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sherwoodreads's review against another edition
The great thing about anthologies is, if one story isn't working for you, you can pass right on to the next. And with a great variety of stories, there is a bigger chance of broad appeal. What might not work for me could be your favorite. The takeaway here is a rich variety, by experienced writers.
So let me touch on the ones I enjoyed and a bit of why, while trying to avoid spoilers. (With a short story, this can be especially hard, if one of the elements that appealed most was theme, but I'll try.)
This antho started off most promisingly with Marie Brennan's "Daughter of Necessity", which reflects its tale of a famous mythological figure as if through a bronze mirror: I usually like more immediacy, and yet the terse, evocative prose created a mood in which the sheer strangeness of human thought in those long ago times (and yet the human characteristics we still share) worked really well.
In Leah Cutter's "Sisters," the idea was so poignantly lovely, the detail assured, and the touch of the numinous just right.
"Unmasking the Ancient Light" by Deborah J. Ross came out really strong. It's a longer story--actually, I don't think it's a story at all, but the beginning of a magic-imbrued historical novel. The ending seemed a bit abrupt, but still I really sank into this story of Jews hiding in 1540s Europe, and hints of magic breathing through. The evocation of Carnival was especially compelling.
For a complete change of mood, Marissa Doyle's sprightly Regency-with-magic "Alea Iacta Est" evokes the frothy melding of period-with-modern language that Georgette Heyer made so popular: you know where this one is going as soon as you read the setup, but the real fun is in watching it unfold.
The next is a compelling excerpt from P.G. Nagle's terrific historical novel, A Call to Arms, here called "How Best to Serve." As in the above, a young lady takes on the appearance (and the implied freedom) of a man, just as the Civil War breaks out. Nagle manages to make the character and situation believable, while showing how people thought at the time. (And by the way, there were numerous women dressed as men in both the Revolutionary and the Civil Wars.) This story actually comes to a coda, but it made me want to reread the novel (which I need to do anyway, as I slowly catch up with my Goodreads reviews).
"After Eden," by Gillian Polack, is set in present-day Australia, and I dare anyone to predict how this story will unfold. I was as confused as the characters at first, and only elements of their situation kept me going--and then patterns began to emerge, along with a lightly-done, but thoughtful, celebration of sisterhood that caused me to go back and reread, enjoying the signposts I missed.
"Reset," by Sara Stamey, is a total change of pace. Powerfully written, mercilessly focused with just the right detail, this excerpt from an in-process novel tackles subjects I usually don't care to read about in fiction, but Stamey hooked me hard and carried me through. I won't say 'safely' as the emotions are raw and real, but when I was done I found myself wanting to read the book.
And again, a radical change of pace for Katharine Eliska Kimbriel's "A Very, Wary Christmas," the subject being dolls. Surprisingly relevant, as I've discovered plenty of fellow Baby Boomers who have decided that, nope, just because we were told to give up our dolls at age 12 or so, we don't have to! And sometimes, oddness is . . . magical.
"Making Love," by Brenda Clough, is not what it sounds like. A delightful tale about knitting at first intrigued me, and I laughed out loud.
"The Purge," by Jennifer Stevenson, is a futuristic tale that is really, really weird. The cinematic prose ripped straight through me in this short, powerful tale.
"If It Ain't Broke," by Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff, is an SF tale that feels like magic as many tales about nanos do. But it's really about art . . . and . . . well, you have to read it. I thought I knew where it was going and twice it fooled me.
"Chatauqua," by Nancy Jane Moore, is a vivid dystopia that gently, effectively builds a sense of found-family and community, one memorable character after another. Set in a very bleak future, it manages to become a quiet celebration of the best we can be.
"Bearing Shadows," by Dave Smeds, was one of my favorites in an anthology containing a lot of strong stories. It's set in another world, as our protagonist, a woman who seems to have it all, swiftly loses nearly everything. This was another I thought I could predict, but no, it took turns into more compelling territory, the prose vivid and tight.
"In Search of Laria," by Doranna Durgin, proves once again that Durgin is uncannily good at evoking the alien minds of animals.
"Tax Season," by Judith Tarr, is another of those stories I could not predict, set in a world that mixes bandit hordes . . . and taxes. This story was such fun to read.
And ending on a very powerful note, there is the really weird again in Vonda N. McIntryre's "Little Faces." SF bordering on horror, really, absorbingly, scarily weird.
