With the announcement by Pope Francis that climate change is upon us, I wondered whether it might be time to dust off the post-Apocalyptic novel I wrote back in 1990.
Climate change isn’t the point of the novel. It’s an unusual mixture of WW1, religious upheaval and forbidden love.
OR (if you want the Hollywood version – you’ll have to imagine the accent however):
“One woman’s struggle against the forces of a world in crisis.”
It was hand-written, longhand, and I can’t remember if I even typed it up or just filed it away with my (two) previous unusual novels.
My heroine set off through the story with a map which came straight out of “Albatross” by Judy Collins, a haunting song brimming with imagery both rich and powerful.
Somewhere in the middle was a scene of intense barbarism.
Somewhere parallel to my heroine was an anti-hero she was destined to meet.
Somewhere in my world-building, climate change had ruined the global economy and turned Britain into a poisoned, depopulated, pseudo-feudal state.
And the ending, that I spent (IIRC) 60,000 words charging headlong towards across a blasted near-prehistoric landscape, owed more than a little to Leonard Cohen‘s “Joan of Arc”.
Wild crazy drama and big scenes of bloodshed not dissimilar to (what I’ve heard about) Game Of Thrones.
But I’m not sure where I’ve put the flippin’ thing.