By Scarlett Thomas
A cursed e-book. A lacking professor. a few nefarious males in grey matches. And a dreamworld referred to as the Troposphere? Ariel Manto has a fascination with nineteenth-century scientistsespecially Thomas Lumas and The finish of Mr. Y, a booklet nobody alive has learn. whilst she mysteriously uncovers a duplicate at a used bookshop, Ariel is embarked on an experience of technology and religion, cognizance and dying, area and time, and every little thing in between. Seeking solutions, Ariel follows in Mr. Y’s footsteps: She swallows a tincture, stares right into a black dot, and is transported into the Tropospherea wonderland the place she will be able to commute via time and house utilizing the concepts of others. There she starts off to appreciate the entire mysteries surrounding the e-book, herself, and the universe. Or is all of it only a hallucination? With The finish of Mr. Y, Scarlett Thomas brings us one other fast moving mixture of pop culture, love, secret, and impossible to resist philosophical event.
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Extra info for The End of Mr. Y
Special delivery. He opened it. Inside, a slip of paper. It said: POT-HEALER, I NEED YOU. AND I WILL PAY. No signature. No address except his, as destination. My god, he thought, this is something real and big. I know it. He carefully moved his chair around so that he faced the red warning light of the mail tube. And prepared to wait. Until it comes, he said to himself. Unless I physically starve to death first. I will not voluntarily die, now, he thought harshly. I want to stay alive. And wait.
Dialing his phone, he obtained a satellite relay to Japan; he raised Tokyo and gave the digits for the Tokyo translating computer. With the skill of long habit he obtained a direct line to the great, clanking, booming construct; he bypassed its host of attendants. “Oral transmission,” he informed it. The hulking GX9 computer clicked over to oral, rather than visual, reception. “The Corn Is Green,” Joe said. He turned on the recording unit of his phone. At once the computer answered, giving the Japanese equivalent.
I’m depressed. I can’t stand this much longer. Do you know what I mean? ” He waited. A faceless moment poured past in which neither of them spoke. “I’m ringing off,” Joe said, and began to hang up. “Wait,” Gauk said rapidly. ” He hung up, sat emptily staring. On his unfolded sheet of paper he had several more, but—It’s gone, he said to himself, bitterly. The energy, the capacity to fiddle away a lifetime without dignified work, and, in its place, the performance of the trivial, even the voluntarily trivial, as we have constructed here in The Game.
The End of Mr. Y by Scarlett Thomas