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Notes from an Apocalypse
By the author of the award-winning To Be a Machine, an absorbing, deeply felt book about our anxious present tense--and coming to grips with the future
We're alive in a time of worst-case The weather has gone uncanny. Our old postwar alliances are crumbling. Everywhere you look there's an omen, a joke whose punchline is the end of the world. How is a person supposed to live in the shadow of such a grim future? What does it mean to have children--nothing if not an act of hope? What might it be like to live through the worst? And what on Earth is anybody doing about it?
Dublin-based writer Mark O'Connell is consumed by these questions--and, as the father of two young children himself, he finds them increasingly urgent. In Notes from an Apocalypse, he crosses the globe in pursuit of answers. He tours survival bunkers in South Dakota. He ventures to New Zealand, a favored retreat of billionaires banking on civilization's collapse. He engages with would-be Mars colonists, preppers, right-wing conspiracists. And he bears witness to those places, like Chernobyl, that the future has already visited--real-life portraits of the end of the world as we know it. In doing so, he comes to a resolution, while offering readers a unique window into our contemporary imagination.
Both investigative and deeply personal, Notes from an Apocalypse is an affecting, humorous, and surprisingly hopeful meditation on our present moment. With insight, humanity, and wit, O'Connell leaves you to What if the end of the world isn't the end of the world?
We're alive in a time of worst-case The weather has gone uncanny. Our old postwar alliances are crumbling. Everywhere you look there's an omen, a joke whose punchline is the end of the world. How is a person supposed to live in the shadow of such a grim future? What does it mean to have children--nothing if not an act of hope? What might it be like to live through the worst? And what on Earth is anybody doing about it?
Dublin-based writer Mark O'Connell is consumed by these questions--and, as the father of two young children himself, he finds them increasingly urgent. In Notes from an Apocalypse, he crosses the globe in pursuit of answers. He tours survival bunkers in South Dakota. He ventures to New Zealand, a favored retreat of billionaires banking on civilization's collapse. He engages with would-be Mars colonists, preppers, right-wing conspiracists. And he bears witness to those places, like Chernobyl, that the future has already visited--real-life portraits of the end of the world as we know it. In doing so, he comes to a resolution, while offering readers a unique window into our contemporary imagination.
Both investigative and deeply personal, Notes from an Apocalypse is an affecting, humorous, and surprisingly hopeful meditation on our present moment. With insight, humanity, and wit, O'Connell leaves you to What if the end of the world isn't the end of the world?
272 pages, Hardcover
First published April 14, 2020
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November 23, 2019
I've read over 300 books this year, and this may be my favorite -- even though I occasionally hated reading it.
What a brilliant, depressing, funny, fascinating, infuriating, interesting book. Just wow. This is not a book for the faint of heart, but anybody paying attention these days can't be of the faint of heart anyway. These are scary times, all the more so as a parent.
O'Connell is an Irish father of two young children who was already worried about climate change when he became rather obsessed with it and took a year to go on the world's most depressing pilgrimage to find out more about it. He takes on us this journey in Notes from an Apocalypse -- visiting underground bunkers built for the very rich in South Dakota, attending a seminar on establishing the world's (or rather, another world's) most depressing colony on Mars, meeting folks in New Zealand where Silicon Valley multi-billionaires are buying up the land as their utopian New World to escape to after the collapse of civilization (while simultaneously making plans to profit off of the world devastation), and going on a retreat to one of the only wild places left in Great Britain only to have a bomber plane fly directly overhead on its way to Syria because, as O'Connell puts it, "It was always the end of the world for someone, somewhere." He even journeys to the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone, where he embarks on a weekend trip with a friend in order to tour the devastation of the world's worst nuclear disaster, stepping through pillaged schools and homes while other tourists take selfies in the post-apocalyptic wreckage.
O'Connell desperately loves his children, and it is partly because of this that he is driven half mad by what he is pretty certain is coming for them. As a mother of five, I relate to this to a painful degree. He is also prone to fixating and to worst case scenarios, and I can't say I differ from him there either.
As much as I was hoping that I'd get to the end of the book and he'd report that he'd been wrong all along and it was all going to be fine, that didn't happen and I didn't really expect it. The end was reassuring, not in the way I wanted but in the way that made sense.
Highly recommended.
I read a temporary digital ARC of this book for the purpose of review.
What a brilliant, depressing, funny, fascinating, infuriating, interesting book. Just wow. This is not a book for the faint of heart, but anybody paying attention these days can't be of the faint of heart anyway. These are scary times, all the more so as a parent.
O'Connell is an Irish father of two young children who was already worried about climate change when he became rather obsessed with it and took a year to go on the world's most depressing pilgrimage to find out more about it. He takes on us this journey in Notes from an Apocalypse -- visiting underground bunkers built for the very rich in South Dakota, attending a seminar on establishing the world's (or rather, another world's) most depressing colony on Mars, meeting folks in New Zealand where Silicon Valley multi-billionaires are buying up the land as their utopian New World to escape to after the collapse of civilization (while simultaneously making plans to profit off of the world devastation), and going on a retreat to one of the only wild places left in Great Britain only to have a bomber plane fly directly overhead on its way to Syria because, as O'Connell puts it, "It was always the end of the world for someone, somewhere." He even journeys to the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone, where he embarks on a weekend trip with a friend in order to tour the devastation of the world's worst nuclear disaster, stepping through pillaged schools and homes while other tourists take selfies in the post-apocalyptic wreckage.
O'Connell desperately loves his children, and it is partly because of this that he is driven half mad by what he is pretty certain is coming for them. As a mother of five, I relate to this to a painful degree. He is also prone to fixating and to worst case scenarios, and I can't say I differ from him there either.
As much as I was hoping that I'd get to the end of the book and he'd report that he'd been wrong all along and it was all going to be fine, that didn't happen and I didn't really expect it. The end was reassuring, not in the way I wanted but in the way that made sense.
Highly recommended.
I read a temporary digital ARC of this book for the purpose of review.
