#dystopic short fiction

[lanwangjiismyreligion]

I finished my dystopian short story and poem collection today. This collection is based on Yoko Taro-senseis Drakengard video game series and the NieR Spin offs inclusive NieR Automata, the Animation. But the stories aren't fanfiction. They are my originals and rather abstract. It's more a homage to Yoko Taro-sensei's story telling in general. Now I have to think about the cover design ...🥲

[whereserpentswalk]

You were born to be a sacrifice. When you first exited your mothers womb the oracles decided that would be your fate. They tattooed your hands and forehead so everyone would know.

When you turn twenty, they'll take you to the church, and they'll set you on fire. And then when your body is burned they'll give your ashes for the angels, and the angels and saints will be proud, and bless your community and family with great riches. Or at least that's what they say.

When you were young it didn't seem to mean anything that you were born to die young. Nobody cared, they just saw you as another kid. But it was always there. Adults would ask other kids what they wanted to be when they grew up, but they'd ask you what you would do once you were a ruler in the court of heaven. They'd tell other kids about marriage and sex and having children, but for you that would just be for other people, you'd die a virgin.

And at a certain age, you were removed from school. Because they said you wouldn't need it. That you shouldn't be wasting your time on such things. And you didn't understand, but you understood that all your freinds were upset that they wouldn't see you anymore. Not as much at least. And people talked about you so much differently from then on. You weren't complimented as strong, or as smart, or as ambitious, you were pretty, and pure, and brave, and dutiful. And everyone talked about how proud they were of you, how wonderful it was that you were going to die for them.

They were so nice to you. They gave you so many gifts and jewelry. You got to spend all day inside playing video games, and you got the best toys and got to go to movies and plays when you wanted to. Soldiers in power armor would bow when they saw you, and robots and cyborgs would turn off their lights. And you sat at a special place in church, and the clothing you wore was diffrent then everyone else's. And people talked about how wonderful you were, and how pretty you were, and how much they loved having you when they knew you wouldn't be on this world for long. And they were so proud of you when they showed you the platinum clothing you would wear on the day of your sacrifice. And you didn't understand why but all of the compliments sounded sad.

As you grew older things changed. The other children went through puberty, but you didn't, they gave you surgery to prevent it, ans told you how pure you were for not producing blood or seed. And you were old enough to understand that you would die, that you would burn, and it would hurt, and that nobody really knew for sure what happened after peopled died. And you saw a sacrifice, and saw the pain they were in, and there weren't any angels, there were only priests watching and chanting, and the smell of burning skin.

Your parents and family started to care much more how you behave. To make sure you're polite. To make sure you're a good sacrifice, who the angels will like. And meanwhile while all your other freinds are going to college, and talking about becoming artists, or starship pilots, or scientists, you know you'll only ever have one ending. But still, everyone loves you, and you don't have responsibilities, but still sometimes you think about how much diffrent life would be if you were born differently.

You've started meeting people who've left the faith, or people who didn't grow up in it, people who believe in diffrent religions or in no religion at all. And your heaven seems less and less certain every day. According to imperial law you're allowed to be sacrificed, but if you choose not to they can't force you. But if you choose not to you can never be a part of your faith again, and your family will be disappointed in you forever. All your family and community, everyone who you ever knew, will consider you a failure, a coward doomed to hell for not going through with what the cosmos planned for you. And all that pride and joy they felt about your fate would be replaced with anger that you never became what they were so happy and proud about you being. You don't think you believe in heaven anymore, but you still might choose to die, if it means they're proud... it's what you're raised to do, you don't know who you'll be if you choose to leave.

Better choose fast darling, it's only a few months away now. You don't want them to be upset.

[vetex]

An excerpt from chapter two of my story, Reversing Entropy. Feel free to give me any feedback!

A few hours later she was entering Indiana. A silvery gray car passed her on the lane to the left of her. She looked through the shaded window and saw a little boy in the passenger seat and a teenage boy driving the car. Something about the younger boy's face looked familiar to her. He had olive skin and large, downturned blue eyes. Maddie tried to signal to him to stop, but the driver didn't seem to understand and sped up. He knew she was there, and it was obvious that he thought that she was a threat. She cranked her window open, sped up, and placed her arm on the side of the car. He finally understood and stopped his car. She saw him step out of his car: "Are you gonna come out, or what?" he asked with a hint of uncertainty in his young voice. Maddie stepped out of her car. "Yeah, do you know anything about the blast? I was out in the middle of nowhere when the bomb went off. Was any information given over the television?" "Well, there was a news broadcast about all the radiation, and according to my maps, we're out of the fallout zone right now, but I'd keep heading north if I were you." he replied. "Who's the boy in your car over there?" she asked. The traveler looked up from his shoe. "No idea; his parents must have forgotten about him or something. When I picked him up yesterday, he was knocked out on the side of the road. I thought he was dead!" "What do you mean by 'blasts'? Do you mean there were multiple explosions!?" Madeleine asked. He pulled a map of the United States out of his pocket. He explained to her that the black marks were where bombs landed before he left his home. There was a mark on Austin, Texas, and another mark on Albuquerque, New Mexico. Jackson, Mississippi, and Atlanta were marked along with Cedar City in Utah, but she didn't see a mark in West Virginia, where she saw the first blast; his map was probably incomplete. A minute later he came out again with the boy walking next to him. His curly brown hair was partially tucked into a black beanie hat.

[loressa]

Routine

----

Morning call blares and I am already late.

"Help!" I hiss to brother, but he's gone, slipping away from bedding in a nimble twist.

"Praise Sovereign," he mutters and I duck my head, ashamed I've forgotten such basics in my hurry for school. "Praise Sovereign," I echo, blushing, my morning tripped and slowed by my own mistakes.

There is no time for food.

Brother walks me to the bus.

"I miss meat," I complain, but brother knows better.

"Do not miss meat," he mutters. "And never tell anyone you miss it."

I never will, I promise, and we will never speak of beef again, or chicken, or pork, or anything yummy, anything better than vat-grown stuffs. Good, he murmurs, but my tummy disagrees.

The bus comes.

I stand silent as I am wanded down by the security guard, arms outspread and legs splayed as I've been taught. No beeps. I'm safe. I board the bus. 38 days since an incident. I giggle at the silliness.

