Replacements

 Several years ago, I made Bill a pair of fingerless gloves using some yarn I had left over from a giant cone a friend brought back for me from a thrift store in Boston. It's thin yarn with thicker slubs scattered throughout. I wound some off and used it double stranded to crochet myself a big cozy sweater. I had lots of yarn left. I still haven't used it all and that's a good thing.

Although I've made Bill a few other pair of fingerless gloves, he wore the first pair most often--on a daily basis for most of the year. We both wear them. Both of us get cold hands and I end up with aching wrists, too. I've found that wearing the gloves prevents the ache. Bill likes them because they keep his hands warm. He has thicker ones for wearing outside on chilly/cold days, but for indoor use, he liked the thinner ones. One day we were out on a mild day and he lost one of them. Since I had more of the same yarn, I told him I could make him a replacement. But when he gave me the remaining glove, I decided to just make him a new pair. The glove was showing its age and parts of it would have needed redoing anyway. Also, after all that use, it was a bit stretched out and it would have felt funny having one broken in glove and one new one, I think. So I rummaged around, found the appropriate double- pointed needles, pulled out the bag with the yarn and knit away in the evenings whilst listening to various things. I wove in the ends the other night and now he's got a new pair.

There's no pattern, I just made it up as I went when I made the first pair and noted down the numbers. It's an easy project. I use double points because I prefer them, but magic loop, 2 circulars, or 9-inch circulars could also be used. I held the yarn double, which I would say resulted in something between sock weight and DK weight. I used US size 2 needles and the resulting fabric is quite firm, so sturdy enough to wear well. I tend to be a loose knitter. If I had thicker yarn and bigger needles, I would cast on fewer stitches. This is easily adaptable. For these, I cast on 48 stitches, separated them so that I had 16 on each needle, did several inches of 2x2 rib, and then plain knitting around until I reached the base of my thumb. I just measured by trying them on. To make the opening for the thumb, I started working back and forth, alternating knit and purl rows and turning after I'd done the stitches on the third needle. I did 10 rows this way.  After that, I went back to working in the round until they were just about long enough and ended with an inch or so of 2x2 rib. To make the thumb, I crocheted a few rounds around the opening--it's too fiddly to be dealing with the double pointed needles on so few stitches. I did US half double crochets through the 3rd loop around and around until the thumb piece was as long as I wanted it. Weaving in all the ends was the last step and they were ready to go. Just in time for it to warm up next week. 

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Last Straw

 When we moved to Ireland, it was both sudden and something we'd been planning, albeit very loosely, for a long time. We knew we were going to go, but we had no idea when. Life went on. Then, very unexpectedly, the opportunity was suddenly upon us. We had a couple of months to get things in order and go. There was a lot to do, including getting rid of almost everything. We didn't have anything large worth shipping and because we knew we'd want to make this move, we didn't acquire a lot of nonessential things, but we still had household basics to pass on, which we did in various ways. On the Freecycle page, someone asked for anything that might be useful for someone setting up a new apartment. A woman had left an abusive relationship and she was starting over with almost nothing. We were able to give here everything she needed to outfit her kitchen, along with some plants and a piece of artwork. I listed other things on a buy-and-sell Facebook page in our local area. I didn't want to spend time haggling as people often did on the page, so I put really low prices on things and they got snapped up. This was good, but it did mean that we had to schedule meeting times to hand things over. When we met the woman who bought my bread machine, she said I hadn't asked enough for it, so she gave me more. While all this was going on, our broadband was iffy and I ended up having to plug in my laptop to the modem in the bedroom to ensure a connection, which I needed for all of these donations and transactions--cell phones weren't as ubiquitous as they are now and we didn't have one. I was still volunteering two or three times a week at the local food bank/food pantry/soup kitchen. We were looking at rental properties on Daft.ie and trying to figure out what we could expect. We learned that almost all rentals come fully furnished right down to the kettles and teaspoons, so that was one less thing to think about. If we found a place, we'd be able to settle right in. Since we knew we wouldn't be getting a car, this was one thing off our minds--no furniture to acquire. We were trying to find a B&B to stay at for a time once we got to Ireland, and arrange for transport from the airport. We'd thought about taking buses, but decided that wouldn't really be practical, because in the end, we went with 3 suitcases and 3 backpacks. It was cheaper to pay for 2 extra bags than to mail things. But this limit on space and weight meant that, with a handful of exceptions, our books would not be able to come with us. We donated them to the local library for their book sale.