July 5, 2020
Mark O'Connell strikes me as an anxious person. Global problems prey on his mind, none more than the crisis of climate change. He watches YouTube videos of scrawny polar bears scrambling for scraps of food, and it fills him with terror. The end of the world is imminent, he thinks. So he decides to investigate people who have already accepted this fact, to see if their resigned outlook can provide him with some kind of comfort.
He attends a Mars convention in California, to meet those who have decided that Earth is doomed and that the Red Planet poses our best chance of survival. He travels to Auckland to survey the recently acquired estate of Peter Thiel, the billionaire who believes that New Zealand is the ideal location to ride out the apocalypse. In Chernobyl, he walks around the wreckage of the 1986 nuclear catastrophe with other so-called "disaster tourists", to experience what the end of the world might actually look like.
O'Connell is quite a witty narrator, and though he is consumed by anxiety, he has a knack of exposing the funny side of the unusual circumstances he finds himself in. He reminds me of Jon Ronson in this respect. He's also a thoughtful and compassionate writer. I particularly admired the final chapter of this book, where he talks about his two young children. He describes his fear of bringing them into this dying world, worrying if it is an inconsiderate and irresponsible thing to do. But he sees the utter joy they both exude, the little things like singing in the car or a beautiful sunset that fill these two small humans with happiness, and their ecstasy in being alive makes him feel like he has done the right thing.
Maybe the writing is a bit overwrought at times, and a few of O'Connell's references went over my head. But this is a humorous, thought-provoking and poignant examination of what the end of the world could mean. It might sound like it's all doom and gloom, but if anything, I found its ultimate sentiment to be life-affirming.
He attends a Mars convention in California, to meet those who have decided that Earth is doomed and that the Red Planet poses our best chance of survival. He travels to Auckland to survey the recently acquired estate of Peter Thiel, the billionaire who believes that New Zealand is the ideal location to ride out the apocalypse. In Chernobyl, he walks around the wreckage of the 1986 nuclear catastrophe with other so-called "disaster tourists", to experience what the end of the world might actually look like.
O'Connell is quite a witty narrator, and though he is consumed by anxiety, he has a knack of exposing the funny side of the unusual circumstances he finds himself in. He reminds me of Jon Ronson in this respect. He's also a thoughtful and compassionate writer. I particularly admired the final chapter of this book, where he talks about his two young children. He describes his fear of bringing them into this dying world, worrying if it is an inconsiderate and irresponsible thing to do. But he sees the utter joy they both exude, the little things like singing in the car or a beautiful sunset that fill these two small humans with happiness, and their ecstasy in being alive makes him feel like he has done the right thing.
Maybe the writing is a bit overwrought at times, and a few of O'Connell's references went over my head. But this is a humorous, thought-provoking and poignant examination of what the end of the world could mean. It might sound like it's all doom and gloom, but if anything, I found its ultimate sentiment to be life-affirming.
August 19, 2020
Feeling a bit meh about this one. The words 'A Personal Journey' in the subtitle is the key here. This book is focused on the author's personal reflections on the not-so-promising state of the world (and this was pre-covid!). The author ponders his conflicted feelings on raising kids into such a world and how to inspire them a and keep the positivity inspite of the bleak future outlook.
I do like the author's writing, he's realistic and honest and not preachy, but this book struggled to have a "reason-to-be" for the reader. I'm not sure what I was supposed to get out of reading this. Even with the welcome touches of humor, I was left in a rather un-inspired state upon finishing this one.
I do like the author's writing, he's realistic and honest and not preachy, but this book struggled to have a "reason-to-be" for the reader. I'm not sure what I was supposed to get out of reading this. Even with the welcome touches of humor, I was left in a rather un-inspired state upon finishing this one.
January 8, 2020
There are a lot of people who think our time is up. That is what Notes From An Apocalypse explores. It is a very dark depressing journey, which fortunately ends on a note of hope. Mark O’Connell is a very self-conscious writer. He is aware of the contradictions in everyday life, the conflicts in his own being, and the privilege he enjoys as a white, middle class Irish author. His examination of where we seem to be heading exploits all of those things in his own personality. For example, he points out the invention of the ship was also the invention of the shipwreck. Every silver lining, as they say…
O’Connell focuses on doom. He drives himself to depression researching things like preppers, who are stocking up for a Mad Max future of every man for himself. He notes the obvious selfishness of it, ignoring the suffering in the world or even the neighborhood in favor of guns, powdered imitation foods, and bunkers. It’s a white, patriarchal vision he can’t relate to. But then, O’Connell is a self-proclaimed socialist, so he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. He says: “What had made America great was the western progress of white migrants. It was the northern progress of nonwhite migrants that threatened it.”
He visits a developer selling those bunkers in South Dakota, and traces the route of Peter Thiel, who bought himself a New Zealand passport and lots of land to protect himself from the end times he also thinks are coming in his lifetime – just not in New Zealand, apparently. O’Connell says “the freedom to act purely in one’s own interest, without having to consider the interests of others […} seemed to me the most bloodless and decrepit conception of freedom imaginable […] The notion of escaping ”beyond politics” was, in other words, inescapably political. It was a dream of dissolving all entanglements with, and obligations towards, other people. This amounted to nothing less, in my view, than the dissolving of life itself.”
Then, way beyond New Zealand, the Mars people come under scrutiny. They think moving to Mars and living entirely underground will give them freedom, no government, no regulations, and a new life under a cold planet. O’Connell doesn’t state the obvious, but if that’s what will save humanity, they could burrow under Montana and achieve the same thing in proper gravity, air and water.
O’Connell goes so far as to visit Chernobyl, a depressing monument turned into a tourist trap, exhibiting all the trappings of the set of a sci-fi endtimes film. Basically, he goes to the ends of the earth to find who is preparing for the end of the world, and what that might look like.
And he tells it all to his therapist, who spends her time trying to point him towards cheerier thoughts. She also has to deal with his fear of moths. The thought of one brushing against his skin is enough to make him leave the room. It’s a very different premise for a book, but O’Connell is an intelligent analyst, and he makes it work.
In the end (of the book), it is his two young children, possessing no agenda of their own, who give him hope and inspiration that not only must life go on, but that this is the only time for life to go on. There are no options offered.
