An obscure theory known only as Restoration may hold the key to saving Earth's dying ecosystems...with horrifying consequences.
The air is too thick to safely breathe, streets are more trash than concrete, and ecosystems are on the brink of collapse. Having accepted that climate change would have been too costly and formidable to stop, the world remains divided between the âdestabilizedâ lands of famine and the âstabilizedâ states where genetic engineering keeps populations fed and pacified.
When Lotus, a young student, discovers the abrupt and cataclysmic die-off of a remote mountain valley, authorities are steadfast in their indifference. Assuring her the valley is another victim of climate change; Lotus knows otherwise. And despite living in a world of melted ice caps, megadroughts, and expanding deserts, she is undeterred. To help identify the cause of the die-off, she recruits her misanthropic partner who falls under the influence of an arcane theory called Restoration. Devising a macabre ploy to use the die-off to save the Earthâs remaining ecosystems.
An obscure theory known only as Restoration may hold the key to saving Earth's dying ecosystems...with horrifying consequences.
The air is too thick to safely breathe, streets are more trash than concrete, and ecosystems are on the brink of collapse. Having accepted that climate change would have been too costly and formidable to stop, the world remains divided between the âdestabilizedâ lands of famine and the âstabilizedâ states where genetic engineering keeps populations fed and pacified.
When Lotus, a young student, discovers the abrupt and cataclysmic die-off of a remote mountain valley, authorities are steadfast in their indifference. Assuring her the valley is another victim of climate change; Lotus knows otherwise. And despite living in a world of melted ice caps, megadroughts, and expanding deserts, she is undeterred. To help identify the cause of the die-off, she recruits her misanthropic partner who falls under the influence of an arcane theory called Restoration. Devising a macabre ploy to use the die-off to save the Earthâs remaining ecosystems.
âItâs always cloudy,â the boy complains to his aunt as he fidgets with the frayed nylon straps of his backpack. By the look of the sky, rain is a certainty.
She smiles in response, having heard a version of this same grievance every morning this week during their walks to the library. Standing on the sidewalk in front of the cityâs central branchâan aged, but well-kept, concrete structure whose five floors appear diminutive next to the soaring glass towers of downtownâhis aunt crouches down to gently rub the top of his cheek. She glances left then right, like she wants to be sure no one nearby will hear them, before she whispers in their home language about the clouds and the rain being a gift. âUnderstand their importance,â she says while giving his bright blue jacket sleeve a playful tug to remind him why he put it on before leaving the house.
He knows. Every time he gripes, she tells him that he is supposed to learn from her experiences, and never take the weather for granted. Rain is neither free nor unlimited, and he is to appreciate it. But whenever the sky is overcast, he canât seem to help himself. He nods in acquiescence, predicting he will hear the same tomorrow if the weather remains dreary.
She leans in and gives him a hug. Her dyed scarlet hair enveloping him, redolent of the same scent of warm spices that lulls him to sleep at night after she kisses each of his cheeks and pulls the blanket over him.
Switching back to the local dialect, she points her finger to the ground below his feet. âI will pick you up right here when they close. Donât go anywhere or talk to anyone while I am gone. Now, go inside. I cannot wait to hear all about the new things you learn today.â
He nods one last time, turns, and bounds into the library. Keeping his head down as he sprints past the large desk labeled SECURITY just inside the entrance. Avoiding eye contact with the guard who likes to offer a smile and a wave to every visitor. But it does no good. As routine as his auntâs admonitions on the weather, every visit to the library is interrupted by the guard, who finds him tucked away in the history sectionâs window corner. A towering man, the guard stands over him and asks in a soft voice what he is reading. He suppresses the urge to tell of the heroic wizards and robot-fighting monsters that fill the pages. Wishing he could talk to someone that isnât his aunt. But he knows this one question would lead to a second, such as why he is at the library instead of in school. Or where does he live. His trips to the library come with risk, but when his aunt goes to work, he must go somewhere.
The guard has a clear look of disappointment as he receives no response. Accepting defeat, he raises his brow and smiles. âEnjoy your day.â
For the rest of the morning, he memorizes key details from each of his books. Identifying the important points of plot and recognizing what lines of text are expendable, as his aunt has taught him. When they walk home this afternoon, he will tell her only the essential scenes and characters of the stories. When the large clock on the wall reads 12:00, the boy opens his backpack and pulls out his lunch. It isnât muchâleft over insta-meal from the night beforeâbut it will be enough to power him through to closing. At 04:45, he returns the books to the shelves and races outside.
But his aunt isnât there.
