In the runup to the 2016 election, I read a lot of older literature with intentionality. Orwell's 1984. Atwood's A Handmaid's Tale. Roth's Plot Against America. And of course, Sinclair Lewis' It Can't Happen Here. I thought that I might inoculate myself against fascism through fiction. What I learned, of course, is that fiction writers are acutely sensitive individuals who can create a glimpse of the future by observing their fellow humans in the present. It means they are prescient. It doesn't provide a lot of hope. Thirty years or more ago, I finished the draft of an unpublished novel I wrote called King Kola. It was speculative fiction that saw a dystopian time (I know), where society is hobbling along after a major electro-magnetic storm that produced fabulous aurora borealis, and tragic electronic interruptions. Society limps along on survival instincts, and the need to consume the brands they love. But the failure of the Social Security system causes a revolt led by an unlikely heroine, a seventy-one year old woman who has nothing left to lose. She battles a weakened government, and stupendously strong borderless corporate entities. It's not a novel without hope, but the villains look lame compared to the folks running around Washington these days. Perhaps I can be convinced to reproduce a chapter or two here at some point. As the title of the blog indicates, we never took the warnings of our best authors seriously enough. Indeed, truth is stranger than fiction. As the marketing blurb above the title of Lewis' original release says: What will happen when America has a dictator. When, not if.
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