Dreams! We all have them. And we’ve all seen our dreams change throughout our lives. A childhood dream of being a rodeo cowboy might evolve to obtaining a computer science degree… Or even the other way around… Whether you’ve dreamed of jetting off to the stars or creating vast worlds that transport eager readers, these potent aspirations motivate and drive us.

That’s especially true here at the Brink Literacy Project, where we utilize the power of storytelling to affect the lives of people on the brink—anyone who is marginalized in society or otherwise lacks access to traditional means of learning about and employing the art of storytelling. We want to make dreams come true for our students, everyday.

But… what about our staff members? What have they dreamed about as wee storytellers?

Alexander Lumans

As a young writer, what did you dream your future in publishing would be?
In my earliest writer days, including my college and MFA years, I’m pretty sure I dreamed about auditorium classes full of overly studious English majors, all discussing their analyses of a book I wrote. As a student, I actually loved doing this, especially when I got to talk about a book I was particularly obsessed with. It now feels a little weird realizing part of my publishing dream involved school and research essays, but school was all I really understood back then.

How did you think you would obtain that dream?
Thankfully, I learned pretty quickly how much you need to give yourself over to your obsessions. The kinds of bizarro obsessions I didn’t really understand: collecting bottle caps, taxidermy, cool graveyards. And I decided to trust them to light my way deeper and deeper into the unknown.

Has the dream changed or shifted? And if so, how?
I think (hope) it’s changed! Of course, I’d still love to publish a book that college students have to pull support quotes from while resenting their professor. But the dream also feels so grounded in the hopes of writing a book that only I could’ve written. A book that exists only because I exist.

How does actually being a writer compare to what you dreamt it would be like?
It’s so much more difficult than I first dreamt of. Mostly because so much of the world doesn’t want you to write at all. It wants you to waste time buying things on Amazon. It wants you to watch Monday night football. And it wants you to ignore art. I try to remind myself that anyone who writes is creating against the grain, which makes the writing feel even more worthwhile.

If you could meet any other writer, living or dead, in your dreams who would you meet with, and why?
Barry Lopez, who unfortunately died only a few years ago. His incredible nonfiction book Arctic Dreams changed my very DNA. Not just as a writer but as a person who must engage with the environment with conscious decisions. In my dream, I figure he and I would go wandering together around the North Pole and talk to polar bears.

Eileen Silverthorn

As a young writer, what did you dream your future in publishing would be?

When I started college as an English major with a concentration in Creative Writing, I thought for sure I would be an author or an agent. All about that first part of the publishing process: the creation and the advocacy.

How did you think you would obtain that dream?

When I looked around at my fellow writers, it seemed that you had to either be writing or reading when you weren’t workshopping or submitting. I thought if I did it enough, I would eventually get there. I didn’t think luck or timing had anything to do with it!

Has the dream changed or shifted? And if so, how?

This dream has done a complete 180! Well, maybe not completely. Editing and writing are both different and adjacent for me in in terms of fulfilling my creative dreams. The idea of being an editor felt like it would have too many rules, too much technical focus. If anything, though, guiding authors through the editing process it has allowed me to become a better writer AND better reader, grasping the nuance of both.

How does actually being a writer compare to what you dreamt it would be like?

Being a writer has been WORK. I knew that being an AUTHOR would require a lot of dedication and hustle, but there was this fantasy that once you “figured it out” then you could lean back and just write. If only it was that easy. Writing is fun and fulfilling, but also an unending journey of development. And like most things, requires constant practice.

If you could meet any other writer, living or dead, in your dreams who would you meet with, and why?

I would love to meet Oscar Wilde in my dreams. Not only would it be a good time (he would be GRAND at a party, I mean, c’mon), but so much of his writing has seemed effortless to me. Inherently curious, creative, descriptive, but like he doesn’t take himself or his craft too seriously all the time. His writing and stories are not everybody’s cup of tea, but they don’t need to be to have value. This perspective is harder to understand and maintain than you’d think, especially in this industry and in our broader, content-consuming culture.

Ari Iscariot

As a young writer, what did you dream your future in publishing would be?

I don’t think my conceptualization of being published was very concrete when I was a teen. There was just a desire to have my writing, my “dream” novel, out in the world and being read and loved. I was also very involved in editing and beta-reading for fandom works as a teenager and that inspired my love for helping people develop their stories. I hoped I could continue that beyond the realm of fandom, in a professional capacity.

How did you think you would obtain that dream?

College, internship, and then plenty of hard work. The ush.

Has the dream changed or shifted? And if so, how?

My desire to edit hasn’t changed, and I’d love to have my own business some day with clients who are drawn to my personal style and approach. I don’t, however, want to publish traditionally in the way I used to. My desire now is to learn enough HTML, CSS, and Javascript to create a website to publish my stories and make them interactive. I want complete creative control over the art, soundscapes, music, etc., in my stories, and traditional publishing wouldn’t allow that.

How does actually being a writer compare to what you dreamt it would be like?

I don’t think I ever had a stage of dreaming of being a writer. I am a writer. It’s what I’ve always done. You could as soon ask me to stop breathing as to stop writing. I’d be lost without it.

If you could meet any other writer, living or dead, in your dreams who would you meet with, and why?

I did an interview on our F(r)iction site not too long ago with Phoenix Mendoza, and she would absolutely be my pick. She’s been my inspiration for years; her writing influenced my style more than any other writer I’ve read. Who knows, if she’s down, maybe some day I can travel across the states and make it a dream come true!

As writers, one of the most difficult tasks we face is plotting. We may have story ideas but wrangling them into something resembling a cohesive plot often seems a gargantuan task. In our time of need, we often turn to methods like the hero’s journey, Dan Harmon’s plot embryo, or the three-act structure. These methods are helpful, but can still feel broad and overwhelming, asking for more information than you have at the conception of your story.

Speaking as a neurodivergent individual (ND), conventional plotting methods have rarely been helpful to me, and I believe this is because NDs are often bottom-up thinkers. We are detailed oriented; we see the trees for the forest. Before we’ve imagined a plot from beginning to end, we know the intimate emotions of our characters, the flora and fauna of our world, the powers of our magic users, etc. We are engaged by and care most about creating our little guys and our intricate worlds, whereas plotting can feel technical, distant, methodical—not as exciting. Whether you’re neurodivergent or not, this may describe how you approach stories, and why you’ve struggled in the past with popular plotting methods that require linearity and causality.  

But never fear! My “anti-plotting” methods ask you not to create a timeline or to inflict events upon your characters but encourage building on your strengths. If you love creating characters and themes, a question you can ask is, “What is the emotional core of the story?” (This is different from the premise, or even the theme. It is the simplest, rawest, emotional hook that ignites the story.) If you love creating worlds, you can consider what elements of worldbuilding you want to highlight the most, and derive a plot from the concepts, complications, and conflicts that naturally exist in a well-fleshed out world. I believe that within these two elements, the detail-oriented writer has already planted the seeds of the stories they want to tell.

Emotional Core

The emotional core of a story is centered around an emotion you feel strongly about, a massive, reactor-esque generator of power that gives your story life and gives you the energy and enthusiasm to write it. Let’s take The Mandalorian to use as an example. Star Wars is a broad, complicated universe, but The Mandalorian has a painfully simple core. It doesn’t matter the obstacles Din Djarin faces, or the missions he must complete, he desires one thing: to be a good dad to his adopted kid. That desire, and the way it makes us feel, carries the show, and makes it compelling when you first tune into it. And not only is this emotional core moving and relatable to the audience, it’s undoubtedly easy for a writer to care deeply about it too. So, what moves you?

Knowing yourself and what motivates your writing is an important aspect of finding this emotional core: are you interested in stories of political justice like the Hunger Games? Are you deeply moved by father and son dynamics like in God of War? Does it light you up to write about the sacrificial power of love like in The Locked Tomb Series?

Once you’ve discovered the emotional core that moves you, you expound on that core by asking how it can be challenged, explored, and ultimately realized. You likely have the answers to these questions already because of your intimate knowledge of your characters! For instance, we know that Din Djarin’s motivations stem from the Mandalorian code. But we also know his values include being a good parent—the core of the story. Within the first season of the show, the writers ensure these desires are not compatible. They most likely asked themselves: how does Din Djarin reconcile these conflicts? What are the consequences of breaking the code? Why is he willing to prioritize the child over his desire to be loyal to his people’s principles? The answers to these questions create The Mandalorian’s plot as we know it, and they are guided by the characterization of Din. Similarly, the questions you ask about your character’s deepest drives can reveal your way forward and placing obstacles in the way of your emotional core will motivate you to continue writing around or through them.

