Why We're in Love with Apocalypse

It's a mite soon to start grieving, but scientists now project that life on Earth will probably end in about a billion years. A Monday in February, 1,000,002,025, would be my guess. On that inhospitable day, give or take a few million years, the sun will become so hot that the oceans will boil, Earth's oxygen will disappear, and photosynthesis will cease, as will all living things. We should be so lucky. There's a pretty fair chance that life could be wiped out well before then--say, in early June, 2034, or on a cloudy Sunday in November, 3633. Plenty of people do, as it turns out, and, if you want to know who they are, Dorian Lynskey's "Everything Must Go: The Stories We Tell About the End of the World" (Pantheon) is a good place to start. Lynskey, a British journalist and podcaster, has assembled biological, geological, archeological, literary, and cinematic permutations of existential finales, leaving no stone unturned, be it meteor, comet, or asteroid. If a book, a song, a story, a film, a headline, a title, or a study has "world" and "end" in it, Lynskey has unearthed it.