It's the End of the World... Supposedly

Level 7
by Mordecai Roshwald
p. 1959

“A horrifying prophetic document of the future—the diary of a man living 4000 feet underground in a society hell-bent on atomic self-destruction”

That is the bold-lettered beeline gracing the vintage cover of the 1959 science fiction novel Level 7 by Mordecai Roshwald. And I know what you’re thinking: the book was written by a guy named Mordecai Roshwald? Clearly that is a guy who must be taken seriously and Level 7, while adopting the occasional tongue-in-cheek tone regarding its subject matter, is at its heart an anti-Cold War propaganda novel.

I started reading this book back in October, but my enjoyment was cut short when the book was stolen (along with my entire purse) out of a friend’s car. I had meant to pick up other books until I could find a replacement copy but I never got around to it, so hung up was I on finishing the deliciously unsubtle piece of Cold War era fiction that had so piqued my interest. It wasn’t until the following winter that I finally found a substitute and my reading habits resumed. What can I say, I’m a sucker for science fiction draped in social commentary, and I have a hard time moving on when my mind gets stuck on an idea.

As trapped as I felt without my literary closure, it came nowhere near as trapped as Level 7’s protagonist felt sealed into a top secret bunker 4,400 feet below the earth’s surface. A military man who is referred to by no name other than X-127, the label given to him by the anonymous voice on the loudspeaker that runs Level 7, our protagonist was chosen to be sent underground along with 499 others to be part of the elite group selected to preserve and defend humanity in the event of atomic war. In post-World War II decades, paranoia reached a fever pitch and the threat of the a-bomb dropping on an unsuspecting population was very real. While some were content to hide under wooden tables at the sound of a siren and believe they were protected, Level 7 adopts the more realistic attitude that, if atomic weaponry were involved, the next war would be the final war humanity ever waged.

So what could be done to preserve humankind? Why, go underground, of course. Deep underground, to the point at which deadly radioactivity would be diminished and our people protected. In addition to not naming names, Level 7 does not even assign nationalities, but it doesn’t take a genius to suppose that our protagonist speaks for America, while the oft-spoke of ‘enemy’ is the Soviet Union. Our protagonist is led to believe he is being promoted and sent on leave at the start of his journey, when in reality he is being whisked away on this ‘special’ assignment. No one on Level 7 is told of their true fate until they are underground and the door to the surface is sealed for good. It takes awhile for the reality to sink in, but eventually these people accept that they saw their last rays of sunlight for an entire lifetime and they didn’t even know it.

The idea that the only way to secure a future in which mankind may flourish is by locking up humanity’s remnants underground for 5 centuries is indeed a terrifying concept. It seems laughable to us now, that we let ourselves get so carried away with the idea of Mutually Assured Destruction but to Mordecai Roshwald’s contemporaries, it was a very real fear. I’m not sure what Mordy’s thoughts were on the likelihood of this actually occurring in his lifetime, but Level 7 is proof that he did not approve of the fervor. X-127 and his comrades—military folk, mostly—were chosen specifically because of their no-nonsense mentalities and lack of social connections. Only people declared mentally fit could survive in this supposed ‘paradise,’ but even X-127 has problems adjusting to a solitary life, and often pines for the sun. Roshwald seems to be suggesting that a life without sunshine and family is no life worth living, and perhaps it would be better to just allow yourself to be destroyed…

Now, earlier I said that these 500 poor souls were chosen to be the preservers and defenders of humanity (as if 500 were a feasible sustainable population number…), but that’s not exactly true. The defense is left to others; Level 7’s job—X-127 and three others, to be exact—is not defense, actually, but offense. X-127’s job, which he unknowingly trained for his whole career, was to push a series of buttons that would release his country’s entire arsenal on their enemies, spread out over three territories, in four successive and increasingly more destructive waves, the final of which are the atom bombs which would end the war. A deceivingly simple job, literally the push of a button, and the world could come to an end.

The majority of the novel is spent on what ifs and theorizing, the best possible hobby of the chronically confined. In fact, there isn’t much else for X-127 to do except think too much and keep a detailed journal and hope that there is a future generation to read it. In our modern age of computers, even with information overload and instant access to a vast expanse of knowledge that could fill a thousand lifetimes without ever reading the same thing—even with all that, the thought of being tucked away underground is a horrifying thought. Imagine what it would have felt like in 1959—and Level 7 wasn’t even allowed to have any BOOKS! I questioned this from the moment X-127 stated it, as preservation of knowledge and culture seem like something you might want to consider if you hope to rebirth a nation some day, but it is suggested that the people on Level 7 were bred not to dream and feel emotions and aspire beyond their station, and fiction would likely only increase the desire for greater things.

Or perhaps the unseen, obscure builders of Level 7 knew right from the get-go that hope was futile and didn’t bother with silly books.

