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Evie, the first-person narrator of A Children’s Bible, is a bright but sardonic teenager who is bitterly disillusioned with her self-centered parents. Evie narrates the novel from some unidentified time in the future, presumably as an adult, but offers no information about her present life. Her teenage self is precocious and knowledgeable about environmental issues, particularly the atmospheric effects of global warming. She blames previous generations for their criminal indifference to environmental issues. She and her friends are embarrassed by their parents as people, especially their feckless narcissism and their dependence on drugs and alcohol. However, Evie deeply connects to her younger brother Jack, whom she cherishes for his open-heartedness, his love of nature, and his “sense of duty” (16). Her biggest worries center around Jack’s immediate welfare and his future in an uncertain world, where many of the animals he loves will face extinction. She is essentially Jack’s true “mother” and primary caretaker throughout the novel. Late in the story, after a weeks-long separation from her parents, she learns to feel more forgiving toward them and their failures, which she now sees as the result of weakness rather than malevolence. As she states, “They should always be thought of as invalids” (139). She also shows courage and resilience and has a poetic streak, as when she comforts Jack with the thought that humans’ love of the natural world will endure through their art, “the ghost in the machine” (224).
Evie’s nine-year-old brother Jack is the conscience of A Children’s Bible. His fascination with the natural world and his selfless devotion to rescuing animals serve as a stark contrast to the self-indulgence and apathy of his parents and their friends. Compassionate, brave, and curious, he finds a host of prophetic “symbols” in a book of Bible stories even though he has never been to church and has no religious context. Instead, he brings the contexts of nature and science to the book, using it as a handbook to navigate the catastrophic events of the summer, which include a violent storm, a flood, and an invasion by an armed gang of looters. During the flood, he styles himself after the biblical Noah to save imperiled animals. He also has a piercing insight into the nature of the Trinity, which he interprets as a divine validation of science as humanity’s savior. Like a biblical hero, he shows great courage in the face of adversity. Later, the forced exodus from the sheltering farm brings him close to despair, and he angrily reproaches his father for his part in climate change denial, calling him a “liar.”
Terry is a “very pretentious,” squat, bespectacled boy with an ornate vocabulary. The resident intellectual, he is designed as an homage to the cerebral Piggy from William Golding’s Lord of the Flies. Terry becomes the children’s unofficial spokesperson, whether he is dealing with parents or armed looters. His civilized diction lets him get away with condescending behavior, as when he informs the parents that their “fitness to maintain order has been undermined” (214). He also speaks for the teens when he refers to the parents as “assholes” and “morons” and offers to give the looters access to the parents’ banking information. Terry is more poised, analytical, and eloquent than any of the parents, whom he seems to regard as children worthy of punishment for their many misdeeds.
A benevolent groundskeeper whose raft was swamped by the storm and who washed up in the reeds near the great house, Burl becomes the novel’s Moses figure and guardian angel. After communing with a “burning bush” swarming with mosquitoes, he leads the children in an impromptu exodus from their parents’ waterlogged compound to a nearby farm that offers protection from flooding and disease. His common sense, altruism, and practical skills render him far more competent than the parents, and the kids give him their trust immediately. A disheveled, socially awkward, outdoors type, he is exactly the kind of unlettered rustic that their arrogant, entitled parents would snub, and this makes the kids trust him all the more. At the farm, he summons a kindred group of “trail angels,” altruistic volunteers who become the kids’ protectors and teachers. Although Burl is wiser and more resourceful than the parents, he doesn’t have all the answers and proves to be helpless against the armed looters. After the owner burns the barn and dispatches the looters, Burl and his friends are implied to leave with the owner of the farm.
The children’s parents are old college friends who have rented a large country house for a summer reunion. None of them are identified by name. Collectively, they represent a particularly negligent subset of their generation. Individual differentiation occurs in a comic and insouciant fashion as the kids single them out with mocking nicknames such as “peasant mom,” “goatee father,” or the “fat one.” Indeed, the parents are all so alike as to constitute an almost indistinguishable mass of selfishness, narcissism, and drunken obliviousness. Throughout the cascade of crises, none of them act responsibly; their customary response to crises or setbacks of any kind is to indulge in hedonistic escapism, usually with the aid of alcohol, cocaine, Ecstasy, and orgy-like sex parties. Their concern for their children is nonexistent at worst and ineffectual at best, as when they threaten to “sue” the armed thieves who are holding everyone hostage.
The parents are mostly well-heeled professionals such as artists, professors, architects, gynecologists, and film directors, and they flaunt their sophistication and worldliness with jargon. In the novel’s biblical subtext, in which Jesus symbolizes science, the parents represent Judas, since they believe in science and yet have betrayed it. By the end of the novel, when they are trapped in a walled estate by floods and societal collapse, they have not grown in understanding; they have so few inner resources that the loss of their liberties and entitled lifestyles makes them shut down entirely. In an instance of magical realism, their bodies go the way of their stunted, depleted spirits, and they mysteriously vanish overnight.
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