Detransition, Baby has become an incredibly popular book club book. How can it not be, really? It has all the great hallmarks: a dry sense of humor, creative writing style, and most importantly, messy people living messy lives. Torrey Peters’s first novel explores the sloppy quasi-triangle of Reese, a trans woman who can’t quite get it together; her ex-partner Ames (previously Amy, previously previously James), who detransitioned a few years ago; and Katrina, the woman that Ames has inadvertently knocked up.Right.When Ames realizes that he can parent, but he can’t father, he turns to Reese for help: she’s always wanted a kid and is good with kids, so why not be the third parent in this family? What unfolds from there traces Reese’s relationship with Amy through the past and how Reese is drawn into a world with Katrina’s wants and Ames’s needs. Travelling through the trans femme world of Brooklyn and bringing to light stories about the trans community that have nothing to do with HIV, Detransition, Baby has become an immediate standard of queer literature.In this episode, we’re talking through Detransition, Baby, including the conversation the novel holds around motherhood, womanhood and fatherhood, as well as ideas of gender versus sex, and most importantly: what would these three want if they were on an episode of House Hunters? (It’s happened before!)

Detransition, Baby has become an incredibly popular book club book. How can it not be, really? It has all the great hallmarks: a dry sense of humor, creative writing style, and most importantly, messy people living messy lives. Torrey Peters’s first novel explores the sloppy quasi-triangle of Reese, a trans woman who can’t quite get it together; her ex-partner Ames (previously Amy, previously previously James), who detransitioned a few years ago; and Katrina, the woman that Ames has inadvertently knocked up. Right. When Ames realizes that he can parent, but he can’t father, he turns to Reese for help: she’s always wanted a kid and is good with kids, so why not be the third parent in this family? What unfolds from there traces Reese’s relationship with Amy through the past and how Reese is drawn into a world with Katrina’s wants and Ames’s needs. Travelling through the trans femme world of Brooklyn and bringing to light stories about the trans community that have nothing to do with HIV, Detransition, Baby has become an immediate standard of queer literature. In this episode, we’re talking through Detransition, Baby, including the conversation the novel holds around motherhood, womanhood and fatherhood, as well as ideas of gender versus sex, and most importantly: what would these three want if they were on an episode of House Hunters? (It’s happened before!)

Detransition, Baby

Nella Larsen’s slender novel Passing was published in 1929, and has maintained a legacy of lifting the veil on the complicated nature of racial passing. When Irene encounters her friend from childhood, Clare, she’s shocked to find that Clare has made the decision to permanently pass for white: she’s married a white man, lives in a white neighborhood, has what everyone believes is a white daughter, and lives the privileged life of upper middle class whites in 1927. Irene also has light skin, but lives as a Black woman in Harlem, married to a Black man with dark complexion and raising two Black sons.  As the two women’s lives intersect, Irene marvels at Clare’s ability to pass and her brazenness to appear among Black communities, where she may be recognized. As Clare spirals ever closer to Irene and the distance between them blurs, both women unwittingly are dragged into the gravity of a tragic end.On this episode, we’re discussing Larsen’s quick classic, looking at it from multiple angles: its modernity, its humor, and its ability to convey what’s happening with imagery that takes root in the mind. we’re also attempting to solve the mystery of how a person can remain fervently enraged up 17 flights of stairs. (So glad we don’t have those kind of walkups in Spartanburg.)

Nella Larsen’s slender novel Passing was published in 1929, and has maintained a legacy of lifting the veil on the complicated nature of racial passing. When Irene encounters her friend from childhood, Clare, she’s shocked to find that Clare has made the decision to permanently pass for white: she’s married a white man, lives in a white neighborhood, has what everyone believes is a white daughter, and lives the privileged life of upper middle class whites in 1927. Irene also has light skin, but lives as a Black woman in Harlem, married to a Black man with dark complexion and raising two Black sons. As the two women’s lives intersect, Irene marvels at Clare’s ability to pass and her brazenness to appear among Black communities, where she may be recognized. As Clare spirals ever closer to Irene and the distance between them blurs, both women unwittingly are dragged into the gravity of a tragic end. On this episode, we’re discussing Larsen’s quick classic, looking at it from multiple angles: its modernity, its humor, and its ability to convey what’s happening with imagery that takes root in the mind. we’re also attempting to solve the mystery of how a person can remain fervently enraged up 17 flights of stairs. (So glad we don’t have those kind of walkups in Spartanburg.)

