2024 read #75: Even Though I Knew the End by C. L. Polk.

Even Though I Knew the End by C. L. Polk

137 pages

Published 2022

Read from June 26 to June 29

Rating: 4 out of 5

This one is a queer noir set in an alternate Chicago rife with magic. Narrator Helen Brandt is a mystic, a specialist in divination, and a private eye working for a femme fatale downtown. Helen knows she only has a few days left on earth. She takes one last job to pad out the nest egg she plans to leave to her paramour Edith. But the case is much bigger, and much more dangerous, than Helen ever suspected, and she gets drawn in despite her plan to spend her last weekend with Edith.

Polk's pacing is crisp, setting up the characters, the world, the stakes, and the complications chapter by chapter, exactly when needed. Their prose is solid, contemporary, adding just enough pulp rhythm in to add atmosphere without the voice slipping into patter. 

2024 read #74: Dinosaur Tales by Ray Bradbury.

Dinosaur Tales by Ray Bradbury

144 pages

Published 1983

Read June 27

Rating: 2 out of 5

The main draw of this book for me is the lovely illustrations from turn-of-the-1980s fantasy artists, including William Stout and Moebius. It feels like a black & white prototype of The Ultimate Dinosaur; Byron Priess was involved in publishing both books, so my feeling isn't far from the truth. I've read almost all the stories here, even reviewed half of them already on this blog. Bradbury’s dino poetry looks like a shrug. The illustrations, though, make Dinosaur Tales a keeper.

Clearly this book was put together to cash in on the Dinosaur Renaissance, which spawned a bubble of dino fic at the tail end of the 1970s and the early '80s. The full explosion of dinomania wouldn't hit until Jurassic Park and the early 1990s, but I for one assume Michael Crichton wouldn't have written Park if it hadn't been for the original wave, earlier in the '80s.

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“Besides a Dinosaur, Whatta Ya Wanna Be When You Grow Up?” (1983, illustrated by David Wiesner). I read and reviewed this one last year in The Ultimate Dinosaur. To quote that review: “It’s exactly as Bradburyan as you’d expect: Midwestern fabulism rooted in an idyll of white middle class 20th century childhood, full of the tender-sweet bruises of loss and that childhood summer night feeling that nothing is in your control.” B+

“A Sound of Thunder” (1952, illustrated by William Stout). I last read this one a long time ago, possibly during my teens. I was somewhat surprised to find I hadn’t read it at any point during the span of this blog. Bradbury’s main strength, I feel, is his prose: the mythic exuberance of it, the breathless repetition that makes everything the biggest and sharpest and most towering sensation experienced anywhere. Tyrannosaurus rex is an evil god just vast enough to pull down the moon. Bradbury’s prose carries this midcentury classic. The plot, which hinges on one man’s cowardice and another man’s need to punish his lapse of masculinity, certainly isn’t enough to sustain the story otherwise. B-

“Lo, the Dear, Daft Dinosaurs!” (1983, illustrated by Overton Loyd). This poem, with its lumpily humorous illustrations, feels like a children’s picture book squeezed into the middle of this volume. It’s fine, I guess, once you adjust to the shift in tone. Kind of like a mediocre Shel Silverstein number.

“The Fog Horn” (1951, illustrated by Steranko). I read and reviewed this one in Martin H. Greenberg’s Dinosaurs anthology. It’s just as forgettable now as it was then, a banal midcentury creature feature about a lonesome plesiosaur-sauropod pastiche drawn to the horn of a lighthouse. The drawings accompanying this time it were pretty cool, though. D+

“What If I Said: The Dinosaur’s Not Dead?” (1983, illustrated by Gahan Wilson). Another eh attempt at kid-lit poetry. I prefer it, slightly, over “Lo, the Dear, Daft Dinosaurs.”

“Tyrannosaurus Rex” (1962, originally published as “The Prehistoric Producer,” illustrated  by Moebius). Twenty-odd years before Tim Sullivan’s “Stop Motion” (which I read and reviewed in the August 1986 Asimov’s), we have a story of a stop-motion animator with a dinosaur sizzle reel getting stiffed by a greedy producer. Sullivan’s tale feels less original now that I’ve read this one, but I think it’s better than Bradbury’s humorous effort, which feels perfunctory at best. Even the artwork feels like a waste of Moebius’ talents. D

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Somehow, that’s it! Worthwhile as the illustrations are, they really pad out the length of this teeny little collection.

