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Disappearing Earth
by Julia PhillipsJulia Phillips
27 New & Used from $11.72 in Marketplace
"Splendidly imagined . . . Thrilling" —Simon Winchester
"A genuine masterpiece" —Gary Shteyngart
One of Entertainment Weekly's 10 Best Book of 2019 So Far
Spellbinding, moving—evoking a fascinating region on the other side of the world—this suspenseful and haunting story announces the debut of a profoundly gifted writer.
One August afternoon, on the shoreline of the Kamchatka peninsula at the northeastern edge of Russia, two girls—sisters, eight and eleven—go missing. In the ensuing weeks, then months, the police investigation turns up nothing. Echoes of the disappearance reverberate across a tightly woven community, with the fear and loss felt most deeply among its women.
Taking us through a year in Kamchatka, Disappearing Earth enters with astonishing emotional acuity the worlds of a cast of richly drawn characters, all connected by the crime: a witness, a neighbor, a detective, a mother. We are transported to vistas of rugged beauty—densely wooded forests, open expanses of tundra, soaring volcanoes, and the glassy seas that border Japan and Alaska—and into a region as complex as it is alluring, where social and ethnic tensions have long simmered, and where outsiders are often the first to be accused.
In a story as propulsive as it is emotionally engaging, and through a young writer's virtuosic feat of empathy and imagination, this powerful novel brings us to a new understanding of the intricate bonds of family and community, in a Russia unlike any we have seen before.
JULIA PHILLIPS is a Fulbright fellow whose writing has appeared in Glimmer Train, The Atlantic, Slate, and The Moscow Times. She lives in Brooklyn.
"We forgot the tent," Max said, turning to Katya. The beam of her flashlight flattened his features. His face was a white mask of distress. The forest around them was black, because they'd left Petropavlovsk so late—his last-minute packing, his bad directions. His fault.
In the harsh light, he was nearly not beautiful anymore. Cheekbones erased, chin cleft illuminated, lips parted, he looked wide-eyed into the glare. Katya and Max had been together since August and as of September were officially in love. Yet the tent. Disgust rippled through her. "You're not serious," she said. She caught the tail of her repulsion before it passed; she had to hold on to it, a snake in the hand, otherwise she would forgive him too soon.
"It's not here."
Katya handed him the flashlight and started to dig through the trunk. Shadows lengthened and contracted against their things: sacks of food, sleeping bags, two foam mats. A folded tarp to line the tent floor. Loose towels for the hot springs, a couple folding chairs, rolled trash bags that unraveled as she shoved them. Katya should have packed the car herself, instead of watching his body flex in the rearview mirror this evening. Pots clanked somewhere deep in the mess.
"Max!" she said. "How!"
"We can sleep outside," he said. "It's not that cold." She stared back at his outline above the circle of light. "We can sleep in the car," he said.
"Magnificent." We forgot, he said, we, as if they together kept one tent in one closet of one shared home. As if they jointly made these mishaps. As if she had not needed to leave the port early this afternoon, drive twenty minutes south through the city to shower and change at her own place, drive thirty-five minutes north to get to his apartment complex on time, then wait eighteen long minutes in his parking lot for him to come out.
He'd told her earlier in the week he would bring his tent. His car, a dinky Nissan, didn't have four-wheel drive, so they were taking hers, and he had loaded such a stack of stuff into the trunk—enough to merit a second run up to his apartment, a return trip with his arms full—that Katya told herself he had it handled. Instead of checking she tuned her car radio to local news of a shop robbery, an approaching cyclone, another call for those two little girls. She gripped her steering wheel. Once Max finally climbed into the passenger seat, she said, "That's everything?"
Nodding, he leaned to kiss her. "Let's get going. Take me away," he said then. She checked the time (forty-one minutes late) and shifted into reverse.
Now they were going to spend the night in her mini SUV. Dependable as the Suzuki was, bringing them these four hours north of the city over roads that turned from asphalt to gravel to dirt, it made terrible sleeping quarters. Two doors, two narrow rows of seats, no legroom. The gearshift would separate them from each other. Neither of them would have space to lie down.
Katya sighed and Max's shoulders bowed in response. She wanted to touch those shoulders. "It's okay," she said. Her disgust slithered off to wait for his next error. "It's all right, bear cub, it happens. Would you gather us some wood?"
Once the flashlight was off bobbing between trees, Katya moved her car over the flattened patch of weeds where a tent was meant to be staked. The mistake had been hers in not asking earlier... next time they'd do better. Max was simply the sort of person, like so many others, whom she had to supervise.
Soil shifted under her tires. She didn't turn the headlights back on. Slowly, her eyes were adjusting to the dark. She had visited these woods as a child, and though she must be seeing two decades of growth, the birch trees in the starlight looked to her exactly as they had when she was a girl: aged and grand and magical. The world outside had steadily warped, become less predictable and more dangerous, while spots like this were protected. Here, there was no radio news, no city stresses, no schedule to disrupt. The tent had served as the last opportunity for disappointment. There was no reason left to get worked up. Katya had to remember that.
When she opened the door, her keys chimed in the ignition. She pulled them out and the nighttime rushed in. Bats chirping, insects whirring. Dry leaves brushing against each other at the tops of the trees. Max, far in the woods, cracking branches for their fire. The steady waterfall noise of the hot springs.
Katya cleared her head with the sounds. Max's company left her overstimulated; back in the city, at his apartment, she sometimes excused herself to the bathroom just to sit on the closed toilet lid and cool down. Even having him give directions from the passenger seat overwhelmed. His clumsiness, his sincerity, the shocking symmetry of his flawless face lit her up.
"It's the honeymoon phase," her girlfriends told her. Oksana, who worked with Max at the volcanological institute, said, "He's an idiot. It'll pass." But Katya had been with other men, even lived with one for a while in her twenties, and never gone on this kind of honeymoon. Max activated a new sense in her. Just as the ability to hear lived in her ears, taste in her tongue, touch in her fingertips, a particular sensitivity to Max was now concentrated below her belly button. He reached for her and her guts twinged. Her sixth sense: craving.
He might be an idiot, but it wasn't passing.
Craving him distracted Katya from other things. Like the tent, she reminded herself, as she took her headlamp from the glove compartment. Strapping it on, she got to work—organizing the bags, unpacking their groceries, reclining the front seats as far as they would go.
She stood back to scan them in the thin light of her lamp. Not very far at all.
Max returned to a set-up camp. Peeled potatoes bumped in a pot filled with stream water. Katya had laid half a smoked salmon belly, alongside slices of radish, tomato, and white cheese, on a plastic bag on the hood of her car, so they could snack before dinner. Together, in the brisk air, they built the fire. "I fell out there," he confessed once they had the flames going. He turned to show her a smear of dirt down his back.
She pressed her fingers to his shirt, the heat of his skin underneath. Ripples of muscle. "You're not hurt, are you?"
"Mortally wounded."
She had to laugh at the length of the stain. "You're not much of an outdoorsman, cub."
"I am," he said. "Give me a break, Katyush, it's dark."
"I know," Katya said. Still. Over the fire, the potatoes were boiling. She took her hands away from him to stir the pot.
The firelight painted them both orange and black. Max's chin, his fine bones, the tip of his nose, the knob that ended his jaw. Too handsome. With one boot, Katya nudged a burning log into better position.
The only other weekend Katya and Max had spent away together was the one in August when they first met. Oksana had invited Katya as a plus-one on a work retreat to Nalychevo Park. Katya did not dare refuse; Oksana's terrible summer, spent going through her husband's phone as their marriage crumbled, had hit its low only days before when she managed to walk her dog past the abduction of those little girls. Oksana had spent hours with the police as she tried to describe a kidnapper she hardly remembered. "The only reason I noticed him at all," she told Katya on the drive up to the park that weekend, "was because his car looked so good. I thought, Where does he get that cleaned? My van looks like trash after one turn around the city, while his shone." Oksana checked her mirrors and shifted into the left lane to pass a truck. "I told the officers that when they find this guy, before they cuff him and beat him unconscious, they have to ask him for his best car-wash tips."
"My God," Katya had said. "Are you sure you want to do this right now?" Their route from the city to the Nalychevo cabin forced them to ford six shallow rivers; after they parked, they needed to walk the last half hour of their journey through marsh. Katya found Oksana's commitment to the trip disturbing. If Katya were in the driver's seat, she would have turned the van around.
In the first days after the kidnapping, Katya was nervous, touchy, about everything. She looked at her friends like they were aliens. She could not fit the missing sisters in with the crimes she knew. Bribery, for example, Katya understood—she encountered corruption all the time at her job. Just today, inspecting the cargo of a new Canadian importer, she and the other customs officers discovered thousands of live turtles, their yellow arms waving in the light. ("What'd you do with them all?" Max had asked her this evening as they left city limits. "Threw them in the bay," Katya said. "No. Come on. Seized them for destruction." He'd pouted and she'd laughed.)
So smugglers, sure. Or poachers, trespassers, arsonists, drunk drivers, mauled hunters, men throttling each other in the course of an argument, migrant workers falling off the scaffolding at construction sites, people freezing to death over the winter months... these were regular items in Kamchatka's news. Two stolen little girls were a different matter. Oksana had passed only ten meters from the crime as it happened but managed to joke about it; meanwhile Katya studied the missing-person posters and frightened herself by thinking of what abductors she might run into one day.
