A collection of short stories by an Indigenous author (and social worker) interlinked by selected memories communicating a complex indigenous identity formed from generational trauma. I think it does a good job of communicating and demonstrating some facets of said trauma, tracing it from her mother to herself, as well as recognizing it in others that she grew up with.

It’s short, easy to consume, has a very conversational tone. Natural story telling techniques that kept my interest. And interestingly, at the end of speaking about these heavy subjects the author offers a workbook of exercises to work through issues, if needed. I can’t say I’ve ever seen that before and it seems like one of those ideas that are so simple and inclusive, especially for people wanting to see themselves and connect with this material, that it ought to have been done before, or been standard, even. Some of them are mentioned within the stories as her own coping mechanisms.

Wow. The ending really did bring it together. The final two issues are a fantastic abbreviated mediation on what role-playing games are “for”. Really brings the entire series together in a fabulous way. Even servicing the queer character and themes better than I expected, too. wouldn’t be Die without a final love letter to fantasy, and “story”. Excellent.

“Perhaps every terror is, at its core, something helpless that wants our help.”

I knew nothing about this and expected 100+ pages to take more time than this. But, always skipping an introduction because I’ve been burned all too often by people who have no idea what an afterword is for, apparently—it became quickly apparent that reading an interpretation, as this is billed, is completely beside the point. You ought to be thinking and feeling what this means to you, or what the heck did you take away? some others lesson? Seems like a cruel thing to inflict on yourself.

However. Let me say this: I think the translation here must be quite good because the flow is immaculate here. Personality bleeds off the page, as does the “advice”? which seems diminutive for this. But there it is. Words worth reading, anyway.

Conquerer Worm was alright, but mostly just fun. Whereas the second and third stories were excellent. Clearly I like Hellboy to be embroiled in wild occult and mythological shit. The Nazi stuff is still good, but does feel a bit played out, as much as I like Roger. It all felt a bit like it was going through the motions. Maybe because Roger constantly looks for peaks to jump from?

Art wise, it’s a bit uneven. I wonder if it’s because it compiles a bunch of different stuff and arranges it chronologically and from different sources? The second one sure did—to great effect. It would make sense if this was the case here because the second story was really light on detailing and seemed very hurried. But again: It ends on a high note.

I really liked this. Form meets function: a young girl is murdered and the story is told from the perspective of three girls, all unreliable, across many, many years. And in what people do not say is where the truth lies. This is perfect, considering that is also where the spectre of the girl killed now dwells. Existing solely as memories and invisibly influencing the people affected almost oppressively. But transparently. It feels almost haunting.

I’d have liked for it to have been a bit meatier. But otherwise don’t have any gripes, really. It’s dark, tense, opaque. Very evocative of the frustrations of the loved ones she is survived by. Again, the construction of the novel is satisfying, whereas the catharsis withheld and it’s communication of themes is near perfect.

No doubt more impactful than reading it in the year of our lord 2022. Most of the meditations here are sort of perfunctory now, or self evident. And to some degree there is a factor of me not being as interested in the stray thoughts of the author; see: the Anthropocene Review, where I just don’t care to hear every passing thought compiled as a book. Now, this is better by far than that, as it’s rooted in social Justice and identity. But it still falls into the “this is fine” area of my mind. And I am certainly I will remember little to none of this in a few days time.

This is absolutely a book worth reading, even if structurally and stylistically it didn’t always gel with me. I can see why it’s arranged as it is, but it also made it feel very detached and artificial, maybe because of the audio narration too, which always tends to feel slightly removed; I’m not sure.

Her accounting of her early life feels very relevant as to contributing to her psychosis. I thought that was great. But the start sets up that she’s in the ward at the moment, writing this, ostensibly, and of course that isn’t the case at all. So I felt like there was some weird attempt at setting up circumstances that weren’t true, for no real reason whatsoever. She did not write pretty much at all while under care, she recounts from people in her life that visited her. So I don’t understand why the structure and conceit is even set up the way it is.

But I also feel like it’s a book that would make a lot of people feel seen. Even if the ending feels quite rushed and the arc feels incomplete because of the more granular aspects being spent on her past. There’s not much context for after it, which I think would have contributed to the larger conversation.

So, overall, mixed. But worth reading.

This is by far the most uneven collection. Always pretty fun, but of the various artists only one was better than the original and the others were a downgrade. Story wise, around 3 were of the same quality as previous, and others were forgettable.

It would be a little too sentimental for my taste, had it not had a premise where it made sense and included so many mythological indigenous stories. Paralleling these with Wagamese’ own discovery of his indigenous selfhood many years after being ripped from his siblings and family with these stories is a stroke of genius; at once passing on generational knowledge to his own child, while being open and vulnerable about his journey this far.

A haunting and gorgeous metaphor for generational trauma, memory, and the ecology and compartmentalization of it in a diaspora. It’s very clever at getting across nuances that people tackling similar subjects struggle with immensely.

Not all of it worked for me; particularly the later half feels quite jarring, coming out of seemingly nowhere. But, again, with the thematics and messaging being paramount in a piece like this, I think it comes together at the macro level in very satisfying ways.