Stretching his neck and standing on his toes, he looks up and down the crammed sidewalks. When someone with bright red hair turns the corner, he gets his smile ready and jumps up and down, drawing more than a few glances. But his face drops when he realizes itâs not her.
This isnât the first time she has been late, but it doesnât happen often. And on those rare occasions, it was no more than an hour after the library closed. She would arrive with an apology and a big smile to let him know everything was okay. These were also the times, if he was lucky and his aunt was feeling a mix of guilt and nostalgia, she would tell him about the books she used to read while growing up with his mother.
âWhat was she like?â he asked.
âSmarter than anyone you ever met. Read more books than I could ever hope to in my life. I got so mad about it. I would make up little lies about her and spread them about, out of jealousy. And when she found out, she would flash her mischievous grin and give me a big hug.â
It was the only description he had of his mother. If he asked his aunt something specificâwhether he looked like her or what her favorite food wasâshe waved her hand in the air and changed the subject. Instead, sheâd recall her own carefree years of running and playing among the neat rows of mango trees that grew on the familyâs seaside estate. Telling him of the ocean winds that brought rain as predictable as the rising of the sun.
The mango trees themselves were a point of pride. Her eyes lit up when telling him of the family orchard. The trees, spaced apart to avoid spreading disease, could grow sixty feet tall and were so wide that she and his mother together couldnât span their arms around a single trunk. Their fruit picked and sent off to all parts of the world. âSome were as big as two kilograms!â His aunt would use a deep voice and carve large circles in the air with her hands to emphasize the size, making him laugh.
As he continues to wait for her, the clouds above the city grow darker and the daylight wanes. A stranger stops to ask him if he needs help. He shakes his head, then runs to the alley behind the library, crouching behind a dumpster bin. The stranger does not follow.
Needing to evade any other inquisitive adults, he slips back out of the alley and squeezes behind the shrubbery that runs the length of the libraryâs façade. The shrubâs limbs laden with a mess of plastic bags, wrappers, and soiled packaging that help to hide him from view. He leans his back against the buildingâs foundation and peeks out to the area on the sidewalk where he is supposed to be waiting. Watching for his aunt. Ready to jump out with his arms open and tell her everything he read.
The rain starts after dark. Heavy drops that pelt the ground around him. He briefly thinks of walking home alone but decides against it. Knowing the landmarks and turns to take but isnât so sure he would recognize them at night. Instead, he will continue to wait exactly as she asked. He crawls further under the shrubbery and its canopy of trash. His auntâs words of appreciating the rain running through his mind as he wishes it away, pulling his knees close to his chest. She had said that, one day, it will stop falling. For him and for everyone else, just like it did for her.
He falls asleep, dreaming that day has come.
When he awakes to the dull morning light, the rain has slowed to a mist with the clouds still hanging low. Remembering where he is, he crawls out from his hiding place and onto the crowded sidewalk. He looks up and down the street but doesnât see her, wondering if she came for him while he had been sleeping. Having left when she didnât see him, upset that he had not followed her instructions. His eyes tear up, but he quickly wipes them away with his sleeve. Emotion will draw notice.
She must be working another day, he reasons. Certain she will come for him eventually. He only needs to spend the day in the library and come out at closing. She will have finished work by then and be waiting for him.
Ignoring his stomachâs grumbling demands, he stands outside until the building opens. Staring straight at the entrance to make clear to everyone walking by why he is alone on the sidewalk. Muddy and wet from a night under the shrubs, he holds his backpack in front of him as he walks in, ignores the security guardâs wave and races to the history section. When the clock reads 12:00, he searches the reading desks and rubbish bins for discarded food. Unsuccessful, he returns to his corner to wearily scan the pages. Often rereading entire paragraphs after forgetting what they had said.
At 04:45, he puts his books away in a hurry and runs outside. Ready to share two entire days of reading.
But his aunt isnât there.
The boy is back under the shrubbery, his backpack used for a cushion, as gray daylight fades and the ambient light of the city takes its place. His midsection twists in hunger. Less confident that he remembers the way home than the night before. It is well after dark, and after the sidewalk has emptied, when he emerges to make his way to the alley. Intent on searching the dumpster bin he had crouched behind yesterday. With help from the alleyâs overhead security light, he finds a small pallet and leans it against the side of the bin to climb up and lift the lid. Under a layer of crumpled paper, he finds half of a melted candy bar stuck to its wrapper. He shoves it into his mouth and licks the wrapper clean.
