This book was really just not for me. It was easily the most bizarre book I have read in the last 5 years. This takes place in NYC in a dystopian and also magic area. There are acid rain storms every tuesday (and only tuesday)- humans have morphed and evolved so babies sometime have gills. Some characters in this are literal ghosts, they are dead. You can't move from one boro to another easily, everyone is quarantined. Most everyone has died. There is also a character who is a roach. Also another is a ghost roach. Yet another has NO HEAD and communicates through writing. Even though he has no head, he manages to still fall in love, go on a radio show, somehow exist, just headless. If that isn't enough, it is so so so hard to follow this. I really can't imagine anyone liking this book, but perhaps for fans of sci fi or maybe "A Cantical For Liebowitz." There isn't much of a plot here, but one thing I will say, this book is definitely very creative.

Thanks to NetGalley and W. W. Norton & Company for the ARC in exchange for an honest review. Book to be published October 22, 2024.

"How to Fall in Love in a Time of Unnameable Disaster" is a strange, well-written book about grief and love in apocalyptic New York. I found the book very compelling but also incredibly odd. The plot and structure were unique, and the characters created a visceral sense of melancholy.

Thank you to the publisher for a free ARC in exchange for an honest review.

Weekly acid rains have been causing havoc in a post-apocalyptic New York City. Many people have died, and the survivors are living in the self-contained five boroughs under militarized control. After breaking up with Mal, Mira returns to her parent's apartment building, where family and ghosts coexist. Hoping to reconnect with Mal or anyone else, Mira becomes a HAM radio host after trading beef jerky and fish for the radio. "How to Fall in Love in a Time of Unnamable Disaster" is a compelling story filled with love, humanity, grief, and a touch of whimsy. And did I mention there are also a cockroach, ghosts, and a headless man? This book with the right performer/reader would make an excellent audiobook!

I have a habit of not giving synopses more than a cursory glance -- especially when the title of the novel is as immediately compelling as this -- and whatever information I do pick up in that glance is generally forgotten by the time I actually get around to reading the book. Now, I really don't think any synopsis could have prevented this book from being so delightfully unexpected at every turn. It's often fablelike yet always undeniably modern, it's a post-apocalyptic tale (its concept is somewhat of a cross between two other books I've read recently, Severance and Pink Slime) yet leans heavily into indescribably beautiful bits of magical realism that thoroughly differentiate it from its contemporaries in the genre. There's undeniably a main character, Mira, yet it abandons her immediate perspective early on to bounce between others' eyes, leading it to feel somewhat like a series of interconnected short stories (in fact, per the acknowledgements, at least some of the chapters were originally published in that form) while still managing to always be satisfying in the way it treats Mira's arc. We get fragments of what's going on through these different perspectives, and it's a wonder to witness them piece together into a whole.

There's a gently romantic headless man named Sad (whose early-on introduction immediately told me I would love the book), there's the pensive ghost of a cockroach, and there're a whole lot of people grieving at once, because what else is there to do in a time of unnameable disaster? It's an incredibly creative and idiosyncratic book, yet it doesn't feel detectably ambitious (or at least doesn't strain to be that), as everything flows naturally enough to believe that this was just the way these emotions materialized out of sheer necessity. I mean, how else would you convey love and grief but through a cockroach?

It's comforting and devastating in equal measure, and genuinely one of my favorite things I've read in a while. This book is no less than what it needs to be.

This is a beautifully written book, but overall the balance between plot and characterization was not strong enough to fully engage me in the story.

Thank you to NetGalley for an ARC of How to Fall in Love in a Time of Unnameable Disaster.

The title caught my eye as well as the premise. I'm always up for a story set against a post-apocalyptic time period, especially when its in my hometown of NYC.

This isn't your typical apocalypse novel; you're not being chased by zombies or predators, human or otherwise, no aliens or parasites invading your bodies.

Yes, NYC is a toxic wasteland and times are tough but life goes on. It has to.

The title refers to the main character, Mira's call-in radio show which is one of the few ways survivors can reach out and connect with others.

As a result of the catastrophic devastation, the strange and unusual is the norm. But then this is NYC. It takes a lot to make New Yorkers blink.

Mira has moved back home with her mom and hopes to reconnect with her sort of ex=girlfriend, Mal, or anyone else.

Each chapter focuses on an unique character, a ghost cockroach, a headless man, you see what I mean?

It's ridiculous and bizarre, but at the same time considering what's happening to the world, is it?

Life moves on and people mourn and grieve and still look for connections with others, dead or alive.

I loved the originality of the premise, not your typical post-apocalyptic story but about the mundane that plague everyone no matter what tragedy or disaster is occurring, seeking connection and hope in a time of sorrow and disaster, not unlike what we all experienced during Covid.

The characters are odd and unexpected, yet the style and tone of the writing is easygoing, as if to say, "This is the life we live in now and it's fine."

At the same time, You can't help thinking, "What's going on?" but you accept it for what it is and roll with it.

I'm all for weirdness and outlandishness and the stranger, the better, but this just wasn't for me.

When I think post-apocalypse novels, I think action, adventure, some heartfelt moments, some deep thoughts, then more running around,

Still, I recommend readers give this a try. It wasn't my cup of tea but you may discover it's yours.

Thanks to NetGalley and W.W. Norton for the ARC!

Muriel Leung’s "How to Fall in Love in a Time of Unnameable Disaster" is a delightful, woozily off-kilter kaleidoscope of a story—a world where the world has ended, people are dying, and we’re all still just killing time.

In "Unnameable Disaster," Leung depicts the way ongoing crisis quickly becomes mundane once the novelty’s worn off—when California’s collapse is notable because it means “they had to retabulate zip codes. People mutate and change, but even the most absurd circumstance becomes humdrum when it’s the only reality. The book, like its crisis-inducing rain, is a little too acidic to be whimsical, but there’s still an odd charm that pulses throughout it. The novel’s title comes from a call-in radio show that a character starts, which feels impossibly quaint until one recalls the many comparable forms of connection that emerged in the early 2020s.

Each chapter follows a different character, but they are united in becoming more fully themselves once they move past who they were before their afterlives. There are echoes of all the ugly ways grief changed us at the start of the decade, but Leung cleverly depicts these changes physically—one character is headless and called “Sad,” as if that is the one truth about him that survives. Whether they are ghosts—oh yes, there are many ghosts in this book—or simply left behind in the wake of the world, the characters must accept that they are useless and loved, and readers must accept them. We must ask the same question the characters implicitly wrestle with—what is found in loss?

Explicitly, character wrestle with other questions, like “Should I continue to date a ghost?” or “What if my child is born with tentacles?”

It’s probably obvious at this point, but the quirk’s really putting in the work, and I suspect it will be occasionally—maybe frequently—too random for many readers. Certain absurd images are impossible to parse and must be accepted emotionally instead of analyzed rationally. Even so, I found myself giggling at how ambitiously wacky a few moments are. That might sound like a knock on the book, but it’s not—this is just a novel that asks you to accept a detailed love story between two roaches, and its goofiness adds depth to its earnestness. Leung demonstrates an incredible sense of tone to pull off the emotional turns of "Unnameable Disaster", and I found myself in awe of her craft.

As much as I would like to say more about some of the book’s specifics, it feels like it would do a disservice to all of the wonderful surprises Muriel Leung has in store for readers, particularly an exceptional, emotional final chapter. Suffice it to say, if you choose to read "How to Fall in Love in a Time of Unnameable Disaster," you can expect a wonderful celebration of love in all of its joyful clumsiness and multiplicity.