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The Perfect Sapphic September Read: The Adult by Bronwyn Fischer 

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The moody, fraught, and atmospheric energy of Bronwyn Fischer’s novel The Adult (Random House, 2023) is the perfect September read that reflects the joy and the chaos of a new academic year! 

The Adult follows Natalie, an eighteen-year-old student who has just arrived in Toronto to begin her first year of university. Moving from her remote, rural hometown to a bustling city is destabilizing to say the least, and on top of it all everyone around her seems to fit in perfectly, while Natalie always stands apart. From the beginning of the novel, we can tell that Natalie is searching for an identity—for the exact code that will allow her to effortlessly blend into her new life without all the sharp edges she can’t seem to stop running into. She studies her would-be friends, searches online, and spends most of her time contemplating just how apart she feels from everyone else. 

Enter Nora, an older, mysterious woman who suddenly takes an interest in Natalie after a chance meeting. As Natalie is drawn further and further into Nora’s life—and into her intense, all-consuming feelings for the other woman—she wonders if this relationship contains the answers she’s been searching for. However, because Natalie fears how her friends will react to her relationship with an older woman, she quickly begins to lead a kind of double life while attempting to keep her time with Nora separate and sacred. But eventually, Natalie must reckon with the discovery that Nora is not all that she seems, and that the secrets she keeps could have devastating consequences for Natalie’s life. 

The Adult is a fabulously literary lesbian novel all about coming of age and coming out. In many ways, it’s easy to sympathize with Natalie’s insecurity and her desperation to fit into a world that seems to fast-paced and unfamiliar. We spend so much of this novel deep inside Natalie’s head, privy to her cyclical thoughts, her fears and anxieties, and her overwhelming obsession with Nora—an obsession that is made worse by Nora’s unclear feelings. It’s impossible not to find this novel immersive and captivating. 

While the plot of this novel is slow to unfold and the text is driven forward by the characters, I still found myself unable to put it down. Fischer’s writing carefully unveils the intricacies—and inconsistencies—of Nora’s life, which left me desperate to uncover (as Natalie eventually is) what all of the clues meant. It was fascinating the way Fischer played with readers’ expectations and then subverted or denied them at every turn. While the end wasn’t a huge surprise to me, I’m not sure it’s intended to be. Instead, it seems that what Fischer really wants to focus on in Natalie’s response to and growth from her relationship with Nora. I loved the way this novel was woven together. In some ways, it really did keep me guessing until the very end. 

There are certain plot twists I wasn’t overly captivated or convinced by, and I wasn’t sure how to handle them as a reader—especially when Natalie’s character struggles to cope effectively with anything. The twist I’m thinking of definitely added some intensity and urgency to the novel, but that could have been accomplished more effectively in other ways, I think. 

Overall, I very much enjoyed The Adult and I think it’s an excellent novel to read for fall! 

Please put The Adult  on your TBR on Goodreads.  

Rachel Friars is a writer and academic living in Canada, dividing her time between Ontario and New Brunswick. When she’s not writing short fiction, she’s reading every lesbian novel she can find. Rachel holds two degrees in English literature and is currently pursuing a PhD in nineteenth-century lesbian literature and history. 

You can find Rachel on Twitter @RachelMFriars or on Goodreads @Rachel Friars. 

Shakespeare, Fae, and Orisha: That Self-Same Metal by Brittany N. Williams

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the cover of That Self-Same Metal by Brittany N. Williams

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At the age of sixteen, Joan Sands possesses exceptional craftsmanship skills that she employs to create and maintain the stage blades for The King’s Men, a theatrical troupe led by William Shakespeare. Joan’s remarkable blade-crafting ability is rooted in her magical power to manipulate metal, bestowed upon her by her guiding deity, the head Orisha, Ogun. Hailing from a family blessed by Orishas, the Sands have always been attuned to the presence of Fae in London.

Normally, this awareness entails little more than observing the subtle luminance enveloping the Fae as they attempt to assimilate into London’s social fabric. However, recently, there has been a noticeable rise in violent Fae assaults. When Joan injures a formidable Fae assailant and rescues a nobleman’s son in the process, she becomes entangled in the intricate web of political machinations spanning both the human and Fae realms.

