The Length of Our Lifespans

I didn't know what to expect when I opened up Nikki Erlick's debut novel 'The Measure' (June 2022). It was pretty decent as an audiobook, but it was soooo promising by Chapter 3 that I had to try looking for an e-book. The moment I saw that NLB had 3/14 digital copies available, I immediately borrowed it to read on a screen.

Nobody knew what was going on, not till later. The boxes held a piece of string, what seemed like ordinary threads, its length representing the respective individual's human lifespan. I was blown away by the author's vision and ideals for this book. It's got such a brilliant premise and storyline. I loved it. It threads beautifully and easily between sci-fi and apocalyptic doom. (Reviews here, here and here.) 

One March morning, small maybe-wooden dark brown boxes 3-inches wide, 6-inches deep arrived at everyone's doorstep, or shelter or bedside. To everybody across the world. All aged above 21 received a box. And inscribed on everyone box was a simple, yet cryptic message, written in the native tongue of its recipient: The measure of your life lies within. 

Within each box was a single string, initially hidden by a silvery white piece of delicate fabric, so even those who lifted the lid would think twice before looking at what lay underneath. As if the box itself were warning you, trying to protect you from your own childish impulse to immediately tear away the wrapping. As if the box were asking you to pause, to truly contemplate your next move. Because that one could never be undone. 

Scientists dissected the boxes. These seemingly common threads couldn't be cut, even by the sharpest tools. Researchers found out that those with long strings had curable ailments, those with short strings would die soon. It changes everything. "Something this monumental cannot be contained." 

The strings are conclusively real and you no longer simply decide whether to open the box to know or not. Once you know your string length, it isn't just about personal choices anymore. Soon, society divides itself into 'long-stringers' and 'short-stringers'. The corporate world demands factual verification of your string. Banks, corporate companies change they way they hire and lend. 

The book is narrated from the perspectives of eight different characters. Nina and her girlfriend Maura who got different string lengths, architect Ben who has a short string but didn't want to burden his family, and his wife writer Amie who wants to continue her passion for literature regardless, Hank, a doctor who wants to fight death, manipulative political and Presidential candidate Anthony, army hopefuls Jack and his roommate and best friend Javier. 

As we follow the journey of these eight characters through the years, we share their pain and joy. We watch them decide on how they would live their lives, strings notwithstanding. As the world approaches almost a decade of life with these strings, people have made their peace with it. There were deaths, there was closure. We feel the closure as the book ends with Nina and her choices and how she has chosen to live the next half of her long-stringed life. How would we have chosen? How would we have reacted if something this huge comes to us as a revelation? Lots to mull over.

Some ultimately felt grateful for the boxes, for the change to say goodbye, to never regret the last words uttered. Others found comfort in the strings' uncanny power, enabling them to believe that the lives of their short-string loved ones were not, in fact, cut short. They were just as long as they were meant to be, since the moment they were born and the length of their string was seemingly determined. It made losing them somehow easier to accept, trusting that nothing could have changed the ending, that their deaths did not hinge upon any particular decisions they made, what they did or didn't do. Because of the strings, there was no need to wonder what might have happened if they had lived in a different city, or eaten different foods, or driven a different route home. The loss still hurt, of course, still didn't make sense, but it was almost a relief not to be hounded by what-ifs. Their lives were simply the length that they were always going to be.