Philippa Kaur

By Bobby Duffy

Roberto Cigna
TOO often discussion of generations descends into stereotypes and manufactured conflicts – avocado-obsessed, narcissistic millennials against selfish, wasteful baby boomers. Instead of serious analysis, we get apocryphal predictions about millennials “killing” everything from wine corks to the napkin industry.
Such discourse wouldn’t be so worrisome if it didn’t sully genuine research into generational differences, a powerful tool to understand and anticipate societal shifts. They can provide unique and often surprising insights into how societies and individuals develop and change.
That is because generational changes are like tides: powerful, slow-moving and relatively predictable. Once a generation is set on a course, it tends to continue, which helps us see likely futures. That is true even through severe shocks like war or pandemic, which tend to accentuate and accelerate trends. Existing vulnerabilities are ruthlessly exposed, and we are pushed further and faster down paths we were already on.
We tend to settle into our value systems and behaviours during late childhood and early adulthood, so generation-shaping events have a stronger impact on people who experience them while coming of age. This is why it is vitally important to heed the lessons we learn by looking at previous generations so we can understand what the covid-19 pandemic will mean for those growing up through it, and use those insights to help Generation Covid meet the unprecedented challenges ahead.
Some approaches that define swathes of the population purely on when people were born are closer to astrology than serious analysis. The type of generational analysis I use in my new book, Generations: Does when you’re born shape who you are?, however, is built … More

By Bobby Duffy

FILIPPO MONTEFORTE/AFP via Getty Images
The idea that younger generations care the most about the climate while older people downplay the issue and refuse to take action is a widespread myth, according to new research.
To better understand differences between generations, including how they perceive one another and the biggest challenges of the day, my team at the Policy Institute at King’s College London and New Scientist commissioned a survey of more than 4000 people aged 18 and over in the US and UK. Responses were collected from 2 to 9 August.
Previous research has made clear that one of the most pervasive and destructive generational myths is that older cohorts don’t care about the environment or social purpose more generally. The new survey shows how dangerously caricatured this is.Advertisement

In the UK, over three-quarters of baby boomers – who are defined as those currently aged 56-76 –  agree that climate change, biodiversity loss and other environmental issues are big enough problems that they justify significant changes to people’s lifestyles. This was as high as any other generation (see chart). Seven in 10 of this group say they are willing to make changes to their own lifestyle, completely in line with younger generations.
Older generations are also less fatalistic than the young: only one in five baby boomers say there is no point in changing their behaviour to tackle climate change because it won’t make any difference, compared with a third of Generation Z – those aged 18-25. This is an important driver of how we act: a sense that all is already lost leads to inertia.
But our study shows that people have a rather different impression of who thinks what: when we ask people which age group is most likely to say there is no point in changing their behaviour, the oldest group is the most likely to be picked out. We wrongly think they have given up. Social psychologists call this misconception “pluralistic ignorance”. It is an important effect, because it shapes our views of others.

Older people’s concern isn’t just expressed with words, but reflected in their actions. We know from other studies that it is actually baby boomers and Generation X who are the most likely to have boycotted products. But our new study shows that also isn’t the perception. The majority of the public wrongly think it is Generation Z or millennials who are most likely to boycott products, and only 8 per cent pick out baby boomers and just 9 per cent choose Gen X.
No contest
It is no surprise that the public have the wrong impression. Endless articles and analyses paint the picture of a clean generational break in environmental concern and action, with a new cohort of young people coming through who will drive change, if only older people would stop blocking them. Time magazine, for example, called Greta Thunberg “an avatar in a generational battle” when it made her its Person of the Year in 2019.