Upon our arrival in Ireland, our driver met us at the airport and drove us to the B&B we'd booked for a week. I never sleep on planes and for several years before that, long plane rides caused me to be ill the following day, so I was tired and I knew I was going to be nonfunctional the next day. This proved to be the case. I felt queasy when I woke up, but we managed to get to the local Tesco to buy a pay-as-you-go phone and get a few groceries before I went down. I was not at all coherent, had a headache that felt like someone was inside my head trying to stab their way out, shivering, and unable to keep any food down. Later I learned that Bill was trying to figure out how to set up the new phone while I was out of it. By the middle of that night, I knew I was on the mend, with just the aftermath to deal with. By then it was the weekend, and we went out for walks each day and down to breakfast in the dining room to chat with other guests and the lovely owners, but the rest of each day was spent with both of us on our computers. Bill would look up possible rentals and I would investigate bus schedules, towns/villages, etc. I kept lists. Finally, we saw that there was one town that had three different possibilities--we could get there and back on the bus in one day and it seemed to have everything we'd need. We figured we'd start there. On Monday morning, the co-owner of the B&B offered us a ride to Galway as he was going there anyway, so we rode in with him. When it was 10 o'clock, I called the letting agent who had listed all three places and left what must have seemed to her like a strange message to start a week. I tried to fit everything in, telling her that we were new to the country, were looking to rent a place quickly, saw her listings and we were fairly certain that if she could find time to show them to us we would choose one of them. I gave her the phone number. I was cut off in the middle of this and had to call back to continue. Then we went off to explore a little bit, not knowing if she'd call back. She did, within the hour. Then we had to call her back to confirm date and time after we'd gone to the tourist information centre to check on bus schedules. The following day, we went, looked at a couple of places, chose one, filled out an application, gave her a deposit, and caught the bus back to the B&B, all within 45 minutes. She said she'd confirm with the owner and call me on Wednesday. By Wednesday evening, I hadn't heard from her, so I called her. The call was dropped. I called back. Voicemail. She called me. We could move in the following day, which was perfect because it was the end of our week at the B&B. The next morning, our host drove us an hour away to our new apartment in a different county, helped us carry our bags upstairs, showed us how to use the storage heat and explained the immersion water heater and the off-peak electricity system, and left us to it. We walked to a store and bought sheets, towels, and groceries. The next day began the other stuff we had to figure out--opening a bank account, trying to get broadband, etc. I was very tired. From the time we knew we were making the move to then, I was just putting one foot in front of the other and completing the next task as it arose. In the US, people commented on how I didn't seem excited at all. Who had the time? There was a lot going on. Really, I was just tired. Sometimes there was a glimmer of unreality that I would notice--a feeling of amazement at what was going on, but mostly I was just thinking about the next thing that had to be done. 

Of course, we were using the library for wifi access while we waited for it to be connected in our apartment. I did get excited when we had proof of address because we could get our library cards. The day arrived and we did what we needed to do online, then went up to the librarian who was there at her desk in the one-room library that was an old church (this is fairly common here and I love it!). She was a lovely woman named Mary. I said we wanted to get library cards and held out our proof of address. And then it happened. I know she was trying to be helpful, but her words were the last straw. She said that it cost €5 per year for Bill to get a library card (because he qualified for a senior card) and that there was no reason for me to pay for one as well because we could check out up to 8 books at a time on the one card. She said the 'eight' as though it was a huge number. Obviously, I wasn't going to argue, so Bill got his card, we checked out books, and went outside. The dam burst. I could hold back no longer and I burst into tears. Bill stood there, stunned, as I blubbered on about how 8 books was nothing for two people and we had to leave all our books behind and I need books. Finally he said to me, "It'll be OK. She just doesn't know who you are yet. But she will." And she did. Now, there really was no reason for me to be upset. The library was a very short walk away and it was open several days a week, so returning books and checking out new ones was not ever going to be a problem. We got books at charity shops and replaced some of the more special ones we had to leave behind. We never ran out of reading material. But in that moment, everything I'd been pushing aside in order to complete the necessary tasks came rushing back and I lost it for a few minutes.

We moved to a different county the following year where the library was run differently. I got my first Irish library card there. Although I would have paid the fee, there wasn't one. Then they revamped the entire library system so while we have cards from our home counties, we have access to libraries nationwide. I love my libraries. And on my way to one yesterday, I was chuckling at myself once again as I remembered that moment when I stood outside the old church which had become a library and wept. 

