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Elliott Dunstan

  • Home
  • Contact
  • About Me
    • Publications
    • Books
  • Bell, Clock and Candle (Elessa)
    • The Nowhere Bird (Bell, Clock and Candle #1)
  • ALKIMIA FABLES
  • Book Review: OROPE by Guenevere Lee

    March 12th, 2019

    It’s been a long time since I’ve had to wait for the next book in a series, and now I find myself awaiting the sequel to this low-fantasy historical novel with more anticipation than I’ve felt in a while! I’m normally a backlist reader; I don’t have the funds or the time usually to preorder books, even though there are many I’m looking forward to (looking at you, WILDER GIRLS…). However, I picked up OROPE in October and now have to sit back and wait for the rest like everybody else.

    Trigger warnings for OROPE: violence, racism, human sacrifice, natural disasters.

    OROPE is a mix between an alternate-history travelogue and an apocalyptic quest; it’s a little too catastrophic for the first and a little too slow-moving for the second. What it does with its alternate history, however, is fascinating. Guenevere Lee calls it a Bronze Age fantasy, and it’s an apt descriptor – I recognize cultural influences from Egypt, the Cycladic islands, Minoan and Mycenean Greece, and the Mayans. The worldbuilding is phenomenal, mixing enough familiarity with enough strangeness to keep me invested – and when natural disaster strikes, it strikes a world that feels real and reacts like a physical thing.

    OROPE suffers a little bit, in contrast, when it comes to its characters. In my first chapter review (here) I immediately got invested in the character of Rashma Hal’Hotem, a Rhagepe Death priestess. By the end of the first chapter, she’s gone from the narrative, and replaced with four other central characters in two and sometimes three separate narrative streams. It’s a lot to balance, and while Kareth, Tersh and Samaki have engaging enough interactions with each other to keep the story moving, the chapters with Sha’di take place a continent away and sometimes feel like distractions from the ‘real’ plot.

    It also bothers me, possibly more than it should, how the Petzuhallpa chapters are framed. It’s already a bit strange that Mayan culture from the Americas should show up in a book so strongly based on the Mediterranean; it’s definitely more than a little frustrating how much of the plotline for that culture is based around the “barbaric” act of human sacrifice. Certainly the Mayans practiced human sacrifice, and certainly somebody from the Mediterranean would find this shocking (there are enough stories in the Greek mythological corpus to attest to this) but it still hits a bit strangely.

    That said, I’m still hooked. I want to see what the fallout from the end of this book is, and while I’m wary of the Sha’di plotline, I’m endlessly curious to see how it ends up! I predict that this will be the kind of book series that reads best when done all at once; as it is, I’m willing to be patient and enjoy what there is so far.

    Orope is available on Amazon here.

  • Review: ‘Anya’s Ghost’ by Vera Brosgol

    March 5th, 2019

    I’m not a big reader of comic books, generally speaking. It’s not because I don’t like them – I actually adore the medium, and my devotion to webcomics speaks for itself – but the standard serialized format can be a lot to keep up with. However, graphic novels are a different thing altogether, and sometimes I find one that just blows me away.

    I picked up Anya’s Ghost years ago, I don’t remember why, and I suppose I must have read it at the time. I’d forgotten everything about it by the time I picked it up for a reread, and I’m glad – because getting to experience it all over again was absolutely worth it.

    Anya’s Ghost follows a Russian girl living in America as she struggles to fit in, ‘Americanize’ and avoid being identified as fresh off the boat. When she falls into a well, she meets a ghost named Emily, who says that she’ll be her new best friend. In a different genre, this could be a set-up for a sweet coming-of-age story; instead, while it’s still about Anya growing up, it takes a sharp turn into horror as Emily’s nature is revealed.

    I always hesitate to call books ‘feminist’ in and of themselves, but it’s hard not to apply that label to Anya’s Ghost, mostly because the comic is so naturally and effortlessly centered around female friendships and relationships. Anya struggles with disordered eating and body image problems, and a disconnect from her mother and her culture. Elizabeth, the girlfriend of Anya’s crush, is stuck in a toxic relationship. Siobhan, Anya’s best friend, is entitled and rough around the edges, but still trying her best to look out for her friend where she can. And Emily, the titular ghost… oh man.

    I think possibly the best part of this comic – a hard choice between its pacing, its writing, its art – is how it handles its central conflict. I’m trying to keep this spoiler-free, but it is refreshing to see a conflict resolved with compassion and understanding, without letting manipulative and terrorizing behavior off the hook. Giving people second chances is important… but not if they don’t know what they’ve done wrong.