"I'm obligated to do this," Oksana had told Katya during their drive. "I'm not going to stop going to work because I happened to walk Malysh at a shitty time." She passed another slow car. "Besides, what else am I going to do? Spend all weekend relaxing in my happy home?"
Katya had known Oksana more than a decade. Even when they met, as graduate students, Oksana had been cold, guarded, but intriguing. A fine distraction on a long trip. She spent the rest of the car ride briefing Katya on her colleagues. Boring, sloppy, and pregnant, Oksana said of the three other institute researchers in the group. "Don't bother with any of them. At least we'll have each other." Then Katya followed Oksana into a park cabin to discover a man who looked like a film star.
"Who, Max?" Oksana said. "Ugh."
From the first night, he put that tug in Katya's stomach. Petropavlovsk wasn't that big and the number of thirty-six-year-old singles in town even smaller, but she had somehow missed him for all these years, until Nalychevo. The two of them kept slipping off to fumble under each other's clothes behind the woodpile. They could hear the group's voices through the cabin windows. When Max whispered caution into Katya's mouth, she only wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. She wanted his beauty to blot out all fear.
And now Max and Katya were well on their way to domesticity. Max's coworkers had moved on from their initial burst of gossip; even Oksana was too preoccupied with her home life to do much more than shrug when Katya brought him up. Katya's male colleagues had backed off on asking her to drinks, and her female colleagues treated her marginally less like an old maid. On weekends, Max and Katya cycled through the city together. They kayaked the bay and barbecued by the ocean shore. He took her a few times to his climbing gym. This autumn trip to the hot springs was Katya's initiative.
Max stood to fetch her a strip of salmon. The long shadow of dirt showed on his thermal top. I love him, she practiced telling herself. It still sounded strange.
Sloppy, Oksana had warned Katya about him during their car ride, before any of them knew a warning was necessary. Once they arrived at the cabin, Katya was too busy picturing him pressed against the birch logs to listen. The Nalychevo group, like the rest of the city, had been hungry for news about the girls' disappearance. Oksana's story did not satisfy them. They looked instead to Max, who talked up his role in the volunteer search parties.
"Oksana's giving herself too little credit. Thanks to her, we have a description of the guy and his car. We're going to keep looking until we find them," he said. He even passed around the girls' school pictures on his phone.
Their supervisor—the boring one—squinted at Max's screen. "What type was he?" he asked Oksana. "Russian, you think? Or maybe Tajik? Did he look dirty?"
Their pregnant coworker stared straight ahead. Oksana raised a loose hand. "He looked like any other guy. Nothing interesting."
The supervisor pressed on. "What about his hair color? The shape of his eyes?"
"The shape of his eyes! You're asking if I stopped to chat about his genealogy? Was he half Korean, a quarter Chukchi?" Oksana laughed, a noise pinched and bitter. "I saw a big man. A big car. Two little kids."
"She saw enough," Max said.
Katya had flinched from the force of her inappropriate desire: the more Max spoke about witness statements, police debriefings, and grieving mothers, the more she wanted him. A confident man volunteering to undo danger. To find this eager heart inside this immaculate body... she hadn't thought it was possible.
Well. It wasn't, not entirely. The Golosovskaya sisters were still missing, and Max hadn't gone out with the search parties since the first of the month.
The tent tonight was only his latest plan to fall apart between promise and execution. Usually there was something endearing about that pattern—Max's ideas, his excitement, his fumbled follow-through—but Katya had not found it cute to watch the sun set over the mountains when they were hours away from this campsite. The trees on either side of the road north had darkened while Max kept turning his phone to try to recover a GPS signal. In came Katya's private, slippery distress.
The more time they spent with each other, the more she learned. If, one day, Petropavlovsk was flooded with lava, Katya feared she would know exactly which handsome researcher at the institute must have overlooked every sign of an imminent eruption. Max could not always keep track of what was important. He did not seem as excellent to her now.
For the length of this weekend, though, it would not matter. The smoke from their fire mixed with the steam off the hidden springs, making the night dense. Charred wood, rich sulfur, and cold earth: the smells of nostalgia. Her family had loved this place. After the USSR collapsed, there were no longer any restrictions on travel, no stop to movement; the Soviet military bases that had constrained the entire peninsula were shuttered, so Kamchatka's residents could finally explore their own land. Katya's family had gone as far north as Esso to meet the natives with their reindeer herds, west to see steaming craters, and south to pull caviar out of what had become unpatrolled lakes. She spent her youth in the brief reckless period between the Communists' rigidity and Putin's strength, and though she had grown into a boundary enforcer, inspecting imports and issuing citations, within herself there remained a post-Soviet child. Some part of her did crave the wild.
Katya allowed herself to blend with the darkness. "My parents used to take us camping every weekend," she said to Max.
"Practically." She took her last bite of fish and he passed her a soft slice of cheese. "As soon as the snow melted, we were out in the woods. They would give me and my brothers projects—following animal tracks, or finding different types of trees."
He touched her waist. "They were probably giving themselves some time to be alone."
"I don't think so," she said.
"Probably, though, right?"
When she was ten years old, her parents were... She had to count it. Her mother had only been thirty-two. Younger than Katya was now. She pictured them then, their long limbs colliding, and shivered. "Stop," she said, batting Max's chest.
"I'm joking," Max said. "I'm sure their intentions were completely educational. How'd you do with the projects? Find all your trees?"
"Of course we did," she said. "I was the oldest. I told them we weren't coming back without a full catalog of leaves."
Over soft potatoes and seared sausage, they told each other stories. How Oksana had said she'd discovered texts to yet another woman on her husband's phone—"Everyone in the office is talking about it. He's an asshole," Max said with his mouth full.
"They need to end it already."
"Good luck giving that advice," Max said. "I try as much as possible to avoid telling Oksana what to do." Katya put her plate down and rested her hands on Max's pant leg as he ate. Under her palms, the swell of his thigh.
Through the woods came the drunk rise and fall of people at a neighboring campsite singing. The trees made a black wall. Those voices, the ash in the air, and the chattering night put Katya in mind of their first weekend together. "Any updates from the search?" she asked.
Max shook his head. "And there won't be any more volunteers going out after it snows. Lieutenant Ryakhovsky says now that the girls may have been taken off Kamchatka."
"Come on," Katya said. "In what, a passenger plane?"
"I don't know. A ship."
"A cruise ship? To Sapporo?" If so, Katya's colleagues would have found them. Customs inspected every vessel leaving by air or sea.
And air and sea were the sole options for leaving. Though Kamchatka was no longer a closed territory by law, the region was cut off from the rest of the world by geography. To the south, east, and west was only ocean. To the north, walling off the Russian mainland, were hundreds of kilometers of mountains and tundra. Impassable. Roads within Kamchatka were few and broken: some, to the lower and central villages, were made of dirt, washed out for most of the year; others, to the upper villages, only existed in winter, when they were pounded out of ice. No roads connected the peninsula to the rest of the continent. No one could come or go over land.
"A cargo ship," he said. "Maybe."
Katya had to laugh. "Aha," she said. The campfire flickered over Max's face.
"I'm only repeating what the detective told all of us. It's possible, isn't it? Because we looked everywhere else. We found nothing."
Everywhere else, he said, as though Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky's borders marked the edges of existence. "Those girls didn't leave the peninsula," she said. "Couldn't he have hidden their bodies? In a garage, a construction site, the woods?"
"We searched those places," he said. "For weeks. Covered every neighborhood."
"Outside Petropavlovsk, then," Katya said. "You don't think he took them along the road to the western coast? Or north?"
Max set his plate down. "Maybe he hid them in a national park. Threw them into a geyser."
"Maybe so," Katya said. He grimaced. "He could've done anything, that's my point," she said. "Driven them six hours away and enrolled them as his own children in some village school."
"Well, yes. There's no limit to the possibilities. So the police asked us only to focus on what was most likely," Max said. "This was someone from Petropavlovsk. Oksana described a white man."
"Did she?"
"Normal-looking, she said."
Katya did not disagree with that. Instead, she said, "She barely saw him. Anyway, it's not all natives out there."
"She saw his car," Max said. "A shiny dark car, she told us. No one comes down unpaved roads from the villages without getting covered in dust. So think: how would this person, living in the city, desperate, maybe crazy, most likely leave? He would know ships come and go daily. The detective says he could have bribed his way into a shipping container."
"Or maybe this person does what is unlikely," she said. "Went to a geyser after all. This is a man who preys on children. Who knows what he might be capable of?" She was talking like a tabloid reporter, she knew, but that post-kidnapping touchiness had crept back on her. If the police had solved the case already, she would not have to speak about such things. She did her job at the port well—the girls couldn't have left Kamchatka. Did everyone else in the city do theirs?
"Katyush," Max said. "Please. They're gone. The search isn't useful anymore."
Max, of all people, announcing what was or wasn't useful. Katya shifted her fingers on his leg and he fell silent.
They stooped under her open trunk door to change into their bathing suits. Away from the fire, they had goose bumps. Their breath fogged. Katya adjusted her shoulder strap and Max grabbed her. He backed her up until her legs hit the car. They kissed for a long time under the metal canopy, where neither of them had room to stand up straight. They bent into each other like two praying hands, but Katya wasn't thinking of God. She forgot lost children. She was thinking of Max, his arms, his fingers, his mouth, his fine teeth, the urgency under her skin.