Passing

The team breaks down Tom Ripley’s need to be accepted, the loneliness of the con artist on the lam, and Jude Law’s intense tan.

The team breaks down Tom Ripley’s need to be accepted, the loneliness of the con artist on the lam, and Jude Law’s intense tan.

The Talented Mr. Ripley

Gage Chandler is a true crime writer working on his next project, that of an unsolved double homicide in the suburban city of Milpitas, California that took place in 1986. Gage is best known for his book about the so-called White Witch, a woman who slaughtered two of her high school students in her apartment during an attempted robbery. Although Gage’s intention is to tell these stories the “right” way, he’s forced to grapple with the negative impact of the lives of those left behind, especially the mother of one of the White Witch’s victims, who demands he listen to her story.Devil House brings to light the difficult question of who has the authority to tell someone else’s story, and whether one can ever truly be capable of doing so, no matter the lengths we go to in order to put ourselves in the shoes of others. Sounds serious, right? It is, but we’re discussing it in typical Booklovers fashion, wandering in and out of additional topics like The Mountain Goats (naturally) and what would have happened if Remus had lived instead of Romulus (less naturally).

Gage Chandler is a true crime writer working on his next project, that of an unsolved double homicide in the suburban city of Milpitas, California that took place in 1986. Gage is best known for his book about the so-called White Witch, a woman who slaughtered two of her high school students in her apartment during an attempted robbery. Although Gage’s intention is to tell these stories the “right” way, he’s forced to grapple with the negative impact of the lives of those left behind, especially the mother of one of the White Witch’s victims, who demands he listen to her story. Devil House brings to light the difficult question of who has the authority to tell someone else’s story, and whether one can ever truly be capable of doing so, no matter the lengths we go to in order to put ourselves in the shoes of others. Sounds serious, right? It is, but we’re discussing it in typical Booklovers fashion, wandering in and out of additional topics like The Mountain Goats (naturally) and what would have happened if Remus had lived instead of Romulus (less naturally).

Devil House

Wes Anderson

You might not know him by name, but you know the aesthetic. A soft warm filter, perfectly framed still shots, vintage-yet-modern costumes, and bubbly but moody music. Since his first film Bottle Rocket in 1996, and especially since the release of 2012’s Moonrise Kingdom, Wes Anderson has become one of the most recognizable film auteurs of the last 25 years. But beyond the looks of Anderson’s films lies a unifying set of themes, especially the meaning of family, both blood and found. In this episode, Jess and Joseph (diehard Anderson fans) discuss their relationships with Anderson’s films, and Carmanita (who watched her first Wes Anderson films specifically for this episode) tries to describe exactly what Tilda Swinton looks like in The Grand Budapest Hotel.

The Films of Wes Anderson

"All people, except this rich cream, living and scraping and fighting and dying, and for what, nothing, the cold millions with no chance in this world."So thinks Rye Dolan, the main character of Jess Walter’s seventh novel, as he navigates the wealthy world and poor underbelly of Spokane, Washington, in 1909. Rye is sucked into the outer edges of history as it’s being made during the free speech riots of 1909 and 1910, an effort by the International Workers of the World to battle against predatory employment agencies who hired people for day work for a daily fee. In most historical fiction we read today, the spotlight falls on the names and stories we know from history (think about the kind of moment World War II is having in fiction), but Walter takes a look an unknown corner of American history with primarily unknown names and voices. While Rye and his older brother Gig aren’t real, 1909 Spokane was, as well as novel character and professional activist Elizabeth Gurley Flynn. With The Cold Millions, Walter analyzes the role we play in history as individuals and what it means to truly be “a part” of history, as well as whose voices we listen to after history has finally been “made”.In this episode, we’re discussing some of the major themes of The Cold Millions, including history but also the way the structure of the novel both subverts &amp; reinforces certain concepts of historical fiction, along with the morality of living in a world that doesn’t love you back. We also drop some great Spokane puns (Spokane should hire us for PR) and discuss our true feelings about epilogues.

