The Pleasures of Reading, Viewing, and Listening in 2018, part 4: Brit Mandelo

Pleasures of 2018
by Brit Mandelo



2018: both the longest year and the fastest I’ve lived to date, seems like. Politics these days will do that to a person, I guess? As usual I’ve read a mix of things over the past twelve months, some for review and some just for me. Of all the books reviewed at Tor.com this year, some favorites (longform reviews linked!) include:


• Friday Black by Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah, a debut collection of sharp, visceral short fiction that primarily explores the oppression and violence faced by contemporary Black Americans.

• On a Sunbeam by Tillie Walden, a quiet young-adult graphic novel about queer women/GNC folks, found family, and growing up—bonus: it’s fantastical space opera.

• Alien Virus Love Disaster by Abbey Mei Otis, another debut collection of short fiction full of “outsider or abject characters; viral, haunting, gruesome physicality; hunger mixed with passion and crooked adoration; cataclysm before-during-and-after.”

• The Descent of Monsters by JY Yang, the third Tensorate novella—just as queer and genderfluid as the previous two, while also immensely fun in terms of its prose structure.

• Blackfish City by Sam J. Miller, an ambitious sf novel set post-climate-collapse and dealing with a sexually transmitted virus as well as wealth/real estate inequality, to name a few significant themes.

• Space Opera by Catherynne M. Valente, best described as “Eurovision in Space,” is wholesome and aggressively hopeful—plus hilarious in the vein of Douglas Adams.

• Monster Portraits by Del and Sofia Samatar, a mélange of art and prose poetry that spoke to me on an academic level as much as it did a personal one.


Given that I was writing a novel for the majority of 2018, almost all of my personal reading took other forms like comics, poetry, YA, or nonfiction. On the comics front: My Lesbian Experience with Loneliness and My Solo Exchange Diary by Nagata Kabi struck my fancy. They have a fascinating pink-and-grey color scheme, fun sketchy art, and an extremely intimate emotional approach to being a young queer woman with depression in Japan. On the flip side, My Brother’s Husband by Tagame Gengorou explores issues facing queer men in Japan—as well as single parenthood, what makes a family, and so on. It’s quiet, domestic, and moving (plus, it’s nice to see Tagame’s loving artistic treatment of larger men’s bodies in this context).

Yes, Roya by C. Spike Trotman and and Emilee Denich is, to be direct, a porn comic set in the 60’s, featuring a dominant woman, her submissive husband, and their new younger male lover. The comic is definitely hot; it also treats bisexuality, interracial relationships, and comics publishing for women with a thoughtful seriousness. The Pervert by Remy Boydell and Michelle Perez is about a trans woman’s experiences of sex work, gender confirmation, and survival. The art is a mix of anthropomorphic animal characters and straightforward human characters, which creates an intriguing contrast, particularly in sexually explicit scenes. Totally different, as it’s a young-adult comic, there’s the overwhelming cuteness of The Princess and the Dressmaker by Jen Wang—queer and genderfluid in approach with cartoon-adjacent, charming art. It’s a heartwarmer for sure.

The poetry collection Prelude to Bruise by Saeed Jones is intense and astounding. His poems about rural queer masculinities and Black experience, particularly combined, are worth reading for everyone whose hands I could press them into. (Also, follow him on Twitter.) Anger is a Gift by Mark Oshiro, a young adult novel, has a real and pressing approach to police brutality, young resistance, and trauma—it’s a hard read, emotionally devastating but important. Picture Us in the Light by Kelly Loy Gilbert is also a young adult novel, balancing coming of age and coming into one’s queer identity, falling in love with a best friend, and intergenerational struggles of immigration and citizenship. It also has some of the most striking lines I read this year about the emotional connections people form in love.

Lastly, it would be remiss not to mention The Merry Spinster: Tales of Everyday Horror by Daniel Mallory Ortberg—he has been and remains a treat to read, funny and sharp and poetic, with a handy grasp on genre and its functions. Strongly recommended, this one. And while I rarely read true crime (for all the reasons you’d expect), I’ll be Gone in the Dark by Michelle McNamara was a gripping, thoughtful exploration not just of the Golden State Killer case but also the genre itself, a memoir and investigation all at once that bends its approach self-reflexively in a manner I found extremely compelling.

