The Year of the Flood is an expansion, a deepening, and a reckoning all at once. Margaret Atwood drags us further into the decaying world she built in Oryx and Crake, but this time, the perspective shifts. It’s not the privileged vantage point of a man on the inside; it’s the stories of those left on the fringes.

Through Toby and Ren, Atwood pulls back the veil on the survivalist cult known as God’s Gardeners. A doomsday-prepping eco-religion that could have easily been drawn as a caricature, becomes one of the most heartbreakingly human elements of the story. The Gardeners are ridiculous, yes, but they are also wise, kind, and steadfast in a way that feels increasingly rare in Atwood’s unraveling world.

What floored me most about this book was its ability to balance. Atwood gives us beauty in the face of devastation: a hymn sung to the rhythm of decay, resilience where there should only be despair. Toby’s practicality and Ren’s naivety act as counterpoints to each other, creating a tapestry of survival that feels both chaotic and deeply intentional.

The book doesn’t exist in a vacuum, though; it ties so beautifully back to Oryx and Crake that I found myself mentally flipping through both, making connections I didn’t see coming. Atwood’s ability to layer stories and perspectives is nothing short of masterful.

If Oryx and Crake is the world falling apart, The Year of the Flood is the people trying to stitch something (anything) back together. It’s haunting and hopeful, tender and brutal. This is Atwood at her finest, and once you’re done, you’ll find yourself craving the third installment, desperate for more.