David Wineberg
O’Connell focuses on doom. He drives himself to depression researching things like preppers, who are stocking up for a Mad Max future of every man for himself. He notes the obvious selfishness of it, ignoring the suffering in the world or even the neighborhood in favor of guns, powdered imitation foods, and bunkers. It’s a white, patriarchal vision he can’t relate to. But then, O’Connell is a self-proclaimed socialist, so he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. He says: “What had made America great was the western progress of white migrants. It was the northern progress of nonwhite migrants that threatened it.”
He visits a developer selling those bunkers in South Dakota, and traces the route of Peter Thiel, who bought himself a New Zealand passport and lots of land to protect himself from the end times he also thinks are coming in his lifetime – just not in New Zealand, apparently. O’Connell says “the freedom to act purely in one’s own interest, without having to consider the interests of others […} seemed to me the most bloodless and decrepit conception of freedom imaginable […] The notion of escaping ”beyond politics” was, in other words, inescapably political. It was a dream of dissolving all entanglements with, and obligations towards, other people. This amounted to nothing less, in my view, than the dissolving of life itself.”
Then, way beyond New Zealand, the Mars people come under scrutiny. They think moving to Mars and living entirely underground will give them freedom, no government, no regulations, and a new life under a cold planet. O’Connell doesn’t state the obvious, but if that’s what will save humanity, they could burrow under Montana and achieve the same thing in proper gravity, air and water.
O’Connell goes so far as to visit Chernobyl, a depressing monument turned into a tourist trap, exhibiting all the trappings of the set of a sci-fi endtimes film. Basically, he goes to the ends of the earth to find who is preparing for the end of the world, and what that might look like.
And he tells it all to his therapist, who spends her time trying to point him towards cheerier thoughts. She also has to deal with his fear of moths. The thought of one brushing against his skin is enough to make him leave the room. It’s a very different premise for a book, but O’Connell is an intelligent analyst, and he makes it work.
In the end (of the book), it is his two young children, possessing no agenda of their own, who give him hope and inspiration that not only must life go on, but that this is the only time for life to go on. There are no options offered.
David Wineberg
July 21, 2022
Witty and undeniably relevant. The author finds that he’s consumed with feelings of dread, because apocalypse, climate change, etc. Particularly since having his son, he’s struggled to overcome the feeling of paralysis this sense of impending doom gives him. Very relatable! His response is to write this book confronting the looming apocalypse via visiting preppers in South Dakota, learning about the superrich buying up New Zealand for the end times, talking to folks who want to colonize Mars, and visiting Chernobyl.
I guess I don’t quite get why all of this calmed him down...maybe I needed a final wrap-up showing some kind of positive collective action, because I’m still feeling the apocalypse despite a heartwarming conclusion in which the author sees some children singing and thinks ‘over to you, kids,’ while comforting himself that we humans have always worried about the end of days. But it was interesting, and I may just be bringing a little of my own doomsday aura into the mix.
I guess I don’t quite get why all of this calmed him down...maybe I needed a final wrap-up showing some kind of positive collective action, because I’m still feeling the apocalypse despite a heartwarming conclusion in which the author sees some children singing and thinks ‘over to you, kids,’ while comforting himself that we humans have always worried about the end of days. But it was interesting, and I may just be bringing a little of my own doomsday aura into the mix.
October 11, 2021
“I wanted to be near the idea of the apocalypse, to look upon what evidence of its deadly work could be found in the present: not in the form of numbers or projections, which are nowadays mostly how it’s revealed to us, but rather in the form of places — landscapes both real and imaginary where the end of the world could be glimpsed.”
Author Mark O’Connell’s memoir written to confront his anxieties related to the future of our planet. He immersed himself into apocalyptic scenarios, traveling the globe to discover more about people planning for the end of the world as we know it. There are groups of people preparing kits and planning to retreat into the wilderness, known as “preppers.” Other groups plan to escape to Mars. Billionaires are buying up land in remote regions to a create safe havens. The author visits Chernobyl to see the aftermath of the devastating 1986 meltdown.
O’Connell has a family, and he worries about the future his children will have to face. He has done the research for those of us who do not wish to seek it out in person. In the end, it is more optimistic than it sounds. He ultimately refuses to give in to despair, preferring to take pleasure in the joys of his family.
Author Mark O’Connell’s memoir written to confront his anxieties related to the future of our planet. He immersed himself into apocalyptic scenarios, traveling the globe to discover more about people planning for the end of the world as we know it. There are groups of people preparing kits and planning to retreat into the wilderness, known as “preppers.” Other groups plan to escape to Mars. Billionaires are buying up land in remote regions to a create safe havens. The author visits Chernobyl to see the aftermath of the devastating 1986 meltdown.
O’Connell has a family, and he worries about the future his children will have to face. He has done the research for those of us who do not wish to seek it out in person. In the end, it is more optimistic than it sounds. He ultimately refuses to give in to despair, preferring to take pleasure in the joys of his family.
August 11, 2020
Self-important, self-indulgent lefty intellectualism (which is usually my jam) weighed down by overwrought, paid-by-the-word, purple prose and questionable attempts to flog mundane observations into metaphors for bigger themes.
If you're looking for a different take on a personal journey to the end of the world (but not of the hardcore apocalypse prepper variety), see Emergency: This Book Will Save Your Life by Neil Strauss (yes, that Neil Strauss), which is a lot more interesting.
Curiously, though, even though both books take far, far different paths, they end up in a kind of a similar place: The way we get through this (if we indeed get through this), isn't huddled at the bottom of a bunker, but through
If you're looking for a different take on a personal journey to the end of the world (but not of the hardcore apocalypse prepper variety), see Emergency: This Book Will Save Your Life by Neil Strauss (yes, that Neil Strauss), which is a lot more interesting.
Curiously, though, even though both books take far, far different paths, they end up in a kind of a similar place: The way we get through this (if we indeed get through this), isn't huddled at the bottom of a bunker, but through
May 29, 2020
3.5, rounded up.