2024 read #73: The Tower at Stony Wood by Patricia A. McKillip.

The Tower at Stony Wood by Patricia A. McKillip

294 pages

Published 2000

Read from June 19 to June 26

Rating: 4 out of 5

It’s a novel from McKillip in her courtly fantasy prime. Of course it has multiple ladies in multiple towers weaving multiple tapestries of magic. Of course it has knights stumbling through dreams, and dragons coiled around treasure. Story becomes reality and words are magic, in the manner of classic 1980s romantic fantasy. But all of it is illuminated with such grace and strangeness that it all feels new.

This book takes all the Victorian clichés of courtly fable and weaves of them a palimpsest of impressions, of ladies in their towers watching other ladies in other towers through enchanted mirrors, of the dead unraveling into the threads of their tapestries, of men sent on quests by cryptic bards only to find their own histories rewritten. All the hoary tropes of kingdoms and nobles and war are rendered into beautiful movements of poetic inevitability.

2024 read #72: Dreadful by Caitlin Rozakis.

Dreadful by Caitlin Rozakis

349 pages

Published 2024

Read from June 15 to June 18

Rating: 3.5 out of 5

Lately there seems to be a fashion for characters stumbling their way into the role of supervillains. On the Bond villain end of things, there’s John Scalzi’s Starter Villain, which I hope to read soon. Here on the dark wizard end, we have Dreadful. There was a third book along these lines that I saw in the local bookstore the other day, but I’ve already forgotten what it was. It reminds me a little bit of how the 2010s saw a fad for stories about what happens after the big adventure.

Dreadful opens with Gav waking up with no memory, on the floor of what proves to be his chamber of dark wizardry. What follows is generally Pratchett-esque, a droll spoof of old high fantasy clichés and escalating problems, as Gav discovers the depths of tyranny, insecurity, and petulant cruelty his old self inflicted on the world around him, and must race to mitigate (or halt) the dark plots in which his past self was embroiled.

Rozakis adds depth by explicitly linking this impotent lust for power to contemporary incels, who take their dissatisfactions with late stage capitalism and patriarchal expectations and channel them into misogyny and blaming the powerless. Dreadful is a fun and sprightly fantasy built upon a foundation of heavy topics: toxic masculinity, the necessity of deprogramming before growth can happen, and how difficult it is to disentangle from real-world brainwashing. Thoroughly of the moment, it centers an urgent examination of the modern condition.

2024 read #71: Prismatica Magazine, November/December 2020 issue.

Prismatica LGBTQ Science Fiction and Fantasy Magazine, November/December 2020 issue (14)

Edited by Viviana Annaelise Montez

81 pages

Published 2020

Read from June 14 to June 15

Rating: 3.5 out of 5

The March / April 2023 issue of The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction included my first pro-rate print publication. This issue of Prismatica, however, did me the honor of being my very first print publication. Everything I’d gotten published before then had been online only.

I bought my copy of this issue alongside Queer’s One for the Ages; much like that anthology, print copies of this issue are no longer available. I wish I’d bought more when I had the chance.

Also like Queer’s One for the Ages, I hadn’t read it until now. Yay Pride Month for nudging me toward my queer backlist!

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A sheaf of poetry starts off this issue:

“Final Rite” and “…Beyond the Ends of the World” by D. Keali’i MacKenzie.

“Swimming Lessons” by Darcy Isla.

“They” by Susan Butler.

“A Fairy Ring, 2 AM” by Jessica Chan.

“Last Man on Earth” and “Last Woman on Earth” by S. A. Undra.

I particularly loved “…Beyond the Ends of the World” and “A Fairy Ring, 2 AM,” the latter of which might get a response poem from me someday. (I’ve never done a direct response poem and I feel presumptuous even thinking about it, but it’s a common enough feature of poetry, so I’ll try not to let the anxiety show.) A nice beginning!

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Next, the prose:

“Poor Monster (or What You Will): A retelling of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night” by Hale. I’ve read almost nothing of Shakespeare’s. Just Hamlet, in fact. Recently I watched Romeo + Juliet, which basically counts as another one. Lastly, being a fan of fantasy fiction has exposed me to countless reinterpretations of The Tempest. All I know of Twelfth Night is a general sense of gender play. This take on it is notable for its lovely prose and sense of character, doling out Viola / Cesario’s backstory with professional polish and the ache of gender dysphoria. Excellent. 

