On November 9, 2016, people told me they couldn't read, and I didn't understand. Books are what pulled me out of the scary world and into a safe one. DON'T WORRY GUYS, I'M ALL CAUGHT UP NOW. I'm now officially as terrified and glum as y'all were months ago. And for the past week, I haven't been able to focus on a single book. But yesterday I picked up George Saunders's TENTH OF DECEMBER. It's hilarious and tender and SO inside the heads of its characters. It's like Saunders took a pick ax and shoved the book inside their brains, or something. I'd call these fun, thinkey masterpieces that got me out of my reading funk. Hallelujah. 
 I reread each essay after I finished. I found it impossible not to.