This isn’t just wrong, but dangerous, as it dismisses the real concern among large proportions of our economically powerful and growing older population.
The aftermath of the pandemic means it is set to become harder, not easier, to think about the long term, as short-term needs become more pressing: we will need all the support we can get, and creating or exaggerating generational division won’t help.
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By Jake Buehler

The piles of faeces made by rock hyraxes hold clues to our own pastNatalia Kuzmina / Alamy
Fossilised piles of faeces, called middens, have revealed that a desert valley in Yemen was once a tropical oasis, which may have lasted in the dry region because of human land management practices.
Today, Wadi Sana is a dry, rocky desert. We knew that between 11,000 and 5000 years ago, the Arabian peninsula and Sahara desert were wetter than they are now, and some lake-bed deposits suggested that grasslands and trees may have grown elsewhere in the interior … More

By Clare Wilson

SJ Images/Alamy
OF ALL my garden tools, the one I have used most must be my trusty spade, a lovely small and light one with a comfortable wooden handle. But recently, it has been getting less action because I have been stepping up on the “no-dig” approach to gardening.
All gardeners need to dig sometimes, of course, such as when making holes to put plants in or rooting out weeds. Traditional advice is that we should also turn over all the soil every autumn, to aerate it, improve drainage and mix in soil improvers like manure.
For the past few years, though, … More

By Simon Ings

In A New World Order, military robots have turned on humanityReel 2 Reel Films
Film
A New World Order
Daniel RaboldtAdvertisement

“FOR to him that is joined to all the living there is hope,” runs the verse from Ecclesiastes, “for a living dog is better than a dead lion.” Stefan Ebel plays Thomasz, the “living dog” in A New World Order. He is a deserter who, out of necessity, has learned to look out solely for himself.
In the near future, military robots have turned against their makers. The war seems almost over. Perhaps Thomasz has wriggled and dodged his way to the least settled part of the planet (Daniel Raboldt’s debut feature is handsomely shot in Arctic Finland by co-writer Thorsten Franzen). Equally likely is that this is what the whole planet looks like now: trees sweeping in to fill the spaces left by an exterminated humanity.
You might expect the script to make this point clear, but there is no script, or rather, there is no dialogue. The machines (wasp-like drones, elephantine tripods and one magnificent airborne battleship that wouldn’t look out of place in a Marvel movie) target people by listening out for their voices. Consequently, not a word can be exchanged between Thomasz and his captor Lilja, played by Siri Nase.
Lilja takes Thomasz prisoner because she needs his brute strength. A day’s walk away from the questionable safety of her log cabin, there is a burned-out military convoy. Amid the wreckage and bodies, there is a heavy case – and in the case is a tactical nuke. Lilja needs Thomasz’s help in dragging it to where she can detonate it, perhaps bringing down the machines. While Thomasz acts out of fear, Lilja is acting out of despair. Both are reduced to using each other. Both will have to learn to trust again.
“The film’s sound design is striking, even a car’s gear change comes across as an imminent alien threat”
In 2018, John Krasinski’s A Quiet Place arrived in cinemas – in which aliens chase down every sound and slaughter its maker. This can’t have been a happy day for the devoted and mostly unpaid German enthusiasts working on A New World Order. But such “silent” movies are no novelty, and theirs has clearly ploughed its own furrow. The film’s sound design, by Sebastian Tarcan, is especially striking, balancing levels so that even a car’s gear change comes across as an imminent alien threat.
Writing a good silent film is something of a lost art. It is much easier for writers to explain their story through dialogue than to propel it through action. Maybe this is why silent film, done well, is such a powerful experience. There is a scene in this movie where Thomasz realises not only that he has to do the courageous thing, but that he is at last capable of doing it. Ebel, on his own on a scree-strewn Finnish hillside, plays the moment to perfection.
Somewhere on this independent film’s long road to distribution – it began life on crowdfunding platform Kickstarter in 2016 – someone decided “A Living Dog” was too obscure a film title for these godless times. It is a pity, I think, and not just because A New World Order, the title picked for UK distribution, manages to be at once pompous and meaningless.
Ebel’s pitch-perfect performance drips guilt and bad conscience. In order to stay alive, he has learned to crawl about the earth. But Lilja’s example, and his own conscience, will turn dog to lion at last, and in a genre that never tires of presenting us with hyper-capable heroes, it is refreshing, on this occasion, to follow the forging of one courageous act.
Simon also recommends…
Film
The Last Battle (1983)
Another debut with no dialogue, this time by Luc Besson. This mysterious, post-apocalyptic adventure, filmed in derelict corners of Paris, conjures up a future in which humanity has lost its powers of speech.
Book
Hope Island
Tim Major
Titan Books
This horror-sci-fi hybrid unpicks the sonic mysteries of a small island in the Gulf of Maine. It is a spine-tingling tale of screams and susurration and all manner of sinister audio wizardry.

