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The basic premise of this book is that technology has allowed the human population of planet Earth to grow to an unsustainable level, and when the resources used to enable that technology are exhausted, we are going to experience a catastrophic crash.

The book was published in 1980, and it is peppered with references to the oil crises of the 70s. That was when people in America and similar countries got their first taste of what would happen to their lives if the oil tap got turned off. Since then, as we now know, we've been able to keep the oil flowing. But the overshoot hypothesis remains in place, because the oil and other resources WILL run out at some stage, and when they do we will have made the problem even worse because we now have 8 billion people instead of 4 billion. To feed them all, we still need coal, gas and oil to fuel the tractors and the cargo ships and to manufacture the fertilisers. When we can't use fossil fuels, it will be all over.

A striking thing about the book is the way it talks about the catastrophe in the past tense. The point of no return happened some time in the past. Maybe we should have known all along that the coal, oil and gas would run out, even as we began exploiting these resources, around the time the steam engine was invented. But we acted as if they were inexhaustible, and the human population doubled and kept on doubling.

Even now, when awareness of environmental issues is peaking, we still drill and mine and burn wantonly. Our populations and economies have grown beyond the ability of earth to permanently support such numbers and such lifestyles. Our attempts to avert the looming crash have mostly added to the problem. We end up using even more of our limited resources as we try to replace the ones that are closer to exhaustion. This includes so-called renewable energy.

Beneath it all, the pressures to maintain the extraction and thus the destruction of resources is fueling conflict and stress, even though we typically blame other factors, like politics, the economy, or various scapegoats.

In 1980 awareness of climate change was not as great as it is now. William Catton refers to it, and I have read elsewhere that his later work addresses it in more detail. Along with references to the Carter administration and its energy policies, the climate omissions date "Overshoot" somewhat, but the book is no worse for it. It's amazing how relevant it remains today. Catton's analysis of the historical failures to address ecological reality applies to the Reagan years which were to follow. Trump's exhortation to "drill baby drill" and "make America great again" are also consistent with Catton's revelations of how humans are in denial about the cliff edge we are hurtling towards with no brakes.

Be ready for some sociological and somewhat academic writing which drags at times. But stick with it at least until the penultimate chapter, where Catton turns his attention to politics and less technical issues. The book worked on me. I've always been environmentally minded, but reading "Overshoot" is a radical consciousness-raising experience

The central argument of this book is that human beings are basically decent people who care for each other and have an urge to co-operate. The author seeks to debunk the ideas like the one presented in the novel "Lord of the Flies", that people are violent and destructive at heart, and that without the restraints of civilisation, we would collapse into conflict and chaos. This misanthropic concept is also put forward by 17th century philosopher Thomas Hobbes, who claimed humans are inclined to descend into a "war of all against all".

Instead, Rutger Bregman proposes that our natural, primitive state is dominated by an urge to be social, to please each other, to co-operate. He compares it to the way some domestic animals have evolved to be friendly and playful, and says that this is the driving force behind evolutionary success. His nickname for the loving, caring humanity is "homo puppy". Instead of Hobbes, Bregman champions the ideas of Rousseau, that people are instinctively good, and that it is the ravages of civilisation, militarism, and cruel dictatorship which have brought out the worst in us. Brutish humanity is a false narrative, a zombie claim which refuses to die no matter how many times it is debunked.

I find that I am broadly sympathetic to Bregman's view. I live in an area ravaged by a recent disaster (the black summer bushfires of 2019-20) and the stories people tell of coming together in that time are powerful. I love the idea of getting back to nature. When a fossil fuel oligarch recently argued that climate action would mean humans go "back to the caves", my strong response was that this would actually be a good thing. "Back to the caves" has become one of my personal mottoes. "The caves" are where we are at our best.

This is a book for everyone. Given the times we are in as I write these words, I can't help thinking that the instinctive drive for decency will soon resurface and vanquish the unnatural construct of power and selfishness which has taken over the United States (and elsewhere) under the leadership of Donald Trump. The irresistible force of homo puppy has already started. It never went away.

Sometime around 1971, I saw the dramatised version of "Knock Three Times!" on TV in Australia. It left a big impression on my pre-teen self, but I didn't get around to reading the 1917 book it was based on until now. I think it's a bit of a lost classic, with enough originality and verve to be on the same shelf as "Alice in Wonderland" and "The Wizard of Oz".

Instead of a rabbit hole, wardrobe, or house-launching tornado, the magical land here is accessed via a door in a particular tree in the wood. After (of course) knocking three times, we are granted access to "The Possible World". Our "Impossible" dimension is seen as tainted, and it serves as a sort of dumping ground for evil creatures exiled from the fantasy land to keep it pure. The nomenclature references the concept of "the best of all possible worlds", although thankfully there seems to be no attempt to lean on bogus irrational concepts of theodicy and Christian apologetics.

