The upcoming film adaptation of Ian McEwan’s The Children Act is premiering at the Toronto International Film Festival next month, so I thought I would venture into my first novel by this acclaimed British author.
Fiona Maye is a leading High Court judge who officiates family court cases. But concealed beneath the strict and professional demeanor required of her profession is personal struggle—a crumbling marriage and private sorrow. Each morning, Fiona busies herself with piles of court papers and families in crisis; at night, she returns home to endure her own abiding regret of childlessness and a husband who longs for an affair.
On Monday, a life-threatening case comes up: Adam is a seventeen year-old Jehovah’s Witness who has leukemia. Due to religious convictions, he refuses a blood transfusion that could save his life, a sentiment echoed by his devout parents. Just a few months shy of becoming a legal adult, Adam ultimately has no jurisdiction, despite his relentless determination to follow his beliefs. Only Fiona has the power to decide his fate: survival, or sacrifice in the name of God. A simple visit to the boy’s hospital bed informs her decision.
One of the principal arguments against the medical treatment is Adam’s superior intelligence, an indication that he is mature enough to make his own decisions—the conditions of Gillick competence. With Fiona sitting near his bedside, Adam reads his poetry, words that praise God’s love and light. His mind, revealed through his poems, paints an image of an innocent, delicate boy that seems excited to see the world, not leave it. Adam then takes out a violin, boasting about the scales he’s learned before beginning to play an Irish melody, and Fiona sings along, evoking a sense of freedom and vitality away from hospital confines.
In a field by the river my love and I did stand, And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand. She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs; But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.
This is not a child who is ready to go. “To take up the violin or any instrument was an act of hope, it implied a future.”
The 59-year-old Fiona looks at the beautiful boy, with his “long thin face and violet-colored eyes”, and in a way sees herself. But Adam confuses his passion for poetry and life with (innocent) attachment to the woman next to him, yet Fiona’s dignity and long-suppressed sensitivity leaves him with nothing to hold on to. “Without faith, how open and beautiful and terrifying the world must have seemed to him.” Awfully poignant and full of regret.
I appreciated McEwan’s prose and use of detail, from the meticulous accuracy of law and court testimony to Fiona’s intimate feelings. Now let’s hope his screenplay meets expectations and brings even more color into this story.
art of film 