“A rollicking, tongue-in-cheek fable of good, evil, and how easy the line between the two can blur, A Continent Adrift is a novel that features, of all unlikely protagonists, the Devil. After centuries of lying, cheating, and tricking humankind, and fathering numerous progeny...the Devil has come to question things as they are. Confronted by all too many humans who are becoming noticeably more evil than he is, the Devil finds himself at a moral crossroads beyond morality - yet when a meteoroid storm threatens to destroy the Earth, the Devil seizes an opportunity save mankind. After all, if there were no Earth, then the Devil would be out of work!”
-- MBR: Bookwatch (Fiction Shelf)
“Highly Recommended! This book is impressive in appearance, and also impressive as a medium to ask hard questions about good and evil. Like the author we wonder what Satan’s true motivations are. There are so many words written about God and Christ but little written about the origin of Satan and the purpose that he serves. The author spins a fascinating tale laced with current events and bound by historical data.”
-- Literary Page Reviews
“A masterpiece of fiction based on the intriguing idea that the world’s savior may be the Devil himself. Love, politics, intrigue, drama are intertwined in realism that only an author of Chernozemsky’s distinguished background can accomplish.”
-- Book Review Club
“...well-written and tumultuous, also funny, sad, and even frightening -- the novel is narrated in the first person by the Prince of Darkness himself. But this book isn’t about the descending levels of hell; rather of the Devil’s efforts to save the earth... Chernozemsky’s Earth is a bag of good and evil, and readers may find a kernel of truth in this portrayal.”
-- MyShelf.com
“A stimulating read for the spiritually curious! Author Chernozemsky gives the reader an eerie feeling that they are having a conversation with the Devil himself. The reader is mesmerized, almost hypnotized by the dialogue, as the Devil struggles with his own convictions. We receive a greater understanding from this extremely well written novel. It is a book that leaves the reader wondering and questioning...and it is good--very good.”
-- Allbooks Reviews
“Its excellent! Part religious fantasy, part science fiction, and part political satire, the book is an engaging read, with themes that are classic and refreshing, resulting in a gripping story!”
-- Book Review.com
"This brilliant and insightful book awakens humanity to reality. The human race is on the verge of self-destruction, and the author in his genius and entertainingly unique way reminds us of the timeless truth spoken by al saints throughout the ages - we either learn to live together in peace or we will destroy creation and all die together. Powerful!"
-- Omkarananda, President, VDYA
International Vishnudevananda Yoga Academy
Excerpt from Chapter One:
I finished deciphering the obelisk found buried in the sands of the Sahara, then looked quizzically at my boss.
“There should be more, Lou.”
The forever-worried face of Professor Lou Goughental expressed annoyance.
“Find it.”
“Not on this piece. I’m your junior assistant. It’s your responsibility.”
“Why is it my responsibility?”
“You are the chief of the Department of Eschatology, the only person able to order further excavations.”
By now Lou was furious. His elongated, hairless face reddened, looking more than ever like a Martian. His voice became husky and squeaky, colored by overtones of indignation.
“I forbid you to throw barbs. You’re not irreplaceable.”
He knew I was irreplaceable, as I knew how irreplaceable the professor was — his wife financed this project. I had neither money nor position to go on my own. Though I had wits and ideas. My financial sources had dried up. With a short sigh, I got up from my knees and made for the exit from the office-tent.
“Send this piece to the British Museum, Lou. You’ll be paid with no questions asked.”
The crabby old man tried to beat me to the opening.
“Where you going?” he demanded.
“Does it matter?”
“It does… not to me — to my wife. She thinks you’re the last man on Earth.”
“One more reason I must leave. I don’t think she’s the last woman on Earth.”
Lou Goughental was nothing but an obscure theologian scientist. Elisabeth’s bank account made the difference. He made an acid grimace.
“I need you… as long as you produce valuable artifacts. However, since the middle of this century, the Martian Chronicles are deeply compromised.”
I threw him a denigrating look.
“Martians haven’t been on Earth for the last fifty thousand years.”
Lou laughed scathingly. “How would you know? You’re only twenty-eight.”
I felt sorry for him. “That’s only an impression, Lou. Don’t ever trust visual observations.”
