"The Day of the Triffids" - John Wyndham (19-30 September)

A while back I said that the strongest message I got from "The Shadow over Innsmouth" was a sort of abhorrence towards the nasty inside of us. After reading "The Day of the Triffids", I think that anything that Lovecraft made me feel falls short of the revulsion Bill Masen went through. Several times.

Shortly after reading Lovecraft I felt like jumping right into Wyndham, because I thought they were both about some species or other taking over the world. Of course, it's never quite as simple as that, is it?

Where to begin... It seems I couldn't find a more appropriate moment to read this - the day after I move back into London. I would try to read outside as often as possible to get a clearer impression of the setting (at least for the London bits, but some overgrown gardens in my university campus would suffice at other times), but needless to say, I can no longer cross the Waterloo bridge every morning without feeling a kind of haunting when gazing at the skyline. There are things though, which I'm not sure I want to admit to myself.

Partly it has to do with what Isadora Wing called a kind of satisfactory helplessness in the face of natural catastrophes. I believe this is the same feeling that lets Bill and Josella say that they're happier in Shirning than they were before. It is also because of this fleeting image: Ozymandias.

Bill, Josella, Beadley and even Coker spend the big part of the story figuring out how to write the antithesis to the Percy B. Shelly poem. After all, the catastrophe did give them a chance to start anew, right? If we just assume (given we've sympathized enough with them throughout the novel) they're more or less on the right track, then this kind of lazy cataclysm was also slightly endearing. Or would these new ruins eventually become tourist attractions in the distant future?

Then again, it hasn't been easy getting there, of course. I can't remember the last time a book made me so sick, as when Bill describes some of the horrors he came across: the man on his way to his last drinks remembering his wife and children; a young man holding and comforting a little girl as he trudged towards the window at the end of the hallway; a blind girl who offers the most she can give in hopes of keeping her only chance of surviving around her...

But well, the journey certainly teaches. And I was also surprised by how relevant almost every commentary and discussion was to the world today; not only in the contents (say, the practicalities of leading a search party) but also the fact that all characters are really forced to cooperate and challenge their views from time to time, slowly becoming admirably fair people - thankfully, no silly U.S.Americans in shiny jet-packed armours playing the high-school heroes.

I grew specially fond of Susan as she was the one to represent, what I guess would be the "new kind" of people, that generation that grew up in the ideal point to acquire a no-nonsense character. However, I also have to say I found Coker to be one of the most interesting characters, as he seemed to be a really useful (and rare) mix of the thinker and the doer, besides being a kind of universal translator, which I found hilarious - no matter how much I shared Bill's frustration in his captivity, I easily began to forgive him as I got to know him. Bill himself was an interestingly thoughtful fellow, because even though he often avoided taking a stand in practical matters, he held fast to his principles when he was challenged. However, some things about him seemed a bit queer at times - for example, I never really understood how fast or why his relationship with Josella actually sparked at the beginning (maybe that's what happens after a catastrophe? we all become helpless sleazes?).

In the end, adaptation is key. And I think this is well put by a man who wanders around London decisively prodding around him with a stick, and complaining about all these newly blind people as if they should have learned to live without eyesight earlier in their lives. Maybe they offered courses for "sonar-orienteering" in case you thought you'd go blind? Maybe that's what books are?