Goliath is a searing work of dystopian speculative fiction. It breaths fresh air into the often (perhaps appropriately...) vacuous landscape of contemporary apocalyptic genre fiction. Onyebuchi deftly handles themes of gentrification, addiction, and carceral technologies, the vitality of the mundane, and the not-yet-dead possibilities of care and connection.

I've seen other reviewers say they struggled with the structure of this book, so go in knowing this is not a linear story/ies, and that perspective and narrative are constantly clashing and switching. But these vignettes are tightly woven, clear in their intent, and if you allow yourself to be pulled where they lead, you'll find the experience so, so worth it.

Sometimes funny, often painfully close to the bone, this novel is a game-changer for the genre.

I received a digital review copy of this book from NetGalley. All opinions are my own.

Source: DRC via NetGalley (Macmillan-Tor/Forge)
Pub. Date: Jan 25, 2022
Synopsis: Goodreads

Why did I choose to read this book?

This was a late entry into the NetGalley pool. It popped up on a later “most anticipated” list, and since I enjoyed Onyebuchi’s Beasts Made of Night, I was willing to give some of her new writing some space on my TBR shelf. If I didn’t have this previous experience with the author, I probably wouldn’t have requested this one at all.

What is notable about the story?

Did you ever wish that Fallout was a book? Here you go!
Are you unfamiliar with the concept of gentrification? Here you go! (No seriously, you’ll get hit with this theme every other page. You won’t be able to walk away from this book without understanding the negative effects of gentrification.)

Was anything not so great?

The first thing I should say here is that this book probably wasn’t for me, but would be captivating to someone else. I didn’t think that this story was “bad,” but I did have some quibbles with the writing.

First, the language and the story didn’t seem to flow very easily. All the characters sounded like the same character but with different names; they were difficult to differentiate. It’s not clear what the story is even about, other than people getting thrown out of their homes which are then fixed up and sold to much richer people, who had originally moved off-world but are now looking to come back to Earth. And feeding off the Fallout feel: everything tasted so bland, looked so beige, there was nothing to get invested in or excited about. (If you’ve never heard of the video game Fallout, here is a video of some gameplay that might help you understand what I’m talking about (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LA-_FGaB93c). The sound doesn’t have to be on for you to get the idea.)

Second, I got the sense that this was the kind of book a person writes when they are gunning for an award. Extremely high level vocabulary with hot-topic commentary, I felt like I could write the award presenter’s script. “A fresh perspective on the horrors of gentrification, Onyebuchi brings her elegant prose to a bleak near future and serves as an oracle and a cautionary tale.” Or something like that. The action or story was held up by language that didn’t match the situation, it pulled me out of the story on almost every page.

Lastly, after slogging through only the first 9 percent of the ebook, I arrived at a section that started with “Wanna butt-fuck?” and I looked up form the Kindle, slowly closed it, and continued riding on my exercise bike. I usually give a book until 30% before I give up, but this time I had to let it go much earlier. This was not an enjoyable read, it was not thought provoking. It was trying too hard to be edgy and different and topical and honestly all of this together was a recipe for a “did not finish.”

What’s the verdict?

I’m going with one star on this one. If you aren’t hooking me with at least one character or one idea within the first 10% to make continuing to read seem worth it, it’s just not great. If you want to write about gentrification, you don’t need sci-fi, just write historical fiction or non-fiction. Definitely check out her other work, but this one is definitely a pass for me.

The year is 2050. Those in a position to do so have already abandoned Earth in favor of better lives in space colonies. Those who remain, mostly black minorities, struggle to survive in a harsh, dystopian setting. This book uses shifting, multiple narrative POV’s to explore various themes ranging from classicism and racism to climate change and gentrification. It’s a powerful, provocative read that, at times, feel a little diffuse in its storytelling, relaying its message through a non-linear approach that reads more like a collection of slice-of-life vignettes than a straightforward telling. Its detailed depiction of life in what has become of New Haven, Connecticut is at turns dispiriting and maddening, but there’s hope at the heart of these characters and their respective relationships. In some ways, this book reminded me of Samuel Delaney’s Dhalgren, another tour-de-force study of a broken system, rife with social commentary. Goliath boasts superior world building and a deliberate pacing that proves challenging yet ultimately rewarding.

