Readers of The Subway Test, especially those of you with a connection to Clark College, have probably seen my posts on the death of my friend and colleague Julian Nelson and on his friends’ decision to inaugurate a memorial scholarship in his honor. Last week, during the Clark College Foundation’s Penguins Give Day, members of Julian’s old writing group held a benefit reading at the wonderful Relevant Coffee in Vancouver’s Uptown Village.
I’m touched by the outpouring of support for the Julian Nelson Memorial Scholarship and by all the love for Julian at last Thursday’s reading. We had hoped to collect $1500 in donations, enough to fund the scholarship for one year; as of this writing, though, the scholarship fund has collected over $10,000. I’m grateful that we will be able to support more students over more years in their dreams of international study. Community colleges are rarely able even to offer study abroad programs to their students; I am heartened that part of Julian’s legacy at Clark will be support for the international learning and global perspectives that he evangelized for in life.
As a member of the Blue Sweater Collective–the writing group which Julian was a member of–I will say that we all had a wonderful time reading for a worthy cause and in honor of a good friend. I hope the Blue Sweaters will read again sometime soon–it’s hard to remember when I’ve had more fun at a reading.
Members of the Blue Sweater Writing Collective, left to right: Jesse Morse, Jim Finley, Alexis Nelson, Jen Denrow, me, Lisa Bullard, Tara Williams. Photo Credit: Carlyn Eames.
Heads up, Portland people: the Blue Sweater Collective is holding its first ever benefit reading next Thursday, 24 April 2025, to support the new Julian Nelson Memorial Scholarship at Clark College. Come out and show your support for fine writing and remarkable community college students!
Readers of this blog know how much Julian Nelson meant to the Clark College community. And the excellent Relevant Coffee has teamed up with the Clark College Foundation to host a benefit reading from the members of Julian’s old writing group, the Blue Sweater Collective, to raise funds for the first (hopefully annual) Julian Nelson Memorial Scholarship at Clark. If you knew and loved Julian (and if you knew him, you loved him), or if you love the mission of community colleges–one of America’s most misunderstood and valuable public goods–I hope we will see you at Relevant next Thursday!
It feels good to have cooked up a reader’s draft of a short story during my spring writer’s retreat in Corvallis, Oregon earlier this week. Even better is that this new story, “Arden Is a New World,” takes place in the John Demetrius story cycle that I have been toying with for many years–I had worried for a while that I had run out of gas on the John Demetrius concept.
Knowing me, I’m a few months and a couple of peer critiques away from sending the story anywhere, but it feels wonderful to be building up a roster of publishable stories again. I worked so long and hard on novels–first Pacifica, then Exit Black, then Pacifica again–that I’m surprised by that short fiction feeling, the sense of being able to get one’s head around an entire narrative in a single sitting. I’ve missed short stories, and it’s good to be back.
I don’t intend to dehumanize the man. At the bottom of all the chaos he’s catalyzed, Donald Trump is an ordinary mortal. He is a criminal and grifter and predator, but despite all that he remains a human being.
But Donald Trump is also an erupting supervolcano, defacing a continent. He is a plume of gigatons of methane released into the atmosphere by the melting of clathrate ices. He is a comet striking the earth.
In less poetic terms, the Donald Trump presidency is the civic equivalent of what evolutionary biologists call a selective event: a dramatic or even catastrophic change that exposes the organisms of a community to powerful natural selection. Some organisms may survive; many will not. There is a lot about America that I’ve taken for granted my whole life which will disappear, I suspect. I can lament the loss; I can make myself angry thinking about how as a country, we’ve brought the catastrophe down on ourselves. But there’s no sense hand-waving past the magnitude of the changes upon us.
Nor do I have anything to gain by despairing about the situation we face. It’s still important for me to read the news and to engage with the political process, if only because I believe that facing reality is an ethical stance towards the world.
Though it can be fun for science fiction authors to make predictions, I decline to speculate now about what the United States will be like in ten years or even five. Even without the metastasis of Donald Trump, the changes of the next few years would have been cataclysmic: not necessarily all bad, or even mostly bad, but nonetheless deeply altered. As artificial intelligence penetrates ever further into our lives, as the vise grip of anthropogenic climate change tightens the screw one more turn, our lives over the next ten years would have been profoundly different even if the United States had not elected a strongman more in the tradition of a 19th century Latin American country than of a republic with a free press and mature civil society.
Here’s what I will say, though: if America looks unrecognizable after the civic catastrophe of Trumpism, it’s worth establishing for myself–as well as for my students and descendants–what values I will hold to regardless of what’s left of the country when the dust has cleared.
I had the great fortune of doing ecological work on Mount St. Helens from 2009-2011, thirty years after the eruption of 1980. My field site was an area called the Pumice Plain, directly in the pyroclastic flow of the volcano, where 40 meters of 300º-730º C pumice had sterilized the mountainside. For a moment, the Pumice Plain was as barren as the surface of the moon.
