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Cover of Fall of Civilizations: Stories of Greatness and Decline, by Paul Cooper. Features a stone slab with a deep crack running through it. Blurb: "Clean, compelling, and ultimately chilling... you need to read this book." -- Cal Flyn, author of Islands of Abandonment.
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Book Review: Fall of Civilizations, by Paul Cooper

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Paul Cooper’s Fall of Civilizations: Stories of Greatness and Decline takes the interests, enthusiasm and curiosity of the author and translates it from his popular podcast format into a book. There appears to be a small but distinct market of non-fiction books, where the author originally had a non-fiction podcast on a subject, and then switched over to writing non-fiction on that or similar or related topics. The apotheosis of this process are actual published books rather than just blog posts and essays. This trend is older than you probably think and started at the dawn of podcasting, with historian Lars Brownsworth going from a podcast on Byzantine Emperors to writing Lost to the West: The Forgotten Byzantine Empire That Rescued Western Civilization, among other non-fiction history books. Mike Duncan, podcaster of the History of Rome, and Revolutions, did a book on the start of the fall of the Roman Republic (The Storm Before the Storm) , and one on Lafayette (Hero of Two Worlds), who loomed large in his Revolutions podcast. Dan Carlin, a prolific and wide-ranging non fiction podcaster since the beginning of podcasting,  wrote a book “The End Is Always Near: Apocalyptic Moments, from the Bronze Age Collapse to Nuclear Near Misses, which basically is an episode of his podcast, in book form. The audio version of the book, narrated by Carlin himself, blurs that line even further.  And so we come to Paul Cooper’s Fall of Civilizations. In terms of total numbers of episodes, Cooper’s podcast oeuvre is much less than the aforementioned podcasts, his large subscriber base, however, made him a natural to land a book deal, however. His podcast, and perforce, the book, does what it says on the tin; it tackles a variety of civilizations, what made them tick, and why they collapsed.  The book is divided into relatively digestible chapters (and I would say more digestible than the usually lengthy podcast episodes, which aside from some early ones generally run over three hours each), each tackling a different ancient to early modern civilization.The book ends with a “lessons learned” epilogue that ties into the theme of the book in general.  What we get for civilizations that Cooper tackles are: The SumeriansThe Late Bronze Age CollapseAssyriaCarthageHan ChinaRoman BritainThe MayaThe KhmerByzantiumVijayanagaraSonghaiThe AztecsThe IncaEaster Island Cooper’s accomplishment is giving a base 101 course in the particular civilization, simplifying matters for a general reader, showing the civilization’s strengths, and then how and why things went downhill. It’s a familiar format to anyone who has listened to any episode of the podcast. It’s a wide ranging, although not absolutely comprehensive list of every civilization that has suffered a catastrophic collapse. There is some overlap with his podcast but there is much new material here as well. But I should say here that the book is not shallow, just like the podcast itself isn’t. While Cooper does boil things down for a typical reader, this book (as well as his podcast) is a classic case of the iceberg. This is made much more apparent in this book, thanks to the copious footnotes and an extensive bibliography.  It should be emphasized on the other hand that this is not a grand academic work; this is definitely a book that seems designed to stir your curiosity, and not get too deep into the weeds and minutiae of any of the particular civilizations. That bibliography for each of the chapters is an excellent resource for a reader to pursue more knowledge and history about a particular civilization, and the bibliography does have very many technical works for specialists included. If you want to go very deep, Cooper first whets your appetite with his chapter, and then provides you the rabbit hole to plunge into. However, knowing too much about a civilization before reading the book had its hazards. This left me in a position where for some chapters, I was in rapt fascination because I knew relatively little of the details (Vijayanagara and Songhai in particular), but for others, I had to resist my “But, wait…” and bite my tongue when Cooper elided, skipped or overly summarized a detail I know very well. (this was particularly true for Roman Britain and Byzantium) So I return to the question of who this book is for. I provided the list of civilizations covered purposefully. If you have a strong knowledge of most of them, you are not going to find that much new here except for some fun details here and there, and that list of works to go deeper on if you want to take that plunge.  However, if you are a fan of the podcast and Cooper’s style and presentation, that does map rather well to the book (and I suspect the audio edition of this book will have an even stronger correlation).  And there is some lovely writing and imagery here, as previous listeners of the podcast might expect: “A ruin is a paradox. Each one shows us the fearsome power of time, while simultaneously standing in defiance of it.”  And then there is the book’s theme that runs through each of the chapters, and is brought into stark relief in the aforementioned epilogue.. It’s not the happiest of themes, the recognition that every great civilization will perish or change into another form, and what will the legacy of our civilization be when it finally does? A number of the civilizations in this book fell due to or partially due to the stressors of climate change, which is a message that is extremely relevant and poignant in this day and age. The rapidity of how climate can change to a new and much less pleasant and congenial normal is a story that hits time and again in this book. Cooper makes it clear that we are facing a challenge in this day and age equal to the ones faced by the previous civilization. That may make this book a less “fun” read, but it makes it poignant, resonant and important. 

