Run Program by Scott Meyer (2017) review

Run Program will be released on June 20th, 2017

Run Program follows Hope Takeda, who works at a tech company as a lab assistant in an experimental A.I. development program.  The job is far less rewarding or stimulating than it sounds.  Or rather, it was, before the A.I. escaped.  What makes this different from any of the countless "A.I. on the loose" stories is that the A.I. (named Al) is the mental equivalent of a six year old human.*  His motives, personality, and intellectual abilities are akin to those of an average first-grader, if the average first grader could control airplanes with his mind and transfer vast sums of money through online banking apps.  Unsurprisingly, the government isn't too happy about this, and so begins the quest to locate and contain Al, who has plans of his own, dragging in everyone from disgruntled scientists, surprisingly profound soldiers, and a self-declared genius who has decided to call himself The Voice of Reason.

Run Program is a comedy, though not of the wacky Hitchhicker's Guide variety.  To get a feel for Meyer's sense of humor, you can check out his webcomic Basic Instuctions.  There's a lot of observational humor, and a lot of that is workplace humor, which isn't for everyone.  Really, go check out some of his webcomics.  I think that'll be the best indication of whether or not you'll like the book. 

* On a side note, the idea of raising an AI from childhood seems to have been getting more popular within SF in the last decade (and was handled extraordinarily well in Ted Chiang's 2010 novella, The Life Cycle of Software Objects).  Meyer doesn't go deep into the theoretical or technical background on this, but is more focused on the immediate impact of a child with practically unlimited power, and the odd results of that situation.

Review: Old Man's War by John Scalzi (2005)

Cover art: Donato Giancola

The bits I'd heard about Scalzi's Hugo nominated first novel suggested that it was your standard military scifi, with a twist:  In this society, it's the elderly who are sent to war, not the young.  This is a technically accurate description.

In Old Man's War, humans, represented by the Colonial Union, are just one of the numerous species seeking to colonize the far reaches of space.  Information from off-Earth is practically nil, and the CU isn't interested in sharing its technology, which is drastically superior to what's available on Earth.  The only way to travel the stars is to be a colonist (an option only open to refugees from the parts of the world that were nuked in a somewhat recent war) or to join the Colonial Defense Forces as a senior citizen.  Our protagonist, John Perry, does the latter.  If you're wondering how a military with a minimum age of seventy-five is able to function, the answer is simple.  Recruits' consciousnesses are quickly transferred to a souped-up clone of their younger selves (with a green chlorophyll tint and cat-like eyes, as well as enhanced strength, stamina, etc.).  So, a couple chapters in, and the old guys ain't old anymore.  They're still old on the inside, of course, though they could just as easily be forty or fifty as seventy-five.

The one thing Old Man's War manages to do exceptionally well is walk the line between escapist shoot 'em up fantasy and "war, what is it good for?"  The ethical considerations are present throughout, without themselves dominating the narrative.

Despite the novel premise, Old Man's War is a solid, but otherwise pretty run of the mill, military sf novel.  If you're a fan of that sub-genre, you'll probably like it.  If not, I'd recommend Joe Haldeman's The Forever War (1974) instead.

Rating:★★★☆☆

Men in Black (1997) - David Cross #5

or, Across the Universe

Director: Barry Sonnenfeld

Runtime: 98 Minutes         

Look, it's Men in Black, we've all seen it.  Will Smith (Agent J) is an NYPD officer who gets tapped by Tommy Lee Jones (Agent K) to join the top secret agency dedicated to monitoring and regulating all alien life on Earth.  When a giant space bug comes to Earth, he instigates a potential war with another alien civilization, who threaten to destroy the Earth unless the men in black can recover a mysterious object known only as "the galaxy."

David Cross plays the hapless morgue attendant who runs afoul of the bug.

I was really worried that Men in Black wouldn't hold up, but I'm happy to say that it's aged incredibly well.  The filmmakers realized the limits of CGI, and did great work within those limits, while making great use of practical effects as well.

I feel bad because I don't think I have anything really interesting to say about Men in Black, besides some bits of trivia, like that it's one of the first big hits based on a Marvel comic series.  Anyway, here's the promotional music video:

On the Popularity of Apocalyptic and Post-Apocalyptic Fiction

An article from the Guardian's blog has been making the rounds recently, being shared by message boards and The Paris Review alike.  The article is titled Has US literature awoken from the American dream? and discusses the modern popularity of post-apocalyptic novels. First, let me point out that even within the context of the article, this title makes no sense.  The article points out that American literature has always been critical of the American dream, pointing out examples as far back as Huckleberry Finn.  But my main complaint is when the article comes to the conclusion that 

"Perhaps an exhaustion with national myths explains the recent advent of post-apocalyptic literature: from Cormac McCarthy’s The Road to Colson Whitehead’s Zone One. When the dream has been blown to bits for more than a century, all that’s left is to tell bleak stories of human survival set in the wreckage of a junkyard."

