You ever wonder what it would be like to read a book about climbing steps? How about a book about descending steps? 
 No? Well, we now have that book. And guess what? It's awesome. 
 You know, I tend to think of myself as an early adopter to things, or one of the first folks to jump on a bandwagon, then I leave that bandwagon after it gets too crowded. But the truth is that I'm not a very early adopter at all. I think I like to think of myself that way for whatever psychological joy it brings, but in reality, I want large groups of people to blaze all those trails ahead of me, then I can decide whether or not to go down that path too. 
 So, Wool came out, EVERYONE went on and on about how great it was, and I, of course, chose not to read because it sounded way too popular a thing for me to enjoy. But, after all that newness and initial wave of popularity wore off, THEN I picked it up. 
 And damn. It was really good. 
 I almost kinda sorta didn't want it to be. I don't know why. I'm damaged goods. I've got issues. I want to like things, but some part of me feels like I don't have any more room in my heart to like anything else. So I get mad when something else tries to worm its way inside. 
 So, this book about a community of folks living in a silo buried deep in the earth. It moved me. I cared about it, the characters, the mystery. Good job. Dammit 
 Funny though, when I was 100ish pages into the novel, my wife asked me what it was about. I said, to that point, pretty much all they'd done is walk down the stairs of this silo they're all in. 
 The next day, after reading a few dozen more pages, I informed her that they had now walked back up. But that it was way better than I was making it sound. 
 And that's the gist of it. I'm not sure I can describe this in a way that conveys how addictive this is as a story. It's really good, and Hugh Howey deserves the adulation he's gotten as a result of this tale. I really enjoyed it. 
 I'll be picking up the next one sooner rather than later.