I don’t intend to turn this into a “review blog” – but there is a lot of interesting fiction, poetry, cinema, etc. dealing climate change, in the last few years. For instance, there are a couple of British examples of Cli-Fi (climate fiction) that I find provocative, esp. when juxtaposed. The novella The End We Start From (Grove 2017), by Megan Hunter, is written from the point of view of a woman (unnamed) who has given birth just in time for floods that lead to the near-total evacuation of London. She and her husband, R., head north, first to his parents’ house. In the course of sallying forth for provisions, both of R’s parents die in apparent food riots of some sort. Their infant son, Z., falls ill, and our narrator insists they find a hospital; R. is so traumatized that he can hardly stand to be around other people anymore. After the baby’s condition is stabilized, they head northward again, and end up in a refugee camp in Scotland. R. abandons mother and child (Cf. Gold Fame Citrus, by Claire Vaye Watkins – similar topos). Mother & infant find supportive friendship with another mother & infant in the camp, and life continues. It is a beautifully written book – with believable voice and details, including one of the more detailed descriptions of caring for an infant that one is likely to come across. The narrator’s “entries” are interspersed with snippets of mythology: origin stories, flood stories, eschatologies. These have an interesting parallax relation to the action. The story gives a compelling speculative description of what the psychological effects of being displaced might be on a first-worlder who’s never had to experience such things – esp. one who is “bringing new life into the world.” And the whole thing is, in a way, an allegory for motherhood. The thing I like about the premise is that a major disaster has befallen the nation, but society has not completely disintegrated. It’s stretched pretty thin, to be sure. But unlike so much dystopian cli-fi, the city is not permanently underwater; and IRL, the more pervasive danger from sea-level rise comes in the form of severe (and periodic?) flooding, rather than permanent submersion. There does seem to be some kind of armed conflict underway in and around London, but it doesn’t seem to affect the principal characters directly. Suffice it to say that a new normal settles in. There is even what can be described as a happy ending, under the circumstances. However, it is an example of what Jonathan Neale, in an essay in the May issue of The Ecologist (“Social Collapse and Climate Breakdown”) identifies in dystopian narratives: “There are little groups of savages wandering the roads, scavenging and fearful, making tentative friends to keep the dark at bay.” Unfortunately, he continues, “That is not remotely what it’s going to be like.” Neale, informed by his experience growing up in Punjab during Partition and doing field-work later in Afghanistan, arrives at the disturbing conclusion that “when the moment of runaway climate change comes for you, where you live, it will not come in the form of a few wandering hairy bikers. It will come with the tanks on the streets and the military or the fascists taking power.”* At a time when that very thing is happening in some of the countries most affected by climate chaos (including those asked to host displaced persons), his analysis is disturbingly cogent. The Wall (Norton 2019), by John Lanchester, begins from Neale’s premise. In this novel, the UK has built an enormous concrete wall around the entire coast of the British Isle to keep out “The Others” – desperate people who attempt to sneak into the country after a perilous sea journey. Every young person must serve a stint as a “Defender” on the Wall; if any Others get past, an equal number of Defenders are put to sea in a boat (reciprocity, get it?). Oh – and all British citizens and legal residents are “chipped,” so the government can keep track of them. But there are domestic rebels who are trying to help The Others get in – and get chipped. All of this has obvious bearing on current political events. The story is told from the point of view of a young man who is a newly-drafted Defender. Again, very believable voice and details – as is the scenario, bleak as it is. For one thing, there is generational conflict: the parents just don’t get it: they’re too old to have to serve on the Wall; they just want to watch beach movies (the youngsters have never seen a beach). For another, the subsequent events are nasty and brutish, if not short. Why the difference between the two books? Somewhat optimistic vs. mostly pessimistic authors? Or could it be that, between 2015 and 2019, many writers’ view of the world has changed – a new, far grimmer IPCC report, more rightist populist strongmen taking power, etc. Does it mean we have resigned ourselves to dystopia? If Lanchester’s vision is closer to the spirit of our age, it makes one wonder if there is a way to prevent fascism in places like the U.S. or the U.K. And if so, what is to be done? Whatever the response, I don’t think it will do to say, “I’m a writer – it’s not my job.” ---------------------- * See also the statement by Philip Alston, UN special rapporteur on extreme poverty and human rights, “Human rights might not survive the coming upheaval.”
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June 2021
Kristin Prevallet Author/Editor
I'm a writer & teacher in Lawrence, Kansas who actually believes the scientists. I wrote a book of poems called Of Some Sky that seems to have something to do with all this. |