When something dominates the landscape long enough, it falls into the intricate patterns that ultimately lead to its downfall. Complacency, the feeling of superiority and supreme authority, overpopulation and spreading the herd paper thin; these are all symptoms of that coming demise. It can be seen in every creature colonizing on any continent, from the largest of animals to the smallest insects. And nothing reflects that teetering on the brink of perpetual extinction more than mankind.
In The Genocides, this point is painstakingly brought to the surface, showcasing exactly how mankind would react to sweeping changes and how easily the proverbial "fall from grace" could be fashioned. First come the seeds of destruction in the shape of mysterious plants, growing at levels that astound even the most studious minds while being followed by the atypical reactions hinged on dismissal that one would expect from "civilized thinkers." As the plants start claiming ground and choking out the human blight, the reaction remain as we would expect them to be, unwavering in their arrogance, and the people see themselves as dominate. They don't see this as an invasion because plants couldn't be invaders, after all, and they opt instead to fight it with poisons that seem to keep the problem in check and methods that keep it out of sight. Slowly, however, people come to realize that this is all a mirage and that extinction is looming just beyond that next horizon. And there, in a town painted to the backdrop of crumbling cities and mammoth greenery, Thomas Disch begins painting a vivid portrait of what humanity truly entails.
There were many elements of the story that sprang from those pages and that were captivating as I eagerly devoured page after page. I personally liked the way the characters sprang to life, their ideas and ideals mingling with their backgrounds, and I liked the way all sorts of normally-mundane items started marching back into lives that had forgotten them. Food, grueling efforts to keep portions of land, needs for medicine, the elements; these were all there and they were all there in kind. Little tastes that we'd become numb to began taking effect, with people dropping like so many flies as the going grew tougher and tougher, and Disch painted it well. And, out of that, he painted something that I liked even better.
One of the best things about Disch's work was that he wasn't trying to become a mouthpiece for the redeeming factors housed in mankind. He didn't gloss over the fact that brutality is a key component to survival when structure becomes disheveled, and he doesn't try to bore his readers with passion plays that encompass only a portion of that "light vs. dark" spectrum. Instead, he explores the way the individuals feel and how they manage to survive on both a mental and a physical plateau when the world falls apart. And sometimes this means doing little things to keep the past alive or finding someone to latch onto that you really don't care about. And sometimes it means doings deeds that are even worse, eternally answering not only the question of what people are willing to do to stay alive but also the question of where sausage will come from when pigs are gone but still savored in the deep spiciness of memory.
This is WELL worth working into your hectic reading lives.
