There is a
“casual vacancy” in Pagford. That what they call it when a member of the Parish
Council—what in America would be termed the Town Council—dies unexpectedly so a
post is suddenly vacant. In the greater scheme of things that would not seem to
be the stuff of a novel, except for the loss and grief that has descended on
Barry Fairchild’s wife and children. But J. K. Rowling is not content to allow
us to see only the surface of life in this small and picturesque English
village, but relentlessly burrows into the substance of lives and relationships
to uncover the petty resentments, ordinary stresses, occasional illnesses, unspoken
prejudices, fractured families and shattered hopes that ferment in the
brokenness that is normally kept carefully out of sight. Rowling is not being
unkind to the Pagford’s of the world, nor has she set up a mythical town for
the setting of dark dealings and nasty secrets that could only be imagined in a
piece of fiction. If we do not recognize ourselves as Pagfordians, regardless
of where we live, we are not living in reality but in a world of our own
imagining.
The Casual Vacancy is a book that does
not lie about the human condition. Rather, it sympathetically but relentlessly
exposes it. What is extraordinary is that no one is tattled on in this
story—each individual is allowed to tell their own story, in their own words. Each
is allowed their own point of view, and each is convinced they understand their
neighbor’s point of view and what is best for the common good. These are normal
people, living ordinary lives—normal, ordinary, and broken.
The village
of Pagford lies in a valley through which a river winds. At its edge is “The
Fields,” a government sponsored housing development that is feared and disliked
because in its alleyways are addicts, dealers, unwed mothers, and too many
people without jobs. The people of Pagford work for a living, and those that run
shops and businesses tend not to hire applicants from The Fields, and if they
do it is for less than a living wage. Overlooking the town, like a silent
observer that acts as a sentinel for something that has been lost, perhaps
irretrievably, is the ruins of a great abbey.
We meet
Howard and Shirley Millison, first citizens of Pagford who lead the effort on
the Parish Council to cut funds for The Fields and close it’s free clinic/drug
treatment center. Barry Fairbrother, born and raised in The Fields, having
escaped it into middleclass existence, leads the opposition. His wife, Mary, is
proud of Barry and much in love with him and their children, but secretly
resents how much time The Fields takes him away from the family. We meet
Parminder Jawanda, the general practitioner in Pagford, whose husband Vikram is
a cardiologist. They are Sikhs, which causes them to stand out from the rest of
the population. Vikram, seldom at home, concentrates his attention and
affection on his two sons, both good students. Parminder is also on the
Council, whose support of The Fields seems to be primarily support for Barry
who has overcome such odds in his life. Parminder cannot understand why her
younger daughter Sukhvinder isn’t more like her beautiful older sister who is
not only a good student but confident and outgoing. We meet Krystal Weedon, who
lives in The Fields, the older daughter of Tessa, a heroin addict and
occasional prostitute, who struggles to care for Robbie, her 3 year old brother
and keep the family intact. There is Kay, a social worker, and Miles Mollison,
son of Howard and Shirley who becomes a candidate to replace Barry on the
Council, and Stuart “Fats” Wall, whose unkind, relentless bullying drives
Sukhvinder to the edge of despair. And there are more, characters like me, and
you, and like our neighbors, for blessing and for curse. Rowling is a good
enough writer to keep all these characters distinct as we read, and though they
are all distinct from one another, I felt each was to some extent like me, or
like someone I know.
Rowling is
careful to let each person have their say, and as the story unfolds we see
Pagford, and life, through each character’s eyes. In doing so The Casual Vacancy becomes a parable for
life in the West at the beginning of the 21st century. The challenge
of religious and cultural pluralism, the pressure of limited financial
resources, the debate over the role of government, citizens who are certain
they understand the other side but whose lifestyle insulates them from ever
having to actually talk and listen to those with whom they disagree, and the
thin layer of legality that maintains appearances while an ugly lack of
civility poisons the community—all this is the wider cultural setting for
Rowling’s novel.
The Casual Vacancy is not great literature,
but it is a very good novel and better than much of the fiction that competes
for readers in the marketplace. It tells the truth about life and reality, and
reflects, sadly and accurately the sort of pain and fragmentation that haunts
our world and lies as hidden as is possible behind the drawn shades of the
flats and houses that line the streets of the cities and towns where we live.
Rowling
does not provide an easy narrative with a hero and a villain, a simple
conflict, a satisfying resolution, and a lovely sunset on the final page. The Casual Vacancy is peopled with
ordinary folk, broken and yearning for hope in a world lying in the shadow of a
ancient, rich tradition of moral wisdom and redemptive grace that is now in
ruins, unappreciated and deemed irrelevant.
The Casual Vacancy
by J. K. Rowling (New York, NY: Little, Brown and Company; 2012) 503 pages.
Over the years I have grieved that most of the time when an “evangelical spokesperson” is quoted in the media, it is someone I do not want speaking for me. Some are famous simply for having large congregations, or for being an inspiring speaker. Some have gained attention through their popularity on religious media, addressing topics for which they have developed no true expertise over years of careful thought and disciplined service. Some are far more consistent as commentators for political ideologies like conservatism, or Christian Zionism than they are for biblical orthodoxy or a clear application of the gospel of grace to the things of life. (I appreciate the fact that some journalists understand my dilemma here; Read David Brooks' New York Times column, "Who is John Stott?" here.)
