THE ANCIENTS

Two inimical societies seek to escape the ravages of climate change in this imaginative novel.

Extend the post-apocalyptic sections of David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas and you’re in the territory of Larison’s tale. Set in unspecified locations—though one imagines Alaska at one end and southern California at the other—it begins with children of a hunting clan who have been abandoned. That’s not through any neglect on the part of their elders, but because they’ve been shanghaied into slavery. The children set out to find their people, braving tall mountains, fierce critters, and snow that Larison writes, poetically, “looked like knapped flint falling through water.” Explains another to the youngest, a brave but hapless brother, “Nothing wrong in this world is ever the fault of children.” Far away, their captive mother thinks much the same thing: “Children shouldn’t be blamed.” Nonetheless, children grow up to be strange beings. One is a scholar named Cyrus, a student of history and confidant of the emperor manqué of the slaveholders, who manages a network of spies and snitches that the Stasi might envy: “In this village, there were so many eyes.” Indeed, though, when that young brother finds his unlikely way into the city, no one but the higher-ups pay him much mind. Perhaps that’s because everyone’s preoccupied with a deadly drought, with all the hunger and want it brings. The ruling class has an out—an ark whose bearings are set on a rumored green land far away, “a land of lakes and grass, fruit trees and nuts, grapes and endless harvests, a land that knew no drought and no winter.” Will they get there? The ending is a touch melodramatic, and even predictable, but Larison does a good job of worldbuilding overall, with believable characters and (mostly) believable plot twists.

Warnings are wrapped up inside of portents in turning today’s headlines into literature.