I find more and more fictionists writing the truth as it is. Why don't we call them realists?
Let's walk through the history of mankind, i.e., salamanders.
Karel Čapek is one of the the most influential Czech writers of the 20th century. He wrote with intelligence and humour on a wide variety of subjects. His works are known for their interesting and precise descriptions of reality, and Čapek is renowned for his excellent work with the Czech language. His play R.U.R. (Rossum's Universal Robots) first popularized the word "robot"
The slavery of the salamanders does not bother anyone in particular, the main thing is to feed them and provide them with objects of labor. And it is necessary to squeeze the maximum out of them, because the "pearl" fever promises great profits to the pioneers. But they will not use their own forces. But to capture aborigines or better yet to bring emigrants, let them work for bread and living. Call them "comrades, salamanders", "brothers, salamanders" from time to time and let them think that they are equal to humans. But, of course, no one will give them true equality, neither in religion, nor in their lives, and they will be shunned and exclaim "well, how ugly you are". Even if they are "true original light salamanders with elongated skulls. And, in general, they're like "women don't understand and have no business going there. The main thing is that you can use them for the good of the country, and what, live meat is always needed. Especially to try salamanders with the opposing country. Intimidate them with their numbers. And the weapons they are equipped with. To play in the sandbox to see who will outmaneuver who. And whose power will cover the endless demands of consumers and get the economic benefits.
"Is man capable of being happy, and was he ever capable of it? ...The whole misfortune of man is that he has been predestined to become a humanity irreparably differentiated into nations, creeds, estates and classes, into rich and poor, into cultured and uncultured, into enslaved and enslaved."
People, stop feeding the salamanders! Really, in our cyclical world, it's hard to know who they are. At the very least, parasites of the mind and body, pushing us to continually consume. Teaching us to look with envy at a neighbor and think that his grass is greener, that a little (a lot) more effort and there will be new lands (cars, houses). Forcing to toil endlessly for the "good of life," which quickly passes and remains unhappy. So who are the salamanders?
The whole book was interesting to read, but the author's dialogue with himself especially. And his arguments about whether to write the truth or come up with a happy ending. And maybe we should think about it?
And then there was a separate phrase that made my day: "if there is nothing to write about, let's just make up another vitamin. Our whole essence in the end is built on made-up postulates, which we firmly believe in and consume, consume, only because someone told us - so it is necessary.
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