eh, i've got a thousand ripples to study

there's a thing where authors often Decide that [fictional problem that either Is a contemporary social problem, or is a metaphor for that problem] Will be fixed by a certain value or virtue: eg decolonialism, or abolition of the patriarchal family, or pluralism, or anti-ableism, or solidarity, or truth-exposure/whistleblowing, or intellectual curiosity (i've specifically listed values i myself consider to be my own most important values, to emphasize that it's not the nature of the value in question that's the problem).

and this is like Totally Fine on a case by case basis, in fact it's one of the features that makes fiction so uniquely equipped to do certain things. but i kinda get sick of it when it becomes so ubiquitous no alternative is considered, and crowds out the more kafkaesque story structure of 'here's a bunch of really fucked up shit and the author is entirely uninterested in incorporating any explicit or implicit idea of how to fix it into its structure'.

authors coming up with an Idea of what will Save us from [anxiety being addressed] means their whole exploration of the things we need to be saved from suffers from like. fictionally ordering these things in such a way to ensure that it is possible for the thing already determined to be the Savior, to save us from the things that make the saving necessary. like a video game boss needing to be designed to be possible to defeat. (and it's not very different in Bad Ending things -- these still often have a firm idea of what Could have saved us and what Doomed Us, and therefore distorts what came before it in the same way.) even from an entirely optimistic and happiness-loving pov it narrows down the reader's exercise of imagination in trying to figure out possible fixes on their own.

and i think a lot of people will read this and go 'bro you just described all fiction ever, what else is there?' and THAT'S the problem, not the existence of stories where we can be saved by [value]. the idea that there's no such thing as a story that just has no answer no matter how implicit.

You get a...

Diagnosis: Littorina obtusata Common name: Flat Periwinkle

by Tove Ditlevsen tr. Cynthia Graae and Michael Goldman

Anxiety is old it reeks of childhood it has no object is awakened by glances, words and sudden noise lives in recurring dreams where the one you love shows the deadly hatred he hides by day.

People’s eyes are yellow they are too close together and they have no lashes over them their menacing eyebrows run endlessly together the corners of their mouths dislocate and twist, watercolor-wet do not look at them slip away from any dangerous and keen attention.

Wrap yourself in rhythms and rhymes from the old bygone songs hide with the troll and the dragon the pure evil shy away from all affection even from the child who plays with and caresses the cat shy away from his expectation his memories his blocked future.

Seek the company of those who peacefully turned away want nothing from you libraries waiting rooms railway stations people with suitcases in hand have firm contours unknown goals in a world that is not yours.

All the others are transformed under your stare as if under windswept waves they know that you see their secrets and innermost thoughts hate your lurking and waiting you do not know the day of the catastrophe approaching by the hour.