This is either the perfect book to take one's mind off the current pandemic - or perhaps, the absolute worse one to read in such times - depending on the kind of person you are. O'Connell's personal essays addressing various aspects of our apocalyptic end times (preppers, Mars colonizers, Chernobyl tourists, billionaires hunkering down in New Zealand, nature retreatants) are only loosely connected by that common thread, and the book as a whole somewhat reminds me of Mary Roach's superior examples of such journalistic forays, minus her snarky humor.
It's fast-paced, readable, and, if possible, made me detest Elon Musk and Peter Thiel more than I already did. But, being childless myself, I found it hard to swallow his rosy-eyed conclusion that, as Whitney once sang '"the children are our future, teach them well and let them lead the way", which is a little too simplistic and optimistic, given what's come beforehand. I side more with his earlier premise that the world is so irredeemably messed up now, that it's almost criminal to procreate.
This is either the perfect book to take one's mind off the current pandemic - or perhaps, the absolute worse one to read in such times - depending on the kind of person you are. O'Connell's personal essays addressing various aspects of our apocalyptic end times (preppers, Mars colonizers, Chernobyl tourists, billionaires hunkering down in New Zealand, nature retreatants) are only loosely connected by that common thread, and the book as a whole somewhat reminds me of Mary Roach's superior examples of such journalistic forays, minus her snarky humor.
It's fast-paced, readable, and, if possible, made me detest Elon Musk and Peter Thiel more than I already did. But, being childless myself, I found it hard to swallow his rosy-eyed conclusion that, as Whitney once sang '"the children are our future, teach them well and let them lead the way", which is a little too simplistic and optimistic, given what's come beforehand. I side more with his earlier premise that the world is so irredeemably messed up now, that it's almost criminal to procreate.
April 1, 2020
(Note: I received an ARC of this book courtesy of NetGalley)
Considering just how much anxiety I feel about these present times in general, I was surprised by just how much I ended up enjoying Notes from an Apocalypse. O’Connell’s various tours to explore how different groups and people are preparing for the possible end is done so with both a critical eye and also a great deal of wit. Yet as he journeys about and makes his sharp observations, there’s always the constant undercurrent of his own very strong, and very open fears about what the future brings, often to the point where he cannot help but empathize at times with his subjects even when he finds them to be otherwise ridiculous in so many ways. It’s this honesty about his personal journey to try and reconcile himself with what lies ahead that turns a just a genuinely interesting book into a strangely therapeutic work that I think many anxious people (this reader included) can and will very much appreciate.
Considering just how much anxiety I feel about these present times in general, I was surprised by just how much I ended up enjoying Notes from an Apocalypse. O’Connell’s various tours to explore how different groups and people are preparing for the possible end is done so with both a critical eye and also a great deal of wit. Yet as he journeys about and makes his sharp observations, there’s always the constant undercurrent of his own very strong, and very open fears about what the future brings, often to the point where he cannot help but empathize at times with his subjects even when he finds them to be otherwise ridiculous in so many ways. It’s this honesty about his personal journey to try and reconcile himself with what lies ahead that turns a just a genuinely interesting book into a strangely therapeutic work that I think many anxious people (this reader included) can and will very much appreciate.
June 9, 2020
I didn’t think it was possible to read about the coming apocalypse and be bored. The author is very philosophical and examines ways to deal with his fear of the future and guilt for bringing children into the world. He has chapters on bunkers in South Dakota, estates in New Zealand, trips to Mars, desolate corners of England, and touring Chernobyl. But I was so bored that even Chernobyl seemed fun. The only point I realized is that I need way more money to survive in the future.
November 29, 2020
So disappointing
Did not expect this to turn into a blubbering mess about how much he loves his kids. So much for the rest of the world, which he gives no actual fucks about. Just have more kids it's fine
Did not expect this to turn into a blubbering mess about how much he loves his kids. So much for the rest of the world, which he gives no actual fucks about. Just have more kids it's fine
July 29, 2020
(3.5) In 2018 O’Connell won the Wellcome Book Prize (as well as our shadow panel’s prize) for To Be a Machine, a zany travelogue through the world of transhumanism, which is about using technology to help overcome human limitations and radically extend our lifespan. The same skeptical, satirical outlook that made his first book so funny applies perfectly to approaches to the end of the world, especially in the early chapter about preppers. This movement, like transhumanism, is very American, and very masculine. O’Connell pulls no punches in describing survivalism as a white male fantasy, which, coincidentally, will involve an unequivocal return to traditional Christianity (but no empathy for the suffering, e.g. refugees) and gender roles.
Preparing for the apocalypse, for many, means escaping from the world, so O’Connell travels to a set of bunkers in South Dakota, the New Zealand sites where billionaires plan to seek refuge, and a Mars Society Conference in Los Angeles. The troubling language of frontiers and colonization recurs as he explores how those with money and influence will trample over the doomed masses to save themselves. The pace picks up in later chapters about a wilderness experience in the Alladale Wilderness Reserve in the Scottish Highlands and a spot of “catastrophe tourism” via a trip to the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone.
The ‘personal’ part of the subtitle has to do with the fact that O’Connell is a parent; as Sian Cain noted in her recent Guardian feature on the child-free future (which indeed mentions this book), most of those who are currently writing about our existential state and moral responsibility during climate breakdown have children.* O’Connell asks himself whether, in protecting his son from knowledge of how bad a world he has born into, he’s perpetuating a cycle of denial. While pessimism strikes him as the only rational attitude to take given the facts, he decides that constant anxiety is no way to live and that he does have hope insomuch as he has, through his children, a stake in the future. A glimpse of youth climate protesters is heartening for him, showing that there are people out there who care.
(*To state the (I hope) bleedin’ obvious, you don’t have to have children to care about the fate of the human race, and having children can in some cases lead not to greater humanitarian concern but instead to an insular focus on the survival of one’s own family.)
This was one of my lockdown treats, ordered from Belgravia Books. It has undeniable relevance, now more than ever – though, as O’Connell, acknowledges, people have pretty much always thought the end of the world was nigh, such that the apocalypse has become “profoundly dull.” But I had a few problems with the book as a whole. For one thing, many of his subjects – preppers, Elon Musk, Donald Trump, whoever – are easy targets. So even if he does skewer them in amusing fashion, is he telling us anything we don’t already know? Or is he just entrenching existing prejudice?
