From ... in Literature — Jan 13, 2025

Review: In the Drift by Michael Swanwick

In the Drift
By Michael Swanwick
Original edition: Ace Science Fiction Books, Feb. 1985, 184 pp.
Reissued in various print and ebook editions.

Michael Swanwick’s 1985 novel In the Drift takes place in an alternate reality in which the 1979 Three Mile Island nuclear accident—rather than remaining a partial meltdown with minimal environmental impact, as in reality—escalated into a full-scale disaster that rendered much of the United States uninhabitable. Set nearly a century later in an irradiated, deindustrial version of northeastern America, the story is vividly written, thought-provoking, genre-bending and eerily prescient of the aftermath of the Chernobyl disaster that would occur the following year.

The novel consists of a series of connected tales, each depicting a different facet of life in the fractured future America in which they’re set. The first of these opens in Philadelphia, now depopulated and littered with derelict buildings and other detritus from our time. Basic infrastructure has stopped working, and fossil fuels are largely inaccessible, so transportation runs on alternative fuels like alcohol. In an effort to prevent a return to the technological overreach that ruined the world, strict laws have been put in place to limit the use of advanced machinery and electronics. Most food is grown locally, and food from out of state is prohibitively expensive. Horse-drawn carriages, once a relic of the past, are now a symbol of affluence.

The United States as we know it today no longer exists, replaced by smaller, competing territories such as the Greenstate Alliance, a coalition of former northeastern states that governs much of the region in which the novel takes place. The collapse of governments and other traditional structures has left power in the hands of small neighborhood groups known as Mummer clubs, which are part fraternal order, part neighborhood watch group, part community support network and part protection racket. These groups are much like the Italian mafia in their structure of familial loyalty.

West of Philadelphia lies the Drift, a vast forbidden zone plagued by deadly alpha and beta radiation. Despite the risks of living there, a small number of people—known as Drifters—continue doing so, just as some chose to remain living in the Chernobyl exclusion zone. The Drift is also home to dog-wolf hybrids, products of interbreeding between wolves and dogs that escaped during the mass evacuations after the meltdown. The vegetation here is stunted and twisted.

The prevailing worldview is a mix of science and superstition. On one hand, people retain a basic understanding of radionuclides and how they damage the body. For example, they’re deathly afraid of certain radionuclides known as “boneseekers,” so named because they have a strong affinity for bone tissue. On the other hand, people resort to practices such as putting up hex signs and holding “radio-protective ceremonies” to ward off radiation. It’s as if people are willing to grasp at anything that offers some hope of survival.

The novel’s milieu is inhabited by various beings drawn from ancient lore and myth. Among these are vampires, explained as humans suffering from a radiation-induced condition that restricts their diet to whole blood and egg whites. There’s also a type of mutant called the Janus monster, a human with two faces pointing in opposite directions—one looking forward, the other backward—like those of the ancient Roman god Janus. As is common in Swanwick’s fiction, this creature serves as a mythopoeic figure, its two faces symbolizing humanity’s grievance over its destructive past and its fear over its uncertain future. Mutants in general have become scapegoats; they’re banished and publicly humiliated. The husks of long-dead mutants are on public display, a warning to other mutants to stay hidden.

Each of the stories that make up In the Drift features a new main character and takes place in a different time period; each change in viewpoint and setting serves to provide fresh insights into some new facet of life in this post-apocalyptic future. There’s the personal journey of Keith Piotrowicz, whose yearning for recognition and status propels him from disaffected youth to power broker within the Mummer clubs. We also spend time with Sam, a vampire with the ability to perceive radiation in others. Another notable story centers on Patrick Cruz O’Brien, a news correspondent covering a protracted war between a powerful corporation and those rebelling against its exploitative practices.

In the Drift is a rich venue for psychological horror, especially in the form of the character of Sam. The glowing lines of radiation she sees inside others’ bodies are a constant, unsettling reminder of the contamination and decay that pervade her world. There’s a particularly harrowing scene in which another woman grabs hold of Sam and desperately clings to her, and Sam is terrified at the sight of deadly radiation flowing from this woman’s body into her own. (The notion of living human beings becoming dangerous radioactive waste may be the most psychologically horrifying thing in this book.) Sam’s extrasensory abilities have also bestowed upon her the unenviable burden of knowing exactly when she is going to die.

While the subsequent real-life calamity of Chernobyl has borne out the validity of many aspects of this novel’s post-fallout world, it has given the lie to others. For example, we’re told that within the Drift there are particularly desolate regions devoid of life and biodiversity. This is at odds with the observation that the wildlife in Chernobyl’s exclusion zone has generally managed to return to a thriving state—and the discovery that its wolves have even evolved radiation resistance—in far less time than the century that has passed in this novel since its nuclear disaster. Still, it’s a common mistake to expect science fiction to predict the future. Its true purpose is not to foresee what will happen, but to craft compelling narratives set in possible futures, presents or even alternate pasts.

The novel’s chief flaw lies in a certain lack of cohesion among its story threads. While each thread is thoroughly engrossing on its own, not all connect meaningfully or contribute to a unified whole. By the end, it feels as though we’ve read a collection of disconnected shared-world stories rather than a single epic tale.

That said, it’s worth noting that Swanwick had previously published only short fiction before this, his debut novel, and that his later novels possess far greater narrative consistency. Moreover, for those drawn to dark, imaginative, thematically rich dystopian sf, each of the individual tales that comprise this larger work has much to recommend it.

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Review: In the Drift by Michael Swanwick

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