#a short anthology of valentine's day poetry | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

be-ready-when-i-say-go · 5 years ago

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Study Sessions

Calum’s always wanted to go back to school and it’s the first midterm that makes him realize just how long it’s been since he’s been in a class. Thankfully, Noa’s nice, albeit a little too organized, and more than happy to help.

Who asked for a 21 page long fic about Calum, Valentine’s Day, smut, and poetry? Bc I got one hot off the presses.

There is 18+ content in this fic. Please, no one under the age of 18 interacting or reading. Thank you!

You can support me on ko-fi. I’m saving up for graduate school.

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Noa really wants to kick herself. She always left her pencil pouch in the front zipper of her backpack. Everything had a system; everything had a place with Noa. The placement of the full-length mirror in the corner of the dorm room, the cleaning supplies, the rotation of who cleaned what, making sure her books were always in the same spot, and always, always putting the pencil pouch in the front zipper of her backpack was important to Noa. She was sure it drove her roommate up the wall in their dorm room. But Brooklyn, Noa’s roommate, could be just as anal retentive about the trash and boxes from their addictive online shopping, and keeping the room free other people past 11 pm. Their crazies matched. So things worked out well.

Maybe Noa was panicking a little too much about a pencil pouch. That didn’t really matter though. Her system was out of whack and she would have to backtrack to the science building on the other side of campus before making a loop and going to the library after class. Her printer refused to print properly and while it was annoying having to go to the library at the end of the day to type up and print out her notes to study later, it made catching group dinner with her friends easier on Thursday’s because she didn’t leave the west side of campus to go to her dorm. This did, however, mean that when Noa was going to get a lot more steps in today. Not bad, but not ideal.

This also means that she’s going to have to use a laptop. She hated using her laptop because it meant she’d have to rewrite her notes so there were no gaps in her notebook. Noa could see that it was a very contrived system--at the end of the day, all she needed were the notes. That’s it. But it mattered to the deep recesses of her mind. It had to flow from handwritten notes to her laptop, no matter how she had to backtrack

“Here, I have an extra.”

Noa blinks at the hushed voice. A black pen slides in next to her open notebook. The hand is tan and tattooed. She knows those initials anywhere. Calum. She smiles and looks up to him, even if the shadows cover his face thanks to the bucket hat. It’s a staple she’s noticed over the course of the semester. “Thanks. Promise I won’t steal it,” Noa grins.

Calum exhales his laughter. “I’d be a little upset but they are really good pens to write with. So I’d understand.”

“I’m a woman of my word, though. So you won’t have to chase me down.” Noa dates the top right corner of her blank page and then pulls out her book. She hates the book. She wasn’t able to get a copy to rent and had to kick out 50 bucks for the anthology for class, one she never really use again either.

Calum gives a hum in response, his own pen twirling around his fingers. The professor, a man in his late sixties at the youngest, with thinning white hair and thick circular glasses walks in through the doors. There’s still five minutes before class starts and the chatter amongst students quiets just a little but doesn’t stop. Calum looks to her notebook, the way she’s written the poet’s name at the top of the page, her handwriting is tight together with a lot of width for each letter. It’s pretty with a little mess to it.

He’s noticed that she normally uses purple ink for her notes and part of him feels bad for not having a purple pen for her. “Sorry it’s not a purple pen,” Calum states turning to face her.

How the hell did Calum notice that? Sure she had a color for every class she took each semester. But surely no one else would’ve noticed that. It had only been three weeks of the semester. No one could’ve known that besides her group of friends and her roommate. “No, no, it’s okay. I forgot my pencil pouch in my last class so you really saved me from having to use my laptop.”

“Don’t like it?”

Noa shakes her head, feeling some of her Senegalese twists falling from the bun she put it up into on her walk across campus. Though this part of campus was walkable the heat of summer was dry and it took no prisoners some days. “I remember everything better if I write it down in my own words instead of just typing everything down the professor says. It’s like I’m not learning anything.”

He gives another nod. Though Calum studied for his high school diploma on some late nights, on tour buses, hell even in the studio, he liked sitting in class. He liked processing things and attempting to get the right words together to understand the core of things. He liked the sense of normalcy. It was nice to be learning not just from a textbook but from everyone else in the room. Sure this is just a poetry class, and sure he hadn’t really known what to expect with a title like “Modern Poetry from 1920” but he was straddled in and was surely going to see until the very end.

Before Calum can respond, the professor clears their throat. He fishes his book out of his bag too and flips to the poems that he read the night before. “Hope everyone’s having a great day,” the professor starts. Even from the fifth row of the tiny room, Calum notices the shakes in the older man’s hands. The room is full of three to four gray rectangular tables pushed together to create rows. They sit two at each table comfortably. Each row sits about forty students comfortably.

“A quick reminder, your first midterm is next week. All the poets we’ve discussed including today’s poet is going to be material that I will pull questions from. I’ll be providing the excerpts if a question calls for it. I’m saving about ten minutes at the end of class for us to discuss it more in-depth.”

With a quick dab to the corners of his mouth, he finds a volunteer to read the first poem up for discussion. Once the first reading is concluded, the professor looks around for another person to read. Noa lifts her gaze and she locks eyes with the professor. A fucking rookie mistake. Something she knew better of in her eighteen years of being in school. But here she is making it. They smile at her and point at her. “Miss Noa, right? Why don’t you read for us?”

With a nervous habit of biting her pens, Noa puts Calum’s pen down and picks at her nails underneath the table. She nods and lets her eyes drift down to the page. “When over the flowery, sharp pasture’s/ edge, unseen, the salt ocean/lifts its form.” Her voice is a little shaky and though William Carlos Williams's poem is short, she becomes more confident by the end.

Calum watches her reading more than he listens. In the three weeks classes have started, she’s never read. Neither has he. But it’s already a little awkward to walk around campus, being in a classroom isn’t too bad but it’s a confined space. He knows people are looking. He knows that they know who he is. He does what he can do just blend in and even hide. He likes listening to her reading. Her insights in class have always kind of blown Calum away too, now that he thinks about it.

As discussion opens up, Calum finds himself taking fewer notes than usual and waiting for Noa to speak again. She doesn’t say much about the first poem but the second about the death of a cat she cuts in to make reference to Robert Frost’s poem. “I know there’s a literal connection of fire and ice in each poem but there’s death in both pieces too. Frost and Williams’ are on opposite ends of the same spectrum in a way. Williams is talking about fleas that couldn’t escape death and Frost mentions that nature is powerful that if it doesn’t take you with the sweeping fire then it will swallow you up with water. Williams's titled his piece, ‘Complete Destruction,’ and he details the destruction of a pet, of maybe even memories. While Frost is more metaphorical with some religious undertones too about the destruction of society and earth.”

Calum grins a little, watching the way she shrugs at the end of her thought. As much as if she weren’t so sure of herself. When she glances over to him, he nods at her, writing down a condensed version of her thought. The class goes on and the professor ends early like they stated. There are a few questions about the style of the midterm but not too many about the content. So the professor pulls up a small canvas bag. “Before you leave, feel free to grab a piece of candy. I know it’s Valentine’s Day and you guys may or may not still have classes after this. So I hope it helps your day just a little. I have chocolate and non-chocolate options.”

He upturns the bag gently, shaking the wrapped candies onto the table next to the podium. Laptops are shut, people get up to venture to the candy. Noa slides the black pen across the gray table to Calum. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Without much thinking, in the shuffle of packing up belongings, Noa lets what she intends to be just a thought fall over her lips. “I haven’t had a Valentine’s in so long, candy from a professor feels special,” she jokes.

Calum laughs a little, pocketing the pens and stands. “What’s your poison?”

Noa looks up at him, the cut of his jaw and the soft smile on his lips, puffing out his cheeks. “I’m a dark chocolate fan. But anything chocolate is fine.”

He nods and shuffles, backpack thrown up over one shoulder. Calum gets to the table and picks up what he estimates to be the two biggest Hershey's kisses on the table. He picks up one for himself too. Noa finally gets her backpack zipped and she slides out from between the tables. Calum drops the kisses into her hands when she pauses at the door to the classroom. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Her heart shouldn’t flutter like it does when Calum smiles at her. She pulls the twists down and slips the silk tie around her wrist. “I’m sure you’ve got someone to get too. But thanks, though.”

Calum pushes open the door to the English building and holds it open for her. “See that’s where you might be a little wrong on your analysis.”

Noa scuffs, attempting to bite back the smile. The kiss doesn’t last long before she’s biting into the candy. She shakes her head. The joke is cheesy but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t like it. “I won’t be won over by academic pickup lines.”

They pause at the end of the pathway that leads up to the building. Students are carrying on around them, to and fro they scuttle across the asphalt and brick. “Do you have another class after this?” Calum asks.

“No, it’s my last one of the day.”

“Since we’re both lonely on Valentine’s Day, do you mind if we study together? For the midterm? It would really seal our fates.”

Noa nods. Who is she to say no to Calum Hood? She could say no of course and it’s as the breeze kicks up another heavy and slightly stale pocket of hot air that she’s reminded of her misplaced pencil pouch. “Shit, I have to go to the science building. I left my pencil pouch there. I have no clue if there’s another class in there and like I need that.”

“I-I can walk with you. If you’d like. I don’t get to see much of the campus.” Calum keeps his schedule to Monday, Wednesday, Friday. He’s here from about eleven to four most days and then he heads back home. Hanging around campus would only serve to get Calum caught but he knows it might be awkward to offer his place to study.

“Are you sure? It’s kind of far and I’m not a slow walker.”

Readjusting his hold on his strap, Calum nods. “Lead the way.”

Noa ties her hair back. “Less scenic route to get there. More scenic route on the way back.” When she steps, it’s more like a run. Noa cuts straight across, over the grass and dodging the bushes. Calum wasn’t sure what he was expecting but her power walking like his mother when they go to the grocery store wasn’t it. He keeps up though, regrettably passing by the dogs playing fetch without cooing at them.

They cut behind buildings. A less-traveled path Calum can tell but it’s well known amongst though that have to use it to get to and from classes. He watches the others power walking past him and he’s glad he was able to keep most of his classes in buildings close together. Though parking was terrible and required him parking sometimes a block away, it was better than this walk, especially on the short time they had between classes.

His thighs start to burn just a little when they reach the towering brick building. It looks almost like every other building on campus, minus the sign hammered into the ground--it’s the only thing that denotes its uniqueness. Noa takes the front stairs two at a time. “Holy shit, how do you do this every other day and still live?” he huffs once they enter. The lights are bright against the sterile white tiles and marble. Another marker, he notes, the older buildings on campus have dimmer light, less white. This has a more modern feel to it.

“I don’t. I die about three minutes into the walk.”

He’s laughter leaves him in bursts, as he attempts to get his breathing back. Thankfully she stays on the first floor. Any more stairs and Calum’s sure he would’ve just opted to wait at the doors for her. The room she stops at does have some students piling in but she doesn’t stop for too long. When Noa ducks her head inside, she notices her pencil pouch sitting on a folding chair at the back of the lecture hall. Not where she left it. But she’s glad she doesn’t have to go sifting through some three hundred seats in the classroom.

She’s quick to grab it. She can feel the eyes of the other students looking at her. Because she doesn’t raise a ruckus, the stares don’t last long and she closes the door quietly behind her. “You all good?” Calum asks.

She holds the black pouch with roses up and grins. “All good. I just hope I didn’t kill you with that trek.”

He watches her slip into the front pocket. “I mean, I died about two minutes into it. But I’m okay now.”

Noa sucks on her teeth, a tsk falling over her lips. “Gotta keep at it. You’ll be a pro at it in no time. Is the library cool? Doubling seal our fates?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The walk back is less intense. They take the asphalt paths and go the long way around in front of buildings. They stop for a moment to just watch the dogs running on the green. They loop back around to the English building and continue on down past it. “So are you getting a degree or auditing classes?” Noa asks.

“Auditing. I thought about going back full time but it works better for me to just audit them. The whole getting grading thing still kind of gets to me.” Calum likes to fulfill his curiosity. He just didn’t want the fear of failing to hinder him. And while he had loaded his schedule at nine credits, which was only three classes, it was more than enough. He was tempted to drop one of his classes and though Calum wasn’t super fond of the intro to psychology class, he wanted to tough it out. Prove to himself that he didn’t have to avoid the obstacle but could instead tackle it head-on.

Noa gives a hum. “Gives you time to still work on music?”

“Yeah.” He isn’t shocked that she knows. He is glad though that she doesn’t treat him differently. That she hasn’t made a huge deal of his fame. He wishes he could cloak that, at least here at school. “What about you? What are you studying?”

“I was Community Health Sciences. I switched to Public Affairs last year. So I have another semester tacked.”

The trek to the library feels somehow too short and too long at the same time. Calum’s sure it’s his thighs still angry at the stairs to get inside the science building. He learns she has an older brother and that’s she the first one in her family to go to college. She worries about the extra semester and the finances but her parents have encouraged her to keep going. Noa finds out that Calum has a dog and if he had to pick something to study it would probably be in English. He could see himself in Religious Studies. Calum’s not sure though and he’s glad he doesn’t have to be sure. He can just take whatever for the moment.

Inside the library, Noa goes to make a beeline for the open computers and then stops. “We can book a study room? I’m not sure if you just want to be, like out in the open?”

Calum looks around. It’s nearing about 5 in the evening. No one is really in the library. Most people have plans. There’s no reason to sit inside the library on Valentine’s Day when one can drink in sorrows or be out celebrating. “Whichever you prefer.”

“Let’s just get a room. I doubt anyone’s going to be hanging out here on a day like this. But I doubt you’ll be back here at all. So why not go for the full experience? The only thing you're missing is final’s week and hunkering down in a study room where you pull an all-nighter and show up to your class in your pj’s and with your pillow in your backpack.”

He doesn’t want to believe that actually happens. But she says it so matter of factly. “You’re kidding right?”

“I am speaking from experience.” She walks one of the open computers and pulls out her laptop. She logs into both of them and then pulls up the scheduling system for the various study rooms located throughout the library. “We can only technically schedule in thirty-minute blocks for up to two hours. But there’s a trick around that.”

Calum logs in as he’s instructed to do on her laptop and they agree on a room. She books it, for every hour and when the blocks show up gray for Calum on his refresh, he goes in and books it for every half hour so that they have the room from 5 to 8. “So the library has pretty strict rules about noise. Generally, the higher the level you are the quieter you have to be. The second floor is as far as I go. You can talk inside the study rooms but nothing super chatty unlike the ground floor,” Noa explains on their ascent. “I have my notes from the other classes printed out. And I was going to type up the notes from today before working on a study guide. How does that sound?”

“Anything sounds good right about now because I literally have no clue how I’m supposed to study for this at all.”

Noa grins, cracking open the door to their room. It’s tucked towards the back of the floor, in a corner. It’s behind the bathrooms and not too far from the stairs so it’s not hard to navigate to and from for bathroom or snacks located in the vending machines on the first floor. “Trust me that’s my entire college experience. You kind of figure out what works best for you as you go along.”

The room isn’t big by any means. The white table sits in the middle of it with two trash cans near the door and a whiteboard that holds the left behind lettering of study sessions past is the complete setup, not including the four chairs pushed into the conference length table. Noa drops her bag into a chair and finds her pencil pouch, she pulls out a couple dry erase markers and an eraser in a plastic bag.

“Do you want to write down the different poets we’ve studied on the board? Start there at the very least.”

Calum, putting his bag down in the free chair, nods. It’s when he glances down at his phone just to check the time that he worries for a moment that he should get home to Duke but after shooting a quick text to his roommate he confirms that someone is there to take him out and feed him. Noa opens up her laptop, notebook and pulls the textbook out too from the depths of her backpack.

Calum’s handwriting is mostly uppercase and narrow. But it’s mostly neat. The markers thankfully don’t squeak on the board. He draws columns for each poet, thinking that will at least help contain the guaranteed mess of ideas during this window. He even goes a step further and creates squares for each poem, scribbling down the titles into corners

The room’s not even that hot, while Calum browsing through his notes. Noa’s been typing for a while since he finished setting up the drawing board. But suddenly from the walk around his jacket is too warm. He knew he shouldn’t have worn it but out of some sort of habit, out of routine, Calum snagged the extra layer and now he was regretting it. It’s like his body finally caught up and he slips out of it.

“I thought we were studying, not getting a show,” Noa teases. The thought slips through her lips with a grin. She’ll admit that she does find Calum attractive. Most times he didn’t really flaunt his body or even his status in class and that made him even more attractive. But she didn’t think she’d ever have a shot. She didn’t really think she had one now all things considered but he was the one that asked her for help. But he had started it and she was just going to see if it would continue.

Calum feels the heat immediately flooding his cheeks. “It’s just warm, is all.”

“Kidding, sorry.” Her gaze flicks up from her screen. Her fingers are still going, the taps echoing amongst the silence of their room.

