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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 ...
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