The book industry, starving and destitute, yet unwilling to spend any money on things that were not surefire cash cows, started getting into reboots. It started small: The Count of Monte Cristo escaped from a modern prison. And what if the Arab Meursault kills was a terrorist? But it escalated, because who wants to read lengthy old works? Do androids really dream of electric sheep? Do androids dream? Androids? Dream? Young authors tried to get a shoe in by telling their own stories, baking old words into new genres, but most just succeeded with stuffing zombies into Pride and Prejudice.