This is a captivating story! Joan’s journey is portrayed with such depth and authenticity that she feels like a genuine person, navigating the complexities of being forced to grow up too soon while still grappling with relatable teenage experiences. Joan’s confidence in her bisexuality, coupled with her witty humor about her romantic encounters, adds a layer of realism that’s both endearing and relatable. In avoiding making Joan’s sexuality a central point of conflict, the author’s depiction of her as a casually queer person is remarkably refreshing. The near absence of queerphobia is a commendable aspect of the book. Rather than being related to her sexuality as a whole, Joan’s central romantic conflict involving her strong feelings for two people at once, which brings a rich complexity to her character, as she grapples with matters of the heart.

Similarly, while Joan’s Blackness is not used as a central conflict point, this book deftly addresses complex issues of race and class. Joan and her family are accepted within their immediate circle, but the author skillfully exposes the insidious racism perpetuated by the upper classes. The narrative masterfully highlights the disturbing tendency toward fetishization, as well as the harmful notion of there being a “correct” mold for a Black person. By shedding light on these often-overlooked aspects, the book invites readers to confront uncomfortable truths.

Finally, the portrayal of the Fae lore is a standout feature of this novel. Rather than the typical romanticized depiction, the Fae are presented as gritty, malevolent creatures, much more in keeping with their mythological depictions. The exploration of their darker aspects adds an intriguing layer of tension and suspense to the narrative. Similarly, the incorporation of Orisha into the story is a brilliant addition that sets this book apart. It’s refreshing to see the inclusion of elements from a lesser-explored mythology, and I’m eager to learn more about Orisha in the upcoming sequel.

All in all, this novel successfully weaves together multifaceted characters, captivating Fae lore, and unique mythological influences, creating an immersive and unforgettable reading experience. I am greatly looking forward to what the author has in store for us in the sequel!

Content warnings: racism, sexism, murder, dismemberment, blood, some gore.

How to Use Time Travel to Explore Your Sexuality: Pride and Prejudice and Pittsburgh by Rachael Lippincott

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Pride and Prejudice and Pittsburgh by Rachael Lippincott begins with two women, both of whom find themselves quite lost in life. Audrey Campbell lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania in the year 2023, and a recent breakup and loss of her artistic spark has left her floundering, with no clear path to the future she’s dreamed of. Lucy Sinclair, who lives in Radcliffe—her family’s estate in England—in the year 1812, is being pressured into a marriage with a rather unpleasant man, for her father’s financial benefit. Neither woman is happy with their lot, but have settled into a sort of familiarity with the unhappiness, unsure of how they could possibly improve their situations. 

This is where time travel comes in. 

Audrey finds herself thrust back in time to 1812, crash landing in her work clothes (or as Lucy calls them, her “undergarments”) in the yard behind Radcliffe. Lucy quickly agrees to help Audrey, seeing this as a last adventure before she finds herself chained to a man she despises—an excuse to do the things she has been denying herself. The two women’s stories form a double ticking clock, as the pair realize that Audrey has a limited amount of time to figure out how and why she was sent back, and Lucy has a limited amount of freedom left before her inevitable engagement and marriage. 

The relationship between the two leads is strongly written and convincing, especially as it deepens into friendship and beyond. The two women do not initially have much attachment to each other beyond chance, but their shared attempts to acclimatize Audrey to the world of 1812 and to solve the mystery of her traveling there develop a bond, as well as a mutual attraction. There are also several quite enjoyable “red herring” romantic interests, as both female leads begin the story believing themselves to be heterosexual. These characters serve plot and character excellently, driving the story forward and helping to confuse and inform the leads as they come to terms with their sexualities. 

Pride and Prejudice and Pittsburgh is a sapphic romance, so queerness is readily apparent. The two women share a denial of their attraction to each other, both accepting that their feelings for women step beyond platonic during the course of the story. Audrey is bisexual, though has been denying herself for years, not feeling valid in that identity while she was in a relationship with a man. Lucy is never labeled, but does note that she has never felt drawn to any man that has been put before her. Both have been shoved into a heteronormative box by the men in their lives. Lucy, by her domineering father, and Audrey, by her notably less malicious but still heteronormative ex-boyfriend. The story of these characters breaking out of this box nicely mirrors the path of the story as a whole, as they break out of the mediocrity they have both settled into. 