One thing that kept nagging at me throughout the first half of Level 7 was Why 7? Where are levels 1 through 6? Do they even exist? It bothered me that no one on Level 7 thought of this until 75 pages (almost 2 months) in, when it was finally explained. In retrospect, it was probably better not to exposition dump right away, but they at least could have mentioned that Levels 1 through 6 existed. I was beginning to think the number 7 was arbitrary, or that it would have some twisty explanation. Through a series of talks delivered by the ever-present, disembodied loudspeaker voices that rule their lives, Level 7 learns of those above them. Level 6 is also military, and the ones responsible for the aforementioned defense. They number 2000 and regularly rotate out with a second group above ground. Whoever’s on duty when war is declared wins the You-Get-To-Live lotto, I guess. Levels 5 through 3 are for elite citizens, in decreasing importance (see: wealth). Levels 2 and 1 are for us regular old citizens, are seemingly incomplete at the start of the novel, and not expected to survive anyway. They’re really just there for show. In all, less than half the population is expected to fit in the shelters, and for various lengths of time, which makes me wonder why all the stealth, if so many people knew about the Levels? It is at this point that we also learn that just about every other remotely developed nation has also built bunkers, though only the enemy and ourselves have really put any effort into it. Because, let’s face it, in a game of poker, the only people adding to the pot are the ones who hold all the cards.

One thing that I really liked is that, while operations on Level 6 and above are largely glossed over, it is mentioned that Level 6 houses our defense units because it requires more complex machinery and manpower that couldn’t fit into any lower units. What this means is, striking down the enemy is easier to achieve than intercepting missiles sent to obliterate us. On the heels of this revelation is the fact that, if released upon the world, a-bombs would unleash so much radioactivity that the earth’s surface would be unlivable for decades, possibly centuries. It might never recover if everyone unleashes their arsenals at once. In essence, it is so much easier to destroy than it is to rebuild. A very true statement and not accidental, I’m sure.

SPOILERS

I really wondered what kind of a novel Level 7 was going to turn out to be, as X-127’s journal entries continued without any sign of offensive activity, and centered mostly on musing and internal Level 7 affairs (X-127 takes on a wife, for no particular reason other than it seemed like the thing to do. He doesn’t even like her much and easily drops her when they both lose interest). Given the real life predicament—a veritable standoff with an uncertain future—it just as easily could have been the story of a man waiting in the dark for his unseen opponent to draw first. There is certainly a lot of substance to be mined from the waiting, the pressure of fulfilling your life’s one duty, forced upon you by equally unseen forces, a duty which just happens to be destroying the world.

But that’s not the way it ends.

In the end, X-127 really does press that button. He presses all those buttons and so does the enemy, from the safety of their own hidden bunker, and the earth is utterly obliterated in the worst-case scenario. This happens roughly 100 pages in and the remaining 40 explore the very good question: What now?

What now, indeed. X-127 has essentially fulfilled his life’s one purpose, and the fact that it didn’t weigh as heavily on him as he thinks it should is a bigger concern to him than the encroaching death from above. In the weeks that follow the surviving levels fall one by one, the victims of poisoned ground water. Communicating by radio, Level 7 eventually loses contact with their own, their allies and even their enemy. At the final point, when Level 6 is in communicado, and they have come to accept that they are inevitably next, it comes down to just us and the enemy, and in a final act of retribution, both sides come together over the airwaves and make amends, but it is too little, far too late.

There is a lovely sequence where a couple from Level 2, before the fall of their level, goes above ground to explore the remains and find nothing but destruction, everything leveled by hate. Conversing via radio, they become the proverbial doves of Noah’s Ark, scouting the land for a safe haven, a new home and hope, but unlike those doves, the fact that they never came back is a destruction of that illusive hope.

When Level 7 finally falls, it is by accident, an explosion from the reactor intended to sustain their level’s daily functions. Despite the good intentions behind the machine’s creation, the radiation annihilates just the same. Our team may have been the last ones standing, but we all died the same way. And what did it prove?

END SPOILERS

Level 7 is a slow-moving book, short and without action, but its consequences are so much more dire and unsettling. Contributing to the disquieting tone is the fact that events are presented to us with a limited perspective. We know only what X-127 knows, and it was never really that much. Whether or not you can imagine the life above ground by story’s end probably says more about you, the reader, than about the book, but it is important all the same. After all, it is only by looking inward and upward that we could avoid the fate suffered by the inhabitants of Level 7. The inhabitants of this project may have been told they were the lucky ones—some of them may even believe they are the lucky ones—but the persistent parasite nagging at X-127’s brain from the start of his mission to the end—the desire for sunlight and the feeling that he is less of a savior and more of a prisoner—is no accident. “I really do not know what to do, but I am sure I cannot take many more downs,” he writes. “There must be a limit to mental suffering, just as there is a limit to the distance humans can dig into the earth. Seven levels down is the physical limit. How many can the spirit endure?” There is no way to solve all the discord in the world, but if there was, it isn’t through sticking your head in the sand and hiding in the dark. And it isn’t in superior firepower, because if it came to that, you’d reap what you sowed. Victory is possible, but at what cost?