“A Cure for Solastalgia” by E.M. Linden

Summary

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Podcast Summary: "A Cure for Solastalgia" by E.M. Linden

It's Storytime with Wil Wheaton
Host: Wil Wheaton
Release Date: December 10, 2025

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Episode Overview

This episode of “It’s Storytime with Wil Wheaton” features Wil’s reading of “A Cure for Solastalgia” by E.M. Linden, a speculative fiction story originally published in Strange Horizons (Jan 2024). Through Wil’s evocative narration, listeners are drawn into a lyrical tale of magic, generational conflict, environmental grief, and the aching search for belonging and restoration in a changing world. The story poignantly explores the concept of “solastalgia” – the emotional distress caused by environmental change to one's home – as experienced by the protagonist, who wields an inherited but misunderstood magical gift.

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Key Discussion Points & Story Highlights

1. Introduction & Framing the Generation Gap (01:39 – 03:25)

• Wil sets the stage for the story’s emotional landscape: the moment when we first leave home, adopt our own values, and inevitably find ourselves clashing with our parents over differences—a phenomenon he calls “the generation gap.”
• Notable Quote:
  • “When we come home for the first time, we will do everything we can to convince our parents that the values we are now living should also be their values... The resulting deeply disappointing and frustrating experience is commonly called the generation gap.” (Wil Wheaton, 02:14)

2. Meet the Protagonist: Inheritance, Outsider Status, and Magic (03:39 – 07:00)

• The protagonist, after leaving home at 17, recalls their mother's strict advice: not to care too much, hide their gift, and prepare for loneliness—advice quickly rendered useless by the real world.
• The protagonist’s magical gift draws them to communities of environmental activists and “others like them” (with their own distinct magical ‘signatures’).
• Notable Quote:
  • “When I leave home at 17, my mother tells me three things: not to care too much, to keep my gift a secret, and to get used to being alone. ... None of this is good advice.” (03:39)
• The first real encounter with magic outside the family: Molly and Quinn, new friends with their own gifts, explain the concept of a magical ‘signature’, helping the protagonist see themself in a new light.

3. Discovering Community and Identity (06:52 – 09:50)

• Through Molly and Quinn, the protagonist first experiences true kinship and belonging, breaking the isolation imposed by their parents’ secrecy.
• Magic is defined not as a tool for profit (as the parents use it in their landscaping business), but as an act of care, restoration, and identity.
• Descriptions of magical “signatures” become lyrical: “My magic sidesteps like a crab... smells of silt and juniper, thrashes like an alligator, tastes of brine and eel skin.” (07:37)
• Notable Quote:
  • “You don’t always know at first, not your own signature. You don’t notice how your magic feels to others, what shape it takes, because it’s you. You’re inside it.” (Quinn, 09:21)

4. Rejection of Inheritance, Embracing One’s Own Power (10:07 – 11:51)

• The protagonist recalls their mother's gendered mythology around magic (“Men shape the water... Women weave land”), ultimately dismissing it as “gendered bullshit.”
• The parents’ use of magic is contrasted with the protagonist’s: the parents build for the wealthy, the protagonist undoes corporate and ecological harm.
• Notable Quote:
  • “My mother was doing her best to help, but she didn’t really know either.” (10:46)

5. Enacting Restoration—Limits and Costs (15:08 – 21:05)

• The protagonist, Molly, and Quinn use their magic to undo environmental destruction and capitalist overreach—restoring destroyed land at personal cost.
• Magical restoration is exhausting and painful, with toxins and microplastics absorbed into the protagonist’s body: “Toxins and microplastics surge out of the land and into my blood. I reel and vomit into the bucket I brought with me. It’s worth it.” (17:34)
• Yet, their powers have limits—the team can’t reverse every scar: “We don’t talk about the stretches of the coast that stay dead, the forests that won’t grow again, however deep Quinn digs... The places tipped so far off balance that they can’t support the life that’s meant to be there.” (20:05)

