The whole time I've been keeping this book blog, I've written about books in the order I've read them. Even though I got way behind this winter, and was writing about books after I've read five or six more (A situation, I admit, I still find myself in), I kept to the habit of posting about books in the order I read them. I didn't even think about it, actually--until now.
Now, I still have a queue of nearly a dozen books, but I cannot wait to talk about OUR WIVES UNDER THE SEA, which I finished just yesterday. It's amazing. It's like an entire book that's only pure emotion, like--like when you have drink powder, lemonade or something, and instead of spooning the powder into water and stirring you just lick the spoon. Just that intense, un-diluted flavor like a kick to the brain.
This book is like if the ocean itself wrote a book about dying. About pressure, and loss. Like, shit.
It's really good and I wish I could describe exactly why you should read it. It's difficult, though, to describe the plot. There's a submarine, and a private research institute. There's a friend group, and a stranger's sister. There's our hero, Miri, and her wife, Leah, and they're lesbians together. There's a coastline, and a city, and a lonely house on the cliff overlooking the ocean. Dead mothers, mysterious illness, mysterious absences, estranged friends, glimmer and damp and loneliness and also, somehow, working from home and getting drinks with your friend who is bisexual and really wants everyone to know by the way she cuts her hair.
I started telling small presses that this book was a great comp title for my own yet-unpublished manuscript, well before I even started reading it. The truth is, it is a great comp title. Just saying that sounds like bragging, but really all I'm saying is that I'm exactly the target audience here, the sad queer femme millenial who feels like I might be dissolving under the pressure.