Scan barcode
A review by akemi_666
The Sheep Look Up by John Brunner
4.0
One of the saddest books I've ever read.
While there are plenty of books, films, and games that depict the fallout of environmental devastation, there are fewer that depict the apocalypse itself. Perhaps because we're already living it. A world where the people who have poisoned the earth also sell the means of purification to its ruined subjects, consumer-clients who must protect what little space they can afford amidst dust storms, undrinkable water, and toxic foods. As the state rescinds social welfare and colludes with corporate interests, freedom shrinks to the level of the individual, to biopolitical self-management. Modulations through cycles of devastation and alleviation, without the possibility of restoration.
Post-anarchists try to live on the fringes of society, yet cannot escape the effects of pollution and ecological collapse. They ship worms from overseas, because the indigenous worms have died. Eco-terrorists bomb the forums of industry leaders. These leaders respond with jet fighters, shooting pacifist communities unconnected to the event, because they bear the same signifier of dissidence. Philanthropists ship food parcels to the countries they've devastated through unsustainable farming practices. The food parcels are laced with deliriants. Lumpenproletarian nihilists, with nothing left to lose, attempt to gain access to these parcels. An endless bad trip to end what began as the same. To go out in a mad rage. To rip apart a world already bifurcated and set against itself. The military open fire on them with lethal force.
I don't know how to express this feeling.
There was once a sky, and stars and light. There was once water, clear and blue and green. There was once dirt, rich and fragrant. Beams of light through leaves, sparkling gold.
There was once birds.
When I went to Tokyo, you could hear them singing around the city. You couldn't see them, because they didn't exist, anymore. They cried out of speakers, tucked in concrete folds, hidden from sight. You'd remember nothing but their trace. The next day, rain poured, falling on my skin in streaks of black. It was acid.
A week later, I was in Seoul. There were days when the dust was so thick, I could barely see the horizon. I could barely see the street. Buildings rose out of the dust like giants, like there was nothing beneath them, like the earth no longer existed. I saw an endless grid of towers. They were like fingers. Reaching for a sky that strained to be blue.
While there are plenty of books, films, and games that depict the fallout of environmental devastation, there are fewer that depict the apocalypse itself. Perhaps because we're already living it. A world where the people who have poisoned the earth also sell the means of purification to its ruined subjects, consumer-clients who must protect what little space they can afford amidst dust storms, undrinkable water, and toxic foods. As the state rescinds social welfare and colludes with corporate interests, freedom shrinks to the level of the individual, to biopolitical self-management. Modulations through cycles of devastation and alleviation, without the possibility of restoration.
Post-anarchists try to live on the fringes of society, yet cannot escape the effects of pollution and ecological collapse. They ship worms from overseas, because the indigenous worms have died. Eco-terrorists bomb the forums of industry leaders. These leaders respond with jet fighters, shooting pacifist communities unconnected to the event, because they bear the same signifier of dissidence. Philanthropists ship food parcels to the countries they've devastated through unsustainable farming practices. The food parcels are laced with deliriants. Lumpenproletarian nihilists, with nothing left to lose, attempt to gain access to these parcels. An endless bad trip to end what began as the same. To go out in a mad rage. To rip apart a world already bifurcated and set against itself. The military open fire on them with lethal force.
I don't know how to express this feeling.
There was once a sky, and stars and light. There was once water, clear and blue and green. There was once dirt, rich and fragrant. Beams of light through leaves, sparkling gold.
There was once birds.
When I went to Tokyo, you could hear them singing around the city. You couldn't see them, because they didn't exist, anymore. They cried out of speakers, tucked in concrete folds, hidden from sight. You'd remember nothing but their trace. The next day, rain poured, falling on my skin in streaks of black. It was acid.
A week later, I was in Seoul. There were days when the dust was so thick, I could barely see the horizon. I could barely see the street. Buildings rose out of the dust like giants, like there was nothing beneath them, like the earth no longer existed. I saw an endless grid of towers. They were like fingers. Reaching for a sky that strained to be blue.