The world-building is absolutely incredible here, and the one thing that kept me going. I struggled to mentally connect, and even tell apart most of the characters, though. Part of me wonders if this would have worked better more as a collection of loosely connected short stories? Or even structured a bit differently so it's easier to follow sooner. This could very much be on me, though!

A simmering, scorching work of speculative fiction. Imagining the progression of a society in which virus mitigation, climate change and systemic racism go unchecked. This is a hard read, but so important. I don’t want to put myself into its story, so I won’t. But I urge you to read it.

Thank you to Netgalley and the publisher for my free copy. These opinions are my own.

I received an advance copy of this book on Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.

The only reason Goliath isn't receiving 5 stars is that I found the multiple narratives difficult to follow, to the extent that it caused me to spend muuuuch longer with this book than I expected to. That said, I enjoyed the story and the characters, and something about the non-linear storytelling adds weight to the undercurrent of despair permeating the novel.

Goliath is a near-future science fiction in which a mishandled global pandemic, privatization of space travel, climate change, and widespread radiation poisoning results in literal white flight to the Colonies - orbital space stations for those with the money and the desire to leave the irradiated landscape below. Those who are left on Earth struggle to make a living amidst the threats of toxic air, inconceivably high cancer rates, and violence. The novel predominantly follows the lives of a group of "stackers" - people who harvest bricks from demolished homes in New Haven, Connecticut to send to the Colonies (for nostalgia or to build their own residences). There are also a pair of augmented ex-colonists who return to Earth in an early wave of "returnees," contributors to the rapid gentrification of the places the Exodusters (those who stayed) have reclaimed. It's not exactly clear where Jonathan and David (the returnees) fit into the story until the end of the novel, so the sections of the book that focus on them feel a bit out-of-place.

I would recommend this book to science fiction fans who are looking for stories that incorporate the COVID-19 pandemic into the future they imagine. Goliath is the dark mirror - the worst timeline, if you will. It's just believable enough to be unsettling, and if you enjoy social commentary with your sci-fi reads, you'll find a lot to love here.

This wasn't my cup of tea—I think the vignette / shifting narrative style didn't work for me, as someone who enjoys a focused narrative. The worldbuilding was interesting, though! Others might enjoy if that suits them better.

Back in 2020, Jesus, yeah, two years ago, I read a little novella by the name of Riot Baby. Tochi Onyebuchi’s novella hit very close to home considering the events of 2020 following the police killing of George Floyd. It was one of my instant favorites, and I still feel the righteous anger that poured out of that book. So I knew I had to keep an eye out for Onyebuchi’s first adult novel. Goliath, is a towering look at a dismal future that is filled with a few small bright moments of people living in the world they were left behind in. 

Goliath is more a future history meshed with the fever dream of swirling vignettes surrounding the community of New Haven, Connecticut in the decade of the 2050s than it is an easily distilled narrative. The United States is an irradiated land with pockets of civilization contained to once-great urban centers. Most white Americans, especially those with the means to do so, have moved off planet to inhabit “the colonies.” The people left behind in New Haven are for the most part black and/or Puerto Rican. They cobble together their lives, making communities within the salvage and wreckage of the buildings left behind. Sometimes they even tear down housing to send the materials into space where it will be used to create more room in the colonies. And now, some of those in the colonies are looking back at Earth in the hopes of a new start, moving their lives into the neighborhoods previous generations left behind. 

I’m no stranger to challenging reads, so believe me when I say this, Goliath is a task of a novel. Not only in terms of the subject material Onyebuchi tackles, but also in the way he writes it. It is not light, despite the myriad jokes, and it’s not easy to take in despite its relevance to current events. Onyebuchi makes the reader slow down, and work through the story by employing a non-linear structure (for the most part), and barely hints at who is currently the protagonist. It’s both exciting and daunting as there is very little breathing room.  

Luckily, Onyebuchi’s writing continues to astound me. His grasp of dialogue, especially when it comes to how people tell the insane stories that make up their lives, is near unparalleled. The interruptions people make with side comments, the questions that propel the narrative, the emotional reactions of the listeners that all serve to speed up or slow down one’s storytelling are pitch perfect. Onyebuchi makes you feel like you’re listening in to their lives while they’re out building a house, or taking one down. They aren’t just there to fill space, either. They impart an importance in their mundanity. Interspersed between these long winded stories are short sentences detailing the actions that are being carried out, whether it’s the hammering of a 2x4 or the digging out of bricks from the rubble. Onyebuchi highlights that what builds a community, especially in a place so desolate and left behind, isn’t the structure itself, but the people who live, dream, and build it. 

