A memorable collection from a dynamic new press thematically unified around that most primal of fears: deep, murky water occupied by things unknown. The grotesque swims parallel to the lyrical in Fish Gather to Listen. There is much here to disturb and delight, often simultaneously.
Strange and sensual, surprising and intimate, Nell Stevens weaves a meditation with music and sensation that interprets human life as a collection of rapid and urgent desires, pleasures, pains, tastes, jealousies, and reveries. The historical facts are merely the stage for Stevens’ story to dance over–irreverently, longingly, ultimately full of life.
I absolutely adore Jeff VanderMeer’s work. This is the eighth book of his that I’ve read, and the first I’ve ever disliked. Still love Jeff, he remains one of my favorite authors, but this was a slog. I wish I had more to say, but that is that.
I recently had the pleasure of hearing Rachel Swearingen read from her newest short fiction and immediately knew I was in the presence of power. This book is further proof. In her story collection HOW TO WALK ON WATER, Swearingen’s talent is on brilliant display, unearthing complex and cutting realities. Her unpredictable (and often delightfully unhinged) characters feel so damn real, you’ll be pulling out your high school yearbook to look up their names.
This book is just fun. YA enemies-to-lovers romance in a neon technodystopia with plenty of twists and turns, banter, and action. Ticking clock style plot makes for fast-turning pages.
Filled with awe over LUNGFISH by Meghan Gilliss. Striking, honest, and inventive prose. The dual question at the heart is one so many of us have worried at–how can you believe an addict?/how can you accept that the hurt they’ve caused is real? Gilliss approaches the answers without forgiveness, but not without tenderness, and always with structural brilliance and surprise.
Mapping the Interior is a powerhouse of a novella by Stephen Graham Jones. It’s astonishing to me how some writers can make such a gut-punch impact in 100 slim pages that others struggle to achieve after 400. This story is haunted by searing recursive imagery and faulty memory, lenses blurred by love and dissociation. Mostly limited to the walls of the family home, the setting heightens the urgency, accelerating with every page. The forces who watch from the edge of this story never fully reveal themselves, but we all know them, and they are terrifying–especially seen through the eyes of the narrator–just a boy who barely knows what has happened to him, and later, a man trying to make sense of it.
Any book with an octopus perspective is a friend of mine! Adored Marcellus entirely, and also loving Seattle as much as I do, it was awesome to travel in my mind to the Pacific Northwest to eavesdrop on these charming characters. It’s honestly a bit of a Hallmark Movie experience–save this read for when you need to feel safe, cozy, and to believe everything will turn out in the end.
I understand why this book took the world by storm. Moving fictionalized account of the many personal wars within World War II being fought by the women who soldiers left behind at home… The novel is both treacly and horrific at the same time.
WWII reads are always tough for me. I hate thinking about the fact that all this unthinkable evil really happened to real people, scarring human history forever.
Lynda Barry is a truth-teller. Everything she creates leaves me inspired, just gem-filled. In this book, she plays down her talent as a storyteller, but I think we all know her unique voice is on a tier few others will ever achieve.