LIFERS

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.