While the story of Pride and Prejudice and Pittsburgh does many things well, there are some small flaws that prevent it from reaching greater heights. The premise is fun and well executed, but the story beats don’t do much to elevate themselves above other queer romance stories. The villains, Lucy’s father and the man he intends her to marry, are very one-note and exaggerated, caricatures of the misogynistic nobleman of the time period. While it makes sense that the story only has so much time to spend, and chooses to explore and develop the protagonists, it is unfortunate that the villains are so lacking in complexity. 

All in all, Pride and Prejudice and Pittsburgh is a rather good story. The protagonists and side characters are interesting and well developed, and the setting is fun to explore and serves its purpose. Though the villains are not as interesting, they don’t detract significantly from a story that is well worth the read. 

A Celebration of Unlikable Women: Difficult Women by Roxane Gay

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This is a fascinating collection of stories about messy, flawed people. This book definitely challenged me to think about how I “relate” to characters that are not meant to be particularly good people. Specifically, women who aren’t written as likable.

The women in these stories aren’t broken down into simple saints and sinners. They’re just imperfect human beings. No one is good or bad, they are just, as Eleanor Shellstrop would put it, medium people. I appreciated the boundaries Gay pushes in how we think and relate to women and female characters.

In “Water, All Its Weight,” the story follows a woman named Bianca who at first appearance seems what the world considers normal. Soon though, it showcases her life unfolding with a series of rain clouds and water spots that appear to follow her everywhere. This metaphor shows how depression and mental illness make a woman hard to deal with.

The titular story “Difficult Women” takes on a taxonomical approach. Gay lays out the various types of difficult women that exist, from Loose Women and who they look up to — “never her mother” — to Frigid Women and how they became that way. Each category unveils the constant impossible dichotomies expected of women.

“Baby Arm,” tells the story of a woman who seems to take joy and pleasure out of pain, a topic often considered taboo. But Gay tells it in such a mundane way, it makes scenes like rough sex and fight club sound like a Tuesday night grocery run. What’s most interesting though is that the main character never reveals her name, but her two lovers, a man named Gus and a woman named Tate, do. There’s a sort of self-dehumanization that happens with a character who gets off on violence and inappropriate behavior.

In a collection of stories about women told from the perspective of women characters, “Requiem for a Heart” stands out. It’s the story of a stone thrower who takes on a glass wife and has glass children. Everything about their lives is told from his perspective, emphasizing how the male gaze often shapes the narrative of a woman’s life. In this story, the stone thrower is also portrayed as having a mistress, a flesh and blood woman who he handles more recklessly. Although he loves his glass wife, with her he has to be more careful and sees everything. It shows how no matter how “perfect” a woman may be, she will still be held responsible for his careless behavior, as it’s this perceived fragility that makes the man turn his desires toward another.

Not every story in this collection features sapphic or queer characters, but several do. Although, it’s hard to say when none of the characters ever plainly state their sexuality, as that is not the point in these stories. But even when it’s not the focus, there are hints of sapphic desire from a few of the women in these stories, like in “In the Event of My Father’s Death,” where the main character shows admiration for her father’s mistress.

Gay knows how to weave metaphors in a fantastical way that never feels magical or paranormal, but the imagery certainly dips into the genre of speculative fiction. She goes back and forth between subtle moments that make you dig for the message and blatantly shouts, “Yes, this is a feminist story!”

If you’re interested in more of Roxane Gay’s writing, you can also check out Danika’s review and my review of her memoir Hunger: A Memoir of (My) Body.

A Queer Indigenous Fantasy with Dragons: To Shape a Dragon’s Breath by Moniquill Blackgoose

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The people on the remote island of Masquapaug have lived out of the eye of the colonizers, the Anglish, for many years. That is, until fifteen-year-old Anequs is selected by a dragon hatchling, quickly gaining the ire of the Anglish authorities who have strict parameters around who and how someone might possess a dragon. Anequs and the newly-hatched Kasaqua are allowed to attend a proper Anglish dragon school, but if she cannot pass their courses and fit into Anglish society, then Kasaqua will be put to death.