So let me touch on the ones I enjoyed and a bit of why, while trying to avoid spoilers. (With a short story, this can be especially hard, if one of the elements that appealed most was theme, but I'll try.)
This antho started off most promisingly with Marie Brennan's "Daughter of Necessity", which reflects its tale of a famous mythological figure as if through a bronze mirror: I usually like more immediacy, and yet the terse, evocative prose created a mood in which the sheer strangeness of human thought in those long ago times (and yet the human characteristics we still share) worked really well.
In Leah Cutter's "Sisters," the idea was so poignantly lovely, the detail assured, and the touch of the numinous just right.
"Unmasking the Ancient Light" by Deborah J. Ross came out really strong. It's a longer story--actually, I don't think it's a story at all, but the beginning of a magic-imbrued historical novel. The ending seemed a bit abrupt, but still I really sank into this story of Jews hiding in 1540s Europe, and hints of magic breathing through. The evocation of Carnival was especially compelling.
For a complete change of mood, Marissa Doyle's sprightly Regency-with-magic "Alea Iacta Est" evokes the frothy melding of period-with-modern language that Georgette Heyer made so popular: you know where this one is going as soon as you read the setup, but the real fun is in watching it unfold.
The next is a compelling excerpt from P.G. Nagle's terrific historical novel, A Call to Arms, here called "How Best to Serve." As in the above, a young lady takes on the appearance (and the implied freedom) of a man, just as the Civil War breaks out. Nagle manages to make the character and situation believable, while showing how people thought at the time. (And by the way, there were numerous women dressed as men in both the Revolutionary and the Civil Wars.) This story actually comes to a coda, but it made me want to reread the novel (which I need to do anyway, as I slowly catch up with my Goodreads reviews).
"After Eden," by Gillian Polack, is set in present-day Australia, and I dare anyone to predict how this story will unfold. I was as confused as the characters at first, and only elements of their situation kept me going--and then patterns began to emerge, along with a lightly-done, but thoughtful, celebration of sisterhood that caused me to go back and reread, enjoying the signposts I missed.
"Reset," by Sara Stamey, is a total change of pace. Powerfully written, mercilessly focused with just the right detail, this excerpt from an in-process novel tackles subjects I usually don't care to read about in fiction, but Stamey hooked me hard and carried me through. I won't say 'safely' as the emotions are raw and real, but when I was done I found myself wanting to read the book.
And again, a radical change of pace for Katharine Eliska Kimbriel's "A Very, Wary Christmas," the subject being dolls. Surprisingly relevant, as I've discovered plenty of fellow Baby Boomers who have decided that, nope, just because we were told to give up our dolls at age 12 or so, we don't have to! And sometimes, oddness is . . . magical.
"Making Love," by Brenda Clough, is not what it sounds like. A delightful tale about knitting at first intrigued me, and I laughed out loud.
"The Purge," by Jennifer Stevenson, is a futuristic tale that is really, really weird. The cinematic prose ripped straight through me in this short, powerful tale.
"If It Ain't Broke," by Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff, is an SF tale that feels like magic as many tales about nanos do. But it's really about art . . . and . . . well, you have to read it. I thought I knew where it was going and twice it fooled me.
"Chatauqua," by Nancy Jane Moore, is a vivid dystopia that gently, effectively builds a sense of found-family and community, one memorable character after another. Set in a very bleak future, it manages to become a quiet celebration of the best we can be.
"Bearing Shadows," by Dave Smeds, was one of my favorites in an anthology containing a lot of strong stories. It's set in another world, as our protagonist, a woman who seems to have it all, swiftly loses nearly everything. This was another I thought I could predict, but no, it took turns into more compelling territory, the prose vivid and tight.
"In Search of Laria," by Doranna Durgin, proves once again that Durgin is uncannily good at evoking the alien minds of animals.
"Tax Season," by Judith Tarr, is another of those stories I could not predict, set in a world that mixes bandit hordes . . . and taxes. This story was such fun to read.
And ending on a very powerful note, there is the really weird again in Vonda N. McIntryre's "Little Faces." SF bordering on horror, really, absorbingly, scarily weird.
cheezyreads's review
4.0
I was fortunate enough to recieve an advanced copy of Netherless she Persisted edited by Mindy Klasky through librarything in exchange for a honest review.
Nevertheless she Persisted is an anthology of 19 shorts stories that celebrate women who persist through tales of triumph—in the past, present, future, and other worlds.
