Books for the End of the World

And a book + wine pairing in which I compare imagination to weeds

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Spring is my favorite season.

I know most people pledge allegiance to fall or summer, but I think they’re wrong. I get it—there’s magic in every season—but spring has the most. It’s the season of hope. Of rebirth. The one where flowers claw their way out of cold, wet dirt and still bloom. The one where dead trees turn green again. Where the whole world shrugs off its gray and dresses in something a little more colorful.

Which is exactly what I need when everything else feels like it’s circling the drain. 🫠

Still, just in case things do fully unravel and I find myself living in some post-capitalist, semi-feral, end-of-days scenario, I started thinking: What books would I bring to the end of the world?

Would I want comfort reads? Something to spark good discussion with the few peers I have left? A book so rich with imagination I could build my own society from its bones? Do I pack something with a sprawling fanfiction empire, just in case I need to write my way through the apocalypse?

Do I take a classic to make me feel smart? A book of poetry to make me feel something? (Though arguably, I’ll be feeling a lot if the world’s actually ending.)

Do I bring a literary novel just so I have something to complain about with my friends?

Will I have friends at the end of the world?

Lots of thoughts. Lots of reasons. So here is what I’ve decided (so far) is going in my bug-out book bag:

1. Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell by Susanna Clarke - Clarke is a genius, full stop. This book makes me feel both smart and whimsical—like I’ve earned my PhD in faerie studies. It’s magic, yes, but with a heavy dose of science, scholarship, and dusty old footnotes. I figure I’ll need to hone my discovery skills once everything collapses. Might as well train under the best.

2. We Could Be Rats by Emily Austin - The power of imagination. The lies we tell ourselves. The weird little rituals that help us survive. This book is my emotional Swiss Army knife—useful in almost any mental apocalypse. It reminds me how to pretend, and pretending might be the thing that saves me.

3. Fourth Wing (all books) by Rebecca Yarros - First, dragons. Just in case our downfall involves them, I want to be informed. Second, this series scratches my conspiracy brain—I love digging into lore and forming my own theories. Also: propaganda, secrets, plot twists, and sex. Apocalypse essentials.

4. Harry Potter - Not for the author, but for the universe. Anything that inspires this much fanfiction is basically a creative playground. I’m bringing the French editions so I finally have to learn the language. TBD how important French will be in the apocalypse. Who knows? Maybe post-collapse bartering will require fluency.

5. The Thursday Murder Club by Richard Osman - I need something cozy for the end of days. Preferably British. Preferably featuring old people solving murders over tea. Comfort books are a survival tool too.

6. Hunchback by Saou Ichikawa - Because I need to talk to more people about that ending. And if no one agrees with me, I can always use it as a fire starter. Multi-purpose literature.

7. The Black Witch Chronicles by Laurie Forest - Epic fantasy with layered, deeply relevant themes: fighting fascism, questioning inherited prejudice, and learning to love and lead despite fear. I’d read the first four and bleach the pages of the last book so I can write my own ending. Long live Lukas Grey.

8. The Hunger Games by Susanne Collins - Because I need survival skills and emotional callouses. Katniss is basically a prophet for late-stage capitalism. If I can channel even 5% of her cold, dead-eyed resilience, I might make it out alive.

So that’s my literary go-bag: part comfort, part chaos, part “this might be useful when society collapses.” These books will keep me company while I ration dried fruit, learn how to make fire, and inevitably become weirdly attached to a stray raccoon I name after a fictional character.

Now accepting trade deals: one waterproof lighter for a battered paperback, or a bottle of Billecart-Salmon for a dramatic reading of Jonathan Strange under the stars.

What are your books for the end of the world?

Book and wine pairing

Several months ago, I wrote my first Substack essay, Liberati Beckons. In it, I explored what reading means to me—and why I felt drawn back to literary fiction after a long stretch of only craving escape.

I’m so glad I jumped in. While I’ll probably never be a Sally Rooney girlie (sorry not sorry), I’ve read some stunning, weird, frustrating, and unforgettable books. One even cracked my brain open. Others made me squirm. Some annoyed the hell out of me. And one—this one—has planted itself firmly in my heart.

We Could Be Rats by Emily Austin is at once heartbreaking and heartwarming. It’s dark and sad, but also kinda fun and funny.