Eventually she had to pull away. She was in her bikini and rubber sandals, and the cold had numbed her feet. Max, in his briefs and old sneakers, shone in the dark.
He crossed his arms on his chest. "So where are we going?" he asked.
The hot springs were calling—hissing, bubbling. "Come on," she said and led him away from camp, along the stream, on a narrow path through the trees until they came to the clearing that held the baths.
Five rubber-and-wood structures, aboveground pools fed by hoses from steaming wells. The rotten-egg smell of the springs was thick here. Warm mud slid under their feet. Katya and Max left their shoes at the base of one bath's stairs and climbed in. The heat dragged up their bodies. Katya exhaled into the swirling air. "Heaven," Max said, and she sank next to him in the sulfuric water to her chin.
The steam unwound. Above them were a million tiny stars. The night was blue and black, outlined by autumn constellations, and Katya, staring up, found a satellite blinking its way across the sky. The longer she watched, the deeper the heat reached inside her. It bled into her organs. It cleared her mind.
Near him, she couldn't think of anything but him. But when they were a little apart she returned to herself, and she liked that woman she came back to. Someone... capable. Someone who maintained standards, who met commitments, who produced results. Someone who would be disappointed in a man who acted the way Max so often did. She should be disappointed with him.
Max slid through the water toward her. His skin was slick from dissolved minerals. Against her back, the wooden edge of the pool was slippery. He tucked his fingers into her bathing suit bottom, and she stiffened, holding on to that bit of her own brain.
"Not here," she said.
"Then where?" he said in her ear.
"In the tent," she whispered back.
He pulled away.
That had come out meaner than she meant. "I'm joking," she said. Now he was far away from her.
"Huh," he said, his voice separated from his body by a wall of steam.
"It was a joke."
"Don't—" she started, and then stopped. Should she apologize? Try to explain? If he made mistakes, though, he had to accept the consequences. She, too, should accept the truth in front of her: what had propelled her into a weekend's liaison in August wasn't enough to sustain a relationship through the fall. Let alone beyond. The snake slithered up her throat. Max could not handle responsibility. Each of them would be happier in the long run with anybody else.
Between them, heat puffed. The water hissed and trickled.
Back at the car, they changed into dry clothes, stepped into sleeping bags, and hopped into their seats: Katya in the driver's, Max in the passenger's. Both of them already sweating from the effort. It was going to be a miserable night. She peeled off her long-sleeved shirt. "Should we buckle ourselves in?" she asked, turning to him, smiling, but above his sleeping bag, his shoulders were still high and offended.
This was their romantic trip. She leaned across the gearshift and he pecked her on the lips. "Night," he said.
"Good night." She pressed her forehead to her window, her swaddled feet against the brake. How much longer could she do this? Max was sweet, he was gorgeous, but he was not the hero they had both pretended...
The world outside was muffled. The chirps from the forest were quiet, then quieter, then gone.
She woke to a screech.
Shadow at her window. There was a man. A huge man, a killer—whoever'd taken those girls—Katya had slipped her bare arms out of her sleeping bag overnight, and she froze that way, half-unwrapped, terrified. A pane of glass away from danger. Her shirt was twisted. Her chest was pounding. It was almost light out. Not a man—a bear.
A brown bear on its hind legs. Scraping noises came from the roof over her head. The bear fell heavy on all fours beside her door, and dust puffed from its fur. It stepped forward, reached the front of the car, and stood again, its paws pushed to the navy metal of Katya's Suzuki.
From the other side of the windshield, pressed back hard on her seat, she could see its claws, each one huge and yellow and savage, resting on the hood.
"Max," she said through stiff lips.
He was breathing heavily beside her. The bear lowered its enormous head and extended a white-flecked tongue. It gave a long lick to the car's hood, where she'd laid out the salmon the night before. Her fault.
Max was shifting. His sleeping bag rustled but she could not turn to see. The bear kept dragging its face across the car. Max took her hand, and her breath caught. She felt his heartbeat in his fingers, and her own pulse, in her throat, in her mouth.
Their fire was long out. The trees around them were black brushstrokes against a powder sky. In this grainy dawn, the bear was hyperreal, saturated with color, its face dirty and snout bleached and eyes shining through the dimness.
One massive paw drew back across the hood. From under its claws, the terrible screeching came again.
Max released his grip on her. Shifted his hand up. Touched the center of the steering wheel. They sat.
"Yes?" he whispered.
The bear hadn't yet looked up at them. She couldn't swallow. Max waited, his hand hovering over her lap, until she was able to speak again.
He pressed, and the horn exploded in noise. The bear flew back from the car. It hurried away awkwardly on two legs—a giant baby—then twisted onto all fours and ran faster than she could've imagined into the trees. Before the horn had finished blaring, the animal was gone in the darkness. And Max was laughing.
He opened his door and fell out, dragging himself free from the bag. "Holy shit," he said from the ground, which was streaked white with frost. Katya was trapped in her seat. In his thin T-shirt, Max came around the front of her car to peer at the silver scratches in the paint. "Holy shit!" He looked through the windshield at her. His face was bright and brilliant. "Katyush, it took your antenna!"
She leaned forward, but the horn beeped again and she jerked back. "It—" She opened her door and reached up, feeling the snapped-off place where her car's antenna had been. If they had slept in the tent? "Oh my God," she said. She was trembling.
He couldn't stop laughing. He was moving so quickly. She, meanwhile, was stuck, she didn't trust her legs, she couldn't stand, but only Katya or Max needed to be competent at a time, and for now he was the one. He looked wonderful doing it. He pulled her fingers off the antenna socket. Her body was cold with late-arriving fear; his mouth was hot. With both arms around his neck, she clutched him. She touched without stopping. She lifted her hips off the seat and he pushed her sleeping bag down. Against his cheek, she said the word love, she said love, but he covered her lips with his. She let the rest go.
In the opening chapter of Phillips's exceptional and suspenseful debut, two sisters—Sofia, 8, and Alyona, 11—vanish from a beach on the Kamchatka Peninsula in northeastern Russia, and their disappearance sends ripples throughout the close-knit community. The subsequent 12 chapters, taking place during the months over the following year, chart the impact of the potential kidnapping—and the destructive effect of longing and loss—and play out in a series of interconnected and equally riveting stories about others in the surrounding area. "April" peeks into the day-to-day of a policeman's restless wife, who, while on maternity leave, is haunted by missed opportunities and " things darker, stranger, out of bounds." In "May," shrewlike Oksana, the abduction's only witness, severs ties with a colleague after the colleague's absentminded husband loses Oksana's beloved dog. The penultimate chapter unites some of the book's disparate threads, and follows Sofia and Alyona's anxious and emotionally ravaged mother, Marina, as she meets a photographer at a solstice festival who uncovers a potential link to an earlier unsolved missing-persons case and an important clue about who the perpetrator of both crimes might be. The discovery leads to a truly nail-biting climax and the novel's shocking conclusion that even eagle-eyed readers might not see coming. Phillips's exquisite descriptions of the desolate landscape and the "empty, rolling earth" are masterful throughout, as is her skill at crafting a complex and genuinely addictive whodunit. This novel signals the arrival of a mighty talent. Agent: Suzanne Gluck, WME Entertainment. (May)
A year in the lives of women and girls on an isolated peninsula in northeastern Russia opens with a chilling crime.
In the first chapter of Phillips' immersive, impressive, and strikingly original debut, we meet sisters Alyona and Sophia, ages 11 and 8, amusing themselves one August afternoon on the rocky shoreline of a public beach on the waterfront of Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky, a city on Russia's remote Kamchatka peninsula. They are offered a ride home by a seemingly kind stranger. After he drives right past the intersection that leads to the apartment they share with their mother, they disappear from their previous lives and, to a large extent, from the narrative. The rest of the book is a series of linked stories about a number of different women on the peninsula, all with the shadow of the missing girls hanging over them as a year goes by since their disappearance. Another young girl with a single mom loses her best friend to new restrictions imposed by the other girl's anxious mother. The daughter of a reindeer herder from the north, at college in the city, finds her controlling boyfriend clamping down harder than ever. In a provincial town, members of a family whose teenage daughter disappeared four years earlier are troubled by the similarities and differences between their case and this one. The book opens with both a character list and a map—you'll be looking at both often as you find your footing and submerge ever more deeply in this world, which is both so different from and so much like our own. As the connections between the stories pile up and tighten, you start to worry—will we ever get closure about the girls? Yes, we will. And you'll want to start over and read it again, once you know.
An unusual, cleverly constructed thriller that is also a deep dive into the culture of a place many Americans have probably never heard of, illuminating issues of race, culture, sexual attraction, and the transition from the U.S.S.R. to post-Soviet Russia.
