The Year of the Flood (MaddAddam, #2)

by Margaret Atwood

There still is life, however. Birds chirp; sparrows, they must be. Their small voices are clear and sharp, nails on glass: there’s no longer any sound of traffic to drown them out. Do they notice that quietness, the absence of motors? If so, are they happier? Toby has no idea. Unlike some of the other Gardeners — the more wild-eyed or possibly overdosed ones — she has never been under the illusion that she can converse with birds.

mattock,

THE LIVER IS EVIL AND MUST BE PUNISHED.

Now it was an emergency. They showed a map of the world, with the hotspots lighting up in red — Brazil, Taiwan, Saudi Arabia, Bombay, Paris, Berlin — it was like watching the planet being spraygunned. It was an eruptive plague, they said, and the thing was spreading fast — no, not even spreading, breaking out at the same time in cities far apart, which wasn’t the normal pattern. Ordinarily the Corps would have called for lies and cover-ups, and we’d hear something like the real story only in rumours, so the fact that all this was right out there on the news showed how serious it was — the Corps couldn’t keep the lid on. The news jockeys were trying to keep calm. The experts didn’t know what the superbug was, but it was a pandemic for sure, and a lot of people were dying fast — just sort of melting. As soon as they said, “No need for panic,” in that eerie calm tone with those glued-on smiles, I could tell it was really serious. The second bad thing was that some guys in biosuits came into the Snakepit and stuffed the dead people into body bags and took them out.

Do we deserve this Love by which God maintains our Cosmos? Do we deserve it as a Species? We have taken the World given to us and carelessly destroyed its fabric and its Creatures. Other religions have taught that this World is to be rolled up like a scroll and burnt to nothingness, and that a new Heaven and a new Earth will then appear. But why would God give us another Earth when we have mistreated this one so badly? No, my Friends. It is not this Earth that is to be demolished: it is the Human Species. Perhaps God will create another, more compassionate race to take our place.

The Earth forgives the Miner’s blast That rends her crust and burns her skin; The centuries bring Trees again, And water, and the Fish therein. The Deer at length forgives the Wolf That tears his throat and drinks his blood; His bones return to soil, and feed The trees that flower and fruit and seed. And underneath those shady trees The Wolf will spend her restful days; And then the Wolf in turn will pass, And turn to grass the Deer will graze.