Reviews and Comments

Kearney's just a virtuoso—there's no pair of words in here that doesn't spark.

This was a difficult book—owing I think as much to my beginner-level literacy in the topic as it does to Althaus-Reid's sorta whirligig prose and rhetoric, in which she more describes arguments than makes them. Insightful, eclectic, generative hookup between decolonial theory and queer theology.

(Review of both this book and the one that precedes it in the series)

This is a plausible, fun and engaging continuation of the DS9 story and I had a lot of fun with it! In particular, the author's interpretation of Kira's subjectivity and point of view feels "right," and although the appearance of Ro seems like a gimmick at first, her presence in the story ends up catalyzing rich character development on Kira's part. (Plus, Quark's crush on Ro is really funny.) I'm not big on Star Trek novels but this one was worthwhile.

The authors warn that their conclusions might be discouraging, because they (convincingly) show that our present predicament was not inevitable—that we could have chosen to make a different world, but didn't. What I found discouraging (or at least bracing) is how the authors show that the task ahead of us—to make a more just world—isn't just about subtracting "civilization" and returning to humanity's supposed egalitarian past. It will involve constructing something new that is contextual and tactical, and that needs constant maintenance.

One of the many things I admire about this book is how Claire uses what seem like formal "tricks" (both with the material text and the underlying narrative structure) without producing even a hint of ironic distance—if anything the "tricks" make the writing more raw and revealing.

One of the most productive, generative, quotable, thought-provoking books I've read in a long time. Even if you're not interested in Christian theology, you'll find this to be a cogent and useful synthesis of queer theory, design, epistemology and ethics—a field guide on how to avoid the "hubris" of taking laws and abstractions to be above all, and also the "sloth" of radical relativism.

When I read something Crowley wrote, I'm always measuring it against Little, Big, and this doesn't measure up to that, though in some respects it seems like Little, Big's rough draft (down to the Daily love interest with a unibrow). The prose is lovely and dense just how I like it and the ending is poignant enough to make up for what feels like a disconnected and incomplete narrative. The book is also deeply steeped in my least favorite sci-fi trope, namely: white people in the post-apocalypse taking on indigenous mannerisms. A deeply strange, beautiful book that I admired but didn't love.

Gorgeous collection of surrealist prose poems that comes to resemble a kind of grand Gertrude Stein-like fugue of variation and repetition of setting, narration, themes and lexical choices. At times the book lulls you into thinking it's just pleasant pastoral nostalgia, but then suddenly you're faced with a turn of phrase, a jarring image that unsettles everything. I loved the English translation, but I'm glad that the original Spanish is presented verso, so that everyone has a chance to pick up on di Giorgio's phonetic play. This one is going to stick with me for a while.