My friend Kelsey is four seats down. I smile, halfwise, as mother has taught - enough to show intent, but not enough to invite attention, as she says. The young boys can't help themselves, she says. We shouldn't blame them, she says. Kelsey half-smiles back.

I settle in beside Kelsey and we grumble over homework. We have been studying sexual education; last night we learned of our sin.

"I wish I was never a girl," I confide to Kelsey in an embarrassed whisper. My skin turns all pink and hot, and it makes me feel so lame and dumb to tell her, but...part of me can't just accept what we are told. It's just not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair just because of being a girl-

"You've gotta get over this-" Kelsey's voice is in my ear. I've lost where I am and what's going on. I re-focus. We are leaving the bus. "You know there is WAY more important stuff."

I nod. She's right. It's time for school.

I did not want to pick many electives this year, but the school mandates we do, so I settled on finance - I'm to learn about how corporations help the government. They are very helpful, I've learned, so far. We are about to learn which ones are the best, so I'm excited.

There's some commotion, though. Classes should start soon, but people are milling about. I ask what's going on - oh...

...It's Marta.

They found out she's illegal. Well, rather, her family was, in the pasttimes. She's...we don't talk of that. Poor Marta. The crowd scatters quickly. We won't see Marta again.

Class begins, heralded by a bell and a round of "Praise Sovereign." We bow our heads low - not bowing is grounds for suspicion. Only rebels don't bow. I glance about the room, quick, harsh, hot, illegal. Trent's head stays up. I know Trent, I like Trent. We talked at lunch about stuff.

Oh, please, I whisper to myself. Don't do this, Trent. I whisper and I plead, but it's all in my head, and within a heartbeat the campus security are here. I will not see Trent - not the Trent I know - ever again. I bite back tears. Tears are terrorist tools. I must not cry, or I may be implicated.

The bell rings and we duck into a round of praise Sovereigns. This seems to satisfy the guards. They depart and education begins.

And we learn.

[moderatelyquicksilversposts]

“At 12, problematic user IIX-P0-1287719 will make a controversial statement on a culturally sensitive topic. At 13, users whose ID divides by three will gather to work themselves into fits of outrage over it. At 14.45, even-numbered IDs will organize a parallel demonstration in favor of it. Users whose ID fits both profiles will stay home and comment sarcastically, unless their ID divides by five as well, in which case they will engage in other social activities. Likely topic: the wages of Xandal’uc workers (Probability: 78%) Shall I start the production of merchandise for both sides?” RealValues’ manager smiled. “Ok.”

(via Artificially Generated Predictions Concerning the Most Likely Behavior of OneNet's Netizens by RealValues, Inc.)

[lovebugism]

Hi! Could I pls request a Steve x shy!reader drabble? Maybe they’re a bit of a bookworm and they have a meet cute at a library or bookstore or something ��️ I love your fics, and I hope you’re having a good day! 💛

i've been working on this wip for ages but i loved this request too much not to finish! thanks for being patient with me anon!

summary: steve hopeless romantic harrington meets shy!reader at a bookstore and fluffy awkwardness ensues (meet cute, strangers to lovers-ish, fluff, 2.1k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Five hours go by like minutes, tucked away in the back of the library — your own little corner of the world. 

Because all your spare cash went to groceries and good food (and the newest Margaret Atwood novel just dropped), you hide in the back of the bookstore and get lost in the nostalgic earthy scent of the thick pages you’ve been waiting ages to read. 

You sit between the dystopian and gothic fiction aisles, back propped against the former with your knees folded to your chest, and speed-read as much as you can before closing.

The in-store café offers complimentary coffee and bagels. It’s lukewarm and a little cardboard-y, but it’s fuel nonetheless. You only get up once to use the bathroom and stretch your stiff limbs. Other than that very brief break, you’re relatively unbothered — until page 196, anyway.

“Where are the porno mags?” a male voice wonders from a few aisles down. It’s not the first voice you’ve heard all day, but it’s certainly the closest.

A feminine voice follows, nearer now. “There’s no porn, dingus. I was just saying that so you’d drive me here.”

“…That’s so fucked up.”

“You’ll get over it.”

“No, actually. I won’t. This might be the end of our friendship, now that I think about it.”

Their conversation draws closer and closer to you in time with their nearing footsteps. You figure they must be looking for a different section — certainly not the one you’ve had to yourself all day — but then they turn the corner of the aisle and stop short when they find you sitting there.

“Oh,” a pretty girl hums as she stares down at you, rouge mouth forming a softly pouted ‘o’ shape. 

Her hair is a sandy color, like a beach, and it’s chopped at her shoulders. She wears a pair of slacks and suspenders over an oversized button-up. She looks like a character from a book you wish you could write. 

She smiles down at you, a tad bit awkwardly. “Hello…”

“Shit— ” you curse, scrambling to get your legs out of the aisle. Your face burns as you bring your knees back to your chest. “I’m sorry.”

“No worries,” she shrugs and walks on by you. 

A pretty boy follows.

His hair is a really specific shade of brown — like chocolate syrup mixed with honey. It’s pushed back over his forehead, messy with intention. A few strands hang over his thick brows like they’re meant to be there. He’s got a layer of scruff on his chiseled jaw that’s a shade lighter than his actual hair. 

His wide eyes are a similar chocolate-syrup-honey color.

He’s almost annoyingly pretty. The kind of pretty that seems unfair.

“Don’t apologize to her,” the pretty boy jokes with a lopsided smile. “She’s a total bully.”

The pretty girl interjects. “Don’t listen to him. He’s an idiot. And stop bothering her, dingus— she’s obviously trying to read.”

You breathe out an awkward laugh through your nose. 

You don’t want them to think you’re actually annoyed, but you don’t have the words to tell them that. You have no idea what to say to them, actually. They’re obviously far cooler than you are, and the notion almost threatens you.

The pretty boy doesn’t follow his pretty friend. He lets her roam the aisle, obviously in search of something, and leans against the gothic fiction section across from you.

“So, uh… What are you reading?” he asks.

You don’t trust your voice to answer him verbally, lest the words get stuck in your throat and make you sound like Kermit the Frog. You flash him the dystopic, renaissance painting-esque cover with a tightlipped smile.

“Handmaid’s Tale,” he reads with a squint, then nods. “Sounds fun.”

“It’s not,” the pretty girl scoffs. She thumbs through her own copy of the book that she plucked from the shelf. “It’s the one I was telling you about on the way over.”