This is juxtaposed against the story of Anthony as he attempts to build a new life for himself on Earth after leaving the colonies. He’s come alone and hopes to secure a home for him and his boyfriend who is left in the colonies for weeks while Anthony sorts out their future. It’s lonely, it’s focused on the materials of the home, whether electricity will be accessible and his demons start to saturate the home before David even gets there. It’s a wonderful dichotomy that just screams from Goliath the further in one reads. 

I think I had only one negative experience with this book, and that’s at about the halfway point (at least in the ARC), the narrative completely switches perspectives. I had grown used to the cadence Onyebuchi developed, learning the different characters and their lives in New Haven, when all of the sudden it drops them to pick up two brand new narratives. These narratives become the next third of the book before picking up where Onyebuchi left off with the previous characters. These perspectives were welcome in terms of their content, but the integration felt abrupt for me. 

But outside of that, they were just as mentally challenging and well crafted as the other sections. One, a sort of interview that details a man’s life up to the 2050s and the myriad ways the world falls apart and the situations he finds himself in. The other is a lot more jarring, as it’s told from the perspective of a white supremacist neo-confederate soldier on the run from a U.S. Marshall. It definitely sticks out like a sore thumb, but in the most deliberate way possible. There’s not much else to say because it’s something you kind of have to experience in context, but Onyebuchi handles it with aplomb. 

Goliath is a tough novel to review, especially when trying to place it within the context of contemporary science/speculative fiction. I still don’t even have a fully formed opinion on it as I try to take it apart in my head. It stands on its own, and Onyebuchi is so creative in his exploration of a very real future, it feels like I’m doing a disservice by reviewing it like this, instead of providing a full literary analysis with cited sources. It’s a novel that takes its time and asks the reader to take a stroll with it to fully appreciate the stories Onyebuchi is attempting to tell. It’s both entertaining and deeply discomforting. He succeeds in stepping out of the usual narrative boundaries, and pulling me out of my comfort zone in so many different ways, from subject matter and themes to structural experimentation. It really is just something you have to experience yourself to appreciate and I hope you do. 

Rating: Goliath 9.0/10 
-Alex

One of the best books I’ve read in a long time. Gripping, biting, and complex. Onyebuchi has delivered another masterpiece.

I had to sit with this book for a long time after finishing, and I'm still not sure how I feel about it, but I do know the writing and the story are stellar. Though it's told in a non-linear fashion, I did find that it came together at the end. It reads like an epic, but in a condensed form. And whew, some of it hit a little too close to comfort. I am eager to check out the writer's backlist after experiencing this book.

Goliath is a debut novel that brings us a wildly inventive and richly detailed story that makes us think deeply about our relationship with the world. In this world, those who can afford to have shuttered off the damaged planet to seek better lives in space, and those who can't are left behind to live their lives as best they can with what they have.

This isn't a linear story, and it does take careful attention to appreciate the multilayered narrative. Like all the best science fiction stories, it tackles some of the most pressing issues that face us currently and help us put them in better perspective by framing them within a slightly different reality. This is a book that I really enjoyed reading and mulling over, and it's a very timely one.

Disjointed but brilliant, Onyebuchi gives a history of a city, fallen into nothingness as pollution and inequality force out residents, only for new immigrants to arrive and try to make the place their own. Goliath follows the people of New Haven as they disassemble their city to sell for parts in a struggle to survive when they have been left for dead. Mixing in fact and fiction (some of the most horrific cruelty and ecological racism is real), the wreckers of New Haven survive and die on their own terms. Not for those who need a linear narrative, as the lack of a primary narrative or time can be frustrating, Goliath is nonetheless likely to be loudly praised and awarded.

This was my chest experience with Onyebuchi but I decided to read based on the praise for his Hugo-nominated novella Riot Baby. This didn’t blow me away but it was solid and entertaining.

