinces him to stay in London. The Deaths by July reach around 1,700 per week. H.F. notices that people's temperaments and emotions are changing rather quickly. Fewer people go out, and many starts to shutter up their homes. Londoners believe as early as autumn 1664 that a calamity is coming to an end them all. They believe this because they have seen a comet over the city. Therefore, they turn to soothsayers and fortune-tellers to find out if they will survive the plague or not. Londoners buy up dubious cures and treatments. H.F. does not believe in these superstitions since he is a devout Christianity.
The plague arrives in December 1664 sets off a great panic in the city. Many Londoners, including the English royal family, flee to the countryside to save themselves. Many doctors and nurses also run. Therefore there are fewer people to treat the sick. H.F. has massive respect for the medical professionals who remain and help those suffering from the disease. After that, the reader follows the extreme damage the plague has left and found out more about the lives of the people who have to remain and their daily life in that epidemic.

The events of this book are told by a first-person narrator who lived during the Great Plague. Sometimes the journal dresses the reader directly by using the second person. The story is written in the past tense; hence, the narrator writes many years after the events.

The Thames of this book is not surprisingly quite dark, for example, the morbid curiosity of the author throughout the whole book. H.F. mentioned are plenty of disturbing facts and occurrences. He describes the inhumane suffering of the people and the monied way they found their end. Since the author wants to be as accurate as possible, he even ventures outside to track terrifying events, such as the mass graves.

Another theme is the inhumanity of the people living through this dark age. The plague has brought put the worst in Londoners. The watchman murders if only one person has remained sick in the house they are watching. Many people even broke into homes to steal from those who were either dead or ill. As mentioned, many cannot find medical care and have to die in horrible ways, leading to the cruel practice of this time. Defoe criticise many arguments for perusing the reader that people have to deal with the plague correctly and mentioned that if people had remained calm and quarantined in houses, the disease would not have this enormous chance to wrap someone's lives out.

Although many Londoners go to fortune-tellers and try to see if they will make it out of the plague, the author remains a robust Christian belief. In his opinion, only Christians can bring salvation and his faith is not proven wrong since eventually, the plague goes away.

This book was very intriguing and quite informative to read. However, reading this in the age of COVID-19 felt a little bit strange. There were many parallels in that plague with our current pandemic, and I have to say human behaviour does not change even after almost 400 years. We may not murder each other, but we still are very short-tempered out of fear. I would not recommend this book to the vast majority. However, I do believe history nerds will find it enjoyable. For me, the description was a bit too dry and unnecessary detailed at times.

T.W.: Death, Grief, Disease, Plague

Daniel Defoe wrote this fictionalised account (by an author known only as H.F.) of the 1664 bubonic plague outbreak in London, otherwise known as the Black Death. He wrote it some 50 years after the events. Defoe was fascinated by plagues and did a huge amount of research, producing a work that was believed to be a true account for some decades after it was published. I bought it several months ago and it seemed to be timely to read it now. The parallels are chilling.

..the Face of Things, I say, was much altered; Sorrow and Sadness sat upon every face; and tho’ some Part were not yet overwhelmed, yet all looked deeply concerned; and as we saw it apparently coming on, so everyone looked on himself, and his Family, as in the utmost Danger.

...it was a most surprising thing, to see those Streets, which were so usually thronged, now grown desolate, and so few People to be seen in them, that if I had been a Stranger, and at a Loss for my Way, I might sometimes have gone the Length of a whole Street....and see no Body to direct me...

....the Power of shutting up people in their own Houses, was granted by Act of Parliament, entitled, An Act for the charitable Relief and Ordering of Persons affected with the Plague (confirmed an order of 1583 that those stricken by the plague be confined to their houses). ..to every infected House there be appointed two Watchmen, one for every Day, the other for the Night (with) a special care that no Person go in or out of such infected Houses, whereof they have the Charge, upon pain of severe punishment.

That where several Inmates are in one and the same House, and any Person in that House happens to be infected; no other Person of Family of such House shall be suffered to remove him or themselves without a Certificate from the Examiners of Health of that Parish;...

That all Plays, Bear-Baitings, Games.....or such like Causes of Assemblies of People, be utterly prohibited.....Dinners at Taverns, Alehouses, and other Places of common Entertainment be forborn...That no Vintner, Innholder, Cook, Ordinary-Keeper, Seller of Strong-Waters, Ale-House-keeper, shall henceforward, during the Infection receive or entertain any person or persons...to eat or drink in their houses or shops.

...many Families foreseeing the Approach of the Distemper, laid up Stores of Provisions, sufficient for their whole Families, and shut themselves up, and that so entirely, that they were neither seen or heard of, till the Infection was quite ceased, and then came abroad Sound and Well.....

