“Breathless distraction, omnipresent dread and sudden! glorious! joy! This is a work of far-flung imagination and simultaneously the most realistic novel of our times.” —Daniel Handler, author of A Series of Unfortunate Events
“This book roils with beauty, with enthusiasm, with love for both the miniscule and oversized wonders of the world, it holds the griefs and violence of our moment tenderly in its outstretched hands and asks you, the reader, what we should do about them. Sasha Fletcher is a rare gem of a writer, and this novel is one of a kind.” —Alexandra Kleeman, author of You Too Can Have a Body Like Mine
“Be Here to Love Me at the End of the World is exuberant, torrential, a carnival and a funeral and a chorus to a song you remember never hearing. Sasha Fletcher’s sentences leap off the page like a heart out of a chest. Prepare yourself for the most love-swept and soul-throttling prose this side of the apocalypse. Fletcher is the ecstatic, wild troubadour for our perpetual hope, our national grief.” —Hilary Leichter, author of Temporary
“A big-hearted, brainy, garrulous novel that is maybe the truest document yet of our life in the neverending end times. Stylistically, it’s a marvel. Every page is full of sentences that deliver a knock-out punch. It’s also that rare love story that tells you what love is like from the inside, on the long snowy Sundays of dystopian America, when lovers really get down to business. Fletcher talks about how ‘the city always leaves the lights on at night. In case the angels come.’ This book is one of the lights left on in case the angels come.” —Sandra Newman, author of The Heavens
“Fletcher’s full-throated talent shines in this tender, funny, time-jumping novel spanning faith, love, and the modern world. A bold and open-hearted work, like nothing else.” —Amelia Gray, author of Gutshot
“Shades of García Márquez, Robert Coover, and Michel Gondry converge within the burning soul of Sasha Fletcher’s emotion-bending meta-epic, Be Here to Love Me at the End of the World. Interweaving social fury and deep love, domestic realism and doomy dreamwork, this book is at once like a bomb shelter and a call-to-arms, for once not asking but demanding of humanity something more than mere apocalypse.” —Blake Butler, author of Alice Knott
“Sasha Fletcher writes the way Don DeLillo might write if Bugs Bunny stood at his shoulder, munching a carrot. He writes the way George Orwell might have written if he had more of a taste for love stories or the way James Salter might have written if he had a Ph.D in labor history. He writes like Milan Kundera with a Brooklyn zip code and an ACAB tattoo. He writes the way only Sasha Fletcher can write. This bold, brilliant, often hilarious book is an autopsy for our misbegotten country, and the birth of one of the most important and original literary voices to emerge in many years.” —David Burr Gerrard, author of The Epiphany Machine
