Irina is an explicit fetish photographer with an obsessive bent that seems to continue growing. Her best friend is a little too into her and she doesn’t have any other friends to speak of, just random men she picks up for her tool and trade. When she’s offered a gallery spot a destructive tail-spin occurs as she is forced to delve into her past and relive her trauma while telling the story of how she came to be an up-and-coming artist, to working at a bar, broke, fairly alone, and set to a destructive pattern she only knows how to accelerate into, not out of.

What this book does really well is transplant the male gaze and privilege into Irina, whose power comes from her attractiveness. The rest is her asking like a predatory straight white man. Assuming consent, inverting the power dynamics in society, and playing off the masculinity of the men she pokes and prods and poses in her photography. It’s clear she’s heavily traumatized and her reaction to it is to reclaim some power by becoming a part of the trauma cycle inflicted on her—only repurposed to target the type of man that harmed her in the first place, presumably.

She’s definitely an unhinged woman character in her unreliability and the way in which she claws back agency, even to her own detriment. We don’t know what is or is not real, especially as it goes on. But what can be known if she obviously is crying out for help with her actions, despite her power and willingness to harm others, she is squarely dismissed as a somewhat wild but ultimately only beautiful woman. Her only use is sex and ownership to society, despite how harmful and dangerous she is.

The real horror is that the privilege she manages is an isolating thing that allows her to spiral and perpetuate harm, as she is never held accountable for her actions though wanting to be. Her being “just like a man” in that way is a nail well struck here, I think. She is constantly rewarded for doing and being a terrible person.

It could have done with being slightly more intricate with the visual motifs and I thought more things would be wrapped up. Who was the anonymous patron? What was or was not “real” could have been a much more fun puzzle, but seemed beside the point, unfortunately. There are many things eluded to, but then elided. I was hoping for something a bit more comprehensive, I think.

A woman dealing with grief moves through life unsure of her ability to move beyond her pain and to really feel again. It is very sweet, very funny—I can see it as a movie already. There are some standout moments, such as a particular monologue that really resonates… it’s also exactly what it says it is on the tin and no more, I think. It is exceptionally predictable, though the characters are not archetypical and it’s wonderful reading something like this that doesn’t fetishize or hyper sexualized every non cis het white person. The story itself, though, is never once a surprise. It’s a nice comfort read and absolutely worth consuming, though.

In these short stories, many of which i think could be best called post-cyberpunk, a reaction to the sub-genre, predominantly queer Black folx navigate a fascist world that scrubs memories, co-opts artists physically, away from their families and loved ones. Within this bleak landscape are acts of resistance that follow from the identity of the characters. Rather than the typical bombastic and militant acts of violence cyberpunk is known for, here the struggle is situated in verisimilitude. I like this centering much better, since it takes tenets of punk and applies it to everyone who refuses to conform to the system. Navigating away from defaultism.

I think the stories that bookend the collection are the strongest, and contrast one another tonally. But even the quietest story is a bit brilliant. A space is found to stop time and the framing for the characters is the ability to reclaim how much extra currency they now have to level the playing field in society. Not many people about marginalization and privilege in these terms, but identities intersecting with poverty know that time really is one of the most predominate things that is taken. For example: People unable to get a bank card must line up at lunch to cash their cheque at a place that takes a cut of it from them to do so, cutting into their lunch hour because the bank won’t be open outside of their shift, or they can’t get there in time regardless. In this story it is about academic competitions, where the character has to do so much more work, and put in so much more time, to compete with others. There is a thought experiment within the thought experiment introduced as well.

Other stories are about the power of representation in stories fostering the core ability to dream, and therefor change the world; the system attempting to erase queer love and identity, and the damage of internalizing those notions. All of the stories are, perhaps, more quiet than I expected. But Dirty Computer was a loud story (literally), so it makes total sense for this collection to go to the places it does. Very enjoyable.

I bought the audiobook for this one because I suspected it would have excellent narration and I was completely correct. I can recommend going that way wholeheartedly.