The pretty boy’s face screws up in disgust. “Oh. The one with gross men?”

“The one with the gross men.”

He turns back to you, looking apologetic. “Sorry, I take it back. Not fun.”

You smile wordlessly in response.

“He’s Steve, by the way,” the pretty girl says to you, nodding to the pretty boy. “I figured if he’s gonna keep weirdly hovering over you, you should probably know his name—”

“I’m not hovering!”

“—You can call him dingus if you want. I’m Robin.”

“Hi,” you greet, quiet and mousy.

“Do you come around here often?” the boy — Steve — wonders, bushy brows pinched and burly arms crossed over his chest. “I feel like I’ve seen you before—”

“Ugh. Stop flirting with her.”

“I’m asking a question!”

You purse your lips to the side in attempts to hide your smile and your gaze back to your book. 

They argue like a married couple. You wonder how long they’ve been together — six months or six years?

“Sorry about him. He’s not usually this annoying,” Robin quips with a playful twinkle in her deep ocean eye. She slams the book closed with a ringed handand walks back towards you. She pushes Steve ahead and away from you in the process. “Alright, I got the goods. Let’s go before they close.”

Your eyes widen as you look down at your wrist. 

Ten minutes until eight o’clock. 

You turn to the book once more and find that you’re about a hundred pages shy from the end of it. You tend to read like a maniac if you’re focused enough, but there’s no way you’re finishing it before closing.

“Shit…”

“You okay?” Steve asks, still lingering at the very end of the aisle, though Robin has already left for check-out.

You rise and straighten out your clothes — the very un-special sweatshirt and baggy jeans duo you’d changed into after work. It’s not unlike the navy blue henley and similarly colored denim he’s got on, but you don’t look nearly as pretty as he does.

“Yeah,” you shrug, not quite meeting his gaze as you return the book that feels like it only fits in your hands. “I just— I didn’t realize how late it was.”

You don’t expect to see Steve looking so concerned when you turn back to him. His brows are furrowed, honey eyes glinting in question. “You’re not getting it? You looked like you were almost done.”

“Oh, I don’t— I can’t…” you stammer then trail off, fidgeting awkwardly ahead of him. 

You don’t want this pretty boy’s first impression of you to be that you’re completely and utterly broke. Even if this is the last you ever see of him, you’ll only be remembered as that one girl from the bookstore who couldn’t buy herself anything. 

“I figured I could just come buy tomorrow and finish it…”

“Oh. Okay. Well, it was… it was nice meeting you, then.”

“You, too,” you murmur with a tightlipped smile, eager to get away from a moment you don’t feel very deserving of. 

Out of every girl this pretty boy could’ve chosen, why did it have to be the one in the very back of the bookstore who was too poor to get anything other than a free coffee and bagel? 

You chuck both in the bin as you head towards the exit.

The sun has almost finished setting when you leave — mostly disappeared over the skyline, but painting the sky a deep lavender shade unique to the twilight hour. You stand at the crosswalk — the man on the speaker shouting “wait!” at your side — as you anticipate the orange hand across the street to turn into a white stick figure.

“I told you she’d still be here,” a familiar voice sounds from a few paces behind you, mostly drowned out by the sounds of passing cars. A louder “hey!” follows. You only think the voice might be calling for you until it comes closer. 

“Hey!” It comes again, louder now.

You look over your shoulder and find Steve from the Bookstore striding towards you. 

Both happy and confused to see him, your wavering smile is paired with a pair of furrowed brows. “Hey…”

“Sorry, you just— you left this.”

When your eyes manage to flit away from his sculpted face — which you just noticed looks eerily similar to Michelangelo’s David — you find that he’s holding a book in his hands. Handmaid’s Tale. The same copy you were reading, dog-eared just like you left it.

Your contorted features never falter. “I didn’t…” you trail off with the shake of your head, laughing softly. “I didn’t buy that.”

“No, I know,” Steve shrugs with a crooked grin. “I did.”

You think he might be implying he bought it for you, but then you realize that’s crazy, because why would he do that for you? That’s the sort of thing that happens to girls in Brontë novels, not to you.

“Youdid?” you echo like an idiot because it’s all you can think to say.

“Yeah. ‘Cause, you know, you looked pretty interested in it and everything…”

“But you didn’t have to… You didn’t have to buy it for me—”

“It’s not a big deal. Seriously. I mean, it’ll save you the extra trip down here tomorrow, right?”

You meet his confident grin with a trembling one. “I can’t take it…”

“Well, if you don’t take it, that means I have to keep it, and—”

“He’s pretty much illiterate,” Robin calls from a little ways behind him.

She’s waiting by a pretty maroon car. It looks like a luxury model of some kind, shiny like it’s fresh off the lot. She leans against it like it’s hers, but Steve’s got the keys in his hand — the one not holding the book he bought for you.

“…I was gonna say I haven’t read anything since junior year of high school, but sure,” he concedes with a shrug. His eyes sparkle down at you— or maybe it’s just the street lamps flickering on. Either way, you feel your stomach whirling. He waves the book at you. “Take it. You’ll actually read it.”

“But…” you trail off, eyes flickering over to Robin. You step closer to Steve and lean in like you’re about to tell him a secret. “Won’t your girlfriend be upset?”

“Girlfriend?” the boy repeats with pinched brows. He goes soft with realization a second later, then starts to laugh. “No. Robin, she’s— No. She’s not really my type.”

“Oh. Shit. Sorry,” you stammer with wide eyes. 

If cool, pretty girls aren’t his type, then there’s no way in hell you are. 

Slightly comforted by his assurances, when he motions the book to you again, you take it. 

“Well, thank you, Steve. That’s… That’s really nice.”

He shrugs again. “’S no big deal. Really.”

“But I feel a little bad,” you confess quietly, peeking at him from beneath your lashes while you fidget with the book in your anxious hands. “I feel like I should give you something in return, or, I don’t know, like—”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Steve assures with the shake of his head. He swipes a hand through the chocolate-honey locks and flashes you a smile that borders on shy. “But if you wanted to go out for coffee or something sometime, then I’d be willing to call it even.”

Your cheeks burn. You don’t know if you’re breathing anymore, or if you even can. A quiet smile quirks at the corner of your mouth as you nod. “Coffee sounds good,” you answer sheepishly.