Moniquill Blackgoose has created such a rich, detailed book here. It’s fun to find glimmers of real facts in her work, but she has woven so many different myths, histories, and ideas together that it feels tangibly distinct as its own world. What I enjoyed most is how much of this book is rooted in joy and community. The Anglish society is ruled by racism, sexism, homophobia, and ableism, but Anequs and her friends find ways to embrace who they are. The story is a celebration of the ways in which they differ from the expectations of the Anglish society and why those differences are worth preserving.

In addition, it’s refreshing to have a book about teens treat romantic relationships with such maturity and care. Without spoiling anything, Anequs’s romances include different people of different genders, but her relationships are not about a competition of who will win her affections as much as an examination of the Anglish society’s heteronormative expectations. The possible love interests are treated with serious consideration and are fairly well-developed in their own right, considering how much is packed into this story. 

It’s a fantasy novel with a lot to say. That said, the book’s richness does slow things down. This is a story that’s interested in setting up systemic constructs so that they can be challenged later, and that sometimes means delving into dense histories or a highly technical magic system. These scenes feel intentional in how they parallel Anequs herself learning this curriculum with so little support from the school, but they weren’t as interesting to me as seeing Anequs interact with the world itself.

Overall, this book feels like a love letter to those looking for a magical school story that cares about representing a broader range of people. It’s a very promising start to a series and I will be checking out the next one.

Trigger warnings: racism, homophobia, violence, ableism, references to genocide

What is “Queer Enough?”: Greedy: Notes from a Bisexual Who Wants Too Much by Jen Winston

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In their book of essays, Jen Winston (she/they) covers various topics about her bisexual experience, from the adoption of random behaviors as “bisexual culture” out of a desperation to be seen to the grief of friendships evolving when your best friend becomes a “we.”

Winston talks through internalized biphobia and not feeling queer enough to be part of the LGBTQIA+ community. Throughout her journey of accepting her bisexuality, they learn that it’s not just an identity, but rather a lens through which to reimagine the world. This speaks to the idea that one’s sexual orientation is about more than just sex. It’s about breaking systems that hold us down and don’t allow us to demand what we deserve.

A few essays, especially toward the end of the collection, begin to show Winston’s journey through gender identity as well. She comes to the realization that much of her identity in womanhood is performative and created based on patriarchal values. Accepting their bisexuality led to an understanding of their gender being on the nonbinary spectrum.

BEGINNING OF TRIGGER WARNING: RAPE AND SEXUAL ASSAULT

Winston also opens up about instances of rape and sexual assault in essays like “A Girl Called Rhonda,” “The Power Dynamic” and “The Neon Sweater.” She goes into quite a bit of detail about the events, working through the question that many who experience assault do: Is this really rape? The lines of consent feel blurred in different situations because of social conditioning that tells women not to make a fuss. They even discuss how active, verbal consent isn’t nuanced enough because everybody reacts differently to different situations. Not saying no doesn’t mean it’s a yes.

END OF TRIGGER WARNING

One of the most fun essays was a piece written in the fairytale format. Winston tells the story of being attracted to emotionally unavailable men, an issue that stems from a culture of fairytales.

Overall, this is a funny, heart-wrenching and provocative collection of essays.

Rebel Lesbrarians in a Dystopian Western: Upright Women Wanted by Sarah Gailey

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I’m not sure when I bought the ebook for Upright Women Wanted. It was probably on sale, and when I heard that there were lesbians and rebel librarians in a western-themed dystopian setting, I guess I thought it was too good to pass up. Like most of my ebook purchases, it sat on my Kindle for an indeterminate amount of time, passed up by groups of library ebooks (that mostly also go unread), until I finally decided that I’d dallied long enough. I’d recently learned that Sarah Gailey is an excellent horror writer in Just Like Home, so it was stupid to keep procrastinating on a novella that so clearly fits my niche. My friends and gays, it is everything I could have wanted.

