49 pages • 1-hour read
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Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of sexual content, illness, death by suicide, and death.
Through Fiona Mayes’s story, The Children Act explores the complexities that sometimes arise from the intersection of one’s personal and professional lives, questioning whether keeping the two separate is even possible. As a High Court judge in the Family Division, Fiona has devoted her life to her judicial career. She has put professional advancement before her home and family life. While she loves her husband Jack, she has chosen not to have children in order to establish herself in the legal world. As she puts it, ever since she was “sworn in by the Lord Chief Justice and took her oath of allegiance and her Judicial Oath before two hundred of her bewigged colleagues,” she has “belonged to the law as some women had once been brides of Christ” (49). This analogy implies that Fiona has put off traditional notions of femininity, womanhood, and maternity for the sake of her profession. She prioritizes her vocation over her marriage and home, actively setting aside personal engagements and dramas in order to establish what she believes is a healthy barrier between her personal and professional spheres. With Fiona’s attitude, the novel explores whether it is possible or healthy to keep the two realms separate by highlighting the effects of her decisions on both areas of her life.
When Jack broaches the subject of their dormant sex life and suggests having an extramarital affair, the careful separation between work and home that Fiona has achieved is threatened. Fiona feels as if her personal conflicts are intruding upon her vocational stability. When she tries “to imagine wanting something like [Jack’s affair] for herself,” she can “think only of disruption, assignations, disappointment, ill-timed phone calls. The sticky business of learning to be with someone new in bed” feels not only false to her, but silly in light of her professional responsibilities (8). Her dismissive regard for sex and romance reveals how little attention Fiona has paid to her personal life over the past decades. She is irritated and upset by Jack’s marital frustrations because she perceives her home life as a static realm she shouldn’t have to invest in. Her and Jack’s marital conflict forces her personal and professional spheres to intersect, illustrated by the fact that, in the wake of their argument, Fiona becomes preoccupied by her relationship while she’s at work. She repeatedly checks her phone and email for messages from Jack. The narrator also repeatedly alludes to Fiona’s restless state of mind and her consistent attempts to dismiss thoughts of Jack with work matters.
Fiona’s changing state of mind reveals the true source of her desperation to compartmentalize her personal and professional life. She doesn’t want her judicial work to reflect on her personal identity, and she doesn’t want her personal identity to impact her judicial obligations. She fears that if these two versions of herself intersect, she will compromise both who she is as a judge and who she is as a woman. However, Fiona’s story reveals that the individual’s personal and professional selves are part of the same whole. At the novel’s end, Fiona is forced to reconcile these seemingly competing realms and identities in order to face her true self. In the final pages of the novel, she finally resolves this tension. As she lies in bed with her husband and tells him the story of Adam Henry’s case, the two spheres of her life are combined, and she is able to gain closure on the turmoil that has characterized both throughout the novel. Her sense of relief illustrates the novel’s argument that for one to experience true fulfillment in the professional and personal spheres of one’s life, they must be fully integrated with each other.
Fiona’s work on Adam Henry’s case captures the conflict between various notions of morality, including legal, religious, and personal definitions. For as long as Fiona can remember, she has understood justice according to the British legal system: Her sense of right and wrong is dictated by the law. Because she works in the Family Division, all her cases surround conflict between couples, parents, and children. These stories not only fascinate her but allow her to bring “reasonableness to hopeless situations” (5). She believes that the judgments she makes offer neat, legal resolutions to the otherwise messy matters of the human condition. In contrast, a character like Adam has learned to define right and wrong according to his Jehovah’s Witness faith and the Biblical teachings he’s been raised with. He accepts that although God’s will might result in his death, it’s his moral obligation to abide by God’s commandments and his elders’ directives. Fiona and Adam thus enter a moral battle when they come into contact through Adam’s case, which the novel uses to explore the tension that can arise between religious and legal morality.
Fiona’s involvement with Adam’s case also challenges the way her personal and professional notions of morality intersect. The way that she responds to Adam in the hospital reveals her innate capacity for empathy, but her later decision to pull away from Adam to satisfy her judicial duties reveals the boundaries of her moral code. A passage of internal monologue from Fiona’s hospital visit captures the way that Fiona understands morality, goodness, and care, notions which are later upset by her refusal to invest in Adam’s life after his transfusion:
He was upset, holding his gaze well away from her, ashamed that she could see how easy it had been to deflate his bumptiousness. His elbow, slightly crooked, looked pointed and fragile. Irrelevantly, she thought of recipes, roast chicken with butter, tarragon and lemon, aubergines baked with tomatoes and garlic, potatoes lightly roasted in olive oil. Take this boy home and feed him up (110).
