by Zilla N.

Eat Me(at) by L.M. Cole reminds me that, as a woman, I am a collection of parts to be enjoyed. That what is kindest to to my body may not be what is best to consume. That the flesh bruises and moistons. That what is craved is uniformity, purity, tenderness. That there are ways to achieve this.

The point of blackout poetry is that what is removed enlargens what is left, so the final poem surpasses the space of the original textbook, if only in the mind. If only in the memory of a good meal.

Get your copy from kith books, an indie press takes no prisoners in poetry.

And in the Before Times when our childhood characters had yet not been tainted, I feel in love with a poem which seems in conversation with L.M.’s book. So I link it here, either printed or spoken.

by Zilla N.

There is a tendency for lonely, disconnected teenagers to fall too deeply into introspection. To observe their own life as they live it, playing both Nick Caraway and Jay Gatsby, hurdling towards their destruction, their eyes open. I know this because I was this kind of teenager. The narrator of It Helps with the Blues knows this too.

I’m not old enough to know if manic-pixie-dream-girls existed before Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind gave them a name. But I know that all too often, lonely, disconnected teenagers are looking for an external saviour. This thing we feel when we find the person we think will save us, will give us meaning, will make us finally not alone–it’s not love. But it’s not exactly not love either. Only it’s too much to ask someone else to save you. Especially someone who needs saving just as much as we do. It’s not just unfair. It’s impossible. It ends in heartache. It ends in tragedy.

When I was in high school, I felt like my life was recursive, like I would be given the same choice over and over in different contexts until maybe–I hoped, if I made the right decision–I could escape the loop. Jules. Gabriel. Estelle. Joshua. The narrator is trapped in a Midwestern prison of suburbia and recriminations, doomed like Sisyphus to endlessly repeat and reexamine his mistakes.

It Helps with the Blues pours one out for the lonely kids. That was me. Maybe that was you, too.

It Helps with the Blues is available at all the usual online places, but for a limited time tRaum is selling book boxes where you can get a limited-edition locally printed palm-sized paperback plus press goodies! Or treat yourself and get all the tRaum books plus swag for days!

by Zilla N.

Lower Decks Press has done it again, producing another anthology of undeniably modern short stories that reads like Golden Age science fiction. I grew up reading ‘Analog Science Fiction and Fact Magazine’, and these stories feel as familiar as rereading those yellowing pages. But between the alien battles and unintended consequences of cybernetic technology, the themes of this anthology belong firmly in 2023.

We live in a world where late-stage capitalism is turning every aspect of our lives into a commodity to be optimised, not for ourselves, but for our employers. Workplaces put on wellness seminars because mentally and physically healthy employees work harder. In Beyond Human, undertested technology is used to maximise workers’ productivity, from those in office jobs to working personal protection. Consent becomes an illusion, if the truth of what you are consenting to is withheld, or if the consequences for failing to abandon your bodily autonomy are more severe than the risk.

I also see a trans reading in many of the stories. Society dictates what transformations must be imposed on us, but also which we are denied. Parents, religious leaders, and governments refuse to allow some people to replace broken body parts with cybernetics, or to upload their minds to the cloud. In a world where trans people are all-too-often denied the agency to modify their bodies, science fiction is the perfect vehicle to show the injustice in these stories.

In some ways, the most hopeful stories in this anthology are those with the reverse message. Instead of humans becoming alien to themselves, we learn to see the humanity in that which is unlike us. Whether it is the space dinosaur trying to save our doomed planet or the aliens who cannot survive without merging with us, Beyond Human asks us to see the other in a new, kinder light.

As always, the proceeds from the sale of the Lower Decks Press anthology go to charity, so get your sci-fi fix and support a great cause at the same time. Get it here.

by Rachel R.

Everything For Everyone: An Oral History of the New York Commune, 2052-2072 by M.E. O’Brien and Eman Abdelhadi is the story of a successful (almost) worldwide revolution, and, more challenging, a successful utopia. After capitalism has trashed the planet, a series of global uprisings restructure the economy, the city, the family, the relationship between humans and the environment, and even space. The clever structure of the book—a series of interviews with people who experienced different parts of the revolution or who now play interesting roles in the Commune—allows for a massive scope that nevertheless feels grounded in real people and real communities.

This is a tremendously hopeful book, positing thoughtful solutions to the worst problems of our age. But it never shies away from the trauma and grief of the old world’s destruction, and what really sold the story for me is the points at which the interview subjects break down, stumble, and otherwise remind us that these are humans living through an age of change.

I adored this sharp, poignant vision of a better world rising from the ashes of the old.