Finished reading The Lola Quartet by Emily St. John Mandel, another book featuring an obsessive, helplessly-passive (up to a certain part of the book) man-child. (To be clear, I enjoyed this, as I have her other books so far, and there’s a clear progression from Last Night in Montreal through The Singer’s Gun to here.) It might be interesting to reread Station Eleven at this point, her next book in publication order, but I probably won’t.
I almost quit the book early on, as the main character’s particular form of self-destruction made me incredibly anxious, but I managed to power through.