Fiona observes Adam’s fragility in this scene and experiences an immediate impulse to take care of him. Her version of care materializes in her sudden desire to make him a home-cooked meal, associating goodness with maternity and domesticity. However, in the subsequent chapters, she actively pushes Adam away, erecting a wall between them that belies her instincts to protect Adam out of the goodness of her heart. She doesn’t let him stay with her and Jack because she believes doing so oversteps the parameters of her legal role in his life. However, in denying Adam guidance, she ultimately endangers him. Adam expresses his feelings of betrayal in the poem he writes to Fiona, a ballad that likens Fiona to a deceptive Satan, an archetypal representation of evil. His poem suggests that, according to his moral foundation, Fiona has shirked her moral responsibility to help him.
Adam’s death compels Fiona to reconsider her definition of morality. After she learns of Adam’s apparent death by suicide, she realizes that her “transgression [lies] beyond the reach of any disciplinary panel” (220). By abiding solely by a legal code of ethics, she has betrayed her personal code of ethics: to protect a child’s welfare at all costs. These dynamics capture the ways in which the intersection of personal and professional morality might present one with an unresolvable conflict, forcing one to choose.
Fiona’s responses to the family law cases she presides over capture the weighty psychological impact that judicial responsibility might have on the individual. At the start of the novel, the third-person narrator presents Fiona as a generally good person: She is a dedicated judge and a faithful wife. She is thoughtful and precise and takes her work seriously. Furthermore, Fiona doesn’t let her personal biases unfairly impact her work. “The legal and moral space” she’s asked to navigate in all of her cases is tight, but Fiona is always careful to make “a choice of the lesser evil” (28). She adopts a near clinical mindset while working on her cases and making her rulings. For a time, this removed mode of operating allows her to do her job well and to compartmentalize her rulings from her sense of self.
Over time, however, Fiona’s more complex cases begin to compromise her identity and mental health. This is particularly true in the context of the conjoined twins’ case. The narrator describes the case in detail in Chapter 1, and placing it at the fore of The Children Act conveys how vulnerable Fiona is to her judicial obligations, despite her belief that she’s emotionally impervious to her work. After Fiona rules on Matthew and Mark’s case, her colleagues are “pleased by her decision” and applaud her for months thereafter (30). Despite the social and professional accolades she receives, the “intense weeks” she works on the case “le[ave] their mark on her” (30). Fiona feels frustrated that “at this stage of a legal career” she should be so intensely affected by her work and chooses to not to talk about it (32). Her refusal to share her true feelings on the case with anyone, even her husband, reveals her fear of vulnerability. She believes her judicial reputation will be tainted if she admits that her work has a personal effect on her. However, leaving her internal unrest unattended only causes it to fester and grow worse.
Fiona’s response to the conjoined twins’ case foreshadows the psychological impact that Adam’s case will have on her. At the start of Adam’s trial, Fiona assumes her typical removed, judicial air. However, the more time she spends with Adam, the less impartial she feels. She identifies with Adam as a person, sharing his musical and artistic sensibilities, and is protective of his innocence, at one point imagining herself cooking for him and even singing along as he plays violin. She forms such a connection with Adam that she receives his letters, gives him an audience at Leadman Hall, and kisses him before parting ways. For a time, Fiona convinces herself that these behaviors are only evidence of her attempt to prioritize Adam’s welfare and fails to own her personal investment in Adam’s life. As a result of this denial, when she discovers that Adam has died, she is emotionally distraught. Her character emotes in an unbridled manner for the first time in the novel: “And she began to weep at last, standing by the fire, her arms hanging hopelessly at her sides, while [Jack] watched, shocked to see his wife, always so self-contained at the furthest extremes of grief” (218). Fiona’s distress seems out of character because she is in the habit of hiding the psychological effects of her work. Adam’s death forces her emotions to the fore and reveals how deeply her work impacts her as an individual. The novel thus suggests that compartmentalizing the profound weight of her judicial responsibility has only augmented Fiona’s internal entrapment.



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