Let’s get this out of the way first - no, it’s not linearly told, yes, it’s inherently political, fucking deal with it. It also isn’t interested in hand holding you through it, which I respect. This is, to my understanding, Onyebuchi’s first novel aimed at the adult sci-fi market, and I’m honestly deeply impressed with what he’s done with this story. There is one section of this book that may feel a bit info-dumpy, but the way it’s structured, it ends up being a keystone to understanding the rest of the novel. His breakdown of the research he did in the back and how he extrapolated it out also gave me some new future reading to be excited about, when I can find it. Yes, there is the biblical retelling here (and some neat shoutouts to the original story throughout the text), but this is inherently also a book about the prison system and gentrification and the realities of how and who a space colony system would cater to, with a good sprinkling of radiation and automated policing. There are a lot of characters, but it’s an epic like the tale it’s based on, and I don’t mind it at all. I’d call this afro soc-fi, because it doesn’t take the inherently rosy view of afrofuturism, but focuses on the role of the community in these peoples’ lives and in how the science fiction plays out, and how they’re stronger for it.

(I also have an issue with some of the reviewers here going “oh waaaaah it’s too hard to understand or oh bawwww I don’t want politics in my sci fi”, in case you couldn’t tell.)

This comes out on January 25th and is my first automatic recommend of 2022. Pick this up, you won’t be disappointed.

Goliath, by Tochi Onyebuchi, is the first 2022 book I've read and already I'm assuming it's
going to be on my Best of the Year list next December. That said, while I'm obviously
strongly recommending it, thanks to its structure and style, it won't be to everyone's taste
(What book is?), though I certainly hope everyone gives it a shot.

The novel is set in a near-future, post-pandemic, post-natural disaster, post-man-made
disaster, post-apocalyptic Earth (New Haven in particular) that has been abandoned by
those with the economic and racial privilege to take up residency in the Colonies — large orbital habitats free from the environmental devastation below, a planet poisoned by radiation and pollution and wracked by climate change. A planet where some (those somewhat less wealthy or privileged than the Colony people) live in homes or cities whose domes protect them from the atmosphere or have mechanical and cybernetic mods to strengthen their physical and mental capability, while those less well-off (and almost always less white) are left to fend for themselves, which usually means living hard-scrabble short lives.

Into this world, Onyebbuchi introduces a host of characters, particularly focusing on a group of Black and Brown laborers whose mentor/leader is an old man named Bishop. The crew is rounded out by a number of younger workers, including Linc, Bugs, Mercedes, and Sydney. Two other main characters are Jonathan and David, a white, gay couple from the Colonies who have the romanticized idea of returning to Earth and beginning a new, more idealized life.

The narrative is not a thru-line but a mosaic of sharply drawn vignette or wonderfully voiced stories-within-stories that flash backwards and forwards in time, filling in backstories, fleshing out the created world, deepening our understanding of character and relationships, and highlighting repeating themes. Those who prefer their narratives more straightforward, moving from A to B to C with the rare overtly-dated flashback may struggle a bit. Same for those who prefer to glide through relatively easy-to-follow storylines (there’s probably some overlap in those two groups); this is a book that mostly requires an attentive reader, though I suppose one could simply read the vignettes without trying to piece together where they fall in time and place and remain happily at sea until the end where things may become more obviously clear.

Personally, I absolutely loved it, the accretion of setting, plot, and character detail; the slow reveal of why people are as they are. More abstractly, I also appreciated the way the structure acts as a mirror, reflecting the fractured society we’re presented and the fractured “who knows what will happen today” existence of the characters — the way they must fight to build solid selves and relationships on the shifting sands of a racist/classist society that can evict them at any moment, kill them at any moment, that deprives them of basic needs such as air, water, shelter, work. Finally, the structure also creates an unstable foundation for the reader as well; why write a conventionally chronological story that eases a reader along a familiar path if one of the purposes of the story is to discomfit the reader?

As much as I liked the structural choice, even more than the non-linear organization, I reveled in the stories within stories, a true tour de force in voicing. The characters leap off the page in their own distinctive voices, dreams (and nightmares), actions and mannerisms, each feeling fully alive and real. Onyebuchi has a great ear for dialogue; the last author whose dialogue skill so struck me was Richard Price (writer for The Wire, author of Lush Life, amongst others), and Onyebuchi has that same ability to throw down richly diverse voices so real-sounding and immediate you’d swear they’re simply transcripts of mics hidden in subway cars or on street corners. A plot exists here, or maybe a situation, but this book is driven by its character and themes. and the way those intersect in a cascade of varying emotions.