"All people, except this rich cream, living and scraping and fighting and dying, and for what, nothing, the cold millions with no chance in this world." So thinks Rye Dolan, the main character of Jess Walter’s seventh novel, as he navigates the wealthy world and poor underbelly of Spokane, Washington, in 1909. Rye is sucked into the outer edges of history as it’s being made during the free speech riots of 1909 and 1910, an effort by the International Workers of the World to battle against predatory employment agencies who hired people for day work for a daily fee. In most historical fiction we read today, the spotlight falls on the names and stories we know from history (think about the kind of moment World War II is having in fiction), but Walter takes a look an unknown corner of American history with primarily unknown names and voices. While Rye and his older brother Gig aren’t real, 1909 Spokane was, as well as novel character and professional activist Elizabeth Gurley Flynn. With The Cold Millions, Walter analyzes the role we play in history as individuals and what it means to truly be “a part” of history, as well as whose voices we listen to after history has finally been “made”. In this episode, we’re discussing some of the major themes of The Cold Millions, including history but also the way the structure of the novel both subverts &amp; reinforces certain concepts of historical fiction, along with the morality of living in a world that doesn’t love you back. We also drop some great Spokane puns (Spokane should hire us for PR) and discuss our true feelings about epilogues.

The Cold Millions

Happy 2022! We’re taking a break from full episodes this month, but we still wanted to share what we’re rabbit holing through right now. Enjoy!

Happy New Year!

The group discusses not a year in books but a year in reading, including reading habits, goals and tools for reading.

The group discusses not a year in books but a year in reading, including reading habits, goals and tools for reading.

Our Year in Reading, Reviewed

We live in a context where the boundaries of reality are constantly tested by scientific discoveries, new technologies, and attempts to describe our world. Weird fiction is a genre-spanning tendency with a long history that attests to this shifting sense of the real. On this episode, we survey weird fiction from Lovecraft and Kafka to the present, focusing on contemporary innovators and trends in speculative writing that keep our minds focused on the weird. Along the way, we consider talking animals, how cockroaches might inspire dancing, and the pervasive weirdness in TV, movies, and video games.

Weird Fiction

Hopefully, by the time you’re reading this, James Bond superfan Jess is tucked into her seat in the theater with a bucket of popcorn the same size as her head, ready to watch No Time to Die. The vaunted 25th (or 27th, if you’re feisty) film in the Bond franchise has seen its release rescheduled four times now due to rehires and the COVID-19 pandemic; it was originally meant to hit the big screen in November 2019, but here we are, two years later, hoping for the best. But even while the film limps toward the finish line, there’s still plenty of Bond to go around.  In this episode, Jess is taking Carmanita and Joseph on a deep dive into the world of Bond, not just in movies but also in books, graphic novels, and even video games.As a film franchise, James Bond is among the oldest, starting in 1963 with Dr. No. But the books predate the first film by over a decade, and the first time the world is introduced to Mr. Bond is in 1953, with the release of Casino Royale. And ever since, the world has been subject to the charms of the Walther PPK-wielding, martini-sipping, tux-donning spy with a license to kill. But what is it about Bond that keeps us coming back for more? Does 2021 still have room for a character like James Bond, and how do these stories stay relevant into the future? So to celebrate what is hopefully the release of No Time to Die, we’re digging in.

Hopefully, by the time you’re reading this, James Bond superfan Jess is tucked into her seat in the theater with a bucket of popcorn the same size as her head, ready to watch No Time to Die. The vaunted 25th (or 27th, if you’re feisty) film in the Bond franchise has seen its release rescheduled four times now due to rehires and the COVID-19 pandemic; it was originally meant to hit the big screen in November 2019, but here we are, two years later, hoping for the best. But even while the film limps toward the finish line, there’s still plenty of Bond to go around. In this episode, Jess is taking Carmanita and Joseph on a deep dive into the world of Bond, not just in movies but also in books, graphic novels, and even video games. As a film franchise, James Bond is among the oldest, starting in 1963 with Dr. No. But the books predate the first film by over a decade, and the first time the world is introduced to Mr. Bond is in 1953, with the release of Casino Royale. And ever since, the world has been subject to the charms of the Walther PPK-wielding, martini-sipping, tux-donning spy with a license to kill. But what is it about Bond that keeps us coming back for more? Does 2021 still have room for a character like James Bond, and how do these stories stay relevant into the future? So to celebrate what is hopefully the release of No Time to Die, we’re digging in.

