Living conditions change, but human nature remains the same.

Defoe, Londra’da 1665 yılında gerçekleşen son büyük veba salgını sırasında yaşananların soğukkanlı (yaklaşık 60 yıl sonra) bir muhasebesini tutuyor. Bir yandan hastalığın duyulması, görülmesi, öldürmesi ve yayılması süreçlerini sokak sokak, hane hane aktarırken diğer yandan oluşan panik havasını, varsıl kesimin kaçışını yoksulların gidenlerin arkalarından bakışını, bürokrasinin ağır kalışını dejavu hissi yaratan bir sadelikle anlatıyor.

Duyumların, kaygıya ve hızla korkuya dönüştüğü, kulaktan kulağa yayılan yalan yanlış büyü ve hurafelerden medet umulduğu, kaosun hüküm sürdüğü döneme çok çabuk giriliyor. Alternatif korunma ve tedavi yöntemleri, içeriği bilinmeyen garip karışım ve şuruplar karaborsaya düşüyor. Devletin ve dini kuruluşların ilk başta salgına hazırlıksız yakalandığı ticaretin durmasından, insanların aç ve işsiz kalmasından, yardımların organize edilememesinden, kiliselerin bulaş merkezlerine dönüşmesinden kolaylıkla anlaşılıyor. Hakikat ve rivayetlerin birbirine karıştığı, herkesin birbirinden kaçıştığı, ölenlerin mezarsız kaldığı bir karmaşa yaşanıyor.

Bir taraftan kentten kıra göçün yoğunlaşmasını, zamanında şehirden ayrılamayanların sonradan gelen beyhude çabalarını, taşra sakinlerinin katı ve korumacı tutumlarını, yaşanan sefaletin acı sonuçlarını küçük kıssalar üzerinden anlatırken diğer taraftan idari kayıtlar ve istatistikler üzerinden felaketin ulaştığı boyutları nesnel bir biçimde ortaya koyuyor. Tabi bunları aktarırken insanların canlarını kurtarma telaşı içerisinde başkalarının en temel hak ve hürriyetlerini hiçe sayan bencil doğalarına da sert eleştiriler getiriyor. Azınlıkta da olsa kendi canını hiçe sayarak görevini yapmaya çalışan ve yardım gönüllüsü olan iyi kalpli olanlara da haklarını teslim ediyor.

Kitap, her ne kadar bir günlük olarak adlandırılmış olsa da salgının genel seyrini ve özellikle Londra’ya etkilerini anlatan bilimsel bir araştırma titizliğindeki bölümlere yer vermekle yetinmiyor; aynı zamanda kimi sıradan kimi sıra dışı insanların acı tatlı anılarıyla, okurlarını heyecan verici edebi satırlarla buluşturmayı da başarıyor.

1665 yılında Londra’da yaşanmış olan veba salgınını tüm gerçekçiliğiyle okuyucuya sunan "Veba Yılı Günlüğü / A Journal of the Plague Year", Daniel Defoe’nun bulduğu günlükleri bir araya getirerek ortaya çıkardığı edebi açıdan olabildiğince akıcı ve etkileyici bir eser. Hastalığı kapan insanların acıdan Thames nehrine atlamasına kadar yaşadığı tüm korkunç olayları okuma şansı bulduğumuz kitapta binlerce kişinin öldüğü veba salgınlarının insanların üzerindeki etkisine bir kere daha tanıklık ediyorsunuz. Felaketin toplumlar üzerindeki etkisine kapsamlı bir şekilde değinmesine rağmen içeriği konusunda ise aynı şeyi söylemek mümkün değil. Yaşananları daha yakından incelemek adına önemli bir eser olan "Veba Yılı Günlüğü"ne bu açıdan göz atılmasında fayda var. Tam notum: 3,5/5.

25.03.2019
İstanbul, Türkiye

Alp Turgut

http://www.filmdoktoru.com/kitap-labo...

