Thursday, November 8, 2018

''A Climate Carol'' -- a short story for Christmas 2018




[A climate-themed short story for the Christmas season of 2018]
(Copyright) 2018 - All Rights Reserved

[[Written by an American novelist Richard Friedman who was trained in 2017 at an Al Gore climate leader workshop in his region of the USA Midwest, and who can be contacted at this blog for forwarding to him.]]

WEBSITE OF RICHARD FRIEDMAN
https://richardfriedman.net/

TEXT of story
[Note to readers: If this story touches you the way it touched this blogger, please share this link with those you love, friends, co-workers, relatives and others who you think might enjoy this short story. It might change your life, in its own quiet way. But one thing is for sure, it will surely re-charge your life.]


“Mr. Drummond, I’m getting to ready to head out. Do you need anything else before I
leave?”

“Leaving? It’s only three-thirty! Did you finish those reports you promised to have on
my desk before five o’clock?”

Jericho Reese bowed his head, and mumbled, “No boss. There’s an air quality alert, and
the mayor is encouraging everyone to leave town as early as possible. I’ll get them to you on
Monday.”

Drummond shouted, “Monday? What’s wrong with tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow is Earth Day. I’m taking the wife and kids out of the city for a picnic.”

Drummond seethed with the sound of that phrase....Earth Day. Just thinking of those two
words angered him. He looked out the window of his huge suite in Drummond Tower and gaped
at his tanker, steaming up the Hudson River to offload its filthy cargo. The incoming ship would
bring millions in revenue to one of Drummond’s many companies. In good health for a man
sixty years of age, his exercise regimen consisted of riding in a golf cart at one his exclusive
country club golf courses.

“Earth Day is a joke. Look at those losers carrying signs. Get those reports on my desk
by five o’clock...Sunday afternoon, and I’ll let it go.”

Reese protested, a hint of pleading in his reply, “Sunday my kids have a soccer game. I’m
the assistant coach. I have to be there.”

Drummond, coldly, without hesitation, replied, “It’s a game of soccer. They run, they
kick the ball. They chase it and kick it again. When the game’s over, they get a juice box and a
cookie. Do they need an assistant coach for that? Besides, doesn’t your kid have a respiratory
thing that keeps him on the bench? When I was his age, I was the best baseball player on my
team.”

Reese ignored Drummond’s braggadocio. “My son has asthma. The severe air pollution
in New York City exacerbates it. We’ve talked about moving to a country with cleaner air, but
you refused my transfer request to Iceland. Have you had a chance to reconsider?”


“No, I need you here with me! Get me those damn reports this weekend or don’t show up
for work on Monday! Is that clear?”

Reese slunk out of the office and down the hall. Drummond’s icy stare burnt a hole
through the back of his shirt.

Drummond called his limousine driver Sammie Johnson.

“I’ll be downstairs shortly. Have a cold bottle of Diet Coke and a Snickers bar waiting for
me.”

“Yes, boss. Are we going to the Whale?”

Drummond named his Long Island weekend get-a-way “The Whale” after the famous
white cetacean from Herman Melville’s literary classic, Moby Dick. Drummond filled the house
with memorabilia from the epic story. Visitors entering the house walked past a 90-foot replica
of the famed white whale, complete with life-like scars from harpoon injuries.
Drummond said, “I’ll be right there. I just bought a company that sells Alaskan King
Salmon steaks in Juneau, Alaska.”

Johnson said, “I’m sure it will be a tremendous success.”

Drummond tried to call his stockbroker. The screen went blank, and he slammed the
phone on the desk in anger. The battery flew ten feet to the left, the guts of the device hit the ice
bucket, and then Drummond’s forehead, temporarily knocking him cold.

When he awoke a moment later, he caught the faintest smell of pineapple. Fog filled the
room. Drummond swatted at the air, sending swirling clouds in a spinning pattern, revealing a
ghostly figure standing by the door.

“Hello, Wilson,” said the voice.

Drummond couldn’t distinguish any facial features, but he recognized the voice.

“Rock?”

“Constance Rock, in person, at your disposal. Well, not exactly in person. You’ll catch
on in a minute.”

Drummond wasn’t buying it. “Constance Rock has been dead for ten years! I saw her die
at Mt. Sinai Hospital with my own eyes.”

“I lost all my money because of you. However, that’s not why I’m here. Come closer.
Take a good look at me.”


Drummond inched closer.

Rock said, “Quite a sight, eh?”

“What’s wrong with your skin?”

“I won’t be chosen as Miss Universe with this face, right?”

Drummond went to touch her face. His fingers went right through the dirty skin that
loosely covered her chalky bones, leaving no mark or blood.