Shaken, Not Stirred: The World of Bond

A podcast about books, reading, and culture from Spartanburg County Public Libraries.

We’re here with our first official mini-episode! And what better place to start than with a format that is near and dear to all of our hearts? Celebrating annual and lifelong achievements in the comics industry, the Eisner Awards have been presented since 1988 at San Diego Comic-Con (or at least as long as there isn’t a global pandemic they are). We’ve taken a good hard look at this year’s winners and nominees, and we’re here with a rundown of the big stories from the Eisners, plus some of our favorites from both this year’s pool of winners and pools from years past.

The 2021 Eisners

Fall is in the air and Halloween is only two months away, so that means it's the perfect time to talk about horror fiction and horror movies. While we start with a general discussion of the scary stuff we love (or appreciate at a safe distance), we then turn to the author Stephen Graham Jones and discuss his award-winning novel "The Only Good Indians" and his latest  book, "My Heart is a Chainsaw." We're huge fans and we hope you will pick both of them up. If you liked this episode and you want to hear Jones read from and discuss his work, join us at SCPL for "A Nightmare on Church Street," our virtual event with the author on September 17th at 7:00 PM. Go to spartanburglibraries.org and click on the event banner at the top of the page to sign up!

Fall is in the air and Halloween is only two months away, so that means it's the perfect time to talk about horror fiction and horror movies. While we start with a general discussion of the scary stuff we love (or appreciate at a safe distance), we then turn to the author Stephen Graham Jones and discuss his award-winning novel "The Only Good Indians" and his latest book, "My Heart is a Chainsaw." We're huge fans and we hope you will pick both of them up. If you liked this episode and you want to hear Jones read from and discuss his work, join us at SCPL for "A Nightmare on Church Street," our virtual event with the author on September 17th at 7:00 PM. Go to <a href="http://spartanburglibraries.org" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">spartanburglibraries.org</a> and click on the event banner at the top of the page to sign up!

My Heart Is a Chainsaw & The Only Good Indians

One of the things all three of us have noticed over time is that a lot of readers have a question about audiobooks:Is it really reading if I’m only listening to it?Audiobooks are a format that tends to have its own stigma—that listening to a book instead of reading it with your eyeballs is somehow a lesser effort, one that takes something away. But we’re here to say that is patently untrue: for some readers, by audio is the optimal format, and there’s no reason to believe that listening to a story is any less of a concentrated effort than seeing it on the page. Audiobooks have their own history, including multiple types of awards like the Audie Awards, which are celebrated annually by the Audio Publishers Association. We don’t think about it much, but audiobooks actually add a new dimension, which is the voice of the narrator, to sometimes bring new depth to a story.On this episode we’re talking about our experiences with audiobooks and Audie Award winners, and why the format is so loved—and so stigmatized—by many. If you’re listening to this podcast, you’re already prepared to try an audiobook, so we’re also recommending some of our faves and suggestions for a good place to start listening to audiobooks.

One of the things all three of us have noticed over time is that a lot of readers have a question about audiobooks: Is it really reading if I’m only listening to it? Audiobooks are a format that tends to have its own stigma—that listening to a book instead of reading it with your eyeballs is somehow a lesser effort, one that takes something away. But we’re here to say that is patently untrue: for some readers, by audio is the optimal format, and there’s no reason to believe that listening to a story is any less of a concentrated effort than seeing it on the page. Audiobooks have their own history, including multiple types of awards like the Audie Awards, which are celebrated annually by the Audio Publishers Association. We don’t think about it much, but audiobooks actually add a new dimension, which is the voice of the narrator, to sometimes bring new depth to a story. On this episode we’re talking about our experiences with audiobooks and Audie Award winners, and why the format is so loved—and so stigmatized—by many. If you’re listening to this podcast, you’re already prepared to try an audiobook, so we’re also recommending some of our faves and suggestions for a good place to start listening to audiobooks.

