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374 pages, Paperback
First published March 12, 2019
“You look at that dome and you see an animal, gigantic, useful to your society, benign, but an animal all the same. What I see is a machine. This is what we came up with after terraforming engines disappointed us. Instead of changing the environment, we change the organisms and live in them. In you.”I still can’t believe that Rosewater books have not even received nominations for most major SF awards (except for Arthur C. Clarke Award, of course). I don’t get it. I’m done with book 2, and again it was a fresh take on SF concepts, told in a confident voice of a seasoned writer in the making. How did it mostly fly under the radar?
“Nobody trusts idealism in Nigeria, not even the fundamentalist churches.”
“For decades the entire biosphere has been gradually contaminated with an alien species, a microorganism designated ascomycetes xenosphericus. There may be sub-strains and variants but they share a protean nature and a disdain for the Hayflick Limit. Over time S45 has discovered that these xenoforms have been slowly mimicking human cells, taking over human bodies. The pace has been leisurely, and Aminat herself is only 7 per cent alien. She has seen subjects with xenoform percentages in the low forties.”![]()
“This is Rosewater; this is where they live. It is a rowdy conurbation slapped against the periphery of a two-hundred-feet-high dome. It does not look planned. The streets are tight, with a tendency to break off or bend at awkward angles without warning. The houses slapdash, of varying ages and design, the entire city an afterthought. It teems with people, most of them black Nigerians, but there is a healthy mottling of Arabs, South Asians, Russians and a myriad other nationalities. Road signs struggle to control and make sense of the movements of the population and the central auto-drive system. The air is constantly criss-crossed by the path of drones like birds who do not fly in tandem. The real birds seem shy, upstaged, lurking on rooftops and shitting everywhere.
The dome is a blue beacon with a tortuous pattern on its surface and spikes growing out in every direction. Drones and birds and other uncertain flying organisms have impaled themselves on these extrusions, their corpses hanging like kebabs for the vultures who keep it clean.”