I started reading the book A Journal of the Plague Year by Daniel Defoe at the end of last year, after finishing In The Wake Of The Plague by Norman F. Cantor. The reason why I started reading them does not have anything to do with premonition of current unfolding events but instead simply paring down my book collection (again) by forcing myself to read, and then get rid of, books that I have had for years but not read. I was about half way through the Defoe book by the time the novel coronoviris spreading across China began to make the news. While it is titled a journal Defoe reconstructed the London plague of 1665 using books, Bills of Mortality, pamphlets, journals and other source materials. The book was published in 1722. The novel follows the progression of the plague and how the residents of the city and surrounding country respond to it. He describes how the infected were shut up in their houses, which were guarded by watchmen. Carts to collect the dead became common, which were emptied in giant pits for burial. People who had someplace to go outside of the city fled, locking up their houses behind them. Others who had nowhere to flee left the city anyhow to live in the woods. Those with boats lived on them, moored down stream from the city on the Thames. Some with the plague go mad and run through the streets, a few even trying to infect others by biting or kissing people. Business shuts down and people are out of work, relying on any food they have put up or bartering or begging for it. All in all it’s a gruesome tale, and one I might not have finished reading but for our current situation.
Off The Back Porch 