Overall, I enjoyed the book. There were some stories I would have loved to hear more about and others that I honestly could have done without. The overall concept of empowered woman who didn't give up though was a refreshing and wonderful change from the damsel in distress or princess stories that are mass produced!
Would I read the entirely of the book again? Probably not but there are a few stories I'll gladly return to!
Nevertheless she Persisted is an anthology of 19 shorts stories that celebrate women who persist through tales of triumph—in the past, present, future, and other worlds.
Overall, I enjoyed the book. There were some stories I would have loved to hear more about and others that I honestly could have done without. The overall concept of empowered woman who didn't give up though was a refreshing and wonderful change from the damsel in distress or princess stories that are mass produced!
Would I read the entirely of the book again? Probably not but there are a few stories I'll gladly return to!
morgandhu's review against another edition
3.0
On February 8, 2017, SF author Mindy Klasky decided to edit an anthology. She was inspired to do so by the now infamous words used to silence American Senator Elizabeth Warren: “She was warned. She was given an explanation. Nevertheless, she persisted.”
The anthology that resulted from this decision, Nevertheless She Persisted, published by the Book View Cafe collective and featuring works by some of its members, is a collection of stories that aspired, as Klasky says, to show “...the power of women overcoming challenges, of women persisting against the threat of other people, of society, of their own fears.” It’s also generally enjoyable reading, with one glaring exception that I’ll get to later. I was disappointed that the contributors were, to the best of my knowledge, all white - there are many ways in which women of colour might have given us a broader picture of the persistence of women against the threats of society.
The stories are divided into four sections: the past, the present, the future, and other worlds.
I found all the stories set in the past to be interesting and engaging, from Marie Brennan’s revisiting of the story of Penelope in “Daughter of Necessity,” to Deborah Ross’s portrayal of the persistence of faith among the hidden Jews of Iberia forced to convert to Christianity in “Unmasking the Ancient Light.” “Sister,” Leah Cutter’s poignant story of a young Chinese woman’s desperate quest to find a spirit husband to care for her beloved, departed younger sister was deeply moving, as was an extract from P. G. Nagle’s novel about a passing woman during the American Civil War who decides to enlist. While “Alea Iacta Est” by Marissa Doyle was sheer fun - an Englishwoman in the early 19th century who decides to take part in a contest of table top war gaming at her brother’s club, whether it ruins her socially or not.
I was less engaged in many of the stories set in the present. Sara Stamey’s depiction of the generational harm done by male anger in the home in “Reset” is painfully real, and Brenda Clough’s “Making Love” is a charming tale about an older woman whose knitting seems to make things just a little better wherever it’s gifted. “Digger Lady” by Amy Sterling Casil is a bittersweet story of an old woman, an archeologist who has spent her life searching for evidence of a new hominid species. I rather enjoyed the themes of Irene Radford’s “Den of Iniquity” in which Lilith, the original rebellious woman, continues her ancient protest against the rigidity of the Father’s demands - though I must note some racist elements in the description and treatment of several characters named but not present.
Two of the four stories in the future section are frankly dystopian, and powerful. Mindy Klasky’s “Tumbling Blocks” tells a deeply moving story set in a world reminiscent of The Handmaid’s Tale in the way it treats women, a story about a young woman, pregnant by rape and shunned by her community, who finds an underground connection to women who are risking their lives to see that she and others still have access to reproductive choice. In “Chatauqua” Nancy Jane Moore envisions an America wracked by climate change and civil breakdown, where caravans of people with key skills travel the broken roads trying to save dying cultures, educate those who survive, and help however they can. Jennifer Stevenson’s “The Purge” focuses on a more personal trauma, an artist’s response to a visceral nightmare of war. The final story in the section, Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff’s “If It Ain’t Broke” is in a much lighter vein, telling of a serendipitous merging of artistic inspiration and technological innovation.
The final section, other worlds, contains three fantasy and one science fiction stories that mostly continue the theme, but is, I felt, the weakest of the four sections. Judith Tarr’s “Tax Season” was, In my opinion, the best story in this section, and one of the best in the anthology - a light, fantasy world look at traditions, taxes, and being a woman in some rather non-traditional, and not exactly legal, occupations. Vonda McIntyre’s “Little Faces” is a highly original look at trust, betrayal, and reproduction in a symbiotic, space-dwelling society - pushing boundaries on our notions of famiky, sex and society in some very interesting ways. Doranna Durgin’s “In Search of Laria” is a slighter piece, but also centres on a betrayal of trust, this time between a rider, seduced by power, and her horse.
