Our Wives Under the Sea by Julia Armfield
Published by Picador, 2022
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
Part love story, part sci-fi chiller, this follows Miri, whose wife Leah has just returned from a botched deep-sea mission that left her stranded in a claustrophobic underwater vessel for months. Though initially relieved to have her back, it soon becomes clear that something about Leah has been changed by her experiences, her behaviour and appearance becoming increasingly strange.
I love the setup for this novel, which has all the ingredients to be my ideal read: queer, speculative, and creepy. It’s worth noting, therefore, that I had very high expectations heading in. For me, the book is definitely at its strongest when it flirts with the realms of body horror, but there was always a sense that the author was holding back in this respect, and I found myself waiting for a descent into full-blown horror that sadly never came.
For the most part, the book reads as an allegory for loving someone who has been changed due to illness – with obvious parallels being drawn with Miri’s mother, who died from an unspecified illness that seems to be dementia, leaving Miri with a lot of internalised health anxiety. Armfield asks poignant questions about what it means to love someone who is ill: the pain of watching them gradually slip away; the denial and frustration that can lead you to decline help and isolate yourself from others; the bittersweet power of past memories; and the pain of letting go.
I appreciate the way the narrative mirrors the protagonists’ experiences of feeling trapped, and being confronted by the unknown: Leah, quite literally trapped at the bottom of the ocean, and Miri, weighed down by the emotional strain of her wife’s eventual return. There are definitely times when the story lags somewhat, trudging slowly around the same ideas multiple times, but this soon feels deliberate, emphasizing the monotony felt by many of those living with – or caring for someone with – a chronic, degenerative illness.
Not quite the knockout favourite I hoped it would be, this was still a compelling read that explores the unique and shattering pain of grieving for someone who is technically not quite gone, as Miri learns to accept her grief, and push beyond her own fears to do right by those she loves.
Written by a queer Vietnamese American, the poems in this collection are largely concerned with identity, trauma, and the painful journey towards acceptance – particularly when you feel othered by those who should love you most. There are a few absolute gems in here, particularly the final poem, Notes on Staying, but Nguyen’s poetic voice and array of styles didn’t always click with me, sadly.
I love the concept of this short from Tor Books. Set in the near future, the successful development of pain transference allows people to literally carry the burden of someone else’s sickness on their behalf. We follow a mother who has spent the majority of her adult daughter’s lifetime shouldering the excruciating pain of her degenerative joint condition, allowing her to focus on establishing her own life and career. With impressive brevity, Walton is able to comment on both the selflessness and the folly of her heroine’s actions, the story reading in some ways like a cautionary tale about the dangers of ignoring your own health and happiness for the benefit of others.
This short from Tor Books is about a mission to make contact – and attempt to draw up a peace treaty – with the first newly discovered alien race. It has many hallmarks of classic sci-fi, and is a quick, engaging read, but it’s the subtext that helps this one stand out – even if it does become a little heavy-handed by the end. Essentially, the story is a riff on the idea of what constitutes power, and where, as a society, we place credence. Chiefly, Older asks the reader to consider why we feel compelled to supress pain.
This graphic memoir of Frida Kahlo offers a particularly insightful look into life with chronic pain, and the transformative power of art. It’s very interestingly structured, both in its forgoing of traditional panels in favour of a freeform layout, and in its narrative framing, with the book presented as though a first-person discussion between Kahlo and Death. Having suffered many losses throughout her life, and flirted dangerously close to death many times herself, this has effective thematic resonance.
Rory Power’s feminist, queer, sci-fi, horror debut was exactly what I needed. Set on an island off the coast of Maine, Wilder Girls follows the students of an all-girls school which has been put under strict quarantine following the outbreak of a strange new disease. Causing mutations within the girls’ bodies – as well as the plants and animals that inhabit the woodland beyond the school grounds – they have been told by officials to stay put and stay alive while scientists on the mainland work on a potential cure.
One of the shorts made available for free through Tor.com, this offering from Genevieve Valentine is an unsettling, satirical swipe at beauty standards, and the hidden cruelties of the fashion world. Speculative sci-fi that flirts with body horror, the story explores a concept more than it tells a narrative, as we see the build-up to and aftermath of a catwalk show. With the pursuit of eternal youth having reached horrifying heights, it is now common practice for models to undergo disturbing surgeries, including full limb transplants courtesy of deceased, adolescent donors.
One of the Faber Stories range, this novelette sees a woman reflect on the strange, ornamental dollhouse that both fascinated and disturbed her as a child. Now, as an adult, she stumbles upon a secluded mansion that seems to be an exact replica.
Past, present, and future collide to glorious effect in Jeanette Winterson’s Frankissstein. Thematically rich, linguistically stimulating, and narratively enthralling, it’s a book that begs deeper thought and discussion; somehow both of its time and yet utterly timeless.
Callum McLaughlin 