Scythe

 

Neal Shusterman © 2016

Just wow.

The novel’s cover announces that ‘Scythe’ is, ‘a true successor to The Hunger Games’ as if it needed a leg up. I disagree. It is a stand-alone, nail-biting and captivating ride into our near future; a truly insightful and alarming foray into unbridled human nature, the good and the oh so bad.

Imagine a world where AI has eradicated poverty, disease, death and aging, to name a few. Like me, you might automatically clock that the population would grow to exploding point, right? Herein lies the premise – there are a select group of trained people whose sole purpose in life is to keep the human population at a sustainable level. Enter the Scythes.

The hallmarks of a Scythe – or becoming a candidate to be trained as a Scythe – are the traits of humility, compassion and empathy. For this reason, individuals may respectfully fear the Scythe but will inherently trust in the killing selection process such that being ‘gleaned’ is for the greater good of humanity. But…

What happens when a Scythe develops a blood lust, feeding off the fear of victims and basking in his or her god-like status? Read the book and you’ll find out!

“Do you know what this is?” she asked.

“It’s a tweaker’” Rowan told her. He’d had the occasion several years ago to have his nanites tweaked when his teachers decided his moodiness had crossed the line into depression. That was five or six years ago. The tweaking was painless, and the effect subtle. He hadn’t noticed much of a change, but everyone agreed that he had begun to smile more.

“Arms out, legs spread,” said Scythe Rand…

The other Scythes then removed their cumbersome outer robes. Now down to their tunics and knickers, they took aggressive stances. There was a look of determination on each of their faces, and maybe a little bit of joyous anticipation. Rowan knew what was about to happen an instant before it began.

Scythe Chomsky, the largest of them, stepped forward and, without warning, swung his fist, connecting with Rowan’s cheek so hard, he spun around, lost his footing, and fell to the dusty floor.

Rowan felt the shock of the punch, the jagged bolt of pain, and waited for the telltale warmth of his nanites releasing pain-killing opiates into his bloodstream. But relief didn’t come. Instead the pain swelled.

It was horrible.

Overwhelming.

Rowan had never experienced such pain – he never knew such pain could even exist.

“What did you do?” he wailed. “What did you do to me?”

“We turned off your nanites,” Scythe Volta said calmly, “so you could experience what our ancestors once did.”

“There’s a very old expression,” Scythe Goddard told him. “ ‘To be painless is to be gainless.’ “ He gripped Rowan warmly on the shoulder. “And I wish you to gain much.”

Then he stood back, signaled the others to advance, and they began to beat Rowan to a pulp.

(pp. 221-2)