A portrait of Americans' techno-utopianism, frantic fractiousness, and unprecedented aimlessness. From lockdowns and race commissions to Bratz dolls and bicycles, to the losses that haunt Lepore's life, these essays again and again cross what she calls the deadline, the "river of time that divides the quick from the dead."
I would recommend reading The Deadline front-to-back with as few breaks as possible. Taken in sequentially, Lepore’s essays constitute a dizzying, entertaining and urgent survey course on contemporary American life. Although Lepore dives deep into the waters of bygone eras, she always writes from the present — the palpable surface of history’s ever-rising tide ... Despite her historical scope, Lepore’s eye returns productively back to the present, particularly to remind us of how little our moment differs from what sounds like ancient history.
Both shorter and less focused in scope than her 2020 book of American history, These Truths. But with 46 essays on subjects ranging from political theory to disruptive innovation, it’s still a doorstop ... Lepore’s wealth of knowledge is rarely applied to a niche subject (most readers are familiar with the Affordable Care Act); her modus operandi is to tackle common conundrums for a few unassuming paragraphs before stepping on the gas with several centuries’ worth of precedent ... It’s her inclinations toward misfits and old narratives we have taken for granted that make The Deadline glow ... They’ve sent a personal essayist to review an academic essayist’s work, so I can’t help but remark upon the moments when Lepore makes an effort to weave in her personal stories and winds up sounding like a tourist over-pronouncing the word croissant ... One can still taste the sediment of that self-consciousness at the bottom of each glass. Regardless, the book emerges as a riveting survey of America.