Other stories have their murderous pirates or a wicked queen, but the fearsome villain in this tale is a giant pumpkin which terrorises the land. It moves by rolling like a wheel, and cruelly attacks its victims by mutilating or transforming them with its evil magic touch. It's a psychedelic and, at first absurd creation, but when The Pumpkin appears stealthily on a stormy night and attacks one of the protagonists, it's hug-your-teddy scary for REAL, kids!

Predatory best-in-show giant vegetables aside, the Possible World is a domain where most people are welcoming and trustworthy, where the denizens all come together to fight the evil which has infected their fair land.

The major exception is the "spies" of the enemy, who derive great glee and satisfaction from deceiving and entrapping anyone who might thwart their dreams of domination. I couldn't help thinking of the disturbing phenomenon of the deluded supporters of malignant despotism infecting the real world as I write. The pumpkin in "Knock Three Times!" is grey, but it doesn't take much to imagine it as an orange would-be dictator. Fuck Trump!

But I digress.

The book is written in a somewhat condescending style typical of children's stories of that era, but it's charming enough. More importantly, it's a refreshing girl power story. Sexist drivel clearly wasn't compulsory in decades past. Now is the time to celebrate feminist triumphs which have been suppressed, even in our supposedly more enlightened times. It sounds naive now even to think the dismal future we find ourselves in is any better than the time this book was written.

"Knock Three Times!" is now in the public domain. I read the Project Gutenberg edition which preserves the illustrations and is very good. The television series seems to have sunk without a trace, with no online clips or DVD release in evidence.

I gave the first three volumes of The Book of the New Sun 5 stars. In reality there are large parts of them which confounded me. Perhaps with more careful re-readings I would dock a star or two. Or maybe I'd like them even more, and defy reality to add to a perfect score. 11 out of 10!

Having finished the fourth and final book, I have a perception that there were fewer mysteries in it. The great adventure of Severian speeds up. He is caught up in war, he encounters time travel anomalies, he achieves the destiny he mentioned in the very first chapter of the saga. There are no stories within stories to perplex the reader, but Severian's philosophical speculations are at times lengthy. He muses in detail about the miracles he has performed, wondering whether the relic he carried, or some power within himself was the cause.

But mostly, there is exciting adventure: battles, conflict, weird creatures, wonders to behold n inner and outer space.

While reading this book, I chanced upon an interview with Gene Wolfe, where he said he didn't believe in the distinction between science fiction and fantasy. A unicorn is fantasy now, he mused, but if we genetically alter a horse to grow a horn, it will enter the realm of science. On a personal level, I find this idea unsatisfactory. I contend there IS a distinction between symbols, myths, metaphors on the one hand, and on the other the reality they illuminate. I see the relationship between the genres (Science Fiction versus Fantasy) in the opposite way to Wolfe: to me the strength of science fiction is that its starting point is things technically classed as scientifically feasible. They can take the place of magic and myth, and become symbols and metaphors, but their grounding in scientific possibility adds some spice. Reality matters.

In Gene Wolfe's universe, myth and reality coexist as if they are the same thing. This is an abhorrent idea in the real world as I have observed it, where charlatans, cultists, conspiracy theorists and fascists are doing so much harm. But we are not in the real world right now, we are reading a work of fiction here. If, while reading, I suspend my disbelief and submit to the fictional rules, I give the books 5 stars. If I hold my ground as a skeptic, a rationalist, an atheist I give them zero.

There were moments of doubt for my atheistic self, when I might have undergone a phase change and given "The Citadel of the Autarch" zero stars. But one passage in particular ended that, when Severian experienced a kind of pantheistic revelation. It reminded me of the many experiences I've had on beaches and in forests, feeling a connection to nature and a kind of joy... albeit an atheist's joy without any reference to a deity such as Severian's Pancreator.

"The thorn was a sacred Claw because all thorns were sacred Claws; the sand in my boots was sacred sand because it came from a beach of sacred sand. The cenobites treasured up the relics of the sannyasins because the sannyasins had approached the Pancreator. But everything had approached and even touched the Pancreator, because everything had dropped from his hand. Everything was a relic. All the world was a relic. I drew off my boots, that had traveled with me so far, and threw them into the waves that I might not walk shod on holy ground."

So you can choose. The new sun which Severian is destined to bring can be a science fiction construct: a super-advanced alien civilisation has been mentoring the Urth, and Severian passes their test. Through a sort of wormhole with its exit point at the centre of the dying sun, the benevolent interstellar engineers extend the life of the solar system.

Or you can favour the religious symbolism: Severian is a Christ figure and as a reward for our spiritual worthiness, the sun-God will grant redemption to us through a new resurrection.

