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Minor spoilers...
The setting of the City of San Cristóbal
surrounded by the forest creates a divide between “civilization”
and “wilderness” or nature which plays into our experience of the
events the unnamed narrator recalls.
That this widower, civil servant, step-father remains unnamed places
them at the edge of the narrative, but as the events unfold it is
increasingly clear they are no bystander – so are they trying to
separate themselves for events that they were an active participant
in?
This slight hiding of their identity also draws us in, makes it
easier for us to read ourselves into their role, feel ourselves,
uncomfortably, part of the unfolding drama.
The angst that runs through this story feels particularly sharp with
the English translation coming in 2020 – so much unspoken fear came
with COVID.
The ways in which the rumours about the Children grow, and turn
towards panic, also shines a light on how much social media now acts
to spin events out of control, the telling and sharing of a partial
account of an event leads on and on in ways which are almost
impossible to reign back in.
Seeing the corruption of the city we might look at the Children in
contrast, a seeming innocence to them, playful even when their
actions are doing harm, maybe a temptation to make saints of them.
But it is unclear that they deserve such a status any more than they
deserved the demonisation.
And so we come to reflect on the role of social institutions and
accountability – is our narrator just a pen pushing cog in a
machine or does he have agency and therein responsibility?
The Children die as an (unintended / unforeseen) consequence of
actions of the authorities, but actions taken to protect the city,
taken without regard for the impact on the Children – how many of
the scandals we live with feel like this – Post Office,
Hillsborough, the sad list could go on and on – and it is in this
that Barba truly unsettles the reader ...
