The Year of the Flood by Margaret Atwood

It was hardly the first instance of a novelist trying to distance themself from the dreaded SF ghetto, but it was definitely one of the more brazen. Atwood, after all, was talking about a book centred on a bioengineered plague. It wasn’t even as if the novel was especially noteworthy by Atwood’s own high standards, coming across, as it did, more like an agitprop fable.
 

The Year of the Flood’s story intersects with Oryx and Crake, yet happily it works far better as a novel. That could be because, unlike its predecessor, it’s less concerned with a corporate elite struggling to control information and dwindling resources as society breaks down. Instead, this is a book that gets out and about to show us what it’s like to live on the margins in a denuded world.
 

Seen from the perspectives of Toby and Ren, both women who were once reluctant members of an eco-cult, it’s a hellish vision. This is a time of weird gene-spliced creatures, vicious gladiatorial combat in ‘painball’ (an irritatingly clever moniker) and, most of all, constant fear. Against such a backdrop, the long-predicted ‘Waterless Flood’ that wipes out most of humanity is a judgment of biblical proportions.
 

Throughout, Atwood writes with dry wit and balances bleakness with a central narrative of friendship and loyalty, even offering glimpses of hope. As to whether she offers cutting-edge ideas or an impressive take on an existing trope depends on how much SF – speculative, science fiction, call it what you will – you read.