“What the hell?” Drummond asked. “I bet that bastard Reese drugged my coffee. He’ll be
going straight to court! I have the best lawyers!”

Constance stopped him cold. “He did no such thing. I ruined my life in hopes of attaining
great wealth making reckless environmental choices. Look at me now! A freak destined to spend
one thousand years in purgatory, covered in coal dust. An ironic twist of fate based on my stock
portfolio while I was alive. However, it’s not too late for you. Three ghosts will take you on a
journey to alter your path. Heed their words Wilson, or you will suffer the same fate as I!”

Drummond scoffed at the suggestion, “You’re not real. You were a loser in life, and now
you’re a loser in death! Be gone, Constance Rock!”

The ghost and the fog vanished into the air vent.

Drummond assembled the pieces of his mobile phone and called his chauffeur, “Johnson,
are you there?”

“I’m blocking traffic. What’s taking so long?”

Drummond said, “An old business associate dropped by unexpectedly. She’s gone now.
I’m on my way.”

Drummond walked to the sink and splashed cold water on his face. I can’t tell anyone
about that!


Johnson pulled the limo onto Drummond Lane, past the long line of weeping willows
towards ‘The Whale’.

Before Drummond stepped out of the vehicle, a bounding, energetic child, Lily
Drummond, aged 6, ran to her beloved grandfather.

Drummond savored every minute of it. Taking the child in his arms, he beamed with
pride. He gave her the attention he never received as a child.

“I have a surprise for you. Reach into my coat pocket.”

Lily removed a candy bar.

Drummond said, “Cut it in half. You have to share the wealth with your mother.”

“Share the wealth? That doesn’t sound like the Wilson Drummond I raised!” said Gurtie
Drummond, entering the conversation from the front porch.

Drummond held his mother’s arm as they entered “The Whale” to a round of applause.
“Why are all you people in my house?” asked Wilson.

His wife, Marina, bedazzled in jewels, and twenty years his junior, greeted him with a
soft kiss on the cheek.

“Welcome home, darling. I hope you don’t mind. I hired ‘Ribs with Bibs” to cater
dinner.”

Drummond frowned, “I’m not in the mood for company or ribs. I wanted salmon and
some peace. I had an interesting experience as I prepared to leave the office.”

“What happened?”

“I’d rather not discuss it. I’ll chock it up to stress, or one of my employees poisoned
me.”

Marina grinned, “I’m sure it’s not the first time one of them wanted to kill you.”

Drummond said, “I’m going to take a nap. I’m bushed.” He showered and plopped into
bed.

Twenty minutes later, he woke to the smell of pineapple.

Drummond called for his assistant, “Bartlett! Get in here!”

Bartlett wasn’t there. A fine mist of clouds shrouded a ghostly figure hovering at the end
of the bed.

Drummond yelled, “Bartlett, there’s smoke in here!”

A voice said, “It’s not smoke, and I’m not Bartlett. However, I am here to serve you.”

As he had done earlier in the day, Drummond frantically waved his arms to clear his
view. “Who are you?”

“I installed the windows in this house many years ago. I’m waiting for my final payment.
You owe me twenty grand.”

Drummond looked at the ghost, “You’re Frankie Kaseda. You didn’t get paid because the
windows leaked.”

“That’s a lie.”

“You had a chance to take me to court. You backed down. What do you want from me?”

“I am the Ghost of Climate Past. We’re going on a trip.”

“I have dinner plans! Go away!”

Drummond collapsed on the bed, and the ghost returned them to his childhood home in
Cleveland Heights, Ohio.

Drummond stood at the top of the second-floor staircase. “I remember a party my parents
had one night, and I had a terrible dream. I went to the top of these steps, right where I’m
standing and started crying. My mother told me that crying was for babies. I was six years old.”

The ghost said, “That might explain why you can’t properly express your emotions.”

The duo darted in and out of clouds and time. When they landed at Taylor Road
Elementary School, Drummond saw a younger version of himself sitting on the bench of the
baseball diamond. He watched his teammates struggle to complete a routine defensive play. The
third baseman fumbled the ball, and two runners scored.

The younger Drummond yelled, “You suck Buccirelli!”

When the inning ended, the berated and error-prone fielder confronted Drummond, and
they exchanged punches. Drummond found himself on the ground, his pants torn, and his shirt
stained with the blood from his split lip.

Buccirelli yelled, “We hate your guts for being a rich, snobby asshole that wrecked Cain
Park.”

The ghost asked, “What happened that drew their ire?”