He is retired from public ministry now, after a lifetime of faithful service, but one person I have always tried to listen to with care is John Stott. His voice is marked by wisdom, shaped by the Scriptures, moderated by the long tradition of orthodox belief and practice in the church, and never in service of some political ideology. Listen to this from Rev Stott at the beginning of a new year, a new decade, and let it hone your prayers today:
Our blind spot
It is easy to criticize our Christian forebears for their blindness. It is much harder to discover our own. What will posterity see as the chief Christian blind spot of the last quarter of the twentieth century? I do not know. But I suspect it will have something to do with the economic oppression of the Third World and the readiness with which western Christians tolerate it, and even acquiesce in it. Only slowly is our Christian conscience being aroused to the gross economic inequalities between the countries of the North Atlantic and the southern world of Latin America, Africa and most parts of Asia. Total egalitarianism may not be a biblical ideal. But must we not roundly declare that luxury and extravagance are indefensible evils, while much of the world is undernourished and underprivileged? Many more Christians should gain the economic and political qualifications to join in the quest for justice in the world community. And meanwhile, the development of a less affluent lifestyle, in whatever terms we may define it, is surely an obligation that Scripture lays on us in compassionate solidarity with the poor. Of course we can resist these things and even use (misuse) the Bible to defend our resistance. The horror of the situation is that our affluent culture has drugged us; we no longer feel the pain of other people's deprivations. Yet the first step toward the recovery of our Christian integrity is to be aware that our culture blinds, deafens and dopes us. Then we shall begin to cry to God to open our eyes, unstop our ears and stab our dull consciences awake, until we see, hear and feel what through his Word he has been saying to us all the time. Then we shall take action.
[From Culture and the Bible by John Stott (Downers Grove: IVP, 1981), p. 36.]
Every morning an email, Langham Partnership Daily Thought, arrives in my inbox, a brief excerpt from the voluminous writings of John Stott. This one arrived this morning, January 6, 2010, and as usual, I was glad to read it. The emails are free, and you can subscribe here.
I recommend subscribing, but be warned: wisdom shaped by biblical orthodoxy is far more bracing than the vacuous sound bites produced by media pundits who serve one ideology or another.
“As world leaders gather in London for the Group of 20 summit meeting,” Nicholas Kristof reports, “the most wrenching statistic is this: According to World Bank estimates, the global economic crisis will cause an additional 22 children to die per hour, throughout all of 2009. And that’s the best-case scenario. The World Bank says it’s possible the toll will be twice that: an additional 400,000 child deaths, or an extra child dying every 79 seconds. ‘In London, Washington and Paris, people talk of bonuses or no bonuses,’ Robert Zoellick, the World Bank president, said this week. ‘In parts of Africa, South Asia and Latin America, the struggle is for food or no food.’”
It’s easy to lose sight of the poor. They tend to be marginalized, with no voice in the marketplace unless someone speaks for them. That was the role the 1st century church assumed.
Here is an interesting experiment: Bring up the financial crisis at the next church meeting you attend and keep track of how many people mention Wall Street, bonuses, government bailouts, and the world’s poor.
“I’m just back from Haiti and the Dominican Republic,” Kristof continues, “where I saw the impact of the crisis firsthand. In the Haitian slum of Cité Soleil, ravenous children tore at some corncobs that my guide had brought; it was their first food that day. In a slum hospital, where admissions for malnutrition have doubled since September, I met a woman who used to sell shoes on the street. Shoe sales dropped with the sagging economy, so the woman was forced to use her sales revenue to buy food for her child instead of to replace inventory. Now she has no more merchandise to sell, no food to eat and the child she cradled was half dead with starvation…
“One of the most preposterous ideas floating about is that the world’s poor feel ‘entitled’ to assistance. Entitled? Wall Street plutocrats display a sense of entitlement when they demand billions for bailouts. But whether at home or abroad, the poor typically suffer invisibly and silently. Oxfam has calculated that financial firms around the world have already received or been promised $8.4 trillion in bailouts. Just a week’s worth of interest on that sum while it’s waiting to be deployed would be enough to save most of the half-million women who die in childbirth each year in poor countries.
“The 500 richest people in the world, according to a U.N. calculation a few years ago, earned more than the 416 million poorest people. It’s worth bearing in mind that the first group bears a measure of responsibility for the global economic mess but will get by just fine, while the latter group has no responsibility and will suffer the worst consequences.”
Kristof (and others) have floated ideas of what the G20 nations can do, “with negligible sums,” as they discuss bailouts totaling trillions of dollars. If this is to be a reality, however, the world’s poorest citizens must have those who care about them give them a voice in the public square. The church needs to step up to its responsibility.
You can read Nicholas Kristof’s thoughtful piece, “At Stake are More Than Banks,” here. It appeared in the New York Times (April 1, 2009).