This won’t come as a surprise to anyone who follows me on Twitter, but musically, this has been the most intense year to date for me as a fan of BTS with the release of their Love Yourself albums. I’ve been in that club since 2016; watching them rise to international stardom, including speaking engagements at the United Nations on youth culture, has been immensely satisfying. It’s great to see a set of artists who are passionate and humble and proud about their work succeeding beyond their wildest dreams. The larger thematic project they’ve undertaken matters, too, in a divided and contentious global popular culture: encouraging openness, self-acceptance, kindness, and honest approaches to mental health is a huge deal. To do so through music that’s also fucking fantastic, with unreal stage presence and a consistently personable social media presence, is notable. Kim Namjoon made a point to acknowledge gender identity and race specifically in his UN speech, which tracks with the band’s public-facing support of queer rights and artists as well as heavily queer-coded and/or queer-friendly content in their own lyrics.

I was able to attend their October concert in Chicago from a front-of-pit position and it was life changing. In a year where I’ve needed positivity surrounding healing and growth, they’ve given that to me. “Love yourself” sounds like a simple directive, but it isn’t, and their music acknowledges that as well. As an American, the significance of decentralizing white Western artists as the be-all, end-all in entertainment matters—and it’s great to see these young men from South Korea gaining more and more traction for their skill and message across the globe. I’m just very here for their specific focus on kindness, self-reflection, and purposeful development as steps toward being a good person. I’m also interested in how their mold-breaking approach to the k-pop industry will benefit future up and coming bands in terms of artists’ treatment and rights.

As for other content in the “radical positivity and healthier approaches to masculinity in pop culture” mode, I finally started listening to the McElroy brothers. I’ve made it through a significant portion of The Adventure Zone (Balance, the experimental arcs, and half of Amnesty); I’ve also watched their short TV program and listened to other related podcasts. There’s something about their willingness to listen, to learn, and to try so very hard that is soothing. Not to mention they’re absolutely hilarious. The Nancy podcast at NPR has also been a good source of workday listening that brings in a variety of contributors on topics both contemporary and historical that I might not otherwise encounter.

I didn’t watch much television, though. Finishing Anthony Bourdain’s Parts Unknown after his suicide was wrenching, but I did do it. His hopeless despair at what some humans have done to the world and to other human beings, particularly via colonialism, is both relatable and in hindsight sobering. It is possible to see, when watching, the weight of his knowledge crushing him. On a lighter note, Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat was tender and enjoyable. It ended before I expected—quite a short season! I hope she’ll do more. (If you’re sensing a theme: yeah, I mostly watched food tv all year.) Queer Eye’s reboot filled my heart two times over with soft feelings and a touch of hope for the future. I was particularly moved by AJ’s episode in the first season. As for movies: Call Me by Your Name wrecked me quite thoroughly while Love, Simon lifted me up; Collette was hot as fire and delightfully sharp about art, love, and sexuality through a historical lens (also, the film featured trans actors!). I watched Netflix’s Hill House adaptation and hated it so much, artistically and personally and politically, that I’m choosing not to acknowledge it further.

The takeaway: content that fills my emotional well and emphasizes the possibility of hope despite trauma has been good—because this is a dark time in the world and maintaining the ability to exist, to struggle, to cope, to even be happy, is a significant factor in being able to enact any resistance. Visibility matters, pleasure matters, and despite 2018’s broad issues with the fallout of SESTA/FOSTA and corporate control over the internet (looking at you Tumblr), healthy sexuality that integrates with our humanity matters. I want to keep on keepin’ on in that direction.

Brit Mandelo  is a writer, critic, and editor. They have published two books, Beyond Binary: Genderqueer and Sexually Fluid Speculative Fiction (Lethe Press, 2012) and We Wuz Pushed: On Joanna Russ and Radical Truth-Telling (in Aqueduct's Conversation Pieces series). Brit has been a nominee for various awards in the past, including the Nebula, Lambda, and Hugo; their work has been published in magazines such as Clarkesworld, Tor.com, Stone Telling, Apex, and Ideomancer.

