Apocalyptic prophecies for the pandemic
Good Omens N. Gaiman, T. Pratchett There was a time, in high school, when a number of my friends were reading and praising Terry Pratchett books. I wouldn't touch one. Not because I have something particularly against Terry Pratchett, I don't. Partly, it was because I had developed a somewhat allergic reaction to fiction. We had to read a lot of fiction in literature and English literature classes, most of which I found hard to relate to, if not downright boring. It's never made sense to me, for example, why Steppenwolf is in the compulsory reading list, while Siddhartha and The Glass Bead Game are not. Not only are the latter two superior books, they are also far more interesting. Hence, I heavily gravitated towards non-fiction, going to sleep at night with a copy of Capitalism and Freedom on my bedside table where normal people would keep a bible or a paperback. My reading table was also quite full of Economist and The World Press Review magazines as well as va