Latest news with #ParableoftheSower
Hamilton Spectator
21 hours ago
- Entertainment
- Hamilton Spectator
Stories about the end of the world feel like a relief to me. Here's why
Spiking confrontation in the Middle East is leading some spectators to contemplate the end of the world. In one chapter of his new book 'In Crisis, On Crisis,' writer and Wilfrid Laurier University professor explores the apocalypse's cultural appeal. We go to end-of-the-world fiction for two obvious reasons. First, we want distraction. Explosions onscreen can block out explosions in our lives. I'd rather worry about storms in the movie 'The Day After Tomorrow' than the tasks I said I'd finish before actual tomorrow. Second, perhaps incongruously, we want to feel hopeful. In Octavia Butler's 'Parable of the Sower,' civilization is collapsing, yet Lauren Olamina never wavers from her commitment to survival and rebirth. At the end of Waubgeshig Rice's 'Moon of the Crusted Snow,' the Anishinaabe community leaves its apocalypse-ravaged reservation for a new beginning in the woods. Even Cormac McCarthy's 'emotionally shattering' 'The Road' ends with the adoption of the newly orphaned boy in the wake of his dead father's command to go on. The moral of the stories: We, humanity, shall overcome. Rumaan Alam's apocalyptic novel 'Leave the World Behind' enchants for a different reason. By painting a picture of total human annihilation — no plucky survivors, no one spared by design or by chance — the book offers the relief of surrender. Alam's novel begins with a white, middle-class family arriving at a bucolic vacation home east of New York City. The family splashes in the pool and fantasizes about owning marble countertops , solid oak floors, ample space. The mom, Amanda, can't resist checking her work email. Clay, the dad, sneaks cigarettes in the driveway. The kids — Rose, 10, and Archie, 13 — look at their phones. The centrality of technology is true to life and crucial to the plot. Cell signals, the internet and cable television stop working shortly after the family lands in the countryside. Probably, they think, their remote vacation spot is beyond reach of satellite networks. That night, though, when the owners of the house, the Washingtons , a kind, elderly Black couple, show up and ask to stay, Clay and Amanda learn that the loss of service is widespread. Drama unfolds on two tracks. There is tension between the families. Clay and Amanda are suspicious of the Washingtons , which has as much to do with the white couple's latent racism as with the unexpected appearance of the homeowners. Who has the right to call the shots: the white renters or the Black deed-holders? At what point does valid speculation about the crisis slide into harmful paranoia? On a second narrative track, the world is ending. The reader understands this early in the book more clearly than the characters ever do. There's plenty of evidence on Long Island that something is wrong. The blackout, communication breakdown, a deafening noise overhead, terrified neighbours, flamingos in the pool. A few days after the vacation begins, Archie's teeth fall out. The families know there is trouble, they are in trouble, but they never understand the extent of it. Not knowing is part of their terror. Around the novel's midpoint, a horrifying noise erupts from the sky. The noise divides the families' lives in two: 'the period before they'd heard the noise and the period after.' Inside the novel, no one discovers the source of the sound. However, readers learn from the Voice of God narrator ( VOG ) that top-secret fighter jets are scrambling toward a new era of battle over the eastern seaboard. If there were no VOG interruptions, no recurring omniscient assurances anchoring the contingencies of the interpersonal plot to the certainty of global apocalypse, 'Leave the World Behind' would be an anxiety novel. Is Armageddon nigh or not? Some of my favourite books are anxiety novels. Arguably, the end-of-the-world anxiety novel is scarier than speculative end-of-the-world fiction. Anxiety is torturous, paralyzing. It's a truism of the horror genre that anticipating the arrival of the monster can be more terrifying than the beast's appearance. But the uncertainty driving the anxiety novel, the book's ultimate source of terror, can't help but leave open the possibility that things might not be as bad as they seem. Nothing left to do but camp: Prince Amponsah, left, and Mackenzie Davis in the HBO Max television adaptation of the post-apocalyptic novel 'Station Eleven.' In 'Leave the World Behind,' there is no uncertainty. Because if the bombs are already in the air, the electrical grid is already down for the final time, the life-destroying echoes of the noise are already in your body, there is no future that isn't mass slaughter. As if to put a fine point on the guarantee of imminent death, the futility of resistance, Alam bores an unnoticed tick into Archie's ankle long before the boy is dying from noise-sickness. Why does Alam's crushing story captivate