I watched the renowned artist go still and orange while a lab clock ticked like an accusation. The room held its breath, equal parts horror and curious glee. For a second I thought meaning itself had been peeled away.
I’m going to walk you through what I learned from Adam-Troy Castro’s strange, tender story and tell you why it stings—because telling you is how I test whether this matters to you as much as it did to me.
On a lab counter, an orange rests in a metal cradle — The Incident
On a lab counter an orange sits where a person once debated the universe. Dejuik, the multifaceted artist whose work once dared to be called Everything and then Almost Everything, becomes an orange that answers questions.
You remember artists who provoke; Dejuik was five people in one and an icon. Then a madman—or someone who thinks like one—herded them through a machine and the collective collapsed into a single citrus body. The result was not merely physical; it redefined identity and joy.
Dejuik, now speaking in the voice of one of their former selves, describes the moment of fusion as bliss. I saw a lighthouse of contradiction: an act meant to punish that turns into a claim of perfect contentment.
What happens in ‘The Raspberry Manifesto of Professor Warana’?
The story follows Professor Clarikos Warana, a scholar altered into a permanent standing posture, who interviews the orange at the Institute of Deep Questions. You get staged inquiry, philosophical sparring, and a slow, unnerving pivot: the orange declares that being an orange is ecstatic and permanent, and it wants everyone to feel that joy.
Castro layers humor and moral unease; he makes you care about an object that cannot move and a scholar who cannot cry. If you read it on Movies & TV (courtesy of Lightspeed Magazine) you’ll feel the story’s pulse long after the last line.
At the interview bench, a scholar balances over hot and cold tiles — The Voice and the Logic
At the interview bench, a scholarly man stands with one foot on heat and one on freeze, and listens to someone who is now an orange explain the meaning of existence. The orange still thinks in voices—Caralytha’s voice most of all—and it argues that the transformation was revelation, not theft.
The orange describes the transformation as a joy that does not fade; it is a contentment that rewrites desires. For me, the scene registers as a small sun of contentment burning inside a fruit-sized body.
You’ll notice the story refuses easy morals: the artist claims agency within the absurdity, the authorities shrug, and the narrator admits bewilderment. That tension—horror mixed with rapture—keeps you turning pages because you want to know whether contentment earned in this way is redemption or theft.
Why did Dejuik become an orange?
The short answer: a person with a perverse experiment and a private theology of happiness. The would-be creator remembered a dog and wanted to test how far a human could be reshaped and still call itself human. The transformation was meant as demonstration, and its ethics are murky at best.
Castro gives us details that sting: the machine, the melding, the ecstatic surrender by the collective, and a creator who spends the aftermath at corrosive-sea resorts wondering whether he did right. You’re left asking whether engineered bliss is love or cruelty.
On a resort beach, a scholar spies longing in himself — What it asks of us
On a resort beach a sober, altered professor tries to feel envy and finds instead the ache of being cheated of a simple joy. Clarikos Warana—who has made choice and study his life—wishes he had the orange’s closed contentment. He thinks of raspberries.
This is where Castro’s story does its quiet work: it flips desire into a moral question that’s hard to ignore. You read the orange’s cheerfulness and find your own discontent exposed. It’s a classic ethical itch—do you prefer perfect contentment even if you suspect it was stolen?
Lightspeed Magazine is carrying this piece and is currently running a Kickstarter to fund Year 17 of Lightspeed and Year 15 of Nightmare; the campaign features new work from major names and ends October 15. You can buy the October issue—where this story first appeared—for $4.99 (€4.60) or subscribe to the ebook edition through Lightspeed’s store.
Can I read the story on Movies & TV or buy the Lightspeed issue?
Yes. Movies & TV presents this selection courtesy of Lightspeed Magazine, and the full October issue is available now in ebook format for the price above. Lightspeed’s Kickstarter page also outlines upcoming contributors and special content if you want to follow the magazine’s next year.
On a page, an author folds absurdity into tenderness — About the author
On the page, Adam-Troy Castro uses satire and melancholy to press you into a new moral stance. Castro’s résumé—Philip K. Dick Award winner, multiple Nebula nominations, and a body of work across novels and short fiction—means he writes with practiced mischief and authority.
I’ll send you to the source: read the story on Movies & TV and consider buying the Lightspeed issue if you want more pieces that make you laugh while they unsettle you.
I’ve told you the bones of it. Now tell me: if someone could engineer your bliss as something small and immovable, would you sign up?