Unglaublich, dass dieses Buch 300 Jahre auf dem Buckel hat!!! - Defoe versetzt uns in das London der Jahre 1655/56 zurück, wo die Pest durch die Straßen wütet und ein Haus nachdem anderen mit seinen Bewohnern verschlungen wird. Er schildert den täglichen Überlebenskampf und wie die offiziellen Ämter versuchen Herr über die Lage zu werden. Der Ich-Erzähler folgt nicht dem Beispiel Tausender, die auf's Land und in andere Regionen flüchten, sondern entscheidet sich für's Bleiben. Er teilt mit uns diverse Verordnungen, die mancherorts den Corona-Regeln unserer Zeit erschreckend ähneln, und schildert Begegnungen mit Kranken und dem Tod Geweihten. - Was er nach meinem Empfinden zu oberflächlich darstellt, ist wie er selbst die vielen Monate den ganzen Tag in der Isolation seines Hauses verbringt. Regelmäßig verlässt er zwar das Haus, um Besorgungen zu machen oder nach dem Haus seines Bruders zu sehen. Doch wie vertreibt er sich die restliche Zeit ohne nennenswerte soziale Kontakte. Wie ergeht es ihm dabei? Leider spart er diese Erfahrungen aus. - Trotzdem handelt es sich um ein faszinierendes Zeitzeugnis, obgleich Defoe selbst ein kleines Kind während dieser Epidemie gewesen war und seine Schilderungen eher aus zweiter Hand stammen.

I first read Journal of the Plague Year (1722) in grad school, back in the 1990s, when I was studying the long 18th century. I saw it in terms of AIDS then. I connected it to all kinds of things I was exploring: contemporary medicine, the rise of the realistic novel, post-Cromwell British government...

And now I reread it during a new pandemic.

On its face it's a straightforward book. The narrator recalls his experience of the 1665 plague in London, starting with its first events and proceeding to its end, stopping to share stories about different events and aspects of the story: burials, religious reactions, the practice of confining infected families in homes, how London was overcrowded at the start, etc.

Yet the genre is a bit diffuse. For years people thought of it as autobiography, but the author was only a child at the same and also ends the book with someone else's initials (HF, probably Daniel's uncle Henry Foe). So... literary nonfiction, family history? It's also a London text, persistently concerned with that city's geography and spaces. Or it's a novel. As a novel it's a bit like Defoe's others in its naturalistic depiction of the world, but goes into documentary terrain by including government documents and data tables.

The overall effect is compelling. Story after micro story range from documentary to sentiment and horror:

In these walks I had many dismal scenes before my eyes, as particularly of persons falling dead in the streets, terrible shrieks and screechings of women, who, in their agonies, would throw open their chamber windows and cry out in a dismal, surprising manner. It is impossible to describe the variety of postures in which the passions of the poor people would express themselves.

Passing through Tokenhouse Yard, in Lothbury, of a sudden a casement violently opened just over my head, and a woman gave three frightful screeches, and then cried, 'Oh! death, death, death!' in a most inimitable tone, and which struck me with horror and a chillness in my very blood. There was nobody to be seen in the whole street, neither did any other window open, for people had no curiosity now in any case, nor could anybody help one another, so I went on to pass into Bell Alley.

Just in Bell Alley, on the right hand of the passage, there was a more terrible cry than that, though it was not so directed out at the window; but the whole family was in a terrible fright, and I could hear women and children run screaming about the rooms like distracted, when a garret-window opened and somebody from a window on the other side the alley called and asked, 'What is the matter?' upon which, from the first window, it was answered, 'Oh Lord, my old master has hanged himself!' The other asked again, 'Is he quite dead?' and the first answered, 'Ay, ay, quite dead; quite dead and cold!' This person was a merchant and a deputy alderman, and very rich. I care not to mention the name, though I knew his name too, but that would be an hardship to the family, which is now flourishing again.

Defoe's narrator is clear eyed yet emotionally engaged throughout. He tells us what he sees and reacts, like a bad journalist of today. He is not sentimental about the experience, not dystopian; instead he presents heroism and cowardice, brutality and kindness alike.

Reading it in 2020 as COVID-190 has killed 30,000 and infected more than 600,000... one cannot avoid looking for parallels. Reading of people immured together does issue a distant chord to those of us in lockdown ("As for my little family, having thus, as I have said, laid in a store of bread, butter, cheese, and beer, I took my friend and physician's advice, and locked myself up, and my family, and resolved to suffer the hardship of living a few months without flesh-meat, rather than to purchase it at the hazard of our lives"), as does the shutting down of public life:

All the plays and interludes which, after the manner of the French Court, had been set up, and began to increase among us, were forbid to act; the gaming-tables, public dancing-rooms, and music-houses, which multiplied and began to debauch the manners of the people, were shut up and suppressed; and the jack-puddings, merry-andrews, puppet-shows, rope-dancers, and such-like doings, which had bewitched the poor common people, shut up their shops, finding indeed no trade; for the minds of the people were agitated with other things, and a kind of sadness and horror at these things sat upon the countenances even of the common people. Death was before their eyes, and everybody began to think of their graves, not of mirth and diversions.