As for those themes, they run a gamut of bitingly incisive commentary regarding gentrification, race, white flight, racism, classism, climate change, privilege, inequity, and increasing technological gap between groups, and more. The topicality is obvious, and though I labeled it a “post-apocalyptic” novel in my intro, honestly that probably does a disservice to Onyebuchi’s work, as what I’d argue is presented here is less a “future” apocalypse/dystopia but an existent one. Dressed up maybe in slightly fantastical clothing, but really, all it takes is swapping out a word here, a phrase there, and you’re reading not a science fiction novel but literary realism. Or even out and out reportage. To highlight that point, the book is rife with references to easily recognizable events from our time (and sadly fictional events that could just as easily be from now). If you read the following passages out of context, I defy anybody assuming they were from a speculative novel:

They said gang, and he knew they meant Black. They said thugs, and he knew they meant the n-word.

The officer said ‘good luck’ to Ace and turned away, the silent but ever watchful sheriff hovering like a pet bird over his shoulder.
“We aint’ dead,” Ace shouted … “You can’t talk to us like we dead. We right here! See this here? This still a family! Aint’ gonna break that!”
Gunshots at night and 911 phone calls still brought police; only, an hour might elapse between the fire and their arrival.
When you get out to the abandoned neighborhoods, to Newhallville, the places the upper-middle-class fled … The house façades are all gaunt, hollowed faces out from which occasional black figures leech, ants out of a bleached skull.
The only people who did not seem to be shocked by the riots were the residents of color in the city that burned around them.


That being said, I don’t want to shortchange Onyebuchi’s imaginative powers or originality; he has many wonderful touches of futurism here that make this world as different from our current one as it is similar. That sheriff in the quote above, for instance, is literally hovering, “a large metal sphere with arms like a spider, one sporing a small-caliber pistol. On its front, a display of a white man’s mustachioed face.”

Events, and I’m not going to detail them here (not to avoid plot spoilers but emotional ones), are wrenching, infuriating, depressing, and heart-breaking. Onyebuchi does not go easy on the reader. But one of the elements that makes this novel so great is that despite how bleak this world is, these characters who have every right to live lives of nothing but rage and bitterness and resentment and grief — perhaps that above all — feel those things, but don’t let themselves be controlled by them. Instead we also get to see, and often hear in their voicing, the joy they take not in “surviving” this world so set against them but in living in it. The way they laugh and tell stories of the dead and of near-death experiences, the way they cultivate (sometimes literally) joy, the way they do not just recognize or find beauty in the world, but claim it for themselves, if even for a little while. They do not set aside anger but set it beside.

As I said in the beginning, I’m sure that 360 or so days from now, when I’m adding my titles to our Best of the Year posting, this will be on it. Smartly structured, wonderfully voiced, highly original, powerfully emotive, and acidly incisive, Goliath is a stimulating work peopled with great characters and filled with dialogue crafted at a rare level of skill, all of it written with a fierce sense of energy and urgency. Highly recommended.

What does a future in which the wealthy have left Earth to colonise space look like? What are the stories of those who are left behind on Earth, now a desolate wasteland wrecked by climate change, radiation poisoning, pollution, and gentrification? Goliath by Tochi Onyebuchi sets out to answer these questions, told and explored through a kaleidoscope of harrowing yet insightful perspectives and vignettes.

Goliath is not a plot-driven novel. Rather, Goliath is more of a character-driven story, different characters and their lives strung together to paint a full and detailed picture of the world that the characters live in. The story follows several intersecting perspectives that juxtapose each other; there are reoccurring characters, specifically a group of Black and brown labourers whose lives intersect with one another as they try and make the most of what they can, and there’s also a gay white couple who decide to start a new life together on earth after living in the space colonies.

Captured and envisioned through the experiences of its characters, Goliath hauntingly delves into a wealth of themes: racism, classism, privilege, gentrification, colonisation, and climate change. The story can weigh heavy at times – because despite the fact that the story is set years and years into the future where space colonisation is possible, all that is wrong in its world feels terribly familiar, a reflection of the present through a murky window. Though the Earth in the story may look a little different, the very core and the violence and pain is still the same, and the class divide is a chasm. In this way, Goliath doesn’t feel like a warning about ‘what could happen’ but feels more like a warning of ‘what will probably happen, eventually’. Maybe, Goliath isn’t a glimpse into a dystopic imagination; it’s a glimpse into our inevitability if, in my most hopeful interpretation, injustice and capitalism and systemic violence are left unchecked.

