Earth Abides

Ish admits that his loner personality eases the stress of his isolation, but when he meets Emma, the connection between them is the spark he didn’t know he was missing. She is older, and he frequently refers to her as “Mother of Nations,” suggesting that his feelings for her are influenced by significant idealization and aspirations for regenerating the human species. Whatever connection binds them, however, it sustains them for the rest of their lives.

Emma, like many of the characters in the novel, is an archetype. Stewart draws her in bold strokes rather than fine, nuanced lines. Her patience and wisdom are mythic, almost goddess-like. She rarely loses her temper, and she is the calming voice of reason to settle any argument or to soothe any emotional wound. Ish defers to her wisdom and intuition, and he sees in her what he lacks in himself—emotional intelligence. When he grieves over Joey’s death, only Emma’s strength sustains him: “Again, he knew she was strong. Again, courage could flow outward from her. Oh, Mother of Nations!” (274). Stewart’s conception of Emma is of strength grounded in the divine feminine, a limitless fountain of empathy and emotional support that is more angelic than human. This characterization accords with the protagonist’s idealizing tendencies as well as the narrative’s overall simplistic portrayal of women: Emma is never allowed to lean on Ish during hard times—the implication is that Ish does the heavy lifting, and Emma’s role is to support her man.

Emma is no doormat, though. She challenges his assumptions and decisions from time to time, and Ish admits she’s usually right. When Ish worries that the Tribe isn’t planning for the future, Emma points out that there’s little difference between raiding an empty store and scavenging a mountain for minerals. Emma’s wisdom is not academic but intuitive and serves as a constant reminder to Ish that all the books in the world do not make a complete education.

Each member of the Tribe fills a specific role. Ish is the intellect, Emma the emotional anchor, and Ezra is the sociable extrovert. A British ex-patriot, Ezra’s role is often to keep the peace, broker compromise, or simply lighten the mood. While he is not a deep thinker or handy with tools, Ezra’s presence is invaluable when confrontation arises. He tempers Ish’s seriousness, helping him understand when he needs to back off. When Ish and George disagree on the need for laws, Ezra diffuses the tension with a toast, and Ish realizes he’s been pushing the argument too hard. Ish also relies on Ezra’s keen sense of other people. When Charlie appears, only Ezra shares Ish’s wariness about the stranger, a wariness that proves prescient.

As time passes and characters die—especially Emma—Ezra is Ish’s only true friend. Now both old men, they sit on the hillside in the sunshine and reminisce. The Tribe becomes increasingly unfamiliar—young men in animal skins and hunting with bows—and Ezra is Ish’s only connection to the past, to the time when a few survivors formed a makeshift community and still relied on the resources of the Old Times to live. 

George’s role is that of handyman, and he proves essential at maintaining the plumbing and roofing. Every apocalypse scenario needs a George, and Ish reluctantly admits his value despite disparaging his intellect. George’s presence suggests that a diversity of skills and education levels are essential to rebuilding a society. While George seems happy to let Ish make the important decisions, he does weigh in on the debate over the group’s need for a legal system: “I don’t know. I was kind of glad that we live in a place where we don’t have no laws. These days, you can do just about the way you want” (156). So expressed, George’s attitude has a rudimentary anarchist or libertarian quality and plays into the narrative’s concern with political philosophy; as far as Ish is concerned, such a laissez-faire ethos is no foundation on which to rebuild a society, and Stewart often depicts George’s opinions as immature and poorly considered.

George and his wife Maurine also embody the narrative’s religious themes. While Ish prefers to rely on reason, George and Maurine defer to prayer. Ish struggles mightily with the human capacity for such belief (despite harboring a few of his own nonrational philosophies), and while George’s faith is his own business, Ish finds it a dangerous precedent to set for the next generation. This viewpoint is ironic, given that the novel is steeped in religious themes and allusions (even the name “Ish” is a nod to Ishmael.)

By the time Charlie arrives, the Tribe’s lives have grown relatively placid, and his appearance introduces a new kind of conflict. As the sole (human) antagonist, his role is archetypal as well as narrative. His malevolence is implied through his “greasy” appearance and slick charm, and archetypally, he is the devil who seduces with his words and easy smile. Ish and Ezra are the only two who see through his guise, although even they question their own judgment. Charlie’s true intentions are apparent in his open sexual physicality with Evie. While Evie’s age is unclear at this point, her ability to make a self-interested choice is not, and Charlie is poised to take full advantage of her intellectual disability. He also boasts about his STIs to Ezra, and he openly defies Ish when ordered to stay away from Evie; this plot line implicitly connects Charlie’s villainy to his sexual desire, an appetite the narrative suggests is indiscriminate. In this regard, Charlie reinforces the novel’s Biblical morality: Unsanctioned sex is inherently evil (didactically if unscientifically symbolized by the STIs), as Charlie’s advances on Evie are not sinful for their predatory nature but primarily for his rebellion against Ish, who often seems a kind of god in the Tribe (even if Ish himself is most worried about the “pollution” of the gene pool). Furthermore, “Charlie had not seemed to have much of a soul” (258).

Charlie’s death represents the Tribe’s attempt at criminal justice. When the group agrees that banishing him is not a sufficient safeguard, they fall back on the most final and expedient of solutions: execution. Within the parameters of the novel’s strict moral code, death is the only possible outcome. Only by killing Charlie can the Tribe eradicate the threat and preserve their collective virtue. Ironically, killing Charlie is one of the few unanimous—and proactive—decisions the group makes, but it is also a pivotal moment: Ish feels that Charlie’s execution brings an end to the Tribe’s “innocence,” and the event marks a metaphorical exile from the Garden of Eden.