Worldbuilding

If you’re not sure what your emotional core is, worldbuilding is an excellent alternative starting point. When you approach plotting via worldbuilding, you want to find what the most important and invigorating concepts of your universe are, the sparks that spawned the rest of your creation. Let’s think of worldbuilding as charting a course or navigating the stars. There are a million different beginnings, but you want to find your true North: the elements that, like the emotional core, hook in your guts and won’t stop pulling. We can start by listing elements of worldbuilding, and then determining which are most important to this story. A good way to approach this is by asking what kind of stories you are drawn to reading, and why? Or, by examining what has inspired you in the past, tracking where you began your brainstorming, and noting when the ideas started flowing. Let’s say this is our in-exhaustive list:

• Setting or Maps — If you pay special attention to settings and desire a wide world that will be well-travelled, this is a good place to begin. Let’s take the famous The Lord of the Rings. J.R.R. Tolkien was a linguist first, and not a practiced cartographer. But he once commented, “I wisely started with a map, and made the story fit” (Letter 144, 1954). Without his maps to guide him, the journeys of his characters would have been nearly impossible to follow, for himself and the reader.

• Magic Systems or Powers — In Brandon Sanderson’s Mistborn, there is a heavy focus on Allomancy, a magic system that gives powers to its practitioners through the consumption and “burning” of rare metals. Sanderson’s plot is heavily tied to his protagonist’s ability to master her Allomancy and use these powers to defeat the despotic villain. If you find yourself excited by the creation of complex and compelling magical systems, growing your story alongside those abilities could be key.

• Religions — Rick Riordan’s Percy Jackson series is all about gods, baby. Percy’s interactions with the gods and his navigation of their expectations is vital to the accomplishment of his mission. If you spend hours at a time constructing the personalities of gods, intricate rituals of worship, or complex beliefs and morals that deeply influence your world’s society and your characters’ decisions, religion may your key element.

• Fauna or Flora — Jeff VanderMeer’s Southern Reach trilogy is known for its weird ecology and the ways in which it steps in for the typical horror monster: an “entity” that is wild and unknown, threatening our climate-controlled, comfortable cityscapes or suburban bubbles. Are you drawn towards predatory plants or “living” landscapes? Trees that whisper secrets or marshes that swallow victims whole? Basing your plot around your ecology may seem unusual, but it’s certainly worked for VanderMeer!

• Communication — Samuel R. Delaney’s Babel-17 is a sterling example of communication as an essential element to plot. The premise can’t really operate without the author’s understanding of the Sapir–Whorf hypothesis, as the conlang of the book, Babel-17, is weaponized to influence thought and to give its users strange powers. If you find yourself drawn to the “peculiarities of language, how conditions of life shape the formation of words and meaning, and how words themselves can shape the actions of people” this may be your ideal approach to generating a plot.

• Government — Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury portrays a conflicted “fireman” who finds an outlawed book and takes it home instead of burning it. As he reads, he fights against what he’s been taught by his oppressive government and struggles to keep the books he rescues safe. If a plot centered on government and its use and abuse of power is a driving force of your book, this element may suit you best. Revolution, rebellion, protests, and political commentary at its most poignant and devastating spring from novels such as this.

• Culture— If you find yourself exploring the stories society tells us, the power they have over our lives, and the influence of tradition, propriety, or familial responsibility, you might be interested in approaching plot through the lens of culture. The Traitor Baru Cormorant is a book that explores the influence of stories within a culture: how a person is allowed to exist, how one should behave, who should hold power, and who should not. What stories does your society tell? How do they influence your characters’ fate? These answers may provide exactly the plot you need.

For this story, let’s say you’ve imagined a beautiful, secretive forest and have researched druidic lore and their rites. In this instance, we might choose Flora as our primary focus, and Religion as our secondary. Perhaps, specifically, we are interested in how these rites allow our druids to communicate with one another, so we add Communication as a tertiary focus. We would now consider how these elements might interact within the ideas we already have. Our starting concept could be “druids using a mycelium network to secretly communicate.”

Now, we want to draw out of these elements questions that support, guide, or complicate the plot. For example: Why do the druids need to communicate in secret? How did they learn to communicate via the mycelium? Perhaps we can introduce an obstacle to challenge this concept. Maybe the druids’ enemies are wizards who can control fire and are seeking to burn down large swathes of forest to destroy the communication system. This gives you more questions: Why do the fire wizards want to stop the druids from communicating? Why can’t they use the mycelium system to communicate themselves?

If you struggle with coming up with such questions, there are many online resources that can help you glean what is important about your world, and how to expand it into plot. Furthermore, don’t underestimate how helpful it can be to share your worldbuilding with a person you trust! Their new perspective and natural curiosity can reveal story threads already woven into the tapestry: ones you can follow and weave further.

Conclusion

There’s an old piece of writing advice that says, “write what you know,” and it is a valuable piece of advice. But I would take it a step further and ask you to write what you love. You can always gain more knowledge, but you can’t fake joy. That’s what these “anti-plotting” methods are asking of you—how is your writing making you feel? Are you having fun? Do you hate this process? Or do you wake up and want to do nothing but sit down and write?

I’m not a believer in the idea that artists must suffer, and I think all creators should be able to enjoy and trust their process. If you love every bit of the story you are building, from its tiniest seedling to its greatest, towering city, you will want to play in this sandbox. You will return, time and time again, to tell stories in this universe, no matter the obstacles—frustration, boredom, an alien invasion. Once you have a plotting approach that feels like an act of discovery, you may find you don’t hate plotting after all.

Kaitlin Lounsberry

The Great Impersonator

As an avid fan of everything Halsey does, when she announced the concept behind her fifth studio album, The Great Impersonator, I was eager to see how she’d tackle this great feat. That being, every song on the album and its stylizing would impersonate an artist that’s influenced Halsey as a creative artist. Leading up to its release on October 25, Halsey teased the 18-track album and snippets of each song on her Instagram while modeling herself after one of the greats. From Stevie Nicks to Fiona Apple to Linda Ronstadt to Aaliyah, Halsey tackles an impressive range of styles and genres.

Most stunning, though, is the undercurrent buried in Halsey’s lyricism that one might overlook if they’re too distracted trying to determine which artist influenced which song. But pay attention and you’ll discover an album teeming with an artist grappling with their mortality. Haunting, depressing, ripping themselves apart and handing over the pieces, Halsey dives headfirst into her darkest moments, especially those following her diagnosis of Lupus SLE and a rare T-cell lymphoproliferative disorder in 2022. It’s as nuanced as you’d imagine and a powerhouse listen. It’s an album that leaves its listener feeling closer and more understanding to the person behind the tracks. Though I’m definitely biased, this is by far Halsey’s best work to date.

Simon Kerr

Compound Fracture

Miles lives in a small town where a blood feud between his ancestors and the sheriff’s family is written everywhere he looks. Murders both recent and ancient vie for his focus as he struggles to survive as an autistic trans teen in a conservative town. Andrew Joseph White writes incredible characters and vivid details, both of which will haunt your waking thoughts—in a good way!

Ari Iscariot

The Edge of Sleep

Stay awake. Stay alive. Don’t go to sleep. This is the haunting motif of The Edge of Sleep, a new show set in an apocalyptic world where sleeping means certain death. The story centers on Dave Torres, a man who has suffered terrible nightmares since infancy. In a cruel twist of fate, he is one of the few people left awake/alive when sleep descends upon the world and most of the population is trapped in a deadly nightmare. Alongside three other survivors, Dave must discover the source of this global epidemic and how to escape it—before they succumb to the siren call of sleep themselves.

While this is already a fascinating premise, The Edge of Sleep’s greatest strength lies in its actors. Matteo, Dave’s best friend, is the perfectly timed and gratefully received comic relief, cracking through the tension of this high octane show flawlessly. There’s Linda, the passionate and driven nurse with a guilty past, her drive never overshadowing her compassion for her patients and friends. Then Katie, the recovering addict, on a break from a loving yet tumultuous relationship with Dave, who offers him a safe place even as she faces her own demons. And Markiplier as Dave himself, delivering each of his lines with an earnestness that bleeds through every word. With his desperate, kind eyes and his doggedness to save his friends and the woman he loves, you never doubt the others willingness to trust him with their lives.

