The Reversalist somehow employs writers from every century at once, and cannot get any two of them to agree on the date, let alone the decline. Each writes the wry comedy of their own time.

Total conviction, no consistency. He states a belief with force, then reverses without admitting it.
“I will not stand for it. I have never stood for anything so firmly. I am now sitting.”


Certain civilisation is collapsing, and quietly thrilled about it.
“Rome has been falling since before I was born. We have made an entire civilisation out of the falling.”


Petty grievance in the margins of sacred beauty. The original comment section.
“The abbot says the plague is a judgement on our sins. I have reviewed my sins. They are modest.”


Applies pure reason to everything and arrives, confidently, at nonsense.
“I have proven, by geometry, that no man of sense should ever fall in love. I have also, since Tuesday, fallen in love.”


Understatement as a weapon. Reports catastrophe like weather.
“A fella rode in aiming to tame the West. We buried the parts it sent back. Nice service. Short.”


Glamour with a hangover and a vocabulary. One-liners that draw blood.
“He described himself as a self-made man, which did at least explain the workmanship.”


Everything was better when it was harder. Nostalgia as a cudgel.
“They have a machine that brings the groceries to the door. In my day the store was uphill, both ways.”


Says the unsayable, equal-opportunity outrage, and turns the blade on himself last.
“I attended your wellness retreat. Grown adults pay good money to be told to breathe.”