A superb debut—brilliant. Daring, nearly flawless. A crime jump-starts Disappearing Earth; the novel exposes the ways in which the women of Kamchatka are fragmented not only by [a] kidnapping, but by place [and] identity . . . Phillips describes the region with a cartographer's precision and an ethnographer's clarity, drawing an emblematic cast . . . There will be those eager to designate Disappearing Earth a thriller by focusing on the whodunit rather than what the tragedy reveals about the women in and around it. Phillips' deep examination of loss and longing is a testament to the novel's power." —Ivy Pochoda, The New York Times Book Review
"Engrossing: an auspicious debut novel, a literary whodunit set in a distinctly foreign land. Phillips immerses readers in Kamchatka—it's in the rich, humane characterizations; the plot's gentle surprises; the reminders of the past; the rendering of the landscape. Rarely has a novel so fully brought to life a place most couldn't pretend to know. The kidnapping of two sisters reaches far and wide: for the women who occupy the center of the novel, a sense of loss seeps to the surface, their stories propelled by emotional experiences that are brightly realized on the page. Phillips plots with methodical flair; the depth of her storytelling prowess reveals itself . . . Disappearing Earth wades through darkness with heart." —David Canfield, Entertainment Weekly
"Stunning . . . Phillips lets her experience [in Kamchatka] shimmer lightly in details [of] beautifully delineated scenes—situations strange in their specificities and universal in their familiarity. The mystery is worth reading until the very end." —Bethanne Patrick, NPR
"An addictive page-turner about the search for two missing girls. Phillips's writing draws you in: Disappearing Earth is everything you could want from a book and more—a fast-paced yet thoughtful thriller full of human emotion and endurance." —Mehera Bonner, Cosmopolitan
"Invigoratingly hard to classify . . . A dead or missing girl is such a common device in crime fiction that its use now prompts raised eyebrows. But Julia Phillips ingeniously dismantles conventions. [Set] in a volcano-studded peninsula in Russia, this novel builds a portrait of a place, as the disappearance of two sisters shapes and is refracted through the lives of women. As remote as this world is, readers will find it strangely familiar. Phillips's characters fight to steer a course between the twin hazards of loss and captivity. Young mothers chafe at the confinement of family responsibilities, craving risks their older counterparts dread. For Phillips, the intricate web linking her characters—bonds that can suffocate, sustain, or expose—is not a mystery to be uncovered by a solitary detective. The ending of Disappearing Earth ignites an immediate desire to reread the chapters leading up to it . . . What appear to be fragments, the remains of assorted personal disasters and the detritus of a lost empire, is in truth capable of unity." —Laura Miller, The New Yorker
"Fascinating, immensely moving . . . The paradox of Ms. Phillips' novel, set in one of the most remote and mysterious places on the planet: its concerns are instantly recognizable. The book opens with the abduction of two young sisters. Succeeding chapters follow a diverse cast in the year after the unsolved crime; their stories are about the unraveling of bonds: a teenager is dropped by her best friend; a woman learns that her husband has died in a mountain accident; in the simplest and most shattering chapter, a woman reaches the brink of despair when her dog runs away. You wonder if the kidnapped girls are going to be forgotten, but Ms. Phillips returns to their fate, tying together subtly dropped clues . . . Engrossing." —Sam Sacks, The Wall Street Journal
"Julia Phillips is at once a careful cartographer and gorgeous storyteller. Written with passion and patience, this is the story of a people and the land that shapes them. A mystery of two missing girls burns at the center of this astonishing debut, and the complexity of ethnicity, gender, hearth and kin illuminates this question and many more." —Tayari Jones, author of An American Marriage
"Thrilling. . . this mystery takes you to a scrappy ice-bound town in Russia's frozen north. Rumors and rivalries, secrets and lies, all add up to a compelling portrayal of a community under siege." —People Magazine
"Exceptional, satisfying . . . a sophisticated and powerful literary thriller . . . a knock-out. By taking us through the year after the sisters were kidnapped, character by character, slowly spiraling back, Phillips is able to strike at so much of what ails not only Russia but also most tradition-bound areas all over the world today. The stitches of Phillips's language make you go, Damn, that's good. And the ending can't be described without borrowing some of Phillips's own language: it peels open your chest and squeezes out the stuff we read fiction to feel." —Randy Rosenthal, The Los Angeles Review of Books
"Unshakeable . . . Disappearing Earth has the makings of the thriller when two sisters vanish without a trace [on] the isolated, punishing Kamchatka peninsula . . . but Phillips does something more sophisticated. All the women yearn for something more than they have. Phillips is so skilled at conveying place and people, you can feel the chill of the shadow cast by Soviet-style apartment buildings, smell the blood soup, taste the burn of cheap vodka drunk too fast to numb the pain. It's so specific, and yet so universal. These are stories of women the world over." —Barbara VanDenburgh, USA Today
"Mesmerizing . . . The mystery of two sisters' disappearance alternately ebbs and intensifies over the course of a year, [as] each chapter dips into the life of a different girl or woman [on] Kamchatka. The story reads as a page-turner without relying on any cheap narrative tricks to propel it forward, and the strength of Phillips's writing—her careful attention to character and tone—will grip you right up until the final heart-stopping pages." —Keziah Weir, Vanity Fair
"Phillips's polyphonic debut novel takes on the challenge of a setting almost impossibly remote, but still teeming with people and their troubles. Two girls disappear near the shore of the Kamchatka Peninsula (as far east as Russia goes), and Phillips proceeds to track inhabitants in some way connected to the crime over a year, weaving a net as taut and intricate as any thriller plot, but rich in detail about relationships, historical scars, and the specific and universal trials of being a woman." —Boris Kachka, Vulture
"A genuine masterpiece, but one that is easily consumed in a feverish stay-up-all-night bout of reading pleasure. It's as much a portrait of humanity as of a small Kamchatka community." —Gary Shteyngart
"Absorbing and extraordinarily well crafted. . . Set in remote Kamchatka, a landscape of volcanoes and vast tundra nine time zones east of Moscow, it is a many-stranded crime story. It is also a complex portrait of clashing cultures—both white and indigenous. In month-by-month chapters that at first appear only delicately linked, Phillips zooms in on lives that have been touched in some way by the widely publicized, ineptly investigated abduction of two little girls. Phillips draws intricately detailed characters, and we quickly come to know them intimately. Yet her primary interest is in social forces — especially those that nurture dangerous men while devaluing girls and women who seem too independent, too headstrong, too sexual. Ambiguity about the fates of [the girls] allows room for both hope and dread, and Phillips skillfully spins out that suspense." —Laura Collins-Hughes, The Boston Globe
"An unforgettable novel—beautifully written and tremendously satisfying." —Elena Nicolaou, Refinery29
"Pulsating . . . Phillips conjures the rugged landscape of Russia's Kamchatka Peninsula, excavating a collective trauma triggered by the kidnapping of two sisters." —O, The Oprah Magazine
"Beautifully written . . . the chapters gradually expand our view of Kamchatka, until both the complex characters and rugged landscape come alive. Phillips's writing is so assured as the novel builds to a heart-stopping climax that you'll find it hard to believe this is her first book." —Kathleen Keenan, BookRiot "Best Books of 2019 So Far"
"Elegant, ingeniously interwoven. Phillips alights chapter by chapter on various residents of a remote Russian peninsula . . . As a series of character studies, it's brilliant. But Phillips never stops tracing Earth's arc, tilting her tapestry toward a singularly satisfying ending." —Leah Greenblatt,
"Riveting, deeply rewarding . . . Disappearing Earth spirits us along [with] each new set of characters related to the missing girls or obsessed [with] what became of them. Phillips's writing is spare [and] canny; compelling; vivid . . . beautifully written fiction." —Chris Hewitt, Minneapolis Star Tribune
"Accomplished and gripping . . . The volcano-spiked Kamchatka Peninsula in Far East Russia, where the tundra still supports herds of reindeer and the various Native groups who depend on them, is the evocative setting of Phillips' novel. In fresh and unpredictable scenes depicting broken friendships and failed marriages, strained family gatherings, and rehearsals of a Native dance troupe, Phillips' spellbinding prose is saturated with sensuous nuance and emotional intensity, as she subtly traces the shadows of Russia's past and illuminates today's daunting complexities of gender and identity, expectations and longing." —Donna Seaman, Booklist (starred review)
"A stunning, powerful debut novel. Phillips's characters [have] deep humanity; her portrayal of Kamchatka is superb. The novel's many characters are introduced in the preface, which calls to mind all those classic Russian novels with sprawling casts. But at the same time, Disappearing Earth is utterly contemporary. Has there ever been a novel, even by Dostoevsky or Tolstoy, set in such a strange, ancient, beautiful place, with its glaciers and volcanoes and endless cold? It's a place where miracles might happen: Phillips's novel dares to imagine the possibilities." —Arlene McKanic, BookPage (starred review: Top Pick)
"Cinematic. . . a knock-out novel that combines literary heft with a propulsive plot. . . Phillips imagines a cold, desolate climate inhabited by characters who exude warmth and strength. . . Dazzlingly original." —Sally Bissell, Library Journal [starred review]
"I cannot speak too highly of Julia Phillips's thrilling, impeccably written and splendidly imagined story, set with rigorous attention to detail in one of the most volcanically dangerous and beautifully remote corners of the planet. An exciting beginning from an author whose literary future looks set to be stellar." —Simon Winchester
"Brilliant, spectacular—a wonderful book. Julia Phillips's exquisite, detailed writing drew me in from the very first page of Disappearing Earth. I fell in love with each and every poignantly rendered character, even as I couldn't keep my eyes off the central mystery of the two missing girls. The novel is both a riveting page-turner and a gorgeous exploration of love, one that circles around a magnetic core of loss. It has lodged itself deep in my heart." —Jean Kwok, author of Girl in Translation
