So having run out of free books, I have shelled out the princely sum of $3.99 for Wool: Omnibus Edition by Hugh Howey, a dystopian SF novel that, so far, takes place entirely in a giant underground silo in which the remnants of humanity eke out an existence, while outside, the earth is a lifeless world beneath a toxic atmospheric stew. At the moment the title appears to refer to the wool pads used by convicts (or the occasional volunteer) who goes out into the poisonous world to scrub the sensors and cameras that allow those within the silo to look out at the wasteland they have left behind, but I’m thinking it also refers to the wool being pulled over everyone’s eyes, perhaps by the silo’s IT Department. We shall see!
And with that, Bernard strode off toward the barred gates that led into the heart of IT, back to his brightly lit offices, where servers hummed happily, the temperature rising in the slow-moving air like the heat of angered flesh as capillaries squeezed, the blood in them rising to a boil.
Okay, I realize that this is just one sentence instead of two, but it’s a long sentence. And, although Wool is, like Shards and The War of the Ravels, an indie book, that is a different and, seemingly, less pleasant Bernard than the one mentioned below. I’ve included a few extra (short) sentences from The War of the Ravels, to make up for just the one (long) sentence from Wool.
Bernard was right. The lack of a response was becoming disturbing, as if it was a response itself. Disdain? Were they of so little concern that Kihantroh felt it could simply ignore them? Perhaps they would be very lucky, and Kihantroh would have accidentally or, in its fury and desperation, purposely put its hands on the Jewel’s facets, and they would find it sprawled in some antechamber, roasted and desiccated.
Mmm, roasted and desiccated Rittandic. Sounds scrumptious.