Getting Into Audiobooks

In the 1940s, ‘50s and ‘60s, Westerns proliferated across film, television and books. Oh, the books, with their staunch brown covers, gunslingers and paint ponies, staring down the reader as though they were coming directly for us. But since then, the Western—especially the Western novel—has taken a backseat to other genres of exploration, especially other types of historical fiction and science fiction. So what is a Western, exactly? And who is still reading them? And how, exactly, does the Western genre diversify while still staying true to its historical definitions?In this episode, we’re delving into these questions, with John Larison’s recent novel Whiskey When We’re Dry as the vehicle for the discussion. The novel, which takes place in the 1880s in Missouri, follows young Jess, who is left on the family ranch to fend for herself after her brother runs off and her father dies. Hedging her bets, Jess decides to disguise herself as a man and sets off in search of her brother, falling in with the staff of the dangerous Governor as a prized gunslinger. What follows is an adventurous, emotional story told through Jess’s indelible voice. The old West still has a lot to teach its readers, especially as it shifts and incorporates more diverse stories of the early Chinese, American Indian, and Black explorers whose stories were often shunned in Western storytelling for those of white men. We also talk about identity and Jess’s quest to understand where she comes from, which is hard enough to define in the early days of a nation, but even harder when you don’t know your own family.

In the 1940s, ‘50s and ‘60s, Westerns proliferated across film, television and books. Oh, the books, with their staunch brown covers, gunslingers and paint ponies, staring down the reader as though they were coming directly for us. But since then, the Western—especially the Western novel—has taken a backseat to other genres of exploration, especially other types of historical fiction and science fiction. So what is a Western, exactly? And who is still reading them? And how, exactly, does the Western genre diversify while still staying true to its historical definitions? In this episode, we’re delving into these questions, with John Larison’s recent novel Whiskey When We’re Dry as the vehicle for the discussion. The novel, which takes place in the 1880s in Missouri, follows young Jess, who is left on the family ranch to fend for herself after her brother runs off and her father dies. Hedging her bets, Jess decides to disguise herself as a man and sets off in search of her brother, falling in with the staff of the dangerous Governor as a prized gunslinger. What follows is an adventurous, emotional story told through Jess’s indelible voice. The old West still has a lot to teach its readers, especially as it shifts and incorporates more diverse stories of the early Chinese, American Indian, and Black explorers whose stories were often shunned in Western storytelling for those of white men. We also talk about identity and Jess’s quest to understand where she comes from, which is hard enough to define in the early days of a nation, but even harder when you don’t know your own family.

Whiskey When We’re Dry

If you listened to our previous episode, during which we discussed Carmen Maria Machado’s memoir In the Dream House, then you’ve heard us talk about the importance of preserving stories, both good and bad, especially about the LGBTQ+ community. And The Prettiest Star holds a similar place in queer literature, telling the uncomfortable but important story of a young man who returns home to his small town in Ohio after contracting HIV in New York City. In 1986, Brian’s return, which would under normal circumstances be a joyous occasion for any family, is instead fraught and stressful for his parents and his younger sister, who learned to live without him. As Brian chronicles his final summer alive, the family grapples with love, loss, and what community and family truly mean, especially for gay men. We’re discussing The Prettiest Star to celebrate SCPL’s virtual event with Carter Sickels on July 1st, and we encourage you to sign up at spartanburglibraries.org if you’re interested in joining us.

If you listened to our previous episode, during which we discussed Carmen Maria Machado’s memoir In the Dream House, then you’ve heard us talk about the importance of preserving stories, both good and bad, especially about the LGBTQ+ community. And The Prettiest Star holds a similar place in queer literature, telling the uncomfortable but important story of a young man who returns home to his small town in Ohio after contracting HIV in New York City. In 1986, Brian’s return, which would under normal circumstances be a joyous occasion for any family, is instead fraught and stressful for his parents and his younger sister, who learned to live without him. As Brian chronicles his final summer alive, the family grapples with love, loss, and what community and family truly mean, especially for gay men. We’re discussing The Prettiest Star to celebrate SCPL’s virtual event with Carter Sickels on July 1st, and we encourage you to sign up at <a href="http://spartanburglibraries.org" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">spartanburglibraries.org</a> if you’re interested in joining us.

