Termush (Faber Editions): 'A classic―stunning, dangerous, darkly beautiful' (Jeff VanderMeer)

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We did not envisage quite such a ruthless change in our environment. But one of the reasons for our feelings of weakness may be that things have retained their outward appearance, now that the disaster has happened. Without knowing it, we put our faith in the disaster; we thought our panic would be justified if we had to use symbols as violent as those our imagination needed earlier. The faith persists that Western societies can avoid the anarchy advancing across much of the planet. Progressive rationalism, neoliberalism and eco-utopianism are branches of fantastic fiction, which serve to distract us from the daily corrosion. In contrast, Termush is a testament to realism, a travel guide to the world in which we are learning to live. A vision of life after the Third World War, a fable about survival, atom-age man seen as Noah without God. Technically it could be called science fiction, in that it imagines the future, but its arguments and distinctions are ethical and emotional rather than scientific. It points the single moral that though to involve oneself with humanity is dangerous, to isolate oneself is fatal.

Building with the nauseating, relentless compulsion of a tidal wave, Termush touches on something elemental and true." —Kiran Millwood Hargrave, author of The Mercies Despite weathering a nuclear apocalypse, their problems are only just beginning. Soon, the Management begins censoring news; disruptive guests are sedated; initial generosity towards Strangers ceases as fears of contamination and limited resources grow. But as the numbers - and desperation - of external survivors increase, admist this moral fallout, they must decide what it means to forge a new ethical code at the end (or beginning?) of the world ... Your support changes lives. Find out how you can help us help more people by signing up for a subscription Termush is like the Hotel California after the end of the world. A chilling and prescient tale about alienation—you can dodge the apocalypse but you can't escape yourself." —Andrew Hunter Murray, author of The Last Day Translated from the Danish by Sylvia Clayton and recently republished by Faber Editions as part of a series of rediscovered gems.The protagonist reports odd occurrences and has strange dreams. What is causing these hallucinations?

In some countries there have been successive apocalyptic upheavals within a single human lifetime. In 20th-century Russia and China, revolutions and wars consumed immemorial communities of peasants and nomads, along with urban workers and intellectuals. A bourgeois civilisation that had developed over centuries fell apart in interwar Europe, opening the way to conflicts of extermination and the Holocaust. Long periods of gradual change have been rare, and abrupt discontinuities the historical norm. In other places – the Congo, Lebanon, Haiti – collapse has become a way of life. The same end may be in store for American cities that have become body-strewn war zones as a result of the opioid epidemic and uncontrolled crime. Another significant struggle I faced was its disjointed structure. Each sentence felt like a standalone clause, devoid of any connection or flow. There was no coherent story holding everything together, leaving me adrift in a sea of disconnected words. It almost felt like a collection of random sentences that didn't complement each other in any meaningful way. I found it increasingly challenging to engage with the book.

While the management seeks to censor bleak news, the narrator tries to find out the truth along with a few others. As things escalate, all the residents will have to make big decisions. Despite weathering a nuclear apocalypse, their problems are only just beginning. Soon, the Management begins censoring news; disruptive guests are sedated; initial generosity towards Strangers ceases as fears of contamination and limited resources grow. But as the numbers – and desperation – of external survivors increase, they must decide what it means to forge a new moral code at the end (or beginning?) of the world . . . The narrator, a former teacher, is doubtful of the integrity of those in power - questioning transparency, ethics, and the morality of the organisation. Did we believe that we would find a wooden table transformed into spongy pulp, the surface of a mirror into impalpable phosphorescent light? Did we imagine that the door-handle would crumble beneath our touch, or the glass window-panes collapse into a heap of burning silica, that cloth would become as rigid as steel plates and a bunch of fruit would splinter in our hands like china? Did we expect that the molecules of the air would be as sharp as crystals and that our own skin would turn into something dark and glazed, nothing to do with ourselves at all? Introduced by Jeff VanderMeer - 'a classic: stunning, dangerous, darkly beautiful' - welcome to the post-apocalyptic White Lotus: a luxury hotel at the end of the world in this lost 1967 dystopia ...

Purchasing a book may earn the NS a commission from Bookshop.org, who support independent bookshops Our fear is no longer a fear of death but of change and mutilation. We have not thought this through and cannot talk about it, but in those moments when we are able to escape from our own personal needs the picture becomes clear to us. Termush caters to every need of its wealthy patrons—first among them, a coveted spot at this exclusive seaside getaway, a resort designed for the end of the world.Termush is a terrifying inquiry into the nature of survival and the fragile calm that comes after a disaster. Sylvia's Clayton's translation of Sven Holm's work is crisp and elegant; I couldn't put it down." —Catherine Lacey, author of Biography of X Suddenly, a slim spine with the mysterious word ‘Termush’ emblazoned across it caught my eye. On taking it off the shelf, I was intrigued by the hazy scarlet cover depicting an atomic mushroom cloud. What was this odd creature? I sat down at the ancient archive table and devoured it in one sitting.

No, I mean after all we have experienced in the last few days. Or rather all that we have been spared from experiencing, but which we know has happened." Chilling and prescient.’ Andrew Hunter Murray ‘Elemental and true.’ Kiran Millwood Hargrave ‘Mesmerizing.’ Sandra Newman ‘Like someone from the future screaming to us.’ Salena Godden

A mesmerizing novel about community in the wake of a catastrophe. Both mischievously surreal and terrifyingly real, Termush is a great work on the psychology of fear." —Sandra Newman, author of The Heavens