POSTSCRIPT

A disparate group of surviving sapiens creates a found family after society collapses.

West was 12 when “the grids went down,” and the world as he knew it ended; he’s pretty sure he’s 18 now. For the past few years he’s been sailing around the archipelago of what was once Cape Cod with a man he calls Captain. When a handsome young man on a sailboat full of guns appears, Captain makes a trade: West and some Benadryl for a gun and a single bullet. The sailor, Emil, takes West to the only thing resembling a community that he knows of: Karen, a conservative Christian, has a well-kept mansion and lighthouse, and Ani, a queer woman, lives in a circle of RVs and spends much of her time lying on top of a mass grave, talking to her dead husband. Simultaneously tragic, existentially terrifying, heartwarming, and sensual, the narrative blends these contradictions into a compact, beautiful, and well-wrought whole. The prose is poetic and considered while not shying away from explorations of death and the human condition. During the fall of humanity, West remains largely upbeat—a “postapocalyptic Pollyanna” who reminds us to appreciate living while we can. West is cued Arab American, while Emil and Karen read white, and Ani is racially ambiguous. McCarthy’s striking black-and-white linocut print illustrations adorn the text and offer more content for readers to ponder.

A deep story to read on an overcast afternoon while contemplating existence.