Social, economic, and ethical upheaval ensues after a viral mutation causes people to stop dying of old age in McWalter’s SF novel.

In the early-to-mid-21st century, a widespread, infectious “Methuselah syndrome” spreads, affecting more than half the populace. For those infected by this quasi-plague, death by old age takes a holiday: “Negligible senescence resulting from the reprogramming of the human epigenome by a virally delivered artificial protein package.” Unless an infected person was already dying from a deadly disease, such as cancer, their mind remains sharp and their body generally remains spry and serviceable as they age. Natural death rates plummet, and the population rises to 10 billion as a consequence. Economies can no longer expect inherited wealth, with long-lived “Lifers” (also known as “Lingerers” and “triplers”) aging past 120 and continuing to draw on their savings. In the social and economic chaos that ensues, younger generations begin to see their once-cherished elders as detrimental parasites—and an undesirable minority. As a result, violence increases and murder rates rise, and anti-Lifer politicians, including the president of the United States, call for some type of organized response—one that could involve internment camps and/or organized euthanasia. Readers know that it was a few rogue geneticists who unleashed the original Methuselah contagion—and one of them subsequently died by suicide, rather than face the results. The rest of humanity, though, perseveres in thinking that this virtual immortality evolved naturally, or is a gift from God—or, conversely, is some kind of religious abomination.

McWalter sets a cast of interconnected characters on a search for a solution to the crisis. They include Adele Pritchard, a semiretired CIA biowarfare specialist; Adele’s former lover, Dan Altman, and his wife, Marion, who try to form an armed, protective all-Lifer sanctuary city in Colorado; and Dan and Marion’s granddaughter, Claire, who’s been appointed to lead the government’s ominous new Department of Longevity Management and tasked with stripping the ultra-aged of all legal and human rights. Dan and Marion’s son, Nolan, oversees the implementation of a pro-death medical treatment—a potentially lucrative corporate commission. Although McWalter’s novel opens on a tense abduction scenario and distinguishes the third act with a pulse-pounding drone attack, it’s largely a slow-burn narrative of policy-change descriptions and year-by-year updates of the bizarre new paradigm. Various characters deal with issues of betrayal, survival, illness, loss, treachery, and diplomacy in psychologically insightful prose with details that are often disturbingly persuasive. Readers only get hints about the dystopian successor to the United States in which this social revolution unfolds; apparently, the country partially disbanded, with blame falling on Donald Trump, who died before he could contract Methuselah; part of the resulting backlash involved the deliberate dismantling of the internet. The science-minded will be reassured that the biomedical aspects are comprehensible; SF regulars, meanwhile, may wish to compare McWalter’s savvy speculative visions to author Philip José Farmer’s classic novella Seventy Years of Decpop (1972).

A sharp and perceptive SF meditation on the blessings and curses of old age.

The death of a lawyer’s wife causes him to look back—and forward—in McWalter’s novel.

Conrad Burrell meets and falls in love with Sarah Bergman while she’s still married. He’s long divorced from his first wife, Megan, though he maintains a friendly relationship with her and her second husband, due in part to the fact that they raised his daughter, Madeleine, who’s now an adult. After Sarah’s marriage ends, she and Conrad marry, and it’s a comfortable, mature relationship that doesn’t cause much stress for either of them. Death is never far away, however; it comes for their parents, their siblings, and their friends’ spouses. Conrad can’t help but think of what would happen to each of them if the other died first: “Please don’t let her be a widow,” he thinks, watching Sarah at the funeral of Megan ’s second husband. “Let her go first.” When Sarah dies in a car accident, Conrad sadly gets his wish—but now he’s at a loss for what to do with his own life. McWalter’s prose is precise and fluid, weaving characters, settings, and timelines together in a complex tapestry with detailed description: “He met Megan Caldwell during the litigation stint; she had the carrel next to his in the vast law library on the forty-fourth floor, whose windows offered a distracting view of the harbor, Liberty waving her welcome, Staten Island, the distant curvature of the earth.” The novel is highly episodic, and as a result, it suffers from a general lack of tension; the reader knows exactly how and when Sarah will meet her end right from the beginning, and due to numerous flashbacks, Conrad’s grieving period only makes up the final third of the book. There’s something intangible in McWalter’s storytelling that keeps the reader enthralled, however, even absent surprises or a clear sense of direction; the novel offers few answers, to be sure, but it presents a depiction of life and loss that feels true, and seems to say that one must find satisfaction in whatever joy one receives.

A finely crafted work about the inevitability of aging and loss.