Penguin no. 1300: The Death of Grass by John Christopher

He wondered: could it all be a bad dream, from which they would awaken to find the old world reborn, that everyday world which already had begun to wear the magic of the irretrievably lost? There will be legends, he thought, of broad avenues celestially lit, of the hurrying millions who lived together without plotting each other's death, of railway trains and aeroplanes and motor-cars, of food in all its diversity. Most of all, perhaps, of policemen - custodians, without anger or malice, of a law that stretched to the ends of the earth.

Lately I have been in search of books which might entice a 13 year old away from his computer. I suspect all the constraints and time limits can only work in the short-term, so I hope to find something capable of affecting him emotionally - something which might plant a seed of irritation, and compel him to wonder just what he might be missing out on during those hours devoted to communal games of Minecraft. In thinking back to the books I read during own teenage years - and I recognise that they are probably irrelevant because we weren't quite so conditioned to constant stimulation in those days - The Death of Grass is one which still stands out.

From this distance I wonder what it was that made such a strong impression all those years ago. It cannot have been the idea of catastrophe, because the notion that the world's end might come swiftly and without warning was always there in the background; it seems forgotten now, but the proliferation of  nuclear weapons during the cold war meant the prospect of accidental or intentional annihilation was one we had to live with. I think, instead, that The Death of Grass was the first book I read which prompted the reflection that law, order and stability could never be taken for granted, and that simply because it was all I had known it did not follow that it was all there could be. It was also the first time I was exposed to the idea that humans depend upon grasses to a really remarkable degree - we may worry about bees now, but it is various species of grasses which seem to underpin our existence in such large numbers.

The Death of Grass is a science fiction story set in a world which is recognisable and it explores the consequences of series of events which may be unlikely but which are not implausible. It models just how a catastrophe could feasibly unfold, with the long build up, the sudden tipping point, and a population left struggling to adapt in a dramatically changed environment with all the structures which previously underpinned their lives effectively rendered useless. The new social order which the sudden shift in circumstances engenders favours those with a particular set of traits, and success in the new circumstances seems to be independent of success in the old.

Chung-Li is a newly-discovered virus which afflicts rice. Millions of Chinese are left to die from starvation when the harvest fails, but the problem doesn't seem real or immediate when viewed from the stable world of England; there is no sense of any peril for the West. But viruses can mutate and spread, and in time Chung-Li spreads both across continents and across species, until eventually it is able to infect all grass species, and as the grass dies, large expanses of the earth are left bare. Cereal, bread and beer cease to be available, and as most livestock feed on grasses, there is also the prospect of no more meat.

The official response in England is to deny the scale of the problem while calling for a return to the stoicism and fortitude displayed during the war - some rationing of food supplies will be temporarily unavoidable, but the population is repeatedly assured that the viral enemy will soon be overcome through the efforts of scientists who are sure to find either a virucidal agent or new strains capable of withstanding Chung-Li. But behind the scenes, contingency plans are developed which would seek to match the population levels to the capacity of the food stocks: the major cities will be sealed, their populations will be bombed, and those in power will act to ensure their own survival. John Custance, Roger Buckley and Pirrie are amongst those fortunate enough to learn of the plan while there is still time to escape, so they gather their families and their supplies, retrieve their children from their schools, and prepare to get away from London. And in doing so they encounter their first moral dilemma: everyone they don't inform is being condemned to death. But if the information leaks, their own chances of survival will be diminished.

In this uncertain future survival itself becomes a moral choice: the death of all grasses has imposed a constraint on human population levels and not everyone can continue to live; to take a place amongst the survivors means denying that place to someone else; it also means that survival is something which must be fought for. So while The Death of Grass tells the story of the journey of this small group across a hostile countryside towards a putative haven somewhere in the Lake District, it also examines how readily they adjust to a radically different set of values when survival requires it. It is almost as if compassion, pity and generosity are suggested not to be markers of civilisation or inherent worth, but simply the products of a sheltered life: the real test is how people behave when the risk is a personal one.

I had decided to read The Death of Grass again before passing it to my son because I wanted to be sure that the idea of catastrophe in a recognisable world would not be too confronting for someone so young, but I soon realised that I had not remembered it as well as I thought. It is a necessarily violent story, and as much as I enjoyed it, I decided he was probably too young to understand all that was being portrayed. So I am still searching for something to lure him from his computer, and if anyone has a suggestion to offer, I would love to hear it.