“Cool,” Steve replies coolly, like he isn’t totally beaming down at you. “Then, just… call me whenever you’re free.”

“Oh, I don’t— I don’t have your number.”

His sneakers scuff against the sidewalk as he walks backwards to his car. He just nods at you, smiling gently as he argues, “Yeah, you do.”

Your brows furrow in confusion — because you most certainly don’t. He was a stranger to you a little more than ten minutes ago. You have no reason to have his number. 

Realization settles over you like pinpricks down your spine, butterflies in your belly. 

You open the front cover of the book and find several numbers written down at the very bottom of the cover page.

Call me when you finish, the note reads in half-legible chicken scratch. I’m not really a book guy, but I could probably hear you talk about them all day.

He signs off with his name, number, and a sloppy smiley face. 

You don’t realize you’re beaming until you already are. 

When you look back up at Steve, you find him standing at the open driver’s side door, already smiling back at you.

[searchingforserendipity25]

tag meme for posting your favorite 9 books read in 2023

Thank you @meadowlarkx! I'm loving getting to know everyone's book recs from last year.

Tagging with no pressure @sallysavestheday, @mayfriend, @theghostinthemargins, @thalion71, @247reader, @melestasflight, @nablah, @camille-lachenille, @m-b-w, and anyone who'd like to share their recs!

I took the liberty of writing a little about every book under the cut, because it is 22:30 and I am passionate about these books.

Lavinia, Ursula le Guin. It's le Guin, do I have to say it? I really have, because the depths of study on ancient animism in the Italian countryside is extraordinarily well researched, and even aside from the ambitious narrative approach of Lavinia speaking with Aeneas, the study that went into it is one of the most respectful and involving approaches to ancient spirituality I have read.

The Fury is Silvina Ocampo's recently translated short-story compilation! Whole-heartedly recommend any of her short works, which I understand are published with different titles. Reading anything of hers feels like the pervasive grey silence of staying awake till four a.m. as you consider all the familiar people and strangers you have known and reconcile with the strain of incurable isolation and cruelty present in human nature. Life, Silvina tells you, is sharpened and not redeemed by the possibility of understanding. You are not safe from Silvina Ocampo's studies in unsettling mundanity; no one, Silvina warns, is ever safe within themselves. But at least Buenos Aires is very beautiful, and so are all her deliciously malicious women.

The Fée et Tendres Automates (Béatrice Tillier-Téby) graphic book series starts with this book, about Jam, a young man who is not so young, surviving in a dystopic Victorian society while trying to reunite with the sentient mannequin he's in love with...it is moving, it is bold, it has class warfare and magic and a mad scientist, it is gorgeously written and illustrated.

I read The Blue Castle (L. M. Montgomery). Loved the Blue Castle. 'A book about being in your twenties' is a bad summary, but technically not wrong?

I wavered on putting on Claúdia Andrade's short-story collection 'Quarter Finals and Other Stories', because it's not translated, but it was my favourite book of the year, in many ways! An incisive and imaginative writer with a delightfully chilly grasp on human nature. I find myself thinking about the scenes she invokes several times a week. For instance, I think all dying old women should be cursed to speak the truth of every secret they ever knew.

Lords and Ladies was a lot of fun! Also reread Wyrd Sisters. Every years Granny Ogg grows hotter wait who said that.

The Fox (D. H. Lawrence) is about cottage-core lesbians, but like, detestable cottage-core lesbians in post-war England. It's terrific psychological work - I was on the edge of my seat the whole time. The last paragraphs haunts me. Will never trust seaweed metaphors again.

The Painter of Birds (Lídia Jorge) is translated. I recommend it. I recommend it a normal amount. I might be lobbying Lídia Jorge for a Nobel, idk. In all seriousness - she is an absolute powerhouse with a career of profound, invasive, masterful works, she's got most Portuguese language and French awards, do get a Nobel while she's still kicking. God!! This book!!!!

What Is Not Yours Is Not Yours (Helen Oyeyemi) is like nothing else. Ruiz Zábron married Angela Carter and then had an affair with Olga Tokarczuk? But it's queer and it's not white and unapologetic about being undefinable speculative fiction. Still chewing on it. Wonderful, wonderful, terrific.

[runawaycarouselhorse]

The gala's theme wasn't truly supposed to be a delightful garden. It's just that most people read the description and didn't read the short (!) story it's based on--so. comparisons to The Hunger Games are apt, Katniss' actress is a Zionist even though Israel bombs hospitals, tortures people (including children), ethnically cleanses and displaces Palestinians (how many times have people been displaced, how many times have "safe passages" been bombed, go to Rafah it's safe--except it's not, displaced again...), IDF seizing the border crossing so no aid gets in (aside from all their attacks on aid trucks, the flour massacres, etc.), etc.--just like the Capitol or even arguably worse. Most of them cannot truly understand or believe these things in reality. They pay only lip service. Or rebellion, genocide, freedom fighters... all of these are only subjects of history and fiction.

*Look, I even used western sources, because so many people don't want to hear from Arab sources.

even the theme for their little party is meant to criticize seeking some modicum of immortality in art and beauty, while also using it to completely distract yourself from the suffering of the common man, because who cares about everyone else, right? You and your loved ones are the only people who matter!

The Garden of Time is a dystopic short story depicting the fall of aristocracy.

It's largely set in a beautiful garden of crystalline time flowers (so, that's where the Lucario movie got it from, that adds another layer to Aaron's character...) which, when mature, take one back into the past when picked. The aristocratic couple, Count Axel and his wife, use these and music and other finery to distract themselves from the approaching army of commoners, even as they loom closer and closer...

It ends, of course, tragically for the couple, as they run out of flowers, the last one is too young to offer more than a fleeting moment, like one beautiful bird taking flight, and all the art, books, music--everything they distracted themselves with and cherished was destroyed, even as statues of them overlook the chaos.

[retrieve-the-kraken]

9 favourite books

Thank you @gwiazdziarka for tagging me (and thanks for all those book recs, I’m adding all of them to my list, except for the ones that I’ve already read), and I agree, maybe all of these won’t be my absolute favorite books, but they’re either books that I think about a lot, or books that have a special place in my heart, but not necessarily something that I go back to over and over.