Calum recognizes that gaze, the smirk that tells him she is joking, but she is also not joking if he’s willing to take that step. Calum goes back to his laptop, he’s on nothing right now just staring at a blank google doc. But he makes the initiative to break the tension and ask her what her school email was. “We can just use a Google doc to make things easier.”

As she rattles it off, Calum adds her. Maybe Noa completely misread this. Maybe he really only wanted to help to study. It definitely was a hit to her pride. She almost felt like a deflated balloon as she typed down the last bullet point in her notes. “I’m going to print these out. I’ll be right back.”

Calum nods, watching her leave with her laptop in hand. His brows knit together. She sounded hurt and Calum feels like he could absolutely kick himself. Of course, he found Noa attractive. He would’ve made a move and even though he wasn’t technically getting a grade for this midterm he wanted to at least feel confident going into. God, he was an idiot. Even after all the partying, and all the girls before, Calum still finds a way to fuck something up--even innocent flirty.

Standing at the printer, Noa exhales. Just a hit to her pride, a hard hit too. But she wouldn’t chicken out. That’s for sure. She’d march back up there and she’d see this study session through. She could do that much. Maybe she could convince the girl to her left to switch seats come Monday. That way at the very least she wouldn’t feel awful going to class. She couldn’t drop the class now--not without a Withdraw showing up on her record. Professors weren’t too keen on adding students this late into the semester. Withdrawing, would thankfully, not hurt her graduation credit hours.

She almost wants to laugh. Just because some guy rejected her does not mean she had to drop a class. All she had to do was keep a level head about all of this. Even though asking to switch seats would be blasphemous, she still enjoyed the class. It was one of the few classes she could take each semester that were just for fun. She would not give that up just because Calum turned her down. As the last of the pages spits out from the printer, she grabs her stack. All she has to do is go over the notes. They don’t even have to stay in the room until 8.

The stairwell is stuffy as she ascends back to the second floor. She’s always hated them in the summer, the way the air clung to the sweat and humidity of the temperatures outside. Noa wasn’t sure who designed it but it was only ever the library stairs that felt so awful in the summer and even the early fall. She can see Calum with his head in his hands from the glass walls that separate open library from the study room. For half a second, she wonders if something is wrong--like with his dog. If that were the case, he could’ve just left.

“You alright?” she asks opening the door.

Calum, not even hearing the door, pops his head up. His heart thunders in his chest. He was wallowing in his own misery a little too deeply. “Yeah-yeah, I’m good.”

With a nod, Noa pulls at the silk tie around her twist and stares up at the quadrants on the whiteboard. “So the best place to start studying is just as the beginning of the coursework. Lame I know. But professors usually start there for a reason.”

There goes his window. Gone all within two minutes to print notes. He nods and flips to the starting poet. “So we have Frost,” Calum starts, the blue dry erase marker semi firmly gripped between his fingers.

“Start with basics. The year he was born, maybe what his life was like, his most famous works.”

Calum spins his chair to face the whiteboard, attempting to recall some of the biography from memory. It’s when the lulls hit that Noa steps in. He hears the table creak but he doesn’t turn. He can almost feel her leaning into it. He can see just how the tops of her exposed thighs, not dared to be hidden by her denim shorts, would squeeze and smush against the end of the table. The weather is still warm. It’s still perfect weather for shorts and skirts.

He turns his attention back to the task at hand though, listening to Noa speak behind him. “I’ve had this professor before. He’s a kind of lenient grader. But he wants to make sure you can back your shit up with context from the poem. You can’t say someone’s trying to talk about rainbows in their poem when they’re clearly allusions to chickens.”

Calum snorts at her point but nods. “Understood. Now this is going to sound dumb--”

Noa’s quick to cut him off. “No such thing as dumb questions.”

Calum turns, seeing her leaning on her hands on the table. One knee is resting on the chair she once sat. Her gaze is stuck on the whiteboard. For a brief second, Calum lets his gaze fall. The jade green of her top nestled against her dark skin and the way her breasts are almost threatening to spill over the flimsy material almost makes Calum forget his question. She was not wearing that before. She wore a white shirt, tied in the front. There was something green underneath it--he knows that. He clears his throat. “I assume you don’t mean illusions like magic tricks and I’m a little confused.”

Noa finally brings her gaze back down, pushing back upright realizing the position she’s in. “Allusions, they’re like indirect references. So you’re talking about a thing without actually stating what it is.” She picks up a different colored marker and writes the word down in the corner of the whiteboard not holding any information.

Calum watches the way her undershirt rises a little as she stretches up to write but flicks his gaze to the floor. “Think he’ll ask about those on the midterm?”

“He could,” she says and then leans against the table again. Calum stands. She’s too close and he’s at a bad angle to keep his focus on the material at hand.

Facing the spread of her notes, their laptops, and textbooks, Calum looks out over the sea without really seeing any of the details. He wants to make a move that shows he’s interested without it being too subtle or too brazen. Resting his weight onto his palms, he shakes the thought from his head. It’s probably too late now. “So, like, for example, a question could be what are allusions in whatever poem of his choice?”

“Yeah, but he’ll probably ask something more like compare and contrast.” Calum nods. He definitely feels a bit better about going into this exam than he did before. But he still feels like an idiot with Noa.

Noa turns her head just a little. Not a lot. Just enough to see the bucket hat still on his head and the way his face is almost entirely hidden. She knows though. She knows the cut of his jaw and the way his lips are a little chapped but mostly plump. As she stares at him, she does feel the urge to apologize. At least just to let him know that she didn’t mean to cross any lines and that she hopes there are no hard feelings. She can feel her heart thumping in her throat as she gently rests a hand on his shoulder.

“Sorry about earlier,” she whispers. His head never raises and she drops her touch before going back to the whiteboard. “That was a poor taste joke.”

Calum’s breath hitches. It catches right on his inhale and he nearly chokes on it. “You don’t have to apologize.” His voice is soft, so much so that she barely catches it before turning to grab her phone to take a picture of their notes on the board.

“What?” She’s not believing her own ears. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I thought--I was sure I had crossed a line.”

“No, it didn’t make me uncomfortable.” His gaze is soft when it lands on her. Her brows are pulled together and he has to stop his hand from raising to smooth them over with his thumb. He feels the twitch, the pull to take her hand and he lets himself to that. Just gently brushing his fingers over her hand pressed into the table next to his.

“But-what?” She could’ve sworn the way he diverted the topic was a sign that she was pressing her luck.

“Really, I didn’t mind. I don’t mind.”

Noa shakes her head, the twist slipping over her shoulder a little. “I know I’m not a math major but this isn’t adding up.”

Calum really can’t tear his gaze away from her lips. They glisten a little, dark brown and a hint of pink from the saliva on her tongue as she licks them. It’s really lame, he thinks, that he’s this hesitant to make a move on her. But she hasn’t pulled away from him just yet so that must mean something. Maybe he could show her what he meant. “Is-Is it okay if I kiss you?”

Fuck. Oh fuck. Noa nods, she’s sure her eyes are blown wide. She’s not sure however that she’s breathing properly until the whisper of “Yes” falls from her lips. They inch closer together. Like stuttering traffic that stops and starts and soon there’s no more space to be hesitant. Their lips brush, slightly parted too. He can smell the chocolate she had earlier and it’s so sweet in his nose. Before the first kiss truly ends Calum reaches for her waist, turning her into him. He leans into the table, his back facing the door, and she leans into him.

Her arms loop around his neck, nails trailing at the edge of his t-shirt and his neck. It sends a shiver down his spine when her nails scratch at his skin. Calum encases her waist with his arms, pulling her into him. Her kiss tastes like the Hershey kiss and her skin is so soft beneath his fingers. When he breathes in, his nostrils are lined with the smell of coconut. An intoxicating scent if he’s going to associate it with her at all.

The sounds of their kisses, lips meeting and pulling apart before meeting again echo slightly around the room. She reaches up, pulling away from his lips just a little. Calum stretches out for her though, capturing her bottom lip between his teeth. She laughs, mostly from her chest before she gives in and recaptures his lips.

His cologne isn’t too strong. It’s got a hint of musky to it with some more floral overtones and Noa thinks she has to figure out the exact scent because she would love to just bathe in it. She doesn’t stop her previous movements though and pulls the hat up. Calum ducks his face into her shoulder and chest.

She didn’t expect a buzz cut but it looks good and she runs her hands over the back of his head. “Can’t kiss you if your face is buried in my shoulder.”

“But I can kiss you,” he counters, gently capturing the juncture of her neck and shoulder between his lips. The touch is so feather-light, almost as if her skin were made of glass. But it makes her hot and her heart strums steadily in her chest. It’s almost sad how the softest touch is turning her own. She’s glad for the moment Calum can’t see what effect this is having on her. It’s shameful how wet her underwear is.

Noa lets her head go as Calum kisses across her throat too, his tongue trails after the places his lips have touched first. Her hair brushes over Calum’s fingers, as they start to travel down to her ass, cupping her over the denim shorts. They hardly do much to stop the imagination from running wild. His fingertips run across her skin, digging into the crevice between the line of her ass and the tops of her thighs.

A moan escapes her. Noa doesn’t even feel the shame anymore. Not as her hand reaches between their bodies and trails up his chest. She cups his throat and pushes him up. His grin is lazy on his face, eyes heavy with lust. “So I see you really didn’t mind.”

“Not at all.” The vibrations of his voice tickle her palm but she doesn’t drop the hold and Calum doesn’t duck away from it. Would Noa let herself go? She could attempt to bring Calum back to her dorm though she’s not sure if Brooklyn is in the room. If so, that’s definitely an awkward shuffle to text Brooklyn and then walk all the way back to her room.

She drops her hand from his throat, before running it up under his shirt. He tenses for a moment at her touch but grins. Noa decides not to think too much about where things go and where they wind up at the moment. Instead, she kisses at his neck, running her tongue over his adam’s apple. Calum has to bite his lip just a little to keep the groan from escaping him so loudly. He knows she knows just what she’s doing as her nail scratch at his lower abdomen right along the band of his boxer briefs.

“I have another question,” Calum asks, a soft sigh escaping his lips when she kisses up to his ear.

“Which is?”

“I can only assume we’re not studying poetry anymore. But I just want to make sure it’s okay if I study your anatomy?”

Noa snorts, her laughter shaking her shoulders as she presses her face into Calum’s chest. “I told you I wouldn’t be won over by academic pick up lines but I’ll be damned if you don’t keep trying.”

“They seemed to work,” Calum takes the sides of her face into his hands. There’s still a grin on her face when she lets him pull her upwards a little. “Is that a yes though in all seriousness?”

“That’s a yes,” she sighs, enjoying the slight roughness at the tips of his fingers as he brushes them over her cheeks.

“How likely are we to get caught in here?”

“If we don’t make too much noise, pretty low. I mean, who else is coming to the library on Valentine’s Day?”

Calum presses her in close before pushing up with his hips and spinning them around. He clears away a spot before hoisting her to the table. “I must admit, I like the sounds of those odds.”

Calum stands between her legs. She spies a set of chains around his neck and pulls them out, gently holding the gold and silver chains in her palms. She’s not sure what they mean, the symbols on the black enamel or the gold plate but they look good hanging around his chest. “Sentimental?”

Calum runs his fingers over the strip of skin just under the edge of her green tank top and the top of her shorts. “Yeah.”

The subject is dropped rather quickly and she kisses the underside of his jaw. Her fingers find the hem of Calum’s t-shirt. He pulls the black tee up without much thought and she lets her hands wander of the expanse of his chest. She lingers at his tattoos. She doesn’t question those either. Just admires them and the way the black ink stands out on his golden skin. There’s a moment, in the back of her mind, that she’s acutely aware of how much darker she is compared to him. It's a thing she’s always been aware of for sure, it’s a general fact about herself that is generally inescapable. But she’s not sure why it matters now.

Calum can see her mind wandering and he tips her chin. “You can always say no. It’s okay.” He doesn’t want her to feel pressured. It won’t hurt him at all if she backs out of this. He’d rather her protect herself than worry about him.

“It’s just--a thing, a small thing. Nothing to do about this.”

“You sure?”

Noa nods, flicking her twists over her shoulder. Calum raises an eyebrow at her, a silent question. “I’m very sure,” she says, tugging at the band of his pants.

There’s a soft chuckle he gives and nods, satisfied with her answer. “I was going to break out another taboo pickup line.”

Noa gets a grip around his neck and brings him down. Her kiss is soft and slow before she pulls back just a little. Their lips brush as she speaks. “As much as I hate those, they are effective. So I hate that fact a little more.”

Calum dares to bring his hands down, under the shorts and underwear. What he finds makes him groan into her lips. She’s dripping onto his fingers. “Very effective,” he whispers, teasing her heat with his fingers as he collects just a little taste of her onto his fingers. She watches through slightly hooded eyes as Calum licks his fingers. “God,” he huffs.

He goes back to get yank the shorts and panties. She pushes herself up to assist and Calum wastes no time slipping down to his knees. Noa reclines back, hands pressing down into the table and the edge of a notebook. Calum takes a generous lick from her. She’s sweet on his tongue and all he wants is to drown in the arousal she drips.

Noa shudders at the first touch and she’s glad she’s facing the whiteboard and not the window because the look on her face, of pleasure and also desperation is a sight for sore eyes. It’s been a long time since she’s been with anyone. Her breakup sophomore year kind of scorned her. She’s had the offers at parties or even out at bars, but never took them. Right now, the way she’s responding to Calum should be embarrassing but it’s the last thought on her mind.

All Noa wants and can think about is how Calum’s tongue flicks against her clit, the way his lips wrap around it to give it a gentle suck before planting a kiss. “Shit,” she heaves, trying to keep from being too loud. It’s not lost on her that too much noise will get them caught. But god is her rock shaking at the feeling of Calum’s tongue working at her. It’s going to be the end of her, she thinks, staring up at the ceiling attempting to keep her breathing under control.

Calum feels her thighs starting to shake and he throws them over his shoulder. She falls deeper into her recline. Every lewd slurp echoes. The first finger into her is all too easy to get inside and he works the second one in while teasing her clit with his tongue. It’s a moment, with a breathy instruction of “Back and up,” before he’s brushing over her g-spot. Her vision spots for a moment and she presses her lips together to swallow down her own moan.

“Fuck,” she whines when Calum sucks at her clit. The knot in her stomach grows, she can feel the heat radiating from the top of her head to her toes. She’s going to make a mess. She can feel it bubbling in her lower stomach but she can’t find the words to warn him as she works to keep her cries in her chest.

It’s evident though when she finds the edge and falls over it. Her legs close in around Calum’s head. He works her through the orgasm, gentle licks. Calum kisses over her inner thighs before pulling his fingers from her. She’s spent above him, panting. But she stops him-- a hand tight around his wrist and brings his fingers to her mouth.

“You wouldn’t?”

Noa says nothing before licking her own arousal from his fingers. Calum shouldn’t be so turned on by her tasting herself but he swears he could nearly come from just the way she hums around his digits. It makes him wonder for a moment what else she can do with that tongue. She grins when she releases his fingers from her mouth with a lewd pop. “I would.”

Calum stays on his knees, watching carefully as she slips off the table and back into her underwear and shorts. She taps at the chair. “Take a seat.”

He pushes up and into the chair. “You really could’ve just left those off.”

Noa bites her lip at the thought. “Even though I’m young, I’m not dumb. I never re-upped on condoms in my backpack and unless you have some. I think you’ll be pleased with my compromise.”

Calum mimes zipping his lips shut and tossing away the key. He nearly forgot about that and that’s not a risk he wants to take either. No matter much the idea seems tempting he knows that the potential consequences are not worth it. Noa doesn’t waste any time, to tie her hair back or get Calum’s pants and underwear down either. She’s not really sure what she expected but he’s more than he lets on and her mouth drools at the thought.

She kisses his tip, the tip leaking just a little. Calum sighs, dropping his head back on his neck. He doesn’t really want her to tease him like this. But it does feel good. How gentle she’s being. The way she’s slow to coat him with her saliva. He exhales harshly when he slips into her mouth and when she doesn’t stop but continues on Calum groans. “Fucking hell.” It’s as if she could just swallow him whole and her mouth is so warm too.

Noa hums a little at the taste and weight of him. She looks at through her lashes and keeps her eyes nice and big, playing innocent at the way Calum huffs above her. He blinks his eyes just enough to see her batting her lashes and he’s so tempted again to pull out of her mouth and just fuck her right here. He’s sure her pussy is just as good as her mouth, if not better. Another moan is crawling up his chest and Calum inhales to keep it from falling over his lips. She pulls back from him, swirling her tongue just around the top. Her fist pumps at him. Calum knows he won’t last. His head is starting to float and he’s reaching out for anything and everything to keep ground.

