The Four Fingers of Death (Little, Brown)
Rick Moody creates a sleazoid end-of-the-world saga, basing his story on a cheapo so-bad-it's-good sci-fi classic. By the end of this Kurt Vonnegut-inspired festival of terror, he's tricked us into asking serious questions. How did we turn our culture into a sleazoid end-of-the-world saga? What is to be done?