The Prettiest Star

After extricating herself from a psychologically abusive relationship that lasted over a year, Carmen Maria Machado went in search of the kind of book we talk about a lot on this podcast: one that would help her process what she had experienced. But instead of finding a sea of options, as there would be for the loss of a parent, joining a new community, or raising a child as a single parent, she found nothing that would help her deal with the destructive whirlwind that had cut a path through her life. So Machado did what so many queer women before her have done: she carved out a space to tell the untold story of abuse in lesbian relationships. The result, In the Dream House, is a highly experimental memoir that pulls elements of horror, psychological thriller, academic study, and even folklore together to reveal a deep, devastating, and surprisingly funny story of the relationship’s rise and fall.In this episode, we’re attempting to pull apart the many, many aspects of In the Dream House that make it so unique and creative, especially Machado’s monumental ability to design a unique memoir and the essential need to document untold stories, particularly those in the queer community.

After extricating herself from a psychologically abusive relationship that lasted over a year, Carmen Maria Machado went in search of the kind of book we talk about a lot on this podcast: one that would help her process what she had experienced. But instead of finding a sea of options, as there would be for the loss of a parent, joining a new community, or raising a child as a single parent, she found nothing that would help her deal with the destructive whirlwind that had cut a path through her life. So Machado did what so many queer women before her have done: she carved out a space to tell the untold story of abuse in lesbian relationships. The result, In the Dream House, is a highly experimental memoir that pulls elements of horror, psychological thriller, academic study, and even folklore together to reveal a deep, devastating, and surprisingly funny story of the relationship’s rise and fall. In this episode, we’re attempting to pull apart the many, many aspects of In the Dream House that make it so unique and creative, especially Machado’s monumental ability to design a unique memoir and the essential need to document untold stories, particularly those in the queer community.

In the Dream House

In July of 2020, we were all struck by Bryan Washington’s short story collection Lot, which takes readers deep into the Hispanic and Black neighborhoods of Houston, describing the lives of apartment complexes and storefronts via the people who occupy and care for them. So to prepare for Summer Reading and our kickoff event with the man himself, we’re reading and discussing Washington’s novel Memorial. Memorial returns to Houston via couple Benson and Mike, who are pretty much definitely at the end of their relationship. A wrench is thrown into their lives when Mike finds out his dad is dying of cancer, and he leaves for Japan just as his mother arrives to visit. Mitsuko and Benson are left together in a thumbprint-sized apartment, despite never having met each other, while Mike lands in Osaka to take care of his father, Eiju, who abandoned the family when Mike was young.Memorial has so many layers that it’s hard to pull them into one cohesive podcast episode. But we think we’ve done it with this one! We’re digging into the concept of home, the essence of change, and most importantly, how weird it is to cook in someone else’s kitchen. We also take a look the characters Washington creates for both of the “hometowns” in Memorial: Houston and Osaka.

In July of 2020, we were all struck by Bryan Washington’s short story collection Lot, which takes readers deep into the Hispanic and Black neighborhoods of Houston, describing the lives of apartment complexes and storefronts via the people who occupy and care for them. So to prepare for Summer Reading and our kickoff event with the man himself, we’re reading and discussing Washington’s novel Memorial. Memorial returns to Houston via couple Benson and Mike, who are pretty much definitely at the end of their relationship. A wrench is thrown into their lives when Mike finds out his dad is dying of cancer, and he leaves for Japan just as his mother arrives to visit. Mitsuko and Benson are left together in a thumbprint-sized apartment, despite never having met each other, while Mike lands in Osaka to take care of his father, Eiju, who abandoned the family when Mike was young. Memorial has so many layers that it’s hard to pull them into one cohesive podcast episode. But we think we’ve done it with this one! We’re digging into the concept of home, the essence of change, and most importantly, how weird it is to cook in someone else’s kitchen. We also take a look the characters Washington creates for both of the “hometowns” in Memorial: Houston and Osaka.