He finds Noa instead, the very thing lifting his consciousness from his body. But it’s all he has to attempt to ground him. Calum lets one choked moan fall over his lips. “God,” he heaves like he’s been underwater for too long and is getting the first gulps of air again. His eyes screw up as she takes him back down and bobs her head along his length. The sounds of her slurping up her excess saliva are a little loud but he prays that they don’t echo too much before he cums.

That’s all he wants. Just release. That bliss of orgasm. His toes are curling and he’s holding a little tighter to Noa he knows. But he can’t help it. His hips raise up from the seat, bucking into her and she has to readjust her angle to keep him down. But Calum’s so fucking close. He can feel it. His thighs are tensing and he’s nearly in tears with how badly he desires to cum. She’s toying with him, speeding up to build up that pressure--that need, but slowing down just enough to keep it far enough away.

“Oh, please, please,” he begs. There is definitely a prickle of tears. Noa knows she’s playing with fire but she pulls back one last time, watching the way his jaw tense and he hisses, the air sucked in between his teeth. “I wasn’t-I wasn't this mean to you.”

Noa winks at him. Calum knows he’s going to have to do something to wipe that smirk off her face somehow. “Wanted to see how much you could take.” She says nothing else and finally takes him back into her mouth, hand and mouth pumping at him. He goes barreling towards his orgasm. He halfway expects her to pull away again when he finds his hips bucking again but she doesn’t. Calum holds her head tight and pours down the back of her throat.

Noa brings him over the edge and she’s gentle, slightly suckling to get down every drop. When she finally brings her head away, she does leave a small kiss. The air is thick and Calum exhales, attempting to bring his vision back into focus. He nearly has to make sure that it’s actually his soul that comes back to him. Noa hands him a tissue and then excuses herself for just a moment to the restroom.

When she returns, the table is clearned for the most part. Her books are neatly stacked and her laptop is sitting on top of the sleeve. The dry erase markers and erasers sit at the top of her pile too. Calum is dressed again, leaning against the table with the bucket hat back on his head. He watches her open the door with a tiny smile. The whiteboard’s been erased too. “Did you get a picture of the--” Calum nods before she finishes the full question.

She’s not sure if she should move from the spot at the door but Calum’s gaze is intense so she waits. “I’m not going to bite unless you ask for it,” he grins. “How far away do you stay from here?”

“I live on campus actually. It’s like a fifteen minute walk to the other side.”

“I’m parked not too far from the English building. How about a ride and a round two?”

“For studying poetry or anatomy?” There’s no hiding her grin as she asks the question.

Calum’s impressed at the wit. “I would say, after what I’ve seen and tasted today, I would call it poetry.”

She has to cast her gaze down. Because if not, she’s going to explode at delivery of the compliment. “Just don’t make any joke about tasting desire twice or I might nickname you Frost and I don’t think you’d appreciate that.”

Calum laughs and reaches out a hand. She takes it, stepping into him. She gazes up, the shadow of the bucket hat making the moment seem more private. “I think that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“Of course you are.”

The ride over is nerve wrecking. But the gentle pressure of Calum’s hand on her thigh keeps her just enough on the string that it doesn’t matter. Brooklyn agrees to give her the room until 10. It’s a little after six currently. Plenty of time but still. It’s not fun being sexiled. Noa makes a mental note to grab a few snacks on her next grocery run as a thank you to Brooklyn. The AC blasting in Calum’s car is Noa’s saving grace. The slight chill is welcomed to the warmth still radiating from her body.

She directs him to turn right at the next intersection. “It’s pretty out here,” Calum notes. The buildings follow the same brick patterns as most other buildings on the campus. But there are some trees that stand tall and it feels a little cozy. Noa hums and she directs him down to a parking lot. It’s not that far down from her actual dorm. The walk feels longer though for Noa, feeling Calum right behind her. Calum follows with quick glances the way her ass shakes a little with her gait. The shorts are definitely higher than they were before and he’s sure that was done purposefully.

Noa fishes out her keys and swipes into the building before directing Calum up the flight of stairs on the side. Their shoes echo as they ascend. Her room is the first one once they step outside from the stairwell. “I apologize now if it’s a mess,” Noa says with her key in the door. She’s praying that Brooklyn’s side isn’t a disaster.

Thankfully at the first crack, the room is cool and clean. She carries past one bed to the second pushed against the wall near the window. Calum notes the white and black comforter and the posters decorating her wall. There are string lights and after a moment they twinkle off the white plaster of the walls.

“Putting on the full works, huh?” Calum drops his hat and bag next to her desk. They shed shoes. Her bed is raised so she pulls out a step stool.

“Something like that.”

Calum cups her jaw. “I’m flattered.” Their kisses are still heated but less desperate. Both of them are aware of what’s happening and what’s going to happen. Calum pulls at the knot of her white shirt and pushes it off her shoulders. Maybe it was a little insane. Maybe it was the fact that Calum was a little tired of being lonely on Valentine’s Day even though he hated the whole institution of the holiday.

Whatever it was that brought him here to peeling Noa out of her shirt and revealing her breasts to him didn’t really matter. Because he was okay with it. He cups one of her breasts, teasing the bud with his fingers and he kisses along her neck. He feels her heart races with his tongue. “Love it don’t you?”

Noa hums, pulling around his shoulders. “Maybe.”

He laughs into her skin. She climbs up onto the bed first and Calum sheds his shirt before climbing up behind her. On the corner of her desk near the bed, he spies the box of condoms. Multiple boxes actually. He reaches over her to one of them. He’s going to drag this out just to have her begging like she did with him. “This is quite the collection.”

Noa knows part of this is payback but she reaches up running her hands over his sides to get him to come back to her. Calum resists the temptation to look down and kiss her again. If she does all his resolve will break. He studies another box and she lifts her head from her pillow finding one of his nipples and sucking it into her mouth. Two can play this game. And Noa knows that while she’s aching for me, she might have a better chance of riding this game out than Calum.

Calum drops his head for a moment, letting the electricity of her touch travel up his body. One hand creeps up to his crotch, putting just enough pressure onto his growing erection. He’s so fucking screwed. Noa kisses across his chest, soft ones that barely make contact with his skin. “I’m going to be giving a pop quiz about the varieties I have. So study up,” she jokes before pulling her hand away.

His laughter is soft above her. “I won’t be won over by academic pickup lines.”

“You were being stubborn and I had to try something.”

“You teased me. Don’t dish out what you can’t handle.”

“I can handle plenty,” she retorts pushing at his shoulder.

Calum straddles her lower legs, popping the button on her shorts yet again. “Is that so?” The question is punctuated by him pulling her shorts and panties off. His fingers waste no time to part her and circle her entrance. Her back sinks into the mattress and her hips rise. Calum catches the small hard exhale of all her air leaving her lungs.

Calum hovers over her, one arm keeping his weight steady while he teases her. His lips brush over her jaw. “What was that?” His question is answered by a moan that falls over Noa’s throat. He kisses down her throat, sucking just a hair too hard at the thin skin. It doesn’t leave a bruise but when Calum pulls way, there’s a red spot for sure on her skin.

Noa lets herself be consumed by the way his stubble scratches over her skin. Calum kisses down the valley of her breasts. His teeth graze over her nipples. Maybe he’s better at the game than she thought he was. She liked to think she was tough, but Noa knows deep down the softest touch can turn her into putty. She doesn’t find it within herself to care when he flicks her nipple with the tip of her tongue.

Calum drinks in every sound. She sounds so good beneath him at the mercy of his whims. Though he knows he’s going to give in soon. Soon his own tough act will dissolve and all he’s want is her to be thoroughly fucked. Calum carries down her body, kissing over her stomach before finding her heat again. All it takes is one lick, bottom to the top and Noa shakes, her thighs quiver and Calum knows he has her.

Her hands find his neck though. She pulls him up before pushing up and Calum falls into the mattress. She works his pants down and kisses over his thighs as she goes. Her teeth are sharp when she takes a bite, nothing too hard, but it’s enough. It’s enough for Calum to know she’s serious. He’s serious too. His arm hooks around her neck once the pants are fully disrobed. “Come here,” he murmurs and she settles on his lower torso.

Noa could lose herself in Calum’s kisses and never want to find a map out. Calum traces at her skin with the tips of his fingers as if trying to etch the roadmap of her into his memory. Noa reaches behind and strokes Calum’s length, almost too leisurely, like she knows she can just take her time with him. He lets her too. What else does he have to lose? What else does Calum have to do on such a bullshit holiday than just having some fun?

He does enjoy that this isn’t rushed. He’s also glad he’s not tipsy and neither is she. There’s something about alcohol and sex that never quite worked for Calum, though he’ll admit to some days waking with hickeys and blaming the vodka almost immediately. He likes the intimacy that they share, as crazy as it sounds. Like the way Noa looks at him after they break away from a kiss. She doesn’t look crazed or greedy, her eyes cradle him almost. She traces over his tattoos.

The questions linger on her lips. Like what does ‘Choose Life’ really mean to Calum? Who was Mali? To whom did those initials belong too? But Noa knew those were questions she couldn’t ask. And she kind of liked the mystery of it. She liked knowing Calum but not getting the full picture. She had the frame. She has the beautiful man in front of her but she didn’t have his mind. She saw bits of it in class for sure. When he finally decided to speak. But that was a piece that would always linger behind the curtain.

It was still a game for sure. Calum giving away what he wanted to give of himself but keeping everything else. Noa knew better than to think she could win that game. She knew better than to assume she could even be a player. It seemed cliche to think that maybe just maybe she could be the one to change that. That had to be loneliness talking though. It always crept in on days like this. At least for the moment, she was having her own fun.

Her own fun--that’s all she needs to focus on right now. Noa reaches across Calum’s body to her desk and he uses the moment to bring the nipple and even part of her tit into his mouth, to tease her for just a moment longer. She barely keeps her grip on the box of condoms at the shiver running through her body. “Fuck,” she breathes.

Calum hums at the praise and pinches her right nipple between his fingers. “You know,” he starts, tracing the swell of her breast with his fingers. “You do this thing when you’re thinking, where you bit the inside of your lip and you kind of zone out.”

Why is Calum so fucking observant? Why did he have to go and say that? He was really digging her grave. He might as well go and build the casket for her too. “I’m not backing out of this.”

“I was just saying,” he hums.

“When you’re thinking you tend to play with whatever is in your hands,” Noa returns and then glances down her nipple, the way his fingers roll it and pinch. A moan builds in her chest--she can feel it. Calum immediately pulls his hand away. “I never said I didn’t like it.”

The grin that takes over his face is shy. Noa kisses his nose before tearing a condom from it’s foiled package. “How about a ride?” she grins.

Calum has to laugh at the smirk and corny joke. But he agrees. “I hope I’m tall enough for it.”

“More than tall enough,” she laughs, rolling the condom done him. It’s the first sink, the stretch that makes Noa’s eyes nearly roll back into her head. Calum finds her hips, exhaling hard too at the squeeze and warmth of her.

“Fuck,” they both exhale. Her pace is slow to start but Calum brushes everything inside of her, even parts that she didn’t even know could be brushed. It’s a little painful but the adjustment happens and all Noa’s concerned with is watching Calum fall apart beneath her. His fingers curl into the fat and muscle of her hips and thighs.

The sounds of skin slapping against skin echo about the room and Noa releases the hiss, the only thing she can do at the feeling of Calum buried so deep inside of her. It’s true bliss when her pace picks up and Calum watches her tits bounce in time. “Fuck, just like that,” he encourages.

It’s not easy work Noa will admit but it’s rewarding to hear how strained Calum’s voice is. How much he’s tittering closer and closer to the edge. Calum brings his fingers to her clit and her yelp, part surprise, part an exhalation of arousal, he hums. “That what you needed? Just a little attention for a greedy clit?”

Noa sighs, holding herself upon his chest. “But you like it, don’t you? You’re coming to cum for me and my greedy clit, aren’t you?”

He is. Not right now, but soon. It’s creeping up on him and god, will it be sweet. He brings her head down to kiss her, to swallow down every filthy sound she makes and save it for later in his chest. Calum plants his feet into the mattress and meets her bounces with his own thrust. “Oh, shit,” she whines, her voice straining at the added sensation. Time starts to lose its grip. They are just feeling bodies.

It’s soon her face down into the mattress though, curling the sheets into her fist as Calum drives into her. “God, please,” she groans, feeling the twinge of her orgasm knotting at her lower stomach.

Calum brings her up, her back into his chest with a hand tucked around her throat. It’s not tight and soon it drops to her nipples again. “Tell me what you need.”

“Just you,” she exhales. “Just you, Calum.”

His fingers dance over her sex. She clenches once, a sign of the impending orgasm that will be crashing over it. Calum kisses along her shoulders and across her back, the twists in the way don’t even matter. Not when he can feel her occasional spasms. He’s not going to last much longer. But he wants to get her there first. With a little more pressure at her clit, Noa grabs Calum's thigh. Another whine falls over her throat and she again lacks the warning.

She cums with a heavy grunt scratching over her throat. Calum bites down onto her shoulder. His orgasm follows soon after thanks to her spasms. After they clean up, she falls into her sheets and Calum lays for just a minute. Just to catch his breath and he traces over the still red marks of his teeth. “Is it too much if I offer to buy pizza?” Noa asks, curled up into his chest. “Does seal the fate on Valentine’s Day as well when you’re single?”

Calum laughs. “It’s definitely sealed the fate on many of them for me in the past. But I should probably get home. Be an adult, even if I don’t want to be.”

Noa nods. It’s a little awkward when Calum has to crawl over her to climb down off the bed but all she does is giggle before kissing his cheek. Calum finds his shirt and she tosses him his underwear from the sheets. “I should write a personal note to Calvin Klein for that underwear. Your ass is ten out ten in those.

Calum shakes his head, his laughter loud. “And out of them?”

“Seven out of ten.”

“I should be offended.”

Noa shrugs, holding the sheets to her chest. “Alas, you don’t seem to be though.”

With the bucket hat situated back over his head, Calum shrugs. “Guess I’m not if it’s coming from you. I’ll talk to you later, yeah?”

She nods. “Sure.” Calum’s hand doesn’t quite reach the door before she calls out her next question. “You remember how to get out of here right?”

“Something tells me it’s like the same way I came in? But I’m not too sure.”

“Smartass,” she grumbles.

Calum chews on his lip for a moment to hide the smile. He was worried him leaving would be awkward. But he finds himself not wanting to go really. He thinks he could split a pizza with her. What would be the worst that would happen? But he doesn’t want to push any more boundaries or piss off her roommate.“Bye, Noa.”

“Bye, Calum.”

***********

Now Noa is definitely worried after not seeing Calum on Monday that he freaked out about their hookup. She didn’t have his number and emailing him was out of the question. Emailing wasn’t the format to have the ‘what-happened-and-why-are-you-avoiding-me’ conversation. Everything seemed fine when Calum left. He even sent a thank you email when she sent him the notes she typed up from their study session. He had included the blowing a kiss emoji. That had to mean something. It had to. Even Brooklyn said it meant something. Sure Brooklyn was no expert. But who sends that kind of emoji unless they mean something behind it?

Though when Monday rolled around, Calum wasn’t to be seen. Today was Wednesday, the day of their midterm. Noa books it from her class in the science building but because of some rain, there is a mud spot and she slips. She doesn’t fall, thankfully catching herself on the edge of the brick wall but she knows the feeling of her pants splitting literally anywhere.

Her shirt is most definitely not long enough to cover it and she can’t be late for the exam. So she carries on, wishing she had grabbed an extra layer to help save her from the embarrassment. First Calum ghosts her and now her pants rip. Today’s really not her day. Not that she needed it to be her day, but she would’ve liked it.

Taking a quick moment to assess the damage, Noa feels behind. The hole is mostly towards her inner thighs but it does gape a little to the back and she’s mortified that half her ass is hanging out. She hopes this is the icing on her cake. She’d really rather not have too much else to her shit cake. This was more than enough shit for any one particular day.

Just a few minutes before class starts, she opens the door to the classroom. The professor stands at the podium, exam in hand. Her eyes scan the room briefly and there’s Calum. His head down and she’s sure that he had to have heard the door opening but he doesn’t look up. There’s nowhere else to sit either, except for her spot right next to him. And she’s not going to cause a scene on midterm day either.

She’s careful as she sits, to avoid further splitting, and slips off her backpack. She keeps her back turned and fishes out a pen, black ink this time. Just as she faces forward, a Hershey’s kiss and peppermint are placed in front of her. Calum grins, pulling the wireless headphones from his ears. “My mum used to give me peppermints before a test. She said it was supposed to help. I don’t know the exact science.”

Maybe Calum didn’t hate her? It definitely is a shock for him to be talking so casually. She’s happy though. She’d rather not have to shun Calum. She liked his stupid ass jokes and maybe, just maybe, she was letting herself get a little too close. That was a disaster she’d deal with later though. “Were you sick on Monday or something?” Something was going around and if Calum had caught it, she did worry that she would too,

He shakes his head. “A gig ran late Sunday. I just emailed my professors that I wouldn’t be able to come in on Monday. I realized I needed the notes from Monday but I didn’t want it to seem like I was just using you. So I’m sorry about you not hearing from me after I said I would.”