It’s also worth mentioning the show’s production value. For such a small budget, the atmosphere, setting, and lighting are brilliant. The Edge of Sleep doesn’t shy away from color or well-lit scenes: it possesses an X-Files level of mastery over framing the dark without taking away from its terror. Pulsing, strange dream sequences shine with neon and are haunted by terrifying visages from beyond human comprehension. Psychological torments endured by the characters, punctuated with ghastly dialogue, bring to mind The Twilight Zone—on mushrooms. While the show is plagued with minor errors that smaller projects often face, e.g. the occasional awkward camera angle or odd bit of pacing, this is ultimately a triumph for QCODE, Markiplier, and all who worked on it. Their passion and dedication make this show a unique and riveting experience, a stand-out amongst many other large budget endeavors.

In full disclosure, this review comes from a deeply personal place. I’ve been watching Mark’s videos since I was sixteen, and in the time I’ve observed his journey, he’s gone from excitedly reviewing a vacuum cleaner simulator 2013 to making the masterpiece that is the trailer for the movie Iron Lung. I mention this to exemplify the sky’s the limit when it comes to Mark’s efforts. Every project he’s worked on has grown in size, quality, and expert storytelling. I firmly believe a season two of The Edge of Sleep would build on the excellent foundation that has already been set, just as I believe that Mark will continue to make increasingly incredible media wherever he is given the opportunity.

Dominic Loise

Mallrats

The work of Kevin Smith has been in the zeitgeist for me this month. His ChronicCon came to Chicago right before I moved, bringing folks from different View Askew Productions films, tv shows, and podcast works. And recently, I had an hour-long discussion about Smith’s second film, Mallrats, which came out 29 years ago this October.

My friend, Carl, asked me if I liked the film since he was about to rewatch it. My short answer was yes, but then I went down the rabbit hole from there. I talked about how before Blade in 1998, Mallrats was instrumental in introducing comic book culture to the mainstream. Mallrats showed audiences the type of casual conversations Wednesday Warriors, who support brick-and-mortar comic shops, had as a community before Big Bang Theory was on television. It introduced the Stan Lee cameo before the Marvel movies started rolling out into theaters. But, most importantly, it took the premise of guys running around a mall, pulling pranks, trying to get girls, and moved it beyond the sub genre of 80’s sex farce comedy and brought a 90s indie sensibility to the genre. One which is respectful to women and telling men they can grow and be better. 

Since Mallrats, Kevin Smith has been going strong as a creator for three decades. I’ve heard him talk many times over the years. Each time, I have found him funny and insightful, and I’ve been impressed with how he can captivate an audience. But, what I find most fascinating about Kevin Smith is how he’s always encouraging others to not feel trapped by their surroundings and to get out and create something if they feel moved to do so.

Ari Iscariot

Pentiment

Recently, I finished Pentiment, a narrative role-playing game set in medieval Europe. I didn’t expect this game to move me the way it did, this little murder mystery whose 2D art is stylized like an illuminated manuscript, whose simple premise obscures a work of great beauty and complexity. There are many things you can praise Pentiment for: its dedication to accurately and sympathetically portraying medieval life, its thoughtful and detailed storytelling, its atmosphere of community and warmth, and its enthusiasm for its settings and characters. But the most pertinent thing to compliment Pentiment for is its love.

We begin the game as Andreas Maler, a passionate, driven journeyman artist from the 1500s, working in a monastery scriptorium and completing his masterpiece before he returns to Nuremberg to start his career. During his time in Tassing, he stays with a peasant family and grows close to the people of the town, as well as the brothers and sisters of Kiersau Abbey. But disaster soon strikes when a rich patron of the Abbey is murdered on its premises.

The killer is in the town, and so Andreas’s suspects are the very people he is becoming close to: the peasants he shares meals with, the monks he works with, the friends who tell him of their troubles and joys. It becomes clear that Andreas won’t have enough time to talk to every suspect, to hunt down every clue, or to determine guilt without a doubt. You must present your evidence with uncertainty. And it’s with a sinking feeling that you realize—there may be no guilty party to find at all. But you must choose, and choose you do, while the town pays the price.

In Act 2, Andreas returns to the town seven years later. You witness the effects of your choice, see how the town has grown without you, how your friends have changed. Andreas is haunted by his decisions and by his own personal grief. The loving, enthusiastic artist of the early game is gone. “I have lost my love,” he tells us. “My love for art. My love for family. My love for anything.” As a creator going through a depressive episode when I played this game, this line ripped me open. Grief, melancholia, the death of imagination—who of us that makes art has not experienced it? The destabilization of self that comes with loss of creation. The aimlessness, the mourning, the rage. The emptiness.

I cannot tell you the fate of Andreas without spoiling the game. But I can tell you to have faith. This is the sort of story that leads you to yourself again. That unlocks the labyrinthine reluctance and fear keeping you from your love. This is the sort of story where you and your beliefs are rewritten, the sort of story that puts hope in your soul again. That makes you think yes, even after everything, the craft is worth it. The world. The people in it. Love. After all, love is the only reason to do anything in this life, and Pentiment is proof of the kind of magic love can create.

Kaitlin Lounbserry

Strange Darling

With the autumnal months swiftly approaching, there’s been a noticeable influx of horror movies dropping in theaters. To kickstart a month of slashers and possessions and the resurgence of extraterrestrials and ghosties with narcissism, J.T. Mollner’s Strange Darling washes its viewers in a cherry-tinted world of aesthetic violence. 

There’s lots to note about Strange Darling that’s kept me captivated days after leaving the theater, but most noticeable was its cinematography. Shot entirely on 35 mm film (courtesy of Giovanni Ribisi’s debut as cinematographer), viewers are thrusted into a world richly saturated in hues of red. It’s a cinematic choice that will end up as a massive print on someone’s wall in time (frankly, my wall is eager). If it was to be presented as a drink, it’d be sugary sweet with an unexpecting kick at the very end that keeps you sipping. It’s just *right* to compliment the hazy plot lines and the first thing I think to mention about the film.

Speaking of plot, there isn’t really much I can comment on it without giving anything away. Told in six chapters in a fractured narrative format, Strange Darling presents its many twists and turns to challenge its viewer and subvert stereotypes of what we’ve come to anticipate from the horror genre, specifically horror that utilizes the final girl trope. It might not reinvent the wheel, but it’s clear Mollner has done his research to understand how to tell a good story, with a hefty dose of murder. Of the many horror movies released this calendar year (I’ve seen most of them, if not all), this is by far my favorite.

Nate Ragolia

Chef Reactions

There’s no lack of cooking videos on the internet. Pretty much anywhere you look, some amateur chef or kitchen cowboy is offering a new hack for how to make mashed potatoes out of Pringles, build a big salad in a giant glass goblet, or churn out some hand-mixed casserole they claim to have learned about on a vacation to Texas.

Enter Chef Reactions, a YouTube, Facebook, Instagram, and TikTok-based internet personality who watches those wild (and sometimes absolutely revelatory) videos while offering delightfully wry, monotone commentary. I’ve been lucky that the algorithm gods are supplying all of my feeds with his stupendous content, and watching a few Chef Reactions each night to wind down has been a true joy. These videos are great because they are short and sweet, funny, and even occasionally point me toward something (that gets a positive reaction) that I might want to try cooking myself! After all, every recipe is a story, and every meal is an adventure unto itself.

*SPOILER ALERT* This review contains plot details of Coup de Grace.

Published on October 1, 2024 by Titan Books.

Have you ever drawn your skin across the edge of something sharp, felt the sting of flesh splitting, the gentle tug as a thousand epithelial cells part? It doesn’t quite hurt, it feels nearly inconsequential—but then the blood comes, heady and fast, the shock of so much red from such a tiny cut. This is how it feels to read Sofia Ajram’s Coup de Grace, this is how it flays you open—with a whisper of silver, and a flood of vulnerability.

Vicken, a soul-tired EMT and our main protagonist, is prepared to escape this dismal existence. Undeterred by his love for the softest parts of life, he plans to fling himself into the Saint Lawrence River and sink into blissful oblivion. But this is not to be. Disembarking from the subway and onto the platform of his last stop, Vicken instead finds an endlessly winding maze, determined to keep him trapped within. Wander as he may, there is no end to these gray-washed walls and buzzing fluorescents, to the towering cathedrals and corridors built as monuments to commercialism and obsolescence. He begins to suspect his summoning to this place was no accident, that something terrifying within the labyrinth is toying with him.