Cover of Ready for Blastoff! by Rick North. Features a young-looking pair of astronauts, male and female, floating in front of a spaceship, with Earth in the background.
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Into the Wardrobe: READY FOR BLASTOFF! (1990) by Rick North

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Ready for Blastoff! is the second entry in “The Young Astronauts” series, a collection of six middle-grade books published in 1990–1991 and “presented by Jack Anderson,” a nationally syndicated newspaper columnist and investigative reporter who passed away in 2005. The series is linked to the Young Astronaut Council, Inc., which still exists, providing school enrichment through a “STEM-based space-themed, pre-afterschool television show.” The origin of the Young Astronaut program lies in an oval office meeting between Anderson and then President Reagan in 1984. Anderson noted: “I’ve noticed two things about my grandchildren. They love space. They were excited about space. They hated school.” With a view on declining US student math and science scores, Reagan quickly adapted the idea into a political reality that developed into an international program of conferences, school chapter activities, and this series of stories published by Zebra books. I only found this second volume in the thrift shop, so I haven’t read the first book, but that didn’t really create any difficulty with getting into this one. It begins with a prologue where a UN/NASA international team of seven sixteen-year-old astronauts blasts off from Earth: destination Mars. The prologue introduces each of the team members, their personalities, and the struggles that they have gotten through to reach this momentous occasion. The team consists of Nathan Long (team leader), Karl Muller, Sergei Chuvakin, Alice Thorne, Noemi Velazquez, Genshiro Akamasu, and Lanie Rizzo, who harbors a secret. The prologue also sets up one of the novel’s antagonists, Suki, the leader of another team that will soon follow Long’s team to Mars. The twenty-one short chapters of the novel then flashback in time to show the challenges the team successfully faces leading up to their departure from Earth. These include both physical and mental obstacles, from nausea in zero-G simulations to imposter syndrome. As the characters rise to meet these challenges and trust one another to come together, the story demonstrates to readers qualities of perseverance and teamwork. The diversity of the characters is both a strength and weakness in terms of how well issues are handled, particularly from a present-day perspective. One thing covered well is the issue of socioeconomic privilege, though it’s not of course directly called that in a book from the 1990s. What the novel does less well from a perspective of today is the racial, ethnic, or gender diversity, which definitely comes across as being presented in typical fashion for the era: the diversity is there, but it’s still rather stereotypical and limited. For instance, the Japanese teen loves Godzilla, and the affluent girl loves fashion and shopping. While Nathan Long exists as a typical clean-cut, male leader, he demonstrates support and care, without domineering, bias, or aggressiveness. The name “Rick North” is a house pseudonym used for the Young Astronaut series, and this particular novel is written by John Peel, a prolific author of SF media tie-in franchise novels (from Star Trek to Dr. Who) who might be familiar to many readers out there. In all, Peel does a great job with Ready for Blastoff!, balancing plot and character development well within the book’s short length. He also includes several situations that show the characters using their minds and compassion to overcome mishaps or dangers. Aside from the competitive antagonism the team receives from Suki, most of the story deals with the team members having to deal with training while under the scrutiny of a hostile media writer and her photographer/cameraman. From this one volume of the series, at least, I’m reminded of Mary Robinette Kowal’s recent “Lady Astronaut” series. The two series share a lot in common in terms of themes, albeit Kowal’s for a more adult audience (while still readable by YA). I imagine that the “Young Astronaut” series would have been effective for getting young readers at the time more interested in STEM and space, at least those with nerd proclivities. I’m not sure it would have the same effect on middle grade readers today, though I could see this series being modernized and brought back, for instance through the involvement of an Abigail Harrison (Astronaut Abby) type STEM communication personality.