Also, his ultimate conclusions, perhaps inevitably, feel like a copout. This is not a situation about which we can feel detachment. I never felt O’Connell was holding himself, as an individual, responsible and committing to any kind of lifestyle change. Okay, I agree that it’s pointless for him to regret having had children, or having flown across the world to research his books, but awareness and repentance mean changing direction. And in a book like this, I think you do have an obligation to model correct ways of thinking and acting, rather than stand back as an observer and cultural commentator.
Favorite passages:
“Trump is only the most visible symptom of a disease that has long been sickening the country’s blood—a rapidly metastasizing tumor of inequality, hyper-militarism, racism, surveillance, and fear that we might as well go ahead and diagnose as terminal-stage capitalism.”
“There is no way of contemplating the catastrophe of our way of life from the outside. There is no outside. Here, too, I myself am the contaminant. I myself am the apocalypse of which I speak.”
[A few novels that take up the same themes or have the same tone: Everything Is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer (the Chernobyl trip, anyway), Weather by Jenny Offill, Frankissstein by Jeanette Winterson (the South Dakota entrepreneur he meets reminds me a lot of one of the characters)]
Preparing for the apocalypse, for many, means escaping from the world, so O’Connell travels to a set of bunkers in South Dakota, the New Zealand sites where billionaires plan to seek refuge, and a Mars Society Conference in Los Angeles. The troubling language of frontiers and colonization recurs as he explores how those with money and influence will trample over the doomed masses to save themselves. The pace picks up in later chapters about a wilderness experience in the Alladale Wilderness Reserve in the Scottish Highlands and a spot of “catastrophe tourism” via a trip to the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone.
The ‘personal’ part of the subtitle has to do with the fact that O’Connell is a parent; as Sian Cain noted in her recent Guardian feature on the child-free future (which indeed mentions this book), most of those who are currently writing about our existential state and moral responsibility during climate breakdown have children.* O’Connell asks himself whether, in protecting his son from knowledge of how bad a world he has born into, he’s perpetuating a cycle of denial. While pessimism strikes him as the only rational attitude to take given the facts, he decides that constant anxiety is no way to live and that he does have hope insomuch as he has, through his children, a stake in the future. A glimpse of youth climate protesters is heartening for him, showing that there are people out there who care.
(*To state the (I hope) bleedin’ obvious, you don’t have to have children to care about the fate of the human race, and having children can in some cases lead not to greater humanitarian concern but instead to an insular focus on the survival of one’s own family.)
This was one of my lockdown treats, ordered from Belgravia Books. It has undeniable relevance, now more than ever – though, as O’Connell, acknowledges, people have pretty much always thought the end of the world was nigh, such that the apocalypse has become “profoundly dull.” But I had a few problems with the book as a whole. For one thing, many of his subjects – preppers, Elon Musk, Donald Trump, whoever – are easy targets. So even if he does skewer them in amusing fashion, is he telling us anything we don’t already know? Or is he just entrenching existing prejudice?
Also, his ultimate conclusions, perhaps inevitably, feel like a copout. This is not a situation about which we can feel detachment. I never felt O’Connell was holding himself, as an individual, responsible and committing to any kind of lifestyle change. Okay, I agree that it’s pointless for him to regret having had children, or having flown across the world to research his books, but awareness and repentance mean changing direction. And in a book like this, I think you do have an obligation to model correct ways of thinking and acting, rather than stand back as an observer and cultural commentator.
Favorite passages:
“Trump is only the most visible symptom of a disease that has long been sickening the country’s blood—a rapidly metastasizing tumor of inequality, hyper-militarism, racism, surveillance, and fear that we might as well go ahead and diagnose as terminal-stage capitalism.”
“There is no way of contemplating the catastrophe of our way of life from the outside. There is no outside. Here, too, I myself am the contaminant. I myself am the apocalypse of which I speak.”
[A few novels that take up the same themes or have the same tone: Everything Is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer (the Chernobyl trip, anyway), Weather by Jenny Offill, Frankissstein by Jeanette Winterson (the South Dakota entrepreneur he meets reminds me a lot of one of the characters)]
May 31, 2020
Not great for my crockpot full of existential anxieties but beautifully written. A highlight of the year.
4.5
4.5
May 27, 2020
5 Stars - After accidentally deleting perhaps my longest most in depth review to date, before hitting submit.. I’m going to take some time before attempting to rewrite & risking spontaneous combustion!!!
What I will say, is that this little cracker of a book, is unlike anything else I’ve read in one special & unique way - You’ll be sitting down and quite literally rolling side to side, stretching the corners of your mouth out wide, cackling up and down, spit-spraying & the works laughing, whilst in the very same breath, but in context more of a non-linear fashion, with that very same laughter echoing in the surrounding acoustics, be stone-cold mother help me please, bone-reverberating, hair gone fuzzy type terrified.. And be comfortably clear about the gut wrenching deep rotted sense of foreboding about what may lay ahead for us all.
Mark O’Connor has written a mini-epic that takes no passengers, and in fact, opposed to what can often occur in say a Bryson or even Steinbeck at times, where characters introduced cascade into the background once their purpose is established etc, each ‘bug-out’ loving stop along this witty, self-probing & sheerly delicious novel, has an utmost impact & is treated as a collaborator more than a narrative utensil..
Whether you’re a Doomsday Prepping’ fantasist, like myself, someone whom does have some small sense that our time may be waining in this planet, or if you’re a nay sayers who thinks anyone that holds even a slight candle to the flame of the End Of Days - It’s most irrelevant, because the disgusting ease with which this novel is written will not omg allow the book to read itself, but it will line your pockets with intrigue & babe you gorging on anecdotal honey snacks until you find yourself reading the blurb whilst thinking ‘how the hell could I possibly be finished already’ - I nye-on guarantee it (but I don’t cus guarantees.. well they suck).
Enjoy, happy reading!!!