Noa reaches into her backpack and pulls out a small bag of peppermints. There was just a misunderstanding. She can handle that. “My mom used to say the same thing.” She situates the bag between them. “In case you need another one during the exam. Also, I can give you my number.” She finds a scrap piece of paper and writes it down. Calum saves it fast and sends her a text too so she has his number.

As the professor starts to hand out the exam, only a list of four questions of which they’ll pick two to respond too, Calum feels the slight jitters coming back. Noa notices and slides her piece of chocolate over to him. They lock gazes for a brief moment and smile, both reminded of the last time chocolate was involved.

The questions aren’t too hard. The practice ones Noa came up with fall right in line with what she said the professor would ask. She finishes first between the two of them and leaves the bag of peppermints. Calum notices her awkward shuffle and the hole in her jeans. He can’t use his phone to tell her to wait up but he’s almost done himself. So he scribbles down the last few sentences for his question and quickly gathers his things.

From the pocket of his backpack, he feels his phone vibrate. He hands over his exam and slips out of the front door. Noa’s not in sight so he digs out his phone, stepping out into the bright sunlight. She’s not even halfway down the path, stopped by someone else as they chat for a moment. He thinks it’s her roommate, she looks familiar and the two laugh before going their separate ways.

“Noa,” Calum calls out to her and she turns. These stairs aren’t as steep and he’s quick to get down them. Calum reaches into his backpack, revealing a sweatshirt and hands over her bag peppermints. “You can use this until you get back to get new pants.”

“I have a meeting with my advisor and then a club meeting. I was just going to tell them I’ll be a few minutes late to our meeting.”

“No, no, keep it. It’s okay. I don’t want you to be late.”

“I won’t be able to get it back to you until Friday.”

“I could come to pick it up too before then?”

Noa knows that look, the glint in his eyes as she ties the sweatshirt around her waist. “My last class tomorrow ends at 2.”

“I’ll pick you up from class. Just text me the building. We can study. I heard it’s Valentine’s Day.

“That’s about a week late.”

“I was always bad at math,” Calum jokes. “You think I should sign up for one next semester?” Noa laughs as she steps backward from Calum. Of course, he would make another joke. They get her every time too. “Is that a yes though?”

“That is a yes. To Thursday and to you needing a math class.”

“Ouch.” He holds a hand to his chest, faking pain.

She twirls before throwing a wave over her shoulder. “Bye, Calum.”

“Bye, Noa.” He wipes out his phone, watching her walk down the bricked over paths. Next time you don’t have to split your pants to get my attention.

She stops and spins around, fingers flying over the keys. I can and will take this hoodie hostage.

“That’s my favorite hoodie,” he shouts at her.

“Not my problem, sweetheart.”

“It absolutely is your problem.”

“My problem is that I’m going to be late.”

___________

Tagging: @irwinkitten @5-secondsofcolor @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles @glitterlukey

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kate-braverman · 5 years ago

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Kate Braverman was poet and experimental writer of a singular and ruthless breed. Author of four books of poetry, three short story collections and the novels: Lithium for Medea, Palm Latitudes, Wonders of the West, and The Incantation of Frida K. Her Graywolf Prize for Creative Non-Fiction award winning memoir, Frantic Transmissions to and from Los Angeles: An Accidental Memoir was published in Feb. 2006.

Kate’s works have been translated to Italian, Turkish, Latvian, Japanese, French and German. Kate's short stories and poems are widely anthologized. "Tall Tales from the Mekong Delta" appears in the Norton Anthology of Short Fiction. Kate's short-story "Mrs. Jordan's Summer Vacation" won Editor's Choice Raymond Carver Award. She received a Pushcart Prize for her short story, "Cocktail Hour. Other awards include the 2005 Mississippi Review Prize, a Christopher Isherwood Foundation Fellowship for lifetime recognition of achievement. Most Recently Kate has won the Margie J. Wilson Poetry Prize from Margie Review.

Kate has also received a Recognition Award from the California Legislature Assembly, and a San Francisco Public Library Honoree. Her certificate reads: "For your success as an influential novelist, short story writer, and poet, and for your literary achievements that have garnered great acclaim, numerous awards and a Pushcart Prize, thereby making California a better place to live."

RIP Kate Braverman 1949-2019.

Kate from “Writers Remembered” at the time remembering the life of Hunter S. Thompson.

(excerpts)...

In this city littered with poets and artists, their transmissions glittering through fog like post-millennial hieroglyphics, we are fluid, run in spasms and currents. We are a port town, built by the fever of raw fingers in rock, desperate for gold and the infrastructure that by accidental necessity arose. Whiskey and saloons, brothels, opium, fishermen, artisans, musicians, immigrants, priests, renegades and visionaries.

Trade route cities have the texture and scent of intrigue, contraband, delusion and revelation. It ’s an invisible configuration, a certain sting and suggestion of flame you sense loitering above the boulevards and alleys of Prague, Istanbul, and Bangkok.

In San Francisco, we are the American capital of a conceptual region. It’s a terrain of sensibility, drawing the restless, agitated, eccentric and explosively creative. We are the city of yes, and pirates and storytellers, from Jack London through Ginsberg, Kerouac and Burroughs, they all moored here. Our legacy is an assemblage of writers who were not born in this geography and often did not stay, but rather passed through. The tide comes and goes as it always does. In San Francisco, we are ten thousand votives each with a dozen devotees like bouquets of long stemmed red roses and it’s always Valentine’s Day.

In San Francisco we pay homage to our fallen comrades, to the writers who bled their brains onto the page, and in these red glyphs carved the borders of our sensibility like cartographers using their neural networks for pens. Though we were just a port they passed, often briefly, the cargo they left us is indelible and untainted. We reflect and remember.

As America squanders its accidental empire, consigns its most fearless stylists to marketplace burial, and engineers a conspiracy of cultural selective amnesia, San Francisco is the city that remembers. As this nation stalls like a mast-ripped ship, passengers succumbing to manufactured official fictions of delusionary proportion, the drowned wash in and we greet them by name. See us on the wharf, with our candles lit, our torches? We are gypsy tribes holding votives in our ringed and tattooed fingers. We are individual lighthouses. We are the spasm of exhilarating yellow that glitters like a beacon of absolute and purified yes.

Yes, we remember the names of our dead. And we will never forget the eras they represent, the distinct decades of vivid and unlimited promise, the roads that could have been taken, but weren’t, even at the juncture where body bags and caskets filled fields like rows of April hyacinths.

In this city we don’t say amen. We say yes.

- Kate Braverman

#Kate Braverman #California Writer #Los Angeles #Poet #Writer

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jaythenerdkid-official · 6 years ago

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what your favourite classical composer says about you

j.s. bach: you know how to make your hustle work for you, and in high school you probably made money doing all the popular kids' homework for them

vivaldi: you play support classes in all your RPGs but it's because you know for a fact that the entire team would fall apart without you there to take care of them; it's 2018 and you've still got a polyphonic ringtone

purcell: your perm is even bigger than your social media following, but it's totally well-deserved because your brand™ is 100% wholesome

handel: you will fight l i t e r a l l y a n y o n e because they cut you in line at the supermarket checkout or just because they may possibly have looked at you funny in traffic, you don't care

haydn: your entire snapchat story is just you in the green room before orchestra before performances; you started as first violin in your school's string ensemble when you were eight

mozart: you're a bit of a basic bitch but you were also super gifted in primary school and your inevitable early end though predictable self-destructive behaviours will be lowkey iconic

c.p.e. bach: middle child syndrome is your middle name but you're actually more talented than people realise

j.c. bach: STOP TRYING TO MAKE FETCH HAPPEN, IT'S NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN

tchaikovsky: a messy bitch who lives for drama but knows where all the best parties are and will get all their friends into the VIP

mahler: in an effort to salvage your reputation as a socialite, you have altered all of your personal stationery to read "from the desk of maris crané"

beethoven: moody, temperamental, has a poetry instagram that's actually pretty good

wagner: your work uniform was made by hugo boss, if you know what I mean

rachmaninoff: writes a critically-acclaimed fanfic, gets seventy five-star reviews, one one-star review, obsesses over the one-star review for six months, starts a hate blog dedicated to the one-star reviewer and eventually retires from the fandom forever

berlioz: not only were you a scene kid in high school, you're still a scene kid now

debussy: the guy in your MFA who thinks they're a marxist because they read das kapital once and extremely overidentifies with at least one of the students in les mis

satie: the guy in your MFA who thinks he's sensitive because he watches chick flicks sometimes and would absolutely write you bad anonymous love poetry and leave it in your bag for you to find after class on valentine's day

saint-saëns: gifted kid with a fandom tumblr who reads reddit creepypasta at 3am, author of at least one iconic novel-length fanfic, has a devoted following who constantly pester them for updates, probably has an aesthetic blog

bartók: you submit subversive anti-colonialist short fiction to literature magazines and then give melancholic author interviews about reclaiming the motherland from the comfort of your pricey manhattan studio apartment that you moved into after your third poetry anthology made the new york times bestseller list

kodály: you get along really well with kids, but that might just be because you're, like, weirdly obsessed with nursery rhymes

dvořák: president of your campus DSA chapter, leads a hell of a sit-in, actual woke bae, plays the ukelele

chopin: just so you know, everyone hates how perfect you are and they all talk about it behind your back

john cage: just so you know, everyone hates how quirky you are and they all talk about it behind your back

arnold schoenberg: you know people talk about how quirky you are behind your back and it's what gives you strength tbh

prokofiev: you know exactly how perfect you are and you resent that regular people would even dare to expect you, an actual hero, to stoop to their level by doing regular person things like working for a living or participating in the social contract

grieg: you are probably re-reading the lord of the rings right now, you giant nerd

holst: you're a frustrated schoolteacher who really and truly thinks that if you just try hard enough, your students will suddenly find classic literature interesting and fun (spoilers: they won't, but you'll be having too much fun to care)

shostakovich: relationship status permanently set to "it's complicated" on facebook, can never pick the restaurant, but a sassy bitch who writes vicious yelp reviews when mad

sibelius: enthusiastic movember participant, unironically cries while singing the national anthem

arvo pärt: some people just want to watch the world burn

#classical music #extremely rare original content sighting #tag urself #my fav is chopin but tbh berlioz hits a little close to home #turns out classical composers were gay as hell #which i found out when researching this #tbh half of these could have just read congrats you're gay just like your fav #and they would be just as accurate

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aili · 6 years ago

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Valentine’s Day Music Newlsetter 2019!

Welcome to the 13th Music Newsletter! Short intro for the newbies - I love music. I love sharing music with other people. In college I started a "music newsletter" email with some playlists (aka mixtapes) I've made and some song/band recommendations. Why Valentine's Day? Because I think this day should be about love in many ways - including love for music!

That brings us to today. The first Valentine's Day mixtape I put together was actually a physical mix CD that I mailed to my home friends while I was away at college. That was in 2008 (11 years ago!). A lot has changed since then, but my love of music has not. While I feel sometimes too busy or too old or too out of touch to know what I'm even talking about, I hope you'll get some enjoyment out of this - as much as I've been enjoying listening to these songs and picking them for you!

*Click here to download Valentine's Day 2019 mixtape!

Click here to play Valentine's Day 2019 on Spotify!

*Note that the file downloads as a zip file, double clicking on it to open it up should give you the individual songs. Then move the songs to iTunes into a playlist!

1.) "Happy Unhappy" - The Beths New Zealand indie rockers The Beths debut album, Future Me Hates Me, is full of catchy, energetic sad-twinged songs. This song feels like it could have come out back in the 00s when we had to find new music by reading blogs and actually downloading MP3s - it feels closer to the Garden State soundtrack era of indie than the recent moody electronic vibe. It's a lot of fun! Sounds like Courtney Barnett by way of The Wombats, with a splash of Los Campesinos.

2.) “City Looks Pretty” - Courtney Barnett Courtney’s 2018 album “Tell Me How You Really Feel” is only her second studio album, but somehow it feels like she’s been around forever. The album features a “fuller” sound and more production, which may appear dulled next to 2015’s “Sometimes I Sit and Think, and Sometimes I Just Sit.” However, I feel excited by Courtney exploring a more mature sound and think it accurately reflects the albums depressive theme. “Sometimes I get mad / it’s not all that bad” is sung with a definite apathy compared to her shout-singing past record. As the bridge settles in, Courtney captures the depression symptom of lack of interest in things you used to enjoy. The city looks pretty when you’ve been stuck inside isolated for two weeks. 3.) “Screwed” - Janelle Monáe feat. Zoë Kravitz Janelle’s 2018 album “Dirty Computer” is an anthology of songs (and truly, poetry) that tell of reckoning with being a queer woman of color in an oppressive, violent society. It’s an incredibly personal album with her fans in mind - “I want young girls, young boys, nonbinary, gay, straight, queer people who are having a hard time dealing with their sexuality, dealing with feeling ostracized or bullied for just being their unique selves, to know that I see you. This album is for you. Be proud.” (Rolling Stone, 2018). My favorite part of this song is “See, everything is sex / except sex / which is power / you know power is just sex / now ask yourself who’s screwing you.”

4.) "BAGDAD - Cap.7: Liturgia" - Rosalía 25-year-old Rosalía Vila Tobella from Catalonia has an excellent 2018 album El Mal Querer. The album combines traditional flamenco with modern R&B. The album is a story of love and heartbreak over the course of 11 chapters/songs. This particular one might sound familiar due to the sampling of Justin Timberlake's "Cry Me A River."

5.) "Gun" - St. Lucia St. Lucia's first release off of their 2018 album Hyperion caught my attention with its connection to a more traditional rock sound and the heavy-hitting, one-word title. The production and sound almost reminds me of Oasis or U2. Turns out that the album is indeed produced by someone who worked on records with PJ Harvey, Depeche Mode, and U2. In interviews, Jean-Philip Grobler talks about how this song is generally about both gun control and power. "You said you wanted to feel a gun in your hands" in Verse 1 transforms to "You said you wanted to feel the blood in your hands" in Verse 2, highlighting the fact that guns are designed to kill.

6.) “Apathy” - Frankie Cosmos With a catchy bass line, gorgeous lyrics, and endearing vocals, this song and entire album are not to be missed. As you may notice on this year’s playlist, this year I was super into what I would describe as punk-influenced, low-fi indie female vocalists. Pretentious enough for you? Haha. I just mean that there are a ton of young women blowing up in the indie music scene with a huge crossover in sound. As demonstrated in “Apathy,” many of these songs are short, lack a traditional pop music format, use low-fi production, and have a storytelling aspect of almost speak-singing. These elements are all found in traditional punk music, so it’s interesting and exciting to see these artists shaking things up and challenging the punk genre. Frankie Cosmos has a long history of creating music, under various projects using Bandcamp as a teenager. Her 2018 album “Vessel” is nothing short of delightful and another one of my favorites of the year. 7.) “Your Dog” - Soccer Mommy Soccer Mommy is Sophie Allison, singer-songwriter based out of Nashville. She opened for Paramore on their recent tour and she has launched into the indie music scene with a lot of attention in the past couple years. I love how her voice clearly carries so much anger as she sings about an emotionally abusive relationship. Her lyrics describe the agony of small, sweet gestures pushing her back to her ex, despite her wanting desperately to end it. Using the metaphor of being a loyal, sub-servient dog, she describes the way her SO treats her like she’s his property. Because the song lacks a traditional “pop” format (verse 1 / chorus / verse 2 / chorus / bridge / chorus), there is a sense of the story ending unresolved. Fortunately, she has an excellent album (one of my favorites) from 2018 called “Clean” where you can learn more of her story. 8.) “Pristine” by Snail Mail A stunning debut from 19-year-old Lindsey Jordan, “Lush” is a 2018 release not to miss. “Pristine” perfectly encapsulates teenage life and love - “it just feels like the same party every weekend. Doesn’t it?” There is such a sense of genuine hormonal angst that she is almost joyfully celebrating. Her album reads more like a diary - and how lucky she is to have these future memories and be able to approach them with such wisdom.

9.) "Uncomfortably Numb" - American Football feat. Hayley Williams Paying homage to Pink Floyd, legendary emo band American Football joins with Paramore's lead singer Hayley Williams for a devastating track about losing emotional sensation. "I blame my father in my youth / Now as a father, I blame the booze." I couldn't find too much information on the exact inspiration behind the track, but it's the second track released off their upcoming album out March 22nd. Hayley is usually front and center as a singer, and it's interested to hear her take more of a backing role, as well as explore a bit of a lower vocal range than she usually does.