6. Facing Home and Solastalgia (23:38 – 26:48)

• The theme of solastalgia—longing and grief for a changed homeland—emerges. The protagonist feels unready to return home, dreading what remains.
• Friends gently confront the protagonist: “Grief... that’s what’s stopping you. Grief for your place. There’s a word for that, Molly says. Solastalgia.” (24:45)
• The dilemma is not about healing all scars or feeling better, but about responsibility: “Not a cure for solastalgia. A responsibility.” (26:44)
• Notable Quote:
  • “Who else will try?” (Quinn, 26:56)

7. The Final Restoration—Choosing to Return (27:17 – 29:59)

• The protagonist returns home. Their parents’ ‘signatures’ saturate the resort—chlorine, pesticides, perfection disguising damage.
• In a powerful final act, the protagonist undoes the artificial paradise, summoning wetlands, wildness, and true night back to their home.
• Notable Moment:
  • “I don’t let go until the night around me is hot and damp and dark, rich with the tang of salt and the beat of insects and the shadows of mangrove trees... Herons rise, the wetlands undrain.” (29:06–29:41)

8. Story Credits and Author Background (30:31 – 31:08)

• Wil Wheaton reads author notes: E.M. Linden, a speculative fiction writer from Aotearoa (New Zealand), known for themes of nature, queerness, and loss.
• Wil thanks listeners and points out where to find Linden and additional works.

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Notable Quotes & Memorable Moments

| Timestamp | Quote / Moment | Speaker | |-----------|----------------|---------| | 02:14 | "The resulting deeply disappointing and frustrating experience is commonly called the generation gap..." | Wil Wheaton | | 03:39 | "When I leave home at 17, my mother tells me three things: not to care too much..." | Protagonist | | 07:37 | "My magic sidesteps like a crab... smells of silt and juniper, thrashes like an alligator..." | Protagonist | | 09:21 | "You don't always know at first, not your own signature... because it's you. You're inside it." | Quinn | | 17:34 | "Toxins and microplastics surge out of the land and into my blood. I reel and vomit into the bucket I brought with me. It's worth it." | Protagonist | | 20:05 | "We don’t talk about the stretches of the coast that stay dead, the forests that won’t grow again, however deep Quinn digs..." | Protagonist (Reflection) | | 24:45 | "Grief... that's what's stopping you. Grief for your place. There's a word for that, Molly says. Solastalgia." | Quinn & Molly | | 26:44 | "Not a cure for solastalgia. A responsibility." | Quinn & Protagonist | | 26:56 | "Who else will try?" | Quinn | | 29:06 | "I don't let go until the night around me is hot and damp and dark, rich with the tang of salt and the beat of insects..." | Protagonist |

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Thematic Takeaways

• Solastalgia: The story’s emotional core is the sense of displacement and grief when one’s home is irrevocably changed, especially by environmental loss.
• Generation Gap & Magic: The protagonist’s journey echoes the universal struggle to define oneself against the hopes and worldviews of one’s parents—especially around what counts as meaningful work and care.
• Restoration vs. Escape: True healing comes not from nostalgia or escape, but from the act of facing loss and choosing to bear responsibility—even when the task is impossible.

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Episode Segments & Timestamps

• [01:39–03:25]: Wil’s introduction; theming around values, responsibility, and the generation gap.
• [03:39–11:51]: Beginning of the story; description of protagonist’s background, meeting magical kin.
• [15:08–21:05]: Magical activism and restoration; personal and ecological limits.
• [23:38–26:48]: Grappling with solastalgia; the choice to return home.
• [27:17–29:59]: The climactic restoration of the protagonist’s home.
• [30:31–31:08]: Author background and acknowledgments.

