The personal debt bubble is fit to burst

We're almost in Wongaland already, writes Carl Packman.

Back in March 2012 the Office for Budget Responsibility (OBR) at least entertained the notion that economic growth would come from places other than an increase in household debt. Exports, investment, the lot. Today it doesn't bother, the consumer will have to go this alone, even with bank lending squeezed and wages left wanting. 

Even George Osborne, during his Mais Lecture in February 2010, offered us this gem: “The overhang of private debt in our banking system and our households weigh heavy on future prosperity”. How right he was, but his response was to lead us down the “road to Wongaland”. 

Despite the optimism of low interest rates, at least until unemployment rates are sorted out, critics have pointed out that Mark Carney's calls are really just a return to days where recovery will be fuelled by consumption and rising debt – as if we need more of that. 

Sure, people are returning to the shops, no doubt spurred on by the shiny weather, which is great for the economy, but what is the real upshot? Wages are falling in real terms and household debt is 153 per cent of GDP. On average each household in the UK is bagged with nearly £8000 in unsecured debt. Is the hope that we will get into more debt the only tool in the bag for economic growth?

Of course we should remind ourselves who the real winners are. Last year PwC said that credit cards were suffering a “mid-life” crisis as borrowers were using them less and taking out unsecured loans at a much faster rate. We're being told to spend more but we cannot afford to? The winners: who else but payday lenders.

In 2009, during the economic crisis, the payday lending industry was worth £900m. A mere four years later and the industry is worth over £2bn. One well-known player in the industry, The Money Shop, had 34 staff and a turnover of £2.9m in 1998, today with 2,300 staff their income is £172.3m. 

Not long ago the economist Tim Harford tried to allay our fears and said that compared to other forms of consumer credit lending the payday lending industry was relatively small and not to be worried about. But their rapid growth from an industry worth a measly £100m in 2004 should be better noted.

The industry is small in comparison but is growing at a far more accelerated rate than its mainstream counterparts. CityWire recently estimated that more than half (52 per cent) of new consumer credit loans are being made by "other" banking institutions and non-banks including non-standard mortgage lenders and sub-prime lenders such as pawnbrokers and payday lenders. 

And so it is, more of us are relying on high cost credit from payday lenders, personal debt profiles will grow dangerously large, less money will be circulated on the high streets, consumers will be less able to shield themselves from unseen financial shocks and the whole debt cycle starts again.

As the CityWire report notes, the OBR anticipated that a credit boom would sustain an economic recovery. But that boom is being held by fringe financial institutions such as payday lenders who are expensive and suck more money out of the economy than they put in. In turn the tune of increased payday lending, rather than being the silver bullet needed for economic growth, will be its death knell. 

If the economy is allowed to continue to run like this, with Britons being some of the most indebted in the world only able to supplement decreasing real wages and the rising cost of living with high cost credit, then a personal debt bubble will eventually burst. Osbornomics needs to change direction, fast. All the warning signs are there.

Cash Loans. Photograph: Getty Images

Carl Packman is a writer, researcher and blogger. He is the author of the forthcoming book Loan Sharks to be released by Searching Finance. He has previously published in the Guardian, Tribune Magazine, The Philosopher's Magazine and the International Journal for Žižek Studies.

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How “cli-fi” novels humanise the science of climate change

The paradox is that the harder climate-fiction novels try, the less effective they are.

When the Paris UN Climate Change Conference begins at the end of November, the world’s leaders will review the climate framework agreed in Rio in 1992. For well over 20 years, the world has not just been thinking and talking about climate change, it has also been writing and reading about it, in blogs, newspapers, magazines – and in novels.

Climate change fiction is now a recognisable literary phenomenon replete with its own nickname: “cli-fi”. The term was coined in 2007 by Taiwan-based blogger Dan Bloom. Since then, its use has spread: it was even tweeted by Margaret Atwood in 2013:

It is not a genre in the accepted scholarly sense, since it lacks the plot formulas or stylistic conventions that tend to define genres (such as science fiction or the western). However, it does name a remarkable recent literary and publishing trend.