"Suspenseful, original and compelling, Disappearing Earth is a strange and haunting voyage into a strange and haunting world—the faraway Kamchatka in Russia's Far East, which is brought by this debut novelist to eerie, vibrant and unsettling life." —Simon Sebag-Montefiore, author of The Romanovs
"Julia Phillips's novel is vividly real, but it reads at times like a suspenseful fairy tale. Here are portraits of different women with a shared yearning for autonomy, in a land inhospitable to it. Here, too, is a story in which, against all odds, they do not give up hope. Disappearing Earth is a brave, affecting accomplishment." —Christine Schutt, author of Pure Hollywood
"Disappearing Earth is a rare achievement: haunting and complex; intense yet subtle; sophisticated yet unputdownable; moving yet never sentimental; foreign yet somehow familiar. And it snaps shut at the end with dark poise. Julia Phillips possesses a unique talent, and I can't wait for her next book." —Lorraine Adams, author of Harbor
"This exquisite debut reads like a secret being whispered to your ears only. Julia Phillips so smoothly evokes the quiet rage, breathtaking tenderness and searing discomfort of a human connection." —Suki Kim, author of Without You, There is No Us
"Julia Phillips writes in clean, sharp lines that belie an almost frightening depth, and a clarity of eye that renders a complex and gut-wrenching vision of the Kamchatka region and its people. More than once, I gawped at this book: there are no seams, no sentimentality, not a single untrue thought from start to finish. With Disappearing Earth, Phillips accomplishes in her first book what most writers can't glimpse in a lifetime." —Bill Cheng, author of Southern Cross the Dog
"Disappearing Earth is not only a viscerally wide-ranging introduction to the land and culture of the Kamchatka Peninsula, as well as a missing persons thriller—as beautifully written as it was, I still couldn't turn the pages fast enough—it's also a wrenching meditation on the agonies of those losses to which we never fully adjust. This is a dazzlingly impressive first novel." —Jim Shepard, author of The Book of Aron
"A feat of literary suspense. I felt like a wide-eyed kid reading Julia Phillips's Disappearing Earth. I could live in her portrayal of this remote part of the world forever." —Sloane Crosley, author of I Was Told There'd Be Cake
"Truly impressive . . .transportive prose . . . A must-read." —Jamie Chornoby, BookBrowse
"An exceptional and suspenseful debut. In the opening chapter, two sisters vanish from a beach on the Kamchatka Peninsula; their disappearance sends ripples throughout the close-knit community. Subsequent chapters chart the effect of longing and loss in a series of interconnected, equally riveting stories. The climax [is] truly nail-biting . . . Phillips's exquisite descriptions of the landscape are masterful throughout, as is her skill at crafting a complex, genuinely addictive whodunit. This novel signals the arrival of a mighty talent." —Publishers Weekly (starred, boxed review)
"[An] immersive, impressive, strikingly original debut. . . an unusual, cleverly constructed thriller, and also a deep dive into the culture of Russia's remote Kamchatka peninsula. Disappearing Earth opens with a chilling crime . . . The rest of the book is about different women on the peninsula, all with the shadow of the missing girls hanging over them as a year goes by. You submerge ever more deeply into this world, which is both so different from and so much like our own. Will we ever get closure about the girls? You'll want to start over and read it again once you know." —Kirkus (starred review)
DEBUT In her dazzlingly original debut novel, Phillips imagines a cold, desolate climate inhabited by characters who exude warmth and strength. This cinematic setting is the far eastern Russian peninsula, Kamchatka, where white Russians and indigenous tribes uneasily coexist. In the chilling opening chapter, two sisters vanish after a day at the beach, and though a witness describes seeing them with a man in a shiny black car, the authorities come up empty. Three years earlier in a village many hours further north, a Native girl also disappears, but she is dismissed as a runaway. Phillips cleverly weaves these two incidents through subsequent chapters that cover a year in the lives of her many vividly drawn characters, illustrating the subtle effects of racism on the investigation. Themes of dark and light pervade the narrative. Outsiders, those with darker skin or hair, are blamed for an uptick in crime. Prejudice blinds people to the truth until two grieving mothers, brought together by a photographer with a penchant for nosing into other people's business, manage to see past their differences to their shared loss and courage. VERDICT Phillips, a Fulbright fellow whose work has appeared in Slate and the Atlantic, has written a knock-out novel that combines literary heft with a propulsive plot. [See Prepub Alert, 12/3/18.]—Sally Bissell, formerly with Lee Cty. Lib. Syst., Fort Myers, FL
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Tailor the MS in Business Analytics program to your individual situation and career goals with our flexible schedule and course load. Most students finish the 30-credit degree program in two or three years, but you have up to five years to complete the coursework if needed.
Designed with significant input and feedback from experienced analytics leaders in the Twin Cities business community, our program helps you develop the key interdisciplinary skills and knowledge needed to become a valued analytics professional. Learn how to effectively identify, gather, and analyze data to solve problems and find opportunities in today's complex business environments. Apply your knowledge using real data sets from companies for project-based work in select classes.
Because the MS in Business Analytics program is delivered by the Opus College of Business in partnership with the Graduate Programs in Software in the School of Engineering, you'll get to experience both of St. Thomas' distinctive campuses during your studies. Attend graduate business courses on our Minneapolis campus in the heart of the downtown business district. Take courses from the school of engineering on our scenic 80-acre St. Paul campus. Convenient parking, food services, and study areas are available on either campus.
This unique collaboration emphasizes the application of analytics to drive business decisions while providing you with the critical technical skills to understand data management systems.
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Hidee - Ho! How's this energy for a show?!?! HA! HA! HA! I crack myself up sometimes! :-) The energies have been pretty fascinating this week. I will share with you what I have been experiencing. Others I have been talking to have been having similar experiences. Maybe you have been too!
If you are into Astrology at all, you may be aware that there is a fair amount of planetary activity going on this week. Even if you aren't into Astrology, you have probably heard that we are having a Solar Eclipse on Sunday and a new moon. Some may even say that the energies that are being felt are planetary. I am here to say yes, however, that's only a small portion of the equation. We are a part of a vast, endless universe, Of course we can be effected by more than just the planets in our Solar System.
So as I started to experience various things in my being, I "asked", "Ok, what's up? What's going on?" Yep. That's how I role. That's how I talk to all of the peeps that aren't form (which ultimately are my Higher Self) and my Higher Self. I am very VERY grateful mind you and express that all of the time. I just know I don't have to talk any formal ritualistic speech. They understand me. HA! I heard that there is a lot of downloading and upshifting going on, again. Where the planetary activity comes in is helping those vibrations come through to us. Think of them as an active channel that makes the energies easier to flow.
One of the things I have been recognizing is my sleep patterns are different this week. I have been waking up earlier and earlier each day, like 3:58 AM this morning. In turn, going to bed earlier, of course because my little engine is tired from getting up so early! I'm also tired from all of the downloading and upshifting. (Think Crystalline) Another experience was that yesterday morning I was a space cadet. I had trouble grounding and felt at one point that I had left my body and was observing. I can assure you that I am a person that is usually able to be present and be grounded. Not the case yesterday! Thank goodness for a gal that supported me so that I was able to speak a sentence. You just never know who can and will support you. They (or you) may not fully understand it, but just know to help. AWESOME! That's what it's about....supporting each other!
Some of the others that I have talked to are feeling anxiety and restlessness too. I would say I have been feeling minor restlessness. I haven't been feeling the anxiety, however, I did also hear that extra support for my hypothalamus right now would be lovely. Check in with yourself and see what extra support you may be needing at this time. Maybe more sleep. Maybe alone time, or time to be social. Maybe it's time to eat some different foods, or take different supplements. Honor whatever it is that you may be needing at this time.
Maybe you don't even know what you need! That's ok too. Maybe you need support from others. That works too! Maybe the support you need is to love the one that has no idea what to do or if you are even experiencing the same things or not! Whatever it is or isn't, whatever you are doing or aren't doing, it's all perfect! You can't mess it up! You are doing (and being) everything exactly perfectly. For you are the Divine in form. Remember, no matter what is happening with the energies, how you are feeling, what you are experiencing, it's all temporary. And....it's already happened.
Here it is... The current energies of February the way I see, hear, taste, smell, sense it! HA! HA! HA! Do you recall me talking about a vortex of energies, I do believe it was in December? Well, I am seeing a vortex, but it is showing up differently. Let me share with you what I am seeing!
Yes I am seeing a vortex. This time however, we are at a different position with this energy center. We are looking at it head on, or maybe a better description is in order. This vortex does look similar to a tornado, however, this time we are looking at it from the top. So looking down into the funnel. It is purple, gold, and a deep indigo blue ( the universe because I see a lot of star stuff in it). It's also spinning clockwise. Cool, right?
Now this is what the energy feels like with what I am seeing. ( I will do my best to describe it in words ;-) ) Take a deep breath (or two, three, or however many you feel drawn to) and feel into the energy of this as I describe it. I am sharing the energy of it with you now. It feels slow, but extremely powerful. Slow in the sense that it's not spinning really fast like a tornado with high winds. There is a depth to it. It's very profound, deep energies that are solid. By solid I mean expansive but in full presence, not dense at all. (Sit with that one!) It's almost mesmorizing, looking into the vortex.