I'm going to do two things here.  First, I'm going to refute the claim that the advent of post-apocalyptic literature is 'recent,' and provide an alternate hypothesis as to the cause behind what is actually recent: it's surge in popularity.  Secondly, I want to examine why people like post-apocalyptic literature.   

First, let's acknowledge that there is a long history of apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic literature.  Mary Shelley's The Last Man (1826), Jack London's The Scarlet Plague (1912)  Aldous Huxley's Ape & Essence (1948), Richard Matheson's I Am Legend (1954), Shirley Jackson's The Sundial (1958), Harlan Ellison's A Boy and His Dog (1969).   This is, of course, only a tiny piece of the a much longer tradition.  What you may notice about all these titles, is that they fall into a genre.  Most are Science Fiction or Horror and were marketed as such.  

Until the last few decades (and even now to a lesser extent), Science Fiction, Fantasy, Horror, and genre fiction in general have been considered marginal literature.  They were looked down on by the literary establishment and the reading populace at large.  And apocalyptic/post-apocalyptic literature was a trope of these genres.  If World War Z had been published in the 1960s, it would never have been nearly as popular as it became, because it would have been relegated to the horror rack in the back of the store, and no self-respecting reader would be caught dead back there.  With growing acceptance of these genres came a growing acceptance of their constituent parts.  By the late 1990s, even John Updike was writing post-apocalyptic fiction.  

So one simple explanation is that we're seeing more apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic fiction because Science Fiction and Horror, the genres into which most post-apocalyptic works fall,  have become popular genres.  And authors who don't normally write in these genres are no longer worried about being pigeon-holed or discredited for doing so. Despite what the Guardian writer claims, we've been telling these stories for over a century.  People just haven't been listening.

As to my second subject, why people enjoy this type of narrative, it's first necessary to make some distinctions. To my way of thinking, there are two primary forms of apocalyptic/post-apocalyptic literature: issue-driven and societal.  Let's talk about issue-driven first.  

Despite the Guardian's bizarre attempt to portray post-apocalyptic fiction as a product of the US, the fact is it is an international genre.  While it dates back to the early 19th century, it started reaching critical mass in the 1950s.  This was a) the 'Golden Age' of Science Fiction and b) soon after the advent of the atomic bomb.  Huxley's Ape & Essence, Nevil Shute's On the Beach (1957), and Kurt Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle (1963) are all post-apocalyptic novels dealing with the results of atomic warfare (although Vonnegut handles Mutually Assured Destruction with the fictitious Ice-9, the message is still the same).  I keep making reference to apocalyptic literature as opposed to post-apocalyptic, so I should give an example of what I mean.  Dr. Strangelove is a good example, as it deals with the end of the world, rather than life after the end of the world.  The 1951 film The Day the Earth Stood Still is also, I feel, largely apocalyptic.  An alien species comes to Earth to deliver a message: If you don't get your crap together, you're going to kill us all.  So get your crap together or we'll kill you first.

More recently, issue-driven works have been focused on the environment. In film, we can find The Day After Tomorrow (2004) or The Happening (2008). (I didn't say they were good films.)  The appeal of these is simple.  It's our way of saying, to steal a quote, "You maniacs!  You blew it up!  Ah, damn you!  Goddamn you all to Hell!"

The other category, which I've vaguely titled "Societal," uses the breakdown of civilization to explore the individual or society.  This can be done in a largely literary way (e.g. McCarthy's The Road (2006), Shelley's The Last Man (1826)) or as fun/exciting SF/Horror (e.g. Brooks' World War Z (2006) or Mad Max (1979)) or anything inbetween (e.g. Matheson's I Am Legend).  Jackson's The Sundial is a good example of societal apocalyptic (as opposed to post-apocalyptic) fiction, as the end of the world is at the end of the novel.  

