My favorite stories from June and July involve cultural heritage, family, friendship, and political change. In “Waru Waru” by Ruth Joffre (published in Lightspeed Magazine Issue 194), a young woman undergoes a ritual to take on memories from her grandmother, memories that have been passed down through generations. “Immigrant Girl from the End of the World” by Hannah Yang (published in Uncanny Magazine Issue 70) is what the title says: at the end of the world, a girl immigrates back in time to 2004. In “Judar of the Island: A Story Told in Four Feasts” by Rida Altaf (published in Uncanny Magazine Issue 71), two revolutionaries try to convince an incorrigible glutton to join their movement. Let’s dive in.
“Waru Waru” by Ruth Joffre
This story imagines a Quechua ritual that lets parents pass down their memories to their children, a literalized metaphor of generational heritage and memory. In the world of the story, elders will typically pass down their memories to their adult children. However, for Blanca, her mom hasn’t been in the picture for a while, so her grandmother is passing down the family memories to her directly.
The memory-transfer ritual is a challenging process that takes place over weeks and is not without risk, and the whole endeavor feels complicated for Blanca because of her queerness. She is not confident she will have children, so as the ritual takes a toll on her, she can’t help but wonder whether she will have anyone to pass these memories on to after her and she questions whether it is even worth it.
There is a lot to appreciate about this story. I liked the way Joffre sketched out Blanca’s relationships with her grandmother and her absent mother. The story offers rich family dynamics that I expect will resonate with some readers.
Meanwhile, the story grapples with cultural heritage in ways that are meaningful and fun. Blanca and her grandmother live in Arlington, Virginia, where Blanca can easily visit a gay bar in D.C. or swing by a bodega to pick up imported goods (if they’re in stock). She lives a modern life, but she is taking on memories that span countries and centuries. It is a challenging process for Blanca to take on these memories that differ so much from her ordinary life, and I found it good fodder for thinking about the role of heritage.
Most of all, I love how this story handled queerness and family. While Blanca is thinking about how she may never have children, her grandmother is passing down memories from her queer ancestors. It comes together for a surprising, beautiful, and comforting ending. If you’re a queer person with conflicted feelings about family and heritage, I imagine this might resonate with you as it did for me.
“Immigrant Girl from the End of the World” by Hannah Yang
Here’s the first line of this story:
Before the world ends, Miri’s family saves up enough money to escape to 2004.
That is, Miri’s family becomes refugees fleeing into the past because, you know, the world is ending so there isn’t anywhere else left.
The temporal refugees are supposed to take a memory modification pill to help them forget their old life and assimilate into their new one, but Miri — and her best friend Lise — only pretend to take the pill. They want to remember and to meet up with each other in the past.
I love the idea of refugees fleeing into the past. Sure, it’s logistically implausible, but the idea holds together well enough over the 4,100-word short story. After all, it is easy to feel like we are on the path to ruining the world, and our world has plenty of refugees these days, so something about the conceit rings true.
It is interesting seeing the past through Miri’s perspective, and I enjoyed watching Miri try to locate Lisa, but I especially loved the end of this story. Miri slowly settles into her life in the early twenty-first century, where things are relatively stable for many people, falling apart for many others, and beginning to feel like they are slowly on their way to collapse. Miri is a pessimist: she has seen the way the world turns out and believes the end is inevitable, but she meets someone new who is hopeful and pushing for change, someone who organizes protests.
Reading this story, I wondered, “Is it really so inevitable, or can Miri help change the future?” Miri seems to think the world is heading for collapse and she can’t change that, and as I read the story, I definitely enjoyed investigating that perspective. But what really stood out to me was something different: an aesthetic argument of sorts. Yes, the world is fragile and scary, and maybe we can’t have much of an impact individually. But isn’t it better — more beautiful and meaningful — to try anyway? To protest and practice kindness with and for others? Setting aside the impact, doesn’t that simply make for a better life?
“Judar of the Island: A Story Told in Four Feasts” by Rida Altaf
When Judar finds a magical ring that lets him summon a djinn, he uses his newfound power to conjure feasts for himself. He lives alone on a remote island where he conjures and savors feasts. He also prays and thanks God and sleeps — but mostly he just conjures feasts for himself.
Saleha and Somaiya are shocked and disgusted. They are sisters and leaders of a revolution back on the mainland, pushing back against censorship, sexism, inequality, military control, and other abuses you would expect from totalitarian regimes. They came to Judar’s island chasing rumors and seeking help. Judar is happy to conjure feasts for them, but he isn’t interested in helping with the revolution. He is satisfied with his remote (and well-fed) life.
I appreciate this story on two levels. First, there’s the immediate experience: Judar conjuring all sorts of food and digging in with gusto as he laughs off Saleha and Somaiya’s attempts to convert him to their cause. In fact, they can hardly even ask for his help because Judar is so busy interrupting them and making light of the situation. When they do push Judar to help, he is really quite remarkable in terms of how easily and thoroughly he denies them. It’s disgusting and comically entertaining in the same breath. It makes for a fast, enjoyable read.
Behind and through all that, this is a story that raises interesting and challenging questions about privilege and responsibility. What do we owe the world, and what do we owe the people around us?
It is easy to see Judar and argue that he ought to do more, but Somaiya is an interesting and more complicated contrast. Although she is agitating for change in an unjust society, she does have a relatively comfortable life, and she has a lot to lose. Moreover, she is less confident than Saleha in her own ability to affect change. (If you can’t affect change, is it fair to ask you to try?) While it is easy to judge Judar for his apathy, Somaiya is also apathetic in her own way (and not entirely committed to change), but I found myself much more reluctant to judge her. Don’t be fooled: despite how one-dimensional Judar may feel, there’s a depth to this story that invites readers to reflect more carefully.