The Fell—or COVID Anxiety simulator 1.0–centers a woman, who during lockdown decides to venture into The Fell when she becomes anxious and stirred and indulgent in a fit of reckless selfishness. It shifts perspectives from her son, Matt, to Alice, the neck door neighbour, and finally to a member of a rescue team responsible for people lost in the wilderness. Told in a stream-of-consciousness manner, we experience really granular thoughts about the effects lockdown has had on people, as well as the direct consequences of a single action.

I can see why some people would say this book worked well for them. Personally, it feels quite myopic to me, simply because people are in anxiety induced circumstances around money and job loss and others realities. It very much feels like a journalist writing about what they feel now, without the context needed to really give it any degree of (needed) context and reflection. So it is immediate and it does capture something of the moment. But it’s also perfunctory because, yeah, we are in this state or know someone in it, or are reading about it in some other form, probably often.

I get that it’s about acknowledging the messy, intricate situation and then moving past it. Despite selfishness and our problems and pain. And there is something there, which is why I did think it somewhat pulled it off. Yet the stream-of-consciousness prose work is hit and miss because there is a lack of insight the writer generally has, but can’t have because of when this is written. There are wholesale boring sections of the book for no reason. Such as the verisimilitude of the contents of a fridge and making a meal and other extraneous details I simply did not think was engaging, causing me to skate across the prose work only to force myself to focus further, across many sessions. For such a small book it was sometimes quite annoying to consume.

The plot is extra predictable in every character. There’s some degree of easy empathize exercise because they are all in situations you are out of or were in or are in. But they also lack some humanity in that not one surprises you. Ever.

So, overall, barely pulls off the expectations. It tells the story. The prose work is mixed. Worth a read, maybe, if you’re into the premise. But also not particularly noteworthy to me, while acknowledging it could easily be a prize book.

Not remotely a womb-to-tomb story about Maria, a woman emigre from Italy at a young age, now grown, working at Mercury Pictures—this story I would say actually drives to the heart of the entire cast of characters. Maria, certainly most predominate for several reasons. A nexus point, or confluence, rather than Mercury Pictures itself. From her axis, we delve into other immigrant stories and through them, touch on some uncomfortable truths about America and the film industry itself. As it functions, as it malfunctions, and what purpose and responsibility it ought to have.

The prose work is stand-out work. It is a chameleon that changes its stripes for the entire cast, as the story often digresses into movie-like vignettes that bleed the characters on the page in short order. We return to the “present”, usually around 1942, and pick up a semblance of a plot, but not the stand-out quality of the fiction by any means. I had no idea where this was going any of the time pretty much and was loving every second. It’s about the people and their stories. But it is also about the way their story is told. The prose is absolutely evocative of cinema at the time and wholly, in a meta way, expressly uninterested in verisimilitude, but in telling a Hollywood story that has been coopted to portray the immigrant story in a way that feels ageless, empathetic, and more real than Real.

Everything is buttoned up perfectly. There is the right amount of specificity to make you care about absolutely everything and everyone and even go into some minutia of movie magic, and politics, and interrogate the role of propaganda. There aren’t any easy answers. It’s often quotable because the characters are larger-than-life. Stories untold are told so well they spring off the page. And all the while with such control you never really know what the plot is until the knots get tied up. It doesn’t tell you to want to think of what to feel. It is just really great storytelling. I absolutely hope it gets nominated for awards because it is an award book.

The voice crafted for this story about the family Booth is very well done. It’s engaging and representative of different family members characterizations. It flies along the innocuous and the narration is great (say, 4/5 stars on that front, not incredible but better than average).

What was a bit of a gamble for me, the premise that this whole family was interesting enough for this long a book, was more worth it than I expected, though still had what felt like superfluous content. The voice really does carry it at such times. In this case “truth” is stranger than fiction though, I bet, as the family is replete will all manner of foibles and wild occurrences and, as everyone expects: tragedy. Though they may not expect as many as are here.

There’s also an authors note at the end that talks about fact and fiction in here, and where to go next if you want more Booth family drama. I appreciate that, since historical fiction for me is all fiction, unless otherwise stated. I think this would appeal to just about everyone - it is that dramatic and often presented in a melodramatic fashion that befits the predominate profession the family was known for. Certainly a bit of an Americana vibe, which I didn’t care much about, but I think would appeal to those folks.

All around better than I expected but perhaps a bit overlong.