Drummond spoke quietly. “We lived near a big park. Cain Park. It had a basketball court,
a set of swings, tennis courts, swimming pool, and a giant hill for sledding in the winter. One
summer day I went there to play basketball. I brought the only ball we had. I missed the game-
winning shot, but I swear to God, Mickey Shore fouled me. He called me a liar. We argued for
ten minutes. I took my ball and went home. The other kids were mad I ended the game.”

The ghost said, “That’s it?”

Drummond said, “When I told my mother what happened she said I showed weakness
and the other boys needed to learn a lesson about money and power. My father bought the park
and the land adjacent to it. He received a special permit to dig for oil. Right in the middle of the
neighborhood! Everyone hated me for the being the kid that ruined Cain Park. I didn’t care. I
was far superior to my peers intellectually, and I achieved great success as an adult.”

“You had the benefit of a nice head start from your father,” said the ghost.

Drummond angered, “I took his small advance and turned it into an empire! How many
other people do you know that own a reproduction of a giant whale in their foyer?”

The ghost asked, “It that is the measure of your success?”

“The whale keeps me focused on conquering my enemies, just like Captain Ahab.”
“Does the whale bring you happiness?”

Drummond exploded in anger, “Take me back to my house!”

“Consider this a warning, Wilson Drummond. Change your ways!”

As quickly as it appeared, the ghost vanished


The new work week began with a shout, “Reese! Where are my reports?”

Jericho rushed in holding a stack of papers ten inches thick. “Here you go, as I
promised.”

Drummond pressed the intercom button. His secretary answered, “Yes, Mr. Drummond?”

“Allison, what day is it?”

“Huh?”

‘It’s a simple request, sweetheart. What day of the week is it?”

“It’s Monday.”

“Thank you, my dear.”

Drummond said to Reese, “I was very clear about the deadline.”

“Yes, sir, you were clear. The rain delayed the game.”

“I don’t give a damn about the stupid game.” Drummond pointed his finger at Reese and
shouted, “You’re fired!”

He pressed the intercom a second time, “Allison, Mr. Reese is leaving. He’s got ten
minutes to clear out his office. Have security escort him out of the building.”

Reese and Drummond locked eyes. “I’ll be gone in five. You’re a sad, shallow excuse for
a man.”

He turned and stormed out.

The rest of the morning required Drummond to sit in on boring corporate meetings. He
preferred charts and graphs to written reports. He grabbed an early lunch, consisting of well-done
steak, a side of fries, and two scoops of ice cream for dessert. Drummond fell ill and decided to
go home to rest.

His sickness wasn’t due to firing a valuable employee. Drummond never admitted an
error in judgment. That showed extreme weakness. Industry insiders knew that if Wilson
Drummond terminated your employment, it was due to his inability to handle bad news and
looked to cast blame on others while accepting all the credit if the business went well.
Drummond’s belly ached, and his fever soared above 100 degrees. He popped a couple of Advil
and headed to bed.
Drummond shouted for his assistant, “Bartlett, I have an important teleconference at five
o’clock. Make sure I’m awake by three.”
As he slept, his reoccurring dream returned. He was the captain of a whaling ship,
searching the ocean for the elusive white whale. He stood on the deck of the HHS Drummond.
One of the spotters at the top of the mast yelled, “Two hundred meters, straight ahead! There’s
the beast that torments you, Captain!”
The water sprayed on the deck, drenching him. The vessel rocked side to side.
Drummond clung to the railing.
“Spotter, where is the creature now?”
The enormous white whale surfaced close to Drummond, absorbing the futile efforts of
the hapless harpoons. As it returned to the sea, it crushed the boat into pieces.
“Dammit!” yelled Drummond, waking from his nightmare.

Page 8

A voice said, “Is there a problem?”
The room filled with mist. The odd smell returned. A ghost appeared and said, “I am the
Ghost of the Current Climate in the world.”
Drummond asked, “Do I know you?”
“Years ago you refused to rent an apartment to me because of the color of my skin. I had
to move my family to a bad neighborhood. A man shot and killed my wife as she walked home
from work. I found the bastard and got my revenge. Now I’m paying for my sins, spending
eternity in this ghostly form. Trust me; you don’t want this existence. You must change your
ways at once!”
Drummond mocked the accusation, “Nonsense! I’m sure I had a valid reason. Probably
bad credit, or a criminal record!”
The ghost said, “You are running out of time!”
Drummond responded angrily, “I’m making a living for my family! Is that a crime?”
The ghost snapped his skeletal fingers, and they arrived at a small island in the Pacific
Ocean. An outcropping of shacks lay near the shore. Four bare-chested men stood at the edge of
the water, spears in hand, occasionally tossing their weapons into the frothy water. The largest of
the men nailed his target and retrieved a Mackerel, barely large enough to feed his family of four
for the evening meal.
Drummond said, “Why can’t they do better? Even a novice could catch a few with those
long spears.”
The ghost said, “Overfishing from large corporations, like the companies you control,
diminished the fish population.”
A thousand yards offshore a buoy bobbed up and down. As the water crested and fell,
Drummond spotted the roof of a house next far out at sea.
“What in the blazes is that house doing in the water?”
The ghost explained, “Ten years ago that house sat on dry land. The water rises each
year, due to climate change. That house belonged to those men. At this rate, the ocean will claim
the entire island in two years.”
Drummond refuted the ghost’s claim. “The world needs energy. Global warming is fake
news!”
Disheartened by Drummond’s ignorance, the ghost said, “Let’s continue.”