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Library Haul

 We did a library run today--I had 5 books in. I was waiting for the last one, which came in today. 

Here they are:

I read an excerpt from this book in The Guardian several weeks ago. It's written by a rare book dealer who became interested in the woman authors whose books were available to Jane Austen during her lifetime. I'm quite interested in women writers from the past who may now be mostly forgotten--or at least not as well known as some of the male authors writing at the same time. I've read some of Frances Burney's work and loved it, as well as some Victorian women writers, but the latter would've been after Jane Austen, so I'm looking forward to learning more about women who wrote before. I suspect there may be some clicking around Project Gutenberg in my near future.

Next, I got this one, which is hard to see. It was recommended in someone's book blog and is a short novel that was originally serialized in Japan in the late 70s.

It's a pretty little book called Territory of Light, written by Yuko Tsushima

Not sure where I heard about this next one--probably came across it when doing a library search for something else.

Bill is going to read the next one too, and he asked me how I learned of it. I have no idea. I suspect it was another one that I found when looking for something else. I love the online catalogue!

This is from the Oxford University Press web page about the book:

• From the celebrated historian of Nazi Germany, Mark Roseman, winner of the Wingate Prize and the Fraenkel Prize for previous works.
• The story of a remarkable but completely unsung group that risked everything to help the most vulnerable.
• Offers the most richly documented account ever of any rescue network and sheds unparalleled light on the choices, dilemmas, and dangers of acting under Nazi rule.
• Explores the tensions between wartime experience and the way we have to come to think about rescue in later memory which challenges conventional ways of thinking and writing about rescue and the rescuer, and opens up new perspectives.

Finally, here's the last book I got today and the one that's been on my list the longest. I read about it in January in an article about books to look for it 2025 and immediately went to the library and put myself in the queue. At that point, there were several copies on order and I was number 12. Once the books came in and got processed, I moved down pretty quickly and it went in transit last week and arrived at my library this morning.

When I read about it, I was intrigued. Back in 2015, I noticed that the people who were fans of the orange creature that is currently polluting the White House sounded quite like the people I'd read about in oral histories (I highly recommend Frauen: German Women Recall the Third Reich by Alison Owings) and other work about Germany in the 1930s. Change some proper nouns and the sorts of things they were saying were just about identical. This is a topic that interests me for a few reasons, one of which is that my paternal grandfather, who died when my father was a child, was one of the original Nazis. I did know my paternal grandmother and have tried to imagine her as a young Nazi wife in that era. This was not something that was really talked about and I think she was told not to speak to me about it, but I'm not sure. I did not have the kind of relationships in my family of origin where it was safe to be curious and ask questions. Beyond that, I'm also interested in the cultural issues that lead people to this way of thinking and allows them to think that they are somehow going to be immune from the disastrous consequences that these kinds of movements have resulted in in the past. So my interest is both cultural/societal and personal. This is the book I'll be reading first. I'll let you know how it is.

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Where Few Have Gone

 Last week, in either an article or a blog post, I read about this book:

It sounded like something I'd like to read, so I clicked over to the library, saw that there was one copy in one library nationwide, and that it was available. I placed my request. I sent the article/blog post to Bill. Later on, he said to me, "The library has that book, but only one copy and someone already has a hold on it. I'm two of two." We both laughed when I replied, "I'm one of one, so you can cancel yours."

To my great surprise, it arrived at my pick-up library on Tuesday morning. I'd expected it to take longer. We'd already planned to go to the library that day, so I was able to collect it. And it was a great read. It's a memoir, but also provides insight into what cave diving is like, the natural environments in which she searched for dive spots and the underwater environments in which she made her dives. She also describes the culture of the cave diving community, the dangers divers face, and the tragedies they deal with on an all too regular basis. There are photos in the book which gave me goosebumps as I looked at them--such incredibly beautiful parts of the planet unseen by most people.

Because of the nature of cave diving and some of the locations in which the dives too place, including Antarctica, there were some suspenseful segments of the book. Obviously I knew she would survive even as she described not being sure herself at the time. She did write the book afterwards, so her fate was never in doubt. But I was never sure about her dive partners.

Heinerth engages in self-reflection and describes her personal growth throughout the book and I found that aspect of it interesting, too. Her journey to self-acceptance about who she is and is not and how she just isn't really wired to be the kind of woman who comfortably fits into societal expectations and roles resonated with me. Not that I ever had any interest in being a cave diver! Cave diving isn't something I knew anything about--or even thought about, really. It wasn't until I saw the article/blog post that I thought I'd like to read a book about it. It was a happy surprise.