10.) “Geyser” - Mitski Mitski absolutely killed it last year with “Be The Cowboy,” which was consistently rated not only in the top 5 best albums, not only top 3, but making MULTIPLE end of year lists as the number one album of 2018. It’s easy to see why, given the incredible breadth of music she wrote for her album. I see Mitski's influence reflected in the rise of fame in other punk-inspired female vocalists in the indie scene, building off her ability to capture the attention of a wide audience. Which is also very interesting because she incorporated elements of many other genres on this album (spot any disco on “Nobody”?) While it was difficult to pick one song for my playlist, “Geyser” stands out to me as not only an excellent album opener, but a fascinating look into Mitski’s own relationship with the art she creates. In an interview, she explains that this song is about her feeling like she has to create music because she would never be satisfied in life without it, but feeling sometimes stifled, stuck, and resentful when she puts music above basic needs such as her health and self-care. She needs her art to survive but it simultaneously kills her.

11.) “Me & My Dog” - boygenius It’s impossible to pick just one song of this album. Boygenius is the supergroup of Phoebe Bridgers, Lucy Dacus, and Julien Baker - who each could also have one of their incredible solo songs on my playlist. Partially because they enjoyed each other’s creative energies and partially as a response to constantly being compared to each other as “women in indie,” the trio came together to create an EP of emo-influenced, folk-inspired gorgeous tracks about grief, loneliness, identity, and heartbreak. This particular song features Phoebe Bridgers in the verses and is a beautiful representation of the embarrassing and frustrating feeling of being in love with an ex. Please check out the individual work of these artists too!

12.) "bless ur heart" - serpentwithfeet Serpentwithfeet, aka Josiah Wise, has a gorgeous, intimate voice throughout his 2018 debut album, soil. This song starts off with a question of how his art will be received by the world. The rest of the song is a tender message of gratitude to his first love. It seems like Josiah questioned the choice to speak about his experiences with his ex in such a public fashion - with complexities of privacy, being open about sexuality, and possible painful memories on the table. Josiah's writing is very much like poetry, and his raw, unfiltered, un-autotuned vocals match the beauty of his words.

13.) "Bury A Friend" - Billie Eilish 17-year-old Billie Eilish is set to release her debut album, When We Sleep, Where Do We Go? next month. This song matches her goth aesthetic with a creepy story from the perspective of the monster under the bed. We learn that the monster is part of Billie herself, who is struggling with her own demons. 14.) "Loading Zones" - Kurt Vile A gorgeous guitar track, Kurt Vile paints a picture of his hometown Philadelphia and feeling on top of the world exploring his city's streets. He included a hilarious marketing strategy of sending fake parking tickets to fans in the mail to promote the song. Kurt Vile talks about the metaphor of "I park for free," which is how he sometimes lives his life - breaking the dumb rules because it's his life, his streets, his town. 15.) "Dylan Thomas" - Better Oblivion Community Center Is it possible to already be nostalgic for the late 2000's? Conor Oberst and Phoebe Bridgers released this surprise collaboration last month and this is the standout track for me. Conor Oberst's incredibly recognizable voice is hard to match in terms of strength, timbre, and uniqueness. While Bridgers is young enough to be from a different generation than him (she also grew up listening to Oberst's music), he saw something in her that resonated with him. I love how they sing in unison on this track (and much of the album) and think their voices sound really good together.

16.) "Butterflies" - Kacey Musgraves Kacey Musgraves is bringing a breath of fresh air to country. After self-releasing three albums, she tried her hand at reality TV through Nashville Star over a decade ago. Golden Hour is her fourth album using a record label, and she just won Album of the Year at the Grammys! Her voice is beautiful and has an earnest, authentic approach in joining elements of country pop.

17.) “Prior Things” - Hop Along “Bark Your Head Off, Dog” is Hop Along’s third album, released in 2018. Singer/songwriter Frances Quinlan has the ability to transform the themes of her songs. Layered with a multitude of different sounds and instruments, it could easily sound scattered and busy, but instead feels like we are huddled around a campfire with an enthusiastic, stream-of-consciousnesses storyteller. “Prior Thing” is the last song on the album and crosses time, space, and memories with the start of a hallucinogenic drug trip. She has the ability to take a phrase and transform the expected - pausing or elongating notes at unexpected places. This method keeps you invested in figuring out what the song is really about or what the conclusion is. 18.) "Kids" - Pup Emo/pop punkers Pup have a new album Morbid Stuff coming out on April 5th. Their songs are made for live shows - shouting/singing alternates, sing-a-long catchy lyrics reminiscent of the Hold Steady, and unison whole-band lines. Pup frontman Stefan Babcock said this song is about finding someone who agrees with your view of the world being a fucked up place, and enjoying small moments of solace in spending time with them.

SPOTIFY

Don't forget to subscribe to my playlists on Spotify! Here is the link to listen to this year's mixtape on Spotify.

I try to add new songs at least once a week to this playlist: What I'm currently lovin' (updated freq)

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I hope you guys enjoy the new music and feel free to send me recommendations of anything you like!<3 aili

Previous Mixtapes:

Autumn Love mix | Autumn Love Spotify

Copenhagen mix | Copenhagen Spotify

Valentine's Day downbeat 2010

Valentine's Day upbeat 2010

Valentine's Day 2011

Philadelphia mix | Philadephia Spotify

New Crime mix | New Crime Spotify

The City mix | The City Spotify

Drive mix | Drive Spotify

Valentine's Day 2012 | VDay 2012 Spotify

King's Myth mix | King's Myth Spotify

Hold On mix | Hold On Spotify

Valentine's Day 2013 | Vday 2013 Spotify

Valentine's Day 2014 | Vday 2014 Spotify

Valentine's Day 2015 | Vday 2015 Spotify

Valentine's Day 2016 | Vday 2016 Spotify

Valentine's Day 2017| Vday 2017 Spotify

Valentine's Day 2018 | Vday 2018 Spotify

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theraistlinmajere · 6 years ago

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THE “”GOTHIC”” REC LIST

Edited for my own use.

LET’S START WITH THE GATEWAY DRUG BOOK

1. Flowers in the Attic (VC Andrews): Published in 1979 and technically considered contemporary Gothic. The style closely resembles a lot of “original” Gothic fiction I’ve read, but the themes, story arc and style are distinctly contemporary and very psychological. Gets a bad rap because it’s over the top insane and averagely written (which most Gothic is, tbh). Flowers is light reading, and I think it’s a good gateway drug into heavier Gothic. Has several sequels but stands alone as well. I wish I could call this Victorian-inspired Gothic but honestly it’s just knockoff Victorian in a contemporary setting. If you don’t enjoy this book, it probably means you don’t like the over the top insanity and average writing. Skip it if you like!

1.5. But if you do like it, I hear My Sweet Audrina is pretty good. All of VC Andrews and her ghostwriters are like a hellhole people sometimes don’t escape tbh it’s a raging aesthetic disaster down there.

Note: I have a strong suspicion that “contemporary” Gothic published between 1965 and 1989 will eventually have its own movement name; you will see a decent amount of it on this list.

THE VICTORIAN GOTHIC PART OF THE LIST Most of these are available for free online due to copyright law being born late or whatever. 2. Carmilla (Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu): Considered the first English vampire story (Germans invented the European vampire allegedly), and published in 187…9? 1871? Something like that. A novella. Arguably a same-sex romance (VERY arguably), but can also be read as a close friendship. The writing is good, but not the absolute greatest I’ve ever read. The real strong point here is the imagery and the dawn of the English vampire. Great Halloween read; I read it almost every autumn. 3. “The Trifecta,” according to Gothic fans: Dracula (Bram Stoker), Frankenstein (Shelley), and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (Swift & Stevenson): First mainstream vampire, original English monster movie fuel, and the dawn of psychological fiction. Shelley’s the best writer out of all of them but she’s a Romantic and I’m sort of biased against Romantics. She’s a precursor to true Victorian Gothic. Dracula is still one of the creepiest books I’ve ever read and it’s the only one in the trifecta I really really love (and finished).

Note: If, by any chance, you find yourself seriously obsessed with vampires at any point in time, please consult me for an extended list of vampire fiction because I have a shit-ton of it in my reading history and left most of it out so vampires wouldn’t clutter this list lmao.

4. Edgar Allan Poe, Completed Works. The Cask of Amontillado, The Masque of the Red Death, The Pit and the Pendulum, and The Tell-Tale Heart are all notable. His poetry is lovely–Annabelle Lee and The Raven are most culturally significant. Just solid and wonderful work that I like a lot but haven’t explored in a lot of detail. Will appeal to your interest in darkness imagery.

5. The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and Other Stories (Washington Irving): QUINTESSENTIAL HALLOWEEN READING. SPOOPY. WONDERFUL. I truly love this anthology. Will also appeal to your interest in darkness as a concept and a physical thing. 6. Nightmare Abbey (Thomas Love Peacock): an 1818 novel that makes fun of the Victorian Gothic movement. Hilarious, contains all the typical Victorian Gothic tropes and has the added benefit of actually falling into the Victorian Gothic movement ironically. Usually comes packaged with another novel called Crotchet Castle which is similar. 7. If, somehow, you haven’t had it with Victorian Gothic yet (and I got to this point, it happens, Victorian Gothic is a slippery slope)… Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (Susanna Clarke): A really bizarre story behind how this was published, at least it is to me. Published in 2004, Over 10 years in the making and is written in the Victorian Gothic style but with a quirky and modern twist. The writer takes a page out of contemporary social commentary and includes pages-long footnotes, heads up (they’re funny and entertaining though). HUGE. You could kill a man with this volume. Excellent writing; I’m halfway through. I hear there’s time travel (?) and there are about ten thousand characters. Neil Gaiman is a fan. 8. The Phantom of the Opera (Gaston Leroux) is not technically Victorian (Technically Edwardian? Also French; I’m not familiar with French literary eras) but of course it has a huge following. I’ve read a little so far; I like the style and I think it’s culturally significant. You might want to read this because it’s heavily inspired by a French opera house, the Palais Garnier in Paris. Amber tells me she read literature in French to help sharpen her skills in the language; you may consider picking up an un-translated version of this? A BRIEF INTERLUDE FOR MORE CONTEMPORARY 9. Interview with the Vampire (Anne Rice): One of my favorite books of all time! Possibly the dawn of the romanticized vampire. Falls into that 70s contemporary Gothic bracket and is pretty amazingly written, but markedly more angst-ridden than anything else on the list (save for maybe Flowers). Lots of “what is evil?” and “what does immortality imply?” type speculation. Also gets a bad rap because Anne Rice made it big and haters are rife tbh it’s a very solidly built book in my opinion (BUT SUPER EMOTIONAL VAMPIRES). If you like this, continue with The Vampire Chronicles (The Vampire Lestat, Queen of the Damned, Prince Lestat, and about 8 others in between that concern minor characters). Lestat is one of my favorite fictional characters of all time. 10. Coraline (Neil Gaiman): Quick, cute, I found myself actually afraid for a little while despite the audience being middle grade readers?? I enjoyed it. The only Neil Gaiman on the list because his other work doesn’t impress me very much. 11. The Spiderwick Chronicles (Holly Black and Tony Diterlizzi): More middle-grade creepy aesthetic stuff. Cute modern fantasy stories, five volumes. I can read these books at twenty years old and still enjoy them (like Coraline)! The only good thing Holly Black has ever produced, in my opinion, though many people like her and her ~aesthetic.

11.5. Should you find yourself in the mood for more quick middle-grade aesthetic-y stuff, Pure Dead Magic (Debi Gliori) is really an adorable book with two sequels. Victorian Gothic tropes such as the creepy mansion, creatures in the dungeon, family drama, and Weird Newcomers are all present, but it’s set in modern times. One of the main characters is a hacker. Addams family-esque.

THE SURREAL-ISH FICTION PART OF THE LIST

Not true surreal fiction; these are contemporary surreal-inspired works. 12. The Bloody Chamber (Angela Carter): An anthology of short stories which retell fairy tales. Falls into the contemporary surrealism movement and is not traditionally considered Gothic, but this is definitely your aesthetic. Very quick read, very vivid imagery, lots of second-wave feminism and some brief eating disorder symbolism. Carter was a phenomenal writer! My favorite story is “The Lady of the House of Love"

12.5 (Just as a reminder since I’ve mentioned these) See also: Nights at the Circus (Carter) and Mechanique: A tale of the Circus Tresaulti (Valentine) for your interest in circus books!

13. The Palace of Curiosities (Rosie Garland), which I also rec’d before. Similar style to Chamber, similar themes. Both beautiful books. 14. Deathless (Catherynne Valente): Oh, Deathless. Technically contemporary lit, but hails to Russian Gothic (one of the earlier Gothic movements which I haven’t read much of). Retelling of about a million Russian folk tales. I could go on about this book for a thousand years. Stylistically similar to The Bloody Chamber as well, but far more poetic. (Very) structurally inferior to every other book on this list, but so heart-wrenchingly romantic you won’t notice or care on the first read. Visually breathtaking, absolutely the closest thing to death and the maiden imagery I’ve found in fiction. I’m fairly confident you’ll appreciate this one! Might as well read it to test my theory!! There’s controversy surrounding the fact that the writer is not Russian–something to be aware of. 15. The Enchanted (Rene Denfeld): TREAD WITH CAUTION. This is contemporary literary fiction (not Gothic) written from the pov of a death row inmate. Nominated for approximately a billion awards in 2014 (and won a few); high caliber of writing. Incredibly visceral, horrific, psychological imagery that was too much for me, though I still liked it. Short but dense–I had to take a two-day break to ward off the anxiety it caused. But you are darker~ than I so you might like it more!

THE SOUTHERN GOTHIC PART OF THE LIST 16. Beloved (Toni Morrison): Contemporary Southern Gothic. Incredibly creepy imagery, explores the connection between women’s issues and racial issues. Uses abortion and slavery as metaphors for each other. Gracefully written, but Southern Gothic (even contemporary) tends to be textually dense so it’s something to really think about as you read. 17. As I Lay Dying (Faulkner): “True” Southern Gothic. DENSE AS HELL but I think Beloved is a good precursor to Faulkner. A lot of almost comedic family drama, similar to Flowers in that sense, but very srs bsns nonetheless.

17.5. Basically all of Faulkner is considered Southern Gothic. He’s the father of Southern Gothic. If you enjoy this, you might also like Absalom! Absalom! and other such works. I loved As I Lay Dying but it’s possibly his easiest read, and while I love a good challenge I haven’t stepped up to this one yet.

Note: I use reading guides for all my classical works and Shakespeare, and I think there are good ones for Faulkner too, so that might be something to look into if you wanna vanish into this hell lol.

AN ADDENDUM: OTHER WRITERS

HP Lovecraft: Father of horror or whatever. Awful writer–anyone will agree. The guy had no command of language, but he’s known for over-the-top horror imagery that people really enjoy. Honestly I hate his writing so I haven’t bothered with much of it.

Oscar Wilde: If, by this point, you still want more Victorian-era writing, Wilde is here for you. Lots of social commentary, wrote basically one piece in the Gothic style (Chapter 16 of The Picture of Dorian Gray, my favorite novel), snarky as hell, incredibly gifted writer.

Neil Gaiman: Modern surreal in my opinion, sometimes called modern Gothic, well-loved and writes creepy things. I think he’s average because I’ve read too much Murakami (who does “modern surreal” way, way better) but many people really love him.

THE BLACKLIST Knockoff Gothic/Gothic themed things to avoid. I apologize if you like any of these okay ._.

The Grisha Trilogy (Leigh Bardugo): Contemporary YA, tries to be Russian Gothic and fails. Stick to Deathless. This book makes a mockery of Russian culture whereas at least Valente exhaustively researched her novel. Also doesn’t do romance very well.

The Night Circus (Morgenstern): What the hell is this book, tbh. 400 pages of obtuse and cliched imagery which you don’t have time for in your life. No plot. Two-dimensional characters, bad writing.

Those Across The River (Christopher Buehlman): Terrible. Just terrible.

