Would you want to know how it all ends? If you had the chance to know your fate — your exact age and cause of death — would you want to hear it?
In “Here One Moment,” Liane Moriarty poses this haunting question by throwing a group of airline passengers into the most bizarre in-flight experience of their lives. What begins as a routine journey from Hobart to Sydney, Australia quickly unravels into something otherworldly when a sweet-looking elderly woman named Cherry Lockwood calmly rises from her seat and, one by one, delivers each passenger their death sentence. Age. Cause. No elaboration. No exceptions. Even the children aren’t spared.
Naturally, disbelief and denial follow — some passengers cry, some laugh, others pretend they didn’t hear a thing. But no one truly walks away unaffected. As the flight lands, so does the nagging fear: maybe Cherry is right. Over time, her predictions begin to come true, and the so-called “Death Lady” becomes a viral phenomenon, leaving each passenger to grapple with the ticking clock handed to them.
Moriarty’s premise is bold, and her execution is equally compelling. The novel follows a rotating cast of characters as they navigate life under the shadow of Cherry’s ominous words. Among them is Allegra, a 28-year-old flight attendant slated to die by self-harm; Timmy, a joyful 7-year-old who is told he will drown and Ethan, a disoriented 30-something whose fate is a violent altercation. Some characters fight fate, others surrender to it — but all are forced to reckon with who they are and what really matters.
At its heart, “Here One Moment” is a meditation on control — our desperate, often delusional attempts to predict, plan and control the outcomes of our lives. In a world obsessed with manifestation boards, five-year plans and astrology apps, Moriarty reminds us of life’s only certainty: uncertainty. Death is taboo in our culture, but some part of us always wonders how it will all end. In this novel, Cherry Lockwood becomes a kind of modern oracle, pulling from ancient mythological tropes to deliver uncomfortable truths. Like the Fates of Greek mythology, she connects each passenger’s string, forming an invisible web of interconnection. What makes this novel stand apart from other human-centered dramas is its subtle fantastical element. There’s a mystical, transformational quality to the airport setting, and its arrivals and departures serve as metaphors for birth, death and all the chaos in between.
Cherry herself is initially unlikable as a cold harbinger of doom, but as the chapters unfold, we begin to understand her backstory. Cherry’s life has been shaped by profound loss, complicated loves and an unshakable desire to make meaning out of the mess. Her story, which serves as the spine of the novel, gradually begins to reveal her surprising ties to her so-called “victims.”
I acknowledge that the novel’s structure may feel overwhelming at first. With a multigenerational cast and ever-shifting points of view, it takes a few chapters to match names to their fates. But once the threads start to connect between the passengers themselves (thanks, in part, to modern technology and social media), the true magic happens. Everything unfolds with a satisfying rhythm. Moriarty captures the intersectionality of the human experience: grief, mental illness, social class and love all quietly simmer beneath the plot. It’s not a perfect novel. The beginning is slow, and Cherry’s chapters are a hard sell until her humanity is revealed. But once the narrative opens up to the broader cast, the novel becomes a page-turner. And the audiobook, with its distinct voices and Aussie accents, enhances the experience, especially when distinguishing between perspectives becomes confusing.
As a college student reading this at the tail end of senior year, I found myself drawn to the younger characters. I felt their simultaneous uncertainty and ambition, as well as their fear of wasting time. But I also appreciated the insights into motherhood, aging and retirement, which allowed me to reflect on my own family and mentors. This is a book that truly offers something for every reader. It’s a reminder of how priorities shift over time, and how death, when we dare to confront it, has a way of pushing us back to our most authentic selves.
What lingers most after finishing “Here One Moment” is its underlying message: Are you living a life you’re proud of? Will you be the person you want to be, before it’s too late? Every Monday, I feel a surge of motivation to live authentically — to chase dreams, check off to-do lists, call people I love. But that fire usually fizzles by the weekend. Moriarty’s novel reignited that flame. The novel serves as a wake-up call, a gentle reminder to live in the present.
To quote Homer, in a line that perfectly sums up the book’s spirit: “The gods envy us. They envy us because we’re mortal, because any moment may be our last […]. Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed.”
Read “Here One Moment” if you’re looking for a fresh take on mortality filled with unexpected tenderness, a dash of mysticism and authentic characters. Like it did for me, I hope it will challenge you to look inward, to live boldly and to cherish every fleeting second.
Rating: 4.5/5
