An imaginative engagement with existential questions raised by a surfeit of apocalypses.


In this absurdist novel set in a world of serial apocalypses, a man tries to make sense of his existence.

Marshall is no longer shocked by cataclysmic events (“It was just the apocalypse. An earthquake apocalypse” this morning; next month, week, or even today there will be another of a different kind). Most people panic anyway, rioting or seeking last-chance experiences that Bosch could have painted: “Another nude, copulating pile, a mass of arms and legs…old, young, beautiful, diseased. It didn’t seem to matter.” The terror ends the way it usually does, with a gray-haired man—Malcolm—projected on the horizon who relays reassurance: “The Apocalypse Amelioration Agency has the situation well in hand.” Unfortunately, solving one apocalypse tends to beget another. Marshall meets Bonnie, a slight but fierce woman with long pale hair, and they become a couple. She keeps a lot to herself, but one day tells Marshall of her plans. The only way to ensure no more apocalypses, she argues, is to end everything so “it can’t end again.” Marshall agrees, but destroying the globe is harder than they think, as they discover over several near-world-ending disasters. Their efforts, however, lead them to the man behind the Apocalypse Amelioration Agency’s curtain and to a new understanding of life. Three italicized Interludes by an at-first-unnamed narrator add philosophical musings. Atkinson (Not Quite So Stories, 2016, etc.) controls the tone well in his novel, keeping a suitable balance between real human emotions and deadpan farce. Explanations for bizarre events are sufficiently plausible, but a crucial sense of mystery remains even after final disclosures, as with the apocalypse where everyone of Jewish background disappears after climbing to a city of gold in the sky as a voice chants, “Something about Elijah and Jacob. Bondage.” Less successful are the Interludes, an unnecessary gloss on the book’s ideas that seems like writerly insecurity. In addition, the revealed truth is a bit pat.

 An imaginative engagement with existential questions raised by a surfeit of apocalypses.

Pub Date: Jan. 1, 2017


Page Count: 159

Publisher: Literary Wanderlust

Review Posted Online: Dec. 9, 2016

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A tasty, if not always tasteful, tale of supernatural mayhem that fans of King and Crichton alike will enjoy.

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Are we not men? We are—well, ask Bigfoot, as Brooks does in this delightful yarn, following on his bestseller World War Z (2006).

A zombie apocalypse is one thing. A volcanic eruption is quite another, for, as the journalist who does a framing voice-over narration for Brooks’ latest puts it, when Mount Rainier popped its cork, “it was the psychological aspect, the hyperbole-fueled hysteria that had ended up killing the most people.” Maybe, but the sasquatches whom the volcano displaced contributed to the statistics, too, if only out of self-defense. Brooks places the epicenter of the Bigfoot war in a high-tech hideaway populated by the kind of people you might find in a Jurassic Park franchise: the schmo who doesn’t know how to do much of anything but tries anyway, the well-intentioned bleeding heart, the know-it-all intellectual who turns out to know the wrong things, the immigrant with a tough backstory and an instinct for survival. Indeed, the novel does double duty as a survival manual, packed full of good advice—for instance, try not to get wounded, for “injury turns you from a giver to a taker. Taking up our resources, our time to care for you.” Brooks presents a case for making room for Bigfoot in the world while peppering his narrative with timely social criticism about bad behavior on the human side of the conflict: The explosion of Rainier might have been better forecast had the president not slashed the budget of the U.S. Geological Survey, leading to “immediate suspension of the National Volcano Early Warning System,” and there’s always someone around looking to monetize the natural disaster and the sasquatch-y onslaught that follows. Brooks is a pro at building suspense even if it plays out in some rather spectacularly yucky episodes, one involving a short spear that takes its name from “the sucking sound of pulling it out of the dead man’s heart and lungs.” Grossness aside, it puts you right there on the scene.

A tasty, if not always tasteful, tale of supernatural mayhem that fans of King and Crichton alike will enjoy.

Pub Date: June 16, 2020

ISBN: 978-1-9848-2678-7

Page Count: 304

Publisher: Del Rey/Ballantine

Review Posted Online: Feb. 10, 2020

Kirkus Reviews Issue: March 1, 2020

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Finding positivity in negative pregnancy-test results, this depiction of a marriage in crisis is nearly perfect.


Named for an imperfectly worded fortune cookie, Hoover's (It Ends with Us, 2016, etc.) latest compares a woman’s relationship with her husband before and after she finds out she’s infertile.

Quinn meets her future husband, Graham, in front of her soon-to-be-ex-fiance’s apartment, where Graham is about to confront him for having an affair with his girlfriend. A few years later, they are happily married but struggling to conceive. The “then and now” format—with alternating chapters moving back and forth in time—allows a hopeful romance to blossom within a dark but relatable dilemma. Back then, Quinn’s bad breakup leads her to the love of her life. In the now, she’s exhausted a laundry list of fertility options, from IVF treatments to adoption, and the silver lining is harder to find. Quinn’s bad relationship with her wealthy mother also prevents her from asking for more money to throw at the problem. But just when Quinn’s narrative starts to sound like she’s writing a long Facebook rant about her struggles, she reveals the larger issue: Ever since she and Graham have been trying to have a baby, intimacy has become a chore, and she doesn’t know how to tell him. Instead, she hopes the contents of a mystery box she’s kept since their wedding day will help her decide their fate. With a few well-timed silences, Hoover turns the fairly common problem of infertility into the more universal problem of poor communication. Graham and Quinn may or may not become parents, but if they don’t talk about their feelings, they won’t remain a couple, either.

Finding positivity in negative pregnancy-test results, this depiction of a marriage in crisis is nearly perfect.

Pub Date: July 17, 2018

ISBN: 978-1-5011-7159-8

Page Count: 320

Publisher: Atria

Review Posted Online: May 1, 2018

Kirkus Reviews Issue: May 15, 2018

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