And then there’s Dave Smeds’ “Bearing Shadows,” which simply did not belong in a volume of stories like this. I am, in fact, deeply saddened and angry that the editor decided this story belonged here, for reasons I will expand on at length, because I’m just that angry to have found such a story in this volume. I am going to include extensive spoilers, because if you’re going to read this story, I think you should know exactly what you are getting into.
“Bearing Shadows” is set in a standard medieval fantasy world. The protagonist, a young woman named Aerise, lives in a typical village in a fairly standard patriarchal and moralistic society. In this world, there are humans, and there are the Cursed, elf-like beings who nonetheless can pass for humans, who live for hundreds of years, use magic, and spend half their time in the physical world and the other half in the dreamworld - in fact, they become ill and eventually die if they do not move regularly between the worlds, which has an unfortunate consequence in that their women cannot sustain a pregnancy. Thus, all the Cursed are the offspring of Cursed men and human women. Because the Cursed are feared and ostracised, not many human women are interested in bearing children to Cursed men. But some do, for a fee. These are often women who cannot prosper in a patriarchal society because they are not pretty enough to get a husband, or are disabled in some way, or have run afoul of the social norms - in short, women who are considered damaged goods, not only by humans, but also by the Cursed who depend on them fir the survival of their race. In the story, the Cursed refer to these women as broodmares, speak of them with disgust, refuse to share living space with them because they are dirty. They are depicted in the story in multiple ways as inferior, undesirable, unintelligent, unwanted.
On to the story. Aerise is happily married, enjoys a reasonable social status in her community, has a good life for the most part. She’s lost two children, but she’s pregnant again, and excited about it. Then her belly starts glowing, a sign that she’s carrying a Cursed child. She’s been a faithful wife, but eventually figures out that she was raped and impregnated one night when her husband was supposed to out late, but, she thought, came home early, woke her in the dark and had sex with her. It doesn’t matter, however, to the village folk or her husband that she was raped. She’s bearing a Cursed child, so out into the cold in her shift she must go. Of course, her rapist has been waiting for this. He finds her, convinces her to come with him to a Cursed encampment, and gives her into the care of two Cursed women who will be her child’s mothers. She’s treated somewhat better than the other human women, pregnant and nursing -“broodmares” - also living in the encampment, but not much. Her rapist, Morel, explains that he wanted a child by a better class of woman than he could get by fair negotiation with a broodmare, so this somehow justifies his rape of her. She is not mollified. She gives birth to a daughter, stays with the Cursed long enough to wean her, and then demands her price - her life back. What Morel offers is that he place her in suspended animation for 60 years, and then, pretending to be her husband, take her back to the village she came from, where no one will likely be alive who remembers her, wait til she gets integrated into the community, and then fake his death so she can find a new human husband among the grown grandchildren of the people she grew up among. Pause for a moment. To get back, not her old life, the husband she loved, her friends and family, but a chance at starting over again with people she doesn’t know, she’s going to have to pretend to be the loving wife of her rapist. Think about that. Anyway, she agrees, and the story ends with her being accepted as a young widow, living in her old village, bring courted by some promising young men, with a new chance at life. And she gets to meet her now adolescent daughter by Morel, who is a charming young girl.
This steaming pile of shit purports to be about a woman who persists against rape, and the loss of everything she ever knew and loved, and is rewarded with a second chance at life. But underneath that veneer is a series of justifications for rape. It’s necessary to ensure the survival of the Cursed. It was necessary because Morel didn’t want one of those disgusting second-class broodmares as the mother of his child. It was ok in the end because the child was so lovely, and besides, she got to have another chance to get married and have a normal life. As I said, a steaming pile of crap. There is so much in this story that made me want to scream and break things. There are far too many male perspectives on rape out there, and most of them misogynist as hell. We did not need another one, especially one disguised as a celebration of the persistence of women.
I have a suggestion. I think it’s time that men stopped writing about rape of women and other femmes. The conversation on rape has been controlled by male voices for far too long. Sure, some sensitive and feminist men have gotten it right, but do we really need more men talking about the rape of women and femmes? Time’s up in more ways than one, and more male perspectives on this subject are not needed. Especially those that try to justify it, or come up with ideas of how to make it all right in the end. There’s only one way to do that - stop raping in the first place.
So.... I mostly enjoyed these stories, despite the spectre of white feminism lurking behind the editorial choices, but reading Smeds’ contribution left a distinctly bad taste in my mouth. I suggest that if you decide to read this, you just ignore that story. You’ll find much more to enjoy in some of the other selections.