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Conclusion

Wil Wheaton’s narration brings out the lyrical beauty and poignant themes of “A Cure for Solastalgia.” The episode is both an intimate coming-of-age and an urgent eco-fantasy, resonant for anyone who’s felt out of step with their family, or who mourns for the loss of beloved places. The story’s careful attention to character, environmental specificity, and the ache of grief and healing, makes it a standout installment on “It’s Storytime.”

Transcript

[A]

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[C]

Hey everybody, I'm Will and it's story time.

When we leave home for the first time and enter the so called real.

[D]

World, we become responsible for so much more than our laundry, our food and our bills.

[C]

We truly become responsible for ourselves.

[D]

We choose our values.

[C]

We choose who we will trust to share those values.

[D]

And when we come home for the.

[C]

First time, we will do everything we.

[D]

Can to convince our parents that the values we are now living should also be their values.

[C]

The resulting deeply disappointing and frustrating experience is commonly called the generation gap. And some of you are noticing a rueful grin has appeared on your face just now because you have experienced this for yourself. Some of you, like me, have experienced it from both sides of the gap. Today's story time is about someone who.

[D]

Is very special, just as their mother intended them to be. They carry their mother's talents, shaped and nurtured by her teaching.

[C]

They've been away from home long enough to discover that the way they use.

[D]

Those talents is very different from the way their mother intended.

[C]

There is no bridge that can cross their generation gap, and if I told.

[D]

You why, there wouldn't be much of a story left.

[C]

So we are about to join them.

[D]

In their real world while they work to claim their talent for themselves, to make it truly their own as they seek a cure for Soulstalgia.

Before we begin, there is a content warning in the program description that you may wish to review or not. I'm not the boss of you.

A cure for Soul Astalgia by E.M. linden.

When I leave home at 17, my mother tells me three things not to care too much, to keep my gift a secret, and to get used to being alone. You'll see what it's like, she says. Out there in the real world, none of this is good advice.

A river drowns the golf course that had forced its rerouting. It scribbles itself back over the greens. A poem on a blank page. A home for beavers. In the town beside the golf course, the yearly flooding eases when the river frees itself.

[C]

Out here in the real world, I'm.

[D]

Not the only one who cares too much. Volunteers escort turtle hatchlings to the seafoam. Activists chain themselves to trees at Kelp Bay. An entire community helps keep stranded whales alive until the tide turns. I join their bucket chains, haul seawater alongside them until my muscles scream. I go to the community meeting feeling nervous, hopeful, and a little bit like a fraud. People chat in small groups. I lean against the wall and watch the seats fill up. When the speakers make their cases, I nod from the back where nobody can see me. After the meeting, I sign the petition and examine the fundraising T shirts that I can't afford. I fix a smile to my face and hover by the coffee table.

[C]

Sometimes people smile back, but nobody strikes up a conversation.

[D]

I pretend to examine the posters on the wall. The room empties. I put my coat on as I walk to the exit. Out of nowhere, I'm doused in water as cold as the Atlantic Ocean. Someone sloshed a bucket of seawater over my head. Salt burns my nose. I gasp and stumble sideways.

[C]

I knock into the woman beside me.

[D]

And spill my coffee on her shoe.

[C]

Sorry.

[D]

I pat myself down. Apart from the coffee, I'm completely dry. I imagined it.

[C]

Or maybe there's a draft.

[D]

Or something else. That's when I see Molly. It's called a signature, molly says. She introduces me to her friend Quinn and insists I join them at a nearby coffee shop. Quinn frowns, but Molly whispers something to them that makes their shoulders relax. The coffee shop is loud and crowded, which I later learn is deliberate. We all have one. A signature. Maybe you call it something else, but you'll know it. It's the imprint your magic makes. You felt mine, and you weren't even trying. Here. Your coffee. Since I made you spill yours. I concentrate. It's obvious what she means, harder to ignore it than to spot it. I've felt it once or twice before, although nothing like Molly's.

[C]

I never knew there was a word for it.