A 21st-century phenomenon?

Putting a number to this phenomenon depends, partly, on how one defines cli-fi. How much of a novel has to be devoted to climate change before it is considered cli-fi? Should we restrict the term to novels about man-made global warming? (If we don’t, we should remember that narratives about global climatic change are as old as The Epic of Gilgamesh and the Biblical story of the flood.) If we define cli-fi as fictional treatments of climate change caused by human activity in terms of setting, theme or plot – and accept there will be grey areas in the extent of this treatment – a conservative estimate would put the all-time number of cli-fi novels at 150 and growing. This is the figure put forward by Adam Trexler, who has worked with me to survey the development of cli-fi.

This definition also gives us a start date for cli-fi’s history. While planetary climatic change occurs in much 20th-century science fiction, it is only after growing scientific awareness of specifically man-made, carbon-induced climate change in the 1960s and 1970s that novels on this subject emerged. The first is Arthur Herzog’s Heat in 1976, followed by George Turner’s The Sun and the Summer (published in the US as Drowning Towers) in 1987.

At the turn of this century, Maggie Gee and TC Boyle were among the first mainstream authors to publish climate change novels. In this century, we can count Atwood, Michael Crichton, Barbara Kingsolver, Ian McEwan, Kim Stanley Robinson, Ilija Trojanow and Jeanette Winterson as major authors who have written about climate change. The past five years have given us notable examples of cli-fi by emerging authors, such as Steven Amsterdam, Edan Lepucki, Jane Rawson, Nathaniel Rich and Antti Tuomainen.

Creative challenges

Cli-fi is all the more noteworthy considering the creative challenge posed by climate change. First, there is the problem of scale – spatial and temporal. Climate change affects the entire planet and all its species – and concerns the end of this planet as we know it. Novels, by contrast, conventionally concern the actions of individual protagonists and/or, sometimes, small communities.

Added to this is the networked nature of climate change: in physical terms, the climate is a large, complex system whose effects are difficult to model. In socio-cultural terms, solutions require intergovernmental agreement – just what COP21 intends – and various top-down and bottom-up transformations. Finally, there exists the difficulty of translating scientific information, with all its predictive uncertainty, into something both accurate and interesting to the average reader.

Still, cli-fi writers have adopted a range of strategies to engage their readers. Many cli-fi novels could be classified as dystopian, post-apocalyptic or, indeed, both – depicting nightmarish societies triggered by sometimes catastrophic climate events. A future world is one effective way of narrating the planetary condition of climate change.

Some novelists are also careful to underpin their scenarios with rigorous climatic predictions and, in this way, translate science fact into a fictional setting. Kingsolver, who trained as an ecologist, is the best example of this – and Atwood and Robinson are also known for their attempts at making their speculations scientifically plausible. Also, cli-fi novels, particularly those set in the present day or very near future rather than in a dystopian future, tend to show the political or psychological dimensions of living with climate change. Readers can identify with protagonists. To some extent, the global community is represented in fictional everymen or everywomen. Or, often, it is through such characters that science is humanised and its role in combating climate change better understood.

Can cli-fi lead to change?

Could cli-fi affect how we think and act on climate change? The paradox is that the harder cli-fi tries, the less effective it is. Many writers want to inspire change, not insist on it: the line between literature and propaganda is one that most novelists respect. Literature invites us to inhabit other worlds and live other lives. Cli-fi at its best lets us travel to climate-changed worlds, to strive there alongside others and then to return armed with that experience.

In Paris, the UN will seek a global agreement on climate action for the first time in more than 20 years. There is plenty of climate change fiction out there to help provide the mental and psychological space to consider that action.

The Conversation

Adeline Johns-Putra, Reader in English Literature, University of Surrey

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.