A harried executive who indulges in “primal scream therapy” in the privacy of an elevator between floors, or who rants about his or her problems or challenges, might find the elevator reacting… At first with changes in music, perhaps, or after a while by directing him to a more soothing destination than the one he asked for.

A homeless person who develops a close and personal relationship with a special dumpster where good things can sometimes be found, might find himself favored by the spirits of the dumpster – whatever that might mean (Ironically, it might mean they help provide for him, but not provide so well that he is likely to build a new life apart from the dumpster…).

And of course, the kid or servant who just plain admires someone else’s car. Who spends time with it. Who volunteers to wash it just because he loves the feel of its curves and the glint of the sun off its windshield. Who talks to it. If all things are alive, the car might well decide it wants to be his partner-and-companion rather than that of the chud who bought it.

But I’m with the others… I’d hate to have to talk (nicely) to my computer(s), car, elevator, etc to make them be in a good mood.

You’ll remember, Markham seemed, in his own way, as powerless as Donald did.

Thus, the Scientific Method has been replaced with the Scientific Arts. It’s an inversion of the classic model: no more do the rules belong to the introverts, mulling over theories and systems in their inner space, but instead to extroverts, who are already masters at appealing to and appeasing those around them. That’s what’s so scary to me: sometimes at the end of a day filled with headaches, I just plain don’t want to make Small Talk with my goddamned laptop to make sure that it doesn’t spite me by re-arranging my desktop icons.

And it’s only now that I’ve realized something, Eric: your story frustrated me. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it until now, but looking back I can see myself in Donald. By the end of the story, I was just yearning to see something work right, to see something thrown his way. He’s become powerless, OK, but it comes in such a way that he’s not only realized that he’s out of control, but that the people that are supposed to have taken away his power are only vaguely powerful themselves. His life’s been royally screwed because the rules don’t work anymore; in fact, the rules don’t even seem to be not working in a way that has rules, if you can follow that sentence. I felt for him, and realized that with me in his place, I have no idea what to do either. I had no shout-at-the-movie-screen ideas, no sudden flashes of “How I Would Do It”. It just left me exhausted, and tense, and frustrated.

I talk to my car sometimes. I don’t want it to become mandatory.

Yah, I saw that after I posted, and winced.

I’d be all for slaughtering the Peers, or finding a way to give normal humans similar powers, which would likely cause a rather bloody conflict and tons of problems. But hey, power to the people.

I disagree with Ellen. This new world is a dystopia.

It’s still creepy!

And that highlights an important point: not all Peers agree with all the others on all matters. The significant formality involved with Markham even going to the Duchess’s realm to visit, and the rituals involved, bespeak a society that has social customs to help breakstep tension.