The Pleasures of Reading, Viewing, and Listening in 2017, pt. 11: Brit Mandelo

The Pleasures of Reading,  Viewing, and Listening in 2017

by Brit Mandelo

As we’d all likely agree, this has been a difficult year politically and personally. I’ve found myself focusing half of my attention on “feel-good” media and the other half on “work” media, the texts I’m consuming for specifically critical purposes—like the books I’ve reviewed for Tor.com throughout 2017.

Of those, a handful stand out when I scroll through the list of reviews published under my byline in the past twelve months. All the Crooked Saints by Maggie Stiefvater is the most recent, a lyrical magic-realist departure from the author’s sprawling and recently-completed Raven Cycle. I was also struck by several others, in retrospect, ranging in scope from young adult novels to small-press short story collections to novellas. Autonomous by Annalee Newitz chews on complex issues of embodiment, gender, and ownership while In Other Lands by Sarah Rees Brennan tackles the portal fantasy genre with a nontypical queer male protagonist. Telling the Map by Christopher Rowe took me to near-future versions of my own home state, Kentucky, over a series of handsome short stories. Both Amatka by Karin Tidbeck and Agents of Dreamland by Caitlín R. Kiernan are short and immensely thought-provoking works of high yield, unnerving fiction that left strong impressions with me artistically and personally. Lastly, I’d be remiss not to mention The Black Tides of Heaven & The Red Threads of Fortune by JY Yang, a pair of stylistically quite different novellas set in a lush and handsomely realized second world that also feature queer and nonbinary protagonists. 

When it comes to the media I consumed without the express intention of a critical approach, though, genre diversifies. Richard Siken’s two collections of poetry, War of the Foxes and Crush, utterly devastated me. Siken’s approach to a particular kind of desperate and seeking queer male being is almost too much to handle but also, sometimes, fits like a glove. I actually just finished Meredith Russo’s If I Was Your Girl last week, so it’s fresh in my mind, but it was an interestingly explicit take on the tropes of trans YA narratives from the perspective of a girl living in the Appalachian South. I also finally—I know, this will come as a surprise to a lot of people—read The Secret History by Donna Tartt. I did it in two sittings and spent the entire process making quiet sounds of distress, but damn, what a book.

The two new albums that I’ve spent the latter half of the year listening to on repeat are Tyler, The Creator’s Scum Fuck Flower Boy and Brand New’s Science Fiction. As you might imagine, music is a site of debate for me in terms of creator versus art versus my own ethics. I’ve had to do a lot of self-examination about Brand New and the band’s role in my life, as well as the room I need to give for other humans to grow and change over time, to make up for even abysmally cruel actions in their past. It’s no coincidence that both of these albums approach a flawed and queer masculinity that understands itself in terms of fracture and growth; it’s also worth thinking about how that narrative might force me to reflect on my own flaws. It’s something I’m working on.

I didn’t watch much television, though I did binge watch Boku no Hero Academia and rewatch Yuri on Ice. Sometimes I just need something that feels good, y’know? Thor: Ragnarok also gave me a big gay thrill, and I finally watched What We Do In the Shadows as well and adored it. Baby Driver spoke to my love of meta, visual narrative, and cars. I hope I’ll get around to more visual media in 2018, but we’ll see.

Overall, it’s been a rough one, but I’m hoping in 2018 we’ll all keep moving toward the progress in our world that I see in the fiction and media I’ve been consuming. Kudos to us for surviving, and let’s try again.

 

Brit Mandelo  is a writer, critic, and editor. They have published two books, Beyond Binary: Genderqueer and Sexually Fluid Speculative Fiction (Lethe Press, 2012) and We Wuz Pushed: On Joanna Russ and Radical Truth-Telling (in Aqueduct's Conversation Pieces series). Brit has been a nominee for various awards in the past, including the Nebula, Lambda, and Hugo; their work has been published in magazines such as Clarkesworld, Tor.com, Stone Telling, Apex, and Ideomancer.