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Read
The Dinosaurs: New Visions of a Lost World are conjured by palaeontologist Michael Benton and palaeoartist Bob Nicholls, showing how advances in technology have changed the way we see these beasts forever.
Nick Treharne/Alamy Stock Photo
Visit
How The Light Gets In festival brings deep thought to the grounds of Kenwood House in London on 18 and 19 September. Explore the temptations of rewilding, the seductiveness of memes and other hot topics. Also streamed online.Advertisement

Watch
Autism and Cinema, at London’s Barbican Centre from 16 September, hosts a series of films, including Temple Grandin (pictured), a biopic about the animal behaviour researcher and activist of the same name.

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By Bethan Ackerley

A complex network called the Gleaming watches over the town of Ora via a huge inverted treeShutterstock/Tithi Luadthong
Book
In the Watchful CityAdvertisement
S. Qiouyi Lu Tordotcom

MODERN life is built around the accumulation of objects: some valuable, some not, and most entirely unnecessary. But which, if any, of your possessions could represent the core of who you are? In S. Qiouyi Lu’s debut novella, each item in a mismatched collection of curios is a window into a defining moment of another person’s life.
In the Watchful City is set in Ora, an isolated metropolis at the heart of a cloud forest. Ora’s society is vibrant, comprising people of many cultures, genders and even mythical species, but its citizens are monitored via the Gleaming, a complex network that integrates qì – the vital force of all living things – with vast amounts of data. The Gleaming is channelled through the Hub, an enormous, inverted tree that acts as a database for the all-encompassing surveillance state.
Yet neither Ora’s governance nor the lives of its citizens is the focus of In the Watchful City. It instead follows the inner turmoil of Anima, a “node” who is rooted to the Hub’s inner sanctum, who can manipulate the Gleaming by slipping into a Minority Report-style amniotic bath. It is Anima’s job to watch over the city, be that by scouring for evidence of financial crimes or by borrowing the bodies of animals to chase down fugitives.
Anima – who uses the non-binary neopronouns ae/aer – has always lived in Ora and has been both unable and unwilling to physically leave the Hub since ae became a node as a child. All that changes when a mysterious stranger called Vessel arrives at the Hub with a qíjìtáng, a cabinet of curiosities from far-flung places; the items range from rarities like a bone marionette and a mermaid’s scale to a simple bundle of letters.
In the Watchful City is a mosaic novella: for every object in the qíjìtáng that Anima observes, we get a glimpse of another story from the lands outside Ora. Some of these tales feel relatively disconnected from the main narrative, like A Death Made Manifold, in which a man goes to extraordinary lengths to resurrect his late brother. Others may help explain why Ora’s society is so isolated. This Form I Hold Now, for instance, reveals more about the cultural imperialism of the Skylanders, a federation in the clouds that has colonised many nations on the planet’s surface.
Though the novella takes a little time to show its full potential – the opening pages bombard you with details about Anima and Ora, while the first of the qíjìtáng’s tales is the weakest – Lu has crafted an impressive mythos that draws from the traditions and legends of a variety of cultures, especially Chinese folklore. Take The Sky and Everything Under, a bittersweet tale that describes an imperial duarchy based on Chinese myths of one-winged birds, dependent on each other for flight. But these lofty allusions are leavened by rich, joyful descriptions of everyday life; a lengthy depiction of an outdoor food market viewed through the eyes of a hungry dog is a particular highlight.
It comes as little surprise, then, that Anima grows more and more intrigued by life outside the confines of Ora. Readers expecting a thorough analysis of the city’s surveillance culture will be disappointed; Lu is more concerned with the psychological effects of Anima’s isolation than the system that necessitates aer physical confinement.
Such details could have been fleshed out in a longer narrative, and more than once I found myself wishing that certain events, like Anima witnessing the death of a stranger, had been given more room to breathe. But I suspect that, much like the effect the tales of the qíjìtáng have on Anima, In the Watchful City will linger all the more for being an incomplete picture.

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