He digs deeper, balancing his stomach on the binâs lip, when he hears footfalls from the other end of the alley. Trying to hop back onto the leaning pallet, he loses his footing and lands hard on his back. Fighting back tears, he props himself up onto his elbows, watching as a man in a tattered rain jacket passes beneath the overhead light and approaches the bin. His frayed beard protrudes from his cinched hood. Without saying a word, the boy hurriedly pulls himself to his feet and climbs back up the pallet to continue foraging.
âAre you alone?â The voice is deep and grave.
The boy pushes aside a wad of toilet paper without reply.
âGotta name?â
Still no response.
âAll right. Not much of a talker. Iâm Kip. Was just coming to find something to eat myself. Odd night is all. I usually can find something out there and donât need to look too hard. But not tonight. Do you mind if I take a look, or did you already beat me to it?â Kip steps up next to the boy, scrutinizing the binâs innards and digging around until he pulls out three full sandwiches wrapped in plastic film.
Three sandwiches that belong to him, not Kip.
âThank you, lil man. Good haul tonight. It surprises me what people will throw out. âWaste not.â âAlways eat what you have.â Thatâs what those government posters say. Seen em? Theyâre the same posters hanging above these garbage piles.â Kip laughs to himself before turning toward the boy. âDo you have anywhere to go? That rain is a-coming, and itâs going to be heavy. But, hey, isnât it always? My place is close. It ainât much, but itâs dry.â
He shouldnât, but the man is about to walk off with his food. If his aunt doesnât come tonight, he will be as hungry as ever. He lets his stomach make the decision, accepting the offer with a stiff nod. Kip, rearranging the sandwiches into the crux of his arm, pulls a flashlight from his jacketâs pocket and motions for the boy to follow.
They walk to a tent tucked next to a highway on-ramp. The constant whine of vehicles fills the air. Entering the tent, the boyâs nose crinkles, trying to block the smell.
Kip notices his expression. âThe things you get used toâŚâ He motions to a wool blanket in the tentâs corner with his light. âYou can use that one.â
Crawling into the corner, the boy wraps it around himself, ignoring its acrid odor. Kip hands him a part of a sandwich, which he snatches and devours. As Kip situates himself, the flashlight beam moves about the tent, catching piles of clothing and bags filled with sundries.
He had been born in a tent. His aunt had whispered this to him once before bed, as if it was a secret. Maybe it was just like this one. She hadnât described it in detail, referring to it only as âthat sweltering tentâ she and his mother had lived in before their camp got too big. âThere were so many of us crowded together,â she had said. âMore arriving each day. There had never been enough for everyone.â
Kip sends the flashlight beam slightly to the side of his face, so as not to blind him. âHow old are you? Jeez, things are getting pretty bad out here. Donât worry. Tomorrow, I can take you to someone I know. A good woman named Sandy, who works for the city. What did you say your name was?â
He does not say.
âThatâs all right. Never had a guest before. Like to be alone is all. Always have. Donât know who you can trust with so many bad people out there. You look like someone I can trust, wonât steal anything. Would give you a tour, but it would only last a second. Yeah, been here a month or two. Came here to cool off, you know? Where Iâm from, the heat will kill ya. Couldnât even sleep. It got so warm at night. When it got real hot, I started seeing things not there. That is when I knew it was time to move on. But itâs temporary, you know. Wonât be here forever.â
The rain begins tapping against the sides of the tent. Kip keeps talking, but the boy is too tired to listen.
When he wakes, dawn seeps through the thin tent fabric. The rain has stopped, and he can hear the whine of the highway. Across the tent, Kip is still sleeping. The boy quietly unzips the tent flap and walks the short distance back to the library, retrieving his backpack from behind the shrubs. He stands on the sidewalk looking for his auntâs bright red hair until the library opens. Holding his backpack in front, he walks into the building. The security guard begins to wave, but then his nose crinkles. The same way his own nose behaved inside Kipâs tent. He continues to the history section.
When the guard comes to see him, he is accompanied by a woman wearing a patch that reads POLICE on her arm. She makes her way over. âGood morning. I am Officer Laura.â
The boy looks up at her with widened eyes. His aunt has been adamant that he should never talk to the police. Worse than strangers, the questions they ask are cold and cruel.
âWhat is your name?â
His aunt will never let him return to the library. Not if the police are here.
âMy friend Dwayne works downstairs. He told me that you come to the library a lot. He has seen you the past two days waiting outside before it opens, much earlier than normal. Is it your mom who drops you off?â
He doesnât know what to do. His aunt has been gone for two days, and he isnât sure when she will come back. If he says nothing, will Officer Laura go away just like the guard does? He doesnât think so. Maybe if he gestures, just this once, he wonât be breaking his auntâs rule and the police will leave him alone. Almost imperceptibly, he shakes his head and is immediately regretful for having done so.
