As I’ve mentioned before, I’m a fan of authors taking old myths or mythological creatures and putting a new spin on them. The Mermaid of Black Conch is a great addition to that genre. Instead of The Little Mermaid type tale about a mermaid who wants to become human, the mermaid of Black Conch used to be human and a curse transformed her into a mermaid. After living as a mermaid for centuries, she suddenly and violently finds herself returning to land.
The story follows several characters, but primarily we have David, a young man born and raised in Trinidad who spends most of his days out fishing. He brings his guitar and sings and plays while out on his boat. His music catches the attention of a mermaid named Aycayia, who breaks the surface to hear him better, stunning David and encouraging him to return to the spot and sing day after day.
Aycayia was a Taino woman, living before Columbus showed up and shattered the world. Her beauty and voice drew men to her, to the annoyance of the other women of the island. They cursed her and another older woman who was Aycayia’s friend. Aycayia became a mermaid, the other woman a sea turtle, and they spent the centuries in the sea, avoiding humans. Until David’s singing reached Aycayia’s ears in 1975. Though Aycayia doesn’t speak to him, she begins to follow his boat, listening to his music and remembering her old life.
Then a couple White Americans invade their tranquility. The father, a businessman – a “man’s man” – is determined to use a big game fishing trip to toughen up his perceived weakling of a son. His son, not exactly thrilled to be on this trip, casts his line. Unbeknownst to him, Aycayia heard the motor and, assuming it was David, swam into the area. The bite on his line was no big game fish. Together, father and son reel in the biggest catch ever – an actual mermaid.
After they bring her in and string her up on the dock like the giddy fishermen in Jaws who imagine themselves to be kings of the ocean, they go celebrate at the bar. David, wracked with guilt, takes the opportunity to cut Aycayia loose and bring her back to his home. While she recovers in his bathtub, David tries to figure out what he should do next. Slowly, Aycayia’s curse seems to lift, creating new dilemmas for everyone.
Told primarily through a third person narrative, Roffey peppers in excerpts from David’s journal and Aycayia’s viewpoint as well. It’s an elegant use of language. Even though everything is in English, Roffey deftly uses distinctive voices for each of the characters. Aycayia’s use of verse is particularly well done.
The Mermaid of Black Conch is more than a revision of classic mermaid tales. It also tackles colonialism, racism, love, jealously, class, and more. All of it is wrapped up into an intriguing and compelling story spanning centuries.
I’ve noticed recently that when it comes to my Sci-Fi/Fantasy category, the “Fantasy” side definitely has the edge. Persephone Station was a great reminder why I love the Sci-Fi part as well.
Persephone Station embraces all sorts of aspects of sci-fi, though more Star Wars than Star Trek. Various types of AI, mech suits, spaceships, planets, alien-life, etc.
The story jumps between perspectives, but the main story follows Angel, an ex-marine who endured several resurrections during her service.
She now works as a mercenary on Persephone Station, a planet outpost that has caught the attention of the Serrao-Orlov Corporation. But like all mega corporations, their plan for the planet is full of problems for everyone who lives there. Angel and her team must figure out where they stand and what they stand for, regardless of the cost.
There’s a lot to like about this story. The core characters are interesting people and it’s fun to learn more about them as the story goes on. The perspective jumps help you get a deeper sense of each of them. Leicht weaves world building into the narrative without huge exposition dumps. While there are places where it seems a little slow, it picks up and soon you’re hooked and can’t wait to find out what happens next.
The one downside to this book is that there are 3-4 different perspectives, but there’s such a long break between some of them that you lose connection with them. By the time we check beck in with a specific viewpoint, it feels like a bit more like a forced break from the main story rather than an integral part of the tale. Things do start to come together towards the end, but I didn’t feel as connected to those characters. Other things suddenly pop up that weren’t really set up and feel a bit shoved in.
But despite that, it’s still a great, fun read. I could see this being part of a series, but it’s a stand alone novel for now. So if you’re looking for a fun sci-fi novel with all sorts of queer characters, interesting world building, and an operatic plot, check out Persephone Station.
One of the things I loved about college and grad school was getting to take a wide variety of classes about things subjects with which I wasn’t very familiar. One area where I’m sadly lacking is Native American history, so I started stocking up on books on the subject. One of those was A Whirlwind Passed Through Our Country, which is a fascinating book and a great resource.