The Pleasures of Reading, Viewing, and Listening in 2015, pt. 18: Brit Mandelo

The Pleasures of Reading, Viewing, and Listening in 2015

by Brit Mandelo

The biggest thing for me, this past year, was teaching a seminar for Honors student at the University of Louisville in Queer Speculative Fiction. So, I did quite a lot of re-reading of texts with the intention of teaching them to some fresh young faces. We read theory and short fiction, but also several novels, including: The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin (1969), The Female Man by Joanna Russ (1975), selections from Octavia Butler's Xenogesis, Angels in America by Tony Kushner (1993), Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk (1996), The Drowning Girl: A Memoir by Caitlin R. Kiernan (2012), some stories from my own Beyond Binary (2012), Rhapsody: Notes on Strange Fictions by Hal Duncan (2013), and Queer Theories by Donald Hall (2003).

All of these are books I've read over and over again, but doing so with an eye to connecting them to the larger concepts of genre and politics in a classroom was immensely fun. I had a particularly enjoyable time watching students process the different approaches to similar issues taken by Le Guin and Russ; the juxtapositions between Angels in America and Fight Club were also productive. And of course, I read all of their papers and research and thoughts on the texts—almost more rewarding, truly.

Otherwise, though, in my own time I read more young adult fiction than usual. I think this might have something to do with several friends and associates having books come out, but also, I took a distinct pleasure in the freshness and often-positive approach to interpersonal issues, loss, and desire that books written with a younger group of folks in mind tended to have. Because You'll Never Meet Me by Leah Thomas had a lot to offer—the epistolary style worked well for it. (And, bonus, if you were a fan of Pacific Rim and the characters of Newton Geiszler and Hermann Gottleib… Well. You'll see certain delightful similarities.) I also enjoyed Christopher Barzak's rust-belt magic realism and queer coming of age in Wonders of the Invisible World. Leah Bobet, too, knocked it out of the park with Inheritance of Ashes—that was one of my favorite books of the year, hands-down, for how it treats relationships. Plus, it has a really delightful plot and approach to the magic/science question.

Otherwise, I caught up on some short fiction recently. The new Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy series appears to be off to a strong start; I also read a few collections, like Kelly Link's Get in Trouble, that I very much enjoyed. I intend to get back into reading the short stuff more again, having finished teaching. That'll eat up a lot of a person's free hours, when they're also working a full-time position too like I have been.

As for other media, the conclusion of Hannibal—which I wrote about here last year—was everything I could have dreamt up. It is a tragic and awful love-song of the highest order, and the primary couples in the end are all queer, so: take that, network television. Beautiful and terrible, this show. I'm a bit sad to see it go, but the ending was exactly right. I also took a great and amount of—very different—pleasure in Mad Max: Fury Road, for its treatment of women and violence and relationships. Plus, it was the car-chase-desert-war-metalcore-thrash-fest movie of my best hopes. Sometimes, that's all I need.

Music was, to be honest, more of the same: still stuck on The Wonder Years and trying to piece together a path through to the other side. I saw them perform live in Chicago, and that was truly a pleasurable experience; moreso than the first time I saw them, last year in Cincinnati. I'm looking forward to the forthcoming Brand New album as well—but that'll be for next year.

Best wishes for all the readers and listeners and watchers out there: see you again next time.

Brit Mandelo  is a writer, critic, and editor. She has been a nominee for various awards in the past, including the Nebula, Lambda, and Hugo; her work has been published in magazines such as Clarkesworld, Tor.com, Stone Telling, Apex, and Ideomancer. She has published two books, Beyond Binary: Genderqueer and Sexually Fluid Speculative Fiction (Lethe Press, 2012) and We Wuz Pushed: On Joanna Russ and Radical Truth-Telling (in Aqueduct's Conversation Pieces series).

The Pleasures of Reading, Viewing, and Listening in 2014, part 8: Brit Mandelo

The Pleasures of Reading, Viewing, and Listening in 2014
 by Brit Mandelo 

This was a strange year, from my end of things—moving countries, completing a Master's program in the UK, working through a lot of personal and professional issues. Consequently, I didn't consume as much text as I would have liked; certainly not as much as usual. But there were some things that stood out (or re-stood-out) to me along the way.

·         The Red Tree and The Drowning Girl by Caitlin R. Kiernan

I'm sure that I've mentioned these in past roundups, but I re-read them in pursuit of writing a graduate thesis and they're still absolutely stunning, particularly as a pair of twinned narratives that deal with similar issues in different ways. Reading them as a duet is revealing and provocative, and I'd highly recommend giving them another go for anyone who's already read them once.

