Z for Zachariah: a complex exploration of power and gender

Jenny Downham explains how Robert C O’Brien’s novel of post-nuclear apocalypse gave her far more than relief from the fear of nuclear war in the 1970s – a life-long belief in the strength of girls and women, and the prototype for her own fictional heroines

The 1977 cover of Z for Zachariah by Robert C O’Brien depicted a serious-eyed young woman with long hair, wearing a rather formal blouse. When I spied it on a shelf in my school library, I thought she looked a lot like me. However, standing in front of her was someone wearing a full body radiation suit and reflected in their helmet was the terrifying mushroom cloud of a nuclear explosion. The blurb stated: nuclear doomsday had come and she was the only one alive… or so she thought.

Growing up in the 70s, the prospect of nuclear war was ever present. At school we were shown chilling public information films that encouraged us to go home and persuade our parents to set up a fallout space. Doors taken from their hinges and propped against an interior wall offered good protection apparently. Heavy furniture and sandbags would keep them in place and you could block up the ends with dustbin bags full of soil from the garden. When my parents refused to do this, saying the safest place to be if a nuclear bomb fell was right underneath it, I knew I was doomed. I had regular nightmares about the end of the world.

So why did I borrow a book from the library that showed someone like me facing the worst thing I could imagine?

Because I wanted to explore safely. I hoped a dose of manageable terror would (rather like a vaccine) produce antibodies to help me fight my fear.

Ann Burden is fifteen and the sole survivor of global nuclear war. She lives with her dog, Faro, in a remote valley and, despite her desperate circumstances, is resourceful, calm and determined. She plants crops, drives the tractor, ploughs the fields, tends the animals and fully accepts that she is the caretaker of the only untainted land left in the world and that she will live and die alone. But one day, a man in a radiation suit turns up. Ann hides at first, wanting to know more about him before revealing herself. But when he washes in the river and contracts radiation poisoning she makes the choice to care for him.

What follows is a complex exploration of power and gender. What does it mean to be a young woman in a world with only one man? John Loomis, as the man in the suit is revealed to be, is a scientist, older than Ann and with a capacity for intimidation and subterfuge. Once recovered from sickness, he starts to give orders, has all sorts of plans to “improve” the farm and is critical of how Ann has been managing up to now. He suggests they “start a colony” together and becomes increasingly controlling as each day passes. Eventually, he attempts to rape her.

Ann elbows him in the throat and flees.

This was the first novel I read as a teenager that utterly transported me. I’d never realised books could do that. It literally took me away from home and put me somewhere else. I clearly remember having to put the book down at meal times and force myself to journey home. I’d look at my family over the dinner table and think, “You’ve no idea where I’ve been…”

Eventually, Anne offers a compromise to share the valley. Loomis suggests she should act “more like an adult and less like a school girl”, implying she should submit to sleeping with him and stop being ridiculous. He steals the keys to the tractor, withholds supplies and finally shoots her, forcing her to run for her life.

I was disturbed and outraged by Ann’s story. I was desperate for her to defeat Loomis. This was her land and she was there first and what right did he have to come along and take over? How dare he threaten to take charge of her body! Never mind nuclear Armageddon – there were greater things at stake!

By the end of the book, Ann has made impossibly difficult decisions, shown courage and integrity, overpowered her aggressor and survived. The ending is full of hope as she walks into a potentially new world with her independence intact.

This book gave me far more than relief from fear of nuclear war. It gave me a life-long belief in the strength of girls and women. The nightmares still came, but when I woke shivering in the dark, I reminded myself of Ann’s bravery and competency and told myself that I was also capable of being such a person.

Ann Burden is the prototype for the young women in my books. By allowing difficult things into their stories, I’ve discovered that the precious things have space to buzz and hum and sing. And the protagonists have room to grow and learn.

Tessa is terminally ill in Before I Die. How will she choose to live with the clock ticking so fast?

Ellie is the primary witness in an assault case in You Against Me. Faced with a moral dilemma, what will she do?

In my new book, Unbecoming, Katie has an oppressive mum, an absent dad, a learning disabled brother and a secret that sets her friends against her. Will she dare to be true to herself and live honestly?

As an author, it is vital to me that my books have strong female protagonists. I don’t mean they’re all gutsy and immediately capable. I mean that when they’re faced with challenging events such as illness or assault or being targeted by bullies, they’re able to tap into their own intelligence and resourcefulness. They might muck up, as we all do. They might go down the wrong path, or make terrible decisions, or feel afraid. They might have to ask advice or seek practical help, but what they don’t do is ever accept a world where it’s okay to lose sovereignty over their bodies or their lives.

Ann Burden – thank you for that.

Jenny Downham’s latest book is Unbecoming, available in the Guardian Bookshop and our current Teen book club read.

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