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Also, just for the record
With the present state of the world being what it is, I should not be allowed to read about apocalypses.
It doesn't even have to be an apocalypse that's likely to happen! The book in question was about a comet hitting the Earth and everyone wandering around trying to survive in the ensuing nuclear winter. Apparently my hindbrain REALLY DID NOT LIKE THAT, because I finished reading it last night in bed and then ended up having to get up for two hours and do relaxing things on the Internet to calm down enough to sleep.
So, right. No apocalypses for me right now.
I really enjoyed the book, though - On the Edge of Gone by Corinne Duyvis. It's YA with an autistic protagonist (written by an autistic author) and, as apocalypses go, it's not at all grimdark. A lot of bad stuff happens because, well, apocalypse (and if animal harm/animal death is an issue for you, be aware that a subplot includes pets being put to sleep), but overall it's an optimistic book about people pulling together and trying to help each other and rebuild society.
All the scenes of people wandering around in a dark, flooded wasteland trying to find enough food to survive were apparently traumatic in a way my brain couldn't quite deal with right now, though.
It doesn't even have to be an apocalypse that's likely to happen! The book in question was about a comet hitting the Earth and everyone wandering around trying to survive in the ensuing nuclear winter. Apparently my hindbrain REALLY DID NOT LIKE THAT, because I finished reading it last night in bed and then ended up having to get up for two hours and do relaxing things on the Internet to calm down enough to sleep.
So, right. No apocalypses for me right now.
I really enjoyed the book, though - On the Edge of Gone by Corinne Duyvis. It's YA with an autistic protagonist (written by an autistic author) and, as apocalypses go, it's not at all grimdark. A lot of bad stuff happens because, well, apocalypse (and if animal harm/animal death is an issue for you, be aware that a subplot includes pets being put to sleep), but overall it's an optimistic book about people pulling together and trying to help each other and rebuild society.
All the scenes of people wandering around in a dark, flooded wasteland trying to find enough food to survive were apparently traumatic in a way my brain couldn't quite deal with right now, though.
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I seem to remember many assorted post-apocalyptics from my '80s childhood. Not as many "surviving an apocalypse"s.
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You can make violence and sexual violence and death-by-violence kind of sexy. You really can't make "brain liquified by nest of tumours" and its corresponding symptoms and experiences sexy or glam. It isn't the kind of suffering that anyone enjoys: it may or may not be horrific, but most importantly it's gross in a petty, icky, "ugh wash my haaaaands"/"this smell is gonna make me throw up" way. (See also: why someone like McCaffrey would decide to go with a flu pandemic for Pern rather than the Black Death - the flu at least potentially has the decency just to make you cough a lot and suffocate to death, whereas the Black Death is actively disgusting in an embarrassing/humiliating way in its symptoms.)
So to have the Adventure, you go to the place AFTER the apocalypse. And I mean there were grim versions of that, too, but.
Whereas the gestalt-concept of apocalypse at this point seems to be scarcity, which means the actual killers are either humans doing violence to one another, or people are starving because of having been run off by the violence of other humans. We're a lot better at glamorizing violence and the results of violence than we are diarrhea and vomit. Before the End of the World concept was SO big and overwhelming and catastrophic that our way of processing it in fiction was just to jump straight to "annnnd there was a band of survivors from The Terrible Dying Times", and then the struggle and adventure was continuing to survive in the now more hostile world.
Right now we have End of the World concepts that are a lot more comprehensible: they're basically the war-zones or plague-zones that already exist on our planet, except writ large and globally. And since we CAN engage with that in our fictional fascinations, we do. So a lot more living-thru-apocalypse stuff.
That's my off the cuff pondering, anyway. XD
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.....but he has arms, right?
The majority of the most popular swimming styles (front crawl) barely use the feet in comparison to the arms. Like seriously, I used to swim competitively: doing arm-drills, you can almost get as fast with front crawl as you can with your kick, you just tire about a third again as fast, all the way up to Srs Bznss Olympic Level. Besides you point your feet for that kick, so he'd only lose a little bit of power, especially given the other foot is still present - you don't use your ankle-joint movement to generate any of that kick's power.
Same with backstroke and side-stroke and dog-paddle. Hell, he could have lost both feet AND his arms and still be able to move through the water on his back, he'd just be a bit slower. And while one lost foot would mildly impair his butterfly assuming he could do it, the flipper is tbh your whole lower body and your arms and "tail" contribute about equally to the stroke.
