There is no punctual moment of disaster; the world doesn’t end with a bang, it winks out, unravels, gradually falls apart. What caused the catastrophe to occur, who knows; its cause lies long in the past, so absolutely detached from the present as to seem like the caprice of a malign being: a negative miracle, a malediction which no penitence can ameliorate. Such a blight can only be eased by an intervention that can no more be anticipated than was the onset of the curse in the first place. Action is pointless; only senseless hope makes sense. Superstition and religion, the first resorts of the helpless, proliferate.
This sure sounds like a time and place I may be living in and living through, and I’m only a few paragraphs in.
Careful with it. Fisher was a very depressed person and his negativity and despair can rub off on you.
He steams a good ham in general and there’s some nice concepts in there but he’s a mopey bastard throughout. Always keep in mind that this is the most “woe is me” whingeing thing you’ll probably ever read and don’t take it too seriously.
That’s a good warning lol. I was getting that vibe.