As the whole world is shutting down, requiring people to withdraw into tiresome isolation and to see even less people than before, I feel myself more and more drawn to literary characters who are going through the same experience, dealing with various degrees of solitude, albeit under different circumstances. I had mentioned this strange kind of comfort before, in my review of Ottessa Moshfegh's books which feature insanely peculiar female characters in situations of extreme solitude. During the first lockdown in spring I read both My Year of Rest and Relaxation and Death in Her Hands by Moshfegh and found myself oddly fascinated by these women who, out of their free will, chose lonesomeness and told how they go through their days as if nothing else in the world mattered (and strangely enough, I never felt bored reading both these books, they are extremely captivating). That exactly, the ability to zoom out anything else going on around you and focus on your own microcosm is wha
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