Review of Decline by Jared Kane

December 6, 2016

 

Along a weathered world of cracked cement and climbing vines, a man reflects on the apocalypse and the times before it all went to hell, times with his father and brother. Decline reads very much like a personal diary of an occasional poet, cast in a single, long-running thought.

At times, the story itself becomes bogged down in description and wordplay, but eventually pushes through revealing a grim and gripping story of companionship when there’s nothing else to hold onto. The savage wastelands of the once commonplace world bear down on the narrator as the inevitable crumble chases him with the mind of a rabid slow-and-steady-wins-the-race turtle.

Through the wilds of a former suburban landscape, the narrator gathers and then leaves behind humanity as it no longer becomes viable, or necessary. All are broken and seemingly on the edge ready to worsen or lay waste once given the chance; matching humanity to the architecture around them.

Weather and ruthlessness bring forth a suspense that assists in emboldening the emotions surrounding the narrator and his partner (and her dog). The portrait painted within these pages his dense and thorough, colorful and vivid. Decline is a tale of the world’s end cast in the eye of a battered man with a mind set on forward motion until there is nowhere left to go.

 

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Unnerving 
Powell River, British Columbia, Canada
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