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A review by meganmilks
Zazen by Vanessa Veselka
5.0
this is like a queer feminist fight club, a million times more complicated and interesting. i have not seen contemporary radical/anarchist politics handled so effectively in fiction, except in scifi, and i guess there's a touch of that here. this future is near, though. it's like, tomorrow. i am particularly impressed by how veselka sets up different ideological systems via character, with some systems/characters rendered unstable by della's limited knowledge and changing allegiances. people appearing one way, then revealing their underground selves... just like in pretty little liars. <3
also della's double-vision -- seeing her mother with "tiny creeks" flowing from each finger, envisioning "the real map...a living map" on top of the topography of box-malls. anyway a lot of blazingly good prose. here's della's description of the kitchen on the collective farm:
"I had been with Grace and Miro [her parents] in a hundred kitchens like that. Everything was wood, metal, paper or glass; nothing was disposable. I knew where to look for cloth filters, tea, compost buckets and co-op containers of peanut butter, honey and tahini. I knew how the bread would taste, how the clay mugs would feel and how cold the kitchen would be until people came and it got warm from the bodies. ... And if you couldn't feel the despair that was in everything, if you were numb to the intense loss at the center of it all, it was like stepping right into a children's story. Fresh milk and cozy fires on the cusp of a wild wood." (169)
also della's double-vision -- seeing her mother with "tiny creeks" flowing from each finger, envisioning "the real map...a living map" on top of the topography of box-malls. anyway a lot of blazingly good prose. here's della's description of the kitchen on the collective farm:
"I had been with Grace and Miro [her parents] in a hundred kitchens like that. Everything was wood, metal, paper or glass; nothing was disposable. I knew where to look for cloth filters, tea, compost buckets and co-op containers of peanut butter, honey and tahini. I knew how the bread would taste, how the clay mugs would feel and how cold the kitchen would be until people came and it got warm from the bodies. ... And if you couldn't feel the despair that was in everything, if you were numb to the intense loss at the center of it all, it was like stepping right into a children's story. Fresh milk and cozy fires on the cusp of a wild wood." (169)