To provide a very brief and basic overview, the Ghost Dance was a religious movement that moved through a number of American Indian nations across the Great Plains/Western U.S. during the 1880s and into the first year or two of the 1890s. In 1889, members of the Lakota sent representatives to learn more about this movement and return to teach their communities about the Dance itself and the promises of a better future.
The Ghost Dance allowed practitioners to fall into a state in which they could visit their dead relatives, who promised them that soon the dead would return, herds of buffalo (which had largely been wiped out by White Americans) would return to the Plains, and European-Americans would be pushed off the land.
For the Lakota, suffering from famine as a result of numerous broken treaties (including a refusal to provide promised rations of beef and other food), forced removal to poor lands, and the disappearance of their usual sources of game, such a promise was powerful. The dance spread from one Lakota reservation to the next, alarming White settlers and U.S. Indian Agents in charge of controlling the reservations. Unwilling or unable to understand, White newspapers and government dispatches stoked fears of “Indians on the warpath.” Soon, the U.S. government dispatched more troops to the area, further inflaming the situation. This culminated in the infamous massacre at Wounded Knee, where U.S. soldiers gunned down over 250 Lakota men, women, and children.
Most of what we get in textbooks give a fairly flat view of the Ghost Dance (if it gets mentioned much at all) and most of that is from White sources. In A Whirlwind Passed Through our Country, Andersson creates a multi-layer analysis of the Ghost Dance and how different groups of Lakota understood it, interacted with it, and modified it. And even more importantly, he does so using Lakota sources.
Andersson’s previous book analyzed the Ghost Dance from multiple perspectives, of which the Lakota were one. He learned to read the language and found multiple primary Lakota sources. Not being able to use all of them in his first book, in A Whirlwind Passed Through Our Country, he provides the full published texts of a variety of Lakota individuals who had direct connections with the Ghost Dance movement.
The book is divided into four sections. The first deals with Lakota who were full believers in the Ghost Dance. The second focuses on Lakota caught in between. Some believed but then fell away; some were interested, but never fully convinced; and some saw the potential, even if they had no interest in the religious aspect. Part three presents sources from those who did not participate in the Ghost Dance but had front-row seats to its effects on the reservation. This includes some of the Indian police responsible for the arrest and murder of Sitting Bull. The book concludes with the words of Lakota who converted to Christianity and had no patience for the Ghost Dance movement.
One thing to keep in mind is that the book is organized thematically, which means each part will go back in time and re-cover previous events from a different perspective. Likewise, within each section, he provides all of the writings of an individual and then moves on to the next person. In my opinion, it’s an effective way to present this information. However, it can take a little getting used to if you’re used to more chronological approaches.
Andersson is also very clear that this book is about the Ghost Dance and not specifically the Wounded Knee Massacre (about which he wrote a separate book). While some of the sources do talk about the massacre, Andersson also notes that he has left out sources that speak only about the massacre and do not discuss the Ghost Dance. So if you’re looking for more on that subject, it looks like you’ll need to check out his other book.
Overall, this is a wonderful source for getting first-hand accounts. Andersson does a good job providing context at the beginning of each part, introducing the writer, and explaining language differences. The chronology in the back also can help keep dates straight as you jump back and forth between parts.
Having so many perspectives from so many Lakota voices is important. Andersson helps remind us that there was no one unified “Indian” perspective. Additionally, the White binary of “progressive” vs. “unprogressive” Natives is not nearly complex enough. This book will well-serve both historians and general readers alike.
By Augustina Bazterrica. Translated by Sarah Moses.
“Soylent Green meets The Jungle.” If I had to describe Tender is the Flesh in five words or less, that’s how I’d do it. (Full disclosure: I’ve never actually seen Soylent Green, but I know the gist of it. I have read The Jungle.)
But oh boy, would it not be enough! It would also do a great disservice for the real power of this book.
I’ve seen other reviews highlight the first line of Tender is the Flesh, to help readers understand exactly what they’re in for. And it’s a powerful opening:
Carcass. Cut in half. Stunner. Slaughter line. Spray wash.
It’s going to be brutal.
