YNWA

On The Anthropocene Reviewed

Dear Bolu,

Some weeks ago, I picked up John Green’s The Anthropocene Reviewed on an old recommendation. It’s a book of essays on us, humans. It’s a book about our history, experiences, failures, and inventions, written as reviews on a five-star scale. Flipping through the pages, you’ll find stories about the beauty and tragedy of our species. How we’re at once powerful enough to wreak havoc on this planet, yet too powerless to save it from ourselves. It’s about our survival and perseverance. Above all, it’s a book about hope, and how we cannot be counted out.

While I knew that I would enjoy the book because the recommender had earned a favourable reputation, I found myself loving it from the get-go. The first chapter, “You’ll Never Walk Alone” (YNWA), chronicles the transformation of a 1945 musical tune into an anthem of resilience and human connection, later adopted by Liverpool FC. Because of the football club I support, I don’t have any love for The (fake) Reds, but even I cannot deny the magic of the song, in a stadium full of supporters.

Reading “You’ll Never Walk Alone” reminded me of the feelings I had when I wrote Yma o Hyd some years ago. United, we are such beautiful people. John Green rated the chapter 4.5 stars, which is fair. I would rate it just about the same.

The Anthropocene Reviewed is a wonderful book, one that compels me to reflect on my life and my life’s work. On my own history, experiences, failures, and inventions. If I wrote Me, Reviewed, I wonder what story it’d tell as a whole. One of hope or one of hopelessness? Would it have more low-rated chapters than high ones? It’s hard to tell. Although I cannot predict the distribution of stars across chapters, I would bet that you’ll be in it, dear friend, in a chapter named after these letters. And the stars—all five of the most beautiful stars—will be there for all to see.

Fin.

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P.S.

One more thing The Anthropocene Reviewed has taught me is that there is no shortage of things to write about. Every single thing out there has a story in it, waiting to be told and retold, if only we’d pay attention. “I don’t know what to write about” is often just “I’m not paying enough attention to what’s around me” in disguise. So pay attention. Write about lollipops. Write about farts. Write about clouds and magic brooms; miniskirts and crucifixes; polka dots and loamy soils; nail polish and the number zero.

And I owe you two letters, I know. I’m sorry I’ve been away.

(Cover Image: Akbar Nemati on Unsplash)

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Write you soon, merci!

- Wolemercy