·         Rhapsody: Notes on Strange Fictions by Hal Duncan

Duncan's work on "the genre" is likely one of the best, most thorough and well-argued I've read to
date. It's delightfully dense, smart, and useful; it's the sort of text I'd teach with, were I intending to explore the nature of the "strange" or speculative genres. He's a clever one, he is. I also like how this book speaks to ideas about being somehow more progressive because of being a "nerd," near the end, and addresses that for the fallacy it is.

·         Hild by Nicola Griffith

           

A rich, sprawling historical queer novel that I wouldn't have expected to be so enamored by – I could probably count on one hand the number of historical novels I've loved – but that was undeniably great. Griffith, of course, is a familiar name for sf readers; I'm pleased to say that her work here is just as controlled, compelling, and insightful as always.

           

·         Affinity by Sarah Waters

Another well-known name, and in this case an older book: it's about spiritualism and lesbians and women's prisons. So, again, a historical novel – maybe I'm developing a taste? – and one that has a dark romance at the center of it, all bound up in the restrictions and demands of a not-so-far-away past. I thought it was a fast read, well-researched and well-illustrated, and emotionally intriguing.

           

·         The Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison

I don't feel like it would be an exaggeration at all to call this one of the best stand-alone second world fantasy novels I've ever read. It's compact, it's full of quiet but intense personal drama and court politics, and it would certainly appeal to the sort of readers who have loved books like Swordspoint in the past. (It's also the first original novel from Sarah Monette in a long while, and it shows a great deal of development in craft and technique.)

·         Hannibal

I do watch television sometimes, and while I know I'm significantly behind the pack on this one, I picked up Hannibal in the UK to pass the time. Somewhat inevitably, I found it breathlessly compelling and handsome. The complex male relationships, bridging a difficult and submerged sensuality, are intense and intensely realized; there are also several revisions to the cast from the base texts to include more women and people of color. (The director was also quite direct about refusing to portray crimes of rape or sexual violence in the show, which is – refreshing.) And did I mention it's handsome? Because the scene setting, direction, and artful horror of it all are truly stunning.

·         The Upsides and Suburbia I've Given You All and Now I'm Nothing by The Wonder Years

It's only half of a joke that I'm in a place in my life where most of the music that appeals to me is probably intended for teenage and/or early-20-something boys. In this case, I've picked up a strong attachment to these two albums by The Wonder Years, a positivist pop-punk band. The first deals primarily with what it's like to be finishing an undergraduate degree and trying to make sense of the perils of growing up; the second is "set" a few years down the road and deals with being in your mid-twenties and not entirely sure how the fuck to survive all of the upheaval in your life. Honestly, if you're going through a rough patch, I couldn't recommend this stuff more. I'd strongly point to the songs "It's Never Sunny in South Philadelpia" and "Came Out Swinging."

·         I Don't Know What I'm Doing by Brad Sucks

This album is a strange one: it's the sort of thing that'll bring you to its emotional level, whether that's good or bad. If you're down, it'll pull you up a little – songs like "Overreacting" are particularly approachable – but if you're up, it'll probably just mellow you out (more than you might like). Regardless, I've found it calming and charming, a little odd but a lot soothing.

And that's more or less what I've been doing: trying to get things back together, stealing a little time where I can for things I like, doing the best I can. The music is good for that; so are the books; and a little television is a good distraction from the rest. 2014 has been a rough one, but it's going to get better, and some of this stuff has helped get me through. I recommend it all.

Brit Mandelo  is a writer, critic, and editor. She has been a nominee for various awards in the past, including the Nebula, Lambda, and Hugo; her work has been published in magazines such as Clarkesworld, Tor.com, Stone Telling, Apex, and Ideomancer. She has published two books, Beyond Binary: Genderqueer and Sexually Fluid Speculative Fiction (Lethe Press, 2012) and We Wuz Pushed: On Joanna Russ and Radical Truth-Telling (in Aqueduct's Conversation Pieces series).

