Jesmyn Ward has been publishing regularly ever since winning the 2011 National Book Award — Men We Reaped in 2013 and an anthology of edited works, The Fire This Time, in 2016 — but Sing, Unburied, Sing is her first novel since Salvage the Bones. As with her previous works, Ward again returns to Mississippi to follow a black family that’s on the brink of major changes.
Told mostly in chronological order through the eyes of rotating narrators, the story follows Jojo, a boy on the cusp of leaving childhood. He lives with his grandparents, Mam and Pop, and is often his baby sister’s main caregiver and protector. Sometimes his mother, Leonie, shows up, but she struggles with meth addiction and lacks mothering instincts at best and is negligent at worst. Jojo loves his grandparents, and Pop is the steadiest father figure he has ever had. Mam, meanwhile, seems to be in her final days of battling cancer; she stays upstairs, consumed by pain.
Post-Civil War life in Texas is notoriously lawless. Traveling the lonely stretches of road between towns, one might be attacked and killed by Native Americans or by bandits. Strangers pulling up to a town might be confronted by “the law:” men who have taken it upon themselves to keep out Yankee sympathizers by any means necessary. Such is the world that Captain Jefferson Kyle Kidd lives in. An elderly war hero, he now lives a mostly nomadic existence, traveling from town to town across North Texas to read the latest news of the world to paying audiences.
It is on one of these excursions that Captain Kidd is offered a $50 gold piece to take a young orphan girl from Wichita Falls to her surviving relatives San Antonio. Johanna was taken by the Kiowa Indians when she was six years old; now ten years old, Johanna has spent the last four years living as a Kiowa and it’s the only life she remembers. In her eyes, she has been kidnapped, not rescued.
Although they’re set in contemporary Argentina, many of the short stories in Mariana Enríquez’s Things We Lost in the Fire have an almost primal feel. A current of macabre superstition and urban legend threads the collection together, and nearly every story has some kind of undefinable darkness looming over its protagonists. The terror that transpired during Argentina’s relatively recent dictatorship — thousands were murdered in the 1970s and early 1980s — also haunts the pages. These are horror stories feel like they could be real.
Enríquez is very talented when it comes to creating atmospheric tension. Most of the stories take a surreal turn, but they all start out with recognizable contemporary scenarios: poverty, drug abuse, social inequality, childhood curiosity, obnoxious boyfriends. It isn’t until the reader is drawn into the relatable, reality-based settings that weird things start happening.
Lidia Yuknavitch’s latest novel is a dystopian reimagining of Joan of Arc. Set in the near future, Earth has been ravaged by radioactive fallout following several world wars. Survivors are white, sexless, hairless creatures who live as slaves under CIEL’s tyrannical rule; these creatures inscribe epic stories onto their skin. Other humans — the wealthy — have escaped and now hover safely above Earth. CIEL is headed by Jean de Men, a sadistic leader who rules with an iron fist.
Jean de Men is believed to have killed a child named Joan of Dirt, turning her into a martyr for a resistance that is brewing. Joan glows blue light and has a mystical relationship with the Earth; she has the power to destroy, but she also has the power to bring things back to life. In this new world, where everyone’s genitalia has basically shriveled up and fallen off, her powers have made her the stuff of legend. One of the sexless slaves, Christine Pizan (a nod to 12th-century proto-feminist author Christine de Pizan), is particularly enamored with Joan of Dirt’s story.
I became introduced to Meg Howrey’s writing a few years ago through her sophomore novel, a New York City ballet drama called The Cranes Dance. Her third novel intrigued me because of its radically different subject matter: in The Wanderers, three seasoned astronauts prepare for the first human mission to Mars.
A multinational crew — Helen Kane from the United States, Sergei Kuznetsov from Russia, and Yoshihiro Tanaka from Japan — is chosen by a private space exploration company to spend 17 months together in an intense training simulation. During this period, they’ll live together as if they were really on a journey to Mars. They’ll train inside a high-tech 24/7 simulation of their upcoming mission that comes complete with equipment failures and other possible emergencies they might encounter. Each has their own visions of making history, but they also harbor emotional baggage. Regardless, they are determined not to crack under pressure.