I just watched the latest post-apocalypse offering, the first episode of the television series Revolution. They’re giving us a future with lots of swords, crossbows, horses, bad-guy militias, and no electricity (though someone’s secretly holding out on that, so stay tuned).
It got me thinking about some of the others in this ‘shit’s hit the fan’ genre: Alas, Babylon, On the Beach, Malevil, A Canticle for Leibowitz, Damnation Alley, John Christopher’s The Ragged Edge and No Blade of Grass; J.G. Ballard’s The Crystal World, The Wind from Nowhere, and The Drowned World; and Road Warrior, The Postman, The Road, World Made by Hand, The Handmaid’s Tale; S.M. Stirling’s novels of The Change. Believe it or not I actually liked Waterworld more than The Hunger Games, so I won’t hold it against you if you stop reading this now. The list goes on and on and could be expanded to include invasions from outer space, but we have enough to worry about with nuclear war, socio-economic collapse, super-plagues and climatic upheaval.
It almost seems as if writers, no matter where they are on the literary spectrum, feel compelled to try their hand at post-apocalypse. I did at one time. A friend and I began a novel called The Aftermath Letters, but he moved away and the novel died.
Some might say that of all the factors that contribute to becoming a writer, an early dissatisfaction or unhappiness with the world is near the top of the list. Why else retreat, escape into the realm of, well, do-over?
As this phenomenon is really all about displacement from what we currently experience, it’s prime territory for science-fiction and fantasy: that fresh start among the stars or a return to non-technological surroundings here, complete with those bows and arrows, swords, and horsies to ride. There’s often the suggestion that a lack of refrigeration somehow makes things better. There will be few of us left to loot the ruins, naturally. Post-apocalypse, by definition, can’t really work if there’s a LOT of us still around—which could be a contributing factor in its popularity given traffic jams and long lines at Costco.
Whence the fascination with our collective mortality? It certainly is nothing new. Our ancestors were ALL survivalists, ALL the time. And they were obsessed with predictions of the end of the world. Who wouldn’t be after plagues, the worst of which wiped out what?–a third of Europe’s population? Or the fall of Rome, or the cultural memory of that pre-Biblical flood.
Ever since we took a breather from clubbing the rival clan to death in the next cave over by adorning our own with paintings, we’ve been running neck and neck with our own worst instincts. The scorecard is impressive on both sides of human capabilities. We remain the ultimate predator species (count the ways) and with that status, of course, comes the awareness—call it fear—that we may yet meet our match. And like Pogo once said, it could well be us.
So we’re living on borrowed time and we know it. Always have, even when there wasn’t too many of us. Will there be enough food or water to sustain us all? Can we develop sufficient alternative sources of energy before the oil runs out? Can we adapt to climate change? The more inter-dependent and complex the technology, the easier it is to break down. Can we keep nuclear weapons out of the hands of terrorists and rogue states? Never mind the rogue asteroid. The odds are still with us there for a while, so that one’s off the list. Whew!
I live in Edmonds, Washington, within a mile or so of the ferry landing where the submarine sailor in On the Beach jumped ship, deciding that was as good a place as any to live out the remaining radioactive hours of his life, a fictional fact that the local Chamber of Commerce boosters of this lovely town neglect to mention. I imagine in a few hundred years my house, set on a forested ridge, will be prime waterfront property when the polar caps have shrunk to the size of Rhode Island.
In the meantime, I plan to enjoy every weekly episode of Revolution, to get used to things as they may well be, get a few pointers, you know? My wife and I already heat our house exclusively with a very efficient wood-burning stove. We got a rebate from the gas company so I’ll take their word for it that we’re a wee part of the solution. So we have something to cook our food on and keep us warm for the…do-over. Got lots of trees for firewood—too many, really. Water? Check. We’re in the Pacific Northwest, though I wouldn’t complain about a little less rain. And we can always expand our garden. I could give my wife a stockpile of seeds for Christmas. A thoughtful gift, considering, but hardly commensurate with the K-Bar knife she gave me last year. (I haven’t used it yet, but it sure is nice to look at).
So I’m thinking his-and-hers bows and arrows. We can practice in the backyard, near where we’ll dock the boat if things, uh, move ahead more quickly than expected.
