John Priscu, a microbial ecologist at Montana State University, has visited Antarctica 40 times for research since the mid-1980s. When he first made the trip, scientists weren’t as worried about climate change as they are now. But these days, Priscu can feel the planet changing beneath his feet. The snow has become noticeably mushier, and driving equipment-laden tractors across the landscape feels like slogging through thick mud. Drills meant to probe icy depths instead get stuck in the slush.
For scientists like Priscu, the effects of a warming world reach far beyond our suffering planet. In Antarctica, the Arctic, and lower latitudes around the world, scientists use extreme environments to test ideas and techniques for ambitious space missions. Such places, known as analog sites, resemble environments on Mars and certain moons of Jupiter and Saturn—celestial bodies where microbial life may have once arisen, or may even be alive right now. Knowledge about the little organisms living in these strange places on Earth gets funneled into efforts to detect alien life elsewhere in the solar system.
In my twenties, I had a friend who used to show up at my doorstep uninvited with a six-pack of Red Stripe. She had a terrible job and a worse boyfriend, and whenever either was bumming her out, she’d plop down on the orange couch that my roommate had gotten from her dead great-aunt and tell us everything. In 2017, she moved to Montana, and I suppose if I had to pinpoint it, I’d say that’s when the trouble began.
One day it became undeniable that I had a friendship void in my life. I didn’t lose my friends. There was no big dustup or disaster. No romantic rivalries or fights about politics had gotten in the way. They didn’t even go missing, exactly—I knew where they were. After Red Stripe landed in Missoula, the couple whose deck we used to grill sausages on decamped to Vermont. Around the same time, L. A. started acquiring my friends at an alarming rate, and the ones who remained all seemed to have colicky babies or punishing home-renovation projects on their hands. I admitted to myself that I’d had a hand in it, too: After all, I hadn’t changed cities in fourteen years, a job in five, or a romantic partner since Obama’s first term.
Practice is an odd, absorbing little novel about an unusual subject: the act of reading and thinking deeply about literature. It works because it doesn’t try to be a bigger story than it is and because it’s concise — coming in around 200 pages, many of them only a brief paragraph long.
It also works because Brown herself is such a vivid writer.
While “The Book of Elsewhere” may include some tropes and contrivances, Miéville’s keen eye, brimful imagination and impeccable style make it a deeply pleasurable read.
While it may take time to acclimate to the language and style, the novel rewards perseverance with a compelling portrayal of characters who grow on the reader as their complexities deepen. Sullivan’s skill in evoking historical Melbourne and crafting memorable protagonists shines through, making this a worthwhile read for fans of historical fiction and atmospheric mysteries alike.
Paris ’44 tells the story of the occupation and the liberation, but it does not read like military history. There’s no danger of being lost in logistics. The book resembles some epic thriller, with vividly evoked characters all somewhere on the spectrum between collaboration and resistance, shame and glory.