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imm-blog1 · 5 years ago

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MESSAGIO GALORE TAKE XII

a duration of sound poetry & similaria edited, reärranged & constraducted by jwcurry & realized through the combined auditoria of jwcurry Alastair Larwill Georgia Mathewson Brian Pirie 7 PM 21 octo 12 at Common Ground Art Gallery 3277 Sandwich Street, Windsor ___________________________________________________________________________

part 1

1. Scraptures: 12th Sequence, bpNichol (Canada, 1967?); source: photocopy from TORONTO LIFE (issue # & editor unknown, Toronto, 1968). & on the 12th "day", humanity stuck its heads up from the muck & goo, took a look around in its state of ignorant grace, & knew but lustful fear. arrangement dedicated to Jan Svankmeyer. full quartet

2. WELTWEHE, August Stramm (Germany, 1914); source: KROKLOK #3 (ed.dom sylvester houédard, London, UK, Writers Forum, 1972). Stramm’s scope is nothing less than cosmic in this, his most extreme narrative composed almost solely of verbs, fuelled & shaped by the battlefields he wrote in & the ciphers he wired his poems home through. solo

3. SIX-FOUR, Alastair Larwill (Canada, 2o1o); source: unpublished manuscript. accumulative disintegrational polysyllabicism formulated as an audio illustration in a discussion of articulational deliberateness with its dedicatee, Rob Read. full quartet

4. Generations, bpNichol (Canada, 1988); source: bpNichol, gIFTS The Martyrology Book(s) 7 (&) (Toronto, Coach House Press, 199o). Nichol’s numerical interpolations distract & enact a simultaneous metanarrative between his given text & what’s given through his interferences with it. solo

5. Againful Deployment, jwcurry (Canada, 1981?); source: monograph (Ottawa, 1cent, 2oo1). a "sound poem for an assemblyline of voicings" spiralling outta the conch into yr cochnea. full quartet

6. Salmon River Soliloquy, David UU (Canada, 1973); source: David UU, High C (Toronto, Underwhich Editions, 1991). a rather straightforward poem siding with the fishes. solo

7. anacyclic poem with two shouts DHARMATHOUGHTS STUPAWARDS, dom sylvester houédard (England, 1966); source: KROKLOK #1 (ed.dom sylvester houédard, London, Writers Forum, 1971). "for the artists protest committee for their call from losangeles for a tower against the war", an anagrammatic poem in 3 vowels & 4 consonants. duo: curry/Mathewson

8. " BREATH IS ", bill bissett (Canada, 1966?); source: bill bissett, fires in th tempul OR TH JINX SHIP ND OTHR TRIPS (Vancouver, Very Stone House, 1966). one of bissett’s concrete scattertexts, here divided into a demonstration of the logic inherent in his more radical field compositions. duo: curry/Larwill

9. Oiseautal / Super-Bird-Song, Raoul Hausmann (France, 1918?) & Kurt Schwitters (England, 1946?) respectively; source: Raoul Hausmann & Kurt Schwitters, PIN and the story of PIN (London, UK, Gaberbocchus Press, 1962). brought together by the 1st world war & separated by the 2nd, both friends independently came to write short works based on birdsound. this interlineated arrangement by curry (2oo9?) is a step toward A Visit to the Aviary, a short suite of related material from various sources. duo: curry/Pirie

1o. THREE/FOUR: OF TIME, bpNichol (Canada, 1985); source: 5e echanges internationaux de poesie contemporaine, ed.Julien Blaine (Tarascon, France, L’A.G.R.I.P.P.A., 1988). the 3rd in Nichol’s "TIME" series "for the 4 Horsemen", this one targetting the structure of the waltz for vigorous interrogation. full quartet

11. Calling The Vegetable Collected, jwcurry (Canada, 2oo8); source: monograph (2nd ed, Ottawa, 1cent, 2oo8). hocketed statements that build multiple syntactic paths as the fragments first cohere, then disintegrate. full quartet

12. GLiNE OR EXTRATERRESTRIAL OCCURRENCES, Vaughn Bodé (USA, 1972?); source: Vaughn Bodé, JUNKWAFFEL no.3 (Berkeley, The Print Mint, 1972). Bodé’s 5pp comic relieved of its graphic anchor, its text no less rich in its significtions despite the lack of signposts. solo

13. KNOTS, jwcurry (Canada, 1982?); source: The (Almost) Instant Anthology ’88, ed.Beverley Daurio, Daniel Jones & bpNichol (Toronto, Meet The Presses, 1988). excerpts from a "translation into concrete poetry" of R.D.Laing’s lineated neuroses trackings, subsequently unreknotted & strung out as a schizologue for 2. duo: Larwill/Mathewson

14. The Tibetan Memory Trick, traditional/arranged by Howard Kaylan, Ian Underwood & Mark Volman (USA, 1974); source: Flo & Eddie, ILLEGAL, IMMORAL AND FATTENING (Canadian pressing, Columbia Records Limited, 1975). spontaneous insertion into KNOTS above. everyone in the band gets put through this one for articulational, breathing & body memory development. full quartet.

15. AGATHA! WAKE UP! I’M CURED!, Richard Beland (Canada, 1992?); source: unpublished manuscript. Beland’s language lines are as plastic as his visual lines, this short prose morphing from sense to sound to resense with every step. solo

16. MUSHY PEAS, Steve McCaffery & bpNichol (England, 1978); source: Steve McCaffery & bpNichol, IN ENGLAND NOW THAT SPRING (Toronto, Aya Press, 1979). 6 pp of drawn optophonetics as visual field for improvisation. duo: curry/Larwill

17. sounds’ favorite words, Paul Haines (Canada, 1986), as quoted in full in an extract from Haines’ Jubilee; source: Paul Haines, Secret Carnival Workers (Toronto? H Pal Productions, 2oo7), with reference to Michel Contat’s reading on Haines’ DARN IT! (USA, American Clavé, 1994). hijacked as a footnote of manysorts. Jubilee ends "Unrelatedly, there was a recital of whisk the morning of 17 July after a night the cats had raised hell on the front lawn, a group of robins fallen by the side of the hedge as though meeting on a street corner and – now headless to prove it – plumb run out of things to say, but still prettier representations of events than the sparrows the exact size of erasers stacked up with the heads on. // Which of course are words apart." solo

part 2

18. TOTEM ÉTRANGLÉ, Antonin Artaud (France, 1964?); source: KROKLOK #2 (ed.dom sylvester houédard, London, Writers Forum, 1971), with reference to Antonin Artaud/trans.Helen Weaver, Selected Writings (New York,Farrar Straus And Groux, 1976). "For years I have had an idea of the consumption, the internal consummation of language by the unearthing of all manner of torpid and filthy necessities." (Artaud in a letter to Henri Parisot, 22 sep 45). 18 of these sound cycles excised (by Artaud) from elsewhere in his writings (Here Lies; Insanity and Black Magic; The Return of Artaud, Le Momo; To Have Done with the Judgement of God; Van Gogh, The Man Suicided by Society) & formally linked as a suite. full quartet

19. ma meeshka mow skwoz, Mike Patton (USA, 1995); source: monograph (San Francisco, privately published, 1995), with reference to Mr.Bungle, disco volante (USA, Warner Brothers Records Incorporated, 1995), with music by Trey Spruance. Patton’s drawn optophonetic text yields "extended range" vocalics that’re all but buried in this complex piece of high-impact chamber music. a chance to hear the relentless trajectory of the text on its own. solo

2o. East Wind, bpNichol (Canada, 1979?); source: Four Horsemen, The Prose Tattoo (Milwaukee, Membrane Press, 1983). a gridtext deployed through overlaid extended breathlines, vowels blowing consonants all over the place. full quartet

21. The Multiples, Steve McCaffery (Canada, 1981); source: abs TruCt heh GarBagt, editor unknown (an insert in CABINET #1, USA, Immaterial Incorporated, 2ooo), transcribed by Rob Read (Canada, 2o11?). a multiplicity of mispronuncimicated masticatiums of eaneming, the contrast between what you seam to be hearing & what are here seming to be. duo: curry/Mathewson

22. A Letterklankbeelden Poem, I.K.Bonset (Holland, 192o); source: Imagining Language An Anthology, edited by Steve McCaffery & Jed Rasula (2nd ed, Cambridge, USA, MIT Press, 2oo1). with line lengths (mainly) one letter long, Bonset – among other things, a type designer – was simultaneously & independently investigating notions of optophonetics similar to Raoul Hausmann’s with diacritic modifiers. terse. solo

23.SIZERZ, Steve McCaffery (Canada, 1976); source: THE CAPILANO REVIEW #31 (ed.Steven Smith & Richard Truhlar, North Vancouver, 1984). severe elemental hocketing coupled with ordered layerings subjected to consistent randomizations. full quartet

24. roses that, d.a.levy (USA, 1966); source: UKANHAVYRFUCKINCITI BAK, ed.Robert J.Sigmund (Cleveland, Ghost Press, 1968). "for gene" (presumably Fowler), a cyclic concrete poem in linear form pumping ackackfire into the imperialism of semantic politics. solo

25. IT CAN’T HAPPEN HERE, Frank Zappa (USA, 1964); source: Mothers Of Invention, FREAK OUT! (USA, Verve Records, 1965), transcribed & arranged by jwcurry (2oo7). a somewhat remented barberchopping routine that only seems to leave metre & tonality behind, part 2 of Help, I’m A Rock, featuring Georgia Mathewson as Suzy Creamcheese ("You blew your mind on too much koolaid"). full quartet

26. BALLADS OF THE RESTLESS ARE, bpNichol (Canada, 1967?); source: monograph (2nd ed. Ottawa, Curvd H&z, 2oo6). "two versions/common source" of elemental theme & variations presented as comparative simultaneities in a "quartet for 2 voices" [curry]. duo: curry/Larwill

27. A Little Valentine, Steve McCaffery (Canada, 1977); source: Steve McCaffery, research on the mouth (Toronto, Underwhich Editions, 1978?), transcribed & arranged by jwcurry & Sheena Mordasiewicz (2o12). a trystcycle built for 2 interpenetrates itself to become a relentless rush toward simultaneous climax. duo: curry/Larwill

28. Pieces Of Stop, bpNichol (Canada, 1978); source: as 2o above. "for Greta Monach", an extremely literal approach to the score that casts the reversed expectations of its sound envelopes into stark relief. full quartet

29. auf dem land, ernst jandl (Austria, 1968?); source: konkrete poesie deutschsprachige autoren, ed.eugen gomringer (reprint? Stuttgart, Philipp Reclam, 198o). an "utter zoo" octupletted & arranged as simultaneous nouns’n’sounds. duo: curry/Larwill

3o. GLASS ON THE BEACH, Richard Truhlar (Canada, 1978?); source: Owen Sound, Beyond The Range (Toronto, Underwhich Editions, 198o), transcribed by jwcurry from a trio (Michael Dean, Steven Smith, Richard Truhlar) recording at The Music Gallery in Toronto, 18 august 1979, with additional parts adapted from 2 manuscript scores courtesy of Truhlar. extended vocal waveforms with buried shards. full quartet ___________________________________________________________________________

with Big Thanks to Gustave Morin for causing it, Jenny Kimmerly for the programmes, Jarrod Ferris for filming, Kung To for rehearsal space, Chris (dunno yr last name) & Sergio Forest for the fantastic homemade onion rings &, ‘fcourse, the band for the pleasure & hard work

front cover: bpNichol, Pieces Of Stop (28), rescored by jwcurry (bottom: lettering by curry) rear cover: dom sylvester houédard, anacyclic poem with two shouts DHARMATHOUGHTS STUPAWARDS (7) ___________________________________________________________________________

see also:

announcements: www.flickr.com/photos/48593922@N04/8078983925/ www.citywindsor.ca/residents/Culture/Mackenzie-Hall/Pages… pagehalffull.com/pesbo/2012/10/12/sunday-oct-21-messagio-… issuu.com/uwindsorlance/docs/thelance-85-16 (down on p.6) www.flickr.com/photos/48593922@N04/8152980663/

photographs: www.flickr.com/photos/pearlpirie/8119045118/ www.flickr.com/photos/pearlpirie/8119033749/ www.flickr.com/photos/pearlpirie/8119034091/ www.flickr.com/photos/pearlpirie/8119046498/ www.flickr.com/photos/pearlpirie/8119034923/ 2.bp.blogspot.com/-utKD_y6vO8c/UIgX0FXlbYI/AAAAAAAAAL8/kA…

Posted by jwc 3o2 on 2012-10-31 04:32:03

Tagged: , quadrabet

The post MESSAGIO GALORE TAKE XII appeared first on Good Info.

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moriganstrongheart · 5 years ago

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The Mammoth Book of SF Stories by Women – Review

Edited by Alex Dally MacFarlane 2014, Running Press Paperback, 512 pages, $17.50 CAD

Rating: ★★★☆☆

Good: Great diversity, showcases excellent talent Bad: Not all stories are a worthwhile read

In her introduction to The Mammoth Book of SF Stories by Women, Alex Dally MacFarlane does a good job of laying down the purpose of the collection. She is not looking to change the sexism that festers within the writing industry, but is instead interested in building on a rich history of women writers in science fiction, demonstrating what female authors are able to do. Though if given the chance, I'm sure the authors in this anthology would see women given their rightful place as prestigious members of the industry. While things are rarely that easy, the stories collected here speak for themselves as to what women can accomplish when given the chance. I don’t think every story in this collection is worthwhile, but I also think that shouldn’t be taken as a slight against female authors, as I found many to be engaging reading experiences. I also would like to preface by saying I’m not generally a fan of short story collections; it takes me too long to read them, and I find myself cheated if a short story isn’t as good as I expected. I tried my best to not let this influence my opinions, but I may be harsher on some entries in this collection as a result.

To give each author the attention that is due to them, I will be reviewing each story on its own, and then conclude with my opinion on the anthology as a whole.

[ ! ] Spoiler Warning

Girl Hours

by Sofia Samatar, 2011 Rating: ★★★★☆

Girl Hours is a short poem written in reverse chronological order about the life of Henrietta Swan Leavitt, a woman computer from the 1870's. Being based on true events and taking the form of a poem, it has little to do with science fiction, though it is still an interesting read. As with most poems, word choice is limited, putting much of the onus on the reader to establish themes and timing. I normally find this pretentious, but I enjoyed the format in this instance. Girl Hours is one of the few stories I have read multiple times out of pure enjoyment, as its structure allowed for reading front-to-back as well as back-to-front, letting the reader to experience the poem differently each time.

Link to Poem

Excerpt from a Letter by a Social-realist Aswang

by Kristin Mandigma, 2007 Rating: ★★☆☆☆

Excerpt from a Letter by a Social-realist Aswang is an interesting take on socialist mindsets. The text itself is enjoyable in its tone, but fails to make a lasting impression on me. I would have liked to see more of the world than what was presented, as the piece consists only of its namesake: an excerpt from a letter by an Aswang. While I find gaps in a narrative to generally be a good thing, it can be frustrating when that gap is too wide—as if the author is expecting the reader to fill in the majority of the worldbuilding for them. The strength of Excerpt from a Letter by a Social-realist Aswang is in its lighthearted tone, which Kristin Madigma uses to criticize socialist mindsets through the writings of the author-character. The aswang rambles about communist ideals and writes degrading comments about capitalism—like any good neo-communist. The fact that the author-character is an aswang adds onto the ridiculousness of the situation, as they include activities such as the consumption of capitalist children in their socialist portfolio. Excerpt from a Letter by a Social-realist Aswang is a fun little piece that would benefit from an expanded narrative, and I felt that it was ultimately forgettable in its details.

Link to Short Story

Somadeva: A Sky River Sutra

by Vandana Singh, 2010 Rating: ★★★☆☆

Indian culture has never been something I’ve personally found interesting. As Somadeva: A Sky River Sutra relies heavily on cultural artifacts and historical persons from India, I often felt lost in its many references. I think Vandana Singh did a good job of explaining the most relevant parts to her story, but the folklore is far too complex and I do not have the desire to investigate it further. I thoroughly enjoyed the themes, as Singh builds stories within stories within stories, creating her own mini-compilation of folktales and adventures. Narration is well done, as is the imagery, which accurately describes how time-lost souls would search for meaning in a world where memory is fleeting at best. However, there was a bit too much going on and it ends a bit abruptly for my taste; I would have preferred some kind of conclusion, even if it did not conclude with the protagonists’ journey. I am sure those interested in Indian culture will find this story much more compelling than I did, but the themes are strong enough to hold up the story on their own.

Link to Short Story

The Queen of Erewhon

by Lucy Sussex, 1999 Rating: ★★☆☆☆

I’ll be honest in that reading The Queen of Erewhon was like reading Shakespeare from the future—and not in a good way. If you’ve ever had to read Shakespeare in its raw, historically-correct format, you may have had some issues understanding some of the nuances inherit from the time period in which is was written. Something similar is the case with The Queen of Erewhon. Lucy Sussex keeps shifting between two different narratives: one that details the protagonist’s journey to uncover a story about two women falling in love, and the actual story of these two women falling in love. On its own this was confusing enough; there is no clear delineation between when one narrative starts and another one ends. I kept having to stop reading to reorient myself whenever this switch occurred. My confusion was aggravated further by Sussex’s rich, almost overpowering politics and worldbuilding. Every other passage contains extensive amount of exposition that dilutes the purpose of the story. I normally don’t enjoy unfiltered politics in fiction, and The Queen of Erewhon has some of the worst examples of this. And yet, despite my difficulties, I did enjoy the story’s themes and—once I had finally gotten used to the format—I even enjoyed the narrative itself. But the experience of reading The Queen of Erewhon was a hassle. I found myself often taking breaks throughout my reading and it felt like I was putting more work into understanding the story than actually enjoying it.