The Pleasures of Reading, Viewing, and Listening in 2013, pt.19: Brit Mandelo

Reading, Viewing, and Listening in 2013‏
by Brit Mandelo‏

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It has been a busy year, for me, and so I’ve had a bit less time for reading and listening than I’d like—but I have gotten around to some good stuff. In particular, I thought this was a strong year for new short story collections. Small Beer Press published the two-volume Ursula K. Le Guin retrospective The Unreal and the Real, while Christopher Barzak’s first collection Before and Afterlives came out from Lethe Press. All three were strong showings—good portraits of the writers’ work, a pleasure to read, and full of complicated, intimate stories.‏

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There were a couple of new novels that I found pleasant, as well. The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman was a short, dense, interesting distillation of Gaiman’s storytelling habits from across his career in one place—lyrical, eerie, and deeply imbricated with myth. Then there was Blood Oranges by Kathleen Tierney (a.k.a. Caitlin R. Kiernan), a completely different kind of book: this one a pastiche of the urban fantasy genre, witty and sharp and hugely fun. Kiernan manages to tell a solid, engaging romp of a story while simultaneously doing the meta- work of commentary and parody; great stuff.‏

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I also read, for the first time, Chris Moriarty’s (now-finished) Spin trilogy. These books are a great example of what science fiction can do with issues of gender, embodiment, and sexuality—while also telling far-flung, technological mystery stories full of political and cultural intrigue. I was particularly fond of Spin Control, the second book, but all three were crunchy thoughtful reads that also kept me turning pages voraciously. I can’t wait to see more of Moriarty’s work in the future—she’s blazingly clever and very engaged with the complexities of her work.‏

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In the nonfiction realm, the recently-released Wonderbook by Jeff VanderMeer is probably one of the best and most structurally conducive books on writing and creative production I’ve ever read. It’s multimodal, funny, and well-informed; the art is awesome and functional, while the technical prose is illuminating. I’ve also been reading the works of J. Jack Halberstam, a critic and academic writing on issues of gender, trans* identities, and cultural politics. Female Masculinity from 1998 is a prescient study of alternative masculinities, subcultures, and the ways in which non-dominant masculinities work discursively. It is a very 1998 book in some ways, though; this is why the 2005 book In a Queer Time and Place: Transgender Bodies, Subcultural Lives is a great follow-up. The idea of genderqueer identity comes up in this book, offering bridges between trans-masculine identities and the “butch” identities of people who still identify as women but have a complex relation to the middle spaces between binary genders. I’m partway through Halberstam’s newest book, The Queer Art of Failure, and it’s proving just as intriguing and provocative. ‏

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As for other cultural productions, I’ve listened to a couple of albums this year that are new to me (though probably not to the rest of the planet) and stuck with me—particularly through a difficult move to another country—like Brand New’s The Devil and God are Raging Inside Me and The Tallest Man on Earth’s Sometimes the Blues is Just a Passing Bird. Though I would hardly argue that Brand New’s music is unproblematic, this 2006 album has a sort of emotional density that I appreciate; the explorations of masculinity, loss, and anxiety here are something I find particularly evocative. Sometimes the Blues…, from 2010, has a soothing, folkish sound that I also enjoyed—I’ll likely check out further music from the artist in the future.‏

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So, all in all, 2013 was a decent year for reading, viewing, and listening. I hope that next year, I have a time for a little more of each.‏

Brit Mandelo  is a writer, critic, and editor whose primary fields of interest are speculative fiction, feminism, and queer literature, especially when the three coincide. Her work—fiction, nonfiction, poetry: she wears a lot of hats—has been featured in magazines such as Clarkesworld, Tor.com, and Ideomancer. She is an editor for Strange Horizons. She also writes regularly for Tor.com and has several column series there, including "Queering SFF" and the ongoing "Reading Joanna Russ," which explores Russ's oeuvre book-by-book. She edited Beyond Binary: Genderqueer and Sexually Fluid Speculative Fiction (Lethe Press, 2012). Aqueduct published her long essay, We Wuz Pushed: On Joanna Russ and Radical Truth-Telling in the Conversation Pieces series in 2013.

