Dorian Lynskey: Everything Must Go review - it's the end of the world as we know it

Authoritative account of how the apocalypse has always been just around the corner

share this article

Author of catastrophe: Dorian Lynskey
© Alexandra Dao

According to REM in 1987, “It’s the end of the world as we know it”. And while they sang about topical preoccupations – hurricanes, wildfires and plane crashes – they were really just varying a theme that has been around since at least St John of Patmos in the 1st century CE, and probably before.

How – and how soon – will the world end has been a perpetual question in works of popular culture, and Dorian Lynskey’s Everything Must Go is a wide-ranging survey of them, which stands back enough to pick out themes and patterns that emerge from the big picture.

It is not a light read, in both the sense that it is a solid 400 pages of smallish type, and that it deals from beginning to end with apocalyptic visions of death, misery and destruction. The tone is never gloomy, but undeniably the subject matter is. There is a run of chapter headings with names like “Catastrophe”, “Survival”, “Pestilence”, “Contagion” and “Zombies”, which, combined, are enough to give you nightmares.  There is some reassurance that emerges from seeing people across acres of time finding different ways of expressing the same anxiety, and Lynskey explains that the book is not about the existential risks themselves but how we think about them. He says that “the signal fact about the end of the world is that it has not happened yet,” but it is also the case that just because all previous forecasts of annihilation have proved misplaced it doesn’t mean the next one will be.

Everything Must GoLynskey starts with a discussion of St John’s Book of Revelation (“the ravings of a maniac” according to Thomas Jefferson), which invented the idea of the apocalypse, before breaking down later apocalyptic predictions into seven categories which include “The Bomb”, “Machines”, “Pandemic” and “Climate”. “The Bomb” is a key chapter, as it is the first point in human history where the destruction comes from ourselves rather than outside. Previously we needed a vengeful god or an impact from space, from 1945 we could self-destruct, whether intentionally or by accident.

The Bomb also achieved a cultural centrality that previous dreads hadn’t, one that lasted for at least 40 years, and embraced works as varied as Dr Strangelove, 2001: A Space Odyssey, and Nevil Shute’s unforgettable novel On the Beach (1957). For all the horror and hysteria of schlocky films like Attack of the Crab Monsters, “only Nevil Shute had the brilliant idea of making it mundane.”

The stoical underreaction of Shute's characters staring down the barrel of their own end brought to my mind our paralysis as a species in the face of climate change. In addition, today’s threats of pandemic and, even more topically, out of control AI, figure prominently in the public imagination, and in the book. In 2021, 56% of young people in a survey agreed with the statement “Humanity is doomed”, and as Lynskey points out “most of the catastrophic event in this book have not happened, from the Christian Millennium to thermonuclear war and Y2K meltdown, but climate change is happening…right now”. But, without offering false comfort, Lynskey also comes out against hopelessness: “We have to live in the space between ‘Everything will be OK’ and ‘Everything is fucked.’”

Lynskey’s range of reference is impressive. He mostly deals with English-language novels, non-fiction and films, although he touches on some Czech theatre and German fiction, as well as some Romantic poetry, Bob Dylan, superhero comics and satirist Tom Lehrer (whose classic song “We Will All Go Together When We Go” encapsulates much of the vibe of the book). I found out, incidentally, the origins of CAPTCHA, how early the term “climate emergency” was coined, and what Oppenheimer actually said in response to the success of his nuclear test.

For a book drenched in destruction, Everything Must Go is not depressing, and often wryly funny. It is incredibly deeply researched, fluently written, moving deftly between close-up detail and broad-brush analysis. And as a character in On the Beach explains, for “end of the world” we should really read “end of humanity”: “'It’s only the end of us. The world will go on just the same, only we shan’t be in it. I dare say it will get along alright without us.’”

@bernardlhughes

It is not about the existential risks themselves but how we think about them

rating

4

share this article

Support the future of arts journalism

Subscribe to theartsdesk.com

Thanks so much for choosing genuinely independent arts journalism theartsdesk’s mission has never been more important – in an age of relentless algorithmic recommendation, sponsored content and unreliable AI, the expertise and discernment of individual critics deeply embedded in their specialist areas is absolutely vital.

If you want more of that in your life, why not subscribe now?

If you do this before the 31st August, you’ll be able to keep at this “founders rate” for life: your subs will never increase! You can choose to subscribe annually for just £40 simply click here
or monthly for £5 per month simply click here.

Not ready to subscribe?

If you want to support with a little extra or aren’t ready to subscribe just yet, there’s also the option to give direct to our crowdfunder to support our imminent redesign and exciting expansion with new features and collaborations Simply contribute here: https://gofund.me/c3f6033d.

However you choose to be involved, you can proudly say that you are picking the right side in the battle for truth and humanity in the modern information landscape. And we will be very glad to have you on board!

more books

Much-appreciated words of commendation from readers and the cultural community
As her collection of music by goth divas appears, the writer reveals the appeal of the dark side
Joyce lurks in the margins of his own biography in a detailed history of Irish politics
An enjoyable look at 'missingness' and how it affects the way we experience the world
This not-a-biography of the 80s pop icon feels like an overextended magazine feature
Latest entry in BFI's Film Classics series offers fresh perspectives and media insights
Memoir of alcoholism is heavy on lacerating self-analysis but lighter on jokes
The last surviving member of Beyond the Fringe never ceases to engage
A small-scale journey through literary afterlives unveils a world of wonders
Story of the rise and fall of Sir Roger Casement works on the small and large scale
Saskia Vogel brings a darker than dark tale of rural grief to English for the first time
A Harvard professor presents a sprawling urban history