Deluge - Stephen Markley

Wowzer. 

One, at the very least, has to appreciate the audacity of Markley in even contemplating writing a book like this. I had to renew my library loan, as I couldn't quite finish it within the canonical two-week loan period. 

What makes this book different from so many other dystopian novels (and then again, is the best term really "dystopian"? the reality of the book feels like an increasingly possible near future) is that it doesn't start with the world being in a state of absolute chaos recognizable even by the most distracted readers; rather, it starts with our current world and our utter inability to understand how badly we are messing it up, and the descent into absolute disaster is gradually described by Markley. 

Of the various plots that run in parallel, some are obviously more compelling than others, and some are more original than others (and within them, there are some passages that are not particularly surprising, and others in which you see the author and humanity unleashing their creative and destructive potential at its finest - the Weathermen being a perfectly fitting example). 

It would have been an almost perfect book had it not been for the almost Hollywoodesque ending. I understand the author needed to sell a few more copies, but the final chapter felt a bit too hopeful and optimistic after all the drama of the previous 1000+ pages. 

Tasmania - Paolo Giordano

  

I was more than skeptical at the start. I had read Giordano's La Solitudine dei Numeri Primi and found it rather bland, so when I borrowed this (e)book my expectations were rather low, but hey I was proven wrong! 

Tasmania was such an unexpectantly pleasant read that it actually took me a while to fully admit to myself its many qualities: the prose is that of a very talented writer, and the scientific knowledge that of a great disseminator (how good a physicist Giordano actually is, I have no idea). And while the couple dynamics between the narrator and the love of his life at times leave a little to be desired, those between him and his main academic point of reference are absolutely fasciating (and it's great to see Giordano showing how - looking at the same dataset - academics can often come to diametrically opposite conclusion and decide to completely overlook some variables). 

And maybe, after all, we should all just consider moving to Tasmania. Just in case...

Seasonal Quartet - Ali Smith

 

Funnily enough, the Southwark electronic library has a e-copy of the first two books of the series, but I had to go to the actual library (exotic!) to get the hard copies of the last two. 

With hindsight, that was somewhat fitting, as I fell in love with Autumn and Winter, thinking of ways to write to Ali Smith to tell her how impressed I was with her decision to tackle events "in real time", take such a clear stand on so many social issues, and express (yet again) her love for Italy and Italian culture. 

Said love started to subside by Spring, and ultimately Summer left me rather unsatisfied. Much like had happened with Jonathan Coe's Middle England I felt that Smith couldn't quite manage to finish with a "bang" so, to avoid finishing with a "thud", she decided to finish with something that is safe and whose vibe (though - in her defense - not its details) is largely predictable. 

Also, that should teach me about reading four books from the same author in quick succession. I had grown tired of her writing style by the end, and I really wish that hadn't happened.

Solar - Ian McEwan

  

I much prefer McEwan doing "science" (or thereabouts) like in this book than him doing sci-fi like in Machines Like Me, but that's not saying much. 

Solar wasn't a bad read, but I have the feeling it's already aged quite a bit over the span of a dozen years. The main driving force behind it shouldn't be the personal life of its main character (which is not as interesting as that of a number of his other characters), but rather its scientific approach, which in 2022/3 already feels quite dated. 

And the finale, with the chickens coming home to roost isn't really the most surprising.

The Wall - John Lanchester

 

Over the last three years I haven't become illiterate and I haven't lost the ability to connect to the internet. I just didn't update this blog, but I'll now try to make amends. Now that most of my reading is done on my iPad, and now that my iPad stays in the office on Monday and Tuesday nights I'll hopefully be able to find some time to play catch-up with the novels that I read through multiple lockdowns and the birth of my second daughter...

Over the last three years I've discovered the joys of library ebook loans. Southwark gives me some, Westminster gives me more, and, incredible as it may sound, my small Italian hometown gives me the best service of all three.

Over the last three years I've read almost all the novels from the Southwark Library that I found somewhat interesting. The Wall was something that I wouldn't have picked by its synopsis, but I decided to read it because all the John Lanchester books I had read I had found to be somewhere between "easy and cute" and "brilliant".

Over the last three years I've read a number of dystopian novels, like this one, and remained ambivalent to most of them (though this one has the advantage of making me ask myself "would I survive in a similar situation, and if so how?).

Over the last three years, dystopian novels haven't changed that much in tone. But that's probably true of dystopian novels over the last century. And in the real world the climate threat hasn't changed that much either probably, but now it feels much more real, and this novel makes it scarily so.