me? Why am I thrilled by the promise that we're on the edge of extinction? I think the book delights by allowing us to revel in the pleasures of giving up. Quit your job, break dinner plans, stop exercising, leave the relationship. What joy there is in not having to do the thing we thought we had to do. The world is ending and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it . In his essay 'On Giving Up,' the psychoanalyst Adam Phillips writes: 'We tend to think of giving up, in the ordinary way, as a lack of courage, as an improper or embarrassing orientation toward what is shameful and fearful.' However, Phillips argues, there is such a thing as 'a tyranny of completion, of finishing things, which can narrow our minds unduly.' The refusal to give up can be harmful, murderous. Phillips interprets 'Macbeth,' 'Lear,' and 'Othello' as tragic dramatizations of the tyranny of completion. My earliest memory of the desire to give up ends with my mother rejecting it. I was nine or 10 years old and wanted to quit the school choir. Mom and I stood in the kitchen before breakfast. I don't remember why it felt so important to quit, but I was crying, shaking, desperate for the relief of not having to sing that afternoon. Mom's response was sympathetic but stern: No. We don't quit things partway through. No negotiation. I felt like puking. I have quit things, though. And I've loved it. Oh, the joy of leaving that troubled 10-year relationship! I imagine it's what Scrooge felt waking on Christmas morning, learning that he has another chance. I instantly recall the butterflies, the excitement of quitting what seemed like a life destined for permanent frustration. The breakup was terrible. I hated hurting her. The logistics of moving were complicated, and she trashed the house when she left the final time. But I don't feel the pain of those hurtful memories as intensely as I feel the pleasure of the memory of giving up. Essayist, author and Wilfrid Laurier University professor James Cairns. The incredible thing is that most of the time, people don't give up. They struggle, they overcome, they get by, they make do. Why don't people kill themselves, asks Camus at the start of 'The Myth of Sisyphus.' Life is absurd; what's the point of living? Notwithstanding its obviousness, Camus's conclusion is profound: the nature of the human condition is to keep going, to not give up. That doesn't mean we don't fantasize about quitting, maybe even about leaving the world behind. It's the pleasure in the dream of quitting, not the politics of mass death, that I desire. In imagining the end of the world, I experience the release of countless other pressures. My own anxieties get transferred to the novel, where they disappear, if only for a fraction of a moment, in the blackout, the sound, the carnage of the plot. Research shows that watching horror movies can relieve psychological tension. There are better apocalyptic novels than 'Leave the World Behind.' For portraying social collapse as gradual and incomplete, Butler's 'Parable of the Sower' and Emily St. John Mandel's 'Station Eleven' are doubtless more realistic depictions of how modern society falls apart. The spirit of those books reminds me of Andreas Malm's admonition to fight climate change no matter the chances of victory. In 'How to Blow Up a Pipeline,' Malm argues that even if we know for certain that the climate crisis cannot be stopped there remains a moral imperative — a species-defining need — to fight until our last breath. 'Better to die blowing up a pipeline than to burn impassively,' writes Malm . The words could've come from Lauren Olamina's mouth. In Rice's 'Moon of the Crusted Snow,' once it's clear that widespread disaster has struck in 'the south' (the heartland of Canada, and, presumably, the world), Aileen, a community elder, says to her neighbour, Evan: 'In Crisis, on Crisis: Essays in Troubled Times' James Cairns 226 pages Wolsak and Wynn $22.00 ' What a silly word (apocalypse). I can tell you there's no word like that in Ojibwe. Well, I never heard a word like that from my elders anyway ... Our world isn't ending. It already ended. It ended when the Zhaagnaash (white man) came into our original home down south on that bay and took it from us. That was our world. When the Zhaagnaash cut down all the trees and fished all the fish and forced us out of there, that's when our world ended. They made us come all the way up here. This is not our homeland! But we had to adapt and luckily we already knew how to hunt and live on the land. We learned to live here ... But then they followed us up here and started taking our children away from us! That's when our world ended again. And that wasn't the last time.' Aileen is very likely right in assuming that the world will not end all at once. In 'Station Eleven,' 20 years after the pandemic killed 99.99 per cent of the human species, characters refer to themselves as living in the world after the end of the world. In the final pages of 'Prophet Song,' Paul Lynch writes that 