[D]

It's in her tannin eyes, her peat smoked voice. She's the lurch of the swell, both kinds of moonshine. A magpie's cackle. Acorns rolling underfoot. Gray black whales rising in a blue black sea. And Quinn, edelweiss and gentian flowers. The scrape of scoria and the rumble of avalanches. Glaciers calving in a milky bay. Tarns like mirrors. Molly sees my face and grins. You see, all of us have one. Even me. She rolls her eyes. You serious? How else do you think I recognized you? I've never noticed. I've never met people like you before. Only my parents, who couldn't or wouldn't answer my questions, who used their gifts solely for profit, who told me never to admit the truth about myself. I take a deep breath and ignore my mother's voice in my head. People like me. Even Quinn smiles. Then Molly rushes to describe myself to me and Quinn joins in, quiet but assured. My magic sidesteps like a crab. They say it smells of silt and juniper, thrashes like an alligator, tastes of brine and eel skin. It's coiled as a mangrove seed, rises like herons in flight. I've always loved the wetlands, the in between places, weeds and wild shorelines. Places my mother calls ugly.

[C]

Yes, I repeat, even though an hour ago I would have had no idea what they were talking about.

[D]

Yes, that's me. You don't always know at first, quinn says kindly. Not your own signature.

[C]

You don't notice how your magic feels.

[D]

To others, what shape it takes because it's you. You're inside it. They snort.

[C]

No one sends you a magic letter to explain it.

[D]

I wonder then, did my mother know what shape my magic took? How could she not? Ugly, says her voice in my head, and I smile.

Saplings crack. The car park that skirts the Mega Mall. The tarmac shatters like a mosaic. Roots wrap around chunks of concrete and pull them apart. The light is green and flickers with birds.

Men shape the water, or so my mother told me. Women weave land. Men, like oceans, dominate the planet. Women nurture like good soil. I don't know why it took me so long to reject this, along with the rest of my mother's gendered bullshit. She must have repeated it until it stuck, back when I was hungry for anything she could tell me about what she called my gifts, back when there was no one else to ask.

My mother was doing her best to help, but she didn't really know either. It took me a while to realize that, and then I started to wonder what else was out there, what else was possible.

[C]

My parents used their gifts to run a landscaping business.

[D]

Her manicured gardens, his water features together their magics guild beach resorts and mansions.

My gift disappoints my mother, but it doesn't create anything, though, does it, dear? She sniffs her roses pointedly, just turns back the clock.

Magic is all we have in common now. She calls it a gift or it not magic because that's childish. I call it magic because it is.

Quinn's gift is growing things, raising them out of the earth, trees and mountains, or tearing them down as required. Molly brings life its echoes and sounds, but she also hears the voices of the dead. Her world is a soundscape of loss. Not really a gift at all, she grumbles. I ask her what it's like. She turns away. One day, she says, unprompted, it's the birds that get to me the most.

[C]

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You're the one asking the questions.

[D]

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They better answer.

[F]

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[G]

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[D]

The hotel is the size of a city block. It perches among bulldozed dunes, unbroken birds nests, and dying spine effects. Its glass atrium unfolds like a flower. It's won architectural awards. The sea view is unparalleled. The developers are furious but baffled.

They have no idea what the hell happened. Luxury hotels don't just disappear.

Don't you ever think about doing something? I ask Quinn and Molly. I know what they're capable of, how they feel. They meet each other's eyes. Molly laughs. Quinn tries not to. Oh yeah? Molly says. Like what? I blush. It sounds stupid when I put it into words. Childish, you know, like using your abilities. Magic. Say it. You ever think of, you know, doing something with them? Molly turns to Quinn. Want to explain? Or shall I?