Memorial

What does it mean to be a person? What does personhood mean? What about humanity? You might think you know, but Jeff VanderMeer’s novel Borne and its titular character are here to test what you think you believe. After finding a small pulsating blob on the side of a tremendous sleeping bear, scavenger Rachel brings it home in hopes that her partner Wick will be able to make use of it. But when the blob begins to grow, take shape and ultimately talk, Wick realizes that Rachel is in for more than she bargained for, but Rachel protects her charge as best she can. How Rachel does so and the decisions she makes for herself, for Borne and for Wick, all in the shadows of a giant bear, a half-destroyed Company and a mostly destroyed City run by a drug dealer named the Magician, will change her life forever.As we discussed in our episode on The Left Hand of Darkness, science fiction’s goal is to push a situation to its logical limit, then let the story fully unfold from there. In Borne, VanderMeer has created a world not so far from our own, both in terms of modern society and in terms of Spartanburg; lean too close to the Company and you might catch the whiff of the crumbling abandoned textile mills that dot the Upstate. The City is all the more chilling and relatable due to its rough references that put it somewhere in the American south, kind of far from the ocean, but not too far from the mountains. In addition to discussing the relationship between Borne and the upstate (be it real or imagined), we’re talking about the way we relate to the non-human beings in our lives and who should read Borne in the first place—and much more importantly, why it should be read.

What does it mean to be a person? What does personhood mean? What about humanity? You might think you know, but Jeff VanderMeer’s novel Borne and its titular character are here to test what you think you believe. After finding a small pulsating blob on the side of a tremendous sleeping bear, scavenger Rachel brings it home in hopes that her partner Wick will be able to make use of it. But when the blob begins to grow, take shape and ultimately talk, Wick realizes that Rachel is in for more than she bargained for, but Rachel protects her charge as best she can. How Rachel does so and the decisions she makes for herself, for Borne and for Wick, all in the shadows of a giant bear, a half-destroyed Company and a mostly destroyed City run by a drug dealer named the Magician, will change her life forever. As we discussed in our episode on The Left Hand of Darkness, science fiction’s goal is to push a situation to its logical limit, then let the story fully unfold from there. In Borne, VanderMeer has created a world not so far from our own, both in terms of modern society and in terms of Spartanburg; lean too close to the Company and you might catch the whiff of the crumbling abandoned textile mills that dot the Upstate. The City is all the more chilling and relatable due to its rough references that put it somewhere in the American south, kind of far from the ocean, but not too far from the mountains. In addition to discussing the relationship between Borne and the upstate (be it real or imagined), we’re talking about the way we relate to the non-human beings in our lives and who should read Borne in the first place—and much more importantly, why it should be read.

Borne

In 2013, Booklovers read George Saunders’ short story collection Tenth of December, which was considered one of the best books of the year by a number of outlets, including the New York Times, and was widely heralded as a masterwork of the format. Saunders is considered one of our greatest living American writers, and his talent as a writer and creative thinker seems to know no limits. So when Booklovers met to discuss Tenth of December, we were shocked at what we heard:The group hated it.So in 2021, Jess decided to return to the short story collection that caused such strife in the group (they don’t usually hate anything!) and analyze it with Joseph and Carmanita to see how Tenth of December has aged, if it’s still controversial, and what Saunders may have about the world we’re living in today. As it turns out, George Saunders is out here working in 3013, trying his hardest to catch us all up to his sense of humanity, of kindness, and of self-awareness, all conveyed through a light toe-dip into the world of speculative fiction, especially science fiction and horror. The ten stories in the collection range in length and scope, from “Puppy”, a vignette about two mothers coming together over the sale of a puppy, to “Home”, a Stoker Award nominee about a veteran who can’t figure out where he fits now that he’s back in America.

In 2013, Booklovers read George Saunders’ short story collection Tenth of December, which was considered one of the best books of the year by a number of outlets, including the New York Times, and was widely heralded as a masterwork of the format. Saunders is considered one of our greatest living American writers, and his talent as a writer and creative thinker seems to know no limits. So when Booklovers met to discuss Tenth of December, we were shocked at what we heard: The group hated it. So in 2021, Jess decided to return to the short story collection that caused such strife in the group (they don’t usually hate anything!) and analyze it with Joseph and Carmanita to see how Tenth of December has aged, if it’s still controversial, and what Saunders may have about the world we’re living in today. As it turns out, George Saunders is out here working in 3013, trying his hardest to catch us all up to his sense of humanity, of kindness, and of self-awareness, all conveyed through a light toe-dip into the world of speculative fiction, especially science fiction and horror. The ten stories in the collection range in length and scope, from “Puppy”, a vignette about two mothers coming together over the sale of a puppy, to “Home”, a Stoker Award nominee about a veteran who can’t figure out where he fits now that he’s back in America.