“Her Wine Red Star” by me. A couple weeks ago I found myself rereading this novelette on Prismatica’s website, and had an insight: My stories may not get nominated for awards or get much notice in the trades, but I’ve reached a point in my career where I write stories I enjoy. That’s a big deal to me. Even twelve years ago that would’ve been impossible to imagine. I don’t think it’s conceited to say I enjoyed the hell out of my weird western tale of wizards, rocketship pilots, and bereaved drifters.

“Calm Waters” by C. J. Dotson. Lyssa has had enough of fighting, and partners with her love Niethan to become riverboat traders. But when one of the villages they service gets hit by bandits, and Lyssa’s friend in town gets killed, she reluctantly agrees to fight the bandits, beginning with whoever in town might be feeding the bandits information. This is a well-balanced take on adventure fantasy, mingling coziness and a touch of danger.

“Last Woman” by Lillian Lu. What story better suits the end of 2020 than a modern, queer, neurodivergent riff on Mary Shelley’s The Last Man? Grad student Julianna Hong has come home for the holidays, planning to tell her mother that she’s bi. Instead, she wakes up in December 23 with the power out and every other person gone. And then she begins arguing with God. “Last Woman” is told in Julianna’s diary entries, a narrative device that Lu uses to good effect. An outstanding story that goes unexpected places.

“His Body is the Crucible” by Kit Edgar. An engrossing, morally gray, deliberately opaque tale of making (and being made into) a monster, a reinterpretation of The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde that revives its alchemy in the internet age.

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All in all, an excellent offering from the amateur end of the short fiction market.

Each and every one of these stories and poems wouldn’t have been out of place in a pro-paying magazine, yet capitalism did not grace us with enough pro markets to absorb all the worthy writings out there. I’ve said it before, but it’s a goddamn shame that short speculative fiction is at its creative peak at a time when its markets are in economic shambles. In such an environment, I think amateur markets like Prismatica serve a vital function. Who’s to say I would have kept writing, and gotten the pro publications I wound up getting, if it weren’t for small mags like this one?

2024 read #70: Queer’s One for the Ages, edited by Viviana Annaelise Montez.

Queer’s One for the Ages: An LGBTQ Historical Fiction Anthology edited by Viviana Annaelise Montez

84 pages

Published 2020

Read June 14

Rating: 3 out of 5

Collecting books and reading books are two separate pastimes. I’ve owned a copy of this anthology ever since early 2021, when I purchased it alongside a copy of the December 2020 issue of Prismatica Magazine (which was my very first print publication as an author). It’s come along with me on three big moves, but I’m only just now reading it. (To be fair, I didn’t do much reading at all in 2021. Too much fresh trauma and long-term recuperation.)

Ah, 2020. A miserable time for most, a tragic time for many. Yet it was also when I got reacquainted with the indie press scene. So many of the small litmags and micro presses that I read and published in back then are gone. A good chunk of my publications were lost in various website closures. In the case of Prismatica and its associated indie press, it enacted a small miracle by resurrecting after its initial shutdown in the summer of 2021. The magazine’s back catalog is still available to read online, which is another small miracle. All the press’s one-off anthologies and chapbooks, sadly, seem to be out of print, including this collection. I’m happy I got a copy when I did.

If any of the authors have since chosen different names, I  apologize. I don’t mean to deadname anyone here.

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“White Flowers to the Sea” by Jameson Hampton. A brief but charming tale of a priest of Poseidon at Sounion, and his curiosity about the furtive Athenian man who leaves offerings of white flowers at the temple. Hampton brings out character with deft phrasing, making this story feel deeper than its length would suggest.

“The Keeper” by Jacob Holmes-Brown. After a tryst in the lighthouse, warrior Kallias must leave to accompany Alexandria's governor on a voyage. Kallias' love, Timon, a keeper of the lighthouse, waits for his return, but riots sweep through the city in the governor’s absence. An effective story. 

“Miindo” by Lyndon Ang. A sweet, sapphic tale of an enslaved entertainer named Jeonghyang and a painter named Yunbok. Dynastic Korea is not the ideal place to be a woman, a commoner, or queer. This story grounds our protagonists in that system, but is mostly concerned with giving them a glimpse of a life outside those strictures, literally seeing past the male gaze. It also graces us with a strong dose of the "queer panic" trope. Enjoyable.

“Loss” by A.R. Salandy. Nathaniel and Tom taste love on the eve of the American Civil War. 

