The Sheep Look Up
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In a near future, the air pollution is so bad that everyone wears gas masks. The infant mortality rate is soaring, and birth defects, new diseases, and physical ailments of all kinds abound. The water is undrinkable—unless you’re poor and have no choice. Large corporations fighting over profits from gas masks, drinking water, and clean food tower over an ineffectual, corrupt government.
Environmentalist Austin Train is on the run. The “trainites,” a group of violent environmental activists, want him to lead their movement; the government wants him dead; and the media demands amusement. But Train just wants to survive.
More than a novel of science fiction, The Sheep Look Up is a skillful and frightening political and social commentary that takes its place next to other remarkable works of dystopian literature, such as Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale, Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World, Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451, and George Orwell’s 1984.
Alan was talking about suing Mitsuyama, but that was talk and nothing more. You couldn’t touch a billion-dollar corporation like that one, foreign or domestic. Best would be if the same problem hit, say, Bamberley in California or some other, bigger franchise holder who’d be prepared to make the suit a joint one. Jeannie wasn’t her usual talkative self today, but that was fine by him; he wasn’t in a chatty mood himself. Anyway, she needed to concentrate. There was a lot of traffic. They were
his old man hasn’t come across!” “That stinking mother never going to come across!” Carl snapped. “He has the Abraham complex in a big way.” “And Hector is sick,” Kitty said. She was unusually sober. “Hardly ate anything for a week. And his shit—ugh! All stinky and wet. And he sweats rivers.” The other two present were Chuck and Tab, the original co-conspirators. Ossie appealed to them. “Hugh’s right,” Chuck said. He scratched his crotch absently; fleas and crabs were worse than ever around
it was for the baby’s sake, after all, not just her own. “Oh, nothing to worry about, Mrs. Mason. A very common thing these days, this blepharitis, nothing at all to do with your little girl’s strabismus. Why, I must have seen twenty or thirty similar cases in the past month. Now I’ll give you a note for your own doctor—isn’t it Dr. McNeil?—and …” “The number you have reached is not a working number. Please hang up and—” … “The number you have reached is not—” … “The number you have—”
nodded, her face drawn. “So when I found out what the real scene was, I could’ve kicked myself back to Berkeley. I tried to find you, then. You wrote me, I got the letter, said you’d moved, and I knew the street though I forgot the number, so I just worked along till I found Goddard on the plate. Wasn’t hard; so few buildings left standing here.” He stared at nothing. “I did think it was the revolution. Really did. Guess I was out of touch.” “But what are you going to do now?” Jeannie cried.
level with Felice, who was keeping an elevator for them, so they ushered her inside and Halkin hovered his hand over the floor-selection buttons. “Three, isn’t it?” “No, we’re not in Bill’s office. We’re in the conference room on the seventh.” “Was your car damaged?” Halkin went on. “No, luckily mine wasn’t included in the shunt. But we had to sit there for more than half an hour before they got the road clear … You said you were held up by Trainites?” “Yes, on Wilshire.” Halkin’s