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 8 Negative Spaces
In any adventure, time does what it does: an hour is an hour; a minute is a minute; a second is a second.
It’s the perception of time that changes.
Time is picking up pace a little. The single-prop Cessna pirouettes around a wing over a kink in the Lugenda River. From up here, its skin looks scaled with sandy mounds and rocks as the mid-afternoon sun glimmers off the water’s surface.