Halldór Laxness. Jane Smiley's Greenlanders for desperate geography. Frank Norris's McTeague for stubbornly stupid protagonist, though more loveable if even more irascible and lethal. The subtle cues and obvious illustrations of the wretched life in a land only just this side of sustainable.
I borrowed this because it had won the Nobel for literature ("Where do you find these things?" Kal asked) and knew nothing about it. This is the best book I have read this year from the lists and not also recommended by an actual person. It's heartbreaking and brutal and wise; it is hopeless and hopeful.
As I was getting ready to start raking, I remembered I hadn't charged Dandelion and it was only one-quarter charged. While I brushed my beak and hung laundry on the line and did everything before seizing the rake, I powered it. My goal for the day was the front and sides, but I had just about finished the back as well before the music died. The yard needs a fine combing, and the gardens keep their leaves for insulation until spring, but overall I had a satisfying work day.