A Declaration to change our mortal existence. Is it possible that a science-fiction novel can alter people’s perception of, perhaps, the greatest ingrained fear known to mankind? Jessica Beasley explores…

The journey begins
Last winter I found myself enclosed, amidst a throng of feverish, book-buying customers, in a rowdy corner of one of Britain’s most beloved bookshops. Scanning the many shelves, hoping something would catch my eye, I found them resting on a pink, suede-like cover, displaying images of black butterflies, mid-flight. This was what initially attracted me to purchase Gemma Malley’s intriguingly titled début - The Declaration. Although expecting an archetypical young-adult novel, on delving inside the butterfly flights of fancy, I found so much more than the frilly, intricate design had promised. The Declaration fascinated me on so many levels. It was plot-driven and had characters that I learnt to adore. And it was written with such simplicity that the words seemed to roll off the cream pages effortlessly.

In the months preceding my purchase, something had been ignited. I was experiencing fears so treacherous they consumed me entirely, swallowing me up in bleakness, darker than the swirling fog of dawn. Little did I know, in time, the book would address this turmoil, by beginning an endeavour of discovery in my life, that continues to this very day.

I was experiencing fears so treacherous they consumed me entirely.

In contrast to what is expected of most teens, my greatest concerns no longer lay with the woes of sprouting spots, angst-fuelled tantrums and hormone-induced rows. They had begun to immerge elsewhere, into an area much darker and more incomprehensible than any of the typical issues of adolescence. I had become hauntingly fascinated by the concept of death and mortality. The window of possibilities it opened. The infinite questions. Each of which were less intelligible than the last. I do not know exactly how or why this window was opened, but I was unable to close it.

Thoughts of transience occupied my every waking hour, filling me with an indescribable, irrevocable fear.
No amount of logic and thought could free me from the trap, and inevitability, death. Even the soft, blissful sensation of sleep was not enough to remove such fears. The impossibly complex ponderings, that so often filled my days, would only visit me in nightmares, consuming my body with dread, interrupting the nothingness of rest.

Yet, all the while I was drawn back to that one novel – the urge to devour the story becoming stronger and stronger. I knew, even from the blurb on the back of the book, that some of the themes of The Declaration, paralleled my own life in an almost uncanny fashion. Feeling compelled to unravel the story I began to read, not knowing as I did so, that this could potentially be one of the most
life-changing pieces of fiction I would ever read.

Facing changes
The Declaration is set in the 22nd century, our future, the year 2140. It tells the story of Anna the ‘surplus’ - a child who is deemed less than human by the government and Grange Hall boarding institution. In accordance with the law, Anna should not have been born. Her only hope is to train at Grange Hall, to become a Valuable Asset to the Legals. She is living in a world where aging is no longer feared. Death is no more inevitable than the sky losing its stars. Yet in this seemingly utopia-like world, there is one significant abomination—the existence of children. The Declaration was introduced to prevent overpopulation, and to sign it is to agree, never have children. Anna’s ‘selfish’ parents broke the declaration, and now Anna must pay the price.

This aspect in itself horrified and intrigued me. Can you imagine a situation like this occurring in reality? A world where we are shunned for our mere existence, in favour of a society where the never-aging elderly dominate. It is difficult to imagine, but in the context of our present society, not impossible. We already see numerous examples of discrimination, and so much of adults’ desires’ are geared towards maintaining youth. This is seemingly due to the way in which we view death - it drives our fears, and some say that everything we do in life leads us to it. The fact that there are hundreds of scientists dedicated to curing aging, is proof of the impact that these concerns have on us all. The concept of longevity continues to cause much debate among scientists - the truth is - nobody really knows how plausible this notion is. Considering the current population figures, (over 50 million people in England alone), how would society cope with the impact that immortality would inevitably bring?

But was this enough to convince me to see death, (however negative a thought for me), as something altogether more positive? No way! I was intrigued, even disturbed by the implications that immortality, if possible, would force upon society. But the prospect of death remained terrifying. It symbolises dreary rain-filled funerals, closed coffins, and the complete unknown. Little did I know how much my ideas would change.

As I continued with the book, I found myself agreeing with Malley’s subtle, ethical arguments. I was amazed by the way in which she put them across. This didn’t feel like an attempt on Malley’s part to force her way of thinking, rather her points were the most natural and integral part of the process. It might have been fiction, but it was forcing me to question my reality in a new light. My question had become less about what I feared and more about whether I needed to fear it.

It might have been fiction,
but it was forcing me to question
my reality in a new light.

Losing myself
Never seeing another young face again, was that what I would really want for the future? Well, no. My fear of the inevitable still held a vice-like grip over me, but a part of me, quite a significant part, was beginning to feel differently. I was even considering the implications of the increasing age-toll on the world. For example, if they are still alive, how old are your grandparents? A darn sight older than their grandparents lived to no doubt. This may be wonderful news for our loved ones and us, but for the world as a whole, the implications are somewhat chilling.

Like it or not, this page-turner was changing me. I was immersed on a deeper level than I ever thought possible - following the trials and tribulations of characters as if friends, devouring the plot with enthusiasm and thirst. One thing, if nothing else, was certain. I was losing myself… or my fears at the very least. The freedom was liberating.

The end is near
If the overall message of the book could be conveyed through one sentiment, I believe this would be it. The future is about the cycle of renewal, not in the superficial way, portrayed in the novel. It’s about the continuation of society as a whole, and the equal treatment of every individual, regardless of age. Everybody deserves the right to life and, ironically, death ensures we can one day achieve the right balance in the world, to give everybody that precious right. As frightening as the concept of death may seem, it will come to us all. We’ll face it together.

In hindsight, I can now look back at Anna’s final words of the novel, and truly understand what Malley set out to impart to her young readers:
‘No one needs to live forever. Sometimes you can outstay your welcome.’

By Jessica Beasley

Listen to my interview with author of The Declaration - Gemma Malley at: www.radiowaves.co.uk/cube