The politician dreams of owlets poised to fledge. Fish owls she somehow knows, though she can barely tell a pigeon from a sparrow, no matter how much frangipani air freshener she sprays. Her room still smells of pine resin and ice. The north of her constituency smells like that forests and wild seas. Perhaps she'll visit for the mine's opening once the permit is approved. She's voting yes for progress, but owl calls haunt her. She hungers for ice, choked harbors, wakes, homesick for places she's never seen. After three near sleepless weeks, she makes a phone call. She changes her deciding vote.

My gift works by hand, palms flat, fingertips digging in. A landfill site blossoms. An oil spill retracts. Maimed hills regain their contours. Concrete disintegrates. Toxins and microplastics surge out of the land and into my blood. I reel and vomit into the bucket I brought with me. It's worth it.

Wildness rises to meet my fingertips. Freshwater and soil resurface inch by inch. Small creatures click and chirp and moths whirl around me. A bat Careens. Overhead, weeds creep back over sprayed land.

Turning back the clock. My mother said she never called it what it is.

Magic restoration.

My mother calls me breathless about the latest acts of vandalism. There's a pattern emerging, and the media is connecting the dots. Strange things, she says. You know, like. Like what we can do. Like magic. Go on, say it.

I say. That is strange.

[C]

It's her favorite topic of gossip.

[D]

Then it starts to hit too close to home. A golf course, a mega mall, a hotel she'd planned to visit for a spa day. She doesn't say anything outright, but she doesn't have to. She's good at expressing disapproval without saying anything.

[C]

I hope I haven't given you ideas.

[D]

An artificial laugh. That's the closest she gets to accusation.

Quinn, Molly and I make a good team, but there are things we don't talk about, like the fact that it doesn't always work.

We don't talk about the stretches of the coast that stay dead, the forests that won't grow again, however deep Quinn digs. Bleached reefs, crushing tons of plastic. The invisible beads, the promise of cancer and poison that work their way into bloodstreams and waterways and ecosystems. The place is tipped so far off balance that they can't support the life that's meant to be there. Where even if we bring the creatures and plants back, they're doomed.

[F]

Close your eyes. Exhale.

[D]

Feel your body relax.

[F]

And let go of whatever you're carrying today. Well, I'm letting go of the worry that I wouldn't get my new contacts in time for this class. I got them delivered free from 1-800-contacts. Oh, my gosh, they're so fast.

[D]

And breathe.

[F]

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[C]

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[F]

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[D]

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[F]

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[G]

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[D]

My magic has strengthened since I left home. It no longer respects boundaries. Now I speak to the sea and mountains. Both know there are no lines between land and water, only connections. Waves hissing over sand, migrating birds, estuaries, and salt flowers.

Water also nurtures. The earth is strong. I can and do work everywhere, but its best easiest when I know and love the land. It's also hardest.

Quinn frowns at me over their mug of herbal tea.

[C]

You're avoiding it.

[D]

There's no rush, that's all. I swish my own tea in its cup, pick up my teaspoon, put it down again. There are so many other priorities, unfortunately. Molly chips in. But Quinn won't be distracted. Why not go?

[C]

I'm not scared, if that's what you're implying.

[D]

No, I know that's not what's keeping you away. Quinn puts their mug down and holds my gaze. I've been back only once. Not to visit my parents but to protest against the resort paradise. Then, still a gleam in a billionaire's eye. It swallowed the wetlands near my childhood home. Where land and sea once mingled, it replaced life with sun loungers and mini golf. I didn't do enough.

Other young people had love affairs or hostile families to teach them heartbreak. I had paradise. Grief, quinn says. That's what's stopping you. Grief for your place. There's a word for that, molly says. Solastalgia. I know.

I don't want to find out what's there now.

[C]

Everything will be wrong.

[D]

The silences and the noises that replaced them. What's wrong with mud and weeds and insects? Out of nowhere, I'm on the verge of crying.

[C]

Why can't we just let good things be?

[D]

Molly makes sympathetic faces. Quinn puts the kettle on again. I can't bear to tell even Quinn and Molly about the lucrative contract my parents scored to bring paradise to lifeless life.