Page 9

They stood in the middle of a busy street in Raipur, India.
Drummond asked the ghost, “Can’t you remove the clouds? What is that awful smell?”
The ghost said, “Those aren’t clouds, it’s pollution from the burning of fossil fuels.”
“Wave your magic bony fingers and clear the air! I can’t see anything! I can’t breathe.”
Drummond coughed and put his tiny hands over his mouth.
The ghost said, “Air pollution will kill millions of people this year. Children will develop
lung ailments that stunt their growth, both mentally and physically, and they’ll die prematurely.”
“This isn’t my problem. I have my worries, too.”
The ghost cautioned Drummond, “If the situation isn’t resolved soon, life as you know it
will end in a terrifying disaster that even Steven Spielberg couldn’t conceive of.”
They left the stench of urban India and found themselves in the middle of the Amazon
jungle. A thick shield of trees made it difficult to see more than ten feet in front of them.
A buzzing sound, like thousands of bees, vibrated through Drummond’s head. He
covered his ears and asked, “Where are we? What is that noise?”
Drummond followed the ghost to a clearing.
“We’re in South America. We’re at the location of your largest manufacturing plant in
this region. The sound you hear is the whirring of a hundred saws tearing into the barks of an
endless row of trees.”
Drummond saw the stumps of ten thousand trees. The ghost removed a metal sign from
behind his back and stuck it in the ground. The sign read, UNLESS.
Drummond tossed his hands in the air. “I don’t understand. What does that mean?”
The ghost said, “Didn’t you read Dr. Suess as a child?”
“My parents preferred the classics.”
The ghost shook his head in disgust. “Dr. Suess is a classic.”
Their next stop brought them to a glass-bottom boat in the middle of the ocean.
Drummond appeared confused.
“What are we doing here?”

Page 10

“That is the heart of the Great Barrier Reef. It used to be the jewel of Australia. Now,
Ocean acidification is killing it. The bright colors of the reef are fading, bleached away from the
poison you dump in the water. You treat the ocean like a gigantic sewer.”
Drummond countered, “I help create jobs. That means more money for people to go on
vacation.”
“Vacationers won’t come here! Nobody will visit Australia to see the Not-so-Great
Barrier Reef. What are you willing to do to make the Barrier Reef great again?”
Drummond awoke to the sound of a car horn. Outside he spotted his grandchild pressing
the horn of her father’s Land Rover.
Drummond yelled, “Lily, please stop that! It’s annoying and loud.” Drummond headed
back to work to complete his massive deal with a Chinese company.
Two hours of tough negotiation, and 45.3 billion dollars later, he concluded the single
most significant purchase of his life.
He buzzed his secretary, “Allison, to help me celebrate, let’s order Chinese food. Egg
rolls, sweet and sour chicken, and for God’s sake, make sure there’s no pineapple in my order!”
Allison beamed with excitement, “My husband is taking me to Hawaii next week. He
says the pineapple is amazing!”
Drummond frowned, “Ugh, pineapple. I can’t even stand the smell of it. Lately, it’s in my
head all the time. Please leave me alone to bask in my glory. You’re talking to the richest man in
New York. If this deal is successful, someday I might be the richest man in China, too!”
He ate his meal, opened the fortune cookie, and read it. “To attain personal tranquility,
you must resolve old transgressions.” He crumpled the paper and tossed it away. Drummond
kicked back in his chair, exhaling deeply as the gratification of another successful deal sunk in.
“There it is again, dammit Allison, couldn’t you be more careful?” Drummond bent
down, searching for chunks of pineapple. He saw a pair of boney feet instead.
Looking up, he said, “Not another one of you guys! What grievance do you have with
me? Did I forget to replace my divot on the golf course?”
The ghost shaped the fingers of his right hand into the “okay” sign, and then they were
off.
They landed in a neglected cemetery. The ghost motioned Drummond closer to the grave
directly in front of them. Drummond saw the last name of on the stone and shuddered. He saw
the date of death and scrunched his eyebrows. “The date of death... it’s thirty years from now. I
didn’t think I’d live another thirty years. What you’ve shown me is good news!”