The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exúpery

This one is definitely a favorite. It’s a book that I’ve reread many times, because I feel that it has a different feel every time, depending on what I’m going through at that moment. Also a classic. Love it so much that I’ve started to collect editions in different languages; so far I have Spanish (of course), French, Italian, Chinese, Korean, Japanese, Euskera (possibly one of the rarest), and Swedish (of course, because I intend to be able to read it by next year).

Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman

Also an absolute favorite, classic down-the-rabbit-hole type story that takes place in London Below. Fell in love with it, with the world-building within an already existing world. If i actually had to list 9 of my favorite books, pretty sure the whole list would be Neil Gaiman, but this book is both entertaining and comforting, so I pick this one. The BBC radio drama adaptation starring James McAvoy and Natalie Dormer is also excellent. Still waiting for the book sequel, though…

84 Charing Cross Road by Helene Hanff

The most charming book in history, composed entirely of letters between an aspiring writer and rare books collector in New York and the manager of a rare books bookshop in London. Their relationship is platonic, and yet one of the most romantic things I have ever read. The movie adaptation is equally charming and it has Anthony Hopkins and Judi Dench in it. Read the book first, then watch the movie, then cry endlessly. Rinse and repeat.

Like a Hole in the Head by Jen Banbury

You should know that I get a lot of book recommendations from TV shows, so I decided to hunt down this book when Monica was reading it in more than one episode of Friends (felt like a subliminal message). And it was fucking worth it. Also a book about a book. A dwarf comes into a bookshop where the protagonist works, to sell a first edition of Jack London’s White Fang, and only after he’s gone she finds out just how rare it is. Heist plot ensues. It’s equally strange and exciting, mind-blowing and cathartic.

The Opposite of Loneliness by Marina Keegan

Very melancholy, this book is a collection of essays, poems and short stories published posthumously, as Keegan died in an accident at 21. She was very talented and could write convincingly about many things. Can’t even pick a favorite one out of the collection, because they’re all very good in very different ways. Very bittersweet.

Los Caballos Estornudan en la Lluvia by Dimas Lidio Pitty

Another short story collection (the title literally translates as “Horses Sneeze in the Rain”), from a Panamanian author, from the region where I spent my childhood summers, which still holds a very special place in my heart, and which has a mysticism about it that he helps preserve in these stories. Dimas Lidio Pitty was very good at magical realism. One of the stories in particular is so brief, but it’s incredible how good it is in such a short narration.

Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

I’m a huge fan of classic dystopic science fiction, and this one has got to be my favorite. The narrative is interesting, moves along at an excellent pace, and it covers everything. Another book about books too. If you haven’t read Fahrenheit 451, the premise is simple: in this dystopic society, firemen don’t put out fires, they start them… to burn books. Book banning to the extreme. What happens next? You need to read it to find out.

El Misterio del Solitario by Jostein Gaarder

I have been obsessed with this book (The Solitaire Mystery in English) by Norwegian author Jostein Gaarder since I started reading all his books when I was a teen (I don’t even know how I came across him, I just picked one up one day and went with it, it wasn’t even Sophy’s World, it was Through a Glass, Darkly). Of course Sophy’s World is probably the most famous, and it was very good, but this one is so strange and magical that I read it several times ages ago, and it was such a comforting book, and now I would like to reread. Maybe one day soon I’ll read it in Norwegian!

The Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum

Another classic and favorite, which I have also read many times. Some people like Alice in Wonderland, some like Peter Pan, I like the Wizard of Oz. I like anything Oz related, the movie, the musical, Wicked (the musical, not the book, tho), everything. But the source material is still where it’s at.

No pressure tags: @makingupachangingmind , @voldiebeth , @raincitygirl76 and @phoebenpiperx .

[mediaevalmusereads]

The Children of Men. By PD James. Vintage Books, 1992.

Rating: 4.5/5 stars

Genre: science fiction, dystopia

Series: N/A

Summary: Told with P. D. James's trademark suspense, insightful characterization, and riveting storytelling, The Children of Men is a story of a world with no children and no future. The human race has become infertile, and the last generation to be born is now adult. Civilization itself is crumbling as suicide and despair become commonplace. Oxford historian Theodore Faron, apathetic toward a future without a future, spends most of his time reminiscing. Then he is approached by Julian, a bright, attractive woman who wants him to help get her an audience with his cousin, the powerful Warden of England. She and her band of unlikely revolutionaries may just awaken his desire to live . . . and they may also hold the key to survival for the human race.

***Full review below.***

CONTENT WARNINGS: suicide, blood, pus, child death, prison abuse

OVERVIEW: This book has been on my TBR list for ages. I've seen the film adaptation and I have a friend who occasionally teaches it in college literature courses, so I figured I'd pick it up and see how it went. Overall, I liked this book way more than I thought I would. It played with a lot of interesting ideas and meditated on things like nationalism, justice, futurity, etc. in ways I found deeply compelling. Though the style might not be to every reader's taste, I feel like I could talk about this book for ages, so for that reason, it gets 4.5 stars from me.

WRITING: James's prose is fairly descriptive, feeling more what you'd expect out of literary fiction or older sci fi than out of 21st century dystopia. I really liked the descriptiveness, however, as it allowed James to dig deeply into the themes holding this story together.

And what themes they are! There is so much going on in this book and the ideas are deployed in such interesting ways. I loved discussions of power and how people are willing to look the other way on atrocity so long as they are comfortable. I loved the subtle commentary on immigration and the prison system/crime. I loved the way James thought about the generational differences between most British people and the Omegas as well as their relationship to the world. Even if a reader sees some of these themes as problematic, you have to agree that this book provokes some intense discussion, which makes it a masterpiece, in my opinion.

PLOT: The plot of this book follows Theo Faron, a fifty-something year old man who finds himself entangled with the activities of a small resistance group twenty-five years after humanity has become infertile. This book is divided into two parts: part one gets the reader familiar with the dystopic landscape of Britain. Theo's cousin, Xan, has become the Warden of England, and a resistance group made up of 5 individuals decides to use Theo to attempt to get Xan to enact some reform. Part two primarily follows Theo as he becomes more entangled with the 5, and the stakes are raised when it is revealed that one of them, a woman named Julian, is pregnant.

I really liked this story for the way it thought about justice. In Theo's world, the government is responsible for much brutality, but it is tolerated in part because it makes the lives of "lawful" citizens more comfortable. The first part of this book therefore asks what the value of justice is when there is no hope for the future, while also prompting consideration of things like nationalism, the preservation of culture, etc.

