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272 pages, Paperback
First published September 1, 2019
Nothing works. You count sheep. You count goats. You count animals in masses: fleas on dogs, schools of sardines, a hive of bees. Locusts, budgerigars and ants—anything that lives in large groups—you count them all and still, and after the nine hundred and ninety-ninth termite, the one thousandth fruit bat, sleep remains elusive. You memorise then recite the Periodic Table of Elements and still remain awake by the time you arrive at 118, oganesson. (p.250)
If you can't sleep but your brain isn't alert enough to be useful and learn introductory Spanish or memorise the Crimes Act (1900) then you can at least comfort and indulge yourself with reading novels, and long romantic poems. Medications wear off, warm drinks go cold, therapeutic pillows and blankets become stiff and lumpy, but the books remains the same. (p.252)
The more you read the more you become aware of the enormous holes in your reading, and the more authors there are to read unfold before you.