The Ghost spoke for the first time. In a chilling voice reminiscent of Vincent Price, he
declared, “I am the Ghost of Climate Future! We are well past thirty years from now. We’re one
hundred years in the future. Look closer at the marker!”
Drummond peered at the name, and screamed, “NO!!!!!! It can’t be true! Tell me this is a
lie!”
“It is true. The date of death is not a hoax!”
Drummond crumbled to the ground. “The name on the grave...is Lily Drummond! She
was only thirty-six years old! What happened to her?”
He rushed the ghost, hoping to shake the story out of him. The spirit moved effortlessly
out of the way, and Drummond lost his balance. He fell back towards the grave, landing inches
from his granddaughter. The ghost cackled hauntingly.
Drummond demanded to know the details of her death. “Don’t you understand? If I know
who did this to her, I can stop it from happening. I’ll kill the perpetrator when he or she is a
child, therefore eliminating the circumstances that caused her early death! I’m begging you,
please, tell me what happened to her!”
The ghost said, with a wry smile, “Wilson Drummond is begging for help. This
unexpected twist is most unusual. Your granddaughter died of respiratory failure, due to
complications of asthma.”
“Asthma?” Drummond’s eyebrows rose in recollection. “Jericho Reese’s kid had that!
It’s terrible news, but at least there’s nobody to blame.”
The ghost enjoyed his next statement a bit too much, “In this case, I can say with one-
hundred percent assurance there is someone to blame.”
Drummond’s anger returned two-fold, ‘Tell me goddammit! Who did this?”
The ghost spilled the beans, “You did!”
“What do you mean, I did? I would never harm her!”
The ghost grabbed Drummond, and they flew away from the cemetery and landed near
the Lincoln Memorial. Millions of people lined the streets, begging for government assistance.
Drummond asked, “What’s going on here?”

Page 12

“Food is scarce, and the water is undrinkable. You allowed the EPA to remove
safeguards that kept hazardous materials from entering the groundwater. You ignored the
meteoric rise in the levels of greenhouse gases that warmed the planet that caused dramatic
glacier melt that flooded cities throughout the world, including your fancy resort along the east
coast of Florida. You dug for oil in the last vestiges of pristine land. Your fracking company
caused a massive earthquake in Yellowstone National Park. Didn’t you think there would be a
price to pay for your short-sighted policies?”
Drummond answered, “What does any of this have to do with my Lily? Tell me what
happened to her!”
The ghost ignored him. “The Ghost of Climate Past took you to your childhood. The
Ghost of the Current Climate took you to witness the world you know. I’ve taken you to the
future. It’s the end of civilization.”
Drummond said, “You still haven’t told me why I’m responsible for Lily’s death!”
“For a billionaire, your IQ must be pretty low. When the Paris Climate Accord collapsed,
you hired Lily to run your Chinese portfolio. She moved to Beijing and her lungs filled with
toxins. The doctors performed a double lung transplant. She developed an infection and died a
slow and painful death. Even your family fortune couldn’t save your precious Lily! Shortly after
she passed, chaos followed, and this is what has become of the Earth. Historians blame your
leadership.”
“My leadership? I was just a businessman. I can’t be held responsible for the decline of
the entire world!”
The ghost laughed, “Oh, wait, this is the best part. I forgot to mention you became
President of the United States. You won twice! Your opponent won the popular vote each time,
but you received the higher amount of electoral votes. You should have seen the crowds at your
inauguration! Huuuuge! You prided yourself in being the greatest president since Abe Lincoln.
Unfortunately, history will judge you as the person responsible for killing more people than
anyone in the history of the world. People despise you more than Adolf Hitler!”
The ghost gave Drummond a minute to let this news sink in. Drummond replayed the
recent events in his mind. He shrunk to a mere shell of the man that formerly bragged about his
insignificant accomplishments.
“This is the future?” asked Drummond.
The ghost said, “This is how it ends.”
“Is there a way to change it? Is there time to save my Lily?”

