There is an argument that a novel constructed from what are, effectively, individual short stories will lack overall narrative focus. The fact that he steers clear of the sensationalist and overfamiliar tropes of generic apocalypse, opting, instead, for a more subtle and unerringly humane response, gives the book both authority and pathos. Yet the overall mood and tone of Nagamatsu’s fictional future is all the more affecting for being so much in sympathy with our lived present. It is entirely possible that certain phrases and scenarios have been tweaked and highlighted during an editing process that will have taken place during lockdown. Written in the years immediately before Covid-19, How High We Go in the Dark seems unnervingly prescient. Yet the novel reminds us there’s still hope in human connections, despite our sadness. a book of sorrow for the destruction we’re bringing on ourselves. Nagamatsu squarely hits both the 'literary' and 'science fiction' targets, offering psychological insights in lyrical prose while seriously exploring speculative conceits. a welcome addition to a growing trend of what we might call the 'speculative epic': genre-bending novels that use a wide aperture to tackle large issues like climate change while jumping between characters, timelines and even narrative modes. That said, the somber tone unifies the disparate characters and story lines. Humanity has long turned to humor in our darkest moments, but levity feels absent even in a chapter narrated by a stand-up comedian.

The reader might best approach the book like a melancholy Black Mirror season.

If you crave sustained character and plot arcs, well, you’ll have to settle for admiring the well-honed prose, poignant meditations and unique concepts. If you’re a short-story lover - as I am - you’ll be impressed with Nagamatsu’s meticulous craft.

How high we go on the dark