<p>My grandparents were born at the close of the 19th century, during the age of horse-drawn carriages, while my parents experienced the rise of mass-produced machines, and I grew up in the space age.</p>

<p>Despite the challenges posed by world wars and the looming threat of nuclear annihilation, this period was marked by a steady increase in prosperity, security, and mobility—a liberating experience that reinforced our belief in human progress. With each generation, the prospects seemed to improve, making life better for my family.</p>

<p>However, that trajectory of improvement seems to have halted with my children, signifying not just the end of a dream, but the reality of a shared illusion collapsing.</p>

<p>The world I was born into is starkly different from the one I will leave for my grandchildren. They will not inherit the same sense of security that I had. This is a deeply troubling fact for me.</p>

<p>The reasons behind this decline in prospects are well-documented. The world suffers due to the energy practices we adopted to fuel prosperity. The advancement we once praised came with the cost of exploitation and environmental degradation, with progress often built on a bed of destruction.</p>

<p>Currently, our planet is already 1.5 degrees warmer since my grandparents’ time. If we continue on our current path, we risk doubling that temperature increase. A world as hot as ours is already chaotic, threatening ecosystems and the myriad species that depend on them. We must prevent the catastrophic scenario of the planet heating another 1.5 degrees, as this will render many regions nearly uninhabitable, resulting in the tragic loss of millions of lives and dire conditions for billions.</p>

<p>Among the many affected will be my descendants, which deeply resonates with me—the thought that the comfort and freedom I enjoyed were attained at the expense of their suffering is unbearable. <em>Juice</em> This is a nightmare for my family.</p>

<p>While there may be parts of our world where the reality of climate change can be evaded, Australia is not one of those places.</p>

<p>In my home in northwestern Australia, the climate is intensifying. Just yesterday, temperatures reached 50℃, and due to growing storm severity, many homes lack insurance.</p>

<p>When queried about why I chose to publish a dystopian novel at this point in my career, my irritation is tempered. They wonder why I shifted genres; in truth, I haven't changed directions—rather, the world around me has. The real question is, why should I not write about this moment in history? What kind of artist would I be if I ignored the pressing issues of our times?</p>

<p>A dystopian narrative? You may call it that, but it suggests something fantastical or exaggerated, which I do not perceive. The millions already enduring dystopian realities would disagree—across the globe, individuals face hunger and displacement due to conflict and extreme weather. The horrors they encounter are often remnants of fossil fuel capitalism. Sometimes, the term ‘dystopia’ serves as an opiate, a term that buffers us and distances us from reality. I believe we can no longer afford such distance.</p>

<p>The story unfolds in northwest Australia, generations into the future. The collective efforts made to circumvent the worst impacts of climate change seem futile, leaving us trapped in a cycle of increasing temperatures by 3°C or more. The nation-state structure has eroded, and communities have retreated from equatorial zones, with those remaining in this climate often forced to seek refuge underground for extended periods annually. Thus, the adaptation has become a daunting yet necessary skill.</p>

<p>Much like my previous works, this narrative revolves around family—exploring themes of loyalty, freedom, geography, and history. It's an examination of what it means to endure in an increasingly hostile environment. Although speculative, its nature is not solely scientific or climatic; it is also moral and profoundly personal. I felt compelled to envision the future my grandchildren's children might face, set in a landscape I cherish and have defended throughout my life.</p>

<p>For me, this narrative extends logically, emotionally, and imaginatively from the world I inhabit. Enhanced by scientific insights and climate modeling, it mirrors my experiences in a region historically known for its climatic extremes, now facing the brink of uninhabitability.</p>

<p><em>Juice</em> presents a stark reality—a resilient populace grappling with harsh conditions. Out of tradition and determination, they cling to what remains inhabitably viable. However, as conditions worsen, families are compelled to migrate to safer, cooler regions.</p>

<p>This is not mere speculation; it is already occurring in northern Australia. The most vulnerable citizens, much like the Oakies from Steinbeck's narratives, make these transitions. The dial merely needs to shift slightly.</p>

<p>Yet, the foremost struggle my characters encounter is not purely one of climate but of humanity. As the protagonist learns, the most precious resource is not shelter, food, or water, but civility. This is the essence of the narrative.</p>

<p>What sustains life is a shared commitment to the common good. The forces of fossil capitalism thrive on the dispensation of that ethic. To survive, my character must revive and cherish it. We must embrace that ethos as well. Ultimately, whether this is feasible lies in the realm of speculation.</p>

<p><em>© Tim Winton</em></p>
<p><strong>Tim Winton is the author of <em>Juice</em> (Picador), featured as the New Scientist Book Club's selection for February 2026. You can purchase a copy </strong><a href="https://www.panmacmillan.com/authors/tim-winton/juice/9781035050826"><strong>here</strong></a><strong>. Join the reading community </strong><strong>here</strong>.</p>

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