“Gas-Flame Countess” by Percival Vogt. An atmospheric stroll through 1865 Paris, a world of nocturnal pleasures, tribades, and complaisants. This story was inspired by the real-life "Countess" and her queer community, which I just now learned about thanks to this story.

“By the Mahoning River” by M.P. Armstrong. One close to my heart, this story takes place in Youngstown, Ohio, in 1943. Tony works at a steel mill, missing her brother, who's been drafted. Then a new family moves in above a corner storefront, and Tony meets Beatrice, who also finds work at the mill. Another sweet little story, a brief but vivid depiction of a moment in time. I wish it had gone on longer.

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And that’s it! Overall, a solid and enjoyable sample of indie publishing. I’m sad the other offerings from the press are out of reach.

2024 read #69: Nonbinary Bird of Paradise by Emilia Phillips.

Nonbinary Bird of Paradise by Emilia Phillips

96 pages

Published 2024

Read June 13

Rating: 4 out of 5

This collection of poetry examines gender, queerness, and the boot of the patriarchy planted in the Garden of Eden. That particular God’s pathological need for hierarchy and control clenched tight around its creations, yet Eve slipped out of its grasp. “If you think about it, / we were the first / domestic animals,” Eve confides in Book II of “The Queerness of Eve,” before adding in Book III, “Who became my nickname / for God.”

“The Queerness of Eve” is a stunning achievement all on its own, a twenty page doctrine of defiance and desire. The rest of Nonbinary Bird weaves between mythology and the 2020s, threading desires and defiance into our own quotidian reality of technological alienation, pandemic isolation, for-profit education, changing climate, and the violence of patriarchal control. “There are many / gods,” Phillips writes in “Daphne, Felled,” “to whom one should / never pray. Women especially, / hear me.”

Not to make this review about me (as I do, all too often), but this collection made me frantic to write. I feel that Phillips’ poetic voice is close to what mine aspires to be, especially in poems like “Magical Realism,” “My Gender,” “Pangaea,” and of course “The Queerness of Eve.” I want to write a response to “My Gender” to include in my own forthcoming full-length.

2024 read #68: Witch Hat Atelier: Volume 3 by Kamome Shirahama.

Witch Hat Atelier: Volume 3 by Kamome Shirahama

Translated by Stephen Kohler

191 pages

Published 2018 (English translation published 2019)

Read June 13

Rating: 3.5 out of 5

After I read Volume 2, I meant to give my bank account a little break and not immediately rush out for the next installment. My partner R, however, treated me to it, so we're back at it again!

This volume spends much of its run establishing plot points and developing characters. Important "setting the table" stuff, to be sure, but it feels like a bit of a lull. I think part of that feeling comes from how it resolves the cliffhanger that ended Volume 2. (Mild spoiler: They Steven Universe it and convince their antagonists to stop, mid attack, by talking it through. Nothing wrong with resolving conflict by talking it through, but it's anticlimactic go through the trouble of a cliffhanger to get there.) The art remains as solid as ever, but this installment didn't give Shirahama as much opportunity to flex her splash page skills.

Overall, I'm glad to have a bit of a hangout vibe, giving our characters some space to breathe. But not all that much happens here, making this specific volume feel a bit thin, especially in comparison to the wonderfully paced first book.

2024 read #67: The English Actor by Peter Ackroyd.

The English Actor: From Medieval to Modern by Peter Ackroyd

385 pages

Published 2023

Read from June 6 to June 12

Rating: 3 out of 5

Around the time that I read Ackroyd’s biography of Shakespeare, I learned that this book was in the pipeline, soon to be published. I was tempted to preorder it and turn it into a loose Ackroyd-on-acting double bill. Instead, I got it used as a housewarming gift to myself a couple months ago, and haven’t gotten around to it until now.

It’s a typical Ackroydian history, rambling through its subject with an eye for illustrative anecdote but rarely, if ever, scratching beneath the surface. One is reminded of his Albion, in which he posits that the English “taste” is for surface ornamentation at the expense of internal complexity, which seems to describe his popular histories quite well.

Admittedly, the breadth of The English Actor’s subject doesn’t leave room for much depth. Not even halfway through, it abandons any pretense at historical overview to become a string of pocket biographies. Early actors so famous that even I have heard of them — Edward Alleyne, Nell Gwyn, Edmund Kean — scarcely get a page or two to themselves, leaving more than half the book to detail the twentieth century. I’m more drawn to the “medieval” part of the subtitle than to the “modern”; I’d rather get a chapter or two expanding on Ackroyd’s brief mentions of Anglo-Saxon bards and medieval liturgical plays, instead of chapter after chapter listing out the major roles of near-contemporary actors. I’m sure there’s some sort of stage equivalent of IMDb I could turn to if I ever needed more of that.

