The natives are restless: materialism has reached its apogee.
The first signs were in art. Fleshy picnickers sporting in sylvan glades, the beauty of run-down store fronts dappled by afternoon sun, and the glazed translucent skin of demimondes by Renoir, Matisse, Van Gogh, Gauguin and Company have gone. They have been overthrown for magic-realism, surrealism, geometries, and dripping clocks. Popular fiction is another example. The suspicion, suspense, socking and shooting of Agatha Christie and Zane Grey have been supplanted by gruesome, black, hairy spiders and awe-inspiring, super-intelligent globs. The new popular story-line always treats a major problem: they are the last two people on earth; she’s white and he’s black-will they “discover” each other in time?
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