Summer reading 2016: Obsessed with the future

There is a common thread in all the books I’ve read in the first stretch of this summer: the future. I know that the past offers rich rewards – history, biography and historical fiction produce many of the pleasures of reading. But this season I’m obsessed with the future.

100-year-life

My non-fiction pick for the summer is The 100-Year Life: Living and working in an age of longevity by Lynda Gratton and Andrew Scott. Most financial planning guides to a long life focus on the narrow view of how much you need to have in your nest egg before you retire. This book does cover that in some detail (and it is indeed a grim picture for most of us), but takes a much broader perspective. Gratton and Scott prompt you not just to plan in terms of tangible assets, but to pay attention to three categories of intangible assets: 

  • Productive assets: education, knowledge, skills, professional social capital, reputation.
  • Vitality assets: health, well-being, friendships, family relationships and partnerships.
  • Transformational assets: self-knowledge, capacity to reach out into diverse networks, openness to new experiences.

In a fascinating exercise, the authors lay out the career paths of their fictional characters – Jack (born in 1945), Jimmy (1971) and Jane (1998) – and look at how their productive, vitality and transformational assets grow and are depleted through the stages of their lives. And Jane, of course, goes through many more stages than we know today: periods of exploration, reinvention, small-scale entrepreneurship (as an “independent producer”), full-time work, transitions (including going back to school, online or otherwise), and part-time and advisory roles. Jane does not, indeed, fully “retire” until 2083, when she is 85 years old. Even if you have a pretty good sense of how your life is going to play out (but who really does, these days?), this book is worth reading for the insight it can give you into what your children’s lives might well look like.

The fiction shelf – which, again, reflects my quirks and narrative passions – holds several gems this summer:

  • The Mandibles: A Family, 2029-2047, by Lionel Shriver (I trust you have already read We Need To Talk About Kevin. If not, go do it.) In The Mandibles, the world is barely recovering from the global Internet blackout of 2024, but things start getting worse again. In 2029, the dollar is no longer the world’s reserve currency, replaced by another currency devised by the IMF. Congress bans American citizens from holding the new currency and imposes capital controls to prevent dollars from leaving the country. The US President obtains emergency powers, all gold in private hands is confiscated by the Treasury, and the US declares default on its debt. The story of the Mandible family unfolds through this crisis and provides the narrative glue that holds together a dystopia of increasing grimness. As we read this novel in 2016, we are in a peculiar election year, a fact that cannot have been far from the author’s mind, with the result that Shriver’s dark satire never degenerates into farce and never feels wholly implausible. (Yes, Nevada does secede). A must-read.
  • The Paper Menagerie and Other Stories, by Ken Liu. Ken Liu is best known for being the English translator of Cixin Liu’s The Three-Body Problem, a somewhat frigid cornerstone of contemporary Chinese science fiction that has lately gained attention in Silicon Valley circles. But he is a talented narrator in his own right, and this collection of short stories is delightful. The stories span science fiction, little-known folds of American and Chinese history, alternate history, fantasy, sometimes in tones halfway between Borges and Lovecraft, some other times with a distinctly steampunk sensitivity (here’s just one of the sentences I underlined: “Once the automata were finished, we connected them to the latest analytic engines shipped from Britain and fed them with tape punched with dense holes in Babbage-Lovelace code”). It takes a special imagination to write a story (“A Brief History of the Trans-Pacific Tunnel”) about Emperor Hirohito’s initiative during the Great Depression, in collaboration with President Herbert Hoover, to dig a tunnel allowing people to travel from Shanghai via Tokyo to Seattle in little less than two days in a capsule under the ocean; this feat of politics and engineering in the 1930s makes the Great War the last global war of the twentieth century.
  • The End of the World Running Club, by Adrian J. Walker. I have written before about end-of-civilization stories and how they never fail to enthrall us. The peculiar charm of this one is that it puts at its center a rather unlikeable character, trying to get to Cornwall from Scotland in the hope of reaching one of the last few evacuation ships sent by a hospitable nation of the Southern hemisphere after the Northern one has been pretty much wiped out by asteroids. The story of a few of the survivors in the months after the event is told with restraint and without fear.
  • Manna: Two Visions of Humanity’s Future, by Marshall Brain. This short fiction, first published in 2003, is a technology-driven dystopia (happening, of course, in America) and utopia (in Australia) together. Its vaguely Singularitarian thesis is that we can use robots either to make our own lives hell, or to create a paradise-like world in which everybody has the means to fulfill their talents and to create the life they truly want. It is a quick read (one would want, in particular, to read more about how technology will simply eliminate the need for markets) but it will linger in your mind for a long time. (Note that Abundance: The Future is Better Than You Think by Peter Diamandis and Steven Kotler, a non-fiction potentially underpinning to Brain’s tale, wasn’t published until 2012).

Hope these books make you think, laugh, and cry. As usual, let me know your best of the season – particularly if they’re about the future.

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