Cover of Liberty's Daughter by Naomi Kritzer, featuring several ocean-surface habitats in a seastead collective.
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Liberty’s Daughter and Thoughts on Worker Bees

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Content Warnings: Plot spoilers (after a further warning) for Liberty’s Daughter by Naomi Kritzer and A Deepness in the Sky by Vernor Vinge, and exploitation discussion. Continuing my 2024 Hugo Awards Finalists reading, I gobbled up Liberty’s Daughter by Naomi Kritzer in one sitting. This was my first book in the Lodestar Award for Best Young Adult Book category, so I can’t rank it yet, but I certainly found it age-appropriate, entertaining, and thought-provoking. Some of those thoughts relate to other books, and some relate to current topics. In Liberty’s Daughter, Beck Garrison lives a fairly privileged life on a “seastead” where people have connected floating platforms and actual ships to form a network of communities independent of normal, landlocked countries. All of them are fairly libertarian, and one site recognizes no laws at all. That hasn’t been a problem for Beck before the beginning of this book, because she’s the daughter of an important man. However, when she starts helping a debt slave to track down a missing sister, she stumbles into trouble. With the help of a friend and various other people, she exposes some horrible things that have been happening out of public view. Her moral stands not only have strongly negative personal consequences, at least in the short term, but roil her entire society. I like Beck a lot more than some YA protagonists I’ve encountered. Her father calls her stubborn and selfish, but really, she’s smart, active, persistent, and brave. She’s naive at first, but knows a lot about how her society works, on the surface at least, and how to persuade people to do things and cooperate with each other. She can be too impulsive for her own safety, but partly that’s because she believes in doing what’s right and helping other people. Some people may think that things work out a little too easily for her, but to me, it’s not too surprising that her natural leadership, abilities to figure things out and get things done, and good heart are recognized by others. And anyway, things don’t go her way all the time. Liking Beck is a large part of why I like this book, but I also like how social issues are explored. I’d mentioned a debt slave. Most of the grunt labor in this collective is done by “bond workers” who are sort of a combination of indentured servants and company-store workers, usually going gradually deeper in debt rather than working their way out, and health issues can make that decline a lot sharper and faster. Revelations about what happened to the missing sister, who’s a bond worker herself, lead to some collective actions. MAJOR SPOILERS FOLLOW! Beck helps to avert a violent reaction from the bosses, but just as things seem to be calming down, a wave of sickness with symptoms of obsessive behavior sweeps over the seastead. Eventually, Beck and her allies discover that the epidemic is an engineered virus that got out of control – a virus that was supposed to turn discontented bond slaves into happy workers. But the so-called “worker-bee” virus works TOO well in this respect, even from the view of the bosses; as it brings unanticipated side effects, the ensuing societal breakdown leads to more illnesses and other problems. This reminded me strongly of the Focused workers in A Deepness in the Sky, by Vernor Vinge. That’s a really great book where a whole lot is going on, but the relevant bit is that one faction uses a technology-activated virus to attack enemies or turn some of their own people into brilliant super-specialists who only care about their projects, so they can make even more scientific advances (and are thus highly unlikely to examine society and their place in it). Some workers manage to realize this and think past their induced condition, and even to start thinking about rebellion, but usually they get caught and are reset to “happy” worker-bee status by an MRI-like procedure. The streaming series Severance (2022) approaches this from a slightly different angle. I haven’t watched it, since I don’t have Apple TV+, but I understand that workers at a fictional company agree to a procedure that severs their work memories and personal memories, which supposedly helps them concentrate more efficiently at work. Naturally, this leads to exploitation. The show won critical acclaim and a lot of buzz, and a second season is planned. When I was seeing ads for that show, I was reminded of a horrific series of advertisements some years ago where people had TVs/computer monitors instead of heads (like Prince Robot’s people in Saga), so you could see that even when they were off work, going about their daily lives, playing tennis or whatever, they were still thinking about work. This was supposed to show how dedicated the company’s employees were to serving the viewers, the implied customers, but to me and some friends, it exemplified expectations of depersonalization and exploitation of workers. It seems that a growing number of science fiction creatives are thinking about this trend. In the past, fears have been expressed of work-focused robots replacing humans (or human worker classes being bred and later genetically designed, from Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World to C.J. Cherryh’s Cyteen and beyond); more recently, the trend in fiction has been of taking humans themselves and just cutting out the parts that don’t directly serve capitalism, making individual lives far less rich and rewarding, and damaging the creativity, diverse thinking, and even the problem-solving skills of all humanity. These days, of course, that implied desirability of always concentrating on work is far closer to reality. Even without worker-bee drugs or Focused/Severance-type modifications, increasing numbers of jobs include the expectation that employees will be available 24/7 by text and email, and on-call for just-in-time scheduling even for ordinary, non-emergency shift work. Other societal trends are also keep people’s minds mostly on work and away from volunteerism (numbers are way down) and activism. Whether that’s more or less