My personal tastes in subject matter aside, I don’t think this was Ackroyd’s best effort. It’s missing the brio he brings to his better work. In places, the text feels rushed; he repeats anecdotes and quotations as if no one got around to editing out the placeholders.

2024 read #66: Hexagon Speculative Fiction Magazine, Summer 2024 issue.

Hexagon Speculative Fiction Magazine, Summer 2024 issue (17)

Edited by JW Stebner

43 pages

Published 2024

Read June 6

Rating: 3 out of 5

Ever since my first story was published in Corvus magazine in 2012, I’ve loved small press magazines. Heck, go back even farther, to when I printed the first Scareship zine in 2002. I’ve been around zines and indie litmags pretty much my entire adult life. Some of my favorite stories and poems (my own and those of others) were first printed in amateur and token payment markets. Yet I don’t think I’ve read a single one cover to cover this whole time, my own editorial efforts excepted.

Most volunteer-run indie mags fold within a couple years. My own From the Farther Trees magazine made it just a hair over two years. (I hope to revive it someday, but who knows.) Scareship lasted longer, appearing in fits and starts from 2002 until 2013, but I only published ten issues in that time, and the final batch of four had nothing but the name in common with the original six.

Hexagon is something of a venerable elder in this scene, still producing quarterly issues here in its fifth year. Never having read an issue in full, only individual stories by writers I know, I wasn’t expecting that this issue would follow such a clear theme: fuck the billionaires. I’m here for it.

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“Heat Devils” by Madi Haab is a quippy eco-heist with cyberpunk elements, an entertaining and cathartic middle finger to extinction capitalism.

“Feathers and Wax: A Triptych” by André Geleynse is a tiny but vivid piece of eco fiction, another middle finger to the billionaires. Quite good. Packs a lot into 300-some words.

“Smugglers Without Borders” by Christopher R. Muscato is a tale of boycotting a global corporate monopoly.

“An Epicurean’s 10 Steps to Utopia” by John Eric Vona is a string of food-related vignettes illustrating pampered lives of extreme privilege witnessed by a footman who can never taste the dishes, only serve them. Another vivid microcosm packed into few words. Excellent. My favorite piece here.

“Wonders of a Plastic Ocean” by James Cato is the longest story here by far, a novelette of climate refugees who find uses for plastic pollution. I enjoyed the creativity and strangeness of its setting.

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A brief issue, though that’s understandable when an editor pays by the word from their own pocket. I hope to read many more indie litmags soon!

2024 read #65: The Z Word by Lindsay King-Miller.

The Z Word by Lindsay King-Miller

255 pages

Published 2024

Read from June 2 to June 6

Rating: 4 out of 5

Back in the bad old days, the only queer representation (at least in fantasy and science fiction) was found in villains. Almost every Disney villain, most Bond villains, every simpering, scheming advisor bending the ear of the king — all of them queer-coded. You had outlier authors like Samuel R. Delany and Elizabeth A. Lynn, and the short fiction market has always been more progressive than what we get in novels or movies, but for the most part, the public saw villains.

As a reaction against that, when queer-forward speculative fiction finally found a toehold in the 2010s, our representation tended toward the virtuous: squeaky-clean heroes whose hearts are always in the right place, even if sometimes they need a serious conversation to correct a misunderstanding. That was an important step forward, a way to reframe queerness and shed its old popular associations, but it was only the first step. Plus it led to moments like in Steven Universe, when star-colonizing genocidists get forgiven and welcomed into the family because they said they were sorry.

Here and there, especially in the indie presses, we’re starting to see an uptick of messy, complicated, multidimensional queer characters. The Z Word is firmly in this category, with an emphasis on the messy. Right from the start, our narrator is a walking disaster, making a hash of her life, self-sabotaging, burning bridges in the small queer community of San Lazaro. The queer community is full of people dating each other’s exes, because who else is there to date? No one is a paragon. Just because someone is an impossibly hot drag queen doesn’t mean they’re good at sex.

