The MaddAddam Trilogy: Oryx and Crake, The Year of the Flood, MaddAddam
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Oryx and Crake; The Year of the Flood; MaddAddam. From Booker Prize--winner and #1 national bestseller Margaret Atwood, The MaddAddam Trilogy is so utterly compelling, so prescient, so relevant, so all-too-likely-to-be-true, that readers may find their view of the world forever changed after reading it.
This is Margaret Atwood at the absolute peak of her powers. With breathtaking command of her brilliantly conceived material, and with her customary sharp wit and dark humour, she projects us into an outlandish yet wholly believable realm populated by characters who will continue to inhabit our dreams long after the last chapter.
In the tradition of The Handmaid's Tale, Oryx and Crake and The Year of the Flood envision a near future that is both beyond our imagining and all too familiar: a world devastated by uncontrolled genetic engineering and a widespread plague, with only a few remaining humans fighting for survival.
Combining adventure, humour, romance and superb storytelling that is at once dazzlingly inventive and grounded in a recognizable world, MaddAddam is a moving and dramatic conclusion to this internationally celebrated dystopian trilogy.
rope. Then she falls down and vanishes into the weeds. Behind the others, the green tree-leaves open, swallow. Gone now. All of them. She can’t spot the place where the woman tumbled: the weeds are too tall. Should she go out and look for her? No. It could be a decoy. There’d be three against her one. She watches for a long time. The crows must be following them – the men, the one in khaki. Aw aw aw aw. A trail of sound, off into the distance. Will they be back? They’ll be back, thinks Toby.
Mo’Hair head: it’s the head of a liobam, the golden fur scruffy, the eye sockets empty and crusted. The tongue’s gone, as well. Liobam tongue, once an expensive gourmet feature at Rarity. Toby walks back to where Ren stands quivering, hands to her mouth. “They’re Mo’Hair,” she says. “I’ll make them into soup. With our nice mushrooms.” “Oh, I can’t eat anything,” says Ren in a doleful voice. “He was just a – he was a boy. I used to carry him around.” The tears are rolling down her cheeks. “Why
in a tree. Rope is for making his house. Oh Snowman, why is the rope tied to these men? This rope is hurting these ones. We must take it away. A Painballer: Yeah, that’s right. We’re in fucking agony. (Groans.) Toby: Don’t touch them, they’ll … The second Painballer: Fucking hurry up, Blueballs, before that old bitch … Toby: No! Don’t untie … Those men will … But it was already too late. Who knew the Crakers could be so quick with knots? Procession The two men were gone into the
more his level. “I think that’s a wonderful idea,” said Trudy. “You should be so grateful to your father for taking all that trouble. Not every boy has a father like yours.” Smile, Zeb ordered himself. “I know,” he said. The word smile meant “carving knife” in Greek. He’d found that on the web, when he wasn’t decapitating historical figures. Zeb missed Adam when he wasn’t there, and he suspected it was mutual. Who else could they talk to about the improbable sublayers of their lives? Who else
dinosaurs: when feeling abandoned in a world of forces beyond your control, it’s comforting to have a huge, scaly beast who is your friend. Glenn’s mother was on the food admin staff, tracking supplies and devising meal plans. Glenn’s dad was a semi-top researcher – an expert in unusual microbes, wonky viruses, odd antigens, and offbeat variants of anaphylaxis biovectors. Ebola and Marburg were among his specialties, but right now he was working on a rare allergic reaction to red meat that was