'the world is always ending over and over again in one place but not another and that the end of the world is always a local event.' Viewed in one light, the world will not end even if it does. Of course, in a different light, one capable of simultaneously illuminating past, present, and future, the world will end, is ending . It's just a matter of time. In an essay about art's ability to alter experiences of time, Karl Ove Knausgård writes: 'We see the changes in the clouds but not the changes in the mountains,' because the 'now' of human perception excludes geologic time. In reality, mountains are moving, just more slowly than rivers and rabbits. It's anyone's guess how life on Earth is eventually snuffed out for good. Fire? Ice? Alien invasion? In any case, the party won't last forever. Butler and Mandel's realistic depictions of the gradual, uneven nature of collapse can make Alam's Big Bang version of the final crisis look foolish by comparison. But Alam is not wrong that one day it will all end in the passage of one second to the next. The light will be on, as it has been for millennia, and then, the light will go out. Alam's innovation is drawing that uniquely decisive moment from the (hopefully far-off) future and placing it in the now. Lights out tomorrow or next week. Whereas Butler, Mandel and Rice's main characters brim with insights about societal change and social justice, Alam's self-absorbed middle-class cast lusts over money and searches for Coca-Cola. Yet while stories of reproducing lives and communities in the aftermath of civilizational collapse are inspiring, admirable and satisfying, they're also exhausting, and not only because there are fires to build, continents to trudge across and gangs of murderous thieves to avoid. There's also the intense, inescapable fear on every page that survival won't work out. Nothing is guaranteed. By contrast, Alam's book guarantees the sudden and utter end of it all. There's catharsis in the swiftness and totality of such destruction. Amid today's overlapping political, economic and ecological crises, art's cathartic power is needed more urgently than ever. Show us the world vanishing on the page, and we may more clearly see sustainable paths ahead. Release in us the pleasure of giving up, and we may find new strength to struggle on. From 'In Crisis, On Crisis: Essays in Troubled Times' by James Cairns. ©2025. Reproduced with the permission of Wolsak & Wynn, 2025.
Yahoo
04-06-2025
- General
- Yahoo
What a sunny van Gogh painting of ‘The Sower' tells us about Pope Leo's message of hope
In his first general audience in Rome, Pope Leo XIV referred to Vincent van Gogh's painting 'Sower at Sunset' and called it a symbol of hope. A brilliant setting sun illuminates a field as a farmer walks toward the right, sowing seeds. Leo referred to Christ's Parable of the Sower, a story in the Gospel that speaks to the need to do good works. 'Every word of the Gospel is like a seed sown in the soil of our lives,' he said, and highlighted that the soil is not only our heart, 'but also the world, the community, the church.' He noted that 'behind the sower, van Gogh painted the grain already ripe,' and Leo called it an image of hope which shows that somehow the seed has borne fruit. Van Gogh painted 'Sower at Sunset' in 1888, when he was living in Arles in southern France. At the time, he was creating art alongside his friend Paul Gauguin and feeling very happy about the future. The painting reflects his optimism. In November 1888, van Gogh wrote to his brother Theo, in whom he frequently confided, about 'Sower at Sunset.' He described its beautiful colors: 'Immense lemon-yellow disc for the sun. Green-yellow sky with pink clouds. The field is violet, the sower and the tree Prussian Blue.' Van Gogh's painting was inspired by French artist Jean-Francois Millet's 1860 painting, 'The Sower.' But he transformed Millet's composition, in which a dark, isolated figure dominates, and deliberately set the sower in the midst of a landscape transformed by the sun. Other artists, including the Norwegian Emanuel Vigeland, explicitly depicted the Parable of the Sower. Vigeland's series of stained-glass windows in an Oslo church explains each passage's meaning. As the sower works, some seeds fall by the wayside and the birds immediately eat them, indicating those who hear the word of God but do not listen. Some seeds fall on stony ground and cannot take root, a symbol of those with little tenacity. Others fall among thorns and are choked. Vigeland juxtaposed a dramatic image of a miser counting piles of money, indicating how the man's life has become choked by desire for material gain. The final passage of the parable states that some seeds fell on good ground and yielded a hundredfold. Vigeland's depiction shows an image of an abundant harvest of grain next to a man seated on the ground and cradling a child in his lap. Van Gogh's painting corresponds to many of the ideas the new pope expressed in the first days of his papacy. Leo observed: 'In