In all cases there'd probably be some muscle arghy-bargy in terms of learning how to exactly compensate for the difference in resistance and it might lead to some muscle pain and tension, the same way that any imbalance of parts does when you're moving in a human body, but it would be an irritating-level impairment, not a total disabling blow.
The only stroke where the movement of the ankle joint and the fact that your foot can move around on it makes ANY difference that matters at anything less than serious racing speeds is breast-stroke - frog kick. Admittedly it is the most efficient for the majority of people over long distances (as it is also the one wherein it takes the least effort and energy to keep your head above water and maintain breath), but that's hardly a YOU CANNOT SWIM issue.
*ponders* He MIGHT also have a little bit less efficiency at egg-beater kick-based treading water, but I'd want to actually get in the pool and pay attention to how my legs move, because I think it would be minor - the real relevant movement is in the knee joint, using the whole shin to create drag.
...also what did she mean by "micro-seizure"? This isn't really an epilepsy term. And they usually last from 60 to 120 seconds which kiiiind of . . . is actually less often than we blink? And the only one I can think of that he could have THAT OFTEN would be simple partial seizures and means he'd more or less literally be CONSTANTLY IN SEIZURE STATE and I'm pretty sure that would eventually stress his brain out beyond function. And he would also definitely not function well at all, and be unable to look after himself at all. *tilts head* I suppose I can see ways that this would lead to him falling under a jeep, but they're kind of arcane.
If he's having absence seizures it's literally not possible for him to have them every time he blinks and do . . . anything. At all.
. . . so what you're telling me is that she doesn't do her research. TSK.
(Sorry ironically I just had an autism about how little sense either of those bits make wtf. >.>)
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1. Spoil myself comprehensively. Attempt to find the best SYNOPSIS I can find, or get someone else to tell me about it, or whatever. This is because those are almost totally non-immersive in their language use/etc, which means that I'm just getting the facts, instead of Scenes of Description or Emotional Relating or whatever. Often that's actually enough that I don't have to go any further.
2. Block out a bunch more time than normal to read it, and read it while in conversational contact with someone else - either them sitting in the room or me sitting at the computer so I can use IM. Comment on what I'm reading frequently, while treating it like something I'm reading To Acquire Information (like I would read an instruction manual) rather than treating it like a story I'm actually reading.
3. Take frequent breaks to do something else. More frequent than I would normally ever take. Again, requires blocking out more time, but.
These may or may not be of use to you? But I figured I'd toss them over. The key issue is to absolutely in all ways PREVENT myself from immersing in anything I'm taking in: I read like it's a highly technical journal article, not like it's a story of any kind. (That includes non-fiction such as journalism or articles that engage with historical events - those are still Stories, they're just a different kind, and often written with the same intent of drawing someone into the sequence as if it were a narrative, so the same defense mechanisms apply.)
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I can't account for the flipper thing.
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This book teeters on the edge of OTT territory at times (particularly in scenes involving the main character's mom, who is a drug addict and basically the worst possible person to be trying to survive the apocalypse with), but never fell off the cliff, at least not from my perspective. Maybe the author got it all out of her system in the first book. Also, the thing you mentioned in your review of the other book, where none of the characters seem to like each other, really isn't a thing in this one -- a big part of the plot is the main character trying to find her missing sister, making friends with other survivors, and so forth. It's a very sweet book, for a book in which everyone spends most of their time trying desperately not to die.
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Those are absence seizures. They used to be called petit mal. They're a fairly significant alteration of consciousness; Norka used to get them pretty frequently, by which I mean every few hours. (She only got tonic-clonic is ones sort of once a year, when some illness gave her a high fever).
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When I first read that book I googled to see what it would really be like to have absence seizures more-or-less constantly, and read a NY Times article on a kid who did. He needed constant, one-on-one care.
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And on the shallow upside personal level, I got to amaze every first aid instructor I ever had by already knowing what to do in case of someone having a tonic-clonic seizure (which bluntly is "call 911, make sure they don't hurt themselves, get everyone else to fuck off and make the area safe, keep an eye on protecting their heads, and otherwise do fuck all until the paramedics get there or the seizure stops, in which case put a blanket on them and be gentle and careful in helping them sit up/etc") instead of being O.O frozen when the scenario showed up. XD (I was always in classes, somehow, RIGHT when they moved the level of when you were expected to Know About It up one more, and one instructor would inevitably throw in the scenario having forgotten this.)