The Pleasures of Reading, Viewing, and Listening in 2012, pt.9: Brit Mandelo

The Pleasures of Reading, Viewing, and Listening in 2012 
by Brit Mandelo

This hasn't been the most productive reading year for me—there's a huge pile of 2012 books I haven't made it to yet!—but there were certainly standouts in fiction and nonfiction both. The best novel I read this year, far and above all else, was The Drowning Girl: A Memoir by Caitlin R. Kiernan. The prose is stunning, the characters are rich and real, and the narrative is, quite literally, haunting. It's also full of women, and explores a great deal of complicated territory around identity, subjectivity, and the stories that we tell ourselves to survive. And, speaking of stories for survival, The Moment of Change ed. by Rose Lemberg was my favorite poetry publication in 2012—a collection of feminist speculative work that spoke intensely and intimately of all sorts of struggles and acts of survival, Lemberg's book was a real pleasure. I also had a chance to re-read Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinberg, which remains as wrenching and honest as ever, and to read for the first time Sarah Waters's Tipping the Velvet, which I found to be an engaging, handsomely written historical romp. I can see why folks had been recommending it to me for years; it's doing some interesting things with turn-of-the-century lesbian experience, romance, and women's rights.

As for other things that were fun, I enjoyed the X-Files-inspired action and intrigue of Malinda Lo's Adaptation, though it had its flaws. Galatea 2.2 by Richard Powers, too, was an intriguing novel (with flaws) that nonetheless impressed and engaged me throughout. Last but not least: it feels a bit like cheating to mention a story from Strange Horizons, but regardless of potential conflict-of-interest, "The Grinnell Method" by Molly Gloss was one of the best short stories I had the pleasure of reading in 2012—I continue to be thrilled that we had the chance to publish it.

Of course, there was nonfiction, too. My favorite this year was the inimitable Kate Bornstein and S. Bear Bergman's anthology, Gender Outlaws: The Next Generation. It's no exaggeration to say that it made me cry, and rage, and laugh. There aren't enough genderqueer and trans* voices out there, speaking to experiences of life and self that are valuable and too-often hidden—this book does some great work to even that deficit out a little. (The short comic, "transcension," hit me particularly and personally hard.) The newest Alison Bechdel came out this year, too, and Are You My Mother? was exactly what I had hoped it would be. I read it twice, back to back, to get a fuller sense of the piece. The interwoven stories of mothers, children, and psychology in this autobiographical graphic novel are often breath-taking and always emotionally effective.

I also finally read James Tiptree, Jr.: The Double Life of Alice B. Sheldon by Julie Phillips, and though I don't tend to be much on biographies, this one is well-researched and written with attractive, engaging prose in a way that seems rare in the genre. The portrait of Alice Sheldon/James Tiptree Jr.'s life that comes out of this book continues to be fascinating and somewhat haunting, and it also brings to light a particular section of American history in a personal way. On that note, I also re-read (again) The Country You Have Never Seen by Joanna Russ—another book that paints a picture, this one of the genre, in the form of her collected reviews, letters, and essays. I regularly re-read this one; I love it, and it's always as good as it was the time before.

There was also some harder to classify (but still cool) stuff, like Does Writing Have a Future? by Vilem Flusser, a weird polemical book. However, for folks interested in speculation about writing, technology, and language, it's provocative fun. He's not necessarily "right" or "accurate," but he's saying some fascinatingly odd things. Also, The Ultimate Guide to Kink: BDSM, Roleplay, and the Erotic Edge edited by Tristan Taormino is a nicely intersectional, well-researched, playful anthology of essays and other writings on kink—probably the best guide out there for the curious and for the old-hats, as of now.

On the visual media front, I didn't consume much TV that blew me away this year. Mostly, I spent an absurd amount of time watching cartoons like Adventure Time, Regular Show, and Scooby Doo: Mystery Incorporated. All three strike me as a return to the batshit-weird style of 1990s cartoons, so it's no surprise I genuinely enjoy them. Adventure Time, as it builds its post-apocalyptic universe full of strange magic and discomfiting history, has a subtle kind of weirdness going on—but, their world is still our world post-magical/nuclear apocalypse, which a few of the characters lived through but only one (?) remembers. Also, Natasha Allegri is a delightful artist, and I love her work on the show. (The Sailor Moon references and the gender-swap fanfiction episode were pretty awesome.) Regular Show, on the other hand, is about being a failure in your twenties and seems to be actually set in the '90s; I'm not sure what the hell kids get out of the show, but I'm enjoying it. I've written about the new Scooby Doo series before, but it's worth noting again that it's composed almost entirely of allusions and asides toward pop culture—like, H. P. Lovecraft is a reoccurring character, and Harlan Ellison shows up once voiced by his actual self. The Shining, Werner Herzog; you name it, it's there. Also, there's an overarching supernatural plot!

