John Powers

A group of creatures overcome their differences and learn to help one another. It's solidarity, not selfishness, that will save them.

Last week I had dinner with friends who'd lost everything in the recent L.A. fires. They spent their days filling out forms, being put on hold, and assembling the ordinary stuff they and their kids need to live. By night they did something different. They played events over and over in their heads, agonizing about what-ifs. What if there'd been less flammable stuff in their yard?

Last week I had dinner with friends who'd lost everything in the recent L.A. fires. They spent their days filling out forms, being put on hold, and assembling the ordinary stuff they and their kids need to live. By night they did something different. They played events over and over in their heads, agonizing about what-ifs. What if there'd been less flammable stuff in their yard?

Last week I had dinner with friends who'd lost everything in the recent L.A. fires. They spent their days filling out forms, being put on hold, and assembling the ordinary stuff they and their kids need to live. By night they did something different. They played events over and over in their heads, agonizing about what-ifs. What if there'd been less flammable stuff in their yard?

What if they hadn't forgotten to save certain important papers? What if they'd been warned to evacuate hours earlier, like the people on the other side of town? Such stewing, with its mix of regret, self-recrimination, and anger, is a profoundly human response to catastrophe.

What if they hadn't forgotten to save certain important papers? What if they'd been warned to evacuate hours earlier, like the people on the other side of town? Such stewing, with its mix of regret, self-recrimination, and anger, is a profoundly human response to catastrophe.

What if they hadn't forgotten to save certain important papers? What if they'd been warned to evacuate hours earlier, like the people on the other side of town? Such stewing, with its mix of regret, self-recrimination, and anger, is a profoundly human response to catastrophe.

It achieves some sort of apotheosis in Brigitte Giraud's haunting book Live Fast, which won France's top literary prize in 2022. a work of autofiction, Live Fast looks back at the death of Giraud's husband Claude in a motorcycle accident 20-odd years earlier and ponders the many things that might have prevented this calamity.

It achieves some sort of apotheosis in Brigitte Giraud's haunting book Live Fast, which won France's top literary prize in 2022. a work of autofiction, Live Fast looks back at the death of Giraud's husband Claude in a motorcycle accident 20-odd years earlier and ponders the many things that might have prevented this calamity.

It achieves some sort of apotheosis in Brigitte Giraud's haunting book Live Fast, which won France's top literary prize in 2022. a work of autofiction, Live Fast looks back at the death of Giraud's husband Claude in a motorcycle accident 20-odd years earlier and ponders the many things that might have prevented this calamity.

In the process, Giraud wanders the maze of life's great conundrum, the dance between chance and destiny. The basic facts are simple. On June 22, 1999, Claude, a 41-year-old music librarian, borrowed the ultra-powerful Honda CBR 900 Fireblade that his brother-in-law had left in his and Brigitte's garage while on vacation. Heading to pick up his son after school, Claude stopped at a red light.

In the process, Giraud wanders the maze of life's great conundrum, the dance between chance and destiny. The basic facts are simple. On June 22, 1999, Claude, a 41-year-old music librarian, borrowed the ultra-powerful Honda CBR 900 Fireblade that his brother-in-law had left in his and Brigitte's garage while on vacation. Heading to pick up his son after school, Claude stopped at a red light.

In the process, Giraud wanders the maze of life's great conundrum, the dance between chance and destiny. The basic facts are simple. On June 22, 1999, Claude, a 41-year-old music librarian, borrowed the ultra-powerful Honda CBR 900 Fireblade that his brother-in-law had left in his and Brigitte's garage while on vacation. Heading to pick up his son after school, Claude stopped at a red light.

When it turned green, he hit the gas, and the monster engine caused it to pop an unexpected wheelie, flinging Claude into oncoming traffic. Jarrell explores this tragedy not with a straightforward narrative, but like someone taking apart one of those Rube Goldberg contraptions that uses crazy, convoluted ways to accomplish a simple task.

When it turned green, he hit the gas, and the monster engine caused it to pop an unexpected wheelie, flinging Claude into oncoming traffic. Jarrell explores this tragedy not with a straightforward narrative, but like someone taking apart one of those Rube Goldberg contraptions that uses crazy, convoluted ways to accomplish a simple task.

When it turned green, he hit the gas, and the monster engine caused it to pop an unexpected wheelie, flinging Claude into oncoming traffic. Jarrell explores this tragedy not with a straightforward narrative, but like someone taking apart one of those Rube Goldberg contraptions that uses crazy, convoluted ways to accomplish a simple task.

Each chapter explains a step that, if it only hadn't happened, might have stopped the accident. These steps include everything from her grandfather's suicide, to her brother taking a sudden holiday, to the development of the Honda CBR 900, which she calls a bomb for kamikazes. This motorcycle was invented in Japan, but was considered so dangerous it couldn't be sold there.

Each chapter explains a step that, if it only hadn't happened, might have stopped the accident. These steps include everything from her grandfather's suicide, to her brother taking a sudden holiday, to the development of the Honda CBR 900, which she calls a bomb for kamikazes. This motorcycle was invented in Japan, but was considered so dangerous it couldn't be sold there.

Each chapter explains a step that, if it only hadn't happened, might have stopped the accident. These steps include everything from her grandfather's suicide, to her brother taking a sudden holiday, to the development of the Honda CBR 900, which she calls a bomb for kamikazes. This motorcycle was invented in Japan, but was considered so dangerous it couldn't be sold there.

But it could be exported to Europe. If only it hadn't been. Now, some of Giraud's if-onlys are far-fetched, like thinking that things might have been different if Stephen King, one of Claude's favorites, had been killed in his famous auto accident three days earlier.