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 5 Eye for an Eye
I wake, but not with a start. The engine of the Datsun 120Y screams as Lena flogs it up the incline, stuck in second. Her foot is flat on the floor, but she can’t change gear. One hand, gripping the wheel, the other, hauling me through the gap between the front seats, pressing my bleeding head into her side.
It’s 1981, four years since Black Consciousness leader Steve Biko died in police custody. We’re not far from the place where he was arrested at a roadblock near Port Elizabeth, where he was beaten until his brain bled, where he was thrown in cuffs into the back of a police van and shipped off to a jail cell in Pretoria. The medical examiner’s report later found nothing untoward in his death.