But shortly after setting out on their new journey, Dex meets something even more unusual: a robot. Dex' best shot at hearing some lies in a remote, ruined hermitage far from any roads or human habitations.
Renewing their resolve, they find that crickets aren't just scarce in cities, they're nearly extinct. It's a book rooted in depictions of comfort and questions about what might drive someone to seek discomfort in a world where everyone's basic needs are met.ĭex develops skill and renown in their chosen enterprise - but over time realizes they've become so absorbed in brewing tea that they've let their cricket-quest fall by the wayside. There's a nameless dissatisfaction in Dex driving this yearning for movement and change, which they articulate to themselves as a desire to hear the fabled sound of crickets. After spending their youth as a Garden Monk, Dex abruptly changes vocation: They decide to become a Tea Monk, travelling from place to place and offering relief to the weary one brewed cup at a time. Generations after that decision, Sibling Dex leads a good, comfortable life in a good, comfortable world, one that successfully bounced back from terrible environmental cataclysms and reorganized itself around principles of compassion and hospitality.
The robots chose to vanish into the wilderness in order to learn about a world beyond the bounds of human design. Becky Chambers' A Psalm for the Wild-Built - beginning a new series called "Monk and Robot" - strikes me as especially relevant to such discussions.Ĭenturies ago, robots woke to sentience and went on strike, and the humans who made them as laboring tools decided to respect their newfound agency and release them. Over the past several months, given the pressures of the world, I've been reading and participating in craft conversations about what constitutes comfort-reading, and the degree to which one can subtract conflict or tension from a story while keeping it engaging and interesting. A Psalm for the Wild-Built, by Becky Chambers
0 kommentar(er)
