It's been days since I finished Claire North's newest book, Notes From The Burning Age, and I am still angry at it. Not because North did anything wrong, but just because there isn't more of it....Which is weird, sure. Who doesn't want to abandon a nightmare? But Notes is compelling because it is beautiful. Because it is a mess, skillfully rendered, with a recognizable past (our own) and a believable present witnessed primarily by three characters who aren't just living through it, but actively shaping it....As a whole, Notes is a novel of cycles, of transitions. It is about the terrible cost of disposability, the burden of secrets, the power of faith and recycling. But more than that, it is a top-tier spy story, a very physical war story, a mature love story, unromantic in the way that it doesn't lie or add glitter to anything. It begins as an idyllic homage to A Canticle For Leibowitz, becomes a Cold War mole-hunting LeCarre pastiche and ends in an Ayn Rand-vs-Margaret Atwood philosophical cage match.

World Fantasy Award winner North (The Sudden Appearance of Hope) spins a riveting tale of subterfuge and deadly self-indulgence in this postapocalyptic thrill ride....North's convincing view of postapocalyptic society captivates, and the political intrigues will keep readers hooked right up until the explosive close.