The Madness of Crowds

When Abigail Robinson begins publicizing her controversial theories, many people (including Gamache) contest her right to do so. They believe that the message she is spreading (endorsing the so-called “mercy killing” of vulnerable individuals) is dangerous and undermines the collective good. However, many others contend that Abigail Robinson’s individual right to freedom of speech is paramount, and that it would be censorship to prevent her from sharing this message. This debate comes to the fore in the discussion between Gamache and Colette Roberge, when he pleads with her to cancel the lecture and she responds, “free speech is fine, as long as it doesn’t bump into your personal beliefs, your ideology?” (24). Individual rights come into conflict with the collective good because it is impossible to decipher who is acting objectively and who is acting from self-interest: Although Gamache knows that Abigail genuinely poses a danger to society, he also must concede that he is particularly sensitive to her message because he has a grandchild with a disability.

This theme is especially potent in the post-pandemic setting of the novel, where communities are grappling with what it means to protect the vulnerable and how far personal liberty should extend when public health is at stake. The trauma of COVID-19 becomes a kind of silent character in the novel, shaping responses to Abigail’s message and highlighting how crises can make extremist ideas seem reasonable to desperate people.

While Abigail and her supporters argue for her right to spread her message based on individual rights and freedom of speech, her argument also rests on a specious perception of the collective good. In the wake of the fear and suffering that arose during the pandemic, Abigail holds out the tantalizing promise that stability can be guaranteed if some members of society are eliminated to conserve resources. Gamache can see the dangerous appeal of her message when he reflects that “instead of being asked to make a hundred sacrifices, the population would be asked to make just one” (15). For individuals who don’t have a direct connection to anyone who is disabled or chronically ill, this sacrifice might seem worthwhile, and it can even appear that individuals like Jean-Guy are being selfish in asserting the value of their child over a broader collective good. The novel critiques this utilitarian logic by exposing how easily it masks cruelty. Penny uses Abigail’s statistical framing to illustrate how data can be weaponized—stripped of context and empathy—to rationalize dehumanization. In this sense, Abigail’s rhetoric echoes real-world historical movements that justified atrocities under the guise of scientific progress or public welfare.

The conflict between individual rights and the collective good is depicted as impossible to disentangle, because they are ultimately shown to be one and the same. When individuals lose their humanity because they cease to recognize the humanity of others, there is nothing left to protect. Three Pines is a haven for everyone who visits it because it is a closely interconnected community in which individuals recognize their interdependence. Gamache and his team are only able to solve crimes when they work together, and the pandemic only ended because communities rallied together. Situations where individuals were abandoned by the collective are depicted as heinous: Abigail’s decision to murder her sister has haunted her ever since, and Gamache is tortured by what he saw when the elderly residents of long-term care homes were abandoned. The novel doesn’t offer easy answers to the conflicts between competing needs, but it does demonstrate that individuals can only thrive when they are supported by caring communities. In this way, Penny subtly rewrites the central question: not whether individual rights should be preserved or sacrificed, but how we define “the good” in the first place.