For the last week, I chose the book Fever Dream by Samanta Schweblin.

This book was confusing, annoying, but also intriguing with its short timeline narrative. After watching the video on the novel, the idea of a Hyperobject makes that book all the more interesting.

I didn’t know that soy was the largest export of Argentina, and I also didn’t know that there was or still is so much contamination with the agriculture. I’m am grateful to have become aware of it now.

Throughout the book, I was constantly wondering what is going on. In real life, I also wonder what is going with the world, my neighbourhood, and lets be honest, with myself. In this narrative produced by Schweblin, the paranoia produced by external forces concludes in a story about illness, selfishness, and death. With so much discourse on trying to find out what was the source of the fatality, the book tries to navigate the reader to the exact moment when it all started. I don’t think we ever find out what was the real source but in consideration of our the world at large and place within it, we can or do, also, try to navigate and find the sources of circumstances or of being.

The truth is that in that search we still participate that destruction, exactly the one we are trying to stop by finding out how it started. Maybe not for all scenarios but in the grand scheme of things, when people say the world is f’d up, people like to talk about this or that as the reason to i, but in the end, we still never change our habits or participation due to many reasons but speaking for myself it is because a) I am already to invested in this way lustre of form of being, b) to blind in mundanity that I cannot see and accept my part, c) too scared to be THE difference with all of its radical connotations, d) simply feel the insignificance of such a thought or action since it is the external forces which cause the pressures and I ame only able to deal with the internal force.

In the end, we all do have a part to play, no one is innocent, especially for us in North American where we consume instead of eat. And honestly speaking, I am probably the worst of the consumers for being the slightest bit conscious about it and still partake like there’s no tomorrow.

So this book leaves the reader, with a bit of context, with this feverish dream called life. Schweblin did her small part by writing the book, how shall we follow her lead? How does she even live her life? Just cause she writes about, doesn’t mean she practices it but I sure do hope so.

Anyways, the last question of these blogs of mine is do you think the children in this book, and how they were all being lead across the road with all their visible deformities, to be a greater far cry to something else? Or what do you think of that image?