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Nicola Griffith — Slow River

June 28

It was really hot out, I didn't have the juice for anything but sitting around and reading, and I wanted some near-future non-dudely sci-fi with a lot of grime in it. And sewage treatment definitely counts as grime. (So does child abuse, so be ready for that.)

I liked this a lot. It was well-written, lurid, and unusual. And also extraordinarily '90s, but in a subtle and actually really kind of refreshing way! Hard eco-fi is coming back, mark my words.

TANGENT. What are we all thinking about the term "feminist SF" these days? Me, I'm reluctant to bring it out unless a work is about gender in some significant way, largely because I get annoyed when I see it applied to fiction that has nothing in particular to say about gender but which happens to be written by someone with allegedly feminist beliefs. Is that sensible? Bogus? ...Well, I think the real answer is "no one cares about Nick's imaginary shelving system," but I was pondering it anyway, because I originally started writing this snippet by saying I wanted some near-future feminist sci-fi with grime, and on further consideration I wasn't sure whether I'd class Slow River as feminist SF or not! It's about a lot of stuff, but is it specifically a feminist book? I... don't think so? But maybe? Also, it won a Lambda award and who the hell do you think you are.

So I punted and changed that first sentence, because actually I hadn't particularly been looking for deep gender thoughts in the first place and mostly just wanted something with low dudeliness values. Solving classification problems by moving specificity to somewhere else in the system.

Jillian and Mariko Tamaki — This One Summer

Comics. June 13

This comic reads like a repressed or forgotten memory suddenly re-emerging in full fidelity — lifelike weight and detail, rendered alien and dreamlike and more than a little menacing by its discontinuity with what must have come before and after.

I don't mean that as metaphorically as you probably think I do; something about the forcefulness of Jillian Tamaki's observation and rendering, especially involving her... I dunno, sense of air and height — honestly made me feel like my memory was being interfered with. Left me kind of queasy. Could just be me, though; total recall void where prohibited, events remembered for you wholesale are not packaged for individual retail sale.

Anyway, it's really good. Disconcerting. It's supposed to be kind of alienating, because a lot of what it's about is that point at the start of adolescence where your sense of self starts to dissolve and — if you're lucky — you start to sense the danger that it might re-cohere into something you don't actually like. It's also about a bunch of really gnarly gender stuff, and has a merciless tendency to linger on moments of embarrassment or cruelty.

It's not a downer of a book; it's also about the small moments that make up a friendship or a family, and about the weird flow of time on vacation. Stuff like that. But at its core, it's dark and weird, and, like I said before, threateningly familiar.

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Nick Eff

May 2017

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If you pass the rabid child, say "hammer down" for me.

The Fell Types are digitally reproduced by Igino Marini.

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