BY EMILY
YOU SERIOUSLY NEED TO READ CATHERYNNE M. VALENTE.
“It’s … mushroom-life. The pale, rooty kind that grows in blackness. I’ll bet in all your years he has never given you fresh a fresh apple to eat. Everything he loves is preserved, salted … pickled. I suppose it’s alive, but it’s kept alive, forever, in a glass bell. And he is, too. A pickled husband, that’s what you have.”
Afterwards, you'll be ready for her denser, weirder stuff, such as The Habitation of the Blessed, a beautiful series on Christianity written by a total heretic, or The Orphan Tales series, which I myself am still lost in the bramble of, or, if after finishing the lot of the Fairyland series (including a short story published online post-Trump election) you're still in the mood for children's, her lewis carollian Brontë sister fantasy which has magic that looks exactly like the make-believe of children, speaks their made-up language and has the makings of a terrific stop-motion film.
Just please, please, PLEASE, promise me you'll keep Radiance for last. A 1-star reviewer called it “intellectual masturbation” and it is EXACTLY that, but by then, you'll be so smitten you'd read about swan sex if Valente had her name on it. In fact, you already will have. •
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