In the not-to-distant future, an unknown and poorly understood virus makes animal meat deadly to eat. One would assume such a situation would create a vegetarian or vegan world. (It’s not clear whether it’s just animal flesh that is affected or if all animal products, like eggs and honey, are affected. It also doesn’t matter – Tender is the Flesh isn’t concerned with the wider world and its history.) But one would be wrong. The vast majority of the world cannot give up meat. And so, with animals off the table, society turns to the only remaining option: humans.
Cannibalism becomes legalized. Initially, during the “Transition,” there seems to have been a bit of a free-for-all, with the marginalized set upon and butchered without much thought. But by the time we join this world, capitalism has reasserted itself. The slaughterhouses of yore are repurposed for the production of “special meat.” The factory-farm system reasserts itself, raising “head” for the slaughter, milking the udders of females, inseminating them to produce the next generation of food and pumping those offspring full of growth hormones to speed up development. There are even “organic” options – the “First Generation Pure” specimens, raised without hormones though of course, that’ll cost you more.
Our guide through this world is Marcos, a man who used to work in a regular slaughterhouse prior to the Transition and then took up the job again as the meat source changed. He currently lives alone, as his wife moved into her mother’s house after the death of their infant son. This loss haunts him as well as he attempts to move through his days, lost and alone. The funeral and burial they had for the child was performative; in this world, one may “bury” a body to continue the old traditions, but then immediately disinter and cremate it or risk their loved ones becoming a meal for the Scavengers who cannot afford to buy special meat.
Due to all he sees in his job and after the death of his son and the ailing health of his father, Marcos no longer eats meat. This makes him a bit of an object of suspicion, but the real trouble comes when he is suddenly gifted with a First Generation Pure woman for his own personal use. He could eat her, or sell her for a goodly sum. For the moment, he keeps her in his barn. Where it goes from there….well, I’m not going to spoil it. At least not here. Perhaps in our spoiler space.
While the opening line of the book sets the stage for the horror of the world, it’s the subsequent lines of the book that hint to the real power: language, and the power of words. Bazterrica continues:
These words appear in his head and strike him. Destroy him. But they’re not just words. They’re the blood, the dense smell, the automation, the absence of thought. They burst in on the night, catch him off guard. When he wakes, his body is covered in a film of sweat because he knows that what awaits is another day of slaughtering humans. … His brain warns him that there are words that cover up the world.
There are words that are convenient, hygienic. Legal.
Throughout the book, Bazterrica’s meditation on the importance of language, and her narrator’s recognition of the implications of the words one chooses, brings an incredible depth to this quick and relatively short novel. It was nearly impossible to put this down, but what struck me the most was this focus on language and how we use euphemisms to disguise all sorts of unpleasant truths we’d rather not face. Translator Sarah Moses deserves a huge round of applause; I can only imagine how tricky it is to translate a work where language and word choice is so central.
Upton Sinclair wrote The Jungle in hopes of challenging his fellow Americans to question the capitalist system, which ground up low-wage workers and immigrants as easily as it ground up diseased meat in its slaughterhouses. But as anyone who ever read it in high school or college will likely attest, his detailed descriptions of the unsanitary methods, human body parts being ground into beef, and rats running rampant across food intended for human consumption is what grabbed attention. He later bemoaned that he “aimed for the public’s heart and by accident I hit it in the stomach.”
Bazterrica shoots two arrows at once and hits both. Tender is the Flesh is not for the tender-hearted. Or the tender-stomached. But if you can handle it, it is an incredible tale.
First things first: The World We Make is a sequel to The City We Became. Highly, highly recommend you go read that if you haven’t yet. In both books, Jemisin tackles the very real and present issues of gentrification, racism, bigotry, xenophobia, etc., but with a sci-fi/fantasy twist. I’ll give a brief review of The City We Became, which I read a few years ago when it came out. Then I’ll jump into The World We Make.
Mini-Review: The City We Became
I took this photo ages ago and I’m not sure I could ever pull it off again.
Jemisin is the kind of author who will throw you right into the deep end. You may spend time flailing to get to the surface, but once you learn to swim, you never want to get out of the water. In this book, we learn that cities become living things, represented by human avatars. New York City is undergoing this process, but something’s different this time. Each of the boroughs must come together to protect the city. A different person represents each borough and each has a connection to their part of the city.
