Good writing, especially fiction, Wilk argues, illuminates such mind-bending convergences. And writing is not productive, in the capitalist sense, but regenerative, like giving a gift. Death by Landscape’s gift is Wilk’s bold refusal of reactionary fatalism in favor of championing our species’ most transcendent quality: imagination. Because if individual writers can germinate crushing dystopias or beguiling utopias with equal, convincing fidelity, then the “few rich people and corporations largely culpable for (this) ongoing disaster” — which is already dystopic for many — can certainly choose which futures to engineer and manifest.
"Of all the things that a person with that experience could become, Angell somehow became a minimalist. Or, anyway, he became a very particular and subtle type of hedonist. He wrote about something he cared about, and that transparently fascinated him more and more as he continued to learn more about it, but never in a way that was outwardly indulgent. The sentences did precisely what they needed to do, and nothing more; the features lay out whatever he deemed the most meaningful story to find in whatever he set out looking for, and left out the things that distracted or detracted from that."