A flu kills most of the world in a matter of weeks, and twenty years later a travelling symphony and Shakespeare company moves between settlements around the Great Lakes.
It is a post-apocalyptic novel that is not very interested in the apocalypse. The structure keeps cutting back to the before, to a Toronto theatre and a celebrity’s dinner parties, so that the loss is specific rather than statistical.
Survival is insufficient, painted on the lead caravan, is the line everyone takes away. The argument is that art is not a luxury added back once food and shelter are handled.
I read this in January 2022, which was not the most restful possible timing.