Scott Reardon

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The United States
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Member Since
January 2020


Scott Reardon is the author of The Dark Continent and The Prometheus Man, which was published in 2017 by Little Brown. He has written and directed two feature films, Our Pet Kat and Dakota Bastard. He lives in Connecticut with his wife and three children.

Average rating: 3.77 · 797 ratings · 223 reviews · 6 distinct worksSimilar authors
The Prometheus Man (The Dar...

3.67 avg rating — 299 ratings — published 2017 — 12 editions
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The Dark Continent (The Dar...

3.79 avg rating — 245 ratings — published 2020 — 2 editions
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The Death of a 10-Year-Old Boy

4.26 avg rating — 148 ratings3 editions
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Bonfire of the Beasts

3.53 avg rating — 72 ratings3 editions
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Dead Kennedys

2.91 avg rating — 32 ratings — published 2021 — 2 editions
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The Pandora Equation

0.00 avg rating — 0 ratings2 editions
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More books by Scott Reardon…
The Prometheus Man The Dark Continent
(2 books)
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3.73 avg rating — 544 ratings

Quotes by Scott Reardon  (?)
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“The corridor was so long he could barely see the galvanized steel door at the end. As he made his way down, a sense of deep unreality set in. The unrealness of the place was so intoxicating he could barely stand it. He glanced at the steel door. And he was overwhelmed by the feeling that he’d gone as far as a person could, that he’d left behind everything he’d ever known.

It was so silent in the hallway he could hear his own breath. And for a moment he was what a person really is: just the naked, frightened will to know. To finally understand.”
Scott Reardon, The Prometheus Man

“Do you work in construction?”

“Deconstruction.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I work in deconstruction.”

“You mean demolition?”

“No.”

“I don’t understand. Is there a difference?”

“With demolition, you destroy something in order to rebuild it into something else. With deconstruction, you destroy something so that it can never exist again.”
Scott Reardon, The Prometheus Man

“The rest of the world, meanwhile, was watching everything in real-time. Information didn't spread from one place to another. It was put online, and then it was everywhere. One day, a rumor spread that grocery store up the street might close. The next evening, when Tom drove by, he found the building completely empty. Every ounce of food had been taken, and every window had been smashed. And he realized the feedback loop was complete. It no longer mattered what the truth was. It only mattered what people thought it was.

The media fought disinformation the only way it knew how: with ideology. When the president launched a plan to suspend habeas corpus and began requisitioning private property, the media began its push to pass it. When that failed, academics and psychologists took to the airwaves to explain how, under duress, people become overcome by cognitive bias and bigotry. Studies emerged noting the correlation between obsession over keeping one's property and authoritarian political thought. When the government began confiscating weapons, other studies appeared showing the scientific link between private gun ownership and racist fear of minorities.

Then a report came out that federal employees has been seizing food from packaging centers in New York and Pennsylvania. They were shipping it out of starving communities. Everyone realized something then. Despite its claims otherwise, their government wasn't saving them. It was competing with them.”
Scott Reardon

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“I still think about Joe. I think about him and all the people like him who never got a chance. There are times where if I stop and listen hard enough, I can feel them. And for a moment, my heart trembles, and I know what the dead almost could have been.”
Scott Reardon, Dead Kennedys

“The possibilities were so great they would scare you—they would ache in your heart—when you made that decision: save nothing for the fall down.”
Scott Reardon, The Prometheus Man

“And as the man stood there, he realized he didn’t know anything anymore. He didn’t know what to believe in or what good cause he ought to serve. He was beyond everything he’d ever known. And he’d been laid bare. Stripped of every conceit, every fiction, of everything he desperately wished was true. And whatever was left over in a person after that, that was what he had become.”
Scott Reardon, The Death of a 10-Year-Old Boy

“Without answering, the boy took aim. The man waited, but the boy never fired.

He took his eye off the scope as the buck disappeared from sight.

“Why didn’t you shoot?” the man asked.

“He was magnificent. I just couldn’t take that from him.”
Scott Reardon, The Death of a 10-Year-Old Boy

“They crested the top, and when they looked down, the man’s breath caught in his throat. What he saw was so alien it could only be understood in installments. The strip mine was a crater that had been sunk a quarter mile into the ground. It was like a pit in the middle of the Amazon. Things were crawling all over it the way bees swarm a hive. And it took the man a moment to realize that these were people.
Hundreds of them.
The weather was warm, and the men laboring below had their shirts off. Each was covered head to toe in mud. The only part of them that seemed human were their teeth and the whites of their eyes. Gigantic ladders had been bolted to the walls of the crater, each the size of a football field. At any one time, at least a hundred men were scaling the ladders with sacks of dirt lashed to their backsides. The sacks were so heavy that when the men reached the top, some could no longer bear the weight and collapsed gradually with each step to the ground.
Something deep inside the man wanted to make it stop. And it all came to him in an instant. What he saw was the entire history of the human race. He saw the slave labor camps of the Nazis and the communists. He saw the seas of peasants chained and lashed by great empires—the Romans, the Greeks and all the others that people still spoke of with admiration. He saw the palace eunuchs in the Middle East, free people reengi- neered into model servants by their own biology. He saw the human chattel shipped to the new world, worked for a lifetime, then forced to breed their replacements. And he remembered there was no high-watermark of culture, no height of civilization, that didn’t stand on the back of a mass labor force.
And he thought, My god, this is it. This is all of us.”
Scott Reardon, The Death of a 10-Year-Old Boy

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