I also really liked the way James thought about what effects infertility would have on the world (especially England). The competing religious ideologies were fascinating as well as shifting attitudes towards sex and pleasure kept my attention rapt, and I was profoundly interested in how the world continued to be built up.

If I had any criticisms, I would say that there are parts of this book that drag a little bit. But because the novel is so short, it doesn't really hold the story back much.

CHARACTERS: Theo, our protagonist, is hard to like, but because he changes over the course of the novel, he's always fairly interesting. At the beginning, Theo is rather cynical and resists being responsible for anyone and anything. He's also fairly sexist and has some rather callous attitudes regarding his ex-wife and daughter. But his flaws are made interesting when he encounters Julian and the others, as they constantly challenge him and drag him into their affairs. By the end of the book, you can see Theo's evolution from someone who is cold and cut off from the world to someone who feels and cares. I also particularly liked James's use of Theo's love for history as a way for exploring the use and misuse of the past, and the digs at his backwards-looking attitudes were genius.

Xan, the antagonist and Warden of England, was also interesting in that he was a charismatic tyrant. He was presented as someone who will do whatever he must to hold onto power, but because we primarily see him through Theo's eyes, his image is distorted by Theo's affection. Theo has fond memories of their childhood together and has absolutely faith that Xan is a reasonable person; but the more we read, the more we realize that Xan is anything but benevolent.

Julian, one of the "rebels" and the woman who becomes pregnant, is fairly interesting on account of the way her optimism and religious views interact with Theo's cynicism and atheism. The only thing I didn't quite like was the way Theo felt something like romantic attraction to her - it didn't make much sense to me and both characters would have worked just fine without that element.

The rest of the resistance crew is just fine. Miriam, the midwife, is valuable for her skills and her compassion, though I do wish James had explored her experiences as a black woman more. Rolf, Julian's husband, is notable for the way he craves power, and his ambitions really make you think about the difference between his goals and Xan's. Luke, the priest, is the most underdeveloped, and given his significance in the plot, it might have been interesting to have him fleshed out a little more.

TL;DR: The Children of Men is perhaps less interesting for its story than it is for the ideas it beings up when telling it. The fascinating worldbuilding combined with a cynical protagonist who evolves into someone who cares is set against thoughtful prompts regarding tyranny, comfort, justice, etc. and even if you don't enjoy the plot, it's hard to deny that this book makes you think carefully about the nature of power.

[sunder-the-gold]

Human Cloning

Do you call it a ‘car’ if it doesn’t have an engine?

If a car turns on and drives, do you question if it has an engine?

We have a word for a human with no spirit in the body: “corpse”.

I’m not concerned that this technology will create zombies or monsters. I’m concerned about what monsters will do with this technology.

In Tim Pool’s full video on the subject, one scientist is quoted talking about the new potential research avenues for experimenting on embryos that aren’t “real”.

That scientist needs to be committed to a padded room, because he might as well claim that a tree isn’t real because a human deliberately planted it.

If it wasn’t a real human embryo, he wouldn’t want to experiment on it to learn about human embryos. He’s either lying or dangerous deluded, and either way he needs to be committed to an institution.

And it doesn’t end there.

With this technology, governments and trillionaires don’t need women anymore. They can now fulfill their dreams of recreating Aldous Huxley dystopic Brave New World. They can kill every other human in the world and replace them with artificial, purpose-made, utterly controlled slave-creatures.

[whereserpentswalk]

Your new job is to sit at a desk, looking at a single camera feed monitoring a small white room, writing down everything that happens in the room, and then reporting it back to your bosses. The first day, two men are brought into the room, possibly unwillingly, and are instructed to fight to the death. Neither of them think to refuse, one of them wins. You realize there's very little you can do. Though you can hear what's going on in that room from your office, it's in the same building as you, the feed is live and it is near you and there's nothing you can do.

You write the report. Your bosses say it's good work but you need more detail, they'll give you further instructions. The next day the same happens, two men are brought in, two men fight, one man lives. You can hear it all going on across the hall. But you know to add more detail, your bosses love it, they love that you gave the amount of information that you did, they say you have a good eye for these things.

Every day at your job is the same. The men are different most times but survivors come back sometimes. Sometimes they have more then two men, sometimes on teams sometimes not. Sometimes they give them weapons, things that you would find in a hardware store. Sometimes there will be special rules. Sometimes it's just two men fighting to the death. Occasionally it won't be equal, but it will always be fair, but sometimes it'll be something like a man with a fireaxe agaisnt a man with a baseball bat, or three elderly men agaisnt one man in his prime. But it's always fair.

You write down the details well. You always typed fast. Everything anyone would need to know. Anything they said. Every move each of them made. How each injury effected them. The way the blood splatters. If when a man wins if it's because someone dies or because someone is too injured to fight, if he tries to kill of an injured man or let him bleed out. If a man uses his left or right hand to hold a knife. How long a man tries to run or dodge before he starts throwing punches. It eventually stops becoming like a real thing that's happening in the same small building you work in, and more like a game, and it's a game you're winning.

Your bosses might not be human. They never show themselves, and say that you'd be horrified by them if you ever saw them. They refer to humans as separate from them, as a type of synapsid, which is technically true but still. They also just don't talk like people. They could be billions of years old, all of this could be so meaningless to them. They could be demons, or aliens, or creatures from another dimension for all you know. Or they could be rich and powerful people doing their best to scare those who work for them, though they'd be putting a lot of effort into not appearing human if that was the case. It almost seems like them being aliens or something is the less conspiracy minded answer. But still, it doesn't matter, you don't have time to question it. This job pays better then anything else, it's getting you through college, it's gotten you a much nicer apartment in a much better neighborhood then you could with any other job. Who cares if they're demons, they're paying you.

There was one day where you saw a wounded man limping out of the room where the fight had happened. It was the first time you saw someone from the fights in the flesh. It was horrifying, you wanted to turn away, not because of his wounds but because you didn't want to be a part of this. You're just someone who watches it, just someone who reports on it, you're not going to actually be involved.

There was also a time someone screamed at the camera for someone to do something while his opponent was stabbing him to death. There was nothing for you to do, but it was strange to write about. You questioned if you should describe him as begging the camera for help, or begging you for help. But it felt weird for the reports to contain the word "me", you don't think your bosses would like that. You just wrote that he was begging for someone to help, it was the easiest way to describe it after all.