The appeal of reading The Road is different from the appeal of reading World War Z.   In cases like The Road, the appeal is a desire to understand human nature, and the complete destruction of society, of civilized behavior, of everything but the will and need to survive, allows an individual's humanity (or inhumanity) unfettered control of his/her situation.  While there is certainly some such exploration in novels like World War Z, novels and films like this also have an escapist function.  That job you hate?  Gone.  Those people you can't stand?  Gone.  You can do anything you want, whenever you want.  No responsibility, no constraints.

But both of these types of narratives have corollaries outside of the (Post-)Apocalyptic narrative.  Something like William Golding's The Lord of the Flies (1954) provides many of the same possibilities as The Road.   It is a study of human society, a dissection via disintegration.  On the other hand, something like Zane Grey's The Man of the Forest (1919), or any of the countless novels about pirates or lone rogues or charming crooks who live by their own rules and don't take no guff from no one, these fulfill much of the same need that books like World War Z fulfills.  Post-apocalyptic fiction is a very easy way to do this, because you don't need to write a society that your protagonist is at odds with.

Long story short, post-apocalyptic fiction is not a recent genre, but has a long history as a subgenre in SF and Horror, which have only recently gained mainstream acceptance.  It doesn't address any new psychological need, but rather addresses many existing needs in a very direct way.

"F--- Me, Ray Bradbury" the music video (NSFW lyrics)

Just a fun, dirty video I found on Youtube, by musician/comedian Rachel Bloom.

Help Make a Movie!

My brother is a senior at NYU's film department, which means it's time for him to make a senior thesis.  The senior thesis, like an NYU film degree, is an expensive endeavor.  Hence, this humorous video requesting your support!

If this is the kind of film you'd like to see, or you just want to help out some aspiring filmmakers, click on the link below and send a few bucks their way.  (And leave a note saying you found out about it through me.  Intersibling politics are cutthroat.)

Review: Old Twentieth by Joe Haldeman (2005)

Joe Haldeman is best known for his fantastic SF novel The Forever War (1974) which won both the Hugo and Nebula for best novel.  He's and SFWA grandmaster, with five Nebulae and five Hugos (Hugii?) under his belt, the most recent for his 2004 novel Camouflage.   

Old Twentieth seems a synthesis of a few major speculative concepts. The first is a society that is practically immortal. You can set your age to stop advancing at any point you wish, and causes of death are limited to catastrophic injuries.  The second is an interstellar journey.  Eight-hundred volunteers in five ships embark on a thousand-year journey to a planet orbiting Beta-Hydrii.  The third is virtual reality, a fully immersive 'time machine' that will let you experience any year or situation within a safe construct.  The fourth is the rise of true artificial intelligence, in this case, that of the VR time machine, which may or may not be responsible when people begin to die while using it.  It's up to our protagonist/narrator, Jacob Brewer, a 200-something year old VR engineer to figure it out.  Before it's too late.    

Let me start with the positive.  There are numerous scenes from within the 'time machine,' depicting everything from a WWI battlefield, to a romantic encounter in Barcelona, to a day spent strolling through the NYC World's Fair.  These segments are fantastic and wonderfully written. Haldeman's writing is strong throughout, but really shines in these chapters.   

But as a whole, the novel was a letdown, especially compared with the quality of Haldeman's other works.  If you read the list of premises on thought it seemed like a bit too much, you might be right. Or rather, it was a bit much for the book's length.  None of the premises get dealt with in depth, and the book just shuttles through the plot.  For example:   

Immortality.  The novel gives the backstory that the Becker-Cendrek process was initially extremely expensive, leading to a massive civil war and culminating in the death of everyone not already immortalized.  The society that forms in the war's wake is pretty standard sci-fi futurism.  Population control via test-tube babies, cyber-ennui, etc.  The point being, beside some minor details, immortality isn't a significant factor in this culture.  They think of death the same way we do, it's just less frequent.  But in a society where the only cause of death is violent, couldn't death become obscene or taboo?  In a society where there is no death, might it be romanticized (I might draw some argument here, but the romanticizing of death in this society is no greater than it is in ours).   If the only cause of death is serious bodily damage, wouldn't a section of society become reclusive, the only thing standing between them and eternal life accident or malice?  Wouldn't there be a population of hedonists, with no need to worry about disease or health?  Would we have a society where individuals become so specialized communication becomes challenging, or would everyone be a Renaissance man, versed in science and the arts?  Instead of anything like the above, we get a pretty standard future-world, where people just happen to live a really-really-really long time.  

All in all, Old Twentieth was a fun read, but it bit off a lot more than it could chew. 

