Suzy Krause’s I Think We’ve Been Here Before sits in that rare pocket of science fiction where the end of the world is less an explosion than a feeling. In this universe, a widely accepted prediction has given humanity an expiration date. The clocks keep time, but the air is different—charged with the creeping certainty that there’s not much “later” left. Inside that pressure chamber, one family is also facing a terminal diagnosis. Their daily rituals align (and collide) with the global countdown, and the book keeps returning to an eerie refrain: why does all of this feel familiar, as if we’ve already walked these rooms and said these words?

It’s a “cozy apocalyptic” novel in the best sense—intimate, humane, and surprisingly hopeful. Don’t expect lab notes or blockbuster spectacle. Krause is after something smaller and, for me, more affecting: the private physics of goodbye, the soft sci-fi of déjà vu, the way love can make even the end feel like a place you recognize.

Soft sci-fi with a strong emotional core

The speculative engine here hums almost imperceptibly. The premise—an accepted end date that shapes choices—qualifies this as science fiction, but Krause keeps the instruments low and the vocals intimate. Rather than explaining how or why the prediction exists, the book explores what it does to people: how schedules melt, quarrels sharpen, and generosity blooms in odd places. The recurring sense of repetition—“we’ve done this before, haven’t we?”—threads through the narrative like a quiet melody. It’s mysterious without becoming a puzzle box; the point is not decoding a twist but noticing what the feeling reveals about grief and grace.

Readers craving hard-science scaffolding may wish for more world-building detail. I didn’t. The restraint keeps the story focused on the human experiment at hand: when the horizon moves closer, what matters, and how do we act like we believe it?

Family, fate, and the déjà vu of love

Krause’s most resonant choice is pairing a planetary countdown with a private one. The family’s experience of terminal illness becomes a mirror for the culture’s end-times mood: appointments and bucket lists, laughter that lands a little too hard, the frantic tenderness of trying to say everything right. The déjà vu motif deepens that intimacy. Characters don’t just recall memories—they sense they’re re-inhabiting them, as if time itself is echoing. The effect is haunting and oddly comforting, suggesting that connection is our constant, even when everything else is collapsing.

Vibe check: candle-lit melancholia, found-family warmth, small jokes in heavy rooms, star-looking, tear-salted smiles on the last page.

Style notes: clear, wry, and gently luminous

Line by line, the prose is lucid and lightly ironic—the kind of writing that lets feeling lead but still sneaks in a grin. Krause favors images that tilt ordinary objects toward the cosmic: a coffee mug that feels like ballast, a hallway that remembers more footsteps than it should. The voice stays grounded even as reality bends, and the humor never undercuts the stakes. It just makes the kindness more believable.

Who this is for

If you loved the humane quiet of Station Eleven but want something even more intimate, this belongs on your nightstand. Romance-adjacent readers who enjoy second chances (and second chances at saying what matters) will find a soft glow here, too. Book clubs will have a field day with the ethical what-ifs—what apology would you make with a date on the calendar?—and the metaphysical ones: is déjà vu a glitch, or mercy?

Quibbles, gently offered

Because the book privileges mood and relationships, a few readers may wish the speculative rules were brighter on the page. The déjà vu thread is deliberately elliptical; if you prefer tidy metaphysics, you might feel teased. For me, the ambiguity is part of the design—the novel aims to be felt more than solved—and the emotional payoffs more than justify the soft edges.

Final verdict

4.5 stars. I Think We’ve Been Here Before is the kind of end-of-the-world story that makes you text your group chat and check in on your neighbor. It’s tender without treacle, sad without cynicism, and it leaves a rare aftertaste: courage, but make it gentle. If you’re in the mood for a bittersweet, beautifully human sci-fi that believes love is a law of the universe, this one will keep you company—right up to the finish line.