In an era marked by increasing instability and the unravelling of long-held societal promises, Anna Lowenhaupt Tsing's The Mushroom at the End of the World (2015) offers a compelling lens through which to examine the proliferation of precarious livelihoods in what she terms "capitalist ruins".

Moving beyond narratives of future collapse, Tsing meticulously documents the present-day emergence of adaptive, often informal economies as a response to the erosion of industrial certainties. This reality of pervasive precarity, where even fleeting moments of abundance are shadowed by underlying instability, resonates powerfully with Lauren Berlant's concept of "cruel optimism." Berlant (2011) argues that individuals often maintain attachment to conventional "good life" fantasies, such as stable employment and social mobility, even when the evidence of their fragility mounts.

This essay will explore the intricate interplay between Tsing's depiction of a world defined by precarity and Berlant's framework of cruel optimism, examining how the very conditions Tsing illuminates contribute to the persistent yet often detrimental adherence to fading aspirations in our contemporary moment.

The emblem of adaptation: Tsing's Matsutake in a precarious world

In The Mushroom at the End of the World, Anna Lowenhaupt Tsing delves into our present reality, characterised by an increasing prevalence of precarious livelihoods and the tangible signs of societal unravelling. Rather than focusing on the much-lauded but often regulated "sharing" economies of recent years, Tsing directs our attention to the enduring and evolving underground economies born out of necessity, such as mushroom picking. These informal networks that are born out of mushroom picking, she argues, offer crucial insights as established societal structures weaken.

Tsing finds a potent symbol for this resilience and adaptability, in particular, in the nature of the matsutake mushroom. This unique fungus thrives in human-disturbed forests, much like "rats, raccoons, and cockroaches," demonstrating a capacity to not only survive but flourish in the environmental messes we have created (3-4). Paradoxically, this seemingly unassuming organism is also a highly prized gourmet delicacy, particularly in Japan, where its value can make it the most expensive mushroom on earth (4). Tsing highlights that the majority of matsutake entering global trade originates from two types of human-altered landscapes: industrial pine forests and peasant landscapes where broadleaf trees have been cleared, often favoring the growth of pines (171).

The very conditions that might seem inhospitable – disturbed soil, the presence of animal traces, pockets of hidden moisture – are precisely where the matsutake is likely to be found, thriving in the margins rather than fertile abundance (243). This remarkable ability to adapt and even capitalise on environmental disruption makes the matsutake a compelling emblem of the precarious yet resourceful modes of living that Tsing explores.

Building on the image of the adaptable matsutake thriving in disturbed landscapes, Tsing introduces a fundamental concept for understanding this contemporary reality: precarity. This is not merely economic insecurity but rather a recognition of the inherent unpredictability and uncontrollability of "natural" resources and events, which carry the potential for significant disruption. As Tsing poignantly observes, "Precarity once seemed the fate of the less fortunate," yet "at present, it appears that the entirety of our lives are precarious, even when, momentarily, our financial resources are abundant."

This pervasive sense of instability, she argues, is a defining characteristic of our current era. Consequently, the future economy will be increasingly marked by this precarity, leading to the gradual decline of the industrial model as its foundations become unsustainable. In this light, Tsing emphasizes the urgent need to conceptualize the emerging post-industrial economic paradigm, one that she posits will not be driven by knowledge but rather characterized by a "salvage economy" intertwined with elements of gift and relationship exchange.

Crucially, Tsing argues that this new economic configuration cannot be imposed through force or centralized control due to its inherent limitations in scalability. To understand this shift, she looks back at the origins of the industrial economy in European plantations, where the exploitation of slave labour and conquered land provided seemingly endless and manageable "inputs". This model was subsequently replicated in the factory. However, in the absence of such unlimited and controllable resources, the structural integrity of this industrial model is fundamentally compromised – a reality that Tsing argues is already evident in our present circumstances. This shift away from the purely extractive logic of industrial capitalism is evident in the surprising dynamics Tsing observes in the Oregon matsutake hunt. She notes,

The surprising thing about the search for matsutake in Oregon is that it does not involve alienation in the relation between foragers and mushrooms. The mushrooms are indeed torn from their fungal bodies. But instead of becoming alienated commodities, ready for conversions between money and capital, they become trophies of the hunt, even as they are sold. Foragers beam with pride while showing off their mushrooms […] The mushrooms become part of the foragers, just as they had eaten them. This means that somehow these trophies must be converted into commodities(121).

