Chapter 3: The Blasted Heath

In this chapter, we descend into fire and ash — Pompeii’s frozen ruins, volcanic thunderclouds, and Shakespeare’s blasted heath — to ask how memory endures when truth begins to fracture. Here legacies are scorched, language twists into fog, and the phantom “they” rises from the smoke. What begins in volcanic fire widens into outrage media, engineered fury, and the epistemic breaches born of Reagan’s rhetorical spell — the crater where our post-truth age first began to take shape.

A dramatic classical painting of the eruption of Mount Vesuvius destroying Pompeii. Under a dark, swirling sky split by lightning, terrified people scramble across crumbling stone streets as ash and fire fill the horizon with a red glow. Figures clutch children, carry the injured, shield their faces, or collapse in despair. Statues topple from buildings, horses rear in panic, and fallen bodies lie scattered on the ground. The scene is chaotic, smoky, and apocalyptic, capturing the moment of catastrophic ruin.
Image: The Last Day of Pompeii (1830–1833), Karl Bryullov. Public domain via Wikimedia Commons.

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