Cover of Lost Ark Dreaming, by Suyi Davies Okungbowa, featuring five high-tech towers rising from the sea at sunrise or sunset.
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Book Review: Lost Ark Dreaming, by Suyi Davies Okungbowa

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I had forgotten the publisher’s description of Lost Ark Dreaming, by Suyi Davies Okungbowa, by the time it surfaced atop my to-be-read pile. So I went in cold, and it turned out that the water was fine! This is a gripping novella that starts fast and keeps moving with swift assurance, amid brief interludes and “historical excerpts” that give more context to the action, while deftly building characters whose revealed motivations make even some surprising decisions feel natural. I enjoyed it quite a lot. Suyi Davies Okungbowa is a rising star in speculative fiction, a Nommo Award winner who has appeared twice before on Skiffy and Fanty’s website. Tonya Moore interviewed him about his work in general and specifically his The Nameless Republic trilogy. Paul Weimer’s review of the first two books in that series praised the immersive worldbuilding and said, “the two books really feel like to me a study and critique of decaying imperial power, and what happens when that eroding power slips…” Power is a major focus in this novella, too, although it’s unrelated to his previous books. Tiers of power are given physical reality, as the Uppers, Midders, and Lowers live in their respective floors of offshore towers after the seas rose and drowned Lagos, Nigeria, and surrounding coastal areas. The higher Up that one lives, the more authority, light, fresh air, and space one has; Midders keep things running and try to keep themselves from falling in status; and Lowers work and scramble to survive, down in the dark, dank floors below sea level. This novella starts off feeling like a combination of climate fiction and science fiction, although faith and fantasy elements also make themselves known eventually. Although most of the viewpoint characters (a Midder, an Upper, and a Lower) start out trying to focus on the here-and-now, and submerging past traumas (the Upper has done this so successfully that the reader sees only his ambitions throughout much of the book), events force them to confront their memories and longings for connection with other people, with the environment, and with the Unknown. Lost Ark Dreaming starts with Yekini rushing to get to work, but she hardly has time to start stressing out about the effects of lateness on her career as an analyst in civil service before she’s sent on her first solo field assignment—as a punishment? Unfortunately, it’s a trip to the Undersea levels; more unfortunately, she has to shepherd an Upper official, Ngozi, there, protecting him while trying to make him feel sufficiently deferred to; even more unfortunately, when a Lowers-level head of safety, Tuoyo, leads them to the site of a breach that she’d already patched, Yekini discovers indications of an intruder. Things rapidly spin out of all their control to go from bad to worse. Some readers may be annoyed that the novella is slightly open-ended, with no sure societal resolution to the climactic events of the finale. But the protagonists all make important decisions, including some self-sacrifices aimed at helping their community. To me, this has a hopeful ending, and I can say I am very well satisfied with the book. Along with the strong plot and characterization, the language craft in this book is worth mentioning. The Interludes are poetically dreamy, and some of the “historical excerpts” are intentionally distant and formal, but most of the prose is vivid and active. Descriptions put the reader right there: “The Lowers smelled like a damp cloth that had been locked in a steel box for years… the air weighed a ton, and Yekini’s lungs worked hard to draw it in. Her chest felt waterlogged, like a bad cough brewing.” A lot of the worldbuilding here is concrete, but I also love what the author can do with just one sentence: “Ensconced within the [glass] pendant was a flash of color, the only valuable part of the necklace—a small remnant of an aged, wrinkled orange peel.” That sets the reader imagining what kind of ruined world makes a relic like that so valuable. I love the little details like that. Finally, I’ll also mention that some elements of African culture that are woven throughout Lost Ark Dreaming enhanced my enjoyment of it—I say African rather than Yoruban, although that language is specifically mentioned, because refugees of various backgrounds have made their way to the towers, and some elements of religion, for example, have evolved to fit current circumstances. These elements strongly affect some characters’ motivations and decisions. There are further things I’d like to say about works that this novella is clearly in conversation with, but that would give away major spoilers, so I’ll stop here. Just know that Lost Ark Dreaming has my strong recommendation. Lost Ark Dreaming’s expected release date is May 21, so there’s still a short time to give it some extra love by pre-ordering it. https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250890757/lostarkdreaming Content warnings: Blood, past traumas, threatened violence, offscreen mass deaths, bad air and filth, class oppression. Comparisons: Per the publisher’s description, “The brutally engineered class divisions of Snowpiercer meets Rivers Solomon’s The Deep …” Disclaimer: I received a free eARC of this novella for review purposes.

