I spent nearly all of this week in bed, and while I was too busy sneezing and trying to clear my head enough to breathe most of the time, I did a little reading. And, because I need to keep myself awake for a few more hours in the middle of an ambitious sleep-shifting back to "normal" hours while not overtaxing my blurry brain, I'll tell you about some of it, though I confess I didn't absorb as much as I normally would have.
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The other: Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel (Knopf) is about a plague, so of course I read it while ill. (Other books in my sordid illness reading history include The Stand and a handful of books by Robin Cook.) Basically, the world ends in a very literary sort of way, and there is only after, so I felt odd reading the story on an e-reader... I wanted to know what would happen to everyone, and like The Interrogation of Ashala Wolf, Station Eleven isn't told in a linear fashion. Shakespeare surrounds the story, which kicks off with a death, and the rest of the book unravels how it touched the lives of those still living. This sounds kind of boring, but there are escapes, kidnappings, cults, and the like, too. It's about I can't help thinking that there's a little something Cloud Atlas in Station Eleven, though the difference is I actually liked all of the not-quite-so-sectioned-off pieces of Station Eleven and read it in two sittings, one some time ago, and then as soon as I had a free day due to illness, the rest. I recommend, if nothing else, its spot-on descriptions of the Pacific Northwest (as opposed to the sketches of certain other speculative fiction books that do not get it at all).