One young woman's tale of survival in savage post-apocalyptic Ireland
Reading George Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four in 1977 left its mark on me. I was barely in my teens and figured it could all still happen, there was time enough. And although Big Brother didn't arrive in 1984, it is cold comfort to remember that he was only biding his time, busy changing his image, going all friendly and sparkly and rebranding himself, not as a moronic reality TV programme, but as the mind-bleeding, personal-information-sucking monster we all know and love called Social Media. Orwell taught me that when it comes to dystopian fiction - the good stuff, at any rate - it's all only a matter of time.