the center of the painting is the sun, not the sower, [which reminds us that] it is God who moves history, even if he sometimes seems absent or distant. It is the sun that warms the clods of the earth and ripens the seed.' The theme of the dignity of labor is also inherent in the image of the sower being deeply engrossed in physical labor, which relates to the pope's choice of his name. The pope stated that he took on the name Leo XIV 'mainly because Pope Leo XIII in his historic encyclical Rerum Novarum addressed the social question in the context of the first great industrial revolution.' Leo XIII was referring to the social question of economic injustice in the meager rewards for workers even as owners made great profits from the Industrial Revolution. The pope saw Van Gogh's image of the sower, like Vigeland's, as a message of hope. That message, to him, fits with the theme of hope of The Jubilee Year proclaimed by Leo's predecessor, Francis. Leo also expressed hope that humans listening to God would embrace service to others. This article is republished from The Conversation, a nonprofit, independent news organization bringing you facts and trustworthy analysis to help you make sense of our complex world. It was written by: Virginia Raguin, College of the Holy Cross Read more: 'Loyal to the oil' – how religion and striking it rich shape Canada's hockey fandom Can witches fly? A historian unpacks the medieval invention − and skepticism − of the witch on a broomstick Decades on, Delbert Africa's surrender still provides powerful image of US racism and Black victimhood Virginia Raguin does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organization that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
USA Today
12-04-2025
- Entertainment
- USA Today
Obsessed with 'The Last of Us' Season 2? Try these 8 post-apocalyptic, zombie books
Obsessed with 'The Last of Us' Season 2? Try these 8 post-apocalyptic, zombie books Show Caption Hide Caption Need a show to binge? These are the must watch shows this spring. USA TODAY's TV critic Kelly Lawler breaks down the best TV shows you don't to want to miss this spring. Two years have felt too long to be without a new season of 'The Last of Us,' and fans of the post-apocalyptic drama are ready to find out what's next for Pedro Pascal and Bella Ramsey's characters in Season 2. Plus, if you're one of the fans who loves the video game as much as the show adaptation, you're likely curious to see what cast newcomers like Kaitlyn Dever, Jeffrey Wright (who voiced Isaac in the game's 'Part II') and Catherine O'Hara bring to the show. Expect this season to be 'gory and gorgeous, viciously violent and vividly brought to life,' our reviewer writes. Books like 'The Last of Us' Even though the unlikely duo will be back on our screens Sundays, the week between each episode will probably still feel as long as Joel and Ellie's journey to Wyoming. Luckily, we've got plenty of stories to keep the post-apocalyptic energy going. These eight novels have similar tales of survival, finding community at the end of the world and zombielike creatures like the 'infected.' Or, if you're looking to deep dive into your fungi fascination, try something like 'Entangled Life' by Merlin Sheldrake, which explores the mysterious role these organisms play in our lives. 'Station Eleven' by Emily St. John Mandel Set 15 years after a pandemic decimated most of the world's population, 'Station Eleven' follows a troupe of traveling Shakespeare performers who bring their art to the few remote survivor communities. But everything changes when they arrive at an outpost carrying a violent prophet who threatens anyone who tries to leave. This dystopian story is immersive and unputdownable, shifting back and forth in time to paint a picture of both the lead-up and the aftermath of society's destruction. 'The Girl With All the Gifts' by M.R. Carey This 2014 sci-fi thriller is perfect for 'The Last of Us' fans who love Ellie. Set after the apocalypse, 'The Girl With All the Gifts' opens on a classroom filled with closely guarded infected children – zombies who have retained human intelligence. Every day, Melanie, a student heralded as a 'little genius,' is strapped to a chair with a gun held to her head. She's wheeled into a classroom with other kids like her are taught lessons for a world they'll never inhabit. 'Parable of the Sower' by Octavia E. Butler If you liked following Joel and Ellie's journey across America in 'The Last of Us,' you should check out Butler's classic dystopian 'Parable of the Sower.' Often heralded as prophetic, this novel centers on a young girl with a debilitating form of hyperempathy. She lives with her family in a gated community, sheltered from the chaos and violence of a society collapsing from climate and economic crises. But she'll soon be on her own, fighting for survival with a new vision for humanity. 