Either way, when you walk barefoot on the sand of an unspoiled beach, you will feel the joy and beauty of creation. My personal take is that the joy of the universe is enhanced by its internal consistency, with no need for a supernatural construct to explain it. It's a beautiful world!

By the time you get to the third volume of "The Book of the New Sun", you should be used to Severian's philosophical digressions. You will have heard him say many times, either directly or obliquely, that there are contradictions, inaccuracies and mysteries in his account of the events which have led him from the Citadel of Nessus to the Northern city of Thrax.

These ponderous diversions continue in "The Sword of the Lictor", but somehow, in this book, they seem more digestible. This could be because the story contains some old-fashioned scary monsters of a most thrilling kind, and a series of battles where Wolfe shows us he can write an exciting action scene just as well as he can weave a confounding tale with multiple interpretations and a web of literary allusions.

I particularly enjoyed the encounter with the Alzabo, a man-eating monster which absorbs the memories of its prey, then speaks with their voices. The glandular excretions of this creature are the source of the drug which allowed Severian to absorb the memories of his beloved Thecla in "The Claw of the Conciliator".

In addition to the peaks of action and adventure, Severian's quest leads him across multiple cityscapes and wildlands. Old companions are abandoned and new ones encountered... enemies too. The psychedelic inventiveness of his bizarre future world continues to astound.

The saga which has had such a feeling of epic fantasy then takes a further turn into science fiction, when Severian meets three aliens who have been following the progress of his quest. They treat him like some sort of saviour, but at the same time are dismissive of his belief in the seemingly supernatural powers he ascribes to the ancient relic he carries, the Claw of the Conciliator. Then they zoom away in their spaceship.

During this re-read I have been dipping into some of the essays and analysis written about "The Book of the New Sun". There are countless references I have been oblivious to: religious allusions by way of characters who share names with saints; events paralleling biblical episodes; influences from Proust and others. I am aware of Wolfe's debt to Jack Vance's "Dying Earth". which I read last year.

I'm certainly not the only one to muse on the conflict between the rational and the supernatural, or the skeptical versus the credulous. In "The Sword of the Lictor", Severian is the one who is visited by magic. The mad scientist Baldanders and his alien guides are the ones rejecting the now ex-torturer's claims of witnessing and performing miracles. Again it reminds me of one of my favourite quotes, from "The Shadow of the Torturer":

'Certain mystes aver that the real world has been constructed by the human mind, since our ways are governed by the artificial categories into which we place essentially undifferentiated things, things weaker than our words for them.'

As a rationalist, I am on the side of Baldanders and the hierodules (aliens) in opposing base superstition. The world is real, and we are part of it. We can only encounter it and remember it with our minds and our memories... but there are ways we can determine what is all in the mind, and what are the material things our mental images originated from. If we break or falsify the link between the real world and out mental image of it, then we are lost.

Despite the above, I found myself cheering for Severian when it came time for his philosophical dispute with the monstrous Baldanders to be settled by combat.

Gene Wolfe, who came out as an openly Catholic author, would seem to be on the other team - the team believing in magic, miracles, and the divine. But at the end of this volume I continue to feel that he has created a world which reflects my philosophical instincts more vividly.

My five star rating is retained for this volume as it was for the two which preceded it.

Although The Book of the New Sun is unquestionably a single novel published as a tetralogy, its second volume is delineated by narrative structures which set it apart. Severian, the narrator and protagonist, skips over a period of time and resumes his tale without revealing precisely what happened immediately after the events at the end of the first book. He ends this volume, like the first, with the characteristic words "here I pause", followed by a warning that his tale is a difficult one. He will not blame the reader who gives up and does not continue to follow his tale.

In the middle are surreal events of bewildering, even frustrating opacity. At the same time, there are breathtaking imaginary creations which stay with you long after you turn the last page. If you have succumbed to Severian's tale, by now you are addicted. You must keep reading, if only to have the drug-like thrill of further phantasms. You will simultaneously crave explication. But be warned: for every answer you receive, at least one new question will arise. That is the reality Severian's world, and the way he chooses to recount it.

For those who have read Jack Vance's "Dying Earth" books, the parallels (acknowledged by Wolfe) are clear: both sagas tell of a somewhat duplicitous protagonist who carries a powerful gemstone through a perilous and unpredictable earth in its endtimes. Vance's Cugel is a rogue. Wolfe's Severian, as the narrator, does not admit to as many faults, although throughout the course of this second volume, it becomes clear that like Cugel, Severian will fuck anything that moves.

The torturer tells his story as if he is powerless and clueless about the events that take place. But the people he encounters treat him differently... he seems to have protection, he swears allegiance to both sides, he has various gifts and powers and he seems to know how to use them. Severian is the chosen one, but we don't know why, or by whom. Will we ever find out?