The craze for supernatural explanations in 1665 points a mocking finger at our own superstitions and industries. The meticulously detailed urban policies echo our own governments' frantic drives to contain and quash this coronavirus. A scene showing a group of men enjoying themselves by mocking the dead, their mourners, and the generally terrified already brings to mind some people in 2020.

There are pointers ahead, if seen through history's distorting mirror, to what we might experience. "HF" describes how people gradually become inured to death. That medical staff and quacks alike perished in their trades. How the number of the dead mounted so high that burial pits overflowed.

The differences are plenty, of course. The most obvious is the relative medical cluelessness of the 17th century, whereas now we have a pretty good idea of what COVID-19 is and how it functions. Our narrator's passionate religious faith is absent from many of today's accounts (although we should look for some).

It might be too much to read for some of us. Or it's exactly the right thing.

One of the problems with reviewing the earliest authors of fiction is that they were writing at a time before the rules had been properly worked out. Novels took on the form we know and love because of these writer’s successes and because of their failures. It was up to them to forge the templates, and if a certain template didn’t work then they could try a new one with the next book.

‘A Journal of the Plague year’ is a case in point. Although Defoe was alive at the time of plague, this is actually a fictional account written sixty years later – but one which relies heavily on anecdotal reportage. Defoe gives us a narrator to guide us through, but this man is just a cipher, a pair of eyes and ears to relate what he sees and hears. We know where he lives, what he does, how many servants he has and that he has a brother, but not much else about him. He is there to tell the tales Defoe heard, to describe scenes that Defoe saw (or at least had described to him by others). But the fact he has little definable character means there’s an odd vacuum at the centre, a distance that stops the reader fully empathising. It’s a decision few authors of a later vintage would have taken, if only because they’d learnt from this book’s mistake. In addition, as perhaps befits the first person account of a tradesman, the tale is not separated into chapters and rambles constantly down odd little cul-de-sacs. With the result that it can often be an irritating read.

That’s not to say that there aren’t good things in this book: the descriptions of the mass graves and a populous so caught in madness they will proclaim their own sins in the middle of the road will certainly stay with me. But this is not the most accessible of fictional histories and is a book that really makes you work hard for the treasures it has.

اگر ریویوهای این کتاب رو نخونده بودم، متوجه نمی‌شدم روایت اول شخص دنیل دفو که ادعا می‌کنه بر اساس مشاهدات شخصی خودشه، در واقع از یادداشت‌های هنری فو، عموی دنیل دفو برگرفته شده. چون دفو در زمان طاعون ۱۶۶۵ لندن، فقط پنج سال سن داشته و ۵۷ سال بعد از طاعون بزرگ و سه سال بعد از خلق رابینسون کروزوئه این کتاب رو نوشته. مترجم هم هیچ توضیحی در این‌باره نداده. اطلاعات و جزئیاتی که دفو ارائه کرده موشکافانه و دردناک بود. البته بعضی جزئیات مثل آمار هفتگی مرگ‌و‌میر خسته‌کننده بود و ازشون عبور می‌کردم. ناکارآمدی دستگاه بهداشتی بعد از شوک اولیه‌ی همه‌گیری، ایجاد وحشت، رواج خرافات و جادو و کلاه‌برداری موضوعاتی بودند که بین شیوع طاعون در اون قرن و شیوع کووید۱۹ مشترک بودند. اما جالب اینکه مدتی بعد از ورود طاعون به لندن، دستور‌العمل‌هایی مترقی توسط شهردار لندن وضع و افرادی در قالب معاینه‌گر، نگهبان، جستجوگر، جراح، پرستار و مهروموم‌گر انتخاب شده و شرح وظایف هر کدام به تفصیل مشخص میشه. حتی دستورالعمل‌هایی در خصوص ضدعفونی کردن معابر به اجرا درمیاد. دفو به عنوان یک مسیحی خوب، در نهایت همه چیز رو به حکمت پروردگار ارتباط میده. مدتی بعد از خاموش شدن طاعون، آتش‌سوزی بزرگی توی لندن رخ میده و تقریبا کل شهر نابود میشه. گفته شده همین آتش‌سوزی بقایای طاعون رو از بین میبره

A 9 hour and 15 minute unabridged audiobook.

Just a intriguing listen that I found myself thinking about the book at times I wasn't listening to it.

