Book Review: It’s Not the End of the World by Enda K. Mendes
If there was ever a book written personally for me, it would be It’s Not the End of the World by Enda K. Mendes. This novel presents a vivid tapestry of themes that resonate deeply with my interests: climate change, political dystopia, out-of-touch rich people, queer couples yearning for acceptance, and a splash of horror. It’s as if Mendes took a look into my literary wishlist and crafted a story that checks off every box.
At its core, the narrative revolves around Mason and Yunho, two gay men navigating the complexities of impending parenthood against a backdrop of chaos—specifically, an ominous pink smoke descending upon Los Angeles during their extravagant baby shower. This event is not just a celebration; it’s a microcosm of their love, dreams, and the hope for a brighter future amidst a bleak societal landscape. Yet, the world surrounding them is fraught with tension, from the threat of christofascism to a horrifyingly plausible climate crisis.
Mendes masterfully intertwines personal stakes with broader societal commentary. The plot dives into what it means to maintain hope in a seemingly hopeless environment. Yunho’s legal battles with the Anti-American Speech Committee highlight the chilling ramifications of censorship, while Mason’s refusal to pay for a premium brain implant underscores the absurdities of privilege and consumerism in a broken America. The dystopian elements evoke a strong sense of urgency; it’s a reminder of how fast we could spiral into chaos if we’re not vigilant.
However, I found myself wrestling with the book’s writing style. It’s akin to a high-stakes game of literary endurance where some sentences stretched on for pages, creating an awkward pace that often disrupted my immersion. Dialogue, too, often felt unrealistic and pretentious, with characters expressing themselves in ways that drew me out of the narrative rather than into it. The quirks of this world—like a baker ranting about WeatherMod or a BDSM dom waxing philosophic on environmental destruction—felt forced and contrived.
Moreover, the portrayal of institutions like The Ranch, which is intended to be utopian, reads more like a cultish dystopia, isolating children from reality under the guise of moral righteousness. By the end, I struggled to find a character to root for; the once-hopeful narrative became overshadowed by a sense of futility as their arcs often felt unearned or lacking in depth.
Yet, for all its flaws, It’s Not the End of the World has left an indelible mark on me. The stark realities it presents are haunting, yet they spark necessary conversations about the future we’re steering toward. Mendes sheds light on these pressing issues with a sense of urgency that, despite my critiques, I find profoundly impactful.
For readers who enjoy speculative fiction that challenges societal norms and evokes profound reflection, this book is worth a read. It may not be flawless, but its themes of love, resilience, and the human spirit—set against an unsettling backdrop—prompt important conversations about who we are and who we might become. As for me, I’m still mulling over the moral dilemmas and characters’ fates long after turning the last page, a testament to the book’s lingering influence.
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