Page 13

The ghost looked toward heaven. “There is time to alter the future. You must act now,
not in five or ten years. Dadum Tractum est.”
“Huh?”
“I thought you said you were a genius? It’s Latin for “past the point of no return.”
“Take me back home at once!” said Drummond. A single tear fell from his right eye.
Drummond awoke gasping for breath, lying on the floor of his office. Allison and two
security guards stood above him.
“Mr. Drummond, are you okay? I thought you had a heart attack.”
“Thank you for your concern. I can assure you I’m perfectly fine. Please help me up.”
I saw you on the carpet, and you weren’t moving. It happened within seconds.”
“Seconds? I was gone longer than that.”
Allison asked, “Gone? Where could you have gone?”
“To the future, and it wasn’t pretty. I have a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it. Call
Jericho Reese. I need him back here, right away! Tell him I’m giving him a raise and purchasing
new uniforms for his kids’ soccer team. Don’t take no for an answer. I must call an associate in
China and give him some bad news. The deal is off. The three of you are witnessing the
transformation of the old Wilson Drummond, industrialist, narcissist, and self-aggrandizer into
Wilson Drummond, a friend of the Earth, always. Get Lily on the telephone. I want to hear her
sweet little voice.”
In the corner of the room, the ghosts of Constance Rock and her assistants gave each
other skeletal high-fives and left Drummond Tower for good, never to return.

14

Epilogue
Wilson Drummond did indeed change his ways. He donated his entire whale collection to
the Herman Melville House in Pittsfield, Massachusetts. Drummond sponsored Earth Day
celebrations throughout the country for the next nine years. He became President of the United
States and represented all that was great in America. He was a beacon of goodness for all to
emulate, forming a coalition of governments to find solutions to clean the air, the water, and the
land, without causing hardship for the world’s economies. Under Drummond’s leadership, new
technologies spurred millions of new jobs in the clean energy sector. America considered him
the second most popular president ever, behind a man named Lincoln.

His granddaughter Lily, proud mother of three, grandmother of eight, and great-
grandmother of six, ran the “Wilson Drummond Cain Park Environmental Sanctuary” in
Cleveland, Heights, Ohio until the day she died, at the ripe old age of 93.

THE END

Saturday, November 3, 2018

China is late to the game of sci-fi and cli-fi .....but things are changing now with the release of this cli-fi movie 2019 during Lunar New Year period



China is late to the game of sci-fi and cli-fi .....but things are changing now with the release of this cli-fi movie from PRC China,  h/t Tom Sear
youtube.com/watch?time_continue=5&v=MLcghUzzQCg

Thursday, November 1, 2018

Amitav Ghosh goes cli-fi in new novel 'Gun Island'

Amitav Ghosh goes cli-fi in new novel 'Gun Island' set for publication in June 2019

Billed as ''a 350-page cli-fi novel set in several locations around the world''

 

 
A Goateed Amitav Ghosh at Peace in Paris
Novelist Amitav Ghosh will be doing a reading and signing books at MacEwan Ballroom on Nov. 20 as the 2018-2019 Distinguished Visiting Writer for the Calgary Distinguished Writers Program. Photo courtesy Amitav Ghosh
 
Though his climatologist friends mock him for his guilty pleasure, novelist Amitav Ghosh admits he is a huge fan of Hollywood’s overblown cli-fi disaster epics, such as The Day After Tomorrow and Geostorm.

“I love them! I watch them obsessively,” he says, chuckling.

“My climate scientist friends laugh at me for this,” Ghosh says, “because the practical science in a movie like The Day After Tomorrow is bad. But I find these cli-fi movies very compelling. And I do think both film and television very forward-leaning in dealing with climate change.”

He describes his upcoming cli-fi novel Gun Island as a story about a world wracked by climate change “in which creature and beings of every kind have been torn loose from their accustomed homes by the catastrophic processes of displacement that are now unfolding across the Earth at an ever-increasing pace.”


“Climate change is the most important crisis of our times and it’s hitting us in the face every day,” says Ghosh. “Look at these devastating typhoons and tornadoes, or the wildfires om Candaa and California and Greece. These are deadly serious weather events and lived experiences.''
He adds: ''If you think of John Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath (1939), that’s a book about climate change, with the Dust Bowl that occurred in America in the 1920s and 1930s. ''

In many ways The Great Derangement began as a sort of ''auto-critique,'' says Ghosh, with the writer challenging himself for failing to adequately tackle the issues of climate change in his own work.

Ghosh says that some contemporary novelists have written brilliantly about this crisis of our times, such as Richard Powers in this year’s The Overstory. And given the magnitude of this dilemma, Ghosh hopes to see more cli-fi novels and movies soon.

It's not necessarily a matter of sitting down with an agenda to write the great cli-fi novel.

 “It’s more a matter of writing a cli-fi novel and being aware that the reality of climate change is all around you, just as the realities of your city or village or province is around you. It’s a part of our reality — so let’s better address this.”