This example highlights how even within a system of exchange, the relationship between humans and the natural world, and the personal investment of the foragers, can resist complete commodification. The matsutake, in this instance, carries a trace of the hunt, a personal connection that complicates its purely economic value, suggesting the embeddedness of even market activities within broader social and ecological relationships.

Berlant's cruel optimism and the attachment to the "good life"

While Tsing masterfully illuminates the burgeoning landscape of precarious livelihoods and the adaptive strategies emerging within 'capitalist ruins', understanding the persistent human attachment to traditional aspirations in the face of such instability requires a deeper theoretical lens. This is where Lauren Berlant's concept of 'cruel optimism', as outlined in her 2011 work, becomes particularly insightful. Berlant poses a fundamental question: why do individuals continue to cling to “enduring reciprocity in couples, families, political systems, institutions, markets, and at work” (2) when the evidence of their inherent instability, fragility, and the significant personal cost of maintaining these attachments is so readily apparent?

The answer, Berlant suggests, lies in the deeply ingrained nature of these “good life” fantasies and the profound sense of disorientation that arises when they begin to fray. The very aspirations that have long structured individual and collective desires – the promise of upward mobility, the security of stable employment, the ideal of political and social equality, and the expectation of lively, durable intimacy (3) – are precisely those being undermined by the precarious conditions Tsing meticulously documents. For instance, Tsing's analysis of the decline of the stable industrial economy and the rise of informal, unpredictable labour directly correlates with the 'fraying fantasy' of job security that Berlant identifies.

As traditional economic structures erode, the once-reliable path to upward mobility becomes increasingly uncertain, and the promise of stable, long-term employment fades for many. Similarly, the social and ecological disruptions Tsing describes can be seen as contributing to the instability of political systems and the challenges to achieving genuine equality. Thus, Berlant's framework of cruel optimism provides a crucial lens through which to understand the seemingly paradoxical persistence of hope in a world increasingly defined by precarity.

Even as the traditional "fantasy bribe" of the good life – the promise of security, progress, and stable social structures – increasingly reveals its hollowness in the face of widespread precarity, the fundamental human yearning for well-being and a positive future endures (Berlant, 7). This persistent need can lead to a poignant paradox: individuals may continue to cling to outdated models and aspirations, even when those models are demonstrably failing to provide the promised rewards and may even be contributing to their precarious situation. The mushroom pickers Tsing describes offer a compelling illustration of this dynamic.

They are undeniably adapting to precarious conditions, developing specialised skills and engaging in strenuous labour to "scramble for modes of living" in the disturbed landscapes (Berlant, 8). Their dedication to the hunt, fueled by the hope of a valuable matsutake harvest, could be interpreted through the lens of cruel optimism. Despite the inherent uncertainties of the natural world, the fluctuating market prices, and the intense competition, their continued investment in this precarious livelihood might represent an attachment to the fantasy of economic security and upward mobility, even if the reality is one of constant risk and unpredictable returns.

Furthermore, the diverse "styles of response to crisis" observed in Tsing's ethnography – the various strategies for foraging, the networks of exchange, the relationships formed – can be linked to Berlant's notion that these responses are shaped by the remnants of a world with "tattering formal and informal norms" (Berlant, 20).

As the traditional social contracts and institutional supports weaken in Tsing's "capitalist ruins", individuals are forced to reconfigure their expectations and invent new, often precarious, ways of navigating their social and economic realities. This constant need for adaptation, while still being emotionally and ideologically tethered to the fading promises of a more stable past, can ultimately lead to a state of being "overwhelmed, forced to change, and yet also stuck" (Berlant, 21). Individuals are compelled to innovate and survive in the present, yet the persistent pull of the unfulfilled "good life" fantasies can create a sense of being trapped between a receding ideal and a demanding, uncertain reality.

