By Chris Carlsson
A teenage arsonist threatens submerged mid-22nd century San Francisco. As a Public Investigator "tryout" seeks facts around the utopian urban packed with canals and veloways, the political and social conflicts of a society in response to generalized abundance and generally held wealth are explored. here is a imaginative and prescient of post-economic lifestyles with the pleasures, soreness and confusion attribute of the human situation throughout historical sessions set in a San Francisco unusually conventional and but dreamily diversified. while there isn't any such factor as inner most estate, what's crime, and the way does a utopian society defend itself from undesirable habit? may still scientists be as loose as artists to create? what's a 'free marketplace' for paintings with no funds and commodities? "Many take on the apocalypse, yet no longer given that Ernest Callenbach's Ecotopia has a author estimated its Left Coast utopian aftermath. In Carlsson's hugely ingenious sci-fi mystery, an alienated youngster and an arson investigator show the fissures in San Francisco's progressive new society. After The Deluge merits a large readershi for its shiny blueprint of a sustainable direct democracy set one of the still-familiar human cultures and neighborhoods - stronger through greenways and canals - of town by means of the Bay." [Laura Lent, librarian, San Francisco Public Library]
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It seems like we are always letting it go. ” offered a sweaty, garrulous bartender who was clearly enjoying himself. “Coupla pints of Angkor Steam,” the lanky guy ordered up. ” called out the dishwasher, as several glasses smashed to the floor. ” he yelled back at the bartender. 35 After the Deluge The bartender smiled sheepishly at Nwin and the couple in front of him, shaking his head as he reached for the broom and dustpan. ”The woman rolled her eyes as they clutched the frosty mugs and vanished into the sprawling audience.
It was time to head to the Café Hurricane and find out what this strange, scary woman was all about. He rubbed his arm unconsciously where she’d held him in a vise grip. He retrieved his bike and started northward on Rexroth, past Alamo Square, plunging down into the Western Addition. At Golden Gate he cut in to the Armstrong Diagonal, through the arched gates and up the ramp that took cyclists above all the houses, gardens, creeks and streets. Its well-worn wooden planks rattled and groaned as he raced along, rooftop to rooftop in a long straight line towards Cathedral Hill.
Nwin pedaled furiously, occasionally swinging out and around meandering cyclists. The Diagonal wasn’t heavily traveled at night since most people stayed in their neighborhoods. Also there weren’t many entrances or exits to the throughway. Rising up to meet Cathedral Hill, the Diagonal ended at the east end of Japantown. A three story spiral ramp took him down to street level. Nwin’s bike began to wobble in that telltale fashion. Shit! Not another flat! That’s the third one in two weeks! “Chingin’ road crews,” he cursed aloud, assuming some maintenance crew had thoughtlessly lost the nail on the Diagonal.