So anyone who thought Tyrell Johnson had to dodge many Cormac McCarthy comparisons along the denuded road of his early 2018 novel The Wolves of Winter, had better be prepared for Nick Clark Windo's artful minefield dance and dodge in The Feed. This book is almost an exercise in 21st-century cliches - a decimated post-apocalypse landscape, social media gone wild to an extent we can scarcely imagine, and the true endgame for climate change centuries from now. Seeing as how this is Windo's debut novel, I fully expected one of these mines to explode in his face. Somehow, though, The Feed works well, though I'd still tell the person writing back-cover blurbs that this is much more of a sociological speculative fiction study or modernist sci-fi spinoff than a "thriller."
Before I nitpick about elements of the story that did not quite coalesce, let me congratulate Windo on his creation of a world. Sure, the minimalist survivalist camps springing up after electrical grids and communication networks break down bring to mind similar camps from McCarthy, Johnson, and dozens of other writers, but Windo is wise to focus on the ad-hoc nature of the efforts, where many DIY attempts do not work, and humans struggle to simply carry on day to day. The foot travel over long distances reinforces the vision of a very small human on an expansive planet, but because the backdrop is upstate New York rather than the Yukon, the landscape is not as bleak as that of The Wolves of Winter -- though equally depopulated of humans. Other species, however, seem to be making more of an effort of taking back the Earth in Windo's novel than in Johnson's.
The oversharing we already experience in traditional social media networks is hyper-exaggerated here, as people share direct brain-states and histories through the exchange of "mundles" or memory-bundles. The preservation of entire human personalities to achieve a sort of immortality hints at Cory Doctorow's 2017 novel Walkaway. Both Windo and Doctorow are vague on the specifics, Windo even more so than Doctorow, but the intent of both authors seems to be to allow the reader to come to individual conclusions of how humans would be represented by the sum total of their mental states.
The supporting actors in this novel are given a partial fleshing out, but the bulk of the story centers on Tom Hatfield, whose character is somewhat brought to life, but particularly on the individual who may be Kate Hatfield or Silene Charles. Windo is compassionate in developing the survival strategies of the two-women-in-one, though it is evident that he wants to reinforce the idea that anger and revenge as motivating forces will never take you where you want to go. Charles and her compatriots among the futurist "takers" may have plenty of reasons to be furious at the abusive caretakers of the planet, but one would think that they would listen to the many-worlds physics-philosophers' warnings that the past can never be changed without spawning many unwanted worlds in its wake. And, in a caution most relevant for Charles' sons, that a turn to assassination and random terror will only destroy the perpetrator as well as the population of souls surrounding the victim -- or, as Lao Tzu would say in the Tao Te Ching, "There is always an official executioner. If you try to take his place, it is trying to be like a master carpenter and cutting wood. If you try to cut wood like a master carpenter, you will only hurt your own hand."
It might be a little unfair to point out Windo's areas of implausibility, as many writers of more far-out sci-fi and fantasy make implausibility a selling point. But since Windo is writing a speculative fiction closer to lives actually lived, I will bring up two points that bugged me, and other readers might find additional ones. First of all, humans experiencing our limited forms of social-network sharing already are getting burned out, and people are leaving Facebook and Twitter in droves. I find it hard to believe that the fascination with The Feed would be so universal and absolute. Tom's father may have been a scoundrel, but there were no dictators trying to force people to try embedded and then genetically-adaptive mind-sharing tools. It seems as though "The Resisters" represented by Graham and Jane might well represent the majority of humans instead of a small minority of curmudgeons. Yes, The Feed is presented to the advertising-addled consumer as "candy everybody wants," but we are already a jaded enough species that I don't think that many people would be falling for the bait.
Second, when we consider that the timeline of the main part of the book covers a mere dozen years, I have trouble believing the devastation would be as absolute as Windo suggests. Now, general nuclear war or a series of related global hyper-natural-disasters could wipe out the bulk of the human race in days, weeks, or months. But Windo is describing a series of localized, cascading disasters, capped by the death of The Feed and augmented by carefully-targeted terrorist actions. This could make global systems collapse pretty effectively, to be sure, but would all cities be purged of human populations in the timeframe of the book's initial six years? That seems unlikely.
Some might find the linguistic tricks played to represent the racing of Kate's mind to be a typography formatting gimmick, but I have no problem with such gimmicks. Reading books by authors like Mark Z. Danielewski can be fun, and Windo only employs these techniques in a deft and minimal manner. The book's climax in The Tower, formerly home to Tom's parents, seems a bit overblown and melodramatic, yet Silene's/Kate's interpretation of the world and the decisions she makes to maximize a salvageable life give the novel a decent ending.
The expansion of apocalyptic music and literature began not long after the turn of the millenium, and it has moved into hyper-drive since the coming of the Trump administration. Windo gets a pass on this one, because he managed to make The Feed quite enjoyable in spite of itself. But I would encourage writers and musical lyricists to take to heart the warning that the post-apocalypse landscape has played itself out, and then some. Time to find a new playground.