Status Updates From Ply

‘Slaughterhouses—turn into—planters—frothing with foliage—pixelated mass—beehive hangs from a persimmon—What will those cats look like in a few generations? Space is the sum of all their possible moves. Time, the actualisation of each one of those moves, explains itself through music—The sound challenges air itself—The desire to—submit & conquer is the dullest mystery to her—Still, she's not indifferent to—mahjong—’

‘Different temporalities coexist—an ever-expanding arborescence—In one timeline, his existence has ended, in the other, it continues—They truly begin—when they meet in the telepathic space—‘& what do some—do with the astounding gifts of sentience, thought & expression? They choose to find ways of increasing profit—accumulating wealth. Hard to imagine anything narrower & bleaker—emptier of wonder—incurious—unloving.’’

‘—despite the vectors of uncertainty—radiated from it—I’d left—my childhood behind. Someone else was gestated—born—collective closeness defined that period—I remained in communion with some of those people even if we never saw each other again—I remember the sounds themselves—I loved not knowing—noises reached me from that other reality by cracking this one—I even welcomed the stench—an obvious emblem. An allegory.’

I’m in no hurry— I don’t and won’t want this to end. Early on, it’s an addictive page-turner. I’m having a fantastic reading experience!

‘—we’d all decode that music—hear its grammar, feel its punctuation, recognise its sentences, distinguish its phrases—predict its cadences. It would make sense. Then finally it would speak to us—If darkness was our social element—water became our private substance. Because we didn’t care to make a profit—we were exceptionally reliable—An anonymous form of collective—We were around when it mattered—then we were gone—’

‘—committed to easing the suffering around them regardless of gain. But they are few and overwhelmed—A new form of violence, dispassionate and beyond words. ‘Help me help you. This is something people say in your language.’ Continents drifting apart from one another, reduced to dim concepts. Within each continent, fully disconnected—blanks in between. We’re taught to anticipate one another’s needs—She knew.’

This has been a fascinating slow-simmering dystopian tale. I love the unnamed protagonist and the incredible world she resides in.

“He was an archivist of obsolescence.”

‘What kind of person enjoys possessing life in such a way, for no purpose other than to feel the thrill of owning someone so monstrously close to and far from a friend? People used to do this centuries ago. But now? Just a few nostalgic jerks would dare to be seen using animals as toys. It's a sinister loop, it’s their younger selves they want to adopt, abduct, protect, punish—they only feel half alive without one.’

So excited to get approved for this! Trust is one of my favorite literary novels of the last several years.