It's still moving us forward, and yes, it is still all of us moving this forward. What I am hearing is that we have anchored the energies and vibrations that were coming through, to prepare us for what is to come. The increase in vibration. The appearance of Chaos. We have given ourselves a solid foundation. YAHOO!!! Hmmm...I am hearing, "Boy, I'm sure not seeing it with all that is going on in the world, especially in our own backyard." I have just the thing for you.
Take this moment, right now, to shut off the news, get off social media, get off your phone, computer, even take a pause in reading this blog. Close your eyes and connect with your breath. Take deep breaths by filling up your belly first, before you fill up your lungs. Focus on the in's and out's of the breath. In that breath is where you will "see." In that breath is where you will hear. In that breath is where you will connect with everything you think you don't see. When we become so lazer focused on what we are seeing and hearing in one area(externally usually), we suddenly have shut ourselvs off from the countless other truths that are here. Waiting for us to acknowledge them.
Okie dokie...We have discussed the awakening process and the integration. Now, it's time to discuss the support that can be given to those that are awakening or in their process. I will say this again, whether you realize it or not, we are all in service and to be in service in one way shape or form. If this is the way you feel led to support others, through their process, then awesome for you!
What is a way you can support and be in service for those that are awakening? By being the Wayshower. By living authentically. By embracing all that you are. By living your truth in every moment and every breath. Be the living example. Sometimes you may find that you want to give them all of the information and want them to "get it." I totally understand that! However, every single one of us has to get it in our own way, at our own time. So living it, is the best way to support them.
Another way to support them is to give them compassion and listen! It can be exciting and challenging all at the same time to awaken! They don't need to hear all of the ways you have gone through your awakening (unless they ask), nor do they need to hear what "stage" they are in. Who wants to hear, "Oh, you are in the teenager stage!" Not too many. Most of us are forging our own path at that point, so we tend to not want to hear things. Give them compassion and empathy.
The most important thing to remember is to be aware of the support that they need. Do they even need support from you? Is it time to just let them be? We can get caught up in wanting to teach them and show them the way, that we forget to BE the way. *Deep breath on that one! Just remember, you have come so far on your journey! You are amazing, and you start to connect with being in service, especially to those that are awakening, you will deepen your connection with Spirit. You WILL be the way. What a beautiful place to be!
All of the experiences that you have gone through have brought you to this moment in your life. What will begin to happen, (or did, or is) is that you will integrate those experiences that hold significance in your life. These experiences are from your entire life. These are not memories of events that happened in your life that you need to dig for to heal. The events pop into your conscious awareness to integrate them. They may happen in chronological order, or they may not. They could even potentially be from other lives.
Want to know some thing even cooler? You will go through and experience the different stages of your life in the "now" moment. You will go through and experience the toddler, young child, tween, teenager, twenties, etc.,yet experiencing it as you are now. It is possible to happen in that order, but it doesn't always. It is you integrating all of you! You are collapsing time lines, from all possible timelines.
This may feel like a whirlwind, or even challenging at times, however, I assure you that it is unlikely that it will take less time than when you lived through it the first time. You may or may not see events manifest in your external world to anchor more of "you" into your being. If you are in stages of this now and this post has brought you the awareness that it is occuring, KUDOS to you! You are simply amazing! Give yourself a pat on the back without judgement!
Stay tuned for Part 3 of the Awakening process : Support. Until then, please enjoy the video that goes with this post.


text:
Researchers fear 208,000 corona deaths in the US by November | message
By Celia Rodriguez On Jul 8, 2020
WASHINGTON (dpa-AFX) – According to a widely observed model, a total of around 208,000 people in the US could die from a coronavirus infection by November. That would be almost 80,000 more deaths than currently. If 95 percent of people always wear masks in public, the number of victims could be significantly lower by November at around 163,000, said researchers at the IHME Institute at the University of Washington in Seattle. "Those who refuse to wear a mask put their lives, their families, their friends, and their communities at risk," said Institute Director Christopher Murray on Tuesday (local time).
In mid-June, the institute had already expected around 200,000 deaths by October. In view of the occasionally falling number of infections, the researchers then corrected their forecast to around 175,000. The renewed increase in the forecast was due to the sharp rise in new infections in the southern United States and the outlook for the fall months, IHME explained. In September and October, a significant increase in the number of corona deaths is expected at the beginning of the flu season, it was said.
According to data from Johns Hopkins University, there are almost three million known coronavirus infections in the United States. On Tuesday alone there were around 60,000 new infections, more than ever before in one day. The pathogen Sars-CoV-2 can trigger the lung disease Covid-19. To date, more than 131,000 people have died in the United States from or related to an infection./jbz/DP/mis
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Celia Rodriguez
You will find me investing all the time... or reading a book in a heaven beach. Living in Turku.
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BASF significantly exceeds expectations in fourth quarter | message
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Orbia Announces Executive Leadership Appointment | message
Merkel does not rule out new border controls in an emergency | message

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


I met Jean-Baptiste Ponsot (no relation to the Ponsot family in Morey Saint Denis) in 2010 during an investigative trip to the Côte-Chalonaise. Rully is particularly known for its Chardonnay (it is just 5 kilometers (3 miles) south of Chassagne-Montrachet), while both appellations further south, Mercurey and Givry, are known more for their Pinot Noir. The Chateau de Rully is one of the villages focal points, and has been in the same family for six centuries. Rully achieved AOC status in 1939 and, in addition to its white and red wines, is also the most respected village for the production of Crémant de Bourgogne.
More than 20 vineyard sites are Premier Cru in Rully, and the finest sites run along the eastern slopes facing the village. This area, known as La Montagne de la Folie, has limestone close to the clay surface, providing excellent drainage and also benefiting from the morning sun. Its similar soils and exposure to much better known areas in the Cote d'Or and its small domaines with a bit of a chip on their shoulders (as they are often treated as Burgundian secondary citizens, has led to excellent wines on the marketplace that almost always display excellent value.
Jean-Baptiste's grandfather began growing grapes in 1954, and his son Bernard expanded his vineyard holdings, selling the entirety of his production to Olivier Leflaive. After attending wine school in Beaune (where his roommate was Nicolas Ragot of Givry), the energetic Jean-Baptiste took the reins from his father and began bottling part of the production under his own name. Born in 1980 and at that time 20 years old, it was quite a bold move.
Today the domaine covers 8½ hectares which Jean-Baptiste works sustainably. He plows his vines frequently and attempts to work as close to organically as possible, although he sometimes will spray once or twice a year with a synthetic spray if parts of his vines absolutely need it. He does not use insecticides, herbicides or antifungals. Grapes are harvested by hand and crushed at his winery that stands in the middle of town, where his two barrel rooms are also located.
Grapes are harvested by hand and crushed with complete de-stemming. After a cold settling, they go into oak barrels, of which 20-33% re new, depending on the vintage. Blended in August and bottled in November after a very light fining and filtration.
Tasting Notes: Cherry and bramble fruit, with notes of vanilla and spice on the nose. Medium to full-body on the palate, with lush texture and long, fine finish.
Grapes are harvested with a machine and crushed. After a brief cold-settling, they go into a variety of oak barrels (20-25% new depending upon the harvest) where they ferment. Lees are stirred, and the frequency also depends upon the vintage. 100% Malolactic fermentation.
Tasting Notes: The wine is lush and with good acid structure, with a creamy core, tangy citrus and pineapple flavors and well-balanced oak that rides along bright acids on the finish.


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Global Player Council
Lucy Bronze joins FIFPRO Global Player Council
Global Player Council News
Olympique Lyonnais and England defender Lucy Bronze has joined the FIFPRO Global Player Council to help raise the voice of players in the decision-making in professional football.
Here she talks about why she joined the newly-formed council, and how she is keeping busy during the football shutdown caused by the coronavirus pandemic.
How has the pandemic affected your normal life?
I am at my home in Manchester. I try to look at the positive side of things. Normally I don't get the opportunity to spend time here during the season. It's given me time to do things I wouldn't normally have time for: I've painted the fence, painted the spare room, I've put up shelves. I speak by Skype to my closest family who are in Sheffield – my mum and dad, and my brother's family.
How do you stay fit?
I have a 9 m2 piece of Astro-Turf in the garden, and a knee-high tennis net and teqball, which is like ping-pong with a football. I spend about one hour or so on football technique in the garden, then I do weights and 45 minutes on the watt bike. I ordered the bike just before the lockdown. I have made a gym in the spare room. I am probably doing more than when I'm training normally. I'm still motivated. I quite enjoy pushing myself even when I don't have an end goal.
Are you in contact with your teammates?
We have a week by week training instructions from Lyon and England, and I'm on group chats with both of them. My phone is constantly pinging with updates. Dawn Scott, the England head of sports science, has been asking for the best recipe for fruit smoothies. It's giving us something to focus on. We look at different proteins, ideas to boost our immune systems.
"Players don't always know what is happening – we are told to just go and play football."
— by Lucy Bronze, FIFPRO Global Player Council
How did you hear about the FIFPRO Global Player Council?