 

Monday, October 29, 2018

hear-chris-cornells-wrenching-cover-of-nothing-compares-2-u

\hear-chris-cornells-wrenching-cover-of-nothing-compares-2-u

https://www.npr.org/sections/allsongs/2018/10/25/660594022/hear-chris-cornells-wrenching-cover-of-nothing-compares-2-u

Margaret E. Atwood (MargaretAtwood) tweeted

Margaret E. Atwood (MargaretAtwood) tweeted at 0:57 PM on Tuesday, January 26, 2016: ''A Talk with a Cli-Fi Activist'' https://t.co/8Lto41e​KgX

 

(https://twitter.com​/MargaretAtwood/stat​us/69184735628799181​0?s=03) #CliFi

Hildur Knutsdottirova, novelist in Iceland

On the Icelandic legend in his books touch let, says writer Knútsdóttirová 5 Hildur Hildur Knútsdottirová Icelandic writer. | server Lidovky.cz | Current news writer Iceland Hildur Knútsdottirová. | Photo: SPEAKER LN PRAGUE Iceland longer term in our new, but strong competition. Hildur Knútsdóttirové writer published in English novel Bloody Winter for the survival of freezing Icelandic Islands. Server Lidovky.cz to her talk about her book, the book market instability and not least also about why Game of Thrones allegory for global warming. Lidovky: What is your book? It is about a brother and sister who live in Iceland. With his father embark on a vacation to the country cottage. That day but on the ground aliens land and almost all eaten. Electricity and heating stops working. Everything is a little - food, medicines and tools. Those who survived have to make do with less, while those hiding from intruders. Icelanders often forget the fact that basically live on a tiny rock in the ocean. We are accustomed to a high standard of living, but in this case all remain cut off from supplies and aid from other countries. We stand as a country currently dependent. They have to get by yourself. All the more complicated by the weather, which can be very unfriendly Iceland. Some islands also flood. Lidovky: So your book is unique in its setting? Most postapokalyptických books and series takes place in Europe or the United States. There is a large and continuous land. Island is a small island and it is not self-sufficient. In 2008, we suffered great financial crisis, our currency is rapidly losing value. It is very much reflected in our imports and suddenly you had to get used to a completely different standard. People realize that supermarkets are food supplies for just a month. Medicines were few. It will make a man think. It's generally quite fragile system and it is difficult to deflect. That's a lot in my book goes. Imagine for example, that our internet is the only cable in the sea. Not the cable, not the Internet. Lidovky: I read somewhere that you thought the core of the story in a dream. It is true. I like a post-apocalyptic horror movies and serials. Generally I find very boring dreams that I'm doing something normal that I go to buy or that I write. That evening, however, I had a little boy who arrives in Reykjavik, but in no one. Everywhere it was dark. At that moment it began to chase something, and he must flee the city and hide in the wilderness to Vestmanských Islands. On these I had never personally been. When I woke up, I naturally wanted to know more. I solved it so that I guessed the rest of the story. Lidovky: This is an interesting approach to plant the story in a place where you've never been. I was there then naturally during the writing had issue. Icelanders are very sensitive to the topography. "It's five kilometers apart, but only three," said the. If I wrote it wrong, so I would not omlátili head (laughs). I also get a lot of scans the apocalypse itself. I wondered, for example, how long it would take in a similar situation before it was all over Iceland disconnected electricity. Sure, I got aliens, but I wanted to make the rest of it was the most realistic as possible. Icelandic writer Hildur Knútsdottirová. Icelandic writer Hildur Knútsdottirová. Lidovky: You said you like horror movies. So I guess the inspiration for your carnivorous aliens you drew directly on them. That's exactly. My greatest inspiration was the idea of ​​reptilian aliens, reptilians. He wrote about a conspiracy theorist David Icke. He says that the land they live alien lizards, who take on human form. According to that theory they got into the world's governments on earth, and now they control. I really had fun and laughed when I explored the theory. The internet is a lot of fun and totally střelených evidence! According to that theory are reptilians, for example, Brad Pitt, Queen, or the founder of Facebook Mark Zuckerberg. Lidovky: You mentioned that the book is unique to just that set. Iceland has yet very rich folklore. Some of the folk legend speaks about monsters. Why did you not use any of them? In essence, it offered itself. The idea seemed to me, so the blame is definitely the dream. Icelanders have great respect for the old legends and stories. I think the respect is sometimes unhealthy. We do not have a rich history, basically just the Vikings. But sagas, collected stories and legends of the old Iceland, compiled mythical Icelandic poets. For some it can be like the Holy Grail. If I reached for it, maybe I would also omlátili head (laughs). Lidovky: According to Bloody winter series is also planned that? Television bought the rights for about three years back, but until now I've not talk much. It will be a miniseries of eight parts. But I do not know when it actually starts filming because on television everything takes a very long time. In the series, I like the main writer. I'll probably be as a producer, but it still do not know exactly. Hildur Knútsdottirová - Bloody cold. Hildur Knútsdottirová - Bloody cold. Climate change is a problem Lidovky: One of the characters in your book complaining that the end of the world really so boring. How do you think the world will end? When told of Mengele, shaking and his voice trembling, said the Tatras from Auschwitz writer So seriously do not know. For many people, the end of something but the beginning of something else. The Vikings had their Ragnarok, the legendary end of the world, from which a new world was born. I read a lot about climate change and global warming. That's what scares me. So I think the world will end about a great flood. Lidovky: Due to climate change're actually ran into politics. I know that this is a big problem and annoyed me that about not talking politics. But if I run for myself, I thought, so I can recite it as a problem. The Icelandic parliament did not choose me, but in the end, it was quite close. Eventually I realized that politics really do not want to and I'd rather write. But our politicians to take credit away, it seems that in the Parliament now something is happening and climate change have not taken lightly. After all, Iceland is in the case of global warming first to go. Lidovky: So you think that writing against climate change do more? Hildur Knútsdóttirová (b. 1984) Icelandic writer and activist blogger. Bloody Winter is her first work of Czech. The book, however, consists of two novels, which were published separately in Iceland - Autumn holidays and severe winter. Her book Autumn holidays Iceland won the literary prize and the award for female artist Fjöruverðlaunin. Knútsdóttirová now preparing a series on the theme of bloody winter and Iceland, he has just released his next title called Lev. I do not know, but you still think about it. For me personally, but I'm sure, because I love writing. My next book is set in Iceland in 2096, and this issue is dealt with. In my version of the future of the world, the temperature rise due to global warming by two to three degrees, but it leads to disaster. In addition, right now in the world there is a new literary subgenre called a cli-fi (an abbreviation of climate fiction, Ed. Aut.). Lidovky: From my head I not recall much of authors who would do it in engagement. Maybe Cormack McCarthy and his On the Road. Some of it until now, for example, could write in metaphors. You've heard the theory that the whole Game of Thrones is actually an allegory for global warming? Everyone in Westland argue about who would be king, but the real danger comes from the north. Everyone ignored him. Speaking So you quarreling potentates and pull together against evil, so it is actually too late because the wall that separated them from the danger away. But now, for example, reading a book in 2140 by writer Kim Stanley Robinson. It takes place in New York, which is due to global warming is gradually sinking into the sea. I also think that if now someone writes fiction about the future and inevitably write about climate change must. All indications are that it will be bad. Lidovky: Now you get to our book market. Iceland is based on a lot of books of foreign authors? It is always a bit of a struggle. Island is small and exactly what is our book market. Therefore, it is very inconvenient and costly to translate books from foreign languages. But we are fighting with their own authors. Icelandic is generally endangered language spoken by fewer and fewer people. Also we take constantly new words from English. Children watching on Netflix in English, because a lot of children's literature, which is to take, we do not. Small book market is also reflected in the prices of the books themselves. New novel stands in Iceland as 50 to as many as 60 euros. Icelandic writer Hildur Knútsdottirová. Icelandic writer Hildur Knútsdottirová. Lidovky And it could solve it by making it to the people to contribute to crowdfundingových servers? Publisher would verify that it is a book of interest. I think readers would like to help financially. Perhaps it would also reduce the final price of books. This is an interesting idea, but there are no publishers with us probably thought. Icelandic writers who publish books at his own expense, for example, commonly used Kickstarter. We'll see where it goes next. 