There was one fighter who you really enjoyed seeing. He was young, handsome, and very good at fighting. He wore a smirk when others wore frowns, and had these beautiful blue eyes. He knew how to taunt his enemies and get in their heads. And you always rooted for him to win, and he always did. You started thinking about him more and more, reading into the smallest movements, theorizing about why he was so good, about his past, his hopes and dreams. You read his personality into all of his actions, and loved him so much for it. Part of you hoped you'd accidentally meet him on your way out, and that you'd get to know eachother. Once you even touched yourself to the thought of him with you, but the act gave you a weird type of shame. You never knew his name. After one rough fight he was too injured to fight anymore, mostly blinded from slashes to the face it seemed. You were sad about him for a bit, and then moved on.

Your bosses want you to do a major report on the fights. You get to choose the specifics and your thesis, almost like a college paper. It's so cool and exciting to get to have so much creativity in your job. You wonder what they'll do for you next. You still don't know what your bosses are but they've been talking about a promoting. You're so lucky to have gotten this job.

[the---hermit]

Niente Di Nuovo Sul Fronte Di Rebibbia by Zerocalcare

If you read my posts often you know Zerocalcare by now, since in the past few weeks I have been catching up with some of the graphic novels by him I hadn't read yet. This book in particular is another collection of short non fiction in graphic form. It's shorter than other books by him, but it's very dense, as the topics he talks about are quite intense. Since it's just five chapters I will say a few words on each.

The first story is about the rebellions that took place in several Italian prisons during the pandemic, with a focus on Rebibbia (since the author lives there). He shares the experiences of some people he spoke to, some who were in prison at the time, and people who had loved one in prison then. He ventures to reflect on the whole prison situation in the country, and doesn't shy away from police brutality inside prisons. It was very touching, it triggered a lot of reflections for me, and it was overall a great opening chapter to this book.

The second chapter focuses on the health care system. How it is in fact not provided as is should, since public structures are shut down so often it either pushes people into waiting lists that can last years, or into private solutions that cause people to spend an insane amount of money. It's so accurate it's scary, it makes you realize thar at the end of the day dystopic situations aren't as far off from reality as we's like to think.

The third chapter was a deep dive in cancel culture in Italy, and oh boy it was great. He did a great job at putting back into perspective all those people who love to say that "we live in an era in which you can't say anything anymore", which is a sentence I hear way too much. I think this chapter was very well done because it could reach anybody for its language and topics and it's exactly what we need.

The fourth chapter deals with a topic we know is very dear to this author, which is the Kurdish resistence in the Middle East. Zerocalcare has an entire graphic journalism pubblication on the topic, and continues to actively report on the situation is a great way that makes these complicated political dynamics very accessible.

Finally the last chapter is more self-reflective. It deals with his experience in creating a series with Netflix, and it mostly focuses on his personal emotional journey in embarking is such a big project. It was really good to see this side of things, and as you might know from previous reviews I wrote on his books I have a soft spot for his more self reflective stories.

I tried to give a very general and simplified idea of the topics of the book, but I surely didn't give it justice. There were several passages that physically made me shiver, it's a great book. I have praised his writing a lot and I stand by it. I love the storytelling this man is capable of, his ability to deal with incredibly important and heavy topics without letting go of a humorous side that makes everything more accessible for a larger audience. This is one of the authors I would by anything from without checking the plot because I trust him so much.

I read this book for the bright colours on the cover prompt of the jumbo reading challenge.

[geekns]

you sound like the qanon conspiracy freaks who were convinced there were litter boxes in classrooms for kids to piss and shit in lol. was gonna try engaging in a meaningful dialogue with you but since you’ve got your head so far up your ass you’re interpreting genuine kindhearted asks trying to help you as vicious hate and bullying, im not even gonna bother. i just wanted you to know you sound like you ingested horse antiparasitic to treat covid. also ps who the fuck is anne? are you just making up a person to blame everything on bc you can’t admit that you showed your entire ass and multiple people have come to clown? okay anyway you’re too bitter to waste the rest of my high on so byeeeeeeee!!!!

I have not ever been involved with the QAnon movement. Have no fucks to give, never thought any of it was real. In fact, I think it was controlled opposition. I don't fit inside your tiny box, Anne.

I haven't received any genuine, kindhearted asks in a very long time.

If you thought you were being kind, you are absolutely delusional. I am not here to conform to your hot takes. Who do you think you are, what gives you the right to tell me how to live, what to think, what to feel? I'm not here to be your echo chamber.

Oh yes, the Rona.

You want to know what. I feel sorry for you. That "horse antiparasitic" has been prescribed to humans for decades. The only reason the Rona Vax was able to be pushed into production is because the doctors and the MSM and the government lied to you. If they were to admit that a drug, one that's worked for decades, could work in this instance as well, then they wouldn't have been legally allowed to use people like lab rats.

And guess what? Now the people who were gullible enough to take the jab are paying the price, and it's horrible. Turbo cancers. Blood Clots. Heart attacks. Strokes. Bell's Palsy. Sterilization. The list keeps growing and growing and y'all still think you weren't sold snake oil? Wake up!

There had never been a vax for the common cold and the one they have provided still doesn't prevent the disease from being contracted or from spreading. That's a bunch of science fiction, germ theory doesn't even hold water and hasn't done so for 100 years. They were trying to prove it during the Spanish Flu and failed.

I feel so sorry for everyone who is living through this dystopic nightmare, even moreso for those people who are still hypnotized and refuse to acknowledge what they allowed to happen to themselves.

Anne is short for anon.

Specifically hateful anons. It's a term that the Reylos coined because so many people were hating on them. It's been in Tumblr usage for years. It's got "Sure Jan" vibes. An Anne is almost always a Karen. Someone who irrationally expects to get their way and be thanked for their tantrum. And what y'all have most definitely been acting like today is Karens.

I haven't shown my ass, WTF is that even supposed to mean. I mean, do you want me to moon you like in Braveheart or something? It's not my thing but I could probably find you a clip.

No, I'm not surprised that the brainwashed clowns showed up, haters gotta hate after all. It's like you guys get off on making yourselves look as idiotic and small as possible. I've always been perplexed: why do you think it's okay to tell people that they're full of "hate" if they don't agree with your delusions. Why would it ever be okay to tell someone that they should kill themself? Be forced to put up with abuse? Be raped? Does it make you feel powerful??? Because you sound pathetic.