Between one phase of the moon and the next, a meadow spreads. It covers the artificial lawns and erases driveways.

Now for a whole stretch of suburbia. There are dandelions in back gardens.

Now. There are wildflowers, saxifrage, buttercup, meadow veg, thistle. Now there are bees.

You have to go home, quinn says. Believe me. I stare out the window to avoid Quinn's eyes. I don't think it will help me to see it. It's your place.

[C]

Not a way to make yourself feel better. Not a cure for, you know, that.

[D]

Fancy word of Molly's. Solastalgia.

[C]

Not a cure for soulstalgia.

[D]

A responsibility.

[C]

But what if it doesn't work?

[D]

It comes out as a whale.

Quinn takes a sip of tea. Who else will try? They say, and I can't answer. I sulk and mull and cry a little. And then I go home to Paradise.

My parents have been busy. Their signatures shout from miles away.

My father's is pool chlorine, lawn mower's thrumming, squeaking Styrofoam. My mother's has a pesticidal sting, the smell of nail polish, watery tomatoes in winter, car exhaust.

The resort is never truly dark. A lurid welcome to paradise illuminates the grounds. Floodlights pollute the darkness and drown the stars. Acres of perfect green lawns engulf me. Golf courses, topiary hedges in the shape of celebrities, sterile flower beds and an unseasonal floral clock. My mother's work and my father's a ghost creek, tiled blue and forced straight swim up. Bars and Jacuzzis a concrete choked shoreline, fountains kept clean with drams of bleach. I concentrate. The floodlights blink out one by one in the semi dark. I flex my hands and dig my fingers deep into the perfect lawn. Roots tangle over my knuckles. My skin hums with intention and the good buried earth.

I don't let go until the night around me is hot and damp and dark, rich with the tang of salt and the beat of insects and the shadows of mangrove trees. Mist, not light pollution, blurs the stars. Eels seethe around me and a crab scuttles over my foot.

Herons rise, the wetlands undrain.

Something large and toothed slides into the Lazarus Water, and when dawn breaks, it smells of the living swamp.

Sam.

[C]

A Cure for Solastalgia by E.M. linden was originally published in January 2024 in.

[D]

Issue 1 of Strange Horizons.

[C]

E.M. linden she her, is a speculative.

[D]

Fiction writer from Aotearoa, New Zealand, who likes coffee, books, and owls.

[C]

Her work has previously appeared in the Deadlands, flash Fiction Online, Weird Horror, and elsewhere.

[D]

She is online at Emlinden Blog or Emlinden Bsky Social. Thank you for listening to A Cure for Solastalgia by E.M. linden.

[C]

Before you go, this is the part where I ask you to smash that like button. Subscribe Leave us a review and tell all of your friends Someday, when there are millions and billions of listeners on all of the planets across the Federation. You can proudly say that you helped us get there. Now here are the credits.

It's Storytime was produced in 2025 by Traveller Enterprises Incorporated, who holds the copyright. Our producer is Harris Lane. Our story producer and director is Gabrielle Dicure. Our content editor is Michael Thomas. Our podcast is mixed, edited and mastered by Alex Barton of Phase Shift av. Special thanks to Wes Stevens and Christopher Black. Its story time is recorded at Skyboat Media in the beautiful San Fernando Valley, California. 818 for life, y'.

[D]

All.

[C]

If you'd like to support the show.

[D]

And get an ad free feed as.

[C]

Well as some behind the scenes extras, visit patreon.com storytime I am your creator, executive producer and host Wil Wheaton. You can find me [e-mail] I'm it's Wil Wheaton on all the non fascist social networks. Thank you so very much for listening. I am so grateful that you are here. Until next time, take care of yourselves.

[D]

And take care of each other. Bye.

[C]

I was walking my dog yesterday and.

[D]

Ann came with and I was talking with her about the pod.

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Com.