I read this along with watching the 2015 Stratford Festival recording of the play, which was a fantastic experience. Then the whole time I thought it was so familiar. Oh, right! I saw the movie “Ran” last year and it is 100% Lear.

Overall, I think this is an ambitious play and that lends itself to being slightly overlong and overwrought. It does not quite come together but I also like that it tries much harder than some of the others. Watching it performed obviously influenced me away from just the text, too. But to be honest I always like watching a performance along with the lines, so I won’t be stopping that practice anytime soon. I’m reading with my complete works so just chose a King Lear version with a cool cover. It’ll be a long time reading this huge book; not worth marking it along with progress and doing separate reviews. Life is too short. But I wanted to get to this specifically because I’m about to read Learwife.

The prose work and voice crafted is just exquisite here. If only the plot beats were slightly more interesting. I had no trouble believing, after watching a performance while reading King Lear right before taking this on, that the Queen would be banished and forgotten for 15 years to an abbey. And I was even further primed since reading Matrix by Groff last year, in which a queen is banished to a similar abbey. Probably the only book I could correlate to this and it seems inspired by the real life figure, near as I can tell.

This is, plot wise, a very simple and quiet story of our banished queen reduced, hearing the news of what occurred in King Lear, and wishing to leave the abbey to… to what? Even she doesn’t seem to know. Perhaps weep, bury them properly, look upon them; who knows. But her efforts are constantly stymied and with each section of the book a new sort of arch of tribulation begins. It is also kind of a duel timeline novel, I’d say. She routinely digresses into the past during her stream-of-consciousness, in which dialogue is italicized and all else is purely in her head. An inversion I quite liked and found effective.

In this quiet life we expound the characters of King Lear greatly. And we also find it’s beating heart: a mother. A cruel one, to be sure, sometimes. But where King Lear had plenty passion, I actually don’t think it had heart. I know I didn’t care about a single character in the play. It’s pleasures come from elsewhere. But more pleasure is found here. The whit and crack of the whip that are this woman’s prose is phenomenal and far excel what’s found on the page for King Lear, as far as I’m concerned. It justifies its existence in unearthing the dismissed and growing in plentitude what the play needed to connect more fully.

The issue is that the actual story beats in the abbey are a little bit too boring. This swings the pendulum from the melodrama all the way to verisimilitude that, while brilliant rendered and always flowing from the brain, also drag interest a little bit behind it at all times. Even the height of drama near the end is so pedestrian it felt a bit perfunctory. It does fit the story. No doubt. It’s just that if it were truncated I don’t think it would have missed anything, and probably would not have overstayed it’s welcome. Which, it really didn’t go that far. It was never a chore to be sunk into the prose. It just couldn’t have hurt if those nuns got up to some more shit…

Dex and Mosscap pick up where they left off, heading toward the city. In that way it’s more plot-driven than before; but still lax, full of meanderings. It’s mostly about the dynamic between monk and robot as primarily the robot interrogates different aspects of how society functions, and why. It is just as endearing as the previous installment and gets away with this its musings by having Mosscap genuinely know nothing about humans and possessive of a perspicacity that rivals most people.

It’s low-key and does not particularly care about proffering any actual answers (another diversion from self-help type philosophical intersections often like this), and is more concerned with having the reader ask questions themselves while enjoying the company of the characters.

Thanks to Netgalley for the audio-arc, which has a great narrator who does a good job of differentiating between the characters and getting the vibe just right.

I thought I’d go with this for my first Chambers, because I have the Wayfarers ones and it seems like people prefer it. So a-ha! I can’t be disappointed if I haven’t read them yet and start here. I am Wiley and Smart.

Anyway—
This was good. It’s about a monkish type person who is dissatisfied with their life and decides to learn by experiencing life rather than be educated at the analogous school. They are not good at it at first. Surprise, you can’t just be great at relating to people immediately.

Wait. Stop. So the thing they wanna be good at is a tea person that offers tea and talks to people and makes them feel better.

Resume. They are somewhat dejected but persevere and then find a robot that isn’t like a robot you’d expect and they relate to each other their philosophies on their little mini journey.

I liked it quite a bit and thought it was thoughtful and good.

I drank a lot of tea before this review sorry.