I tried. I really did. and I wanted to like it. I really did. And maybe I thought I learn something; more dubious about that, but still a possibility. Failed. Total. The writing is godawful. Robinson’s intent is in the right place. The absolute right place. But intent matters for little when the reader is slogging, skimming, skipping by reading the first line of a section and jumping to the next. That is not a good sign. Eventually I could not take it. Robinson tries for the grab bag in terms of mishmash of characters, mishmash of styles, and like chatgpt a mishmash of truthiness… The initial heatwave apparently is the only memorable narrative element of the novel, since most reviewers refer to that, and at least in the next two-thirds I would agree. But I stopped. Sorry.