The Event Has Left Marks: A Nostalgic Review of Everybody’s Gone to the Rapture

Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Walking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness

With its soaring elegiac score and beautifully detailed environment, you can be forgiven for describing Everybody’s Gone to the Rapture through poetry. It is in Eliot’s “Hollow Men,” after all, that we learn that the end of the world comes not with a bang, but a whimper.


Rapture is that whimper, recreated in the fictional town of Yaughton, Shropshire. Eliot’s “Hollow Men” isn’t the only immediate literary reference that springs to mind during your gradual introduction to Rapture’s picturesque lanes and public footpaths. Yaughton also telegraphs the sinister coziness of Agatha Christie’s infamous St. Mary Mead remixed with elements of John Wyndham’s unique brand of pastoral science-fiction. Village homes boast comforting British tidiness in the form of floral wallpaper and gleaming sinks, front doors left ajar as if the occupant had simply stepped out for a moment. In the pub, half-smoked cigarettes still smolder and turn to ash underneath a dartboard paused in the middle of a never-to-be finished game. Advertisements for the annual church fete and village production of Peter Pan – a sweet bit of foreshadowing to the importance of stars to this unfolding story – appear on bulletin boards and shop windows next to official council notices that Yaughton is under quarantine.

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