APOCALYPSE IS IN the air. Perhaps it was the eclipse in August, or the always accelerating churn of foreign and domestic scandal in the news, or the looming threat of climate change. Or perhaps people have always lived this way. But the world feels weighty and close to falling apart, and we start wondering how we would handle the aftermath.
When the English Fall, by David Williams (no relation), examines that possibility: a post-apocalyptic novel about a catastrophe that makes the low-tech, community-minded lifestyle of the Amish the only viable one. We witness the immediate aftermath of the modern life of the English (the Amish name for all non-Amish people) failing due to a solar storm; society is placed under immense stress without the ability to feed itself. In a fantastic choice, this is examined through the life of an Amish farmer named Jacob—how he adapts and the difficult decisions that he must make for his way of life to survive.
The novel is written as Jacob’s journal, which drives the style of the book in compelling ways. It enables Williams to incorporate questions of faith and values authentically and focuses the book on the story of this family rather than the broader story of society in crisis (although society’s decay is always looming even before the precipitating crisis).
When the English Fall is driven by two substantial ethical decisions: Should Jacob and his family stay on their farm? And how complicit is the family in violence if they do stay?
After the catastrophe, violence begins to grow, coming closer and closer to the family farm. The Amish families give food to the National Guard to be distributed to the English, but supplies soon run short; looters are shot a few roads away; a man next door commits suicide; thieves come to the farm itself and threaten the family. Jacob thinks of leaving as a sacrificial way of embracing martyrdom rather than remaining and allowing the violence to continue, especially violence committed by law enforcement and friends to protect his family.
I’m not sure I buy that. Wouldn’t the way of martyrdom be to embrace the struggle of living in a place and the trauma that entails?
Other questions arise: Is state violence simply necessary in our fallen world? Are even the pacifist Amish dependent on it? Does all the breakdown of society in this novel simply reveal what is always a reality?
These substantive ethical questions are one of the virtues of the novel—Williams asks real questions through Jacob’s story without allowing us the false comfort of easy answers.
Stylistically, the novel feels voyeuristic. We are reading the journal of an intensely private man and more than that, someone for whom a display of drive and autonomy is itself prideful and sinful. The fact that it is fictional doesn’t make the reading experience more comfortable.
That said, Williams does describe religious experience well and sensitively. You see Jacob struggle with his conscience and believe that any conclusion he comes to is born of deep reflection and earnest faith. Even if you come to a different understanding than he does about the core decisions of the novel, you believe his determination is hard-fought. Apocalyptic situations always generate difficult ethical decisions, and Williams deserves praise for not allowing us any easy ways around them.
Greg Williams works in digital communications at an advocacy organization in Washington, D.C. He tweets @gwilliamsster and blogs at fourthconfession.
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