Good Cover Art

I've previously written a couple posts making fun of terrible cover art (here and here).  While hilariously bad cover art is worth noting, we should also remember good cover art.  One of my favorite particular pieces of cover art was from the Dell paperback edition of Kurt Vonnegut's Mother Night.

A bizarre cover that successfully incorporates a lot of detail from the book.  Unfortunately, the artist wasn't credited and for a long time I was unable to find out who it was.  It turned out though, that I had other books with his cover art.

The artist is Don Ivan Punchatz, and he's done some very clever, weird, and awesome covers:

Another 'necessary' sequel

A very necessary sequel

And my personal favorite:

A parody of Rembrandt's The Anatomy Lesson

Kurt Vonnegut on Cat's Cradle, Technology, and Truth

Public TV Interview with Ray Bradbury

Back to the Future Theory

What!?  Two movie posts in one week!  Yes, well, so be it.  This is a fan theory of mine that not only explains things like what the flux capacitor does, but answers some continuity 'problems' in the films and introduces (and solves) a couple more.  It is inexcusably complicated.  

Note: 1. Whenever someone travels backwards through time, they create a new timeline.  Timelines will be named in the order they are created (e.g., when Marty first travels through time and arrives in 1955, he creates Timeline B.  Everyone indigenous to that timeline will be surnamed B, e.g., Doc B.)    2. Each timeline will be identical to the one that preceded it, with the exception of events altered as a result of the time travelers whose arrival created the new timeline.  

Part 1:

It’s been pointed out many times before that the Marty that gets sent back at the end of BttF Part 1 is not the same Marty we know and love.  This Marty was born in Timeline B, had cool parents, etc.  The popular fan theory about this is that Doc Brown made Marty B disappear.  The implications are more complex than that.  If Marty B did not go back to 1955, then why don’t we have the same paradox that we’d have had if Marty had never been born?  This led me to understand the flux capacitor.  When Marty A goes back in time and creates Timeline B, the flux capacitor stops working.  When Marty prevents his parents from meeting, he starts to disappear.  This is because Timeline A and Timeline B are still causally connected.  The flux capacitor allows multiple Timelines to exist, without being causally connected, therefore preventing paradoxes.  Part 1 is the easiest to deal with.  Marty skips to the future of Timeline B.  Then Doc B tells him to get in the Delorean, right now!  

Part 2:       

In 2015, Marty’s girlfriend Jennifer sees future Marty.  This is impossible.  Marty A disappeared in 1985 and skipped straight to 2015.  So who has been living Marty A’s life for the last 30 years?  Marty B.  Doc B isn’t cold-hearted enough to make the guy disappear forever, he just sent him a bit ahead, which is why he needed to get Marty out of the way as soon as possible (NOTE: In regards to the Rolls Royce accident that we see at the end of Part 3 and is mentioned in this sequence, it’s plausible that the accident would have occurred to Marty B, considering the chronology of the final scenes in Part 3.  This poses no problem to the theory.)    While there, Biff B steals the Delorean and travels back to 1985, creating Timeline C.  One of the big questions people have is “Why didn’t Biff travel to the future of the timeline he just created, i.e. Timeline C?”  Not only is the flux capacitor is keeping the timelines separate, 2015 B can’t collapse the same way 1985 A did because there are non-indigenous entities in 2015 B, namely, Marty A.  So, Old Biff B gets back to 2015 B, and Marty A and Doc B go to 1985, only to discover that it’s 1985 C, (their arrival changing it to Timeline D).  Marty A and Doc B go back to 1955 (creating Timeline E).  In 1955 E, we see another instance of Marty A and the events from Part 1 play out as they already had (justifying point 2 of my intro notes).  So, all seems well, then Doc B gets sent back to 1885 (creating Timeline F).  Marty A then gets a letter from Doc B, saying he’s in 1885.  Marty then finds indigenous Doc Brown (i.e., Doc E).  You may ask, how did Doc B send a letter from Timeline F to timeline E?  The flux capacitor is no longer working! Timeline E and F are still causally linked!

