51 pages • 1 hour read
Susan Beth PfefferThis World We Live In
Fiction | Novel | YA | Published in 2010A modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Symbols & Motifs
Miranda’s Diaries
The diaries are a potent symbol not only of a young woman’s desire for uncensored self-expression but also of the exceptional trials and unlikely survival of one family. The diaries offer proof that, no matter how dire the circumstances, Miranda and her family—including non-blood-related members—have found a way to endure the disasters caused by the asteroid strike. They even find new loves, celebrate the arrival of new life, and manage to salvage some hope for the future. The diaries are highly personal to Miranda, but she is also increasingly aware of the universal themes they may express to a potential future audience. Miranda keeps her diaries private so that she can clearly express herself without fear of censure or rebuttal, but when her family leaves the town, she leaves the diaries behind for anyone to read.
Early in the book, Miranda’s diaries offer her a private space of reflection and personal development in a world where the needs of the community often outweigh those of the individual. When she discovers that Matt has told his new wife, Syl, about her diaries, she becomes anxious: “When we got back home, I went up to my room and hid all my diaries in the back of my closet. They’re my thoughts and I want to keep them that way” (60). Miranda’s privacy is sacred to her, and she regards the prying eyes of others—especially of a relative stranger like Syl—as a kind of desecration.
The diaries begin to take on more public significance as the events unfold and the story develops. When Miranda suggests that she destroy the diaries in the ritual to acknowledge the anniversary of the disaster, Mom refuses to allow it: “Your diaries are the only record of the family’s existence. They’re our link to the past and the future” (63). In that sense, the diaries represent an archive of what one family lived through during these extraordinary times; they are a potential repository of information for future generations. Ultimately, Miranda chooses to leave her diaries behind—proof of her and her family’s survival—rather than destroy them. She understands that the diaries are “witness to [her] story, to all [their] stories” (238)—even to those who did not survive, like Julie. Miranda realizes, “I can’t deny them their stories just to protect mine” (239). The diaries will remain for others to find and continue. This sentiment expresses hope that there are still more stories to be told.
Horton the Cat and Gabriel the Baby
In this world in which the sun no longer shines, the larder is no longer full, and the future is no longer guaranteed, it is hard not to fall into despair. Everyone, even Miranda—whose optimism is reflected in the very gesture of keeping up with her diaries—occasionally feels defeated. Under such difficult circumstances, it becomes especially important to cultivate hope, find sources of reassurance, and believe, if for only a moment, that things will eventually be put right. Both Horton, the family cat, and Gabriel, Miranda’s half-brother, symbolize the end of despair and hope for the future.
When the book begins, Miranda’s composure has faltered. She experiences nightmares and mourns her lost world of sunlight and abundance. She writes, “I couldn’t remember blue sky or green grass or yellow dandelions. […] The only color I know now is gray, the gray of ash and dirt and sadness” (2). When the rain starts to fall, however, Miranda notes the changing of the seasons and the washing away of filth. This sense of optimism grows a bit later when she contemplates Horton’s role in the family: “He’s eleven now, and he doesn’t do much more than eat and sleep and sit on our laps, but he’s still the blue and green and yellow in our lives” (33). Horton represents unconditional love and innocent serenity, as well as the previous world of light, color, and joy. It is unsurprising that his eventual death rocks the very foundation of this family.
Even after Horton’s death, there is still Gabriel, the colicky baby. For as much as his constant crying is a source of irritation, his symbolic value—especially for Mom—cannot be overstated. His very existence is highly improbable, even miraculous, and all the adults understand his importance. Even Miranda eventually understands this: “Gabriel isn’t just Dad’s baby. He’s Dad’s future. Lisa’s future. He’s all our futures” (114-15). Perhaps this burden is too large for an infant to bear, but in his blissful innocence, all Gabriel recognizes is that he has many people surrounding him with love and care.
Religion and Faith
Another motif that runs throughout the novel is the necessity of belief. For some of the characters, this takes the form of religious worship; for other characters, including Miranda, it takes the form of gratitude for good fortune in the face of loss.
When Miranda and Mom fight early in the book, Miranda bikes away, angry and wanting to escape. Torn between her desire to escape her family and her awareness of her reliance on them, she soon becomes literally lost: “It’s been hard to cry in the sunroom, because we’re together all the time […] But I’ve never been as alone as I was at that moment, sweating and shivering and hungry and lost” (35). This literal loss of direction symbolizes the more abstract sense in which Miranda has lost her way, unable to decide between community and freedom. Sometimes solitude is not all it is cracked up to be. When Mom, too, falters, suggesting that “[m]aybe [they] lost the things [they] loved then so [they] could survive losing everything else,” Miranda gently reminds her, “We haven’t lost everything else” (44). They still “have each other and the house and Horton” (44). In this environment, this statement amounts to a declaration of faith.
Many of the other characters, including Dad, Lisa, Alex, and Julie, put their faith in a more formal expression of religion. On Sundays, they often pray together and take turns leading an ad hoc service. After Miranda and Alex find the sizable stash of food at the abandoned farm, Alex prays while “Mom and [Miranda] flatten[] the cartons, [and] g[i]ve thanks, in [their] own way, for the merciful bounty that’s come [their] way” (132). Each member of the family believes, in their own way, that there are forces—whether a Christian God or a benevolent Universe—that keep them together and alive. As Miranda notes after the tornado that alters their lives forever, “Even so, we were the lucky ones” (219). Whether it be luck or divine intervention, the makeshift family remains together, and they will move on together, believing once more in a tomorrow that will carry them forward from the rubble.
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By Susan Beth Pfeffer