    Anya’s Ghost is a 5/5 for me, and I’ll be hunting down some more of Vera Brosgol’s work. I highly recommend this, particularly for folks interested in reading about immigrant experiences, toxic friendships, and/or nonviolent resolutions to stories.

  • Being An Autistic Activist: On Ableism, Subtext and Good Faith

    February 24th, 2019

    I never wanted to be an activist. Sure, I like standing up for people. I never got the kind of help I needed when I was a kid, so I try to help others where I can. I react to injustice because I think that’s what everybody should do.

    Activist, though? Given the chance, I’d be a million other things. I’m an author, a librarian, a historian, an academic… I like knowing things, taking them apart, understanding subtext. But I would have never chosen to be an activist. That role was thrust upon me because I’m queer, I’m disabled, I’m traumatized… Simply put, I’m called an activist when I ask for the same rights and considerations as everybody else, even though I’m not really cut out for it.

    In recent years, white and straight autistic folks using it as a ‘defense’ of their racist or queerphobic behavior have gotten a lot of negative attention. Rightfully so, too! Every time it’s come up, it’s been a clear case of trying to use a diagnosis as a shield. But for a long time, I’ve been wondering how much harder that makes it to talk about something both very obvious and very hidden. It does come up that academic jargon in social justice communities puts up an accessibility barrier, for those who didn’t go to university or those who have learning disabilities.

    But what about autism, specifically?

    Well, what about it? So much of activism hinges on subtext. Take the concept of the fake apology. I’ve had a lot of practice identifying insincere apologies, but it took me a long time to understand even the concept that somebody would bother lying. That’s pretty common with autism! We tend to know that people lie, but for a lot of us, doing it ourselves or identifying lying when it happens is a real struggle. So we take the apologies at face value.

    Another example of how current activism, especially online, disadvantages autistic people is the concept of sealioning. Sealioning is incredibly frustrating to deal with. For those unfamiliar, it’s when somebody pretends not to understand something basically to frustrate whoever is answering their questions for as long as possible. The target, trying to answer all these questions in good faith, eventually loses their temper or patience, and the sealion can use this as an example about how “leftists don’t want to teach” or “libs are just mean”, anything they want. Understandably, the amount of sealions out there means that people get nervous around questions or what looks like willful ignorance.

    Except… I sometimes genuinely cannot wrap my head around something. It doesn’t mean it’s up to somebody else to teach me. But as a queer, trans, disabled person it is incredibly frustrating to be intellectually struggling with something because of my disability and get brushed off as a sealion, an instigator or a misogynist. I am probably just missing a vital piece of information! There’s a running assumption that if you’re an activist or marginalized, you should “already know”, but most allistic* people have powers of osmosis or picking up on subtleties that I don’t have. (At least, I assume that’s how you all do it. Nobody’s ever been able to explain it to me.)

     

    Even when we approach topics we don’t understand well with as much grace as possible, it’s a running problem that we’re brushed off or snapped at. And I get it. We’re all tired. But ableism is just as much part of the kyriarchy* as everything else, and if you’re going to put so much attention on subtext, implication and understanding, you owe it to autistic people of all kinds to make your subtext text.

    I didn’t choose to be an activist, but I’m one anyway. I didn’t get a choice in the matter. So while I’m here, let me be the best one I can and make space for me.

    How to do that: If you know something, even scraps of information, about somebody, think about whether or not they have all the information. If somebody’s queer and autistic and under the impression somebody apologized for being queerphobic, they’re probably not trying to be an ass. If somebody is clearly missing subtext, and you’ve got the energy, take the time to explain it to them. I’d rather that you come off accidentally mansplainy than to be mocked (again) for missing something that was obvious to everybody else. Don’t assume that something is so clear that ‘nobody could possibly misinterpret it’. Don’t assume that people should already Know Things.

    In short, give all the short shrift to assholes you want, but remember to have a little bit of good faith to spare for those who need it. Thank you.


    *allistic = not autistic
    *kyriarchy = the system supported by all types of oppression

  • ARC Review: Goddess of the Hunt by Shelby Eileen

    February 19th, 2019

    I was lucky enough to get access to an advance reading copy of Shelby Eileen’s upcoming poetry chapbook ‘Goddess of the Hunt’, a poetic treatment of aromantic-asexual Artemis. (I’ve reviewed some of Eileen’s work before – read my review of Sunfish here.)