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72 Mini Seasons!

 Yesterday was apparently World Book Day. In other words, for me it was the same as every other day ending in 'y.' Everyday is book day around here. The book I finished yesterday was this one:

I loved it--both the haiku collection and the artwork that accompanies it. You can see one example of the art there on the cover. The book has many more equally beautiful artworks throughout. The collection of haiku is quite good and includes well known poets and those that are lesser known, both men and women. The poems are presented in English translation, followed by the Japanese in the Japanese script, and finally in romaji. All of the poems described an awareness of a moment in time--sometimes beautifully tranquil, sometimes less so. There are also humorous poems, such as:

The flies 

         have taken a liking

  to my bald head.

           ---Ozaki Hosai

There is a general introduction to the book, in which Wilson lays out some basics about haiku, including the importance of seasons. He informs readers that traditionally, seasons have been divided "not only into the main four, but into twenty-four subdivisions, which in turn are broken down into seventy-two mini-seasons." (p 9) While the words referring to the season might not be as obvious to someone who isn't familiar with each of these mini-seasons and the usual happenings in nature or among humans, Japanese people would know. The book is divided into a more manageable 5 sections--spring, summer, autumn, winter, and New Year. Each of these sections has its own introduction as well, which increased my enjoyment of the book. This was a great book with which to celebrate World Book Day or any day.

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Don't Go!

 When I watch youtube videos, it's almost always an independent person who may or may not have a monetized channel. I know that some of them rely on income from youtube to one degree or another, so when the ads play, I let them run so they can get those few cents of revenue. I do draw the line at ridiculously long ads--I've had some as long as 28 minutes start to play (who watches that?). Once I left a 15 minute ad playing, went downstairs to make a cup of tea, brought it back upstairs, had a bathroom break, and settled back in to watch the video. But usually I skip the long ones. Lately I've been getting ads that are almost 3 minutes long going on about how people should visit the 'U'SA. Given this story, I'm thinking it might not be a good idea. Nothing there is worth the risk of spending over a month and counting in a detention center for no reason.

This German woman was spending the winter in Mexico. Her friend had moved to southern California so they planned to meet in Tijuana, cross the border and spend a month together. The German woman had all her papers in order, including a ticket back to Berlin. She was detained by the border patrol, tossed into solitary confinement, and was unable to contact anyone. She is still there after more than a month. She wants to leave (who wouldn't?) but they're keeping her locked up. There are so many beautiful places in the world. Maybe avoid this country for the time being.

https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2025/mar/03/ice-german-tourist-detained-immigration

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Just to Be Clear

 After my post last night, I realized that I should have made it clear that I am not anti-Christian. In that post, I recounted the story of an exchange I had with someone who identified as a right-wing evangelical Christian. This person was against the 'government handout' of food assistance to people with low incomes and her biggest argument for why was that some deli-owning friends told her that 60% of their customers paid with their food benefit cards. The hypocrisy was a part of the story, to be sure, but for me it was more her political views and her lack of thinking skills that stayed with me about the story. Because what immediately leaps to mind is that the 'government handout' was obviously also keeping her friends' deli afloat, if it was true that 60% of their business relied on those very 'handouts.' Beyond that, she clearly didn't think twice about the 'government handouts' that benefit her, like tax deductions and other benefits. Since this 'conversation' happened a long time ago, there was also no shortage of racism on full display--stereotypes about the direct recipients of food assistance and of the administration that was in charge at the time. She wasn't keen on having a Black president. So my issues with her went beyond her hypocrisy regarding her religion. To be honest, I'd come to expect it from a certain kind of self-identified Christian. You see, I'd spent a fair bit of time with right-wing Christians before that and some of them were the most nasty, brutal, racist people I've ever personally known--even to each other. I've also known people who were those things and not Christian as well as Christians (or Christ-followers as some of them preferred to call themselves) who were/are some of the most kind, caring, humane, wonderful people I've ever had the privilege to be friends with. People are people and no matter how they identify, it's their actions and how they live that determine whether I think it's a good idea to have them in my life.