*This anthology contains 19 short stories, 18 of which are written by women and one of which is written by a man.
The anthology that resulted from this decision, Nevertheless She Persisted, published by the Book View Cafe collective and featuring works by some of its members, is a collection of stories that aspired, as Klasky says, to show “...the power of women overcoming challenges, of women persisting against the threat of other people, of society, of their own fears.” It’s also generally enjoyable reading, with one glaring exception that I’ll get to later. I was disappointed that the contributors were, to the best of my knowledge, all white - there are many ways in which women of colour might have given us a broader picture of the persistence of women against the threats of society.
The stories are divided into four sections: the past, the present, the future, and other worlds.
I found all the stories set in the past to be interesting and engaging, from Marie Brennan’s revisiting of the story of Penelope in “Daughter of Necessity,” to Deborah Ross’s portrayal of the persistence of faith among the hidden Jews of Iberia forced to convert to Christianity in “Unmasking the Ancient Light.” “Sister,” Leah Cutter’s poignant story of a young Chinese woman’s desperate quest to find a spirit husband to care for her beloved, departed younger sister was deeply moving, as was an extract from P. G. Nagle’s novel about a passing woman during the American Civil War who decides to enlist. While “Alea Iacta Est” by Marissa Doyle was sheer fun - an Englishwoman in the early 19th century who decides to take part in a contest of table top war gaming at her brother’s club, whether it ruins her socially or not.
I was less engaged in many of the stories set in the present. Sara Stamey’s depiction of the generational harm done by male anger in the home in “Reset” is painfully real, and Brenda Clough’s “Making Love” is a charming tale about an older woman whose knitting seems to make things just a little better wherever it’s gifted. “Digger Lady” by Amy Sterling Casil is a bittersweet story of an old woman, an archeologist who has spent her life searching for evidence of a new hominid species. I rather enjoyed the themes of Irene Radford’s “Den of Iniquity” in which Lilith, the original rebellious woman, continues her ancient protest against the rigidity of the Father’s demands - though I must note some racist elements in the description and treatment of several characters named but not present.
Two of the four stories in the future section are frankly dystopian, and powerful. Mindy Klasky’s “Tumbling Blocks” tells a deeply moving story set in a world reminiscent of The Handmaid’s Tale in the way it treats women, a story about a young woman, pregnant by rape and shunned by her community, who finds an underground connection to women who are risking their lives to see that she and others still have access to reproductive choice. In “Chatauqua” Nancy Jane Moore envisions an America wracked by climate change and civil breakdown, where caravans of people with key skills travel the broken roads trying to save dying cultures, educate those who survive, and help however they can. Jennifer Stevenson’s “The Purge” focuses on a more personal trauma, an artist’s response to a visceral nightmare of war. The final story in the section, Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff’s “If It Ain’t Broke” is in a much lighter vein, telling of a serendipitous merging of artistic inspiration and technological innovation.
The final section, other worlds, contains three fantasy and one science fiction stories that mostly continue the theme, but is, I felt, the weakest of the four sections. Judith Tarr’s “Tax Season” was, In my opinion, the best story in this section, and one of the best in the anthology - a light, fantasy world look at traditions, taxes, and being a woman in some rather non-traditional, and not exactly legal, occupations. Vonda McIntyre’s “Little Faces” is a highly original look at trust, betrayal, and reproduction in a symbiotic, space-dwelling society - pushing boundaries on our notions of famiky, sex and society in some very interesting ways. Doranna Durgin’s “In Search of Laria” is a slighter piece, but also centres on a betrayal of trust, this time between a rider, seduced by power, and her horse.
And then there’s Dave Smeds’ “Bearing Shadows,” which simply did not belong in a volume of stories like this. I am, in fact, deeply saddened and angry that the editor decided this story belonged here, for reasons I will expand on at length, because I’m just that angry to have found such a story in this volume. I am going to include extensive spoilers, because if you’re going to read this story, I think you should know exactly what you are getting into.
