The World Without Us
Alan Weisman
  - Thomas Dunne Books, July 2007, $24.95, hardcover

Shall I start by saying that, at least cumulatively, about one third of this book was pornography? Yes. Yes I shall.

“Pornography,” you say? Yes. Porn in the same way that, when a greywater-loving friend and I went to see the second X-Men movie we were screaming and falling out of our seats in ecstasy during the extended dam disaster sequence. What can we say? We have studied some ills of modern civilization and watching footage of the inevitable outcomes of certain human technological experiments is a little fever-inducing. In the good way. Rivers seeping up and taking their place among the hills. Miles and miles of concrete artifice in the form of cities and highways crumbling from the simple onslaught of small plants and freezing water. The simple, lustrous thought that someday we might not cause dead zones that last through geologic time for the sake of cheap electricity now. In the day we work to bring dams down safely and responsibly and we know how hard they will be to move. What a hot fantasy to watch it go so quickly…

That said, there’s other thirds to this book, as well! One sentence description: A cut above the rest of recent, pop-science books and a thinly-veiled critique of the monumental environmental impact of our modern civilization.

The premise of the book this question: What if people disappeared tomorrow? Just up and went—no nuclear war, no asteroid. More like a rapture. Not even time to shut things down properly. What would happen? What would be left in five, ten, two thousand years?

Moving from there, Weisman hops around the globe and across environmental genres (nuclear reactors, concrete cities, farm houses, foresting practices, et cetera) to weave a rich tapestry depicting, piece-by-piece, the devestation we are causing now. There are exquisite, time-lapse descriptions of what happens to all the major parts of first-world infrastructure when nature gains even the smallest of footholds.

Did you know that without electricity and constant supervision, New York City’s subway system would be overrun with water within two days? The factoids abound amidst Weisman’s pretty scientific, mostly straightforward, occasionally offensive speculations. Despite some sticky points where his worldview and mine seemed at odds (the realm of “feminism”, for instance), I found this book delightful and informative. I call it “pop-science” because it’s not a thorough examination of much, but that’s also an asset. Like Blink and The Tipping Point, both by Malcolm Gladwell, The World Without Us hops across a sea of science like a skipping stone, releasing a thin-but-thoroughly-entertaining effervescence of anecdotes. I wish there were more critical thinking—more about the links between environmental degradation and other aspects of the devestating impact our cultures are having on our lives. I suppose that in that sense, World remains usefully neutral(..ish) and hopefully more accessible for it. You won’t come out a genius or a well-informed radical, but you will end up with a much more detailed picture of the tenuous and ill-planned-out pacts levied upon our earth by first-world civilizations.

Plus, there’s still all them buildings falling down and rivers usurping streets and such.

Reviewed by Annie Danger

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Persepolis and Persepolis 2
Marjane Satrapi
  - Pantheon Books, June 2004 and August 2004, $12.95, paperback

I don’t know why I have such a strong aversion to graphic novels, but the combination of image and text make me feel really attention deficient. So, the first time someone told me to read Persepolis, I acknowledged that I valued said critic’s opinion and I’d love to borrow their copy some other time. And I never borrowed it, but a few years later found it was the only reading material I could scavenge in the Manhattan apartment I was vacationing in (nice life), and I was desperate for some reading material.

And I’m so sorry for the cliché: I couldn’t put it down! When I got back to work I snatched up Persepolis 2 and read it in a couple hours before bed. That isn’t such an incredible feat considering most of the pages are images, but in years past I couldn’t concentrate on a graphic novel long enough to get through a page.

For the seven or so people who don’t know: Persepolis and Persepolis 2 tell the story of Satrapi’s childhood in pre & post-revolution Iran, her ‘coming-of-age’ in Europe, and subsequent return to a very changed childhood home. In part, the wealth of historical information is what drew me into her story – when I was learning world history for that one year in high school, I think Iran was skipped over, or called Persia. Satrapi’s spartan narrative and imagery held me in the story. Even when her experiences seem the most incredible, Persepolis never feels fictionalized, superlativized, hyperbolized. It feels like that choking feeling in your throat that comes from holding in a good cry.

But I don’t suggest reading Persepolis so you can have a good cry a lá Steel Magnolias. We live in a world where, as Audre Lorde wrote, for the majority of people, in order to survive, you’ve got to repress the violent reality of your day-to-day life. You read this and other stories about other people’s lives to get back what you repress, to find affirmation that shit really does hurt that much sometimes. But, whatever shit there is, that isn’t all. Sometimes there are sweet grandmas and good belly laughs. So, to summarize, the word is: visceral. Or, whatever, that’s what I got out of it.

Reviewed by Dia Vergados

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Borderlands/La Frontera
Gloria Anzaldua
  - Aunt Lute Books, June 2007, $16.95, paperback

As the State steps up its attacks on immigrant and queer communities, and our movements remain constantly on the defensive, many of us are hungry for new political frameworks and vision. The twentieth anniversary edition of Gloria Anzaldua's Borderlands/La Frontera reminds us of the leadership we need to prioritize in our struggles for social justice. It envisions a politics that centers the experiences of all who live on the borders of race, nation, gender, and culture.

Three years after her death, many freedom fighters have found power and truth in her words: "What I want is an accounting with all three cultures—white, Mexican, Indian. I want the freedom to carve and chisel my own face, to staunch the bleeding with ashes, to fashion my own gods out of my entrails. And if going home is denied me then I will have to stand and claim my space, making a new culture—una cultura mestiza—with my own lumber, my own bricks and mortar and my own feminist architecture."

Note: This twentieth-anniversary edition features new commentaries from prominent activists, artists, and teachers on the legacy of Gloria Anzaldua's visionary work.

Reviewed by Becca Tumposky

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The Parable of the Sower
Octavia E. Butler
  - Aspect (Warner Books), January 2000, $13.99, paper

Okay, so after nearly fifteen years I have broken my mental block against science fiction. A couple of months ago I broke through and read The Dispossessed, by Ursula K. Le Guin. Thankful for the pressing good taste of my friends and loved-ones, I came out not only unscathed but much, much better off for the experience. Now I have a lot lot lot of catching up to do. Next stop: The Parable of the Sower, by the absolutely brilliant Ms. Octavia E. Butler. Wow. I guess things become modern classics for a reason. It makes the world feel a lot lonelier without Octavia.

Butler is simply gripping. She weaves a narrative with such force and keen observation that all you can do is buckle up and careen through Parable with glee and appallation. The story follows teenager Lauren Olamina through the harsh and utterly real/possible world of 2024 California and a series of traumas and trials as she and her loved ones fight for survival. This is a damn fine example of the cunning and intelligent power of speculative fiction. At once a warning, an allegory, and a powerful work of fiction, Parable is not to be missed. It brought me great feelings of value for my survivalist friends and for my scarcity issues. If you haven’t read this, you really ought to—you’ll finish it tomorrow, anyway. It’s too hard to put down.

Reviewed by Annie Danger

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