And at one time in my life--more than a quarter of a century ago now-- I unexpectedly found myself in a situation where I was hanging out with one person in particular and then a group of her friends once in a while, who were evangelical Christians. Later, I came into contact with more such people in different parts of the country. In all cases, I was always very clear that I was not a believer and they were always nice to me. More than once I was told that I was the only non-Christian friend they had. I was always a bit uncomfortable with this because I thought 'friend' might be a little strong. Maybe friendly acquaintance would have been more comfortable for me in most cases. In any event, eventually we either drifted apart due to us moving to a different area or I could no longer stomach the hatred and ugliness that these people expressed to others. These experiences were extremely eye-opening for me and I learned a lot. In fact, they were what allowed me to understand where things were heading politically. When I tried to explain what I knew to my non-Christian, usually lefty friends, they chose not to believe me. At that point, it was clear that it was time to start looking towards leaving the country.

I didn't set out to become a part of this right-wing Christian world--it happened because of crochet--LOL At the time, Yahoo Groups were a big thing and I'd joined a crochet one. There I 'met' a couple of women who lived in my town. We agreed to meet in person and we became friends. We'd take each other out to lunch on birthdays, get together at our homes, and I accompanied one of them to the hospital for cancer treatment and to a support group. One of these women was an evangelical Christian. She invited me to her women's group, which met once a month. I was interested to learn more--not because I wanted to convert, but because I wanted to know more about the culture. So I went. Again, they knew I did not share their beliefs. They were nice to me. But I did get a glimpse of the ugliness underneath through both the stories my friend told me and some things I witnessed myself. One day, we were on our way to the group. She was driving and I saw a mystery paperback there in the minivan. It was a book in a series which featured a cat, written by Rita Mae Brown. I wasn't thinking and casually said, 'Oh, I'm surprised you like her books. She's a lesbian, you know.' I was immediately sorry I said this because she started swerving across the lane and I thought we might go off the road. It was winter, so this was not a crazy thought. She was very upset and started almost babbling at me, 'I didn't know that. Please don't tell anyone. I didn't know. Please don't tell them.' I assured her that I wouldn't and told her it was OK to enjoy the books. No one had to know. Her husband wasn't likely to know this fact about the author and if she liked the books, that was all that mattered. The women in the group probably wouldn't be interested in what she was reading beyond their accepted religious books. The fact that she was so very upset showed me the fear that she lived with lest she somehow transgress in the eyes of her community. She told me once about some mental health issues she was having. The 'support' she got from this community was to be told over and over that she was possessed by demons and needed to pray harder. This woman seemed to be vulnerable and just ground down by life to me, not nasty. Others I have known were truly nasty, sometimes to the point where it took my breath away. But I've known people who were in one of those categories or the other who weren't Christian, so it just depends on the person.

I've always liked a story about an actual Korean Buddhist nun, sometimes recounted by a secular Buddhist meditation teacher who knew this nun. The nun decided that it would take too long if she waited to become enlightened, so she decided her practice was to go out each day and be a Buddha. She did this as best as she could. At the end of each day, she engaged in some self-reflection and asked herself how she did, where did she fall short, and how could she do better tomorrow. This resonates with me. I have had and do have friends who do much the same thing with Jesus as their role model. Some people do this kind of thing without a spiritual or religious underpinning. No matter how it's done, I think it's a good thing to be aware, to try to be kind and caring towards others, and to engage in some self-reflection. 

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It's Not Just Them

 Years (lifetimes?) ago, when Barack Obama was president, I was having a 'conversation' online with someone who was trying (and failing) to explain to me why the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program  (SNAP) in the US was a bad thing. This does exactly what it sounds like--provides monetary assistance, in the form of something like a debit card, to people who have very low incomes. There are strict limits on what these cards can be used for--that is, food. People are not using them to buy cigarettes and booze. Now, this person was not shy about telling people how she decided Jesus thought they should live and making judgments about how they fell short in many areas of life. And I'm no Biblical scholar--or a Christian, for that matter-- but even I know that Jesus said quite a lot about caring for the poor. And, you know, he fed people--loaves and fishes, right? So given those excellent ideas clearly spelled out in the book she claimed to base her life on, she should have been quite in favor of helping hungry people eat. Here could be a commonality between our worldviews! It was not. People who received SNAP benefits were, according to her, somehow not worthy for several reasons. And here was what was supposed to be her moment of triumph, her best argument: Her friends owned a deli. A full 60% of their business came from people using SNAP cards to pay for their food. So as a result, those people were squandering taxpayer money. 