And yet, the story of how life reestablished itself on Mount St. Helens was as interesting and impressive as the story of how the Pumice Plain destroyed the forest it replaced. Within a year of the eruption, researchers had found a single dwarf alpine lupine, Lupinus lepidus, had taken root on that barren moonscape:
A descendant of the tough little flower in question.
By the time I got to the Pumice Plain, there were a million of these unassuming, scrappy lupines growing there, as well as Sitka willow saplings and young cedars and Douglas firs and Western hemlocks. Darwin’s entire entangled bank of invertebrates and birds and mammals and amphibians trawled over the new plant life there, trying to work their ecological niches.
I believe that regardless of the forces arrayed against it, democracy is a similarly inexorable force. Whatever remains after the eruption of the years of Trumpism–whether they last from 2016-2028 or from 2016-2116–my allegiances are with the forces of democracy and pluralism. This bedrock commitment stems as much from my faith as a Quaker as it does from my having grown up in a democratic country, and it informs all other civic values that I’ll speak to in coming posts.
The best blogger in the world, Kevin Drum, died last Friday after a ten-year journey with multiple myeloma. Though I never met him, I miss him terribly.
Kevin became the voice of the Political Animal blog at Washington Monthlyin 2004–that’s where I discovered him. And while I don’t remember the first time I took notice of his work, I’ve read him daily for at least 20 years, first at Political Animal, then at Mother Jones, and finally at his solo endeavor, Jabberwocking.
Kevin’s work was so thoughtful, so insightful, so wide-ranging and funny, that sometime around 2006 or 2007 I felt inspired to start a blog of my own. I learned almost immediately how hard it is to do what Kevin Drum did every day, multiple times a day. After a few weeks of putting up meandering, useless-to-anyone-but-me musings–maybe six or seven of them in total–I realized that I would never be able to do what Kevin did. In retrospect, the feeling was a little like that scene in the movie Trainwreck where Bill Hader is playing one-on-one basketball against LeBron James: the difference between what I was trying to do and what Kevin was doing was so great that it wasn’t even clear that we were playing the same game.
And now he’s gone. I can’t think of a political commentator in my lifetime that was more fair-minded, more intellectually rigorous, more even-keeled, more decent than Kevin. For 20 years, his mind has been indispensable to me. And, while I am reminded of the Charles de Gaulle quote “the cemeteries of the world are full of indispensable men”–a saying I first encountered in a Kevin Drum post–I regard with loneliness the prospect that we will all have to get along without Kevin’s incomparable gift from now on.
I’ve been slow to speak on the current political situation of the United States, partly because so many people smarter and quicker than I have flooded the zone. I’ve never been good at the hot take–for that matter, I’m too slow a processor to ever be very good at blogging, I think–but I have definitely been thinking and reading, and I remain a believer in the old English 101 maxim about writing to discover what you actually think about an issue. So, maybe these few paragraphs (and some of the posts that will follow) will help me get clear on a way forward: how do democracy-minded people move towards a civil society devoted to the rule of law?
(A second reason I want to write, I’m afraid, is that if America really is careening into full-blown authoritarianism or even dictatorship, I also don’t want to remain silent. Let this post, and any others I have categorized under “The Time of Troubles,” be a public record of my beliefs in the event of job dismissals or round-ups or worse. While that seems like an alarmist take today, on 22 January 2025, I have to admit that I’ve already witnessed insanities and inanities that I never imagined I would see in the United States. Who really knows what is coming?)
I’ve been mulling over Josh Marshall’s excellent advice to people on the political Left of late. In his TalkingPointsMemo post of 20 January titled “A Moment of Calm,” he suggests
What is the kind of American society we want to create? What are the problems we see and how do we think they should be addressed? These are elementary questions. But they are good ones to ask ourselves in a moment of uncertainty and chaos like this. Everyone is so spun up on themselves, hungry for the killer strategy or tactic to get back in the political driver’s seat. That’s natural. But desperation doesn’t lead to clear or good thinking. When you have time — and I would argue that at the moment, paradoxically, you do have time — the best place to start is to think clearly about what you’re actually trying to achieve in your own small role in politics. That’s not the end of the story of course. Thinking what your ideal society is doesn’t in itself dictate a political strategy. But you’ll never get where you’re trying to go if you haven’t figured out where that is. And clarity about goals is itself a strategy. Clarity creates coherence and consistency. Voters don’t like political movements that don’t know what they believe or want, that flip from one stratagem to the next with the weather.
This is what I hope to be spending at least some of my precious blogging time on: what is the society I argue for? On what am I basing those recommendations? How do we move towards those goals? These questions may seem precious or even ridiculous in the current political moment. However, I maintain my faith that the American people will sooner or later repent the election of Donald Trump, and I continue to hope that we will repent early enough that we still have recourse to charting a different course for our republic.