Cover of The Immortality Thief, by Taran Hunt, featuring a wheel-type space station and some ominous eyes, possibly an alien's against a backdrop of stars. Tagline: ETERNAL LIFE IS OUT THERE. Blurb: "Fun, resonant, and compulsively readable" -- NYT bestseller Veronica Roth
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Book Review: THE IMMORTALITY THIEF by Taran Hunt

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Today I’m bringing you a short review from the backlist: Taran Hunt’s The Immortality Thief, first published in October 2022 by Solaris. It’s the first book of “The Kystrom Chronicles” series; the second volume of that series, The Unkillable Princess, is slated for publication in early 2025. Sean Wren is a talented linguist and treasure smuggler, eking out a living as one of the few survivors of a colony destroyed by The Ministers: enigmatic, immortal aliens that have taken political control over most of humanity. Standing alone against them is The Republic, a government that considers Sean and his colleagues as criminals. Capturing Sean and his childhood friend, agents of The Republic force them (using a Suicide-Squadesque bomb-in-your-head method of motivation) to take part in a special covert, off-the-records mission to salvage data from an millennia-old abandoned ship in orbit of a dying star on the edge of known space. As the only speaker of a long-dead language, Sean’s abilities are essential to the mission. Arriving at the derelict station, the team discovers they are not alone. The Republic has failed to mention a previous team was sent to the ship. The Ministers converge upon it, knowing the dangerous scientific knowledge the data on this long-lost ship contains. And the corridors of the ship are stalked by monsters and ghosts of a long forgotten past. My original plan was to review this novel soon after its release for Strange Horizons, then in late 2023 to coincide with the novel’s release in softcover. But each time I sat down to write a review, I found it difficult to organize my thoughts or decide if I really enjoyed the book, or was a bit let down by it. Even now, I’m still trying to decide. On the one hand, its short chapters and fast-paced action make for rapid and entertaining reading through a relatively long novel. But on the other hand, that entertaining plot does feel repetitive, needlessly drawn out in action thrills at the expense of probing deeper into sociopolitical themes and their link to Sean’s traumatic past. The novel is well written as pleasurable genre fun, but as I considered it beneath that exterior, experiential layer, the more it felt like a literary equivalent of empty calories. And there’s, I think, the crux of whether a reader might adore the novel or dislike it. As part of Strange Horizons‘ 2022 in Review, reviewer Eric Primm selected The Immortality Thief as a notable book among several that seemed “to fly under a lot of radars,” describing it: “… [a] science-fiction horror that surprised and delighted. After coercion from the government, Sean Wren explores an abandoned ship that has been lost to time. Racing against him are the Ministers, aliens that rule over half of humanity with an iron fist. It’s fast-paced, tense, and excellent… [It] would make an excellent video game.”  I agree wholeheartedly with Primm here. This reads like a video game, from its space opera trope-filled premise, to the execution of its pacing, to the vibes of its complex protagonist: part damaged, part hopeful, part snarky. Hunt very effectively mixes tones of horror, humor, and adventure into the novel, using backstory as foundations of literary sincerity and gravitas – almost like a game might insert those same elements through cut scenes interspersed throughout the action game-play. As speculative fiction, the one element of The Immortality Thief I most appreciated was the visual (color based) form of communication used by the Ministers. Reading how Sean used his linguistic and talents for logic to forge communication with the aliens, and slowly build a partnership of trust with one of them, stands out as the most memorable aspect of the novel for me. Those character interactions might allow the reader to figure out the ‘plot twist’ aspect of the novel a bit earlier than its full reveal in the novel, but don’t necessarily lessen its impact. As I write this I’m starting to conclude that I love all the pieces of The Immortality Thief, but they don’t add together into something that I have equal enthusiasm for. It includes a lot of elements, straddling the border of popcorn entertainment versus complex thematic depth. Succeeding in general breadth, it pulled back from any depth in any single component in favor of doubling down on keeping things broad.