Coup de Grace does not shy from centering itself around horror and the despair of suicidality. From the book’s summary, you’re prepared to read about the labyrinthine, brutalist nightmare of the maze Vicken is trapped in. You are prepared to understand it as a supernatural metaphor for depression and anxiety. What blindsides you is the excruciating intimacy of the narrative, and the way it lovingly peels away your defenses and makes you greet the darkest version of yourself. The way it requires an act of condemnation or salvation from its reader at its close—towards Vicken, and, consequently, towards the self.

The first way in which Ajram wields this narrative to pry you open is through language. He has a magnificent mastery of words, and every one of them is chosen with a precision that never fails to pierce your carefully constructed defenses. This is not a book you can engage with passively, it requires your attention, your imagination, your intelligence, your honesty. You must masticate the message and the words used to tell it. Have your dictionary open—anatomy, medicine, architecture, mythology—there is meaning in every reference and metaphor. The prose is its own entity, hypnotizing and soothing like a drugged haze, an ill-advised lust, the voice of a seductive, intrusive idea. Dive into the river. Take the pills. Just give in. 

This mastery of language also enhances the horror. Sensorimotor OCD is a condition that makes you hyperaware of your body: the heartbeat in your ears, the floaters in your eyes, the spit in your mouth. Just so, Ajram does not let you or Vicken forget the burden of existing in a cage of flesh. The descriptions of his suffering are disturbing and deviant, calling forth disgust and terror as the physical form ages, breaks down, betrays. Vicken’s mind cannibalizes itself, ruminating endlessly on his slow destruction. The deepest moments of terror are not the nightmares lurking in the endless gray corridors, but what the protagonist carries within. The twisting tunnels of this labyrinth are in his body; the labyrinth is in his mind.

Here, Ajram cuts into you again, with the pain of recognition, with their ability to convey visceral human emotion. This internal labyrinth is that carousel of rage, apathy, overwhelm you have spun on since you could comprehend injustice. It is the black humor of despair and exhaustion, the kind you can only understand after you’ve come to the edge and nearly fallen from its precipice. Vicken’s mind/body screams: THIS IS YOUR BEING ON LATE-STAGE CAPITALISM, and we understand, because we are living the same nightmare. He bleeds concrete and silt because homogeneity and hopelessness have seeped into him. He wanders the nightmare of replicated, repeated, subway corridors, featureless and unremarkable, and is ground down by the curated nothingness of our ersatz society. In desperation, Vicken debates himself on philosophical bullshit that has haunted humanity since its inception: purpose, love, peace, the point of living, whether hope is hopeful, or simply another noose to hang yourself with—and finds no solutions. There is a comfort in his despair, in tasting this flavor of self-destructive longing. A familiarity that threatens to return you to the bad days.

But Ajram has a final knife to throw, trembling and deadly, towards their soft, pulpy target. When Vicken first speaks to us, it is a poignantly jarring moment. You’ve become so accustomed to the misery of his thoughts, the shambling, dragging weight of his body, that it is startling to realize you and he are not one in the same. You are a witness, the book seems to say, you are all he has. And there’s comfort in that, too. The company you provide him, the kind you wished for in your own labyrinth. Until Ajram rips that comfort away and puts Vicken’s fate in your hands.

The final stretch of Coup de Grace allows you to choose Vicken’s ending—and shouldn’t you have expected that? It’s in the name. Coup de grâce: death blow, finishing shot, mercy killing of animal that lays bleeding. And so, you are no longer a witness. You are complicit. You look at this animal lying bleeding and you are forced to consider: what would I want someone to decide for me? It’s not so easy as putting the dog to sleep: You have a nearly unbearable sympathy for this man. You know Vicken, you have grieved with him, you have experienced his fears and his longings and his impossible hope. You were him, once. Perhaps you are him now.

I won’t tell you what I chose for Vicken, or what, by extension, I chose for myself. But I hope the ending I gave us shows I understood the message implicit in Ajram’s masterful words. There is horror in life, yes. There is misery, always. But there is also art. Deification of the ugliest of commercialism, elevation of the human condition, romanticization of the simplest pleasures. And that is enough to live for, on the days you are lost in the labyrinth. Ajram’s voice is so shameless, so vivacious, so unabashedly clairvoyant, that these lessons never feel like a sermon, a minimization of the misery the book explores. You know Ajram has lain on the subway tracks, waded knee-deep in the river, stood on the precipice, right alongside you. So, even at its darkest, Coup de Grace is a paean to beauty that tempts you to live.

*SPOILER ALERT* This review contains plot details of Divine Mortals.

This title will be published on October 8, 2024 by Disney Hyperion.

When writing within a specific genre utilizing specific tropes, an author makes a compact with the reader to deliver on these conventions, or else, convincingly subvert them in a satisfying way. This subversion was my hope for Amanda M. Helander’s fantasy novel, Divine Mortals, showcasing a premise that focuses on the soulmate trope and a summary that touts a complex fantasy world and a unique, compelling romance. While Divine Mortals has flashes of enjoyability, with fun character moments and beautiful prose, it nevertheless falls short on delivering its most fundamental promises.

Mona Arnett is an eighteen-year-old favored mortal, chosen by a god and given powers beyond a normal human or a magician. Mona’s gift is the ability to predict soulmates—even her own. To her surprise, her services are sought by Master Whitman, an advisor to King Isaac, ruler of Opalvale. The king is dying without an heir, and Whitman desires Mona’s skills to help him locate a queen before it’s too late.

Unfortunately for Mona, her reading indicates she is the king’s soulmate—though it’s the king’s advisor she’s drawn towards. And perhaps more pressing, housebound Mona has no desire to be a leader, and even less desire to consider anyone’s wants aside from her own. She will do anything to not be crowned queen, but the interference of scheming gods, a murderous blackmailer, and an irritating reborn conscience force her to confront her past and her weaknesses.

This premise would seem to make Mona an unlikeable protagonist, a flaw that female fantasy MCs often come under scrutiny for. But while Mona has her childish moments, she is ultimately a sympathetic character who struggles deeply with depression and mental health. When she responds to her circumstances with cowardice or self-absorption, it is understood this stems from her guilt and her insecurities. One of the most satisfying aspects of the book is her unlearning of destructive patterns by accepting help and taking responsibility for her own actions. Mona’s flaws and her journey to overcome them makes her feel very human and very real.

Similarly, Mona’s love interest is unconventional by current romantasy standards. Whitman is not the stereotypical rakish, charming, bristling-with-muscle Casanova, but rather a blunt, practical adult. He carries a confidence and competency well beyond his years, while still presenting a flustered and overwhelmed response to Mona’s teasing sexual overtures. Whitman’s personality showcases depth, loyalty, and aspirations beyond the romance with the female protagonist, and that is refreshing.

Overall, Helander shows great talent for creating characters that are engaging, funny, and extremely likable. Supporting characters such as Mona’s adversary turned friend, Byers, or Byers and Mona’s sarcastic and unhelpfully helpful mentor, Tasha, carry scenes with their banter and strong personalities. However, there is little exploration of their personal histories, or how it might impact them from day to day. Often, the plot is so eager to resolve itself that it spins past moments that could allow readers vital moments of intimacy with the characters. Whitman, Byers, and Tasha struggle with dark pasts that haunt their present, but these traumas are never followed to fruition in favor of the main plot/Mona. And while there will most likely be a sequel to this book, relying on a future installment to wrap up loose threads is not ideal. Feeding the reader a satisfying meal of backstory and interiority is more liable to have them return for more.

This rapid pacing also affects the romance between Whitman and Mona, and here we fall into negative tropes that tend to plague romantasies. Mona and Whitman’s relationship is primarily centered around lust, with a quick escalation on Mona’s side that never feels like it matures past her initial attraction and her eventual admiration of Whitman’s “kindness” towards her. Whitman’s main desire is to save his king and the kingdom, and this clashes painfully with Mona’s desire to protect only herself. It is not until the very end of the book that she begins to care about serving and saving others, so any common ground between her and Whitman is limited. The story doesn’t explain why a mature, self-contained guy like Whitman would fall for an impulsive, self-serving eighteen-year-old, who’s clearly struggling with growing pains. It seems, to make Mona and Whitman’s affair feel more tortured, Helander separates them as much as possible. But this just serves to make their connection feel shallow, purely sexual, and annoyingly fraught.

