HOPE, A HISTORY OF THE FUTURE

A family’s new home comes with an uncanny book apparently from the future, a memoir of sorts that tells of a coming environmental cataclysm and the peaceful world built by the few survivors.

Kellner, an artist, illustrates as well as annotates her debut SF novel, yet another cautionary tale in the cli-fi category. The Denzells purchase a vanished person’s furnished home on the condition that they retain its contents—resident cat, Plato; many books; and “unusual collections and strange artifacts left behind by the old man.” One book begins to reappear around the house with strange, insistent regularity, a bound volume supposedly from the future called The History of the World, bearing a publication date of 2200. Various family members in turn are caught up in reading the oddity, which claims to be the transcribed memories of surviving individuals starting in “The Time Before”—that is, before mid-21st-century global warming wiped out millions of species, eliminated crops, and turned Earth into myriad storm-wracked, overheated wastelands. In the Pacific, one little girl watches as everyone around her succumbs to blight and starvation. Her sole-survivor tale intertwines with the odyssey of Gabriel Thomason and Mia Lu, a presumably North American young couple who, as modern civilization collapses, take their chances at sea in a sailboat. Poetic imagery and song rather than disaster-movie violent mayhem move the engrossing narrative along with a sometimes-idyllic tone poignantly in contrast to the background of apocalyptic events. Hanging over the whole thing is the question mark (the customary shape in which Plato holds his tail) of whether the future really has to be this way. The intriguing story is not as shrill and angry as like-minded narratives in this alarm-bell genre (though it still makes its points) and is pitched to readers of a YA and older demographic. Kellner follows the loosely plotted book with considerable aftermatter documents bearing out her philosophies—everything from a wishful “Imagined Universal Bill of Rights and Responsibilities” to the United States Constitution (in total, even the part about guns), the United Nations’ Universal Declaration of Human Rights, and a little-remembered “Treaty for the Renunciation of War” from 1928 (“Oops,” readers will be tempted to say).

An engaging, fablelike warning about climate change with a gentler approach than most eco–SF.