For now, I am reminded of one of my intellectual heroes, the great Italian mathematician Vito Volterra. He was one of the authors of the Lotka-Volterra Equations that model predator-prey interactions–astute readers of my book Exit Black may notice that I named one of the book’s characters Viv Volterra to allude to the book’s meditation on the complicated relationship of predators and prey in human society. I suppose, now that I think about it, that this era is the most opportune moment since the days of Jim Crow, the Gilded Age, and the “Indian Wars” of the 19th century to talk about American predators and prey.
But my main reason for thinking about Vito Volterra lately comes from his reaction to Mussolini’s fascist Italy. In 1931, when professors in Italy were expected to sign loyalty oaths to the fascist regime, Volterra was one of only 12 professors who refused to do so. After being dismissed from his position at University of Rome La Sapienza, he began signing his postcards to friends with the words Empires die, but Euclid’s theorems keep their youth forever. And, while Mussolini and his regime outlived Volterra by about five years, Volterra was unquestionably right. His words today are a reminder to keep my eyes on the long game, on those ideas that keep their youth forever.
That was my publisher’s note to me when we learned that Exit Black cracked the top ten best sci fi audiobooks in 2024 at Discover Sci-Fi. I’m super stoked: while I would have loved for Exit Black to take the #1 spot, of course, there’s no shame losing out to the likes of Adrian Tchaikovsky narrating his own book and Jeff VanderMeer having his work read by Bronson Pinchot. Carolina Hoyos is a hell of a reader, and I was very lucky to have gotten to work with her.
I loved every step of this project with Blackstone Publishing, and to make my Captain Obvious Statement of the Day: Blackstone knows audiobooks. Thanks so much to all of you who voted and all of you who listened. And, if you haven’t listened yet, if you ever feel a hankering for a tale about a bunch of techbros getting their comeuppance, Exit Black couldn’t be more timely.
As a Portlander, I have to contend with the reality of Powell’s City of Books. It’s the largest independent bookstore in the world, and as you might imagine it has a mighty footprint on the Portland literary scene. A friend who worked there told me about 20 years ago that 40% of Amazon’s book orders actually go through Powell’s. I doubt that that is still the case today, but it gives you some idea of the size of the place, as well as the indirect role Powell’s played in the rise of Amazon. One of Portland’s most popular tourist destinations, Powell’s City of Books is its own Portlandia sketch.
For many years, basically from the time I started writing fiction in my thirties, I had a lot of trouble going into Powell’s. Part of the dread I felt was simple cognitive overload. But I was also contending with two related kinds of self-loathing in the City of Books, one as a reader and one as a writer.
As a reader, I would feel depressed in City of Books to come into contact with all the great books that I hadn’t read and would likely never read. As a writer, I would despair that of the tens of thousands of titles that were on the shelves on any given day, nothing I had written had ever shown up there. In my foolishness, the place had become a visual metaphor for two ways I felt I had come up short as a human being.
Eventually the feeling passed, probably just because I got older. It doesn’t upset me so much anymore that I don’t have that many more books to read in my future. Even if I live a fantastically long life, it seems unlikely that I have more than 2000 books left to read, and the number could be far, far lower than that. The key, as my friend and bandmate John Governale has shown me, is not to try to read all the good books out there, but rather just to remember that there is always a great book out there for me–I don’t need to spend any time reading a bad one.
As for the fact that my stuff had never shown up on the shelves of Powell’s City of Books, I eventually got over myself there, too. I think that as I got better as a writer, I started to find more joy in just writing well (as distinct from winning awards or getting prestigious publications or big book contracts). I still love to get published, but even more than that I love the feeling of putting together a story that really works.
As I tell my students and my kids, there are lots of situations where you start getting good at something right around the time that you don’t have to do that thing anymore. And there was a similar feeling of irony for me when I went into Powell’s City of Books last week and found that my latest novel, Exit Black, is indeed on the shelves there. I still prefer the smaller independent bookstores in my life–Broadway Books, White Oak Books, Annie Bloom’s–but it is a nice feeling to know that a tourist in Portland who wanted to find my work for some reason could find Exit Black right in the Gold Room of Powell’s City of Books, section 722.
I am excited to learn that Exit Black has been nominated for Discover Sci-Fi’s Best Sci-Fi Books of 2024! Exit Black is a nominee in the Best Sci-Fi Audiobook category, a testament to Carolina Hoyos’ tense, too-cool-for-school reading of my work, as well as to Blackstone Publishing’s amazing audiobook chops. If you heard Carolina read my book, or if you are an Exit Black supporter, I’d be honored to have your vote.
As you may remember from former posts, I’m a big fan of the book site Shepherd. And, like many of the writers on that site, I was invited by Shepherd founder Ben Fox to talk about my three favorite books of 2024. I was game, partly because I’m happy for any opportunity to link to my own book of this year, Exit Black–I believe it’s one of this year’s best thrillers on economic inequality that you’ll read this year.
I’m not sure what my choices say about me besides the fact that I do a lot of reading outside the genres I write in, but here were my three faves of this year: Edith Wharton’s The Age of Innocence, Toni Morrison’s Jazz, and Laurent Binet’s Civilizations. Why did I love them so? Check out my Shepherd page to find out!
The Subway Test 