As for adult shows, I re-watched seasons 3 and 4 of The X-Files over the summer. I'm sure I've mentioned (note Adaptation, above) how I feel about The X-Files: in short, I'm a pretty big fan. It's a pleasure to revisit the world of Mulder and Scully, relive their adventures and failures, et cetera. I'm glad Netflix has it, so I can do this rewatch—fun stuff. I intend to keep watching it over the summer of 2013. Also, I'm one of those folks who loved Sherlock, despite its problems. The show is visually stunning, emotionally provocative, narratively satisfying, and did I mention visually stunning? I particularly enjoy the play with sexuality and categories of sexuality—I know this is a touchy topic, but I don't think the show had a lesbian fall for a magical straight guy; I read that scene, considering Freeman's dialogue, to be about the instability of affectional categories—and the complicated relationship between Sherlock and John. I don't expect everyone to be able to look past the aforementioned problems, but I think it's sharp and wonderful.

Some movies I enjoyed, either because they were fun or moving or silly or provocative, are, respectively: Skyfall, Pariah, Dark Shadows, and Frozen River. James Bond is James Bond, and though it did have one of those queer!sociopath!villains, it also gave Craig's Bond the ability to acknowledge his own (potential) queerness in a sexy one-liner, which I found pretty awesome. Pariah is a quiet movie about a young black lesbian's coming-out experiences that does a lot of good work with subjectivity, gender, and culture. Dark Shadows was just silly good fun for a fan of the old show; it was what I wanted it to be and nothing more. Frozen River, though, is a serious picture: a story about women building alternative families together across race and culture in the frozen north, during a hard winter. Strong stuff.

Music-wise, I have a tendency to linger around albums that I'm fond of—it's been a great year for Mastodon's Crack the Skye, much like last year and the one before that—but this time around, there were a few new things that caught my ear. Mother Mother—consisting of Ryan Guldemond on guitar and vocals, Molly Guldemond on vocals and keyboard, Jasmin Parkin on keyboard and vocals, Ali Siadat on drums, and Jeremy Page on bass—have an upbeat and deviously playful sound wrapping around sharp (and often satisfyingly angry) lyrics. Try out "The Stand" or "Wrecking Ball" for a taste, or albums O My Heart and Eureka. Shamefully, I haven’t had a chance to pick up their newest offering. Another new artist that I've stumbled on (thanks to my partner, in this case) is Aesop Rock, and I know I'm late to the party. His voice is handsome and his delivery is spectacular; there's poetry in these tracks. I've been enjoying None Shall Pass, and I'm looking forward to delving into the rest of his discography.

So, it's been one of those hectic years. I haven't read nearly as many books as I wish I could have, and there's a lot left on the pile for 2013. However, I did have plenty of chances to talk about books I liked throughout the year, and I look forward to having a chance to do more reading in the coming months. In fact, I'm just now digging into Small Beer Press's two-volume Le Guin collection, The Unreal and the Real; so far, so great!

Brit Mandelo  is a writer, critic, and editor whose primary fields of interest are speculative fiction, feminism, and queer literature, especially when the three coincide. Her work—fiction, nonfiction, poetry: she wears a lot of hats—has been featured in magazines such as Clarkesworld, Tor.com, and Ideomancer. She is an editor for Strange Horizons. She also writes regularly for Tor.com and has several column series there, including "Queering SFF" and the ongoing "Reading Joanna Russ," which explores Russ's oeuvre book-by-book. She edited Beyond Binary: Genderqueer and Sexually Fluid Speculative Fiction (Lethe Press, 2012). Aqueduct published her long essay, We Wuz Pushed: On Joanna Russ and Radical Truth-Telling in the Conversation Pieces series earlier this year.