In my Echoes Series only the first book, Echoes, takes place in our time. The others go progressively further into the future. The last book is set in either 2040 or 2044--I need to study my timeline and decide between these two years.
In each of the books, I attempt to predict the future. The last book, Silence, is more futuristic than the others. I try to imagine the social life, the inventions, and the shapes of our cities in distant years.
Tonight I finally watched "Children of Men," a futuristic drama. Except for the unnecessary cursing and the overdone violence, I liked the movie. And after it was over I remembered how many stories predict a gray future, one devoid--or nearly devoid--of hope.
Nineteenth century writers imagined a wonderful future, full of flying machines and explorations. When and why did writers become so morose?
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