What I will say, is that this little cracker of a book, is unlike anything else I’ve read in one special & unique way - You’ll be sitting down and quite literally rolling side to side, stretching the corners of your mouth out wide, cackling up and down, spit-spraying & the works laughing, whilst in the very same breath, but in context more of a non-linear fashion, with that very same laughter echoing in the surrounding acoustics, be stone-cold mother help me please, bone-reverberating, hair gone fuzzy type terrified.. And be comfortably clear about the gut wrenching deep rotted sense of foreboding about what may lay ahead for us all.
Mark O’Connor has written a mini-epic that takes no passengers, and in fact, opposed to what can often occur in say a Bryson or even Steinbeck at times, where characters introduced cascade into the background once their purpose is established etc, each ‘bug-out’ loving stop along this witty, self-probing & sheerly delicious novel, has an utmost impact & is treated as a collaborator more than a narrative utensil..
Whether you’re a Doomsday Prepping’ fantasist, like myself, someone whom does have some small sense that our time may be waining in this planet, or if you’re a nay sayers who thinks anyone that holds even a slight candle to the flame of the End Of Days - It’s most irrelevant, because the disgusting ease with which this novel is written will not omg allow the book to read itself, but it will line your pockets with intrigue & babe you gorging on anecdotal honey snacks until you find yourself reading the blurb whilst thinking ‘how the hell could I possibly be finished already’ - I nye-on guarantee it (but I don’t cus guarantees.. well they suck).
Enjoy, happy reading!!!
November 30, 2019
Nothing could be more important—in, as it were, the end—than unflinching engagement with the reality that we as a species might be finally and irrevocably fucked.
A stunning follow-up to To Be A Machine—O'Connell's reliably exquisite prose, penetrating and perspective-shifting insights, biting humor, and heart-wrenching evocations of emotion are all masterfully deployed in this exploration of our collective eschatological unease. As someone who shares so many of his anxieties and fascinations, this is exactly the book I needed to read right now. If you, too, are obsessed with the idea of an imminent collapse of civilization, and want to explore what that actually means, I can't recommend it enough.
A stunning follow-up to To Be A Machine—O'Connell's reliably exquisite prose, penetrating and perspective-shifting insights, biting humor, and heart-wrenching evocations of emotion are all masterfully deployed in this exploration of our collective eschatological unease. As someone who shares so many of his anxieties and fascinations, this is exactly the book I needed to read right now. If you, too, are obsessed with the idea of an imminent collapse of civilization, and want to explore what that actually means, I can't recommend it enough.
November 2, 2020
So much self-wallowing, not much apocalypse-prep reportage. I wallow enough on my own.
January 2, 2021
A nonfiction book all about potential earthly apocalypse possibilities (will it be plague? Climate? Asteroid? Nuclear? etc.).
Amusingly written in 2020, yet PRE-Covid... it feels like it just barely missed the actual real apocalypse and is tone-deaf. Like the day it was published, Covid hit.
This book feels like it should have been an article and was stretched out with a lot of filler. There was interesting stuff in it, but once the author spent like 5 pages retelling the Dr. Seuss story "The Lorax" I thought "this is filler, this guy didn't have enough material."
So anyway--the author interviews doomsday preppers in South Dakota, tours Chernobyl, and spends 24 hours (which he boringly insists on recounting to the reader in detail - see? Filler) by himself in the wilderness of a remote area of Scotland which is now treeless and dead due to overeager industrialism. The doomsday prepper part was irritating to me, because of course he picked out the most extreme examples of those who represent the opposite of his political views and used them to prove his point; this tactic is tiresome and transparent to me.
He also basically says "oops! I had kids and now I realize the environment is doomed and I've subjected them to it!". OK, most people should think about that BEFORE they have kids. Where has he been living, under a rock? I'm not saying you shouldn't have kids because you realize the planet is probably doomed within their lifetime (except maybe, yes) but most people at least think about that for at least a minute before having them. And he ultimately concludes "I know the environment is probably screwed but babies are cute so you should have them."
There was a hilarious 2-pages about the author trying to set up a tent that made me laugh out loud though and made reading the book all worth it.
Amusingly written in 2020, yet PRE-Covid... it feels like it just barely missed the actual real apocalypse and is tone-deaf. Like the day it was published, Covid hit.
This book feels like it should have been an article and was stretched out with a lot of filler. There was interesting stuff in it, but once the author spent like 5 pages retelling the Dr. Seuss story "The Lorax" I thought "this is filler, this guy didn't have enough material."
So anyway--the author interviews doomsday preppers in South Dakota, tours Chernobyl, and spends 24 hours (which he boringly insists on recounting to the reader in detail - see? Filler) by himself in the wilderness of a remote area of Scotland which is now treeless and dead due to overeager industrialism. The doomsday prepper part was irritating to me, because of course he picked out the most extreme examples of those who represent the opposite of his political views and used them to prove his point; this tactic is tiresome and transparent to me.
He also basically says "oops! I had kids and now I realize the environment is doomed and I've subjected them to it!". OK, most people should think about that BEFORE they have kids. Where has he been living, under a rock? I'm not saying you shouldn't have kids because you realize the planet is probably doomed within their lifetime (except maybe, yes) but most people at least think about that for at least a minute before having them. And he ultimately concludes "I know the environment is probably screwed but babies are cute so you should have them."
There was a hilarious 2-pages about the author trying to set up a tent that made me laugh out loud though and made reading the book all worth it.
April 3, 2022
I should have investigated better before picking up this book. I thought it was some kind of a sociological study of different groups centering around the end of the world (as we know it), from midwestern preppers to billionaires building expensive retreats in New Zealand's mountains. It was about that, but only marginally. It was first and foremost a personal memoir, with lots of musings about the author's fears and anxieties, his travels, books he had read (lots of quotes and name droppings), and his political views.
I'll be honest. If it had been any longer than 200 pages, I would have dropped it. I am not interested in memoirs, and there was not much other information in here. Actually, in the second half, there was none.
I'll be honest. If it had been any longer than 200 pages, I would have dropped it. I am not interested in memoirs, and there was not much other information in here. Actually, in the second half, there was none.