âOkay. Not your mom. Do you live near here?â
He keeps still.
âI can give you a ride if you want to show me. We can go see if anyone is home.â
His eyes light up. She wants to help him get home. But he knows his aunt will be furious if he accepts the ride.
She seems to sense his indecision. âHow about we go home, and if no one is there, we will come right back here to the library and wait?â
More convinced of the womanâs kindness, he jumps from his chair and gathers up his books. Officer Laura, with a bemused look on her face, quietly follows him around the library as he returns each book to its original location. When he is done, he gathers up his backpack and jacket and walks with her down the stairs and out the front entrance. He looks around once more for his aunt, but she is not there. Officer Laura leads him to her car that says POLICE on the side and opens the passenger door. The word, printed in big black letters, gives him pause. Stopping on the sidewalk to reconsider.
She leans down to him and offers him a fruit bar. âI just want to be sure you get home safely.â
He snatches the bar from her hand and jumps up into the passenger seat.
After she helps tighten his seat belt, she reaches into the back and pulls out a stuffed bear. âThis is Wilfred.â
Still chewing the bar that he shoved into his mouth, he sits Wilfred in his lap. At six years old, he must be too old for a stuffed bear, but no one has ever given him one before. He presses his face into the soft fur and decides he likes Wilfred.
He navigates Officer Laura to his house by pointing at street signs and gesturing which direction to take, mimicking his walking route. She tries to ask him more questions during the drive, but he only points. They park in front of the narrow, single-story rental where he lives, tucked tightly between two larger apartment buildings. He excitedly unbuckles his seat belt.
Officer Laura gently places her hand on his shoulder. âWould you mind staying here and keeping Wilfred company? He doesnât like to be alone, and I can tell he really likes you. I will be right back if someone is home.â
He doesnât understand why Wilfred would need company, it is just a stuffed animal, but he nods anyway. She then gets out and walks toward the house. The boy bites his lip as she reaches the door. Wilfred gives him an unflinching smile of support. He canât help but smile back.
Officer Laura knocks on the door. After a pause, she pounds harder with the side of her fist.
He watches, hoping the door will open to reveal his aunt. He will have to apologize for the smell, recounting how he was hiding under the shrubs and how she probably didnât see him when she came looking for him.
Officer Laura yells through the door, but he canât hear what she says. Another car drives up and parks behind him. A man dressed in the same uniform as Officer Laura gets out and heads to the front door, where she is still knocking. After a brief discussion, the two of them go in opposite directions around the sides, disappearing into the slivers of space between the house and the apartments. When they come back, the man speaks rapidly into a small box on his shoulder. She takes something from her belt, goes to the front door, lifts her foot, and kicks the lock so hard that the door flies open.
The boy gasps.
Officer Laura and the man move into the house.
He sits with Wilfred, trying to decide what to do. Wondering if his aunt will ever forgive him. Telling himself that he should have stayed at the library.
He is relieved when Officer Laura comes out alone. His aunt must not be home.
She walks back to the car, opens her driver-side door, and takes a seat. But something is wrong. She looks sad, and her eyes are wet.
He wants to tell her that she shouldnât cry in public, but he thinks better of it. Instead, speaking for the first time in days, he asks to go back to the library where he is supposed to be waiting.
A small boy is left waiting for his aunt outside a library. He's there for two days before the authorities finally come to help him, only to discover something macabre and truly awful.
Some years later, Lotus is studying for her PhD, and the small boy is now her partner. She's discovered that one of her test sites on the edge of the decaying city has gone into a rapid decline, but no one seems to care other than herself.
Restoration had me gripped from the first chapter; I was desperately concerned about the small boy, and even gasped when the Sheriff returned back to the car and was crying. It was a truly shocking opening for a book - discussing the fact that overpopulation and mass migration because of eco-disasters had seemed to force this woman and her nephew to act as invisibly as they possibly could. The man the boy became later tells Lotus that he was almost deported after the shocking discovery, but his youth meant he was allowed to stay.
In this book, Bradbury paints a picture of a truly terrifying future. The earth is dying; it's last breath is being choked out of it by micro-plastics. Our deserts have been taken over by fast fashion cast offs. Any life that once grew from the soil, is now tainted or devastated by flash fires. Fresh, drinkable water is in short supply (so short that Lotus isn't allowed to water a plant). The air is so polluted that one must wear a filtered mask in the outdoors, simply to be able to breathe.
While Restoration wasn't my particular cup of tea, it is still an incredibly written book which carries an incredibly stark message which should be a warning to us all.
S. A.