Of course there are problems with this argument that leap out at once, so I immediately replied that it was lucky for her friends that SNAP benefits exist, since if it's true that fully 60% of their business comes from people paying with SNAP cards, they might have a very hard time making that business up should those benefits be taken away, taking 60% of their business with them. Could they even stay in business? It seemed like her deli-owning friends were also beneficiaries of the SNAP program. I got no reply to that, so it was the end of the conversation. As a result, I didn't get to suggest to her that there could be reasons why people were not buying ingredients and cooking at home--they might not have much in the way of working kitchen appliances or the tools with which to cook. They might not even have a kitchen or a home for that matter. Or maybe they just wanted a sandwich.

 

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Many Mandibles Moments

 In 2016, I read Lionel Shriver's book, The Mandibles: A Family, 2029-2047. I've been reminded of it so many times since, coming to think of these instances as 'Mandibles moments.' The book is set in the US, beginning as stated in the subtitle, in 2029. It's focused on the Mandible family who are well off and assume that they're secure in their wealth. However, while people aren't paying attention, the world order shifts. The US is now a pariah nation. The dollar crashes. Thriving Mexico builds a wall to keep out US citizens trying to escape economic hardship. A group of countries led by China and Russia, but not including the US, step in with a new reserve currency. The Mandibles are no longer wealthy, people struggle to meet their basic needs, and US society starts to break down. Witnessing the despicable and cowardly ambush yesterday as the weak orange puppet and his slimeball sidekick (yes, I know--insulting to slime) attacked President Zelenskyy and tried to please their minders in Moscow and Beijing was another Mandibles moment for me. It seems that the current administration is working hard to make sure that the US does become a pariah nation. Does that mean I think the dollar will crash? I have no idea--I'm not an economist or a financial wizard. But I do wonder whether this speculative fiction will become less speculative and less fictional as time goes by, as did The Handmaid's Tale. And whatever the underlying crisis ends up being, it seems clear that the current administration is hell bent on creating various crises, real and imagined-- a typical tool used by authoritarians to justify their actions. And as we all know by now, there are plenty of gullible people in the US ready to lap up the lies. It seems less unlikely now that the US will become a pariah nation than it did when I read the book.

In addition to all of the above, the book is simply a great read. There's a lot of economic stuff at the start in order to set the stage for what comes next, but things pick up after that. The book is funny, too. Oddly enough, I could relate to the young Mandible boy, who was almost a teenager, if I remember correctly. He was the one who ended up taking charge as things were falling apart. He could see where things were headed. As he was warning the others about what was coming, his uncle, an economics professor, kept insisting that the boy was wrong because the theory says such things can't happen (clueless academics--I've known several). Besides, it's the good old USA--it can't happen here! But it did and they had to figure out how to exist in a bewildering world. There's a harrowing scene where some of them set out to buy toilet paper, which I thought of as people in the US told me about their own attempts to acquire same during the pandemic. We never had completely empty toilet paper shelves here. It was bread. Whenever any kind of storm or crisis hits, people start posting pictures of empty bread shelves on social media. I just made my own, something I wouldn't have been able to do so easily had it actually been toilet paper I was after! 😀

Lionel Shriver is a hit or miss author for me and I don't always like her books or her public comments. I think The Mandibles was the first book of hers that I read. Shortly after that I picked up We Need to Talk About Kevin in a charity shop and that was also excellent. I got Big Brother from the library and finished it, but wasn't in love with it and I thought the ending was silly. I started one or two of her other novels since and didn't read very far into them before realizing that they weren't really for me and setting them aside. But The Mandibles has stayed with me and will, I expect, for a long time. There will probably be many more Mandibles moments to come. If you want to read more about the book, here's a review from around the time it was published.

Other speculative fiction/post apocalyptic/ dystopian excellent reads include, How High We Go in the Dark by Sequoia Nakamatsu, Station Eleven and Sea of Tranquility by Emily St. John Mandel, The Unit by Ninni Holmqvist, and Bewilderment by Richard Powers. A couple of books that I highly recommend that are not fiction: Strongmen by Ruth Ben Ghiat, Nuclear War: A Scenario by Annie Jacobsen, which I wrote about here,  Fascism in America: Past and Present, edited by Gavriel D. Rosenfeld and Janet Ward, and The Heat Will Kill You First by Jeff Goodell. None of them are cheerful, all are excellent. Yesterday I finished a soon-to-be-published book about the history of fascist/far right movements in Ireland, which was excellent and informative. The far right doesn't have a large presence here, although it's getting more visible. These small groups are being advised by the larger and more organized groups in the UK and US.

Today I will be starting something less disturbing--a soon-to-be-published book about the connections between creativity/art and mathematics, which seems like it will be fascinating--at least I hope it will be. I'll let you know.

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