Another expectation of fantasy readers is a fantastical and riveting setting, and this an arena in which Helander delivers. The author has a clear rapture for her setting the “Flood” and for the magic of Mona’s soulmate readings. Every time a character interacts with magic or with this magical realm, the prose is at its best—lyrical, descriptive, and enchanting. But despite Helander’s excellent descriptions and setting, the worldbuilding behind these elements is lacking. A distinct aesthetic is invaluable for making your fantasy world memorable, but aesthetic is not enough. Readers expect the function and logic of a society and its magic systems to be explained—yet the extent and nature of the humans or gods’ powers are frustratingly murky. And not knowing the extent of the gods’ abilities makes it practically impossible to sense the “twist” of the book until it’s almost upon you, which makes it feel cheap, a deus ex machina situation where the gods can do whatever they want with magic to accomplish their ends.

But perhaps the most disappointing, failed promise of this book is the soulmate aspect, which has no relevance past the initial premise. The tagline of Divine Mortals is “A future she doesn’t want, a soulmate she can’t deny,” and yet, we never find out who Mona’s true soulmate is. It would be one thing if the lack of a soulmate was a statement of some kind, an assertion, perhaps, that love cannot be predicted or perfect. But the function of soulmates doesn’t exist prominently in the narrative. Soulmates don’t have an impact on the way society functions. They are not particularly special or valued. They aren’t guaranteed to love you back. Soulmates don’t even play into the romance between Mona and Whitman significantly, except for some minor jealousy when he believes Mona’s soulmate is the king. It leaves one wondering if the soulmate side-plot was even needed at all, or if another reason could have been written to compel Mona to the castle and into Whitman’s path. The premise of this book was strong, the ideas compelling, and the enthusiasm palpable, but the execution doesn’t meet expectations. Helander makes brilliant characters and has conceptualized a beautiful world. If she can build on this foundational skeleton with the meat of backstory, worldbuilding, and a pursuit of fulfilling the promises of the premise, her writing has the potential to step up to the next level of mastery. After all, the most effective writing is writing that makes a promise to the reader and follows through.

C.E. Janecek

The Vision of Escaflowne

Searching for a way to watch the 1996 worldwide anime hit, The Vision of Escaflowne, felt like a foreboding lesson on our reliance on digital media. It was unavailable on every streaming platform. I had found out about it the old-fashioned way: as a preview on a library-loaned DVD of Code Geass, season one. Luckily, The Vision of Escaflowne was available at my local library on both DVDs and Blu-rays, but after watching it, I was even more fearful that one day it would disappear from the internet’s collective memory all together.

A mix of fantasy, science fiction, and a whole lot of heart—The Vision of Escaflowne’s 26-episode story boasts well-rounded characters, ambitious lore, and a heart-wrenching soundtrack. On a planet torn by war and lofty ideologies, four protagonists carry the heavy mantles of the ancestors, even if they don’t know it yet. Like many cult animes of the 1990s, Escaflowne’s themes largely circle around the loss of innocence and the question of free will, which remains deliciously in the air throughout.

One of the most fascinating aspects of the anime is how much of it changed before production. Escaflowne’s Wikipedia page is a treasure trove of history, but one of my favorite tidbits is that much of Escaflowne’s story and aesthetic exists because the original director was bought out by Gundam and newcomer Kazuki Akane transformed the protagonist into her iconic, tomboy look and made all of the male characters into “beautiful boys” to broaden audience appeal. And are those boys beautiful. The romantic subplots are tinged through the innocent eyes of main character, Hitomi, changing organically (and devastatingly) as the world around them falls to war and she has to find other ways to cling on to hope.

Ari Iscariot

Only God Forgives

It is exhilarating, from time to time, to come upon a film that has been left raw and bloody, uncooked for consumption by a mass audience. Traditionally, movies say: “I am a story, and this is how I will tell myself.” But Only God Forgives does not offer you this comforting hand. There is no guide to orient you as you plunge into the neon-bright, ultra-violent nightmare director Nicolas Winding Refn has created. This is not meant to be a familiar narrative, traveling the tried and true paths of the three-act structure or the hero’s journey. It is a gut-wrenching, visceral experience, all the more poignant because it does not make itself palatable. It seems to say, observe or don’t, the trainwreck will happen with or without you as witness. 

Every aspect of this film lends itself to experiencing, to immersing into the Freudian fever dream, the garish, Greek tragedy set in the humming streets of Thailand. Voices murmur and cackle, traffic rushes with reedy wind, night insects anxiously drone. The soundtrack thrums somewhere behind your bones, industrial and electric. The lighting and colors synchronously flash, flawlessly painted by the hand of their colorblind director, showing a reality where everything is exit-sign red, caution-bulb orange, suicidal blue. The dialogue is sparse, sharp, delivered like a blade through the back. Ryan Gosling’s character, the tortured Julian Thompson, speaks but seventeen lines. But he doesn’t need to waste breath to tell what is being shown.

Julian’s ending is a foregone conclusion, as is every other character’s, as foretold in the title. Julian’s mad brother cannot be forgiven, nor can his Jocastian mother. Neither can Julian forgive himself: his warped desires, his blood-stained palms. He certainly won’t be forgiven by the film’s main “antagonist,” the vigilante cop Chang, who is the epitome of “Justice is blind.” He metes out punishment without considering circumstance, drunk on power and revenge. Only God could forgive someone like Julian, and his twisted, pathetic descent towards this realization will make you feel emotions and longing better left unspoken—and only experienced.

Dominic Loise

Will Trent

We are always looking for a good mystery series in our household. Something that is both a challenge to solve before the final reveal and has an engaging yet unique detective. Our benchmark binging has been David Suchet as Hercule Poirot, Tony Shalhoub as Adrian Monk, and Peter Falk as Lieutenant Columbo. Currently, we are watching Will Trent and this mystery drama is quickly becoming our new favorite series.

Soon to drop a third season this fall, Will Trent is based on the book series by Karin Slaughter. The main character is a special agent for the Georgia Bureau of Investigation and like Piorot, Monk, and Colombo, he sees things outside the box from other members of law enforcement and is an outsider from those he works with daily. Unlike Columbo, Trent (Ramón Rodríguez) is sharply dressed in his three-piece suits like Poirot and his home is organized like Monk. The reason for his outward appearance and organizational systems are to mask his dyslexia from the outside world, for fear that others will judge him incapable to do his job.

Trust is a major theme in Will Trent. The two main characters, Trent and homicide Detective Angie Polaski (Erika Christensen), grew up together in the foster care system. Both have scars from their childhood and in Trent’s case, his scars are physically noticeable. The two work to protect others from cracks in the system that failed them as children. The series also explores Trent and Polaski sharing their past with their work partners and how it affects their decision making. Soon, guarded walls are let down for them to share openly with others. As the series goes on, Trent’s compartmentalized life of solitude and security opens up for him share with others and create his own definition of family.

Nate Ragolia

Jaws

We’re in the dog days of summer, or maybe the dogfish days… and for me that means revisiting the QUINTessential summer film classic, Jaws. It was released in 1975, from director Stephen Spielberg, and based on the book by Peter Benchley. It is famous for being the first movie filmed on the ocean, for having a broken mechanical shark named Bruce (whose malfunctions required/enabled incredible dramatic tension), and for being, perhaps, the first blockbuster.

If you are somehow unfamiliar, Jaws is about the fictional, small New England beach community of Amity Island besieged—in peak tourist season—by a massive, man-eating Great White Shark. Newly transplanted police chief Martin Brody (Roy Scheider) must contend with the shark and the town’s mayor’s reluctance to close the beach, and eventually enlists a marine biologist (Richard Dreyfuss) and a salty shark hunter (Robert Shaw).

While you’ve almost all certainly already seen this movie, I encourage you to watch it again for two reasons: 1. It is one of the most compelling demonstrations of three-act storytelling available, and 2. The complex relationships between all the characters, their motivations, and their depth of development is second to none. Plus, if you’re anything like me, you’ll get something new out of each viewing. I was lucky enough to catch it in the theater for a special screening earlier this month, but Jaws is great anywhere… except maybe in the water…

Ari Iscariot

Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga

When going to see a George Miller action film, you might be expecting flawlessly executed fight scenes, stunning scenic shots, and colors so bright they feel edible. Miller’s Mad Max films are a beautiful and brutal visual experience, a reprieve in a cinemascape inundated with darkness and flat, unimaginative lighting. They are known for their visual worldbuilding, their to-the-point, poignant plots, and their absolutely break-neck pace. But perhaps what you aren’t expecting from Miller’s vicious, post-apocalyptic wasteland is a message of hope, and the gentle, spring green love that helps it to bloom.

Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga is, at its core, a character-centered story. Slower than its predecessor, it is no less gruesome or exhilarating, but its darkness is deeper, sadder: the grief of an orphaned girl separated from her home, and subjected to the whims of madmen. Furiosa, in her suffering, has every right to be as ugly and as cruel as the world that raises her, but time and time again, we watch her choose a kinder path. Choose to trust. Choose to offer salvation, and to become the woman we know from Mad Max: Fury Road. This is no more obvious than in the relationship she shares with Praetorian Jack, the legendary driver of the War Rig, and Furiosa’s best hope to find her way home.

This movie doesn’t contain an excess of dialogue, in fact, the only one who speaks incessantly is Dr. Dementus: the hateful, hilarious, and begrudgingly pitiful antagonist of young Furiosa. But what the movie doesn’t say with words, it shows with deeds. In the midst of the ravages of the desert and beneath the dirty greed of men, Furiosa and Jack grow something as precious as the bountiful abundance of her home. Through their trust, their intimacy, and their hope to escape together, they defy a universe that expects them to be apathetic, selfish, ignoble. Through her, Jack is redeemed. Through him, Furiosa holds tight to her humanity. This connection is not physical, as far as the audience sees. They share a single moment of closeness, foreheads knocking, lips murmuring “My Fury,” “My Jack.” But there is no need for declarations, passionate kisses, or overblown displays of sexual prowess. There is only Miller’s brilliant ability to render a message of self-sacrifice in the midst of gunfire and explosions. There is only Jack and Furiosa, choosing each other over safety, freedom, and escape. There is only hope in every action they take, which reaffirms their love in the wasteland. You are my green place.

“In the process, we find them, relinquishing their own self interest, one for the other. What follows is, through their actions, not their words, their promises to each other, but through their actions, that they actually are prepared to give themselves entirely to the other. So in a way, it’s kinda a love story, in the middle of an action scene.”

—George Miller, ‘Furiosa’ | “Anatomy of a Scene”

Dominic Loise

A Fox in My Brain

The cover of A Fox in My Brain (FairSquare) say it is written, drawn, and experienced by Lou Lubie. The experienced part is why I connected with this graphic memoir about Lubie’s discovery and daily living with cyclothymia, which is a mood disorder from the bipolar family. “Bipolar disorder takes various forms, and cyclothymia, extensively addressed in A Fox in My Brain, is still quite unknown, suffering practically from a harmful delay in diagnosis,” as stated in the graphic novel’s post face by psychologist Isabelle Leygnac-Solignac.

It is Lubie’s perseverance through misdiagnosis that I related to in addition to how accurately she conveys mood swings, depression, and processing a relationship with another person. A Fox in My Brain is a graphic novel that I would hand to my partner, my family, and my friends to inform them of the experience of being misdiagnosed for your mental health and to share how someone with cyclothymia, bipolar 1, or bipolar 2 feels with a stigma society has created around the disorder.

Lou Lubie’s has a wonderful fluid art style, which works for the fox that represents Lubie’s cyclothymia. Her depression is as represented as a wolf, which comes out of the shadows as it lurks and growls when Lubie feels the disparity associated with depression. A Fox in My Brain is a truthful story about one person’s mental health awareness, which I honestly connected with. 

Kaitlin Lounsberry

Remembering Gene Wilder

Growing up, I didn’t quite realize how much of a powerhouse Gene Wilder was in the film industry. I knew he was funny, I knew he was in all the movies I watched with my dad, but I didn’t realize just how special and influential he was until I was much older. Remembering Gene Wilder, a tribute documentary released in early 2024, features countless behind-the scene clips and interviews with those who knew Wilder most intimately. Though the documentary doesn’t follow the traditional, linear storytelling we’ve come to anticipate for films of this nature, it somehow makes sense for Wilder’s story to be told in such a manner. Most of Wilder’s creative genius is presented through the outrageous storytelling of Mel Brooks, but most special, is the inclusion of the narration of the now-deceased Wilder, providing an look into his world that only he could provide. We’re given insight into the creation of Young Frankenstein (my favorite film of his), Wilder’s transition into acting-direction, and bits and pieces of his personal life that make you feel further enamored with the powerhouse.

As a life-long Wilder fan, Remembering Gene Wilder captured much more than Wilder’s Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory and Mel Brooks fame. It showcased Wilder’s tenacity as a writer, his unique thought process while acting-directing, and his consistent desire to uplift and support up-and-coming actors in the industry. This documentary highlighted just how much of a powerhouse Wilder was and frankly continues to be years after his death in 2016.

The thing is, the Apocalypse kind of went tits up. There was fire and brimstoning, trumpets blaring, people disappearing, and then, Us. The left behinds, the nothings, the unbelievers. Souls too hollow to be worth anything.

Nothing green grows anymore. Nothing living lives. So, we all aimlessly drift, stuck alongside the freaks left behind when heaven and hell closed their gates. We’ve learned nothing from our exile from paradise, so the freaks get locked away in little cages or cramped caravans, and bored, useless nothings like me come to stare at them.

This sideshow is a corny setup. A single chair sits in the middle of a small, high-top tent, red and white pinstripes melting into darkness. There’s a glass case in the middle of the room, lined with enough fake gold filigree to glint even in the low light. A shadow moves within.

A bright white glare washes away my sight. I wince and turn away. When I look back the shadow is illuminated, holding a pull switch, and spreading—

—her downy hawk wings.

Red plump lips, sticky blood vessels, slick candy gloss. I’m thinking, Gabriel Dante Rossetti: white-cheeked, heavy-lidded, corn-silk hair and vacant, vapid O-faces.

My chest burns with blue-hot feathered flames. Licking, eager and wanting. Not for anything as base as sex but … admiration. Inspiration. Maybe even creation. For the first time since the world ended, I compose colors in my head, symphonies of shadow and light, wet pliable globs and streaks of harmonious paint.

Then I think: What’s it matter? The world’s over. There’s no more room for art. There wasn’t room even when the world was alive.

“Why are you here?” I ask, because I haven’t had it in me to feel wonder while sleepwalking through the post-credits. “Why didn’t you go back with the rest?”

The angel’s words are hideous, but her voice is another chorus of glittering hues, purple starblooms and sun-searing yellow. “I ate the souls I was meant to take to God.”

I laugh. A rasping, creaking thing. “You can have mine,” I say. Her dewy, owl-blinking eyes are dark as a panther’s coat. “I’ll let you out and you can have it.”

She cocks her head, an alien, avian movement. “Why?”

I throw out my arms, let her see my color-stained coat, my ink-blotted shirt, the black-charcoal creases of my hands. “Because I want to die of beauty.”

“Deal,” she hisses, her feathers flaring in excitement. I break the glass and there is red— glorious, Pompeian red in glitters of rainbow shards, more red as she dives for my mouth and—

—sucks down my sorry soul. Worthless no more.

Dominic Loise

Mychal Threets

Mychal Threets, who won this year’s I Love My Librarian award, is having a moment, but the patrons of the Solano County Library will hopefully feel Mychal’s influence and impact for years to come. I am thoroughly enjoying the openness and warm, welcoming energy Mychal brings to social media. Mychal has a soft, Blues Clues-host vibe when discussing what’s going on in the library and how it’s a space for appreciation of others.

Around the time of the award, Mychal was talking with Oliver James on social media. Oliver’s account centers around teaching himself to read as an adult living with OCD. I very much appreciated their discussion of literacy and engagement with books. I also grew up with a learning disability and eventually went on to work with a literacy organization and marry a librarian. Mychal is equally open about mental health awareness and announced his last day at Solano County Library would be on March 1st to prioritize mental health and work with his mental health check-in team. I equally appreciate this openness as someone who also left their full-time job to prioritize their mental health, and I am in his corner as he puts his health first.

There’s been a lot of discussion about banning books in libraries lately. Growing up, I had to work around the stereotypical shushing librarians to find space in a room I didn’t feel invited to, especially as someone from an “ethnic city” family living in the suburbs during the seventies. I celebrate great librarians like Mychal and literacy spaces because I know what it was like growing up within a conservative curated collection. A real librarian doesn’t see their patrons to check out books but makes sure they are seen on the shelves. Visit Mychal Threets online then stop by your own local library.

Ari Iscariot

Hades

For the past few months I have been on a button-mashing, finger-bashing, and skull-smashing rampage through the roguelite dungeon crawler, Hades. This comes as a surprise, because I’m notorious for abandoning games that require dying to advance to higher levels. Hades is no exception to this rule. But what makes Hades brilliant is the way it uses its death mechanic: when you die, you advance the story. 

