Just finished reading Animals by Keith Ridgway and I’m very impressed, and saddened, too. It’s about losing the plot, when context is abandoned or ignored or disappears of its own accord, when the fabric that binds us to sanity, or at least to something that approximates it, unravels. The horror of it. The nuisance of it. The details of it. The numbness of it. It’s about how a finickety, worrying mind fails under enormous stress. Reading it, it’s hard to tell when the cracks appear, until you’re falling into them.