Tenth of December: Stories

When Thomas Hardy wrote his final novel, Jude the Obscure, a reader wonders what may have been going through his head. After writing Tess of the d’Urbervilles, which shocked the Victorian England countryside, Hardy released Jude in 1895 in a serialized format. While Jude was a hit, it was also breathtakingly scandalous, earning the nickname “Jude the Obscene” and causing some booksellers to sell copies of certain sections in brown paper bags. Hardy, dismayed by the reception of his novels, turned to poetry and never wrote fiction again.As local kid Jude Fawley grows into a young adult, he is endlessly troubled by the out-of-reach world of academic and pastoral splendor that he can never truly attain, due to a lack of ability, privilege, and knowledge (it is, after all, a rare accident to learn the wrong kind of Latin, even in the 1800s, but Jude manages to mess up even that). As Jude moves through his life, he is haunted and taunted by his first wife, Arabella, who is a true mismatch for Jude, and his beloved cousin Sue, who has Jude’s heart. When Sue announces her marriage to local schoolmaster Phillotson, Jude takes things into his own hands, with utterly disastrous results.In Jude the Obscure, Thomas Hardy describes a world on the brink of change; he skewers the Victorian noble institutions of marriage, religion, parenthood, feminism, sexuality and family, but it’s his youngest named character, Young Father Time (or as Jess calls him, “Creepy Baby Man Child”), who pushes Jude—both the character and the book—over the deep end and into the melodramatic, scandalous, messy abyss.Even in 2021, Hardy’s themes are still revolutionary, including his portrayal of Sue, who is perhaps the earliest fictional character to reflect a type of asexuality, an unexpected and in some cases radical acceptance of divorce, and the shocking act of familicide. As the end of the Victorian era licked at Hardy’s heels, he described a new world where things don’t have to be exactly what they’ve always been—and maybe that’s not a completely bad thing. The people weren’t ready for Hardy, and even now there’s plenty to find scandalous about Jude the Obscure, but it’s also a deeply influential, powerfully told story, and in this episode, we’re breaking down Hardy’s lasting power, the rapture with which we obsess over serialized stories, and what we hope you’ll read next.

When Thomas Hardy wrote his final novel, Jude the Obscure, a reader wonders what may have been going through his head. After writing Tess of the d’Urbervilles, which shocked the Victorian England countryside, Hardy released Jude in 1895 in a serialized format. While Jude was a hit, it was also breathtakingly scandalous, earning the nickname “Jude the Obscene” and causing some booksellers to sell copies of certain sections in brown paper bags. Hardy, dismayed by the reception of his novels, turned to poetry and never wrote fiction again. As local kid Jude Fawley grows into a young adult, he is endlessly troubled by the out-of-reach world of academic and pastoral splendor that he can never truly attain, due to a lack of ability, privilege, and knowledge (it is, after all, a rare accident to learn the wrong kind of Latin, even in the 1800s, but Jude manages to mess up even that). As Jude moves through his life, he is haunted and taunted by his first wife, Arabella, who is a true mismatch for Jude, and his beloved cousin Sue, who has Jude’s heart. When Sue announces her marriage to local schoolmaster Phillotson, Jude takes things into his own hands, with utterly disastrous results. In Jude the Obscure, Thomas Hardy describes a world on the brink of change; he skewers the Victorian noble institutions of marriage, religion, parenthood, feminism, sexuality and family, but it’s his youngest named character, Young Father Time (or as Jess calls him, “Creepy Baby Man Child”), who pushes Jude—both the character and the book—over the deep end and into the melodramatic, scandalous, messy abyss. Even in 2021, Hardy’s themes are still revolutionary, including his portrayal of Sue, who is perhaps the earliest fictional character to reflect a type of asexuality, an unexpected and in some cases radical acceptance of divorce, and the shocking act of familicide. As the end of the Victorian era licked at Hardy’s heels, he described a new world where things don’t have to be exactly what they’ve always been—and maybe that’s not a completely bad thing. The people weren’t ready for Hardy, and even now there’s plenty to find scandalous about Jude the Obscure, but it’s also a deeply influential, powerfully told story, and in this episode, we’re breaking down Hardy’s lasting power, the rapture with which we obsess over serialized stories, and what we hope you’ll read next.

Jude the Obscure

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