Sunday, October 28, 2018

17 #FREE cli-fi movies online The first English cli-fi movie series for Cinemateket online from Denmark



17 #FREE cli-fi movies online  The first English cli-fi movie series for Cinemateket online in Denmark: A series of Hollywood cli-fi films in which the action is dictated by climate (change). Fiction or reality? Come see them here, free.

https://www.dfi.dk/cinemateket/biograf/filmserier/serie/cli-fi 

FILM I SERIEN



TORSDAG 1. NOVEMBER
TORSDAG 15. NOVEMBER

21:30
Serier: Cli-fi
MANDAG 19. NOVEMBER
MANDAG 26. NOVEMBER

21:45
Serier: Cli-fi
LØRDAG 1. DECEMBER

16:30
Serier: Cli-fi
TIRSDAG 4. DECEMBER
FREDAG 7. DECEMBER
TIRSDAG 11. DECEMBER

16:30
Serier: Cli-fi
LØRDAG 15. DECEMBER
TIRSDAG 18. DECEMBER

16:45
Serier: Cli-fi
ONSDAG 19. DECEMBER

19:00
Serier: Cli-fi
TORSDAG 27. DECEMBER

20:00
Serier: Cli-fi
FREDAG 28. DECEMBER

14:15
Serier: Cli-fi
SØNDAG 30. DECEMBER