It recalls Sharon Butala's love of the prairie, reverence for the land. It brings to mind Lee Maracle's focus on relationships between women, love and friendship and sustenance. And it reminds me of Louise Erdrich's unflinching consideration of violence against women and the world. But Alanda Greene's Napi's
Raami is "just a spit past seven" in 1975, when the year of the Tiger shifts to the year of the Rabbit. It is the Khmer New Year, and Raami's parents disagree about whether it is appropriate to celebrate when there is so much misery and fighting. Raami is pleased
You cannot know of what an old sailor dreams, but perhaps he, as Wallace Stevens' poem suggests, dreams of tigers in red weather. It's a vivid imagining, but only the old sailor has experienced his dream.* Little, Brown & Company, 2012 In Liza Klaussmann's debut novel, each of
The characters in Yasuko Thanh's stories are whirlwinded out of their routine lives, whether because they stepped into the chaos or because it was heading straight for them. They nurse their lovers through illness (or don't). They make remedies from flowers and roots (or smoke them). They see ghosts (or
"She's a beauty all right," said Tom, taking in the giant lens, far taller than himself, atop the rotating pedestal: a palace of prisms like a beehive made from glass. It was the very heart of Janus, all light and clarity and silence." Janus is a small isolated island off
