Desert

Not that I share the context with the author, but the beginning feels quite informative in assessing development of Amerikkan milieux of those times (we are damned to know this much about Westerners). Tipping into future prospects is briefer than I consider acceptable, not focusing on any of the mentioned regions (even the one author had Lawrence-of-Arabia-ed themselves) is a loss. This could be more illustrative without sacrificing its poetic veneer. Vaguely referencing Dawkins is beyond cringe (hence, I think, the anonymity—no name can survive such a disgrace). I can quite easily tolerate atheism, but it’s embarrassing how author suggests abandoning utopianisms in favor of circular time (there are other ways, believe me).

How to sum up the book? Everything is pointless and we are doomed. The collapse will come and war, starvation, ... all kind of shit will hit the fan. So don't even try to change the world and start building a shelter for you and a few other people.

On the other hand: It at least discusses a lot of problems in a vehemence other anarchists don't.

It's strange to describe but in some way I have the feeling the book makes you feel comfortable looking into the abyss... You are fucked anyway so why start making the life for you and yourself better? It inhibits you completely...

So, this one has been on my list for a while, and I finally got around to it when I realized I could browse The Anarchist Library on the cash-register screen at work.

In combination with a subsequent drug-aided empathic interaction with a tick, this threw me for quite a spin, not quite knowing how to value or relate to life, death, and all that juicy metaphysical stuff.

Now, a couple weeks later, and having interspersed these chapters with some somewhat more cheerfull - or at least less gloomy - green anarchist theory, I've come out the other end closer to myself and my immediate surroundigs.

tl;dr: I can't put this into stars, but I spend way more time watching insects and listening to birds now.