It's one of those conditions that is actually more and more limiting the older you get. A toddler with epilepsy doesn't need a lot more care than a toddler needs ANYWAY; a six year old can be on par with what a shy or anxious six-year-old would choose anyway; ....etc.
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(Really the problem here seems to be not so much the grimdark as a lack of imagination in terms of how people deal with these things. I'm reminded of the Chinese girl whose name I've misplaced, but who lost both legs and they couldn't afford prosthetics . . . so her dad made her a base, essentially, out of a basket-ball, allowing her to use her arms to get about. She was extremely mobile. I mean obviously proper care would have been much better! But we figure this shit out, man. I promise the pirates with peg-legs could still swim.)
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I mean that was the other feature of the continually amazing - was everyone else in the class turning to me with this face of OMG WHAT SECRET IS IT! and then there being this air of " . . . oh" when I explained, and being all, that's it?
Because that is it. You as first aider can't do sweet fuck all. Their brain has gone haywire, you cannot do bugger all for their brain, all you can do is gently keep their body from getting damaged by the space around it until their brain stops being haywire, and then give them a blanket. You are indeed totally helpless. Sorry!
(Tho honestly complex partial seizures are the ones that scare ME. Partials they can probably still keep themselves from dying even if behaviourally everything's gone totally weird, of the general ones you really either have absence, which isn't an emergency so much as a "and nooooow we need to go see the doc" or you have the Big Ones that knock out consciousness/interaction where all you can do is keep them from injury and wait for the EMTs.
But complex-partials, they can be severely impaired and thus at risk, while still being present enough to flip out at you or resist all attempts to help etc. It's like dealing with concussion: they may suddenly decide YOU ARE THE WORST THING EVER because their brain has gone BDSZZZDT!!!! and like augh. *RANDOM*)
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I also think that in-depth descriptions of nuclear attack may have hit too close to home for people in the 70s/80s in the same way that this book did for me now. A scarcity-related apocalypse doesn't quite have the same, idk, immediately catastrophic, "there's nothing you can do about it" feeling as nuclear war -- your actions actually could make a difference on an ongoing basis, so there are an interesting series of choices the characters can make, as opposed to "do you have a bunker", "are you in it", and "did the warhead fall right on top of your city or not". In a scarcity-type apocalypse, fiction can provide a template for how to survive it, on a fantasy level even if most of us would probably suck at it, but you don't really get the same template-to-success when the threat is a nuclear warhead falling on top of you. I think the sheer catastrophic randomness of a nuclear apocalypse made it hard to read about at a time when people really thought that there was a strong chance it would happen in their lifetimes. (I grew up right on the tail end of that, but I DID catch the tail end of it, in the 80s, and we really did worry about it a lot -- my sister tells me she used to be terrified of the sound of jets flying over at night, because she was afraid they were going to drop bombs -- so fiction that hammers home the fact that YOU'RE JUST GONNA FUCKIN' DIE was not something that people wanted. As opposed to fiction that gets on with the hopeful part about humanity still being around a few generations later.)
Come to think of it, I wonder if that's one reason why this book really hit me in the bad-place part of my brain, because the comet strike is similarly catastrophic and unavoidable, as opposed to other books I've read which are about rising sea levels and growing scarcity of resources that didn't leave me with the same feeling of massive doom as this one did.
Though obviously the political climate is a major factor too.
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I had more or less the same reaction to San Andreas - though I'd probably enjoy it now, at the time it was coming out I was a bit on edge because of other things, and living in a place at risk of A Big One just made it grate slightly too much. I have an Israeli reader who honestly can't really stand most movies that have Bad Things Happening To Cities (Avengers seriously pushes her edge fairly hard, for example) because she lives in Tel Aviv, has lived in Jerusalem, and served in the Second Lebanon War - so particularly the way North American media tends to TREAT this stuff makes her Extremely Upset.
And I mean as with everything, on the other hand some people crave this stuff exactly BECAUSE it's too close to home. It's just that with nuclear stuff particularly it's just really hard to do ANYTHING with it - not only is it too close to home, it's hard to use it to PROCESS something that's too close to home the way we might with stuff like Fury Road or whatever, because the actual threats and dangers it represents don't make Good Stories - humans are better with horror than disgust. (There's a reason films like The Human Centipede are for a very niche audience. :P)
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This has been SUPER helpful for me in the past few weeks, and I just wanted to let you know.
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\o/ Oh good! I'm glad. :D