Part 3:   

Doc E helps Marty A go back in time, creating Timeline G.  Wild West stuff happens.  The photos change because Timelines F and G are still causally linked.  The good guys win and Marty goes to 1985 G.  He goes to pick up his girlfriend (leaving the indigenous Marty w/o a car and no idea where his girlfriend is) and almost gets into an accident with a Rolls Royce. She takes the fax from 2015 B out of her pocket and sees it disappear.  This is significant.  Marty A and Doc B left Jennifer B (and the letter) on her porch in Timeline D.  How’d she get here?  My conclusion is that, without the flux capacitor, entities existing outside their native timeline will phase into new timelines, so long as the new timeline does not preclude the person from existing. Since there is no longer a flux capacitor, the letter is causally connected to Timeline F (i.e. the one after Marty retrieved the Sports Almanac and events could be assumed to be otherwise similar to Timeline B). Then time traveling trains, roll credits, and, assumably, Marty A and his doppleganger.

1982 Round Table Discussion with Isaac Asimov, Gene Wolfe, and Harlan Ellison

A half-hour syndicated talk program, covering the nature and marketing of science-fiction (or speculative-fiction) works.   The hosts are named Studs Terkel and Calvin Trillin (which are not, in fact, porn pseudonyms).

A bit of interesting background to the interview can be found in the archives of Harlan Ellison's website. (Check the post for November 1, 2008 11:13:15)

Thoughts on the Slaughterhouse-Five Film Adaptation

            Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five is one of my favorite books.  A testament to the futility of man’s will in the midst of war, of the lack of volition and agency that envelops mankind when put in an incomprehensible situation, all told in a voice that yoyos between heartbreakingly sincere and sarcastically hilarious.  Published in 1969, Slaughterhouse-Five is a modern classic, ranked 18^th on Modern Library’s list of the 100 best twentieth century novels.  In 1972, the world received a film adaptation directed by George Roy Hill (The Sting, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid) and starring the then unknown (and now obscure) Michael Sacks as Billy Pilgrim.

            The first thing that popped into my mind upon hearing of the adaptation is, “How do you film this book?”  The second question is, “Should it even be attempted?”  There have, of course, been films that are as good as, or better than, their literary source material (e.g. The Wizard of Oz, Jaws, The Godfather, The Shining, The Shawshank Redemption, Forrest Gump, etc.), but very rarely are the books these are based on masterpieces (notable exceptions being Apocalypse Now, based on Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness and A Clockwork Orange, based on the novel of the same name by Anthony Burgess). 

            I don’t subscribe to the belief that a film version can retroactively ruin a book, nor do I believe that a film version will result in less people reading a book (quite the opposite, in fact).  My point of view is: Make the best film you can.

            The fact is, Slaughterhouse-five was a good movie.  I wouldn’t say it’s a masterpiece, but then again, most films aren’t.  The basic story and premise is the same as in the book, though the famous first chapter is, understandably, dropped.  The Tralfamadorians don’t appear onscreen, because they are only visible in the fourth dimension (an explanation coherent with the book’s take on the Tralfamdorians).  There were many such little changes that really didn’t affect the quality one way or another (e.g., instead of being lost with two scouts and Roland Weary, he’s lost with Weary and Paul Lazzaro).  There were two places where the movie improved on the book.

The Tralfamadorian Zoo

          One thing the film improved on was Billy’s relationship with poor old Edgar Derby.  I’d say their friendship is better realized in the film than the book.  The second is Billy’s obsession with Montana Wildhack.  In the book, we learn that Billy found a blue film with her in it, but that’s seemingly the limit of his non-Tralfamadorian relationship to her.  In the film version, it’s a little closer to obsession and just tinged with creepiness.    

            I rarely ever find major fault with a small change in a movie adaptation.  The only cases where I do is when it completely recontextualizes or leads to a limited reinterpretation of much of the story and/or its characters.  In the case of Slaughterhouse-five, this change comes when the plane carrying Billy, his father-in-law, and a bunch of other optometrists is about to take off.  In the film version, Billy tries to stop the plane from leaving by warning everyone that it’s going to crash.  They don’t listen to him, and it does. 

            While the events in the rest of the story may not be altered, the interpretation of them must be.  Because Billy Pilgrim tried to use his knowledge of the future, we know something that is true in the film but (in my opinion) not true in the book: Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time.

            Perhaps I should elaborate.  I think the best supported interpretation of the novel is that Billy Pilgrim has not actually come unstuck in time.  From the first page of chapter two (i.e. the first page of the story, chapter one being used to introduce the rest of the novel):  

            Billy Pilgrim has gone to sleep a widower and awakened on his wedding day.  He has
            walked through a door in 1955 and come out another one in 1941.  He has gone back
            through that door to find himself in 1963.  He has seen his birth and death many times, he
            says, and pays random visits to all the events in between.  

            He says.