“Bearing Shadows” is set in a standard medieval fantasy world. The protagonist, a young woman named Aerise, lives in a typical village in a fairly standard patriarchal and moralistic society. In this world, there are humans, and there are the Cursed, elf-like beings who nonetheless can pass for humans, who live for hundreds of years, use magic, and spend half their time in the physical world and the other half in the dreamworld - in fact, they become ill and eventually die if they do not move regularly between the worlds, which has an unfortunate consequence in that their women cannot sustain a pregnancy. Thus, all the Cursed are the offspring of Cursed men and human women. Because the Cursed are feared and ostracised, not many human women are interested in bearing children to Cursed men. But some do, for a fee. These are often women who cannot prosper in a patriarchal society because they are not pretty enough to get a husband, or are disabled in some way, or have run afoul of the social norms - in short, women who are considered damaged goods, not only by humans, but also by the Cursed who depend on them fir the survival of their race. In the story, the Cursed refer to these women as broodmares, speak of them with disgust, refuse to share living space with them because they are dirty. They are depicted in the story in multiple ways as inferior, undesirable, unintelligent, unwanted.
On to the story. Aerise is happily married, enjoys a reasonable social status in her community, has a good life for the most part. She’s lost two children, but she’s pregnant again, and excited about it. Then her belly starts glowing, a sign that she’s carrying a Cursed child. She’s been a faithful wife, but eventually figures out that she was raped and impregnated one night when her husband was supposed to out late, but, she thought, came home early, woke her in the dark and had sex with her. It doesn’t matter, however, to the village folk or her husband that she was raped. She’s bearing a Cursed child, so out into the cold in her shift she must go. Of course, her rapist has been waiting for this. He finds her, convinces her to come with him to a Cursed encampment, and gives her into the care of two Cursed women who will be her child’s mothers. She’s treated somewhat better than the other human women, pregnant and nursing -“broodmares” - also living in the encampment, but not much. Her rapist, Morel, explains that he wanted a child by a better class of woman than he could get by fair negotiation with a broodmare, so this somehow justifies his rape of her. She is not mollified. She gives birth to a daughter, stays with the Cursed long enough to wean her, and then demands her price - her life back. What Morel offers is that he place her in suspended animation for 60 years, and then, pretending to be her husband, take her back to the village she came from, where no one will likely be alive who remembers her, wait til she gets integrated into the community, and then fake his death so she can find a new human husband among the grown grandchildren of the people she grew up among. Pause for a moment. To get back, not her old life, the husband she loved, her friends and family, but a chance at starting over again with people she doesn’t know, she’s going to have to pretend to be the loving wife of her rapist. Think about that. Anyway, she agrees, and the story ends with her being accepted as a young widow, living in her old village, bring courted by some promising young men, with a new chance at life. And she gets to meet her now adolescent daughter by Morel, who is a charming young girl.
This steaming pile of shit purports to be about a woman who persists against rape, and the loss of everything she ever knew and loved, and is rewarded with a second chance at life. But underneath that veneer is a series of justifications for rape. It’s necessary to ensure the survival of the Cursed. It was necessary because Morel didn’t want one of those disgusting second-class broodmares as the mother of his child. It was ok in the end because the child was so lovely, and besides, she got to have another chance to get married and have a normal life. As I said, a steaming pile of crap. There is so much in this story that made me want to scream and break things. There are far too many male perspectives on rape out there, and most of them misogynist as hell. We did not need another one, especially one disguised as a celebration of the persistence of women.
I have a suggestion. I think it’s time that men stopped writing about rape of women and other femmes. The conversation on rape has been controlled by male voices for far too long. Sure, some sensitive and feminist men have gotten it right, but do we really need more men talking about the rape of women and femmes? Time’s up in more ways than one, and more male perspectives on this subject are not needed. Especially those that try to justify it, or come up with ideas of how to make it all right in the end. There’s only one way to do that - stop raping in the first place.
So.... I mostly enjoyed these stories, despite the spectre of white feminism lurking behind the editorial choices, but reading Smeds’ contribution left a distinctly bad taste in my mouth. I suggest that if you decide to read this, you just ignore that story. You’ll find much more to enjoy in some of the other selections.
*This anthology contains 19 short stories, 18 of which are written by women and one of which is written by a man.
pers's review
5.0
I thoroughly enjoyed this anthology of stories about women who persisted, inspired by the shameful attempt of an insignificant male Senator to shut down Senator Elizabeth Warren.
I especially enjoyed the stories by Marie Brennan (which gave me an idea for a story of my own!), Dave Smeds, Marissa Doyle (I've already asked the author for more!), and Judith Tarr (I basically want a sequel or an entire novel(la)!)
I especially enjoyed the stories by Marie Brennan (which gave me an idea for a story of my own!), Dave Smeds, Marissa Doyle (I've already asked the author for more!), and Judith Tarr (I basically want a sequel or an entire novel(la)!)
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