One thought that occurs to me, is that there is no logical reason why any character in our myths and fairy tales should be the chosen one, but the stories themselves create a narrative where it SEEMS to make sense. So far, The Book of the New Sun creates the opposite impression - the book itself provides absolutely NO reason why Severian would be the one designated by fate to be such a pivotal figure in the destiny of the earth and its people... unless you the reader, concoct such a reason.

In recounting the events in this second volume, Severian reproduces a story from a book of legends he carries with him. It's a future mutation of the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur. Later he transcribes a play he performs in as part of a traveling troupe led by the mysterious Doctor Talus. I admit that the play was largely incomprehensible to me. One day I will return and read it more carefully. As it is being performed, Severian overhears members of the audience talking about the play, revealing they derived meaning from it which its author had never intended to express. The same is so for The Book of the New Sun. Your mileage may vary, but it's meant to be that way.

This book is superb and unique, the first volume in a fantasy saga of deep beauty and horror. It is set on a far future earth, where alien life has blended with native species under an ageing sun which will soon fail and deprive the planet of life-sustaining light. In the southern hemisphere, a "Commonwealth" is ruled by a supreme leader called the Autarch. Punishments under the law include torture and execution, to be carried out with utmost precision by members of the guild of torturers. The protagonist and narrator, Severian, is kicked out of his guild for malpractice, and begins a journey which leads to him becoming the new Autarch.

That summary of the setting and the basic plot doesn't explain the dreamlike mysteries of this future world. Severian is narrating his story after gaining almost supernatural insights into the earth and its history. But the events he recounts begin at a time when he was clueless, living as an apprentice in the cloistered world of the torturers. Strange, inexplicable things happen, and the young Severian seems as bewildered to encounter them as we the readers are. But Severian the narrator knows more. He's always holding out on us as he rations out his story. Later explanations of events produce twice as many mysteries.

Narrator Severian repeatedly interjects in his own tale, with philosophical musings on the nature of the reality he describes. At one stage he compares his storytelling to his work as an executioner, staging the events to satisfy the varying demands of a bloodthirsty crowd, an exacting judicial system, and victims of crime demanding justice. He admits that there is a bit of theatre and manipulation in the processes of both execution and storytelling, trying to keep everyone happy. Severian is also apologetic at times for presenting a story filled with so many paradoxes and complexities.

The moral dimension of the story is also unsettling. Clearly a system involving brutal torture and public execution is abhorrent. But Severian's loyalty is to the guild, and his greatest shame is betraying his vow to practice its brutal arts to perfection. He never seems to waver in this, even as he feels love and sympathy, outside his profession, for people and even animals he is not required to torment with detachment and exactitude.

I've yet to encounter any analysis of the book which provides an overarching theory to make sense of this saga. On one level, it's not supposed to make sense. If you accept that, then you enter a dimension where the book makes perfect sense, on its own terms.

The tale is loaded with religious references and theological musings, arising, it would seem, from Gene Wolfe's own Catholicism. Severian is imbued with some of the traits of a Christ figure... yet his unflinching role as a torturer belies this description. The book is explicitly written to have a different meaning for every reader. I find it hard to see how a broader Christian morality can be extracted from it. Then again I am a rabid atheist, so it shows how successful Wolfe has been at creating a book which generates a different response in every reader.

The Scarlett and Browne series is like a mash-up. The setting is similar to John Wyndham's "The Chrysalids", but Stroud's mutant outcasts struggle against religious tyranny in a very British post-apocalyptic world, rather than Wyndham's north American nightmare future. There's also a bit of the flavour of "His Dark Materials", "Riddley Walker" and "The Prince in Waiting" in Stroud's latest trilogy... all very good quality ingredients, blending to create a dish with a flavour of its own.

A not-so secret ingredient is the influence of the western, as the sharpshooting, gunslinging outlaw Scarlett McCain faces off at high noon against various adversaries. Hilariously, she and Albert Browne roam the wildlands astride bicycles , rather than horses.

And so we come to this conclusion of the trilogy. I re-read the first two books to get back in the groove, and perhaps I overdosed a bit, because I found this third installment lost a bit of the spark. The villains aren't as delectably evil, the laugh-out-loud sardonic humour is a bit less frequent, and somehow the competent Albert Browne is less appealing than the innocent neophyte of the earlier books.

But "Legendary" retains the explosive action and deadly cliffhangers of the rest of the series. Stroud is a master storyteller and his writing unfolds with deceptive simplicity. The monstrous beasts and deadly buried labyrinths of the post-apocalyptic future are vivid and beautifully imagined. The relationship between the titular characters remains nicely balanced.

These books are such fun to read, but they contain an element of gravitas. The ecumenical theological-industrial tyranny Stroud conjures up provides exactly the sort of consciousness-raising we need young readers to be exposed to right now. We are already battling the ever-present threat of cults, terrorists, theocrats and clerical abusers here in the proto-apocalyptic world where we find ourselves in 2025.