Most of climate change and environmentalism is about a grim future. The World As We Knew It is different; it’s mostly about the past. Specifically, it is a collection of 19 stories by 19 different writers, all of whom reminisce about what has been compared to what is now. It’s a different take and a blessed relief from the usual doomsayers. Don’t get them wrong; the message is still bleak. This appreciation of the planet is nostalgic not just for the past but for the receding present. Things are already quite bad in many ways. But this approach makes it a different read.

Amy Brady and Tajja Isen have pulled together a bunch of women and men, all of them writers with loads of education, grants, awards and credits, to tell readers what they remember, how things have changed, and sometimes, what the implications are. There were more insects and birds. The air was more alive; the sounds were unforgettable. Fewer invasive species. And things seemed to be more predictable: seasons, temperature, days. Then rains become floods. Droughts became death. Fields got fenced in. Valleys got paved. And especially hurricanes: a lot of hurricane stories, burnt into memories. Nothing stays the same for long.

It surprised me that nearly all the writers either live in New York, or have lived there. They almost all refer to it in their stories. Some escape to the woods and farms. Some seek the intensity of the city. But I think the New York connection is more of a commonality among writers connected to this publishing house called Catapult rather than a comment on the necessity of living in New York to succeed as a writer or appreciate the environment. At least I hope that’s what it means.

There are stories about life in the desert and lots with reference to Hurricane Sandy, which flooded basements and subways and cut off the electricity in New York. Also Hurricane Katrina hitting the South and Hurricane Irene demolishing Dominica. There’s one about sighting a cougar, and the importance of cougars/pumas/panthers/mountain lions. The erratic weather and noticeable changes in climate – and their effects - are as varied as the imagination in these stories and how it impressed these individuals just living their lives. The variety can make it an adventure to read.

They come at it from all kinds of angles. One story, by Elizabeth Rush, looks at how different Antarctica is when written about by women rather than men. She needed to understand what she was getting into when she signed on for an expedition – of women.

Some stories refer to the authors’ children, and how parents must deal with new pestering questions like is the world ending now. How does one show children there is another way?

In How Do You Live With Displacement, Emily Raboteau cites her diary entries from three months of pandemic. It takes the most work to decode, which makes it different from the other offerings that are generally straightforward.

Lydia Yuknavitch has written about Hanford in the American northwest. It is so polluted with nuclear waste that every successive government since the 1940s has basically given up on ever cleaning it up. The price to do so is now approaching a trillion dollars, and would likely just move the gigantic problem from one place to another. Meanwhile, locals continue to sicken with an encyclopedic variety of conditions. Hanford has long been the poster child for Man not knowing what the hell he is doing fooling around with nuclear anything. This is a refresher course from a former local who has seen the deterioration of the ecology as well as of the human inhabitants.

In A Brief History of Breathing, Pitchaya Sudbanthad takes readers to his native Bangkok, where mask-wearing is old news. Not because of COVID-19, but because of the intensely polluted air. Normal conversation always seems to include talk about the air today or yesterday. The new normal, if you will. The pandemic seems to have altered very little there, as behavior had already adapted, though not in anticipation of a virus. Yet another way the world is changing. Sudbanthad notices it because he splits his time between Bangkok and New York.

Possibly the most distressing is Porochista Khakpour’s Season of Sickness. This Iranian New Yorker suffers horrifically from air quality. She is hypersensitive to mold for example, and mold is endemic to New York. It is literally crippling to her. She has to use a cane, and is rarely pain free. The air in Los Angeles, where her parents live, is different horrendous. As more and more children show similar infirmities, this is an education for all, but especially for parents.

Several stories note the dilemma young people have of bringing new children into this miasma. Some avoid it, some take their children away, literally to greener pastures. Iowa, Wisconsin and New England feature in these alternative environment stories. Even Arizona, usually dry desert, but also flood prone. And sometimes, it just doesn’t work out.

What I did not see in these stories was much difference in style. They are all pretty much straightforward narratives, with little or no development of character, even of the author. There is little in the way of dialogue. There is no development of attitude, posture, reaction or stylistic use of language. The stories are all largely interchangeable. None of them jumps off the page as the signature story of the book. If the stories weren’t bylined, readers would not guess there were 19 different voices, except for those who explain their own origins around the world. For all the variety in it, it is surprisingly flat. I think the editors should have sent some of the stories back for more creative development, if only to distinguish them from each other.

Still, it’s a great idea. It makes the changes real, even if it fails to provide anything new. Despite the variety of experiences the authors express, the message is still bleak. There are no answers here, either.

David Wineberg ( )