'The Road' by Cormac McCarthy McCarthy's Pulitzer Prize-winning novel captures a parent-child dynamic like the one between Joel and Ellie. It follows a father and son on a journey across a ravaged, post-apocalyptic America on their way to the coast. Defending themselves from bandits and scavenging what little food they can find, 'The Road' interrogates how far love can travel in a world without hope. 'How High We Go in the Dark' by Sequoia Nagamatsu If the post-apocalyptic world-building and backstory of 'The Last of Us' is what gets you, try 'How High We Go in the Dark.' This novel follows a cast of interwoven characters over hundreds of years during and in the aftermath of a climate plague unleashed after researchers in the Arctic Circle study the preserved remains of a girl who died of an ancient virus. 'Hell Followed With Us' by Andrew Joseph White Ellie fans will also like the protagonist in this young adult novel. In a destroyed future, a 16-year-old trans boy runs from a fundamentalist cult that's infected him with a bioweapon. He finds community in a ragtag group of teens who rescue him when he's attacked. Can he hide his biggest secret from them – that the bioweapon is mutating him into a potentially world-destroying monster? 'Annihilation' by Jeff VanderMeer If you love the danger and discovery of the unknown in 'The Last of Us,' try 'Annihilation' and the 'Southern Reach' trilogy by Jeff VanderMeer. This sci-fi follows a group of four women – an anthropologist, a surveyor, a psychologist and a biologist – on an expedition to map and observe Area X. All other journeys into the overgrown, desolate island have ended in disaster or death. The researchers will have to make it out alive and uncontaminated. 'Zone One' by Colson Whitehead This dystopian novel from the author of 'The Nickel Boys' follows the aftermath of a deadly plague, where armed forces have reclaimed parts of Manhattan and civilian sweeper units clear the city of feral zombies. 'Zone One' is the aftermath of the downfall, as one sweeper deals with 'Post Apocalyptic Stress Disorder' and comes to terms with a new world. Want more dystopian?: 10 books similar to '1984' by George Orwell Clare Mulroy is USA TODAY's Books Reporter, where she covers buzzy releases, chats with authors and dives into the culture of reading. Find her on Instagram, subscribe to our weekly Books newsletter or tell her what you're reading at cmulroy@
Yahoo
11-04-2025
- Science
- Yahoo
Why Billionaire Trumpers Love This Dire Wolf Rubbish
Some of the media headlines have been breathless. Time magazine hailed 'The Return of the Dire Wolf.' On the venerable news magazine's cover, the word 'Extinct' is crossed out. 'This is Remus,' the cover declares, above the image of a large white canid. 'He's a dire wolf. The first to exist in 10,000 years. Endangered species could be changed forever.' Rolling Stone was equally credulous: '12,000 years later, Dire Wolves are back.' No. As The Washington Post and Scientific American ably pointed out, Remus is not really a dire wolf. They aren't 'back.' Dire wolves are still extinct. A company called Colossal Biosciences, backed by Peter Thiel, among other God-cosplaying billionaires, was able to breed grey wolves with some dire wolf DNA, creating some bigger and whiter creatures. In addition to a sister, Khaleesi, there are two wolf brothers, named Romulus and Remus for the human twins who, according to mythology, were suckled by a wolf mother, in a series of unlikely events leading to the founding of Rome. You can't make this stuff up: As the American empire teeters on the brink of collapse, the billionaires laying waste to what's left of our natural world and human civilization are not only trying to bring back dangerous, long-extinct animals but naming them after the mythological founders of an empire that went extinct itself due to its rulers' arrogance. These admittedly handsome critters could easily become symbols of our own imperial collapse. It would be hard for these animals or any descended from them to survive in the wild; the large game that dire wolves hunted isn't as plentiful in our current world, and their old habitats are mostly gone. It's easy to imagine that without woolly mammoths or buffalo to eat, these future hybrids could turn on us, in a Parable of the Sower scenario. Not exactly what we need right now! But even more disturbing than the overexcitable media coverage or the dystopian possibilities are the conclusions that the current administration has drawn from this quixotic little adventure. Interior Secretary Doug Burgum, a billionaire, like many others in the Trump administration, says the appearance of these wolves shows that endangered species need 'innovation, not regulation,' an echo of the trendy 'abundance' discourse currently beloved by centrist Democrats. Burgum told employees in an Interior Department meeting Wednesday, 'If we're going to be in anguish about losing a species, now we have an opportunity to bring them back. Pick your favorite species, and call Colossal.' (Colossal also has plans to bring back the woolly mammoth, an even stupider idea but one that Elon Musk is excited about.) Burgum's