Folks, this blog (unlike that silly Larryville Chronicles blog) occasionally exists, even though Wikipedia has STILL not seen fit to deem PBR Book Club a real thing worthy of attention. Oh well.
What have we been doing, you ask?
Well, we read David Mitchell's The Bone Clocks in January and most of us liked it, especially LL, though she didn't attend the meeting. Some of us have a special fondness for Mitchell, since his Cloud Atlas was the first -ever selection of the club, way way back in 2011. There were only four of us at that meeting, three of whom were present for the Bone Clocks discussion (we missed you, Abby!).
This month we turn our attention to Emily St John Mandel's moving post-apocalyptic take on art and memory, Station Eleven. Will our members embrace Mandel's honest sentiment, removed from the usual meta trappings of many of our selections? Or will they find themselves nostalgic for a little ironic distance? I'll tell you this, since I've read it already: I cried, and more than once. But I'm a sucker for roving bands of Shakespeareans keeping art alive.
If you're looking to quadruple your post-apocalyptic pleasure with some alternate selections, consider dipping into Margaret Atwood's MaddAddamm trilogy with me. I'm currently midway through the first volume, Oryx and Crake, so you can catch up easily. And hopefully you caught her incredible lecture on campus last night.
See you on Twitter and at the Tap on Tuesday, Feb. 24!
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