The long and short of it is: “A moving story about two very different sisters, and a love letter to childhood, growing up, and the power of imagination.” Sisters. Love letter to childhood. Power of imagination.¹

As an adult, I’ve mourned my diminished imagination, and this book, more than anything else recently, has inspired me to get so out of my mind bored that the weirdo thoughts start creeping in, growing through the cracks like weeds that bloom pretty little dandelions. I don’t want to rip them out, and I don’t want to pave over them.

I started this book in an odd, maybe even magical way. That morning, I pulled an Akashic tarot card that told me to open any book that called to me—flip to a random page—and sit with whatever I found there. The pink, funky cover pulled me in first. The weirdly delightful rats sealed the deal. And so, We Could Be Rats came off the towering TBR pile. I opened it, and this is what I landed on:

“When I was a kid, I had a big imagination. When I was in a tree, I was a bird. When I was in a bath, I was an orca. When I played that I was a witch on a broom, not a kid on a bike, I didn’t see asphalt beneath me. I saw the sky.

In the basement, my toys were alive. I couldn’t differentiate between what was happening in my head and what was real, and I didn’t care to. It was normal to climb on the jungle gym, play that it was a pirate’s ship, and see dark waves crash where the gravel was.

When we age, and we learn more about the world, and about what’s possible and what isn’t, we are supposed to start seeing things as they really are. The make-believe fog is supposed to settle, and everything should become real. I think we imagine things when we’re kids as practice. It helps prepare us for the possibilities in our future. It’s like a dress rehearsal for when we’re grown. It lets us explore a world we can control and try on being adults before we really have to be them.”

HELLO?!!?! Did you get all the feels the way I did? Good. We can stay friends.

The only appropriate pairing for a novel that recalls childlike wonder is something bright, fizzy, and fun, yet also very special. We Could Be Rats should be paired, and read, with my favorite sparkling Rosé, Billecart-Salmon Brut Rosé Champagne.

The only appropriate pairing for a novel that recalls childlike wonder and the ache of growing up is something bright, fizzy, and just a little bit tender. Billecart-Salmon Brut Rosé Champagne is no ordinary sparkler—it’s delicate but complex, joyful but refined. Like We Could Be Rats, it leaves a lingering sense that something beautiful just brushed past you and left you with its afterglow.

So yes—We Could Be Rats deserves to be read with something that bubbles like laughter but carries depth beneath the sparkle. Pour yourself a glass of Billecart-Salmon Brut Rosé, curl up somewhere quiet, and let your imagination run wild again. Let the dandelions bloom.

Writing Update

Patience is a virtue, so I’m told. So I’m anxiously awaiting feedback on editor feedback for Susie Sweetheart… that should be here in a month?

Meanwhile, I’m elbow-deep in Eyes of a Different Color rewrite. I tried to change the tense twice… it was past, tried to make it present, now going back to past. So every single verb in my Scrivener document is a hot mess. Also made me realize how irregular so many English verbs are. I almost wanted to stop complaining about learning French.

I don’t think there will be much in this section for a while.

What I’ve been enjoying recently

We Could Be Rats by Emily Austin - please see above.

Deep End by Ali Hazelwood - Um, I loved this. My favorite Ali Hazelwood by far. If you aren’t into spicy reads please move along, nothing to see here. I read this in two sittings. Could have done one, but by 3 am, I forced my hands to shut the book closed.

100 Poems to Break Your Heart by Edward Hirsch - You know me, I love melodrama. I’ve been trying to read more and learn more from poetry. This is a gorgeous compilation that I’ve been annotating the hell out of. Hirsch’s breakdown of the poems is especially touching (and helpful for noobs like me).

How Facism Works: The Politics of Us and Them By Jason Stanley - for no specific reason, whatsoever.

The Tainted Cup by Robert Jackson Bennett - a fantasy mystery. Need I say more? I’m about 70% of the way through and am having a very hard time putting this down to sleep. Love it so far.

Who Will Run the Frog Hospital by Lorrie Moore - I can’t remember where I found this one… a list? a Bookstagram post? Does it matter? It sounds awesome. Also, loving these short reads.

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Please consider clicking the little heart on this essay—your engagement helps more than you think! I’d love to hear from you if this essay made you ~feel~ something, have read a book I recommended, or think I’m wildly off about my wine pairings.

xx,
bb

1. Every single baby gift (book) I give includes a note to baby about the power of imagination. It’s maybe the one ideal that resonates with me most.