Our main character, Esther, has decided to escape the horrible fate that just befell her best friend: engaged to a man just as horrible and controlling as her father, hanged for possession of Unapproved Materials, the only relief being approved novels about queer women who die—and seeing that tragic ending made reality spurs her to hide in the back of the first wagon out of town: the librarians’ store wagon. Of course, the librarians are more than just meek women distributing state propaganda. Shockingly, people who dedicate their lives to the spread of information don’t like being told what information is and isn’t acceptable, and any profession that’s limited to one gender will attract plenty of queers.

One thing I appreciated about this novella is that Gailey uses a light touch with their worldbuilding, letting us fill in all the details. Despite the fact that the book opens on a hanging, there’s no real dwelling on excessive cruelty and pain. We know that Esther’s father was abusive and controlling, and the man he picked out to be her fiancé is probably just as bad. We know that there are strict gender roles, which is why Cye takes the time to put on a skirt any time they get close to town or approached by any potentially dangerous travelers. We don’t really need to know what the war is or what the state’s justifications are for it; it’s enough that there’s an excuse to ration supplies and set up checkpoints. We don’t need to see the minutiae of the world, because the details don’t really matter. Is the State run by an emperor? A president? What kind of history do they teach about how democracy fell and they got caught up in a seemingly endless war? I don’t really care. Considering how our politics are going, it’s believable enough that I don’t need elaboration. Besides, it doesn’t really matter to Esther anyway. She’s just trying to survive the next week and maybe get her life into a place that allows for some form of happiness.

I’d also be remiss not to mention the characters, because again, they felt perfectly crafted to my specific tastes. Bet and Leda are really my ideal couple dynamic—small hard angry lesbian with her big, soft wife who wears her heart on her sleeve (but who will still kill a man, like, don’t get me wrong: she will absolutely kill someone). I could collect them forever. And I appreciated that Cye was the right mix of gruff without being rude or unlikable. They won’t take any shit, but they aren’t unnecessarily mean, even when they think Esther is just going to be a waste of water in the desert. I also appreciated Esther herself and her emotional journey with self-acceptance. Much in the way that the narrative doesn’t dwell on society’s cruelty, Esther doesn’t dwell on self-hatred, even when she firmly believes that there’s something wrong with her. She’s very matter-of-fact, and manages to be a people pleaser without being self-detrimental. There are the perfect number of characters for this little novella, and they’re all given a chance to shine.

All in all, this is a perfect bite sized story that manages to blend the classic Western aesthetics with a queer speculative twist, and I only wish it was longer. There’s nothing in this story that feels stunted or left out, but I could easily see the characters and situation being worked into a larger story. Esther’s involvement feels like a piece of a larger narrative, one that she could easily be either an active, driving force in, or a side character offering support. I do love a good novella tie-in where side characters are given center stage, so I wouldn’t complain if we got a novel focused on new characters. However, it’s great for what it is, and I think a novella is really what I needed to read right now. I highly recommend it to anyone who wants a quick, satisfying story with just the right amount of everything.

A Wholesome and Messy Queer Romcom: Wild Things by Laura Kay

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Laura Kay could teach a masterclass on the low-key, wholesome, slightly messy queer rom com, as exemplified in her third novel, Wild Things. El is stuck in a rut, both personally and professionally. Still in her dead-end job at a London newspaper, she spends most of the workday making photocopies rather than researching stories, as the job had initially promised. Meanwhile, El’s roommate leaves passive-aggressive notes on the fridge while otherwise disregarding her existence. But worst of all, El harbors a gigantic, unrequited crush on Ray, her best friend of five years and also her coworker.

In an attempt to scoop herself out of said rut, El plots to do one “wild thing” each month for a year. In January, she drinks ten shots of tequila. In February, she gets a butterfly tattoo. In March, El experiments with MDMA. In April, she has a failed threesome. (You get the idea.) But when El, Ray, and their mutual friends Will and Jamie devise a plan to move to a fixer-upper farmhouse in the countryside, El finally begins to feel alive again. The catch: El must regulate her feelings for Ray now that they live (and work) in close proximity 24/7. Will she choose to protect their years-long friendship, or risk it all by spilling her feelings for Ray?