King-Miller takes these messy characters and pulls no emotional punches, either during the zombie apocalypse they find themselves in or with the societal bigotry that feeds into the violence. The cops are certainly not on our side, neither before nor during the collapse of society. Rainbow-washed corporations in particular have a sinister impact on the final Pride month in San Lazaro. Zombies are updated here as a metaphor for the way capitalism repackages community as a commodity, how it uses us up and throws us away when it’s convenient.

2024 read #64: Witch Hat Atelier: Volume 2 by Kamome Shirahama.

Witch Hat Atelier: Volume 2 by Kamome Shirahama

Translated by Stephen Kohler

191 pages

Published 2017 (English translation published 2019)

Read June 3

Rating: 4 out of 5

Back already with another volume of Witch Hat Atelier. This one continues the momentum of the first, expanding its worldbuilding with the addition of new rules, new factions, new characters, and a glimpse into the responsibilities of local witches. The art continues to be exceptional, full of movement and sweep, while the characters grow bit by bit from their archetypal introductions. Their interactions change and grow in satisfying ways. Plus a witch splits a flooding river with a sword. Come on, that’s goddamn awesome.

Naturally, Volume 2 ends on a cliffhanger. I need to start pacing my impulse purchases, though, so I can't rush off to the bookstore just yet.

2024 read #63: Dinotopia: Journey to Chandara by James Gurney.

Dinotopia: Journey to Chandara written and illustrated by James Gurney

160 pages

Published 2007

Read June 3

Rating: 3 out of 5

After Dinotopia: The World Beneath, I didn’t even bother seeking out a copy of First Flight, which appears to share Beneath’s young reader picture book vibes. Chandara works quickly to establish that it’s more in line with the original Dinotopia. Gurney brings back the found-journal framing device as well as its more anthropological tone, dropping us once more into Arthur Denison’s narrative to show off inventive new locales and customs that arise where humans and sentient dinosaurs coexist.

However, I felt some of the zest is gone. The artwork is professionally superb, and is reason enough to enjoy this entry, but a lot of the new locations feel like half-hearted retreads of places we saw in the original book. Bilgewater is creative, a town built of upended ships, but it has little to do with dinosaurs; it could have been located in any fantasy setting. The new characters we meet have little life to them. I just finished the book, and I couldn’t tell you any of their names.

While Gurney made some strides toward including more characters of the global majority, white people still predominate in crowd scenes and character studies (which is odd for a land canonically settled by people of every region). It doesn’t help matters that the plot of Chandara sees Denison journeying into the mysterious, forbidden east on the invitation of an emperor named Khan.

2024 read #62: Witch Hat Atelier: Volume 1 by Kamome Shirahama.

Witch Hat Atelier: Volume 1 by Kamome Shirahama

Translated by Stephen Kohler

208 pages

Published 2017 (English translation published 2019)

Read from June 1 to June 2

Rating: 4 out of 5

One unfortunate outcome of getting into the Delicious in Dungeon fandom at the same time as everyone else: everyone else bought up the entire stock of the manga, and now it’s quite hard to get a copy. I’ve been craving more Dungeon Meshi, and even though the manga got adapted almost panel by panel into the anime, I'm frustrated by the manga's unobtainability.

I was recommended Witch Hat Atelier to help fill that high fantasy manga hole in my life. It isn’t quite the same vibe as Delicious in Dungeon, of course, but the cover blurbs’ comparisons to Studio Ghibli aren’t far off. Out of the very few manga series I’ve begun, the art here is the best I’ve ever seen: inventive, precise, full of personality and bold poses and stunning scenery.

The characters are more or less mere archetypes here in the first volume, but they’re distinctive, their personalities expressed through vivid artwork. They’re also easy to get attached to, their fears and initial successes adding up to a moving read. I’m quite happy I gave Atelier a try.

2024 read #61: Alive at the End of the World by Saeed Jones.

Alive at the End of the World by Saeed Jones

Foreword by D. A. Powell

87 pages

Published 2022

Read June 1

Rating: 5 out of 5

A haunting, jagged, beautiful, raging, joyful collection, as vast as the horrors of history and as intimate as the spots where we hide from our parents. A roaring rushing apocalypse of grief and violence and the maw of white supremacy devouring bodies and stolen land, an apocalypse of robots made to feel pain and white boys shooting up schools and Black folks’ songs stolen for white profit. The End of the World is in the phrase “essential worker.” The end of the world is everywhere, behind and beneath and ahead of us.

I throw around easy words like “staggering” or “astonishing,” but this book silenced my inner voice, left me open and wordless and awed.