Tomorrow is Saint Valentine’s Day

by Tori Truslow, 2010 Rating: ★★☆☆☆

Tomorrow is Saint Valentine’s Day is more of an interesting read than it is entertaining. Tori Truslow goes at great lengths to present the narrative in the format of a biography and to incorporate passages from Shakespeare at multiple levels in the prose. She succeeded in creating a realistic description of a fictional man and his adventures through the fae world. I could easily see this faux-excerpt as coming from a full volume detailing the life of Elijah Willemot Wynn. The world was a little difficult to grasp at first, but I found myself well immersed thanks to Truslow’s decision to write her short story in a non-fiction style. It made the story feel grounded and real. My only issue with Tomorrow is Saint Valentine’s Day was the inclusion of poetry and Shakespeare, which seemed out of place to me. It’s as if Truslow wanted to offset the dry, non-fiction aspects of the story with more whimsical passages. These passages—more than anything else—broke my immersion in the narrative. I don’t think they should have been omitted though, as these poetic passages are integral to the narrative she’s woven. I just wonder if it could have been handled better; perhaps if the author of the biography had spent more time analyzing the poems and references to Shakespeare, it would feel more grounded and less eccentric.

Spider the Artist

by Nnedi Okorafor, 2011 Rating: ★★★★★

Nnedi Okorafor tackles a lot of issues in Spider the Artist: domestic violence, the exploitation of third world countries, environmentalism and machine sentience. Normally, I would find so many topics packed into a short story overwhelming. But Okorafor managed to create a relatable and realistic protagonist in Eme, to the point I felt deeply connected to Eme as she wrestled with her identity in this broken world. If I have one criticism, it is how quickly the story resolves itself; it feels as though in one moment Eme is discovering who she is, and the next she is in the middle of a war. I don’t think the strength of Spider the Artist is the issues it tackles or the ideas it presents. Instead, it is strongest when we get to live life through Eme’s eyes. As such, I wish we could have spent more time with her. I would be interested in reading more from Okorafor, especially if she has longer works of fiction.

Link to Short Story

The Science of Herself

by Karen Joy Fowler, 2013 Rating: ★☆☆☆☆

The Science of Herself is an interesting read—even leading me to research further into Mary Anning following my reading. However, the frequent name drops and descriptions of pre-Victorian era England bored me. I am not a fan of historical fiction, so this just wasn’t for me. Also, while I think it’s important to highlight people like Mary Anning lest we forget what she and other women in history have done, I don’t think stuffing thirty persons into a short story is the best way to do so, especially if the reader is unfamiliar with the subject matter.

Link to Short Story

The Other Graces

by Alice Sola Kim, 2010 Rating: ★★★★☆

The best part of The Other Graces is its inclusion of wacky, weird and wonderful science fiction shenanigans—specifically, in the form of a multidimensional, time-travelling network of singular consciousness which inhabits the minds of two versions of the protagonist for the purpose of ensuring the future of the younger protagonist, while simultaneously allowing the narrator to speak to the reader and the protagonist. And surprisingly, this multidimensional consciousness is rarely the focus of attention. There are some clues as to the ethical implications of using such a technology, and it is used at times as a metaphor for mental health issues, but these themes are glossed over in favour of plot. I feel that Alice Sola Kim handled all of this well, as it can be easy to be swept up in the majesty of one’s own conceptualization; too often I see entire storylines devoted to explaining how the author’s futurology would function and how it would impact society. The Other Graces manages to introduce an otherworldly concept like multidimensional consciousness while focusing on character, anchoring the reader in what would otherwise be a strange experience.

I also appreciated the way Kim presented Grace and her life as a person of Asian descent living in poverty. In some instances, I felt she may have over-characterized how downtrodden Grace was in her attempt to reset expectations about lower-class Asian-Americans. I understand that the fetishization of the exotic and status prejudice are big issues for minority groups; racists seem to think that people of different cultures are simultaneously privileged, yet inferior to them. However, I find this kind of negative language off-putting, as if unhealthy habits and subpar living conditions are a mark of pride for the character. There is no shame in what we can’t reasonably control, but doesn’t mean we can’t strive to be better. Grace certainly feels she can do better for herself; I just wish less time was spent on self-depreciation. I understand that others may be able to identify with her self-loathing, but it may also help to normalize negativity in like-minded readers.

Boojum

by Elizabeth Bear & Sarah Monette, 2008 Rating: ★★★★☆

Boojum is a combination of the familiar and the surreal, meant to dazzle and confuse, to entertain yet left wanting more. I don’t have a lot to say beyond the fact it’s a great example of what a short story should strive for. Elizabeth Bear and Sarah Monette weave an interesting, futuristic take on Lovecraftian and pirate lore—two genres of speculative fiction I have had a long-time love-hate relationship with. I’ve always enjoyed the aesthetics of Lovecraft, but could never get past how ridiculous and pompous it is. By the same token, I enjoy the aesthetic and romance of pirate stories, but I sometimes feel that authors rely too much on nautical know-how to carry the narrative rather than good characterization. My criticisms of these subgenres could also be applied to Boojum, though to a lesser extent. I think what saves Boojum to me is its excellent pacing and narrative structure, focusing on the way Black Alice interacts with the world, rather than having the story focus on the world itself. And so I can look past some of my issues to enjoy Boojum for what it is: a fun space-pirate story with minor horror elements.

Link to Short Story

The Eleven Holy Numbers of the Mechanical Soul

by Natalia Theodoridou, 2014 Rating: ★☆☆☆☆

The Eleven Holy Numbers of the Mechanical Soul skirts the edge between surreal and survival thriller, dipping its toes in both genres without commiting to either. I found the references to holy numbers and the fluctuating perspectives more distracting than compelling; it felt as though the author was trying too hard to add a mystical element to the story, in an attempt to elevate the story beyond being just science-fiction. It also never felt as though anything was at stake, with survival elements acting more as padding than anything compelling. Part of me wonders if this was all intentional, as if Natalia Theodoridou wants the reader to ask questions rather than just passively experiencing the story. Where exactly is Theo? Is he on a habitable planetoid? Are the machines sentient? Or are they just machinations of Theo’s engineering mind? Is he waiting for something? Will someone ever come? These questions are an undercurrent to the events in the story, and are what occupied my thoughts following my reading. However, there’s little substance to the story itself. In my opinion, Theodoridou excels at building a rich world around her characters, but I was not a fan of how she structured her narrative.

Link to Short Story

Mountain Ways

by Ursula K. Le Guin, 1996 Rating: ★★★★★

Unfortunately, I never had much exposure to Ursula K. Le Guin in my childhood, and it’s only recently that I’ve begun to hear how much she has contributed to literature. Her talent is obvious in Mountain Ways; after what I felt was a rocky start, I was fully immersed in her story. She places the focus on the characters, and the way they interact and change with the world, rather than on the world itself. Characters act like real people, with goals, flaws, worries and emotions. The world feels real and makes sense within the rules set by Le Guin. My only criticisms lie in the story’s beginning and ending. While I understand the necessity of explaining the complex marriage practices of the culture in Mountain Ways, I’m always wary when an author feels the need to address the reader directly regarding their world’s lore. It should instead be understood naturally through the interactions between characters, as they navigate their world and come to understand it. Although, her warning regarding the complexity of the ki’O’s marriage practices is well-founded; I often found myself confused when it came to marriage terminology, especially once genders were falsified. As for the ending, the conflict felt forced and unresolved. It’s as if the narrative could not end without some kind of conflict—as though Le Guin did not feel confident enough in her characters being influenced by anything but spurned love or misplaced anxiety. I felt betrayed that Shahes became so emotional, stubborn and unreasonable towards the end—especially after displaying such conviction, passion and determination up until then. Her stubbornness seems like a natural extension of her character, but she quickly became shallow and unlikable.

Perhaps this change in Shahes was what Le Guin was aiming for from the beginning. The change in narrative focus from Shahes to Enno/Alka is evidence of this. Beginning as a secondary character, Enno/Alka slowly turns into the protagonist, while simultaneously growing closer to the other members of their sedoretu and experiencing a rift with Shahes. I believe this change in focus is what kept me invested in the story, as I quickly latched onto Enno/Alka where previously I had difficulty feeling connected to Shahes near the beginning.

I also think Le Guin made the right choice in how she directly addresses sexuality and gender identity. In the world of O, the people inhabiting therein are bound together by marriage. Homosexuality seems accepted—even encouraged—and pre-marital sex is common practice. However, people are still expected to marry for the purpose of reproduction, with individuals expected to couple with a man and woman in a four-way relationship. As is the case with most stories worth being told, the main cast of characters seek to subvert these established laws through deception. While the events in the story are certainly interesting and help to build drama, there’s also a clear contrast with the gender politics and discussions of sexuality of our modern world. Mountain Ways reminds us that no matter how open and accepting your society might be, there will always be people who push the limits of what’s acceptable in the name of free love. It also reminds us that deception in relationships is difficult on individuals, and what may seem like a good idea in theory, is much more difficult in practice. I think it’s important that Le Guin does not preach free love as infallible, and helps to make Enno/Alka likeable, as they walk the line between wanting to follow their heart and following their beliefs. They are not bound by conviction, but by morality and reason.

Despite my issues with Mountain Ways’ beginning and ending, Ursula K. Le Guin lives up to her reputation by immersing the reader in her world almost effortlessly, while offering us the chance to explore important topics like sexuality and gender identity through excellent world-building. She demonstrates the power of science-fiction: the power to convey a message and discuss issues through metaphor, without being muddied by the social politics of the modern world.

Link to Short Story

Tan-Tan and Dry Bone

by Nalo Hopkinson, 1999 Rating: ★★☆☆☆

I’ll begin by saying that the dialect Nalo Hopkinson chose for Tan-Tan and Dry Bone wasn’t for me. It made it difficult for me to become immersed in the narrative from the beginning all the way to the end. I thought the dialogue—which used the same dialect—was excellent. It felt authentic, and I could listen to an entire play or film with characters speaking in this manner. However, I was quickly fatigued by the dialect’s use in the narrative, leading to me having to repeatedly re-read passages to make I understood what was going on. That being said, I did enjoy Tan-Tan and Dry Bone for what it was. Unfortunately, I didn’t get as much out of it as I think someone familiar with African culture would. To me it was a simple folktale with the purpose of representing African culture, while simultaneously conveying a message of hope for women caught in abusive relationships.

The Four Generations of Chang E

by Zen Cho, 2011 Rating: ★☆☆☆☆

The Four Generations of Chang E attempts to tackle real world issues through metaphor and allegory—in this case, the issues of immigration, segregation and personal identity. I think Zen Cho tackles these issues with a grace that points to a familiarity born from experience, or at least from close study of them. However, I found the story to be rather boring overall and the metaphors a bit on the nose. Characters also felt flat and one-dimensional; caricatures of actual people rather than real people onto themselves. The focus is placed on social issues, leaving the rest of the story feeling rushed, hollow and unfinished. I can appreciate how Cho used science fiction for tackling these important issues, but I could not get immersed in the narrative itself.

Stay Thy Flight

by Elisabeth Vonarburg, 1992 Rating: ★★☆☆☆

Stay Thy Flight has a very rough opening few paragraphs. The beginning third or so presents a very difficult barrier of entry, as the author uses punctuation and fragmented phrases to represent how time passes faster for the protagonist than for the reader, before said reader has even had the chance to understand what’s happening. The sequence also lasts longer and contains more intense descriptions than I think is necessary to convey the theme of how time is fleeting. In fact—in fear of what I may have to put myself through—I even read ahead to see if I was in for a long, difficult read under this format. If I had met this story outside of this collection, I most likely would have stopped reading it after the first or second paragraph for this reason alone. Even though I love the themes that Elisabeth Vonarburg conveys, all I wanted was to finish and move on as quickly as possible. It’s a shame, since Stay Thy Flight is an excellent piece of fiction and could have stood on its own, without the need for such extravagant prose.

As an aside, I tried to find the French version of this story—titled ...suspends ton vol—but unfortunately, I could not find it published stand-alone online. It is only available as part of French short story collections, which I am not ready to purchase or find in a bookstore for the sake of my curiosity. However, I would have liked to read Stay Thy Flight in its original format, to see if the opening felt more organic in Vonarburg’s native tongue.

Astrophilia

by Carrie Vaughn, 2012 Rating: ★★★★★

Perhaps it’s a testament to the skill that Carrie Vaughn and Ursula K. Le Guin hold in writing fiction, but I feel I am quickly becoming a fan of the “lesbian farmer” trope. Astrophilia reminds me a lot of Le Guin’s entry in this collection, and Vaughn manages to capture my interest with her romance just as Le Guin was able to weave a story full of wonder, internal conflict and change. If I am honest, homosexual relationships in rustic environments have always been of particular interest to me. I think what pulls me to this trope is the atmosphere, combined with the inherit rebelliousness that the characters must adopt to make their relationship work. It’s thrilling and endearing at the same time. Add on the expectation that people must raise children once they are of age in these kinds of settings, and the field is laid out for compelling storytelling.

The romance between Stella and Andi embodies the best of this trope, and Vaughn seems to have a knack for writing a compelling romance on top of it all. I was fully invested in both characters, and the final conflict had me on the edge of my seat. I was a little disappointed in how things were wrapped up though. It felt less like an authentic conversation between adults, and more of a sermon from the author to the reader on the moral of the story. I wasn’t convinced by Toma’s change of heart; it’s not that I think a more violent end would have been more appropriate, but I feel as though Stella could have convinced him without trying to appeal to a belief he had had instilled in him since his childhood. I’ve never known someone to change their mind that suddenly, especially when they have been repeatedly challenged before. However, the rest of the story was superb, and I must also mention that I appreciate that the main source of conflict is not the topic of homosexuality itself; Vaughn chose to subvert the expectation that stories with homosexuality must ultimately contain conflict surrounding the sexuality of its characters, often ending in violence. While stories depicting the difficulties homosexual people face everyday is important, it’s also important to depict people existing outside of their sexual identity.

Link to Short Story

Invisible Planets

by Hao Jingfang, 2013 Rating: ★☆☆☆☆

I think what I most disliked about Invisible Planets was its format, in that it is simply a collection of worldbuilding concepts. Invisible Planets goes so far as to separate each world into its own section, with some commentary between the narrator and a surrogate for the reader (as the narrator addresses “you” throughout the story, and “you” respond). I do not know what the intent Hao Jinfang had when writing Invisible Planets. The structure feels uninspiring and bland. The exchange between the narrator and “you” near the end of the story feels similarly uninspired, and mystically nonsensical. There was no narrative here, only a collection of ideas. While that can be fine on its own, to me it feels lazy and unfinished. It’s the equivalent of going up to a writer or director at a convention and telling them you have this great idea, but you haven’t done any actual writing. You only wrote down the idea, dusted your hands and said “Yup, that’s good.” before moving onto the next project. Each world Jingfang presents to us is interesting enough on its own to warrant in-depth exploration, but instead she chooses to present them as flat canvases with which she expects us to paint our own narrative. Invisible Planets feels like a step back from what makes science fiction literature unique—in that it can explore themes and stories untethered by the weight of the real world. What it is instead is a synopsis for a series of pulp fiction novels from the 1940’s.

Link to Short Story

On the Leitmotif of the Trickster Constellation in Northern Hemispheric Star Charts, Post-Apocalypse

by Nicole Kornher-Stace, 2013 Rating: ★☆☆☆☆

From the outset, it was clear to me that On the Leitmotif of the Trickster Constellation in Northern Hemispheric Star Charts, Post-Apocalypse would be one of those stories that relied as much on flowery language as it did on weaving a compelling narrative. Combined with textbook-style prefaces, Nicole Kornher-Stace manages to craft the pinnacle of pretentiousness. It’s a shame because the story has a magnificent world and interesting characters behind all of its presentation. Kornher-Stace’s use of poetic prose and textbook-style elements confuses what ends up being a rather simple story. It’s an inspiring, deeply moving story. But I could not bring myself to care as I had to move through a veil of fog before I could enjoy it. There are times where unique formats can help to elevate a story, to enhance the message it is trying to convey. Most of the time—when an author attempts to deliver their story in a unique way—they are either experimenting or are crying for attention. I do not know which is the case for On the Leitmotif of the Trickster Constellation in Northern Hemispheric Star Charts, Post-Apocalypse, but either way, the format Korher-Stace chose detracts from the overall experience. If anything I think this story would work well as a quest in an RPG, wherein in the player would learn the fragmented history of the world through exploration, and Wasp’s character through gameplay. But it just fails in its current format to be a worthwhile piece of fiction.

Valentines

by Shira Lipkin, 2009 Rating: ★★★★★

Shira Lipkin was able to convincingly sell what it’s like to live in the mind of a person trying to make sense of their world through the act of recording everything on paper. Acting almost like a computer, the protagonist has to constantly write down and then index things around her. I came out of Valentines thinking a lot about the human condition and how we think. It’s a simple story, but it conveys its message well. Lipkin has a good sense of detail, focusing on elements that put us in the mind of the protagonist, even if you don’t have experience with epilepsy or memory loss yourself.