People...have forbid their own Family to come near them, in Hopes of their being preserved; and have even died without seeing their nearest Relations, lest they should be instrumental to...infect or endanger them:..

all Trades being stopt, Employment ceased; the Labour, and by that the Bread of the Poor, were cut off; ..tho’ by the Distribution of Charity, their Misery that way was greatly abated: Many indeed fled into the Countries; ...they serv’d for no better than the Messengers of Death...carrying the Infection along with them; spreading it very unhappily into the remotest Parts of the Kingdom.

others....were silently infected....It was very sad to reflect, how such a Person...had been a walking Destroyer, perhaps for a Week or a Fortnight before that; how he had ruin’d those, that he would have hazarded his Life to save, and had been breathing Death upon them, even perhaps in his tender Kissing and Embracings of his own Children....many people..were as well to look on as other People, and even knew it not themselves.

But from the whole I found, that the Nature of this Contagion was such, that it was impossible to discover it at all, or to prevent its spreading from one to another by any human Skill.

a vast Number of People lock’d themselves up, so as not to come abroad into any Company at all, nor suffer any, that had been abroad in promiscuous Company, to come into their Houses, or near them; at least not so near them, as to be within the Reach of their Breath, or of any Smell from them.....It must be acknowledg’d, that when People began to use these Cautions, they were less exposed to Danger, and the Infection did not break into such Houses so furiously as it did into others before, and thousands of Families were preserved....by that Means.

When the numbers dying started to decrease, people stopped being so cautious and traders flocked to London from the countryside.
This imprudent rash Conduct cost a great many their Lives, who had with great Care and Caution shut themselves up, and kept retir’d as it were from all Mankind, and had by that means.....been preserv’d. The Consequence of this was, that the Bills (lists of fatalities) encreas’d again..

A dreadful Plague in London was,
In the year Sixty Five,
Which swept an Hundred Thousand Souls
Away; yet I alive!

H.F. (author)

4 stars because it became quite repetitive at times but it is a fascinating account. I skim read the last pages because of the worsening situation in our world. For now, I feel the need for pure fantasy rather than fictionalised reality.

Keep safe everyone.

That's one of Gainsbourg's favorite books—a clinical, almost naturalistic story. There is no pathos. The style is cold as death—exciting reading in these times of epidemic.

Nagyon hosszú, inkább éveknek tűnő hónapok, amíg egy járvány letarol egy közösséget, és aztán ahogy kitört, el is múlik. Napi halálozási statisztikák, megbetegedések, óvintézkedések, orvosok, kuruzslók. Elméletek a ragály terjedéséről, hatékony védőtalizmánokról, hallomásos kudarcok. Fertőzöttekel összezárt családok, kipusztult családok, vidékre szökő családok, erdőkben és csónakokon és vidéken bújkáló, fosztogató, éhező, egymást fertőző pestis-menekültek. Hatósági intézkedések, értelmetlennek bizonyuló szabályzás, kitartó rendfenntartás, a lakossági pánik fölött őrködő karhatalom és egyházak. A válság miatt elfásult, megkérgesedett, nemtörődöm, őrjöngő, egymásnak ártó, halálosan nihilista emberek; a válság miatt előlépő, végsőkig kiálló, mindent kockáztató és egymást feltétel nélkül segítő, megmentő, jóérzésű, kitartó emberek. Jól működő és a végsőkig kitartó halott-elszállítás, egyre kevesebb ceremóniával illetett tömegsírok, a válság után ismeretlen sorsú és nevű tömegek. Gazdagok, szegények, rendesek és rendetlenek, végső soron egyre megy: nagyon sokan odavesznek, és a szerencse sem válogat.
Mindez 1665-ben, Londonban történt, egy bubópestis járvány idején, ahol százezrek vesztek oda, az akkori lakosságnak borzalmasan nagy hányada. Defoe egy azóta meghalt, ám a járványt túlélő rokonának feljegyzéseit rendezte sajtó alá; és bár az utókor ennek tényszerű autenticitását joggal vitatja, de benne az emberi természetről és viselkedésről, a kultúra törékeny és viszonylagos, gyorsan hanyatló és mégis felépülő mivoltáról is sokat tájékozódhat önmagáról.
Az ember nehezen áll ellen a mai COVID-járvánnyal hozott párhuzamoknak, ám engem valamiféle babonásság ettől visszatart. Ugyanis a halálos dögvész kitörésére és csillapodására rákövetkező évben, 1666-ban jött a nagy londoni tűzvész, és lényegében mindent elpusztított.

Da igual que hayan pasado 355 años de estos sucesos tan actuales para nuestra desgracia, seguimos comportandonos de idéntica manera ante tanto horror.