January 19, 2021
I was taken back by how much I loved this! It's such a smart deconstruction of the relationship between how we imagine the end of the world and colonialism, patriarchy, and capitalism. His analysis of environmental catastrophe in relation to the masculine imagination—from doomsday preppers enacting a libertarian fantasy, to the colonization of mars and billionaires purchasing underground bunkers in New Zealand (and even the way Chernobyl is fetishized in video games)—is absolutely fascinating.
December 18, 2020
It was okay.
Not too interesting, but still fine enough.
3/5
Not too interesting, but still fine enough.
3/5
November 1, 2020
3.5*
Ah, jei ne tas patetiskas paskutinis skyrius...
Ah, jei ne tas patetiskas paskutinis skyrius...
December 22, 2022
Should we just ignore the end of the world?
The book is not about how to survive the apocalypse. Neither is it about when or how the apocalypse will come. It also doesn’t claim to give answers as to how to prevent the apocalypse. Instead, it is a book about humans’ preoccupations with the apocalypse. The author, Mark O’Connell, visits a “survival shelter community,” in North Dakota, billionaires’ “apocalypse-contingency” estates in New Zealand, attends a Mars colonization conference in California, and takes a tour of the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone in Ukraine.
O’Connell’s musings and revelations on the ulterior motives behind these trends were funny and genuine, but most importantly, interesting and insightful. The racist and misogynistic undertones of doomsday preppers has always been a little more obvious, but I’d never realized how patriarchal, classist, capitalistic, and escapist the notion of interplanetary colonization actually is. The part about the politics of “exit” vs. the politics of “care” was especially eye-opening.
I found myself relating to and agreeing with O’Connell about pretty much everything, but I also think he and I might be pretty similar: full of environmental guilt, hyperaware of the hypocrisy in my own carbon footprint behavior, and a father who struggles with the morality of having children in a dying world. Others might dismiss him as too dramatic or sensitive, but I found him to be neither. Given my established anxieties about the Earth and its end, I expected the book to give me more reasons to be stressed out. “Fortunately,” it just gave me more reasons to be skeptical of the solutions presented.
While the first few parts were really engaging, though, the chapter where he goes on the wilderness retreat was not as engaging. His reflections on his time with his children at the end was certainly touching and relatable, but also didn’t offer as much to chew on. He remains very introspective throughout, but these chapters felt more about a personal coming-to-terms with the state of things than with exposing ulterior motives and subconscious attitudes (which, to be fair, is still very much in line with the “personal journey” part of the book’s subtitle). The last few chapters were still good, just not as good as the first five.
The book is not about how to survive the apocalypse. Neither is it about when or how the apocalypse will come. It also doesn’t claim to give answers as to how to prevent the apocalypse. Instead, it is a book about humans’ preoccupations with the apocalypse. The author, Mark O’Connell, visits a “survival shelter community,” in North Dakota, billionaires’ “apocalypse-contingency” estates in New Zealand, attends a Mars colonization conference in California, and takes a tour of the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone in Ukraine.
O’Connell’s musings and revelations on the ulterior motives behind these trends were funny and genuine, but most importantly, interesting and insightful. The racist and misogynistic undertones of doomsday preppers has always been a little more obvious, but I’d never realized how patriarchal, classist, capitalistic, and escapist the notion of interplanetary colonization actually is. The part about the politics of “exit” vs. the politics of “care” was especially eye-opening.
I found myself relating to and agreeing with O’Connell about pretty much everything, but I also think he and I might be pretty similar: full of environmental guilt, hyperaware of the hypocrisy in my own carbon footprint behavior, and a father who struggles with the morality of having children in a dying world. Others might dismiss him as too dramatic or sensitive, but I found him to be neither. Given my established anxieties about the Earth and its end, I expected the book to give me more reasons to be stressed out. “Fortunately,” it just gave me more reasons to be skeptical of the solutions presented.
While the first few parts were really engaging, though, the chapter where he goes on the wilderness retreat was not as engaging. His reflections on his time with his children at the end was certainly touching and relatable, but also didn’t offer as much to chew on. He remains very introspective throughout, but these chapters felt more about a personal coming-to-terms with the state of things than with exposing ulterior motives and subconscious attitudes (which, to be fair, is still very much in line with the “personal journey” part of the book’s subtitle). The last few chapters were still good, just not as good as the first five.
August 30, 2021
Researched and written before the COVID pandemic, this book turned out to be very timely. The writer has been fascinated by/obsessed by the topic of the apocalypse since childhood. He travels around the world investigating groups (and individuals) preparing to survive an apocalypse. The most telling (and scary) chapters dealt with plans to explore Mars for future habitation, primarily by the super rich. This illuminated the rationale for the obsessions with space of Bezos and Musk. There are billionaires and super millionaires buying up huge tracts in New Zealand where they plan to escape to as the apocalypse nears. He visits Chernobyl and a strange settlement in South Dakotas where semi-underground bunkers are being sold.
This topic is depressing, yet O'Connell addresses important questions including why would anyone want to bring children into this world (he has two young children). Many chapters were illuminating. Even his obsession wasn't didn't seem completely off the wall. I remember books (On the Beach and films about nuclear war that preoccupied me as a teenager. The current climate crisis is real, and while there is much to worry us, humans have long been concerned about the end of the world.
This topic is depressing, yet O'Connell addresses important questions including why would anyone want to bring children into this world (he has two young children). Many chapters were illuminating. Even his obsession wasn't didn't seem completely off the wall. I remember books (On the Beach and films about nuclear war that preoccupied me as a teenager. The current climate crisis is real, and while there is much to worry us, humans have long been concerned about the end of the world.
August 19, 2023
Daudz foršas, skaistas, atmiņā paliekošas epizodes un pārdomas, taču beigu trešdaļā refleksiju sāka palikt par daudz, pietrūka citu cilvēku klātbūtnes līdzsvara
December 18, 2023
Usually I don’t like books that talk about “our current moment”, but this one pulls it off! I especially liked the parts where he critiques prepper culture.
