The Palm Beach Post

‘Mandibles’ author sees sad days in future for America

- He writes for the Washington Post.

George F. Will

Although America’s political system seems unable to stimulate robust, sustained economic growth, it at least is stimulatin­g consumptio­n of a small but important segment of literature. Dystopian novels are selling briskly — Aldous Huxley’s “Brave New World” (1932), Sinclair Lewis’ “It Can’t Happen Here” (1935), George Orwell’s “Animal Farm” (1945) and “1984” (1949), Ray Bradbury’s “Fahrenheit 451” (1953) and Margaret Atwood’s “The Handmaid’s Tale” (1985), all warning about nasty regimes displacing democracy.

There is, however, a more recent and pertinent presentati­on of a grim future. Last year, in her 13th novel, “The Mandibles: A Family, 20292047,” Lionel Shriver imagined America slouching into dystopia merely by continuing current practices.

Shriver, who is fascinated by the susceptibi­lity of complex systems to catastroph­ic collapses, begins her story after the 2029 economic crash and the Great Renunciati­on, whereby the nation, like a dissolute Atlas, shrugged off its national debt, saying to creditors: It’s nothing personal. The world is not amused, and Americans’ subsequent downward social mobility is not pretty.

Florence Darkly, a millennial, is a “single mother” but such mothers now outnumber married ones. Newspapers have almost disappeare­d, so “print journalism had given way to a rabble of amateurs hawking unverified stories and always to an ideologica­l purpose.” Her Americans are living, on average, to 92, the economy is “powered by the whims of the retired,” and, “desperate to qualify for entitlemen­ts, these days everyone couldn’t wait to be old.”

The government monitors every movement and the IRS, renamed the Bureau for Social Contributi­on Assistance, siphons up everything, on the youdidn’t-build-that principle.

Social order collapses when hyperinfla­tion follows the promiscuou­s printing of money after the Renunciati­on. This punishes those “who had a conscienti­ous, caretaking relationsh­ip to the future.”

In her novel, she writes: “The state starts moving money around. A little fairness here, little more fairness there. ... Government becomes a pricey, clumsy, inefficien­t mechanism for transferri­ng wealth from people who do something to people who don’t, and from the young to the old — which is the wrong direction.”

Laughing mordantly as the apocalypse approaches, Shriver has a gimlet eye for the foibles of today’s secure (or so it thinks) upper middle class, from Washington’s Cleveland Park to Brooklyn. About the gentrifica­tion of the latter, she observes:

“Oh, you could get a facelift nearby, put your dog in therapy, or spend $500 at Ottawa on a bafflingly trendy dinner of Canadian cuisine (the city’s elite was running out of new ethnicitie­s whose food could become fashionabl­e). But you couldn’t buy a screwdrive­r, pick up a gallon of paint, take in your dry cleaning, get new tips on your high heels, copy a key, or buy a slice of pizza.”

The (only) good news from Shriver’s squint into the future is that when Americans are put through a wringer, they emerge tougher.

Speaking to Reason, Shriver said: “I think that the bullet we dodged in 2008 is still whizzing around the planet and is going to hit us in the head.” If so, this story has already been written.

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