To open a collection such as this is to feel the locks click shut behind you. There is no turning back. The pages you hold are a catalog of the end of stable coastlines, the end of predictable seasons, the end of the vast, intricate web of human and non-human life we once, perhaps naively, called civilization. The overall mood is not one of anger, nor of frantic action, but of a profound and settled hopelessness. It is the sound of a long, slow exhale after the struggle has already been lost. This is the Doomer Anthology. It is not a warning. It is a eulogy.