One doesn't need to go to another planet to be forced into a hostile, alien environment. Neither do they need monsters to fear. The world has plenty of those already.

Eugen Bacon's Danged Black Thing is a collection of stories about the trauma of colonialism, the pain of family, and the triumphant struggle to keep going. The seventeen stories range from full-on sci-fi dystopian futures to a family drama in which the most speculative element is the memory of a lost mother. Each follows characters either in a central/western African nation deeply affected by the twin wounds of capitalism and colonialism, or living in diaspora. Bacon's flowing, visceral language is at times ambiguous, with lines like, "Rain was a hungry widow," that hit hard. Her characters, mostly women and children, are put into deeply difficult places, but even the bleak moments are punctuated by a a drive to survive, and more importantly to make the situation a little better for the next generation.

The first story, "Simbiyu and the Nameless", might be my favorite - a dash of cosmic horror following around a young person trying to make a new life in Australia, perhaps to help, but always for a price. And the title story, a darkly-comedic satire of technology gone wrong, was a welcome surprise. This collection has already gotten plenty of praise, and I am glad to see it re-released for the US market. Nothing in here is easy, but it's all welcome...

I was provided an ARC by Apex Books in exchange for a review, and am very glad of it! ( )

The seventeen delightfully eclectic short stories in this collection explore themes which include love, motherhood, childhood, domestic violence, loss, grief, longing, abandonment, migration, alienation, displacement, gender, class, patriarchy, abuse of power, injustice, inequality, climate change, the influence of modern technology … and more! They move between continents and different cultures and between past, present and future; some are set in immediately recognisable worlds, others in worlds which are speculatively dystopian but which are, nevertheless, disturbingly familiar. They embrace mythology and ancestral traditions, science fiction, the supernatural, horror and tragedy. Some are chilling, some disturbing, some poignant, some erotic, some sensuous, some delightfully playful and humorous, with many of the stories interweaving a number of these elements. Four were written collaboratively with other authors (one with Seb Doubinsky, one with Andrew Hook and two with E. Don Harpe) and for me, the fact that each of those stories felt entirely congruent with the others in the collection, reflected the success of those collaborations. I can only imagine the level of trust and respect which must be necessary to achieve this level of harmony but I feel in awe of the generosity of spirit it must involve.
I first became aware of Eugen Bacon’s enthralling and thought-provoking writing when I read Claiming T-Mo (her debut novel) a couple of years ago. Since that memorable story I’ve always eagerly anticipated reading anything new from her, confident that the power of her storytelling will immerse me in the vibrant, imaginative characters and worlds that, with her eloquent and passionate use of language, she is so supremely skilled at creating. This latest collection of her stories has more than fulfilled my expectations because, from first to last, I found myself totally immersed in each one, savouring how, even in the shortest, the distinctive voices and narratives combined to offer multi-layered perspectives. Such is the power of the evocative richness of her character portrayals and scene-setting that when I reached the end of each story I experienced a sense of dislocation, a momentary difficulty in emerging to the reality of the world of my sitting room!
These stories may be short but I found each one so keenly observed and vividly portrayed that I needed not only to linger with the characters, but also to allow myself time to reflect on my thoughts and feelings about the questions raised by some of the challenging themes contained in the stories. I think the extent to which I felt so completely engaged is a tribute to the combination of passion and empathetic understanding which underpins the author’s writing, whether she’s telling a tender story about love, shining a spotlight on prejudice, inequality and marginalisation, or using her stories to explore the impact of climate change or political corruption. This is a remarkable collection of truly memorable stories which I recommend without reservation … but with a suggestion that you should take your time when reading them! ( )

Danged Black Thing, however, is both speculative and innovative. It’s a collection of short stories that explore love and migration, gender and class, patriarchy and womanhood while traversing the West and Africa. Born in Tanzania, Eugene Bacon is an African-Australian writer from Britain who is attracting international attention for her powerfully magical stories which bring the scarred and adrift together with the magical and the mundane. As you can see from her website, her work has won, been shortlisted, longlisted or commended in national and international awards.

The first story in this collection is ‘Simbiyu and the Nameless.’ Written in the second person, it begins in an unnamed African country, recalling the childhood of Simbiyu, at eighteen months, at four, five, seven and nine, continuing to adolescence and migration to Australia on a sporting scholarship. The reader can almost smell the scent of guava and sour yams in the forest and he contrasts his pillow-soft mother with the harshness of Aunty Prim, but this is no sentimental yarn. Children die on the riverbank when a black octopus climbs from the water’s surface. There is a menace approaching, human, nonhuman, waving tentacles. The boy is sent away to Aunt Prim because these repeated tragedies changed how people saw you. Sent on to Australia, he is told to make ‘us’ proud:

"Does ‘us’ include your mother? You haven’t seen her in years. Sometimes, you wonder about her, then forget. You lost your mother the day Tatu died. She stopped breastfeeding you that same evening, and her touch hardened." (p.10)

The dark power he wields won’t stand for any difficulties from racist immigration officials or a young woman who will take one look at you and remember to remotely lock her car, or a barman built like a fridge but there’s heat in his dislike.

To read the rest of my review please visit https://anzlitlovers.com/2021/09/05/danged-black-thing-by-eugen-bacon/ ( )