Read this right on the heels of Tatterdemalion. Sylvia Linsteadt's books throw into me into a state of despair, introspection, wonder, and hope (not for me, I guess, but for humans) that no other books do.

Find yourself a little space for gardening before you start. You'll need it by the time you're done. ( )

Lindsteadt has pulled off something quite impressive in creating a collection of new myths. Generally, the are authors, who write fiction and non-fiction, and then bards, who tell ancient myths, or retell myths with slight adaptation to their current context. Lindsteadt has done something different here: creating new myths, but in a way that doesn't feel contrived. This is the first time I've seen someone pull off such a feat.

This is the third time I've read a book about apocalypse authored by a woman from California (the other two being Starhawk's "The Fifth Sacred Thing" and Octavia Butler's "Parable of the Sower"). Having spent some time in California myself, I can see why such a context portends an apocalyptic tone. Still, it is remarkable and noteworthy.

As I hint at above (and as the title suggests), the stories in this book are weighty, full of blood and rape and pillage. This is balanced with the aliveness of the more-than-human world and the power of old magic. The first half of the book is a series of short stories, and the second half is a novella.

As Linsteadt notes in the introduction, this is a book written for women, but if you are a man or non-binary, there are still things in it from which you might learn. ( )