Dancing in the Shadow of the Once

by Rochita Loenen-Ruiz, 2013 Rating: ★★☆☆☆

I found Dancing in the Shadow of the Once boring, as it suffers from the issue of presenting a problem, waiting for the reader to solve it and then having the characters enact the solution long after the reader has already decided what the solution should be. The problem in this case is whether Hala should stop being a cultural historian for the amusement of the colonist elite, and the solution is her no longer being in this position. As a reader, it becomes obvious in the latter half of the story that she will follow this path, all that remains is to know how she will get there. I found this tedious as the character walks methodically to the resolution, with no new developments along the way. Rochita Loenen-Ruiz also falls into a trap I often see accompanying this kind of storytelling problem: she withholds information, or only provides enough characterization to further the plot and then retroactively develops the character in the hopes of keeping things ambiguous or mysterious. I find this writing technique shows a lack of faith in the author’s own work, which didn’t help my already low opinion of the story. The only thing that kept me interested were the story’s themes of colonialism and imperialism, that were unfortunately not as prominent as I would have liked. I also enjoyed the discussions around the culture, as few as they were. Finally, one of the strongest moments in the story is the dance between Hala and Bayninan, as it becomes clear that Bayninan has romantic feelings for Hala. It’s a shame the rest of the story does not live up to the emotional impact of this moment.

Ej-Es

by Nancy Kress, 2010 Rating: ★★★★★

There’s just something about living life through a character’s perspective for a short time, to see the world as they do, to hear their thoughts, feel their doubts and experience their pain. Nancy Kress succeeds at this in Ej-Es. I was captivated throughout my reading, feeling as though I knew Mia on an intimate level, even though I only spent a short time with her. She felt like a real person; a woman tired of protocol, far from where she first began but still holding onto what she values the most. She knows her place in the world and how to navigate it, and yet comes off as vulnerable all the same. Kress managed to craft a compelling character piece, while simultaneously commenting on missionary work and how it impacts indigenous people. Kress writes wonderfully, conveying a compelling story with realistic characters and immersive narration.

Link to Short Story

The Cartographer Wasps and the Anarchist Bees

by E. Lily Yu, 2011 Rating: ★★★☆☆

The Cartographer Wasps and the Anarchist Bees surprised me, in that E. Lily Yu manages to weave a rather compelling fairy tale, seemingly creating it wholecloth from nothing; or at least, I have never heard of this specific folktale before. It has some of the familiar trappings of fairy tales: whimsical creatures, talking animals and a morally good ending. There’s also a good amount of commentary on imperialism and politics, without the topics being forced down the reader’s throat. The only thing I’m not too sure about is what part the anarchist bees have in the story. They don’t seem to have any impact on the story; in fact, everything is resolved without the bees doing anything at all to secure their freedom. The only explanation I have is the story must be based on real-life events of which I’m not familiar with, or its implied that while the anarchists did not survive, their ideologies will live on in this hive’s society to inform decisions in the future. Either way, I can’t shake the feeling that Yu is making reference either to either historical events or an existing fable. If this is an isolated work, free from influence, then there’s a lack of clarity and consistency in the story, with too much left up for the reader to interpret. In either case, The Cartographer Wasps and the Anarchist Bees is a great fable-like story that shows that simple, concise stories often work best to convey an author’s message.

Link to Short Story

The Death of Sugar Daddy

by Toiya Kristen Finley, 2009 Rating: ★★★★☆

I was on edge for a good part of The Death of Sugar Daddy, mostly due to the way people in the story would refer to Sugar Daddy. I felt he would end up being a pedophile or some kind of undying being—both of which may still be the case, but I’m not convinced one way or the other. This rising sense of dread transformed into a feeling of heartfelt anticipation as more and more of the world spilled out, slowly building a picture of a world wherein memory is intrinsically tied to existence. Toiya Kristen Finley does an amazing job of building the world through her characters; the protagonist and supporting characters help to build the world without acting as walking exposition dumps, with defined personalities and lives outside the context of the plot. Finley proves to me once again that character-driven narratives are the best vehicles for worldbuilding, as they allow the reader to discover the world organically instead of academically.

I also liked that Finley was able to convey African-American culture without over-the-top social commentary. There was still some underlying social commentary about the wealth disparity of African-Americans in the western world, but it was never anything significantly overt. I can normally appreciate social commentary in fiction, but the character-driven narrative of The Death of Sugar Daddy allows the characters to experience this wealth inequality instead of preaching to the reader. It’s refreshing to have something that makes you think about the issue from a human perspective instead of a political one.

Link to Short Story

Enyo-Enyo

by Kameron Hurley, 2013 Rating: ★☆☆☆☆

Some parts of Enyo-Enyo are genuinely interesting, and I think the underlying story is emotionally impactful, if not a little strange. However, any positive elements the story may have are overshadowed by its presentation—more specifically, the choice in vocabulary and the story’s narrative structure. From the first three or four paragraphs, it’s made clear to the reader that Enyo’s world is alien. This would normally be a good thing, but Kameron Hurley goes too far, and ended up alienating me with how “other” Enyo’s world is. And while I don’t have an issue with the non-linear timeline of events, it only helped to compound these issues here, making it even more difficult for me to follow what’s happening. Enyo-Enyo is a simple story told in a complicated manner—very rarely is this kind of storytelling effective, and often paints the author as pompous and shallow. It’s a shame, because I think I would have liked Enyo-Enyo if Hurley had written in a more straightforward manner.

Link to Short Story

Semiramis

by Genevieve Valentine, 2011 Rating: ★★★☆☆

The easiest way for me to sum up Semiramis is to say that it instills a feeling that something is about to happen, or that some change is about to occur, but the reader is ultimately left at the precipice of anticipation, without anything ever being resolved. I didn’t like this at first. The protagonist-narrator would always seem on the cusp of making some kind of realization before moving onto the next bit of exposition or the next source of conflict. As a result, all of the events muddle together—with no beginning, no end. But as I reflected on what Genevieve Valentine might be trying to do, I came to my own realization that a feeling of helplessness is exactly what she was trying to convey. Between the global climate crisis and the protagonist’s struggle with their duties, environment and relationships, I underwent a general feeling of unease as the events of the story unfolded. It’s almost depressing as you come to the conclusion that sometimes, things are just out of your control, and all you can do is little things to make your life worth living. The world is cruel, unforgiving and need not pay mind to every individual. Not all conflicts come to a satisfying end, and waiting for something to happen will only lead to more anxiety as time moves on without regard for each individual’s desires.

I am still unsure whether I truly enjoyed Semiramis. Despite the message she was trying to convey, I had a difficult time initially remembering the contents of the story within a day of writing this. Perhaps the effects of the story were stronger than the actual fiction, and that should point to the power of what she was trying to do.

Link to Short Story

Immersion

by Aliette de Bodard, 2012 Rating: ★☆☆☆☆

Immersion is something that’s outside of my lived experience, but is easy enough to read that it doesn’t really matter. Sometimes, this can be a good thing. But when it comes to Immersion, I’m not sure if Aliette de Bodard utilized the medium correctly. I get the message of the story; colonialism is bad, and often the colonized are the ones who have to fight back, or risk being overwhelmed. Where Immersion fails is that the world and the story’s underlying message don’t mesh. De Bodard goes back and forth between describing a rich fictional world and taking time to preach their gospel to the reader, with obvious tonal breaks between the two. In fact, there is a surprising number of exposition dumps for a short story of this length, most of which I ended up speeding through. The information provided has little impact on the conflicts the protagonist is dealing with. De Bodard also utilizes a trope I dislike, namely the constant need to excuse bad dialogue by labelling it as “inevitable” or “obligatory”. I can’t help but feel that de Bodard’s writing is uninviting, and that it lacks the polish that’s needed to convey whatever message she wants to get across.

Down the Wall

by Greer Gilman, 2015 Rating: ★☆☆☆☆

There’s just something about the writing in stories like Down the Wall that instantly turned me off. It feels like Greer Gilman is intentionally making the writing obtuse in an effort to make some kind of statement, or to convey a sense of the world she’s trying to portray. It just helps to break my immersion, forcing me to think about what the author is trying to say rather than investing myself in the world, characters and themes. I have to actively read and re-read passages, questioning if I truly understand what is going on. This kind of writing just makes me feel the author is pretentious, and unwilling or unable to let their story stand on its own. From what little I took from Down the Wall, I think it could have been a great story about children surviving in a run-down world, oppressed by adults and the system alike. But in reality, it is a confusing bowl of word soup bogged down by a lack of direction or purpose.

Sing

by Karin Tidbeck, 2013 Rating: ★★★★☆

I instantly felt pulled in by Karin Tidbeck’s writing, fully immersed in the world she has created and the complex characters she introduces. Sing is a great example of what a short story should try to accomplish. Tidbeck gives us a slice, a mere glimpse of a person’s life as they go through their day to day life. You should be left wanting more, but also content with what you were given. I know that there are a lot of different kinds of stories out there; character-driven stories are not the only valid story type. But I’ve yet to find another story type that’s as engaging in this short story format. So many times I see movies and short stories trying to focus on world-building, plot, or even style, only to end up being convoluted or vapid in the process. Perhaps I’m just bitter, but Sing shows that you can have a fun, thought-provoking and immersive short story without needing to rely on literary tricks. I have a hard time finding anything wrong with Tidbeck’s writing, and I’m excited to read more of her work in the future.

Link to Short Story

Good Boy

by Nisi Shawl, 2009 Rating: ★★★★★

I felt myself enjoying Good Boy both on the surface level as well as within its deeper meanings. Nisi Shawl manages to craft a fun ride as we follow the antics of the titular Good Boy, after a short introduction to the characters and the concept of spiritual possession. There was something almost satirical about the way a hard science-fiction problem like colony-wide depression is resolved by dredging up the ghost of a 60’s-70’s Black clubgoer. Kressi’s serious, somber attitude is a fun contrast to the personality of Ivorene’s spirits. It’s just an enjoyable experience overall—and yet—below all this absurdity, is a surprisingly thoughtful exploration of colonization, the perception of spirituality, mother-daughter relationships, Black identity, and even the interpretation of spiritual possession as algorithmic computer logic. Shawl is somehow able to pack a lot within such a short story. These are the kinds of stories that make short stories worth it for me, with compelling characters, fun situations and thoughtful themes that stick with me long after I’ve finished reading.

Link to Short Story

The Second Card of the Major Arcana

by Thoraiya Dyer, 2012 Rating: ★★★☆☆

The Second Card of the Major Arcana feels like the setup to a joke, expanded over the length of a whole story, and then dramatized so much that’s no longer a joke—while remaining just as entertaining. The premise is simple, but I enjoyed Thoraiya Dyer’s approach in their execution of said premise. There isn’t a lot to say about The Second Card of the Major Arcana; it’s a fun little story with a great punchline, with my only criticism being that the violence and the sphinx’s mannerisms came across a bit juvenile. It sometimes felt like I was reading the edgy fanfiction of a DeviantArt teenager, rather than the thoughtful, well-developed prose of an established author. I have a hard time seeing this choice in tone as an issue though, considering it only reinforces the playful nature of the story.

Link to Short Story

A Short Encyclopedia of Lunar Seas

by Ekaterina Sedia, 2008 Rating: ★★★☆☆

This is the second short story in this anthology that has to do with the moon—and more specifically mermaids on the moon—which makes me curious whether there’s some established folklore I’m not familiar with regarding the moon and fae-like beings. That aside, A Short Encyclopedia of Lunar Seas is exactly what it sets out to be: a series of isolated stories based around the “seas” of the lunar surface. Ekaterina Sedia manages to weave a charming and whimsical set of tales that I found myself simultaneously amazed and confused by. Normally, the latter would be a detriment to the overall experience, but I think the segmented nature of Sedia’s work allows this kind of exploration. She’s able to explore outlandish topics at a fast pace, moving from one to the other without the need to retain much from the previous snippets beyond her style of prose. A Short Encyclopedia of Lunar Seas is an interesting experience, though not a significantly fulfilling one. I didn’t find myself coming from this story having learned or felt anything specific; it felt more akin to a series of short fairy tales aimed at adults, complete with a surprising amount of descriptions of breasts, though nothing that I felt was overtly sexual.

Vector

by Benjanun Sriduangkaew, 2013 Rating: ★★★☆☆

Vector is a good example in my mind of how to write flowery prose for a science-fiction or fantasy story without it feeling pretentious. I don’t think I’d be able to draw a distinct line between something that feels genuine and in service of the story, versus something that’s merely decorative and just a chance for the author to show their skills with a thesaurus. However, Benjanun Sriduangkaew manages to keep my attention throughout, and I never felt overwhelmed by her metaphors. Perhaps that is what makes for good flowery prose: a focus on metaphor in service of theme, rather than on superfluous wording that only serves to pad the text. Vector shows you can do the former effectively, reinforcing the themes instead of muddling them.

I think where Vector fails is that it wears its theme on its sleeve. Sriduangkaew manages to present the theme of the effects of religious-white colonialism in an interesting way, but I think she sacrificed characterization and any semblance of worldbuilding in the process. In other words, Vector opts to punch you in the face with its themes, with science-fiction elements sprinkled on top for decoration. It feels more like a chance for the author to soapbox than an authentic storytelling experience.

Concerning the Unchecked Growth of Cities

by Angélica Gorodischer, 2003 Rating: ★★★★★

Concerning the Unchecked Growth of Cities is pure worldbuilding. After getting used to the narrative style, I can say I thoroughly enjoyed myself as Angélica Gorodischer basically spent the entire length of her story delivering exposition on a single city. I’ll be honest that I wasn’t on board at first, but I quickly became enraptured by the complex, weaving story told from the perspective of the narrator. The narrative tone is also fun and a bit cheeky, which helped to lighten the expository load. The narrator is no-nonsense, but sass and sarcasm drips from almost every passage. Paragraphs are long and go on for too long, adding to the idea that Concerning the Unchecked Growth of Cities is a story being told orally—or at the very least, informally—by an aging storyteller. Gorodischer did a great job at not only weaving an interesting world, but managing to present in an entertaining way.

The Radiant Car Thy Sparrows Drew

by Catherynne M. Valente, 2009 Rating: ★☆☆☆☆

The Radiant Car Thy Sparrows Drew relies solely on its premise and its world design to carry it, instead of having any interesting characters or a solid plot at its base. I don’t think premise and world alone are enough to make a great story, though I may be biased in that I don’t find the world Catherynne M. Valente created to be that interesting. Maybe it’s the steampunk/futurepunk aesthetic that’s off putting to me, but I never really knew what the setting was in any given scene, or how the characters fit within the context of that setting. Every scene has a dream-like quality, untethered to any semblance of a consistent reality. Perhaps that’s what Valente was aiming for: a world detached from reality, with nothing to anchor its people down. If this was the intent, I don’t believe she succeeded, as I was mostly left confused instead of swept away in the whimsy.

I just feel like Valente may have been trying too hard in her attempts to convey a specific feeling to the reader. I would have much rather have lived this world through the eyes of specific characters, instead of through the narrator, who lays out the primary events of the story as if it were a documentary. It all feels a little pretentious to me. Nothing proves this more to me than the “twist”, wherein the narrator is actually the boy that Bysshe interacts with. The switch from a documentary to telling of the ramifications of Bysshe’s discoveries and disappearance is too sudden, with the resulting revelations feeling preachy and disconnected from the rest of the story. The only saving grace for The Radiant Car Thy Sparrows Drew could have been its world—specifically in regards to the callowhales—but it wasn’t enough to save it.

Link to Short Story

Conclusion

I enjoyed my experience with The Mammoth Book of SF Stories by Women, even though it took me quite a long time to finish it. While some of the stories didn’t feel worth my time, or didn’t fit my expectations coming into the book, I’ve come out of this collection with a list of authors I am eager to explore further, and I find myself once again appreciating female speculative fiction authors. I have always been a fan of female authors, as I find their works tend to be much more personable and focused on character. I consider this approach to writing incredibly compelling, as opposed to what I define as a “mansplaining” writing style—in which the author feels the need to explain everything to the reader from an objective perspective, including characters, settings and the world as a whole. This isn’t something limited to male authors, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say it’s one of the reasons I tend to dislike books by male authors.

In concept and in execution, The Mammoth Book of SF Stories by Women is a worthwhile reading experience. It proves why it’s important to showcase female authors, while simultaneously being entertaining in its own right. It’s a shame that I personally don’t enjoy short story anthologies; a distaste that was compounded by my compulsion to review each story individually. It only takes one bad reading experience to put me off reading for days, if not weeks sometimes. I also need some time after finishing each story to think on it, so this format doesn’t lend itself well to individual reviews, at least not for me. Despite my issues with completing the book, I enjoyed my time with The Mammoth Book of SF Stories by Women, and will definitely be revisiting some of my favourite stories in the future

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