Where the Wasteland Ends

Theodore Roszak wrote this book in 1972 and I first read it about ten years after that. It makes a contrast with “Russian Nights” because the chemist and the poet here are on opposite sides in a battle over the fate of visionary imagination. “the beauties of science are not the beauties of art but their antithesis” he says.

Like Yudkowsky on Monday, he warns the reader in the introduction about the first few chapters. Expect them to be bleak.