I saw the announcement on Twitter. I'm good friends with Jodie Taylor, who was already on the council and she suggested I should join, and that's when FIFPRO got in touch. I am very excited to be involved and to help make a difference. I've grown into a position of leadership as England vice-captain and I'm quite involved in central contract talks with the national team. I enjoy being involved. It's a bit harder at Lyon because I am not fluent in French.
Does that leadership role come naturally to you?
I've had strong females in my life who have influenced me. When I was a schoolgirl and told I couldn't play football with boys any more, my mother Diane got straight on the phone to complain. My auntie Julie was in the police force in Newcastle for 30 years. She complained she had to chase people down alleyways wearing a skirt, the regulation dress code when she joined. She was active in trying to change things.
What do you hope the Global Player Council achieves?
Players are sometimes criticized about what's going on in the game but we don't always know what is happening – we are told to just go and play football. In women's football, we want to give our advice about the game but it's difficult to have a voice. The message of the Global Player Council is that we are stronger together than as individuals. If we can work together then we can have a louder voice. Having men and women together on the council helps with sharing information. We can help each other.
What have you been discussing on your first Global Player Council calls?
I've been on four videoconference calls in the last few weeks. We have discussed racism and discrimination and gender equality but obviously the conversation is now dominated by the impact of the coronavirus. We invited other players such as Sara Gama from Juventus and Toni Duggan from Atletico Madrid on two of the calls. They play in the countries which have been most affected in Europe.
Are women's football clubs doing a good job at looking after players during the coronavirus shutdown?
Women's clubs are trying to do their best but across Europe and the world there are so many different ways of coping with the situation. Some clubs are more forward-thinking than others. In some countries players don't have gym equipment and they are having difficulty to keep up their fitness.
What do you feel about the rescheduling of this year's Olympics and next year's European Championship?
It's obviously a shame for everyone, organizers, athletes and fans, but at least they haven't been cancelled. It's very important that people get healthy - health comes first - and we try to get past this virus together.
Global Player Council Player story
Ajara Nchout: "I can help young people with my voice"
Nicolas Tagliafico: "Players should know we're here to help"
Global Player Council strengthened with new arrivals


Workshop topics have included paper-making and testing, watershed models, wind turbines, heart beat regulation, Science for Health and Life, coding, Scratch software, fermentation, environmental engineering, environmental health, ornithology, and more.
Secure a seat, and ensure we plan for dietary, mobility and other constraints.
In 2015, in response to long-standing requests to the Women's Caucus to extend the age range for Kids Day, and Girls Inc's Youth Development team's desire to find a permanent home for their established (but nomadic) program, the two groups partnered with ESF's first Interim Chief Diversity Officer to plan and host a career exploration program for middle and high school girls right here on campus. In 2016, we were joined by staff in Outreach (now the Office of Experiential Learning and Outreach), C-STEP, and SU's STEP program, and >90 girls participated in workshops and panels on both campuses! In fall 2017, Dimensions Mentoring program and our first official CDO joined the team to plan the 10th annual program in 2018, in which more than 100 girls participated!
Workshop leaders develop 45-minute hands on experiences to introduce some aspect of their fields. Group guides facilitate discussions, administer pre- and post-surveys and ice breakers, and get groups to where they need to be. Help is also needed during registration, data compilation for reporting requirements, and during lunch. Volunteers must register in advance in order to be screened per SUNY Child Protection Policy.


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News tagged with traffic congestion
Look over there: A robot delivers food to an Uber Eats' customer in Miami
A small, self-driven vehicle heads across a sidewalk to a person and stops. Then the individual reaches down, opens the hatch and gets out the food he or she ordered. This isn't a scene in a science fiction movie, rather ...
Shared automated vehicles could make cities more livable, equitable
Fully automated vehicles (AVs), or driverless cars, will be commonplace sooner than we may think. Right now, car makers and transportation network companies—also known as ridesharing companies—are steering AV development. ...
Do electric scooters reduce car use?
Banning scooters may reduce sidewalk congestion and keep would-be riders and pedestrians safer, but it comes at a cost, according to new research from Georgia Tech's School of Public Policy.
Playing nice: How self-driving cars and human-driven cars could share the road
Akin to when Model Ts traveled alongside horses and buggies, autonomous vehicles (AVs) and human-driven vehicles (HVs) will someday share road. How to best manage the rise of AVs is the topic of a new Carnegie Mellon policy ...
New York moving ahead with 'congestion pricing' toll plan
New York is inching toward becoming the first U.S. city to charge motorists an extra fee for entering its most congested areas.
AI traffic light system could make traffic jams a distant memory
Long queues at traffic lights could be a thing of the past, thanks to a new artificial intelligence system developed by Aston University researchers.
Newly proposed search strategies improve computational cost of the bicycle-sharing problem
Bicycle sharing is an attractive zero-carbon transportation option for a world that is being increasingly disrupted by climate change. But bikes need to be restored at bike ports every now and then. Calculating the optimal ...
Simulating realistic lane changes in two-lane traffic
Many urban areas worldwide are now rapidly expanding, often with major negative impacts on traffic congestion. To address this issue, researchers have constructed models aiming to simulate the flow of traffic—but so far, ...
Driverless cars won't be good for the environment if they lead to more auto use
For years, self-driving car technology has remained tantalizingly just beyond the horizon. Bold predictions notwithstanding, fully automated vehicles still haven't appeared in showrooms. But the technology appears poised ...
What makes university students steer clear of self-driving cars?
Driverless cars have been expected to revolutionize motoring, with some commentators predicting everyone would be a permanent backseat driver by now.


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The Different Types of Ad Fraud
1. Search Ad Fraud (CPC) Search fraud is one of the top areas where advertisers are losing the most money to ad fraud. Search fraud involves putting up fake websites that target the most expensive keywords, which attracts advertisers by making their site look like a well-established and reputable publisher. Advertisers purchase ad space on these sites in order to advertise against the popular keywords. Then, the owner of the fake site will use bots to click on those ads, which generates a CPC revenue for them. 2. Affiliate Ad Fraud (CPA) Also known as "cookie stuffing," this ad fraud…
1. Search Ad Fraud (CPC)
Search fraud is one of the top areas where advertisers are losing the most money to ad fraud.
Search fraud involves putting up fake websites that target the most expensive keywords, which attracts advertisers by making their site look like a well-established and reputable publisher.
Advertisers purchase ad space on these sites in order to advertise against the popular keywords. Then, the owner of the fake site will use bots to click on those ads, which generates a CPC revenue for them.
2. Affiliate Ad Fraud (CPA)
Also known as "cookie stuffing," this ad fraud targets affiliates' commissions. Brands will reward affiliates who talk about their products or services and attempt to drive people to the website to make a purchase.
Affiliate fraudsters use bots to send traffic to affiliate sites, and then employ cookies to track that traffic. If any of that traffic converts and makes a purchase, the fraudster is able to siphon away money that's actually meant to be an affiliate's commission.
3. Pixel Stuffing and Ad Stacking (CPM)
Pixel stuffing and ad stacking both cause you to pay for impressions you're not actually getting.
Ad stacking occurs when ads are literally stacked on top of each other within a web page, but only the top ad shows. However, when a user visits that page, an impression is counted for each of the ads, and all of the advertisers are charged, even though only one of the ads was seen.
Source: FunMobility
Similar to ad stacking is pixel stuffing, although this time, none of the ads are seen. Publishers will "stuff" ads into the pixels of the page, so they're technically still there when a page loads, but they're impossible to see. And even though users can't see them, advertisers are still charged for the impression.
Video ads can also be stuffed into a pixel. Have you ever visited a web page and audio starts playing, but there's no video to be seen anywhere? That's probably because it's a video stuffed into a pixel, so you can't actually interact with it, even if you wanted to.
4. Ad Injection (CPM)
Some of the biggest brands and sites in the world have fallen victim to ad injection at some point. Ad injection occurs when fraudsters offer consumers a seemingly innocent browser toolbar or extension to install that actually turns out to be software that injects ads onto unsuspecting sites.
When fraudsters inject ads onto a site, they never actually paid for that ad space. Most of the time, these ads are damaging to the site because it could advertise inappropriate content or show a competitor's ad. After all, do you really think Walmart wanted to sell advertising to their competitor, Target?
Source: MarketingKeys
Ad injections not only damage a site's reputation; they can also slow it down to the point where consumers don't want to stick around for the page to load.
Users might see ads on a site that never wanted to display advertising, or there might be a video stuffed into a pixel that plays audio over the site's content with no way to turn it off. It can also devalue the site as a good ad publisher because of the type of content shown in these injected ads.
5. Traffic Fraud (CPM)
Traffic fraud isn't a result of bots finding your website; instead, this one originates with publishers. In order to increase the traffic to their site (and therefore the price they can demand for advertising space), publishers will buy traffic.
This traffic is usually purchased from third-party sites, who generally have the highest percentage of fraudulent traffic. So, this means you could be paying the premium price for low-quality traffic that will never convert, let alone engage.
6. Domain Spoofing (CPM)
Domain spoofing can be incredibly hard to detect, which also makes it the most lucrative for fraudsters.
It only takes a single line of code to become a victim of domain spoofing. Fraudsters can use it to change the URL of their sites to copy the URL of a more reputable site. So, you'll be tricked into thinking that a fraudster's site is actually the site of a very reputable publisher, like the PayPal example below. If you log in on this spoofed domain, you're probably giving fraudsters some very sensitive financial information.
