First, here are four new stories from The Atlantic\u2019s Books section:<\/p>\n
In Clune\u2019s Pan, a teenage boy in the 1990s Chicago suburbs begins having debilitating panic attacks and seeks to make some kind of sense of them, researching the Greek god Pan, from whom the word panic is derived. Lai\u2019s Cannon is very different stylistically, but it also attempts to communicate what panic feels like and how one might start learning to live with it. Its protagonist, Lucy, is a line cook in 2017 Montreal who manages her anxiety by running and biking while listening to soothing self-help tapes that remind her to focus on her breathing. Her best friend, Trish, calls her \u201cLuce Cannon\u201d (Cannon for short) as a joke: She\u2019s known to be steady, reliable, and contemplative. But underneath her chill facade, Cannon\u2019s about to blow her lid. She\u2019s taking care of her ill-tempered grandfather almost single-handedly, she\u2019s trying to ward off her jerk boss\u2019s innuendos without losing her job, and she believes that Trish takes her friendship (and her time) for granted.<\/p>\n
The comic focuses on Cannon, but readers don\u2019t get to access her internal monologue. Mostly, we have to guess her state of mind based on her body language, her actions, and her words. The biggest hint we get is the birds: Magpies hop on her bike, shed feathers in her apartment, and hop around her grandfather\u2019s kitchen. None of the characters, save Cannon, seems to see them. But they\u2019re harbingers of an event that\u2019s depicted in the book\u2019s first panels: Cannon and Trish sit in the ruins of a darkened, wrecked restaurant, birds perched calmly around them. After this flash-forward, the narrative goes back three months, and we watch Cannon get closer and closer to that pivotal moment; all the while, the flock of magpies grows.<\/p>\n
Despite its knotty subject, Cannon is a joy to read. Its art manages to be both spare and full of emotion; its dialogue feels lived-in. And it\u2019s a cathartic, unexpectedly gleeful story about anxiety. For years, Cannon bottles up all her fears. But as the early scene in the restaurant shows, that\u2019s not sustainable. When she explodes, she\u2019s on the verge of a panic attack. Instead of turning her worries inward, however, she transmutes them into rage, smashing dishware and overturning tables. The birds triumphantly swoop around with her, diving and flapping across the pages. Afterward, the magpies aren\u2019t gone\u2014there\u2019s still plenty of stress on her plate\u2014but Cannon finds it a bit easier to breathe.<\/p>\n
![\"illlustration](\"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/nz\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/1757814907_138_original.jpg\")
Ben Kothe \/ The Atlantic<\/p>\n
Panic Attacks and the Meaning of Life<\/p>\n
By Scott Stossel<\/p>\n
A new novel keenly describes the symptoms\u2014and more important, the existential stakes\u2014of extreme anxiety.<\/p>\n
Read the full article.<\/a><\/p>\n What to Read<\/p>\n Room Temperature<\/a>, by Nicholson Baker<\/p>\n Baker is best known for his experimental debut novel, The Mezzanine<\/a>, which takes place largely during a single ride up an escalator. In this, Baker\u2019s second novel, the author brings the same level of detail to a\u2014only slightly\u2014longer stretch of activity: a father feeding his newborn daughter. Giving the baby a bottle constitutes the surface-level action of the novel while the narration acts like a boomerang, flying past and returning to meditations on the narrator’s bond with his wife, Patty. Their partnership is generous and kind. They make up quickly after fighting; they playfully tease each other; they comfort each other\u2014such as when the narrator reassures Patty after she\u2019s criticized for her terrible spelling. Baker perfectly captures the intimacy of everyday love. A late chapter in the book detailing the couple\u2019s euphemism for defecating\u2014big jobs\u2014and how the phrase takes its place in their personal lexicon is unexpectedly moving, a testament to how the most mundane parts of a shared life can be the most profound. Room Temperature is a book in which not much happens, and everything happens\u2014a fitting description for an excellent marriage. \u2014 Isle McElroy<\/p>\n From our list: Seven books that explore how marriage really works<\/a><\/p>\n Out Next Week<\/p>\n \ud83d\udcda Replaceable You<\/a>,<\/a> by Mary Roach<\/p>\n \ud83d\udcda Boy From the North Country<\/a>, by Sam Sussman<\/p>\n \ud83d\udcda The Wilderness<\/a>, by Angela Flournoy<\/p>\n Your Weekend Read Are Humans Watching Animals Too Closely?<\/p>\n By Ross Andersen<\/p>\n We are not great respecters of boundaries, human beings. Dogs may not have known this about us when they first edged up to our campfires, more than 10,000 years ago. They could not have anticipated the degree to which we would dictate the most intimate parts of their lives, up to and including their sexual partners. Even after these dramatic interventions, which we have used to cultivate in dogs a preference for captivity, we still have to exercise a lot of coercion in order to get them to play along. We have to remove them from their mother while they are still young. We have to keep them behind locked doors and gates, and on leashes.<\/p>\n Read the full article.<\/a><\/p>\n When you buy a book using a link in this newsletter, we receive a commission. Thank you for supporting The Atlantic.<\/p>\n![\"A](\"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/nz\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/original.png\")
Illustration by The Atlantic. Source: Getty.<\/p>\n