THE EMERGENCY PLAYBOOK: A Bunker-Free Guide to Disaster Preparation, by Amy Edelman and Chris Begley
Not long after Sept. 11, and after news organizations began receiving letters laced with anthrax, The New York Times gave each of its employees a blaze-orange “escape hood” that fit over the head and had different filters for chemical and nuclear attacks. I kept mine for two decades, as a keepsake, until the clear plastic visor fell out and the hood turned brittle. Lately I’ve wondered if we — “we” meaning all of us — might soon need such items again.
In an apocalyptic frame of mind, I picked up a new book called “The Emergency Playbook: A Bunker-Free Guide to Disaster Preparation.” The authors, Amy Edelman and Chris Begley, are an unlikely pair. She’s in public relations and has written an illustrated history of the little black dress. He’s an archaeologist, wilderness survival instructor and Fulbright scholar who was named one of the “World’s 50 Most Adventurous Men” by Men’s Journal.
Begley is the author of a (very good) previous survival book titled “The Next Apocalypse” (2021). It argues that “lone hero” fantasies in the wake of catastrophe are moronic. Community rather than gonzo individualism will likely be the key to survival. (Although a community of gonzo individuals might do pretty well for a time.) “The Next Apocalypse” is philosophical. It draws from historical examples, notably the collapses of the Roman and Mayan empires, and contains a good deal of nuts-and-bolts prepper information.
This new book is basically a condensation and a dumbing down of those ideas. It tries so hard to be upbeat and reader-friendly that the audiobook could be narrated by Peppa Pig. It’s ridiculous at times. (We’ll get to that.) Yet it’s a handier book than Begley’s original one. It has umpteen to-do lists and sidebars. It’ll get you started.
What most interests me about “The Emergency Playbook” is how, beneath the sunny tone, there’s a calm but insistent moral outrage on display. The usual scenarios are covered: blackouts, earthquakes, fires, hurricanes, floods, pandemics, bioterrorism. But this book leans heavily into the notion that, as American democracy dissolves into kakistocracy and worse, we may be already up to our knees in societal ruin.
This isn’t an original notion. But the authors rake the details into a towering pile and, in the context of contingency planning, set them on fire. When the worst happens, we’ll realize what it means that the budgets of NOAA and FEMA and the C.D.C. are being gutted. That we have a government that mistrusts science and suggests outlandish untruths, like the joy of injecting disinfectant into one’s veins.
Edelman and Begley chart the falling dominoes: political repression, rescinded rights, armies of masked agents, passports voided, division by fear and anger. The world suddenly has a trillionaire; wealth inequality, they posit, often precedes collapse. Disease outbreaks, with a broken C.D.C., may become unchecked. Groundwater-sucking A.I. data centers are hastening drought.
“Knowing whom to listen to — and whom to ignore — could save your life,” the authors write. They note that media companies owned by Jeff Bezos, Michael Bloomberg, the Murdoch family and the Ellisons control a vast chunk of American media, and that umpteen X users are careless or malevolent bots. When will weather reports become privatized? Donald Trump isn’t mentioned in this book, but he looms over it.
The practical advice in “The Emergency Playbook” is mostly basic stuff, well presented. Begley clearly knows this material backwards and forwards. There are discussions of batteries, what to put in a go-bag, how to make a fire, how to communicate if the grid fails, the importance of duct tape, how to barter.
Compasses, hand-crank radios, signal flares, portable solar chargers, pepper sprays, machetes, freeze-dried food and other topics are turned over. For grittier souls, there is talk of making turbines, building levees and the establishment of hydroponic gardens.
Now that I’ve built this book up, I’m afraid I must tear it back down a bit. “The Emergency Playbook” is repetitive. It’s like one of those grilling cookbooks in which every recipe starts with the same three paragraphs about starting a fire. The essential information (this is true of nearly every self-help book) could probably be condensed onto two index cards in nine-point type.
Corny jokes, frequent lists, hoary quotations and an uncanny evenness of tone make the writers sound a bit like A.I., or like someone riding A.I. as if it were an A.T.V. This is a comment, not an accusation. We’re all paranoid now.
This book takes Begley’s thinking about the importance of community and runs all around the football pitch with it. It suggests pizza and poker nights to get to know your neighbors. It tells us not to price gouge, because we will be shunned. We’re reminded to be courteous and loyal and to say “please” and “thank you.” (“Yes, please, I would like to borrow your burn gel.”)
“The Emergency Playbook” is not afraid of getting touchy-feely. Its tone can resemble that of an NPR panel discussion about chia seeds. It may remind you that if you keep your mind too open your brains may fall out.
When the worst comes, we’re told, “think of something that makes you happy and then smile.” “Breathe.” “Immerse your face in cold water.” “Eat that ice cream you were avoiding … Just because it may be the end of the world doesn’t mean it has to feel like the end of the world.”
Thomas Pynchon, in his novel “Inherent Vice” (2009), tinkered with the notion of “freak-out insurance.” If you are indeed freaking out, “The Emergency Playbook” suggests singing camp songs, looking at the sky, listening to the birds, playing Scrabble or learning guitar.
Other sorts of postapocalyptic fun aren’t mentioned. I’m thinking specifically of the character in Stephen King’s novel “The Stand” who dreams of masturbating on home plate at Yankee Stadium.
There are notes on homeopathy. Also, on clothing. Don’t pack a fancy outfit in your child’s go bag because such social occasions maybe be rare. Roger that. And keep in mind: “White linen has a tendency to wrinkle.”
Truisms pile up like pistachio shells. This book is so unintentionally funny at moments that I found myself reading snippets out loud: “Sturdy shoes are better than flimsy ones.” “Don’t drink water from radiator in your car.” “Listen to first responders.” “Use a ladder if you need it.” “Be wary of anything that could fall on you.” “Wraparound sunglasses look badass.” “Who doesn’t love a lemon-scented body lotion?” “Opossums are largely harmless, unless you sit on one.”
I was surprised “Don’t eat paint” wasn’t included. We are warned, in so many words, not to eat the yellow snow.
Even if King Kong has not reappeared on the Empire State Building, one can see which way the wind is blowing. Yet the prepper lifestyle is not for me. Following even one-third of the advice in this book would deform your life and drain your bank account. Your car might resemble the one at the start of “The Beverly Hillbillies.”
This book did make me fiddle around in the closet where the flashlights are kept. I may keep going in this vein. As M.F.K. Fisher wrote in “How to Cook a Wolf,” written during World War II, “It is often a delicate point, now, to decide when common sense ends and hoarding begins.”
THE EMERGENCY PLAYBOOK: A Bunker-Free Guide to Disaster Preparation | By Amy Edelman and Chris Begley | Ten Speed Press | 320 pp. | Paperback, $18.99
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