I agree with the reviewer, zelda, about the end though. Okay so you love your kids, mark? 🤨🤨🤨That’s not helpful
I agree with the reviewer, zelda, about the end though. Okay so you love your kids, mark? 🤨🤨🤨That’s not helpful
May 1, 2020
I hate Mark O'Connell. He's tall, dark, handsome, insightful, clever, witty and a fantastic writer. I really enjoyed his Gonzo style narrative non-fiction in To Be a Machine. Notes from an Apocalypse is more of the same, and it's almost a companion piece, as fear of death, and the avoidance thereof is the looming topic of both.
What I like about both books is not just that his writing style is a joy to read, but that instead of just fact-reporting, he has some really wise insightful observations about what's really going on with a lot of the people he meets; the racist undertones of the preppers getting ready to wage war with urban looters. That survivalists aren't really prepping for their fears but for their fantasies. That your darkest dystopian nightmares are someone else's utopian dreams. That the prediction of societal breakdown is made by those who were never convinced by Society or who had little faith in Community in the first place. There's also a whole chapter that explores the lofty notions of colonizing mars as nothing more than a fantasy to repeat imperialistic colonization by the elite while letting the poor suffer. "Mars was America. The future was the past".
I particularly enjoyed a chapter which basically involved the author going on a nature retreat with like-minded individuals to discuss the future of the planet. Though interesting in itself, I think it also served as a necessary retreat from the gloom and doom both for the writer and for the reader before continuing the jolly jaunt to the wastelands of Chernobyl. Though one heart-warming fact here is the revelation that in the banishment of man from this 30km restricted zone, nature has returned stronger than ever.
It will be no great surprise to reveal that reading a book with this title at this time is not exactly going to be the warm cosy hug we need right now. The general consensus on global warming is that we're well and truly fucked, and all we can do is hope that our biggest worries; the future of our children, is somehow improved by our children in the future. I also think there is some hope in a prediction this book makes, that we have a taste of right now: it's not underground bunkers that will save us from catastrophe but the strengthening of our existing communities ("self-sufficient survivalist man" will be the last thing we need). So aside from the cold hard truths that make some of this book uneasy reading, it's still a fantastic read. I only wish it could have been longer. And I'm hoping a missing chapter on Covid-19 might pop up as an essay somewhere.
What I like about both books is not just that his writing style is a joy to read, but that instead of just fact-reporting, he has some really wise insightful observations about what's really going on with a lot of the people he meets; the racist undertones of the preppers getting ready to wage war with urban looters. That survivalists aren't really prepping for their fears but for their fantasies. That your darkest dystopian nightmares are someone else's utopian dreams. That the prediction of societal breakdown is made by those who were never convinced by Society or who had little faith in Community in the first place. There's also a whole chapter that explores the lofty notions of colonizing mars as nothing more than a fantasy to repeat imperialistic colonization by the elite while letting the poor suffer. "Mars was America. The future was the past".
I particularly enjoyed a chapter which basically involved the author going on a nature retreat with like-minded individuals to discuss the future of the planet. Though interesting in itself, I think it also served as a necessary retreat from the gloom and doom both for the writer and for the reader before continuing the jolly jaunt to the wastelands of Chernobyl. Though one heart-warming fact here is the revelation that in the banishment of man from this 30km restricted zone, nature has returned stronger than ever.
It will be no great surprise to reveal that reading a book with this title at this time is not exactly going to be the warm cosy hug we need right now. The general consensus on global warming is that we're well and truly fucked, and all we can do is hope that our biggest worries; the future of our children, is somehow improved by our children in the future. I also think there is some hope in a prediction this book makes, that we have a taste of right now: it's not underground bunkers that will save us from catastrophe but the strengthening of our existing communities ("self-sufficient survivalist man" will be the last thing we need). So aside from the cold hard truths that make some of this book uneasy reading, it's still a fantastic read. I only wish it could have been longer. And I'm hoping a missing chapter on Covid-19 might pop up as an essay somewhere.
May 3, 2020
The author has some interesting ways of looking at our current condition, such as the way he employs the Tech billionare Peter Thiel as the representative of the over-privileged white men who choose to escape the apocalypse by buying up land in New Zealand or buying ex military ordinance vaults in North Dakota as survival shelters. He juxtaposes that with the opposite: with the people who understand that the only worthwhile things to survive for come from community and caring. It's quite funny to read his description of "preppers" and how they are always white christian men who care only about the tech of their food and survival system and the patriarchal social system (with them at the top) they'll put into place, and not about any other aspect of the apocalypse. It's interesting how these preppers always have to convince the women to come along (they just don't understand). The author has some valuable analysis of capitalism versus democracy.
November 11, 2019
“There is no way of contemplating the catastrophe of our way of life, from the outside. There is no outside. Here, too, I myself am the contaminant. I myself am the apocalypse of which I speak.”
“...wasn’t the impulse to catastrophize, to imagine the collapse of one’s world, only the pursuit of a mind shaped by leisure and economic comfort? What did I really mean by the end of the world, after all, if not the loss of my own position within it? What was it that made me anxious, if not the precariousness of the privilege i had been born to, had passed on with doubtful hands to my own children? [...] The end of the world, I knew, was not some remote dystopian fantasy. It was all around. You just had to look.”
“...wasn’t the impulse to catastrophize, to imagine the collapse of one’s world, only the pursuit of a mind shaped by leisure and economic comfort? What did I really mean by the end of the world, after all, if not the loss of my own position within it? What was it that made me anxious, if not the precariousness of the privilege i had been born to, had passed on with doubtful hands to my own children? [...] The end of the world, I knew, was not some remote dystopian fantasy. It was all around. You just had to look.”
June 8, 2021
Absolutely brilliant. Funny, poignant, alarming and reflective. Mark O'Connell doesn't shy away from looking at himself (and by extension, us) in the same way that he looks at those making somewhat stranger choices in their lives. The language is beautiful and intricate and the points are well argued. I will read anything this man writes.
April 14, 2020
Although I enjoyed reading this book and it did make me think, the themes were not original or particularly vivid and I wish the author had nuanced his points more. Sticking with it takes commitment - it's not a compelling page turner.
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