If an author devotes an entire paragraph on the first page of the story to just two words, you better believe those two words are important.  The fact is, the narrator after chapter one is not the same narrator.  This is an alternate Vonnegut (Alternegutt?) who served with the fictional Billy Pilgrim and is simply telling us what Pilgrim has been claiming.  This is not third person omniscient, nor even first person omniscient.  This is first person limited. 

            It’s worth noting that Billy didn’t start talking about the Tralfamadorians until after the plane crash that resulted in his coma.

            Every time something science-fictiony happens, the narrator describes it in terms of how similar it is to a Kilgore Trout novel.  While Billy was recuperating from a nervous breakdown, he became a fan of Kilgore Trout.  So, what you have is a man who has been through hell, had seen his only friend in the war executed, and later had a nervous breakdown, during the recovery from the lattermost of these misfortunes, becomes a fan of a science-fiction writer and starts to go through events similar to the man’s novels.
 

            My point is that there’s ample evidence to support a PTSD interpretation, as opposed to a time traveling.  In the film version, we have to accept the time traveling, because Billy proved that he did have future knowledge and was therefore not just having a flashback. 

            But overall, I enjoyed the movie.  It had its flaws, but so does everything else. It seemed that the filmmaker had a lot of respect for the source material, without letting himself be shackled by it, which is great.  If you like the book, I’d recommend the film.

50th Anniversary of La Planète des Singes

            Several modern classics were published fifty years ago.  1963 saw the publication of Kurt Vonnegut’s Cat’s Cradle, Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar, and Thomas Pynchon’s V.  It also saw the publication of a science fiction novel by the French author Pierre Boulle La Planète des Singes, released in England as Monkey Planet.  In the United States, the very underwhelming book cover deems calls the book Planet of the Apes.

           

            After looking at that book cover, some of you may be wondering why a science fiction author penned a war novel.  What you should be asking is why a former secret agent wrote a sci-fi novel.  During World War II, Boulle assumed a false identity and helped support resistance forces in Asia but was eventually captured by enemy forces.  Le Pont de la Rivière Kwaï is only semi-fictional. 

            Not only did Boulle write two bestselling novels that were adapted into critically acclaimed films (both Planet and Bridge have been added to the National Film Registry), but Boulle won the Academy Award for Best Adapted Screenplay for The Bridge on the River Kwai.  This is a particularly remarkable achievement when you take into account that Boulle did not know English.  The actual screenwriters, Carl Foreman and Michael Wilson, had been blacklisted in the Second Red Scare.  The Academy attributed the award to them in 1984.  

A Canticle for Leibowitz by Walter Miller Jr.

I'm a big fan of classic sci-fi and post-apocalyptic stories.  So I finally got around to reading Miller's modern classic, A Canticle for Leibowitz.

I'm also a sucker for awesome cover designs

If you're unfamiliar with the premise, the story follows a monastic order over about two millenia following a civilization ending nuclear war.  Separated into three parts, taking place in the 26th, 32nd, and 38th century, respectively, the novel shows not only how society rebuilds itself, but how it makes sense of its past. 

Mythopoeisis is a subject of great interest for me, personally, and one that Miller handled very well.  Not only do we see how the lives and events within the monastic order of St. Leibowitz become mythologized, but we see how something as extreme as nuclear holocaust can be folded into religion:

"It was said that God, in order to test mankind which had become swelled with pride as in the time of Noah, had commanded the wise men of that age, among them the Blessed Leibowitz, to devise great engines of war such as had never before been upon the Earth, weapons of such might that they contained the very fires of Hell, and that God had suffered these magi to place the weapons in the hands of princes, and to say to each prince, "Only because the enemies have such a thing have we devised this for thee, in order that they may know that thou hast it also, and fear to strike. See to it, m'Lord, that thou fearest them as much as they shall now fear thee, that none may unleash this dread thing which we have wrought."

But the princes, putting the words of their wise men to naught, thought each to himself, If I but strike quickly enough, and in secret, I shall destroy those others in their sleep, and there will be none to fight back; the earth shall be mine.

Such was the folly of princes, and there followed the Flame Deluge."   

As you could probably guess, religion plays a large role in the story.  Like I said, I'm interested in mythopoeisis, so the religious aspect works pretty well in that regard (incidentally, I've just started reading Isaac Asimov's Guide to the Bible, which seems to be an insightful look at much the same subject).       

If you're a fan of science fiction, post-apocalyptic stories, or just good original writing, I'd suggest picking up a copy.