The protagonist of Hades is the fire-stepping Prince of the Underworld, Zagreus. His mission is to fight his way out of his father’s realm. This realm is rife with ghostly enemies: vexatious witches, club-wielding wretches, and even revered heroes from the surface world. And with such formidable opponents, Zagreus dies. A lot. When you perish, you return to the game’s starting point, the House of Hades, a venerable stone mansion populated by Zagreus’s closest friends and family. With each successive death, these characters reveal to you their deepest desires and their most secret fears. And Zagreus reveals more of himself: his contentious relationship with his father, his outsider status among the denizens of the Underworld, and the secret that drove him to attempt escape—he seeks a long-lost mother he has never met. 

There’s hardly an emotional motivation more compelling than this, a child who longs for love and acceptance. It is a core that keeps you fighting even as the game slaughters you again and again. “I have to get this guy to his mom.” Eventually, you do. And it is glorious. 

Asma Al-Masyabi

Mr. Villain’s Day Off

Mr. Villain’s Day Off poses a relatively simple question as its premise: what does a lead villain trying to take over the world do on his days off? The answer is—he tries to enjoy them to their fullest, and, in turn, slowly grows to appreciate Earth and its strange inventions and inhabitants. 

Called only the General, our main character is the antagonist to Super Ranger-like heroes—until he’s off the clock. He then changes into his comfy turtleneck and trench coat and strives to avoid work at all costs. This new slice-of-life anime has already managed to capture my heart. There’s nothing more relaxing than watching someone attempt to strike that perfect work-life balance while reveling in the small moments and details that make living life worth it. Whether it’s watching pandas at the zoo, ordering latte art of said pandas, or working up the courage to eat a limited-edition panda meat bun, the General does it with unmatched determination that I can’t help but find endearing. 

Another thing about this show, it is unbearably cute. The General’s successes, and failures, have me smiling throughout the whole episode. Cute girls doing cute things is a popular genre in anime, but I think that cute guys doing cute things should be just as standard. Adults, and particularly men, aren’t often shown enjoying their life in media, and I love the way that Mr. Villain’s Day Off pushes back against that.   

Ciena Valenzuela-Peterson

Schitt’s Creek

I’m probably not the first person to recommend you Schitt’s Creek. I’m probably not the second. You’re probably thinking, “Ugh, I know, I know, everyone says I would love Schitt’s Creek, but I watched the first episode/handful of episodes/season and I just wasn’t hooked.”  

Dear reader, listen to me—listen to me, I beg of you. I know you. I see you. I was you. It’s no mistake Schitt’s Creek fans are constantly pushing the show on unsuspecting sitcom enjoyers, wheedling and insisting that you’ll love it with all the brimming sentimentality of a Canadian grandma wearing a pride pin. It really, really is that good. 

Schitt’s Creek follows the wealthy Rose family who loses everything and has no choice but to move to a crusty motel in the middle of nowhere. Over six seasons, Schitt’s Creek demonstrates the power of character-driven storytelling; what begins as a comedy satirizing the idiosyncrasies of the uber-rich unfolds into a beautiful journey of personal growth, love, and family. You’ll see yourself and your own family in the Roses—Alexis and David Rose have the realest sibling dynamic I’ve seen on TV, and Moira and Johnny’s marriage has a verisimilitude that could only be achieved by the decades-long friendship between Catherine O’Hara and Eugene Levy. Real-life father-and-son duo, Eugene and Dan Levy invite the viewer to a more hopeful world—one where queer acceptance is a given, love is precious, and everyone is good at heart. You’ll cry by the end, guaranteed. 

Jazzmin Joya

Wonka

I absolutely love watching movies! It is one of my all-time favorite ways to pass time. After quarantining, I started going to the movie theaters more often, really taking advantage of their discount Tuesday’s.

During this routine, I watched the new film adaptation of Willy Wonka, starring Timothée Chalamet, Keegan Michael-Key, Olivia Colman, Hugh Grant, Rowan Atkinson, and other fun actors. Wonka is a whimsical movie establishing more background on Willy Wonka before the adventures seen in the original film and the book written by Roald Dahl. The soundtrack was beautifully done, it really captured the essence of Wonka and the magical spirit of the film. This reimagining separated itself from other movies, staying true to the essence of the story while giving its own playful spin. It also introduced us to new storylines and interesting characters. I know there were mixed feelings over this film, but I really enjoyed it. It reminded me of my childhood. The whimsicalness, the vibrant coloring, people’s LOVE for chocolate. I definitely recommend watching Wonka, you’re in for a fun time. Just be wary, the songs might get stuck in your head! 

Stevi Sargas

Suikoden

This week, articles flooded my social media feeds announcing the narrative lead of my favourite video game franchise, Suikoden, sadly passed away at 55. Yoshitaka Murayama of Rabbit & Bear Studios was the chief writer for the Suikoden series, which spanned five titles and numerous spin-offs for PlayStation and Nintendo DS from 1995-2012. 

In Murayama’s honour, I’ve decided to replay Suikoden. I played it for the first time at age 6. It’s a whimsical, turn-based fantasy game that has you collect 108 ragtag allies and lead a revolution against the corrupt imperialist government into which you were born. The game features adorable artwork and a disarmingly rich soundtrack. There’re mysterious, magical crystals called runes governing the world’s elemental powers. Oh, and there are flying squirrels. And gambling. You know how it is. 

The older I get, the more it amazes me that Murayama created such a socially and politically nuanced narrative with Suikoden while being fun and accessible across age and literacy brackets. To me, this is masterful storytelling. I like to say Suikoden radicalized me before I could pronounce “radicalized,” or “Suikoden.” For that Murayama will always have my gratitude. Through his writing, I had formative exposure to diversity and representation in storytelling. I learned about the limits of black-and-white morality, and the importance of individual choice. Suikoden is why I love writing, and why I love video games. I’d recommend it to anyone who’ll listen.  

If you’ve ever met one of our wonderful F(r)iction staffers, you’ll quickly learn that almost every one of them was once an intern in our Publishing Internship Program.

This program is run by our parent nonprofit organization, Brink Literacy Project. While our publishing internships are a great way to get a crash course in the literary industry, they can often provide a path to what can become a long and rewarding professional relationship. For more information, please visit the internship page on the Brink website.

Ari Iscariot

they/them

What is your favorite place to read?   

I don’t think I have any favorite physical place I like to read—I tend to read wherever I am, on transportation, walking through a city, in the middle of a restaurant, etc. I’m liable to walk into oncoming traffic if engrossed enough in a good book. However, I do like to read best at night, when the world is quiet. So, I’d say my favorite place to read is the liminal space between sleeping and waking, the time before dawn when the dark brims with secret possibility. 

You’re walking down the street and suddenly spot a key on the ground! What does it look like? What do you do with it?   

It wouldn’t look like a stereotypical key. It would lie shivering on the pavement, a glittering starburst, pearlescent as opalite. I would hold it in my two hands and see ghost valleys and nebula nurseries in its reflections, and it would whisper in my mind: “I am the key to understanding. Here is what you can say to every living thing in order to be seen. Here is the knowledge of infinity and the spells that will allow you to keep it all in your tiny, human brain.” And I would use the key to learn all that can be learned, and to connect with every lonely human being who feels misunderstood.  

How do you take your coffee? If you don’t drink coffee, describe your favorite beverage ritual.   

Not so much a ritual as a ritual sacrifice but—my favorite beverage experience was buying my partner a small chocolate penguin that would melt into a cocoa drink, and then dramatically enacting his screams as he melted into her milk. 15/10 would sacrifice again.  

What is your favorite English word and why? Do you have a favorite word in another language?   

My favorite word changes frequently, but right now I’m particularly fond of “purulent.” I like to pair it with the imagery of a festering, putrescent mouth that cannot help but reveal a character’s deepest, most shameful feelings. The word reminds me of one of my favorite quotes by an author friend of mine, Phoenix Mendoza. “You cock your head, astounded by the tenor of your own voice, all that’s seeping through the careful white bandage you keep taped over the wound of your mouth.” I love the idea of the mouth as a wound, a sore, an infection, unable to be concealed or healed.  

My favorite word in another language is “L’esprit de l’escalier,” which is French for “staircase wit.” It is meant to describe the feeling one gets when they leave an argument, and then come up with the perfect reply at the bottom of the stairwell: aka, when it is already too late. 

You’re on a deserted island. You have one album and one book. What are they and why?   