The night at the fringes of the Southern Atlas Mountains was quiet, the sky over our camp — filled with zillions of stars. That we found the obelisk so far from Egypt, in the middle of nowhere, didn’t surprise me. The rest of it should be much farther away.
The desert night was freezing. I sat on one of the folding chairs and closed my eyes.
The cosmic silence was louder than ever. I did remember something that I was unable to grasp fully.
***
Books? We had no books. Everything was printed on our minds by cyclotrons. We had no need to voice our speech. At the moment it nudged my brain, I knew that my brethren addressed me. We were youngsters, barely two hundred years old. In another couple of hundred years, we were supposed to graduate. Of course, I’m thinking in human terms. Then, we had only seasons of life. Innocence, maturity…the age of wisdom and alliance with the Absolute.
What we didn’t have was living space.
Our planet was overpopulated to the extreme. Oceans, deep canyons, mighty rivers and innumerable lakes covered two-thirds of it. It rained most of the time. Temperatures were steadily falling. Electric storms and cyclones filled our sky. The once mighty continent had been flooded to an archipelago of muddy earthen strips of land.
Sea monsters emerged from the deep. The iron fences proved to be too heavy for our decomposed shores. Wood was of little avail against them — explosives weakened the ground’s foundation, and corroded the atmosphere.
In the eternal twilight, enormous colorless vegetation produced too much oxygen and ozone, two elements poisonous to our lungs. We had to use filters. The heart of our “Home” was cold, the enormous volcanoes dead.
In spite of that or just because of it — our scientific progress was amazing.
The closest planet, “Brother,” was our hope. Spaceships sent to it never returned, yet we got some faint and enigmatic communications. Of course, there was no way to evacuate the whole population off “Home.”
The Wise One’s have made up their minds.
We must revive our dying “Home” through a desperate, unproved gambit — exploding the overwhelming oxygen! According to the expectations of the Wise One’s, at least one-third of the oceans would recede and the ever-present clouds would disperse.
As the fateful day approached, the population had to hide inside deep cavities and hope for the best. Two hundred of the spaceships were kept ready on stand-by, filled to capacity with the youngest of us. If the “controlled” explosion grew to catastrophic proportions, we had to reach “Brother,” later known as planet Earth…and save the pieces…
***
The high-pitched voice of Bette — Mrs. Louis Goughental — was a hard awakening.
“I need you, Donald!”
I followed her silently to the most luxurious tent. She had a spread of appetizers and crystal wineglasses waiting to be filled. The wine was one of a kind. She wouldn’t settle for less. A small heater purred happily. The lighting was discreet. We sat on the Arab puffs and I poured the wine. My hostess tried to read me.
“What’s the matter, Doddy?”
I touched her glass with mine and swallowed a bit. Good wine was wasted on me. Bette drank hers eagerly. That was a bad sign, but didn’t worry me.
“I don’t think I want to stay on the job, Mrs. Goughental.”
Dejected, Bette emptied her glass, and asked for more.
“Oh… Is that all? Am I too old for you?”
I smothered a sigh.
“That’s beside the point, Bette.” The distant yelping of hyenas made me feel destitute and lonely. I took her hand with a sense of real pity and attachment. “Don’t spend your money on my crazy ideas.”
“What then? What’s the alternative?”
“Live your own life.” I implored.
Bette left her empty wineglass without taking her eyes from the bottom.
“I don’t have my own life, Donald. Do you?”
I was bothered by her question — troubled that I really didn’t have a life of my own. Whose life was I living? I finished my wine.
“I don’t know, Bette.”
“Of course, you have a mission and your youth, darling. That settles many unanswered questions. At my age, I have to face the funeral music.”
“What age?”
Bette laughed drearily.
“The age after the second facelift. Do you think there’s life after the second facelift?”
Somewhat uneasily, I joined her laughter.
“Life after death… how old am I, according to your perception?”
Abruptly, she stopped laughing.
“I’m fifty-thousand years old, Bette.”
A dead pause hung between the two of us.
“You think that’s funny?” she asked nervously, then took a cigarette and lit it with a slightly trembling hand. I shouldn’t have told her that. Now, I had to go on, “No, it isn’t funny, but it’s true.”
“In poetic terms?”
I straightened up and started undressing.
“In historic terms…”
