Browsing the stacks of books
at the airport shop, I remember the joy of real books: Their smell, their feel,
their pretty jackets. And my book is right there. A Scarlett Thomas I haven’t
yet read!
Reading I am slightly
disappointed yet intrigued. Six twenty-somethings stranded on a deserted
island, filled with food and pop-culture references. Outdated of course, but I
like nostalgia. Heartbreak High anyone?
Though I am not
twenty-something anymore, it is hard not to relate. Stranding myself at an
ashram in the middle of nowhere. Away from the noise of town. Away from the
urge to buy and consume. I found it hard to explain to people why I am locking
myself up like this. Maybe this helps:
Anne imagines never seeing another Tango commercial or
Levi’s campaign. She imagines not drinking Coke again, or going to McDonalds.
She imagines not paying council tax and rent <…>, and not buying travel
cards and magazines and videogames. She imagines not living in a world with
stupid people and racism and violence and big corporations. She imagines living
in a world in which people don’t travel, all energy is renewable, and nature is
just, well, natural <…>. It would be pretty cool.
So maybe it is not me who is
in some freakish cult.
‘Do you think people want that?’ she asks. ‘Sorry?’ ‘Normal people. Your mother, your friends, whoever. Do
they want the world changed?’ ‘They… I don’t know’, says Paul. ‘Probably not.’ Anne pulls a face. ‘They’ve been brainwashed’, she
says, in a film-trailer voice. They both laugh.‘They have, though’, says Paul. ‘They just want to buy
stuff, be entertained’. ‘Exactly’, says Anne. ‘They want to be entertained’.
And yes, I was entertained. But this is
not the End of Mr Y.
No comments:
Post a Comment