Most distinct is Goliath’s strong anti-gentrification position in the story. Because despite cybernisation and advanced medicine and how death is redefined and reshaped by technology, such luxuries are only afforded to the wealthy. It isn’t for the people left behind on a polluted Earth; it’s for those who left Earth a long time ago – so long ago that the people who left romanticise Earth, insofar that they choose return, only to re-colonise and re-gentrify it. Where then, does that mean for those who were left on Earth, who are now being pushed out once more from the remnants of cannibalised cities being rebuilt and cleansed – just not for them?

At the heart of the story though is one that is deeply human. Across all the perspectives, Goliath is a story about loss and identity. Amidst landscapes of such immense loss and desolation, who are you and who do you become? The story explores how the characters hold onto things that once were, things that gave their lives shape and meaning and identity, and how they hold onto these memories and the past tightly so that their lives feel more than just mere survival. Living to survive can feel dehumanising, and so the characters find joy and moments where they can think about the future in blueberry bushes, horses, and each other.

Goliath is incredibly rich in detail, the storytelling intense yet immediately immersive. Readers who enjoy atmospheric storytelling will enjoy the distant future Earth that Onyebuchi paints with his words. Though the vignettes and different characters can feel fragmented at times, to make the most of your reading experience of Goliath may involve you to zoom into the details aplenty but to also zoom out to examine its wider themes. More, the characters' stories doesn't feel like fiction sometimes. Onyebuchi's attention to detail and how he just captures raw emotion makes the story feel like a stained glass window-like memoir of the characters lives. Goliath is also thematically rich – but it’s the kind of story where you have to do a bit of work to engage with its underlying themes and the raw emotions rippling underneath the surface. If you want a simple, straight-forward read, Goliath may not be for you - but if you want a story that will engage you, provided you’re willing to do the work to engage with it, then you’ll be rewarded.

Though I think Goliath is a necessary and urgent piece of science-fiction, the pacing is incredibly slow and it weighs heavily (and that’s not necessarily a bad thing). I found myself re-reading chapters to truly grasp the weight and implications of each story. This is not a reflection of how good or bad the book is – but, as I said, the story is incredibly rich with detail, so this is a book that demands to be read slowly, carefully, and thoughtfully. Don’t read this book to ‘enjoy’ it – I found it challenging to ‘enjoy’ – but read this book for its harrowing thoughtfulness and intensity, and so I can appreciate it as such. Whether you ultimately like it or not, this is the kind of book that stays with you.

Thematically interesting and a harrowing vision of the future, Goliath is a portrait of race, climate change, and colonisation told with astute and razor-sharp storytelling. Though slow and heavy, Goliath is undeniably a feat of fiction, a thoughtful, critical and anti-gentrification exploration into an apocalyptic trajectory of our present.

Tochi is a genius!!! Read everything he writes.Goliath is unlike anything he’s written and it’s perfect for fans of Station Eleven and moving post apocalyptic. stories.

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<p>Review copy provided by the publisher.</p>
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<p><em>Riot Baby</em> was intense and wonderful, but <em>Goliath</em> is Onyebuchi's novel-length debut, and it is...also really intense and really well-done. And really intense. Time this one for when you're ready for it, friends, because it packs a punch.</p>
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<p>The thing about this book is that it does a lot of the same stuff that classic SF does...except that it notices exactly how horrible it would all be and does not gloss over that part. "Earth is an environmentally devastated wasteland, and mostly-white people from mostly-rich countries have fled for space, leaving historically oppressed people behind to deal with their mess. Also lots of people are smoking all the time." Ya..aaay! If you've ever thought about that and thought, wait, that would be terrible for loads of people, then congratulations, Onyebuchi has too, and his book is vivid and humane and human with the weight of it. Same premise, different focus.</p>
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<p>It is also one of the first long-form works of science fiction I've read that really takes on board the existence of the COVID-19 pandemic. It's not <em>about</em> the pandemic, but the pandemic is seamlessly folded into the past that these people are struggling unevenly out of. It's mentioned explicitly in some of the backstory; it joins pollution in the unevenly distributed set of forces making it harder for some to breathe than others.</p>
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<p>There are also horses and blueberries and people struggling to relate to each other as best they can and build what community they can in the wreckage of a world that was stacked against that. There is a lot of death, a lot of devastation, a lot of people who don't even know how they're hurting each other or how they could stop. But there are people who plant as well as people who destroy here. There are always moments of grace.</p>
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I requested a digital copy in order to sample the prose on my phone (since I don't have a eReader) before requesting a physical copy.

I will update Netgalley once I read & review a a physical ARC.