The Last Days . . . has nothing much to do with tennis or with Roger Federer, who appears sparingly in these pages . . . [nor is it] “intended to be a comprehensive study of last things, or of lastness generally.”
a portrait of the American tendency to keep the suffering of others at arm’s length as if misfortune were contagious, or to ruthlessly eliminate it entirely
In Natera’s masterful debut novel, a simple New York City park becomes the verdant heart of a mythic neighborhood, where fire escapes are like golden staircases and the community goodwill of friends and neighbors becomes a nurturing flame that sustains its members’ hearts and souls.
How would that candy taste in my mouth? How would that blue chiffon offset my dark hair and plain features? How would the world look to me through the eyes of this woman and this one and this one? What else could oblivion mean to me, if not for the living as many?