Combined covers of Strange Horizons), March 11, 2024 (top), Uncanny 57 (bottom left), and Lightspeed 166 (bottom right).
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Short Fiction Review: March – April 2024

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My favorite short stories from March and April are all quite different from each other, which means you will probably enjoy at least one of them. “Fragments of a Symbiotic Life” by Will McMahon (published in Lightspeed Magazine Issue 166) is a humorous piece of flash fiction that’s likely to leave you with something more serious to think about after. “A Magical Correspondence, to the Tune of Heartstrings” by Valerie Valdes (published in Uncanny Magazine Issue 57) is a relatable romance about a busy woman trying to fit in just one more thing — in this case, a correspondence course in witchcraft. “Threshold” by Audrey Zhou (published in Strange Horizons) is for those of you who enjoy more unsettling reads, exploring what happens after death, or cool magic systems. “Fragments of a Symbiotic Life” by Will McMahon This story won over my attention and affection from its first sentence: I was born normal enough, except that I was four days late, which isn’t so much, and slightly jaundiced, which isn’t unusual, and had a raccoon for an arm, which is admittedly strange. This is flash fiction, recollections from the narrator who was born with a raccoon for an arm. This story is written in a clear, accessible manner and with a certain dry humor that many readers are likely to enjoy. A raccoon for an arm is a ludicrous concept, but the narrator’s serious, reflective tone makes it feel both plausible and hilarious. The humor is well executed and makes for a fun read, but there’s more going on here than just a playful gag. When the narrator was four years old, his parents “decided to amputate” the raccoon arm and replace it with a prosthetic. The narrator understands their decision but portrays it as just that: “their decision,” not his own. The narrator’s sadness and unease over their decision shifts the story into a more critical mode. The narrator writes that when he tells people about the raccoon, “They’re usually sympathetic. Kind. But they only see me—one broken human. Never him [the raccoon]. Never the other.” The narrator openly examines how easily we undervalue and marginalize non-human life, and it makes for a striking conclusion to the story, but there are other, less explicit, critiques that I can’t help but read into the story. The story makes me think of people with disabilities and how they can be challenged to conform to society’s norms, rather than society adapting to welcome all people. And it makes me think of people who undergo surgeries that are not medically necessary in order to better conform to society’s norms or ideals. This includes both people who make that choice for themselves (such as with certain cosmetic surgeries) and people who have that choice made for them (such as intersex children who undergo surgery to more closely align with one gender or another). In these cases, the perceived need to conform to society’s norms and ideals can ostracize, marginalize, or harm individuals. Yes, that’s serious and heavy, especially for a story that started with a raccoon for an arm — and that’s exactly what I love about this story: it’s a fun, wild gag, yet there’s also weighty stuff to dig into here if you are willing to sit with the story for a little bit longer. “A Magical Correspondence, to the Tune of Heartstrings” by Valerie Valdes Lissa is busy. Her family makes violins and harps, and they just received an unexpected order with a tight deadline. She also has her house chores, of course, and she’s on the committee organizing the Summernight dance for her village. Beyond that all — which is really more than enough — Lissa is taking a correspondence course in basic witchcraft, in which she must learn elemental cantrips, brew a potion, and create an enchantment. The course is challenging under the best of circumstances, and Lissa’s hectic schedule and chaotic, distracting family don’t help, but she is committed to persevere and see her course through to completion. The story is set in a secondary fantasy world that reminds me of Ursula K. Le Guin’s Earthsea series, but thematically, this story feels refreshingly relatable. It’s about a busy woman trying to cram one more thing in her schedule, but this is the one rare thing that’s simply just for her and for the sake of trying something new and interesting. In Lissa’s world, witchcraft isn’t considered a practical skill, nor does she hope to turn it into a new career. It’s just something different that Lissa wanted to try out. In our world, it is too easy to spend all your energy on work, life admin, and hobbies that are really side hustles (that is, hobbies that are themselves a form of work). It can be challenging to devote the time and energy to a hobby that’s legitimately just a hobby, something you find interesting and want to do just for the sake of it. And when you do devote yourself to such a hobby, struggle through it, and persevere, it feels great! That is what’s great about this story: watching Lissa choose to do something just for herself and persevere through the challenges. It’s relatable, inspiring, and a little cozy as well. Speaking of cozy, there’s also a cute romance here. (Yet another thing Lissa is trying to fit in!) I was more drawn in by Lissa’s magical correspondence course, but the romance is quite enjoyable as well. If you like romance, cozy fantasy stories, or want to watch Lissa persevere through her correspondence course, I easily recommend this story. “Threshold” by Audrey Zhou When Li’s close friend Huyuan dies unexpectedly after her twenty-third birthday, Li has an option most of us don’t: Li can capture Huyuan’s spirit and build a new body for her to live in out of metal, wood, clay, and other materials. When Huyuan dies, it isn’t really a question for Li whether or not to do this; this is what Li

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