If I was on a deserted island, I’d want a book that felt like an old friend to keep me company. It’s perhaps not the most well-written or intellectually stimulating, but I read Catherine Cookson’s The Girl about a dozen times when I was younger, and even now reading it feels like sinking into a warm embrace. The album I’d choose is Everything is Fine by Amigo the Devil, simply because my favorite genre is murderfolk and I don’t believe Danny Kiranos has ever made a bad song. His lyrics are nearly literary in their poeticism, and in the way they transform the ugly into the divine.   

If you could change one thing about the literary industry, what would it be? 

I would make the industry more expansive, daring, and accepting. So often I see books chosen because they are written to market, because they fit modern conventions of “good writing,” because they’re written by an author that will appeal to what the industry believes is their largest demographic. Stories that are unconventional, uncomfortable, and uncompromising are often neglected and unrecognized. We need stories that defy the status quo, that speak their own truth, that are written by diverse voices. We need to prioritize creativity over marketability, and passion over profit.

Asma Al-Masyabi

she/her

What is your favorite place to read?   

I like to sit in any quiet moment with a book. If I had to pick a favorite place, it would be on the couch under a fuzzy blanket.  

You’re walking down the street and suddenly spot a key on the ground! What does it look like? What do you do with it?   

It is small and silver, and the handle twists into the shape of a “Y.” I pick it up and suddenly, I am alone. The sidewalk has been replaced by the decaying undergrowth of an old forest, and the branches of tall, dark trees braid over where there used to be sky. I stare and wonder if I was hit by a car as I crouch over the key, but a small, sweet voice coming from just beyond the tree line distracts me. “Darling,” it sings. “We’ve been waiting for you for so, so long.” 

How do you take your coffee? If you don’t drink coffee, describe your favorite beverage ritual.   

A hot Earl Grey tea with extra honey and a splash of vanilla at a temperature just between warm and hot. The only thing that could make it better is a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie. 

What is your favorite English word and why? Do you have a favorite word in another language? 

“Serendipity” is a fun word to say and use. Even if it’s just a five-syllable word, it feels like a small, balanced song. Also, who wouldn’t like a bit of serendipity? As for a non-English word, I’m always learning new Arabic words, so my favorite shifts a lot. The most recent would be “’anani,” which means selfish, but I like the way it rolls off the tongue. 

You’re on a deserted island. You have one album and one book. What are they and why?   

Album – The Poetry of Maya Angelou. After a long day of making a shelter, finding food and water, and struggling to start a fire, I can think of no better companion than the strength and beauty of Maya Angelou’s voice. 

Book – John Green’s The Anthropocene Reviewed. I’d be able to read this book of essays in bite-sized pieces that would leave me satisfied, but still allow me to make it last however long I’m stranded for. It would also remind me of how wonderful and strange being a human on this earth can be.  

If you could change one thing about the literary industry, what would it be? 

Often, the literary industry is reluctant to take risks and publish work that is unusual or doesn’t fit current trends. I think there should be a bigger embrace of original stories, and creators, because that’s what readers really want (at least, it’s what I want). 

Ciena Valenzuela-Peterson

she/her

What is your favorite place to read?   

I’ve tried to be the kind of person who reads in cafés, I’ve read outdoors among the trees, I’ve hauled myself across campus to read in the fanciest library—and while those reading spots provide a certain literary flare, nothing compares to the pleasure and comfort of reading in bed. My bed is a cozy, pillowy cocoon, over-adorned with cushions and string lights and a canopy ceiling of tasseled scarves. It’s the perfect little nest for curling up with a good book. 

You’re walking down the street and suddenly spot a key on the ground! What does it look like? What do you do with it?   

The key catches my attention because it’s old—a sturdy, brass object with two bulky, uncomplicated teeth that mark it as antique. In this day and age, a key like that isn’t keeping anything secure. Maybe it’s a skeleton key to an old manor, or just a movie prop—either way, I admire the embossed detail along the handle, the ornate bow made to fit fingers instead of keychains. I pocket it. I’ll take it home and draw it, keep it in an envelope in my bullet journal, or loop a chain through it and wear it as jewelry.  

How do you take your coffee? If you don’t drink coffee, describe your favorite beverage ritual.   

I am embarrassed to admit that my current morning coffee consists of Keurig-brewed coffee, non-dairy creamer, and a scoop of vanilla-flavored protein powder. It’s sacrilege, I know, but as a vegetarian it’s a great way to boost my daily protein intake. I’ll miss breakfast routinely, but I’ll never miss my morning coffee.  

What is your favorite English word and why? Do you have a favorite word in another language?   

I am fond of the word “affectation.” I’ve always been interested in the concept of authenticity, and when I learned the word affectation in high school, I instantly recognized what a useful word it is, and it’s remained one of my favorites ever since.  

You’re on a deserted island. You have one album and one book. What are they and why?   

If I absolutely had to choose, I would bring My Chemical Romance’s The Black Parade as my album. I can only imagine the circumstances that would allow me to listen to an album on a deserted island but not escape said island, but maybe a portable CD player washed up on shore or I fashioned a turntable from bamboo George of the Jungle-style. Either way, I’d be dying of anxiety if not starvation and would want the comfort of one of my all-time favorite bands from my adolescence. The Black Parade withstood the test of time and the end of my emo phase and remains an incredible album by an incredible band. 

As for a book, I’d bring a bushcraft survival guide with tips for foraging for edible mushrooms and building shelters and such. Otherwise, I’d be doomed so quickly I wouldn’t have time to read any other book for fun. 

If you could change one thing about the literary industry, what would it be? 

In the literary industry, we’re in the business of art curation, and with the profit incentive taking over publishing we’ve lost sight of that. More and more books are being churned out by Big-5 publishers (and self-published authors imitating them) that are so generic they can be boiled down to a series of tropes and nothing more. Everything needs a successful “comp” that’s gone viral on BookTok, and publishing houses run by advertisers are growing more and more wary of artistic risk. If we only publish books based on what has sold in the past, there’s no way to discover “the next big thing.” Publishing is too slow of a business to rely on the trend cycle for leveraging risk, and the outcome is watered-down trope-driven books taking priority over fresh and important literary voices.  

Jazzmin Joya

she/her

What is your favorite place to read?   

My favorite place to read is the library. I spent a lot of time growing up in the library and it led me to pursue English as a degree! So to me, I think the library is just a fun, cozy environment for me to read in. 

You’re walking down the street and suddenly spot a key on the ground! What does it look like? What do you do with it? 

If I a spotted a key on a walk, it would be an old, bronze skeleton key that would allow me to open any door and transport to any place through that door.  

How do you take your coffee? If you don’t drink coffee, describe your favorite beverage ritual.   

I don’t drink coffee but I do enjoy making a nice warm tea, especially at night when I’m winding down. My tea ritual is to warm up water, choose a tea (usually chamomile or green tea), and add honey and a slice of lemon! 

What is your favorite English word and why? Do you have a favorite word in another language?   

My favorite English word is “onomatopoeia,” I think it’s a fun literary effect and sounds nice.

You’re on a deserted island. You have one album and one book. What are they and why?   

If I were stranded on a deserted island my one album would be Mac Miller’s Circles. My one book would also be The Book Thief, I’ve read it so many times, but I could never get tired of it. 

If you could change one thing about the literary industry, what would it be? 

I would try to increase the diversity within the literary industry to amplify the voices of many authors who have amazing stories to tell which can increase the diversity in stories, characters, and settings. 

Stevi Sargas

she/they

What is your favorite place to read?  

I love to listen to audiobooks while exercising, at the gym or at home. 

You’re walking down the street and suddenly spot a key on the ground! What does it look like? What do you do with it?  

It’s a gold-colored house key. I’d probably leave it where it is, in case the person who dropped is retracing their steps.  

How do you take your coffee? If you don’t drink coffee, describe your favourite beverage ritual. 

I love coffee so I take it all sorts of ways. Mostly black, but sometimes as a flat white, hot or iced, and occasionally with syrup when I need a real energy boost.  

What is your favorite English word and why? Do you have a favorite word in another language? 

I like the word sombre. It’s pleasant to say, and I feel like its sound matches its meaning. 

You’re on a deserted island. You have one album and one book. What are they and why? 

This Is How You Lose the Time War by Amal-El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone is my book. It was my favorite read last year—I found it uplifting and inspirational. My album is See Without Eyes by the Glitch Mob. It’s one of my favorites to get me into a flow state. Something to keep my spirits up paired with something to keep me productive seems like a good combination. 

If you could change one thing about the literary industry, what would it be? 

I’d love for more people to be able to get into the industry. If I could snap my fingers and simply have it happen, I’d add a whole lot of funding for education and publishing opportunities.