So good, go away, rethink your life, since drugs seem to make you act like a fool that can't be taken seriously.

[amaranthinewilliamsauthor]

Writing Short #6

When they blamed Muslims we said nothing.

When they blamed black people we said nothing.

When they blamed immigrants we said nothing.

Now, with the world on the brink of change or collapse, we stand above the fiery wreckage and survey all that has been destroyed by our complicity. By our hubris. By our cowardice.

Men have seized power, they always do if given the chance, and they are howling for total control. “The good old days” are brought up more and more, female politicians quietly removed from current elections with little fanfare or explanation. I can feel the shackles, once constrictive until suddenly removed, tighten more bit by bit.

I grew up free, free to make my own decisions, free to choose my own destiny, and free to live my own way. We are no longer free, but now asks the question: were we ever free to begin with? How free were we with staggering student debt? How free were we with stagnant wages and increasing cost of living? Is the world we left behind, where men were men and women had no say, really that bad?

I have lived to see the world become better, the ideals of our forefathers begun to be realized, and now I will live long enough for all of it to come crashing down. We didn’t want to fight, we didn’t want to yell, and we didn’t want to argue. Now our voice is gone, snuffed out by those in power, and our rights taken away because we didn’t want to be mean.

We changed the world once, making it a little brighter and a little better, but now the darkness is snapping at our heels and threatening to plunge the world back into the darkness of ignorance and malice.

===================================

“The new executive order,” a man droned on the news channel, “has commanded government contractors to fire all female staff effective immediately. Outcry from women has been intense, picketing at factories and outside political offices has been broken up by police arresting all who refuse to disperse, but the President has indicated that there will be no mercy for any women who violently oppose this order.”

---------------------------------------------------------------

“The 119th congress was sworn in yesterday, with Republicans making up a supermajority, it is a historic victory for Evangelicals who petitioned and politicked to ensure that no women or female presenting individuals were elected. The majority leader Evan Smith of Utah stated, “Our first priority is to ensure that the rights of men, to lead their households or to care for their children in event of divorce, is protected to the highest order. God has ordained men as the heads of their households, and not even feminists could challenge the word of the almighty God without suffering his divine retribution.”

“Divine retribution? Is that what they call domestic terrorists?” Stacy’s voice was full of unconcealed malice, “You bomb a few Pride parades and suddenly it’s “gods will” that women’s rights be revoked?”

We all stared at the television, and each one of us fervently prayed that this was a nightmare that we would wake up from soon.

------------------------------------------------------------------- “Tonight the world has dimmed as 38 states ratified the constitutional amendment that will revoke the voting rights of women, and the amendment that also makes it illegal for women to work in any gainful employment. Odd jobs, like babysitting or elder care can be monetarily compensated as long as it doesn’t exceed $2400 a year or $200 a month.” Margaret Atwood’s world of religious persecution of women has now come to pass.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

“Fierce division within the Republican party as many Mormon members introduced new legislation that would allow polyandry within the United States and would legitimize any children resulting from polyandrous marriages,” The newscaster droned on and kept his eyes fixed on the teleprompter, “The legislation would allow marriages of multiple men to a single woman or multiple women to a single man. Same sex marriages are still illegal, and all previous same sex marriages have been dissolved. The age of marriage would be raised to a minimum of sixteen, and judges are not allowed to issue marriage licenses to anyone under the age of sixteen for any reason.”

[chronicdisasterwrites]

Cinnamon Rolls

Where she goes, he follows. Where he goes, she follows. That’s how it has always been and that’s all that has always mattered.

They never had a care for the world. All they craved was adventure. Anything with color, in their monochrome world, would be accepted and whole-heartedly welcomed. They were naïve and they knew that. That didn’t seem to matter.

They knew when they stumbled upon it, that they shouldn’t be there. Or at least, she knew. He didn’t seem to bother. The swell of heroism flooded his chest. He knew that she too, saw the box all wrapped up in pink satin, sitting lonely in the Blue Man’s car. The cardboard box too weak to hide the intoxicating scent of freshly baked cinnamon and sugar. He knew she wanted to savor the forbidden treat, for it was her favorite. However, they knew better than to meddle with the Blue Man’s business. They weren’t sure what would happen if they were to be caught, and she wasn’t interested to find out. Before verbal protests could make it out of her mouth, flesh hands gripped hers and tore her away from the scene of the crime. Her hand firmly gripped in his, she could tell he was nervous. Her nose could also follow the faint trail of sweetness, now tucked behind the protection of his jacket. His body almost enveloping hers in a complete embrace, walking swiftly side by side trying to reach home before dark, she knew what they had done was wrong. Terribly wrong. But it was new. It was colorful. It was adventure. And the moment they reached their safe haven and his eyes bore into hers, showing nothing but utter admiration for the girl he loves, she couldn’t possibly express her concern for his acts. So she didn’t. And when he opened the treasure box, and he saw the beaming smile break out on her face, he knew it was all worth it.

She radiated excitement. In the midst of all the words being exchanged, the reason behind that excitement somehow slipped. Her mother, caring only for her happiness ignored the matter completely. But her father, with eagle eyes and his painful realism caught on to it immediately. Still basking in their unwarranted success, she was too blind to notice the wheels turning in her father’s mind. The boy missed it too.

Her parents left and they remained. And, they ate. In tranquility, in each other’s soundless presence they devoured their sins. She wasn’t afraid, for she knew they weren’t followed. He wasn’t afraid, for he knew she was happy.

Then the sudden wave of bustling human feet broke their temporary dream. The Blue Men tainting their peace with fire and ignorance. She grabbed his hand in hopes of running for freedom but in a never-ending second, the anchor keeping her feet on the ground was snatched away from her. Stolen, and into the arms of the thieves. She thought they were safe. How could they have known? When did they follow? Questions with no answers clouding her mind and all the noise, the chaos, the utter disbelief, swirling and spinning and spiralling out of control until it all just

stops.

She doesn’t hear him say he loves her. She doesn’t hear the Blue Men say he’s done for. She can do nothing. So she just watched. Watched as they dragged him by his arms outside their haven. It was all static. Was she dead? No, she could feel the coolness of the concrete on her bare feet. Then how did the whole world just stop? How was everything so quiet?

Then the smell of burning flesh invaded her senses.

And then, she heard him scream.

End.