Our inaction in the face of global warming is far stranger than fiction

ASSUME you’re a publisher, and that this column is a proposal: a pitch made to you in the hope that you’ll publish a novel set in a small, fantastically verdant planet. Awash in diversity, this planet. One species of animal is by far the most intelligent. So intelligent that it finds ways to extract the carbon locked into the crust of the planet since primeval times and stick it into the sky overhead.

This intelligent species achieves the shift of carbon from earth to sky inside two centuries. The effect is more or less what happens in a parked car on a roasting summer day. The sunshine gets magnified as it goes in through the glass and the hot air can’t get out. The locked-in heat melts the ice and snow, right? And that means the sea level rises, making islands disappear, forcing evacuation of seaside resorts and cities and sending millions of refugees on the road, bringing disease and disorder wherever they go.

Now, that’s the background to the novel. The key drama, believe it or not, lies in the way this intelligent species insist on embracing disaster. It’s a fascinating sequence. Trust me.