Premium Toilet Paper for the End of the World (and Five Novels about Pestilence, Plagues, and Pandemics)

What are you and your family doing to prepare for the impending wrath of COVID-19?

We’re all working overtime here in an effort to keep John calm. My response to the impending pandemic was to excitedly exclaim that it would give me the perfect excuse to compile a short list of favorite books about plague and pestilence for a blog post. I also put a bowl of oranges on the kitchen table to promote overall good health through optimal nutrition. John’s response was to start hoarding whiskey for “trading purposes.”

Yesterday he came home from Costco all agitated.

“They’re completely out of Clorox wipes. I really hope that all that organic crap you buy actually works.” Then he set down an industrial-sized container of bleach on the table and went into the backyard to measure for an underground bunker.

“Make sure you don’t hit the septic tank!” I yelled.

“Did you know,” he asked me later, “That this is going to become a recurring thing? Every year, we’re going to have a flu season AND a coronavirus season.”

“Nah,” said I, “There’ll be a vaccine soon, and that’ll wipe it out eventually.”

“IT’S ALREADY MUTATING. Just like a vaccine doesn’t cover all the strains of flu each season, a vaccine won’t cover all the strains of the coronavirus.”

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get the vaccine, though. If it covers SOME of the strains, that’s much better than no protection at all.” He gives me a look that says something like: WOMAN. You are some kind of special to begin an argument about a nonexistent vaccine that might theoretically protect against nonexistent strains of the coronavirus. 

I give him a look that says: Oh I will debate vaccines anywhere, anytime, and I WILL WIN.

He backs off. 

While he was in Albany, undoubtedly washing his hands every ten minutes and refusing to shake hands with his clients, the UPS man dropped off a box the size of a mid-sized coffin on our front porch.

Oh now this has gone too far, I thought.

I opened it to find not a coffin, but a rather incredible amount of toilet paper. Angel Soft toilet paper, because there’s really no need to resort to papery one-ply tissue, even during the apocalypse. 

“We might want to consider building an outhouse. You know, just in case,” I suggest. He gets a thoughtful look on his face. As he draws up plans, I’m taking the opportunity to share my five favorite novels that feature mass plagues, pestilence, and pandemics. (This is not a list for the Johns of the world.)

The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett (1911)

Cholera is the impetus that impels the tale of the orphan Mary Lennox. Living in India with rather neglectful parents, ten-year-old Mary’s family and their servants are struck down by cholera. The rest of the novel is wonderful, but there is something particularly haunting about the speed with which infection decimates an entire household, leaving Mary forgotten and alone in her nursery.

The Plague by Albert Camus (1947)

“The Plague” is a fictional tale of a plague ripping through the French Algerian city of Oran. (The plague is never named, but after reading countless descriptions of pus-filled buboes, one can hazard a guess.) The entire city is put under quarantine, separating families and giving rise to feelings of existential isolation. Camus wrote “The Plague” after the war, and the pestilence, spread through rats, is meant to symbolize the Third Reich. The novel reflects Camus’ absurdist philosophy, and is therefore a rather bleak, though fascinating, read.

Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez (1985 )

Cholera isn’t the focus but rather a backdrop in Marquez’s greatest novel. Set somewhere along the Caribbean coastline of Marquez’s native Colombia, “Love in the Time of Cholera” follows the life of the impassioned Florentino, who sets a record in pining as he waits out an interminably long bout of unrequited love. The object of his affection, the lovely, indifferent Fermina, marries a no-nonsense doctor doing his best to fight off cholera, which emerges every few years thanks to the polluted waters of the Magdalena River. This lushly written tome covers all of life’s big questions: passion vs. pragmatism, and of course life, death, and whether it all means anything. (Marquez MUST have been a fan of Camus.) It’s a modern classic.

Blindness by Jose Saramago (1997)

An unnamed, mass epidemic sweeps through an unnamed city, rendering the afflicted blind. Our unnamed protagonist, known only as “the doctor’s wife,” seems to be the only individual unaffected by the plague. When the authorities come to take her husband to quarantine, she pretends she, too, is blind to stay with him. The reader is witness to the crumble of civilization, and reading about the worst parts of humanity makes for a harrowing read.

Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel (2014)

When people ask me for book recommendations (AND YES, IT HAPPENS), “Station Eleven” is an inevitable response. Twenty years after the Georgian Flu wipes out the vast majority of the world’s population, a nomadic troupe of actors and musicians travel the Great Lakes region, performing for settlements along their path. This brilliant novel has an incredible cast of characters, all seemingly connected to a famous actor who succumbed to a heart attack while on stage in Toronto the same night the pandemic overwhelmed the city’s hospitals. How can a book be both terrifying and charming (WHY CAN’T I BE PART OF A NOMADIC GROUP OF ACTORS PERFORMING DURING THE POST-APOCALYPSE?!?) at the same time? 

There you are. Five of my favorite books that feature death and disease. Go wash your hands, lock your doors, and curl up with a good book that will make you thankful for water treatment plants, Lysol, and yes, vaccines. (And if you find yourself in need of premium toilet paper, I’m sure we can reach some sort of trade.)