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Wrong Way is a contemplative, deliberate novel that builds by accumulation and unfolds quietly—quietly, at least, until the truly claustrophobic denouement. The marketing bills the book's subject as "AI" or the "gig economy" but it's really more basic and timeless than that: it's a book about how identity, labor, and place can't be disentangled from one another. The syntax and style of the prose are subtly radical—Joanne's direct, active voice, subject-verb-object sentences occasionally give way to jumpcut parataxis and zeugma, giving the feeling of weightlessness at the top of a rollercoaster. It's not a comedic book by any means, but there are moments of deadpan absurdity and satire that are surprisingly funny (I especially enjoyed the delicious venom directed at the "art world" and at two-faced tech bros using social justice language).

(Full disclosure: I am a friend of Joanne's and I took her writing course at SFPC, in which she showed the students Jim Jarmusch's Paterson on the first day. Coincidentally, I think Jim Jarmusch would be a great director for a film adaptation of this novel!)

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.

DS9 has always been my favorite Star Trek series, and this book really helped me understand why. This is a deep and attentive reading of the series that highlights its progressive politics, and the stakes in play when the series falls flat. I took a ton of notes while reading the book, and the book's bibliography is a treasure trove of interesting directions to explore in Black studies, queer studies, and cultural geography. The book's tone is somewhat academic, but I think it's nevertheless very readable for general audiences, especially fans of the series. <3 this book!!