Hollow Kingdom by Kira Jane Buxton

9/10

I must confess, when I first heard of a book narrated by a domesticated crow named S.T. (short for Shit Turd, a name that surely signifies a peak in human naming conventions), I reached for the extra-strong breakfast tea. The apocalypse is usually a dreary affair involving too much leather and not enough personal hygiene, but Buxton has managed to make the end of the world genuinely, hysterically ridiculous.

Our protagonist, S.T., is a crow who identifies as a human. He is obsessed with Cheetos, high-quality television, and the inherent "grandeur" of the human race (bless his heart, he clearly hasn't seen us during a supermarket sale). When the "Moofas" - his term for humans - turn into mindless, melting zombies, S.T. hitches a ride on Dennis, a loyal but brain-dead bloodhound, to find a cure.

The "Logic of the Ludicrous" is on full display here. The animal kingdom's perspective on our downfall is devastatingly funny; they view our technology as magic and our extinction as a bit of a nuisance for the local WiFi signals. It is the ultimate "Underdog's Wit" story - or rather, the "Under-bird's" wit. S.T. survives not through majestic wingspan, but through a constant stream of profanity and a refusal to accept that his favourite species is defunct.

Underneath the layers of bird droppings and snacks, however, is a "Pratchett Standard" heart. It's a love letter to the messy, weird, and wonderful world we've built, seen through the eyes of a creature who loves us more than we deserve. It's vibrant, absurd, and it made me look at the pigeons in Bristol with a newfound, slightly suspicious respect.