Who Runs the World?
Page 24
I am a tiny dot. I am smaller than the smallest, most insignificant star; one of a countless multitude.
I am almost invisible.
I see Mumma. I see the shock on her face. I am so scared. I am so scared to speak. I look and I see my Mumma smile. I see that my Mumma is scared too . . . but also, that she is proud of me. I have found my voice.
‘I am River. Daughter of Zoe-River, grand-daughter of Thea-Zoe, great-granddaughter of Katherine-Thea. And I have killed a man.’
She is riding through the woods on what was once a road. The dotted white line that once separated the comings from the goings is crumbling. The tarmac is slowly being destroyed by tree-roots. The small plants don’t wait for the trees. They are so strong. They sprout up all over, wherever they can. In another few years there won’t be any road left at all.
The horse, who is grumpy, pulls a cartload of cider apples: small, hard, bitter things that will be fermented into some fun. The girl has a rucksack stuffed with harvest produce on her back; it is easier to carry it than have to clamber off and on Milpy just for a drink of water.
Her name is River and she is fifteen years old.
She is an apprentice at the airport. She is also an advisor to the National Council on the future of the Sanctuaries. This was the restoration that was decided upon. It is in keeping with the way of things: if you see that there is a problem, then you must try to put it right.
On her little finger she wears a diamond ring. An engagement ring, once-was, given by her Granmumma in recognition of her bravery.
It is an autumn evening.
Dark is coming soon.
She is miles from home.
She feels a little afraid.
That’s when she sees it: the person standing in the middle of the road.
Not a Guy. Him. He. His. Male. Son. Dude.
Just a person. Called Mason. Waving hello.
Dear Reader
I thought I couldn’t write this book.
The idea came about when a teen friend told me she was studying Tess of the d’Urbervilles in school. (‘I hate Tess,’ she said. ‘She’s such a sap.’) I studied the same book – over thirty years ago. It made my heart sink to think of generations of young people reading a story in which women are oppressed victims and men are the oppressors, no matter how much they might be encouraged to analyse it. I wondered whether it would be possible to tell a completely different kind of story.
And that’s when I got stuck.
Although I might have had a lot of fun writing it – and exorcised a few of my own demons along the way – I decided I did not want to create a simple ‘reversal’ of the way so much of the world is in terms of relations between the sexes. It felt, paradoxically, reactionary. It felt counterproductive. It felt like such a story would only serve to reinforce binary notions of gender – notions that cause so much difficulty, and pain, for so many of us. Notions that, in my opinion, hold us all back. And . . . I realised that I had no idea what a world run by women would be like . . . because I do not know what a woman is.
That was my shock. Biology is biology – nuts and bolts, bits and pieces – but gender? What is it? What does it mean?
The more I thought about what gender is, and the ways in which our ideas about it are created and transmitted – through family and intergenerational influence, through education and other forms of social and cultural transmission – the more I saw gender as an entirely arbitrary construct. I support anyone who challenges that construct in any way . . . and I also wondered what the world would be like without it.
So this story is told to you by River, a fourteen-year-old girl who lives in a world of women but who has never really had to think about gender until the arrival of a boy changes everything.
I had no idea how River’s story would take shape – and I found the journey of writing it deeply challenging and surprising. Her story made me think about family and society, democracy and power, expectation and prejudice – and it became, for me, a tale about identifying oppression and finding the courage to speak up.
And it left me with a question: Who Runs the World?
I wonder what your answer would be . . .
Virginia Bergin, March 2017
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This has been a long journey. I am so grateful I had company. I would very much like to thank:
My family. Most especially my sisters and my brother: Sue, Karen and John.
My agent, Louise Lamont at LBA Books, without whom this book would never have happened.
Rachel Petty, my editor, and all the lovely team at Macmillan Children’s Books, who believed in this story before I even knew how to write it.
Jacqui Pridham. You are a shining star.
Karen Legate, Jen Houghton, Jill Bird and Ann Cahill: thank you so much for your excellent thoughts.
My friends and neighbours in Hotwells, Bristol. I have had so much support from the whole of my community, for which I am very grateful. Particular thanks to Tony Howells for giving endless encouragement, and to Hilary Hunt and Peter Ryalls for tea, sympathy and wisdom.
Thanks also to my 2015 neighbours in Somerset for making me feel so welcome, particularly Richard and Carol, Tilly & Co., Alison and Keith – and Ben.
Yvonne: thank you for being there.
Dan Blore: thank you for reading and for seeing and for kindly listening to me go on a bit. A lot.
Dr Matthew Avison (University of Bristol): thank you for your generous support and advice. I do apologise for having completely made up the science in this story.
Dear Lemn Sissay . . . thank you so much for Every child is our child (Global Agreement No. 2), a thought spoken in A child of the state, a TED talk. A thought I heard and felt.
Hilary Beard: you are forever fabulous – and forever in my heart.
Tessa G, I admire you so much.
Hearts and thumbs up to my online friends and email buddies, to the readers, bloggers, librarians, teachers, writers and booksellers who have been so supportive over the past few years.
And finally:
Thanks to Team Granmumma: Martha Evans, Alison Jenkins, Heather Meyer and Allison Sylvester.
Special thanks to Ruby Sylvester-Jeyes and Aidan Beard for making me think, to Stan Sylvester-Jeyes and Luke Pridham for gaming inspiration – and to all the young people: the students I have met in schools, and the kids and teens in my life.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Virginia Bergin learned to roller-skate with the children of eminent physicists. She grew up in Abingdon, Oxfordshire, and went on to study psychology, but ruined her own career when, dabbling in fine art at Central Saint Martins, she rediscovered creative writing. Since then she has written poetry, short stories, film and TV scripts.
Books by Virginia Bergin
The Rain
The Storm
Who Runs the World?
First published 2017 by Macmillan Children’s Books
This electronic edition published 2017 by Macmillan Children’s Books
an imprint of Pan Macmillan
20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com
ISBN 978-1-5098-3404-4
Copyright © Virginia Bergin 2017
PATTERN ILLUSTRATION BY SAM HADLEY
The right of Virginia Bergin to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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