I’m not sure how much longer everyone will be alive. Although no one’s saying anything about it, a worldwide nuclear war seems like a good possibility right now, unless I’m way off base. It sort of makes books seem unimportant when the reality they’re based on appears like it will soon be annihilated.
Then again maybe I’m getting kooky.
We shall see.
I’m reading The Sunlight Pilgrims by Jenni Fagan —a rather stylized book about a near-future people dealing with the results of climate change in a winter world that keeps getting colder and colder.
The thoughts in characters heads parts are very good. When the characters talk to each other—well, no one really talks that way to other people, but it’s certainly interesting. Maybe they do in Scotland where the author comes from, but certainly not here in the states. It’s full of of glorious exaggerated Ray Bradbury types of conversations. It’s not to say they’re bad, just maybe unrealistic.
The books certainly worthy of suspending my disbelief. Not my disbelief of climate control desecration, I think that’s starting to come about already. My suspension of disbelief comes from the way these people talk to each other in a kind of soulful stream of consciousness, everything on their mind way that I personally haven’t discovered in life.
I wish I would discover it.