Fraudsters will take this "reputable" site and sell advertising on it at a discount, so it looks like you're getting a great deal for ad space on a premium site. In reality though, you're paying the almost-premium cost for less than quality space. Usually, your ad will end up on a site with questionable content, such as a piracy or porn site, which could ultimately damage your reputation.
7. Lead Fraud (CPL)
Lead fraud can come from two places: humans and bots.
Human fraudulent traffic is usually a result of publishers buying traffic for their site. A lot of "work-from-home" schemes involve hiring people to interact on the sites that buy traffic. So it looks like your ad is getting lots of clicks and those clicks are even signing up and becoming leads, but they'll never actually convert.
A lot of the fraudulent traffic that comes from humans also affects social media advertising. Click farms have become a very lucrative business, because they'll sell likes and shares to social media profiles in order to boost organic reach, but with many of the social media algorithms, it actually hurts those profiles more in the long run.
Fraudulent bot traffic used to be fairly easy to detect, but recently, they've become more advanced.
Now, they can easily mimic human movements, generate false ad impressions, and even fill out lead forms. You'll think you've gained a valuable new lead as a result of your ad campaign when in reality, you've just paid for yet another bot program.
8. Retargeting Fraud (CPL)
Similar to lead fraud, where fraudsters program bots to mimic humans, a lot of times they'll also commit retargeting fraud. These bots can be programmed very specifically to seem like the ideal consumers in order to trigger a retargeting campaign.
Then, once again, you're spending your ad dollars targeting fake consumers, and you may even increase your advertising budget to try to ensure you keep these leads.
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"This is a politically motivated effort to weaken clean vehicle standards with no documentation, evidence or law to back up that decision. This is not a technical assessment, it is a move to demolish the nation's clean car program. EPA's action, if implemented, will worsen people's health with degraded air quality and undermine regulatory certainty for automakers.
"This decision takes the U.S. auto industry backward, and we will vigorously defend the existing clean vehicle standards and fight to preserve one national clean vehicle program.


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The Tragic Case of Thomas Bonnecarrere: Cause of death details explored
Claudia Torres
Thomas Bonnecarrere, a cinematographer for Formula One, allegedly died in the early hours of Tuesday, May 25, 2021, at the age of 49. The reason for his death is yet unclear. His close friend, TF1 journalist Marion Jollès, verified the tragic news on Instagram, while Taylor Stawicki shared the tragedy on her Facebook page. In addition, Marion Grosjean, Romain's wife, shared the news that her close friend Thomas Bonnecarrère, a well-known cinematographer in the Formula 1 community, had passed away. The presenter for TF1 is going through a rough patch, she has been working with Thomas Bonnecarrere on the program Automoto for a long time. In addition to working together professionally, the cameraman also documented Marion Jollès' most personal occasions, such as her wedding to her soul mate on June 27, 2012.
Thomas Bonnecarrere is honoured in Drive to Survive
On Friday, March 11, Drive to Survive will premiere the fourth season on Netflix. One of the new episodes will be dedicated to Thomas Bonnecarrere, a beloved figure in the Formula One community. Given last season's controversial and much-discussed conclusion, the fourth season of Drive to Survive release comes just days before the new 2022 season begins in Bahrain and pits drivers like Lewis Hamilton and Max Verstappen against one another once again. In light of Verstappen's recent title defense at the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix in December 2021, viewers will be given an unprecedented peek at the championship defense's preparations. Off the track, though, Drive to Survive on Netflix has a memorial for cinematographer Thomas Bonnecarrere.
How did Thomas Bonnecarrere pass away?
The circumstances behind Thomas Bonnecarrere's untimely passing are still unknown, but US Day News strives to get this and other relevant facts as quickly as possible. Taylor Stawicki announced the death of a buddy on Facebook: "I found out today that I had lost another friend of mine." In 2012, the first year of F1 in Austin, I had the pleasure of meeting Thomas Bonnecarrere. When I first saw his big video camera filming Formula One, I was blown away by the magnificence.
Marion Jollès shared the story of how he and Thomas Bonnecarrère met and how their subsequent relationship blossomed. A link that held them together through good times and bad. What made us laugh? What we all felt when his dad, Jacques, passed away a few years later. Unfortunately, that's not what will stick in my mind. It can't be done. His grin. The benevolence he showed. In the aftermath of Romain's mishap, he spoke these remarks. The void you've left in our lives will be enormous, Thomas. He then shared a photo of the cameraman's wedding with Romain Grosjean.
The Impact of Thomas Bonnecarrere's Death on Society
The news of a celebrity's death is shocking and saddens many people, yet admirers have fond memories of their heroes long after they have passed away. Our hearts go to Thomas Bonnecarrere's loved ones, including his family, friends, and admirers. In his memory, We ask that you please share your condolences with us in the comment section. Friends and followers of Thomas Bonnecarrere responded to the tragic news by expressing condolences and sharing images and memories of him on social media shortly after the news broke.


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Vegan capital of the world
Welcome to Tel Aviv- a beautiful city filled with love, life, adventure, and a whole universe of veganism! Yep- welcome to the Vegan capital of the world- a title previously held by Berlin, now by Tel Aviv, a city in Israel filled with the unique flavors that are signature to the vegan world, with farm to table a literal reality. Tel Aviv boasts more than 400 vegan or vegan-friendly restaurants, serving the ever-growing number of 200,000 vegans, which has blossomed over the last 6 years. Vega eating in Tel Aviv is a chance to taste some of the best food in the country.
Why in Israel?
Although not a new concept, the Vegan lifestyle has gained increasing popularity amongst the new-age and open-minded youth. Whether people adopt veganism due to health or idealistic reasons, it takes a city with the future in mind to accommodate this lifestyle and actively seek to make it part of their culture. Israeli's are known to be liberal-minded, and the government has welcomed this new lifestyle and encouraged its growth. Tel Aviv is also unique because the whole country is accessible in 2 hours, making 'farm to table' a way of life.- It also doesn't hurt that 2 popular Israeli staples- hummus and falafel are completely vegan.
Israeli Vegans in numbers
1-in-10 Tel Aviv residents are either vegan or vegetarian
At an estimated 5% of the population, Tel Aviv has the highest vegans per capita in the world
15,000 vegan supporters pre-ordered tickets to the VeganFest.
8%) of the city's residents report eating a vegan meal at least twice a week.
IDF is the most vegan army in the world, with 1 out of 18 soldiers declaring themselves vegan,
Perhaps the unique element of Tel Aviv's vegan culture is its proximity to fresh produce. The open market or 'shuk' – besides being an integral part of Israeli society, is overflowing with fresh produce daily due to its easy access to all corners of the country. Operating daily, this allows restaurant owners to shop in the morning and cook in the afternoon, a concept uniquely important to vegan catering as it relies on grown produce for its taste and texture.
Veganism and Food Allergies
Vegan restaurants are great options for people with allergies to any animal products such as chicken, meat, fish, or dairy. However, extreme caution should be taken for anyone allergic to nuts or legumes- as these ingredients are in almost all vegan recipes. Since the diet doesn't allow any poultry or dairy products, the vegan diet relies heavily on nuts and legumes for nutrients in their food. Even if it's not part of a menu item's recipe, the chances of cross-contamination are high.
Vegan Culture in Tel Aviv
Veganism is alive and well throughout the city. Not only are there a myriad of restaurants and eateries, but it's also visible all over- from the graffiti on street walls, protests, and festivals! Vegan options are available in different cuisines, such as; Persian, Ethiopian, and Indian. The trend gained so much momentum that the Israeli Domino pizza chain became the first pizza company the add vegan options to their menu worldwide. 2020 has also been named "the year of plant-based 'meat,' attracting not only consumer attention but also large-scale investor attention."
So if you're in the neighborhood, drop-in, enjoy a journey of both the heart and mind, and spend a moment experiencing guilt-free living.
food allergies in israel food allergies on vacation veganism vegan and food allergies anaphalytic shock
An Allergy-Free Trip in Israel - Tips


Highfields Landscaping Supplies Carry a range of Garden Ornaments to suit any garden.
Give your garden or outdoor area the character it deserves with some garden ornaments. Sandstone Sculptures and lanterns are our specialty. Stock changes day to day and with the change of seasons and styles.


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Amanda fought very well! It was her first fight against an opponent with 3 fights under her belt already. Amanda showed good solid technique and an incredible head defense. However she did not throw enough strikes to win the judges favor. Amanda lost by just 1 round (29-28). Her technique showed and she inflicted more damage on her opponent than was received by her. With the first fight nerves out of the way, making Amanda more relaxed int he next bout, expect an incredible showing from her!
Alex fought an opponent with several in house fights, and his opponent had a 10 pound weight advantage. Alex used good timing on his low kicks to slow down the punches of his opponent. This fight was a good showing of kicks versus punches. Alex kept a good head defense throughout the later rounds and a solid stance. This allowed him to place his low kicks firmly on his opponent's leg, forcing him to reset and not get too many strikes off. Alex won his match by a decision!
Thank you to everyone who made the trip down to Buffalo, NY to support our athletes and Team Ultimate in general!