I am one!
Londonia has been made into a paperback following its earlier appearance as a hardback.
These last few years have clearly shown that our taken-for-granted human-made political, monetary and life support structures exist on a knife edge; that the planet and its climate can no longer take the constant battering we have been giving it for decades, and that we have to figure out, and very rapidly, new systems, and accept that never-ending growth is not the future, rather, a humble acceptation of de-growth while there is still time...
Oof... Anyway, Londonia is certainly not all dark, a genre I would term Dyst-hopeia, dystopia with warmth heart, humour and hope.
The new paperback is available on Amazon, Blackwells or from Tartarus Press directly, as is the hardback and ebook format.
The follow-up book is at completion point and I am seeking new representation to carry forward the Londonia series.
“British author Hardy debuts with a dystopian yet enchanting novel set in the early 2070s…Hardy’s almost hopeful view of the world’s inevitably chaotic future lifts this entertaining and well-told tale.” Publishers Weekly
Londonia's book jacket intro:
Londonia, that’s where we are. A sprawl of a place surrounding The Cincture - all of it once London town.
Some persons say we’re in the year 2073, others cycle 60 . . . who gives a creepin’ beetle where we are in the history of man. Fukked it up good and proper didn’t we – they, humankind generally.
All I know is I got my shed, my friends and a little bit of an angle on stuff – visions, see inside persons, y’know.
Anyway, ain’t about me so much this book, more about Hoxton and her life.
Within half a clockface I knew she was different . . . not so many damefolk would take over a church after waking on a bench with not so much as a gnat’s knowledge of what happened in their life before that moment. Got it sorted she has: a finder’s life for her – whatever you want: coffee, a shootstick, fresh meat, Zeitporn, snash, gnole . . . her ‘an Jarvis, they’ll find it – for a goodly trade, of course.
All sorted until a jaunt into The Cincture caused her to learn something that opened up a chink into the past; something that started the ultimate finding mission.
Anylane, I’m getting ahead of meself here. Pull up that armchair to the fire, turn this over and start reading. I’ll put the kettle on if the watermec’s been. Jake’s the name – Jake the prophet.