Adaptive strategies and fading fantasies

Continuing her exploration of navigating a precarious world, Tsing, in the latter part of her book, underscores the growing significance of "noticing". This involves a shift towards a humble and attentive study of the intricate ways in which things function, paying close attention to even minor disturbances and their potential ramifications. In contrast to the potential entrapment within Berlant's cruel optimism, Tsing's emphasis on "noticing" offers a potential pathway toward navigating precarity with greater awareness and agency. By advocating for a humble and meticulous observation of the intricate and often unexpected workings of the present – the subtle ecological shifts, the emergent social networks, and the unconventional economic flows – Tsing encourages a move away from reliance on grand, often failing narratives of progress and stability.

This act of deep attention allows for a clearer acknowledgement of the realities of precarity, fostering a grounded understanding of the contingent and interconnected nature of existence. Furthermore, Tsing's highlighting of interspecies interdependence and the potential of alternative, relationship-based economic exchanges suggests a shift in focus from the individualistic pursuit of traditional "good life" fantasies towards the cultivation of more localised, collaborative, and ecologically attuned forms of well-being.

By learning to "notice" the opportunities and resources within the "capitalist ruins" and by forging new connections with both human and non-human others, individuals and communities may begin to detach from unsustainable aspirations rooted in a fading industrial paradigm and instead cultivate more resilient and meaningful futures grounded in the present realities of their interconnected world.

Tsing's exploration extends beyond a critique of existing systems to emphasise the inherent agency found within the complex interdependence of species and environments she terms "assemblages". Challenging the idea of isolated cultures, she proposes a "co-culture" where diverse organisms engage in "polyphonic performances of living" within these contingent and precarious formations. As she notes:

To appreciate the polyphony of the assemblages one must listen both to the separate melody lines and their coming together in unexpected moments of harmony or dissonance. In just this way, to appreciate the assemblage, one must attend to its separate ways of being at the same time as watching how they come together in sporadic but consequential coordinations. Furthermore, in contrast to the predictability of a written piece of music that can be repeated over and over, the polyphony of the assemblage shifts as conditions change. This is the listening practice that this book attempts to instil (158).

This dynamic interplay within assemblages suggests that even within the "capitalist ruins" and the grip of cruel optimism, there exists a constant process of adaptation and innovation, driven by the contingent collaborations and "sporadic but consequential coordinations" of diverse actors. Recognising this inherent dynamism offers a potential pathway towards forging more sustainable futures.

Agency in Interconnection: assemblages and the potential for change

The strength of The Mushroom at the End of the World lies in its comprehensive critique of the economic, social, and ecological missteps that have led to our current era of precarity. When considered alongside Berlant's analysis of cruel optimism, Tsing's work reveals the complex psychological and societal forces that can hinder our ability to fully confront these realities. However, Tsing's emphasis on "assemblages" and the agency inherent within these interconnected systems also offers a sense of possibility. By urging a humble reassessment of our place within the web of life and cultivating a keen awareness of the dynamic "polyphony" around us, Tsing suggests a path forward that acknowledges both the depth of our challenges and the potential for transformative action rooted in a clear-eyed understanding of our precarious, yet interconnected, present.

The enduring power of Tsing's The Mushroom at the End of the World lies in its unflinching depiction of a world where precarity is not a future threat but a present condition. Juxtaposed with Berlant's insightful analysis of cruel optimism, we gain a deeper understanding of the human tendency to cling to familiar aspirations even as their foundations crumble. The mushroom pickers, labouring in disturbed landscapes with the hope of a valuable harvest, embody this tension – their resilience intertwined with a potential attachment to the very economic fantasies that contribute to their precarious existence.

Ultimately, the path forward, as suggested by Tsing's emphasis on attentive observation and the forging of new interdependencies, requires a delicate balance: acknowledging the persistent human need for hope while simultaneously fostering a clear-eyed understanding of our precarious realities, allowing us to cultivate futures that are not tethered to fading promises but rooted in the adaptive potential of the present.

References

Laurent Berlant (2011). Cruel Optimism. Duke University Press.
Tsing, Anna Lowenhaupt (2015). The Mushroom at the End of the World: On the Possibility of Life in Capitalist Ruins. Princeton Princeton University Press.