position is dangerously deranged. Nature itself is 'innovating' all the time, but the most important way that humans can save endangered species is by regulating our own activities to protect them and their habitats. The latter is the only known way that species like the Florida panthers have returned from near-extinction, and keeps many other species from getting there. As The Washington Post implied in an article Thursday, the administration is using this weird science experiment to justify its own plans to decimate endangered species protections that have been in place since the Nixon administration. Even before Trump and his band of anti-environmental bandits announced these plans, scientists had flagged more than a million species for risk of extinction in the coming decades. The changes that Burgum is currently making will imperil spotted owls, sea turtles, and many more. Why, in this context, do our oligarchs eschew protections for the animals we already love—like whales and manatees—preferring to bring back some rejiggered hapless version of the ancient dire wolf, which no current ecosystem needs? Precisely for the reason Burgum admits: They don't want regulation. They claim that's because regulation has 'failed,' but that's nonsense: The Endangered Species Act has saved the vast majority of listed species from extinction, including the gray whale, the peregrine falcon, the grizzly bear, and the bald eagle, our national bird. Oligarchs prefer Colossal's entirely untested and wildly inefficient approach because its supposed 'innovation' puts them at the center, and because, even better, shredding regulation allows them to continue trashing the world unhindered, destroying anything that stands in the way of their profits. Speaking of current species that need the regulatory system that Bergum is trying so hard to eviscerate, we still have real live wolves. It's particularly rich that these so-called dire wolves are essentially gray wolves with a little bit of gene editing, because the gray wolf, a magnificent animal that cannot be improved by oligarchic interference, is particularly besieged by human policies. That wolf has been protected by the Endangered Species Act since 1974, when it was hunted nearly to extinction. Since then, the species has rebounded in many Western states, but Trump removed protections for gray wolves in 2020, and Idaho and Montana are deliberately seeking to reduce their numbers, killing them recklessly. Republican billionaires and far-right politicians may applaud the engineering of this strange lab-grown model, but the world they're creating is utterly inhospitable to the real wolf. The only way this 'dire wolf' project could be helpful to the cause of animal conservation is if Romulus, Remus, and Khaleesi grow up with a special appetite for oligarchs. That, I must admit, would be an outcome worthy of significant research investment. But it's likely not what Peter Thiel has in mind.
Yahoo
25-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Most popular books borrowed from Michigan libraries via MeLCat online catalog
As National Reading Month ends, amid growing concerns about future federal funding for libraries, the Michigan eLibrary has tallied the state's most-requested books year-to-date. MeLCat is an online catalog service that lets library members borrow books and other items from over 400 libraries statewide. Most books on the list were recently published fiction, although one title was published over three decades ago. Published in 1993, late science fiction writer Octavia Butler's "Parable of the Sower" ranks 12th for this year's most-requested title. The novel predicts a dystopian future, set in 2024, where a young protagonist is forced to navigate conditions of scarcity, political unrest and climate change. More: Michigan libraries, museums brace Michigan libraries, museums brace for loss of federal funds after Trump executive order "The Frozen River," written by Ariel Lawhon, tops the state's library lending list so far this year. The book, inspired by the life and writings of Martha Ballard, an 18th-century Maine midwife, has been checked out more than 200 times between Jan 1 and March 18. A fictional story of a widow who forms a bond with an octopus at an aquarium where she works is the subject of the debut novel by Shelby Van Pelt. The book, "Remarkably Bright Creatures" published in 2022, ranks 4th on the statewide list this year and was the most requested book last year. "Remarkably Bright Creatures" by Shelby Van Pelt "Lessons in Chemistry" by Bonnie Garmus "The Heaven & Earth Grocery Store" by James McBride "The Women" by Kristin Hannah "West with Giraffes" by Lynda Rutledge Four of last year's top five requested books remain popular in the first quarter of 2025. In 2024, more than 980,000 items were loaned out using the MeLCat system, according to the state. Contact Kristi Tanner: ktanner@ This article originally appeared on Detroit Free Press: Most popular books borrowed from Michigan libraries via MeLCat
