#thebunkerdiary

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In an review I read online, it was said that the purpose of Brooks’ narrative is not the plot, but the premise. We are given a very unique, borderline virtual reality-esque experience by reading the diary of Linus Weems, and through his eyes we share not only his deepest thoughts, but also frustratingly his lack of knowledge about his own predicament. At the end of the book, Linus, we can almost certainly assume, dies. His “weedy toughness” lasts him until his greatest, and only reason to carry on, Jenny, dies in his arms. Our only solace is in the final words that partially mirror the books opening lines. “This is what I know. It doesn’t hurt anymore.” Beyond that minute comfort, Linus dies having never learned the identity or motive of his mysterious captor. And just like him, we will never know either. Never before have I been so certain that a book will not receive a sequel/prequel. Because the “not knowing” is entirely the point. To elaborate, this book, I believe is a powerful commentary on the necessity, or danger of, belief in Christianity.

Kevin Brooks, as a writer, provides a lot more questions than answers, which to me already creates a parallel to every major religion on the planet. However, the few details we do know about the kidnapper, and the clues laid into the writing itself, all point to Christianity being a central theme, or perhaps even a sort of metaphysical antagonist. This would come as no surprise considering the subject matter of Brook’s most widely read work, Killing God.

First of all, the bunker, which serves as the sole setting for the entire book, is completely barren, save for items of functionality: beds, toilets, cooking utensils, etc. The one and only exception, however, is that every captive is given their own copy of the Bible. This provides the only characterization of the kidnapper, beyond loose and often contradictory attempts to describe his physical appearance as an older man, or as he is often referred to, “The Man Upstairs.” Brooks further solidifies the God metaphor by having Linus capitalize any pronoun that refers to him, or rather, Him. It’s obvious, if not directly stated, that the kidnapper is “playing God” with his inhabitants. Russel even refers to the one and only deal offered to the victims as a covenant, and the captor refers to his own declarations as “My Truth.” This could also provide the other huge missing piece of the puzzle: the kidnapper]s motive. The extent to which “The Man Upstairs” torments the characters recalls the days of the Spanish Inquisition, and would require a level of devotion, effort, and foresight that can only be described as zealotous, so let’s assume that the kidnapper seals his playthings in the bunker for spiritual reasons.

What reason? To save them, or more specifically, their souls.

I found it startling that not only do the characters not only fail to examine the Bibles for clues (I personally think the killer probably left some sort of code-word in there as reward for reading it), the narrator specifically mentions that not one of the ill-fated six ever even read it. Not in the depths of their boredom or desperation do they ever think to so much as open the cover. This paints all six of the protagonists as non-believers, which. as I remember from my brief stint as a converted Catholic, is the only unforgivable sin (consequently, the concept of which began my journey into leaving the faith).

It is also important to note that throughout the story, the “God” character giveth and taketh away depending on the obedience of his “children,” but it is not until Linus defiles “the good word” by eating the pages of the Bible that he abandons them entirely. Without their captor/provider, their purgatory-like bunker descends into a hellscape of darkness, misery, and unavoidable oblivion.

So why were these characters chosen “to be saved”? Certainly Essex was full of people who didn’t believe in a Judeo-Christian concept of God, so how, and why, did the villain pick them specifically? It is here that my interpretation falters in its certainty, and would love the input and discussion of any other readers. The Occam’s Razor approach is to look at the ways in which the captives could be seen as “cardinal sinners” or breakers of the 10 Commandments. Here’s what I’ve got so far: Linus- failed to honor thy father by running away from home, despite the relative comfort his dad provided him. This can also be seen as an example of his own “pride”, which subsequently leads to several hardships for the group as his repeated attempts to escape and “outsmart God” lead to devastating punishments

Bird- seems to mostly embody greed and gluttony, due to his description by Linus as a heartless business-man and his repeated description as being overweight. He may also be Lust, depending on if it was he who was bothering Anja at night and/or was the one who de-robed and killed her (the order of those events is never made clear, although I suppose that matters little)

Fred- despite the obvious depiction of him as a drug-addict and a self-described petty thief, he is clearly very adept at how to take a life, and might even be guilty of bestiality, depending on your interpretation of the monkey non-sequitur. He could also be described as gluttonous with his interactions of the limited food, and perhaps lustful, although the reader is never given any reason to believe he was the one who harassed or harmed Anja.

Russell- obviously his homosexuality paints him as a lustful sinner in many orthodox sects of Christianity, but as that is never actually relevant to the story, I believe his role as a physicist and scientist is the greater reason for his selection. He very clearly puts science over faith, and thus could be the biggest “non-believer” of them all. It is also worth noting that Russell’s missing eye, and the fact that his glass eye was used to take his own life, recalls “an eye for an eye” Biblical metaphors

Anja- although not as obvious as some of the others’, Anja’s sin can best be described as “sloth.” Throughout the entire ordeal, she fails to contribute so much as a single idea, or even memorable quote to the story. Linus also notes that her diary is completely blank, and even reflects on the sadness of a person with nothing to say; not even to herself. Personally, I like to think that Anja refused to write in the pages because she knew that they would only lead to the amusement of her captor after her death, but that is probably me desperately trying to provide characterization to the most mysterious, and curiously underused, protagonist. Jenny- this is the part where the theory breaks down, because I can for the life of me not determine why Jenny was chosen. She is, for all intents and purposes, completely innocent. Perhaps she is being punished for the “sins of the father”, but that is pure speculation, as we are never given so much as the smallest detail of her family life. It is worth noting, however, that she is the only one who thinks to communicate with “The Man Upstairs”, which might be a commentary on how the young are more willing to believe in a higher power.

So there you have it. “The Bunker Diary” is, at its core, a story about Christianity. It can either be read as an allegory to encourage faith, as it is the one thing the characters fail to try, or a cautionary tale about the horrors that people are capable of when they try and force their beliefs on others. Personally, I like to take the second interpretation, given my own personal opinions and the author’s body of work. Two final thoughts worth mentioning:

First of all, from a gender equality standpoint, this book is a little problematic. Although the cast of characters is intentionally small, the only three female characters are dead (Linus’s mom), useless (Anja), and helpless (Jenny). As if this wasn’t troubling enough, the implication that Anja was pressured to have sex and in the process of her murder was scandalized leaves me somewhat uncomfortable recommending the book wholeheartedly. If the Christianity commentary was intentional, I would be curious to discuss with Kevin Brooks whether his portrayal of women was deliberately upsetting, or just the usual result of gender-negligence.

Secondly, at several points Linus openly questions who will eventually read his writings. He even addresses us, the reader, and questions our motives. If you are willing to participate in the meta-narrative this book posits, then the event of the book’s publication implies one of two conclusions:

A) Linus’s words are eventually discovered and published after his death.

B) Most chillingly, we are meant to be “The Man Upstairs”, who after Linus’s death returned to pillage his deepest most thoughts. I think this is the more likely conclusion, as not only are we, the reader, assumed to be “The Man” and are directly addressed as such, it also makes sense in terms of the simulative ending. Without any conclusion provided by the author, we are in fact Gods ourselves, left to decide Linus’s fate, and even the entire purpose of the story in the first place. Those final, horrifically blank pages, are left for you to fill. For me, the last few empty pages made Linus’s death feel disturbingly real, as I flipped through, distraught to see nothing but page numbers and empty sheets. It then occurred to me that since those final empty pages were included, we are to believe that this is an actual copy of the diary, page for page. In addition to the inevitable movie, I would love to see a handwritten version published to make the immersion complete.