Capital by John Lanchester

By John Lanchester

Celebrated novelist John Lanchester (“an based and beautifully witty writer”—New York occasions) returns with an epic novel that captures the obsessions of our time. It’s 2008 and issues are falling aside: endure Stearns and Lehman Brothers are going lower than, and the citizens of Pepys street, London—a banker and his shopaholic spouse, an previous girl death of a mind tumor and her graffiti-artist grandson, Pakistani store vendors and a shadowy refugee who works because the meter maid, the younger football megastar from Senegal and his minder—are receiving nameless postcards analyzing “We wish What You Have.” who's in the back of it? What do they wish? Epic in scope but intimate, taking pictures the standard dramas of very varied lives, this can be a novel of affection and suspicion, of monetary cave in and terrorist danger, of estate values going up and fortunes happening, and of a urban at a second of impressive stress.

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Tara and I talked for a few hours today. I feel like I have no more purpose, and I’m not alone in this. Many of us miss normal, we miss when punching a clock and doing a job was boring. At least before all of this happened I had a job and goals. My only goal now is to stay alive. The adults got together today in the recreation room and drank some rum and had a good old time. I almost forgot about our situation in my alcohol-induced euphoria. I needed the release. We have been eating the compound’s packaged meals since our arrival here.

Hell, the note was dated for the fourteenth of last month, I had no guarantees they were even still vertical or at least living vertical. It didn’t take long before I could see the boot-shaped lake getting bigger off the nose of the aircraft. On the chart, this lake was just south and a little west from my destination. I had to find them. Having another pilot in the event anything happened to me would be useful to the others. At least having Davis around would be sort of an insurance policy. The sun was still high in the sky.

I am bringing two fully charged satellite phones and my usual load out of one pistol with fifty 9mm rounds and carbine with a few hundred rounds. A couple days of food and water will also make its home in the avionics bay of the aircraft. In this journal, I thought I would write something pithy and creative in the event they would be my last written words. ”—Melville/Ahab Off I go to the Pequod. 2201 One hundred and seventy miles as the crow flies, that was the distance to Lake Charles. It wouldn’t be a straight shot for me, as I had decided to fly over Hobby airfield again to see if the fuel truck would still be available in the event I needed it on the way back.

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