I first read Octavia Butler’s Parable of the Sower in 2019. Originally published in 1993, Parable of the Sower gained renewed attention in the mid 10’s — reaching the NYT Bestseller list for the first time — for its prophetic depiction of a Trump-like presidency. Parable‘s President Christopher Donner, familiarly, vowed to return a crumbling United States to a long-lost golden age.  

The book, at the time, felt foreboding. I distinctly remember the feeling of pique when narrator Lauren Olamina expresses shock at news of a measles outbreak. At the time, a measles outbreak was sweeping through New Jersey. How portentous! I thought. No, the word “portentous” didn’t actually sail its way down my stream of consciousness, but the novel nevertheless struck an excitingly sinister cord — the same feeling I used to get playing Bloody Mary with my friends. 

Last week, I finished reading Parable of the Sower for the second time. My friends and I decided to start a book club. When someone suggested Parable of the Sower, I recalled the thrilling goosebumps of my first read, and happily agreed to pick it up again. For the month that followed, everyone in my life had to endure my exclamations of how the book was “too real.” 

The fact that Octavia Butler predicted the “Make America Great Again” movement with surgical accuracy feels like an afterthought to the ways in which Parable depicts society as fractured, isolated, and self-serving. The poverty that disempowers, the paranoia that leaves everyone fending for themselves. Reading the book in 2019 felt like a glimpse at a possible future — reading in 2025 felt like holding a mirror. 

In the afterword to the novel, writer Nnedi Okorafor talks about her own experiences with reading and re-reading Parable at various stages of her life. She charts her own trajectory from idealistic student activist to adult pragmatist through her interpretations of Parable at ten year intervals. Okorafor expresses gratitude to Butler for the lessons these readings have continued to afford her, letting her peel back new wisdom with each subsequent reading. 

I wonder what lessons are left to learn now? I am being somewhat hyperbolic and morose for effect — but only ever-so-slightly. I am starting to think that what this book has to teach us is less a matter of opening our eyes and more a means of survival. Survival, at times, feels like all there is left.