As a result, the chapters jump between the various characters’ perspectives. Manny, Manhattan’s avatar, who has lost most of his memories. Brooklyn, who fittingly represents Brooklyn. She’s a former rapper and now a councilwoman, fighting to save her family’s brownstone. Bronca, an artist, represents the Bronx. Pamini, a mathematician on a student visa, embodies Queens. And from Staten Island, Aislyn. Aside from Aislyn, all the avatars are people of color, and many are queer. In addition to the avatars of the boroughs, there’s a primary avatar, who is missing.
Then there is the Enemy, a force committed to city infanticide. The avatars are the only ones who can see this Enemy, but civilians are unknowingly impacted by its actions. Despite being strangers to one another, the avatars must find each other and beat back the enemy.
Jemisin does a great job using Manny’s amnesia to stand in for our complete loss as to what’s going on without being heavy handed about it. Each character has such a different personality and background, yet they all feel like complete people right off the bat. Jemisin is a master at writing stories from different perspectives. Each time I start with one character, I don’t want their chapter to end, but by the time I start the next one’s, I’m now committed to them. It takes a lot of skill to pull that off and Jemisin makes it look easy.
I’ve only been to NYC once, and it was a brief trip. I only visited Manhattan and Brooklyn, but I would love to go back for a more in-depth visit someday. Jemisin write a fantastic love letter to the city and its people. She doesn’t hide from the city’s struggle, but she dwells in the glory of all of its people, all their diversity, their myriad backgrounds, and their overarching identity as New Yorkers.
Ok, now on to The World We Make.
Just a fun note, I delayed posting this review because I wanted to take the book to work with me and get some shots of it against the backdrop of downtown Cleveland (I know, definitely not New York, but this blog doesn’t make money so no travel budget). And then of course the day I went was the day it was completely covered in fog. There’s supposed to be a skyline back there.
There’s a lot I want to talk about, but I’m not sure what would count as a spoiler. So I’m creating a World We Make spoilers page and I’ll go into some of the things there. If you want to go into the book mostly blind, then just stay here. But if you’ve read it or don’t mind learning more details ahead of time, check it out!
While it should probably go without saying, from here on out, there will be spoilers for The City We Became, so if you haven’t read that one yet, beware!
The book picks up pretty much right where we left everyone after The City We Became. The borough avatars (minus traitor Staten Island, but picking up sixth borough Jersey City) along with the primary New York City avatar (going by the name Nyc, pronounced Neek) are adjusting to life as the living embodiments of a city. While they have unique powers, they also still live their regular life. And over all that looms the Enemy’s stronghold, hovering over Staten Island. The Woman in White might not be able to directly enter the NYC, but the avatars (and the city) are not safe by any means.
There are personal challenges – Brooklyn needs to save her family’s brownstone home from a tricky gentrification grab. Manny is slowly figuring out his past, as well as struggling to figure out whether he can make a future with Nyc. Pamini has work and visa issues, and so on and so forth. But the bigger existential crisis is the Woman in White and the rest of the world’s avatars seeming unwillingness to address the problem.
In this book, we branch out a bit and meet some other cities, including Tokyo and Istanbul. We see a dead and lifeless city, a victim of the Enemy. And we spend some more time with Aislyn and see how her deal with the devil is working.
Current events drive the narrative of this book. (Though it should be noted that reality stole from Jemisin, as she was writing this first.) A new mayoral candidate has appeared, claiming he will make New York great again and bring it back to “real” New Yorkers. But of course, the so-called “real New York” he claims to represent is simply a figment of a hateful imagination. It would be comforting to think this is simply the Woman in White’s doing but, as we know all too well, this kind of hate can thrive on its own without outside assistance.
Overall, I thought this was very well done and I really enjoyed jumping back into this world. I appreciated the insight into why the Enemy did what it did and where it came from. I also thought Jemisin did a great job of giving us an understanding of Aislyn without excusing or condoning her.
Unfortunately, I felt like some of the characters got short shrift in this one. We almost never heard from Bronca, for instance. Overall, I felt like there was more emphasis on events rather than characters this time around, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, just different. I missed feeling as connected with everyone this time around though. I also felt the conclusion was a bit rushed, but as I’ll discuss in the spoiler section, additional knowledge clarified why.
All that said, this was a powerful follow-up to a fantastic concept started in the first book. And now that both are out, you can enjoy reading them back-to-back. And if you haven’t read any of N.K. Jemisin’s other books, I strongly recommend them all.