    I’m somebody who loves Greek mythology, so the premise of this chapbook already appeals to me on a deeply personal level, and Artemis as aroace just makes it that much sweeter. Plenty has been written about the ‘virgin goddess’, but surprisingly little from her own perspective, and this is the niche that Eileen’s book slips into. The 100-page book flips between snapshots of moments in the life of a goddess (usually Artemis; sometimes Leto, or Persephone) and short poems, all filled with a richness of language that both lives up to and surpasses the promise of sunfish. 

    Particularly notable is the poem on page 73.

    the tips of my arrows pin all your racing thoughts in place
    the sharp edges of my disinterest halt you in your tracks
    this is what it feels like to know people are afraid of you
    afraid to try
    afraid to get too close

    This is the kind of rhythm and emotional vulnerability that Eileen brings to their work all the time, but the layers of mythology and metaphor here make it that much more visual. Artemis is certainly spoken of in somewhat hushed tones in the Classical works, and the power in the poetry in ‘Goddess of the Hunt’ is how it gives her the room to be terrifying, to be a warrior, to be the fierce virgin goddess, while also talking about her softness and her desire for closeness. Just because I don’t want what everybody else does, Artemis sings, doesn’t mean I won’t protect you with my life.

    ‘Goddess of the Hunt’s biggest difficulty is probably pacing and the organization of the poems. Every single one of these poems is excellent, with an individual voice and theme, but the final poem leaves off on an abrupt note, while others nearer the middle have a finality to them that perhaps would have been better suited to the end. Like many of the best books, it’s one where you can pick it up and read it a poem at a time, but it would be nice to see some of them switched for greater impact.

    ‘Goddess of the Hunt’ by Shelby Eileen launches on February 20th on Amazon; follow Eileen on twitter at @briseisbooks for more information, or see their Amazon store here.

  • Review: Of Echoes Born by ‘Nathan Burgoine

    February 12th, 2019

    Oh man. Oh MAN. So – I love short stories. They’re wonderful to rea to master, and the best ones leave you just wanting more.

    Interconnected short stories are even better. Stories that share a few characters here and there, similar themes, trickling with the slow realization that this is really all the same story, told bit by bit, piece by piece. Lives don’t go from beginning to end – they unfold, and bump into each other, leaving little blooms of colour along the way.

    I’m waxing poetic. But the point is, Of Echoes Born is really, really fucking good. I think what’s really astonishing me about it is that it’s an unusual kind of good – it’s the type of book I don’t think I’ve encountered before, and I don’t imagine I’ll see again. (Unless I can tempt Monsieur Burgoine into another. I shall prepare the cupcakes.) Nathan Burgoine has made wry jokes at cons and in interviews before about the specificity of Echoes’s subgenre. It’s a speculative queer interconnected short story collection, published in and set in Canada; but that’s exactly what makes it so special.

    To rewind. The central premise of the book is emotions as colours – the boy in the first story can see auras, blooming around people like rainbows. Between each story, different emotions and their associated hues get explained; the following tale usually has to do with it. Love, grief, envy, despair – they all have their role to play, and the stories are as varied as the hues they embody. But throughout it all, pervasive both in the stories and on the book’s cover is that love isn’t red – it’s blue.

    The other connecting element is that every story has a speculative element – but there’s no faeries or dragons here. Instead, Burgoine’s stories are tinged with the supernatural in the style of fabulism; think Joan Aiken, or Neil Gaiman, but with more of the former’s pervasive optimism and faith in the human spirit. A painter changes what could have been; a man connects with a regretful ghost; an artist returns to his hometown and lets himself acknowledge a heritage he’s never fully understood.

    One story in particular I have to talk about at length. It’s possibly my favourite of the collection – but contrarily, it’s also the one I have the most complicated emotions about. Apologies to those who want to read it with no spoilers; feel free to stop here!

    The story in question features a Deaf character, who communicates only with sign language. As many of you know, I am deaf, and every time I find a Deaf character I wasn’t expecting, it’s an amazing moment. And unfortunately, in this particular story, the character in question dies. This is difficult for me; the story is perfect. In an ideal world, I wouldn’t change a thing. But it does throw into relief for me how harsh the cultural context is upon disabled characters – that I pretty much expected it. Burgoine’s handling of the subject matter is so well done that I can’t even ask for anything else, only that one day there’ll be enough books where we aren’t killed or shunted aside that I can enjoy stories like this without that lingering sadness.

    Nathan Burgoine’s Of Echoes Born is available for purchase here! (If you’re in Ottawa, it is now also stocked at Carleton’s GSRC library! Come say hi!)

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