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376 pages, Paperback
First published January 16, 2018
If there had been a great bolt of lightning or a thunderclap, if the earth had shaken, if a blood moon had risen and cast a hellish pall over the whole world, we would have had some event to point to and say “There, there is where the end of the world began.” No dogs howled, no wave of prickling goosebumps swept over our skin, no measurable occurrence registered in any of the things we love to measure. The end of the world began not with something happening, but with something not happening. And because we don’t do well with understanding danger from absence, and most people didn’t know that going without sleep is fatal, the whole world began to die.
Stage one is a bummer; light insomnia, coupled with the panic attacks, paranoia, and phobias that develop as a result. Stage two is shit; basically escalation as the insomnia becomes more pronounced, and hallucinations get added to the increasing panic attacks as the body starts to realize just how hooped it truly is. Stage three: you’re fucked. It begins when sleep becomes completely impossible. Accompanied by rapid weight loss. Finally, in stage four (completely, ultra-mega-fucked), people exhibit what is essentially severe dementia. They become completely mute and unresponsive. If no one was taking care of people at this stage, they would die (as if they could even make it to this stage without being cared for). Death arrived from seven to thirty-six months after the onset of symptoms.
It’s not like there was an enemy to fight. All our firepower, our armies, all our contingency plans, and the closest thing we had to help us were plans in place for influenza outbreaks. But how to you counter a disease (and we didn’t even know if it was a disease) which already had one hundred percent saturation? How do you enact plans when our collective competency was dipping past the point of klutziness and into danger?
Certainly, during those times it brought out the best in people, but also the worst—those ugly, dark parts of us that we keep covered up to be able to function in society. But when that facade is no longer needed? When things are crumbling all around you?
“I don’t know what all the fuss is about; I finally have time to read.” —On an otherwise blank page on the story wall of Champs-Élysées
Before the pandemic, world population was approaching eight billion. Now our best estimates place us around seven hundred million.I very much liked how the whole event is presented, in the form of a collection of testimonials from different survivals, sharing their experiences during different stages of the calamity: some before, some during, some after.
There was no morning, not as we used to have it. No start to our day, because there was no end. But I did like to still have a sort of order to my time; beginnings and endings went a long way to maintaining, if not sanity, then at least a routine. And through routine, functionality.The story touches on topics like morality and ethics, vigilantism, returning to primordial state, survival, dictatorship for the good of mankind. What I disliked was that most of the voices were not very distinct, the cause of the pandemic was not known and there was no real conclusion (fortunately the structure of the story implicated the lack of resolution, so at least that wasn’t strange).
“I don’t know what all the fuss is about; I finally have time to read.” —On an otherwise blank page on the story wall of Champs-Élysées