This book has been labeled as a work of fiction by some, but it comes across as a firsthand account and is very well put together (in that old timey writing style sense).

As an aside, back then when someone in a household became sick they would quarantine the house, including healthy members that were not allowed to leave. The narrator didn't like that. Hundreds of years later and a pandemic with much less mortality and we have large parts of Australia where everyone, even households where no one is sick, are essentially under house arrest.

I really enjoyed this book.

Defoes' reconstruction, an early piece of investigative journalism in many ways, makes for sober reading. At the current time, it is deeply disturbing. There are moments where 1665 parallels 2020. One thread that runs through Defoe's account is how the poor are suddenly noticed and given attention. The Plague made people see the horrors of social deprivation. The Plague doesn't just kill: it shows the circumstances that caused the deaths; much as the vulnerability of our aged citizens is connected to a Government that has ignored social care and has been content to push responsibility onto other shoulders; in the same way that the fear of food shortages and starvation links to a Government that has used austerity to push families towards food banks. At the centre of Defoe's account is the lack of medicine and nursing. That the NHS struggles to provide the level of care is not surprising, bearing in mind that the NHS has been reduced by cuts and challenged by private medicine. Defoe portrays with terrible pathos a downwardly mobile country. No doubt, he would be identified by Trump as "Peter, the bad journalist" spreading "fake news". A fitting read ...

Se pare că Jurnalul lui Defoe, sau mai bine zis al lui H. F., a fost cumva redescoperit începând cu 2020, din motive evidente. Eu însă am ales să-l citesc pentru că în nota pentru Starea de asediu, Camus menționează că Jurnalul din anul ciumei ar fi trebuit să fie sursă de inspirație atunci când lui Jean-Louis Barrault i-a venit ideea unei piese de teatru despre mitul ciumei. În final, Camus nu s-a mai folosit de romanul (nu știu exact cum să-l clasific și se pare că nu sunt singurul) lui Defoe și nici de romanul propriu, ci a inventat ceva nou.

Pe scurt: epidemie, boală, moarte, panică, predicatori ai apocalipsei, optimiști, nepăsători, negaționiști, inconștienți, experți autoproclamați, pseudo-medici, leacuri minune, vrăjitorii, distanțare socială, frică, neîncredere, suspiciune, reguli, carantină, autoizolare, baricadare, lucrători esențiali, buletine săptămânale, străzi goale, oameni care nu pot sta în casă, exod din orașe, stoparea activității economice, șomaj, izolare internațională, oprirea comerțului, donații, empatie, crimă. Acestea și încă multe altele fac evidentă paralela cu pandemia.

Jurnalul este un text lung, cumva cronologic, cu multe digresiuni, despre ciuma londoneză din 1665 (cu un an înainte de marele incendiu din Londra... o serie de tragedii teribile), când a murit aproape un sfert din populația orașului. A fost publicat în 1722, când se auzea despre o altă ciumă în Europa. Comportamentul oamenilor nu s-a schimbat mult între timp.

Textul are valoare documentară, dar nu și literară. Merită citit totuși.

Top reporting - creative non-fiction and reportage at its best and still so readable.
The funny thing is that if I'd read it any time before this year, I'd have thought it was an interesting read and been grateful for how far we have come since. But this year, I was struck by just how topical it is, how similar nearly every single action, event, reaction, personal and social psychology are to the present day.

Contada en forma de novela, de crónica y de reflexión religiosa. Este relato ficticio nos narra los años de la peste que acontecieron a finales del S.XVII en Londres. Contada a través de diferentes fuentes por el autor (el cual no vivió la dicha peste). A pesar de que tiene cierto valor para entender la perspectiva de la época, he tenido la sensación de que contada desde su perspectiva no deja de sonar altanera, carente de sentido crítico y centrándose casi de manera exclusiva en su visión de la religión. Mientras tilda a algunos ciudadanos de ignorantes y matasanos, él mismo decide quedarse en la ciudad por su fe religiosa, una fe que incluso para la época suena de lo más absurdo. Curioso como un hombre ilustrado, como se supone que era Defoe, cae en tópicos de lo más simplistas, sin profundizar siquiera en lo que podría llamarse en inicio de la ilustración, bueno, en Robinson Crusoe ya se le notan los tintes de señorito de teta, no obstante, la narrativa es buena, aun así, cayendo una y otra vez en la faceta religiosa, llegando a ser una crónica carente de sentido alguno, repito, incluso para la época en la que se estaba tratando el tema. Un autor al que sé desde hace tiempo que fue un error volver.