Invisible Ink: adventures of a misanthropic memoirist, writing from the heart of the climate crisis
Invisible Ink is the ‘most brilliant climate crisis memoir the world has never heard of, and no one wants to read’, according to the entirely unbiased author.
It is a rollicking, white-knuckled ride through 20 years of misadventures on the frontline of climate reporting in Africa.
It is sometimes dark, sometimes funny, often furious. It's also 'too much', according to one critic. Way too much.
A self-inflicted injury this big — turning a planet’s climate system into chaos — is too much.
Join our intrepid misanthropic memoirist — a competent writer who is not a man, if you can believe it — as she goes utterly mad in the face of climate collapse, and is absolutely sane as she watches herself do so.
Warning: includes at least one irate witch hunter, a few insurgents with hand-me-down Kalashnikovs and murderous intent, some predatory capitalists, a sexist or two, and a deity in the shape of a cat.
Because no adventure is complete without a cat.
Even dog people know this to be true.
Invisible Ink: adventures of a misanthropic memoirist, writing from the heart of the climate crisis
Invisible Ink Leo Joubert Ch 4 Wild Child
The ocean is roiling, and this is what it means to batten down the hatches.
The ship’s captain has ordered that all the portholes and exterior doors be shut. Bolted shut. With actual screws and giant wing nuts. The storm is wild, and chatter amongst the passengers is that we’re changing course for a few days to get clear of the worst of it. If we don’t, the choppers might be plucked from the heli-pad up top and tossed into the southern Atlantic like toys.
This is the Roaring Forties. It’s late in the southern winter of 2008 and I finally get to see what all the fuss is about.