You Are A Political Novel

Image credit: Endemol

It is the year 1984, and you are a depressed exile living under a totalitarian, repressive regime. Your friend slips you half of a banned book: it is clearly 1984, although you, of course, do not know the title. To protect it, you cover it in a calendar page from your calendar, which is, of course, a 1984 calendar, for the year 1984, covering a book which is, coincidentally, set in a year that is also 1984.

You are a dazzled new employee working for G̶o̶o̶g̶l̶e a company whose name is G̶o̶o̶g̶l̶e not important. Your company does some vague impressive tech stuff, such as storing Cloud things in the Cloud, and doing some mass surveillance with the innovative approach of What If Cameras, But More. Isn’t this all very exciting? Sure, your Luddite ex-boyfriend isn’t keen, but you haven’t really heard from him since his car got chased off a bridge by drones.

You are this book’s token non-cis character. You nurse the trauma of asking for red jeans for your birthday and receiving 3,000 collectible Barbies (‘don’t unbox them, they’ll lose value’) and you hate your boobs (amphibian mounds with nipple eyes). Gender is bad, so you do a lot of drugs, but then you see other people looking happy on Facebook, so you immediately quit. Then you discover Gender Discourse and say a bunch of ignorant stuff to your friend Bibi, who in turn is an Angry Trans Woman who ‘in effect mansplains’ being a woman to you, so clearly you make the perfect couple. Still, you’re more mature now! (i.e. you’ve learned to be cool when people use the wrong pronouns for you).

You are a nebulously damaged university student who keeps breaking up with your sweet, benign high-school sweetheart, mostly due to various miscommunications. When you’re not with him, you sleep with bad men who do things that bad men do, like S&M, or asking to take sex photos of you when you are too Thin and Sad for sex photos. You subsist on nothing but cigarettes and dainty bites of apple, and think wistfully about how Marshmallow Boy would never hit you during sex, regardless of if you asked.

Contemporary literature graduate, quizzer and tired leftist.

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