Wild Things is a friends-to-lovers romance, yes, but also a heartwarming exploration of found family. Kay breathes life into the book’s characters, all of whom are flawed and lovable and distinctly themselves. Ray, the effortlessly cool lesbian love interest, is spunky and enters every DIY farmhouse project with infectious enthusiasm. Will is the group’s token straight man, a sensitive soul leaning hard on his friends following a breakup with the woman who was supposed to have escaped to the countryside with him. Jamie is a Thai, biracial gay man who drags his friends to karaoke nights and forges a bond with the commune’s four chickens. It is impossible not to feel the love between this motley crew of friends, who simultaneously lift each other up and call each other out on their bullshit. Even minor characters (El’s queer mentee Rozália, the local townspeople, etc.) feel fully realized and essential to the plot, driving home the notion that family extends far beyond blood relations, that everyone has a place to belong. 

Recommended for fans of droll British humor, readers of In at the Deep End and Queenie, and watchers of Fleabag and Feel Good.

Content warnings: absent/distant parents, cheating (not related to main character)

A Dashing Lesbian Adventure in Fantasy Egypt: A Master of Djinn by P. Djéli Clark

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Sometimes when I’m reading/watching something, I think: what if this dashing, cavalier, risk-taking, slightly messy hero was a lesbian? Have you considered doing this exact story, literally nothing changed, except that instead of a vaguely scruffy man, this hero was a vaguely scruffy lesbian? I’m not the only one to think this, there’s plenty of art of Aragorn or Rick O’Connell as lesbians, but I had yet to come across a work of fiction where the lead adventurer was actually a lesbian…until now. In A Master of Djinn, Fatma el-Sha’arawi is the youngest woman at Cairo’s Ministry of Alchemy, Enchantments and Supernatural Entities, and yes: she’s gay (although she’s not a bit of a mess, she’s quite dapper, which is also acceptable).

I’ve always loved Egypt as a setting, especially if it’s slightly (or very) fantastical. Here, that fantastical element is central to the book, as it’s an alternate history where a mysterious man known only as al-Jahiz opened the door to the world of djinn and magic. I appreciated the timeline of this book, set around 40 years after this veil was pulled back. People have had a chance to get used to djinn and magic being part of the world, and there are understandably some changes with how life is lived, however there are still a lot of mysteries left to uncover about the various beings who now live among humans. It created a really interesting dynamic, where Fatma is simultaneously an expert (her job is to help understand and police all things magical, after all) and still learning about the magic that she encounters—meaning that the reader isn’t treated entirely to an exposition dump.

The setting and world building are not the only good things about this book, however! There are tons of interesting characters, both main ones and side ones, and their interactions are really the heart of this book. This is also a place where the narrator of the audiobook, Suehyla El-Attar, really shone, particularly with one character who was a teacher in Brooklyn and so speaks English with an American accent. I really enjoyed listening to this book, and definitely recommend it to anyone who likes audiobooks!

One downside, I will admit: this is much more of an action/adventure book than a mystery. I was able to figure out the big twist pretty early on, and I know some people don’t like that. It feels like a slight genre difference that threw some people off, so if you’re expecting a complicated Christie-like mystery, this isn’t the book for you. However, there was plenty of action to make up for the lack of mystery, and I thought it was a really fun read. And while this is the first full-length novel in this universe, there’s also a novella and two free short stories: “A Dead Djinn in Cairo” and “The Angel of Khan el-Khalili“. There’s plenty of world to explore and adventure to be had, and I can’t wait to see if he does anything else with the setting.

Queer Political Sci-Fi with a Gender Trinary: Provenance by Ann Leckie

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Ann Leckie is probably my favorite author. She writes excellent science fiction and fantasy, and her books are jam packed with incredible world building, a mixture of politics and action, and a heavy dose of gender fuckery. I cannot be normal about her books, and almost always go off the rails on a tangent. I’ll try my best to stay on track here. 

Provenance is in the same universe as the Imperial Radch trilogy, but it’s set on Hwae, a tiny system of just one planet and a handful of stations far outside of the Radch. It follows Ingray, an adopted daughter of a politician, who wants to prove herself as being more worthy than her brother to inherit their mother’s title. To do this, she breaks Pahlad Boudrakim, famous thief, out of prison, in the hopes that his stolen goods will give her mother enough power to defeat her political rival. But the person she springs from prison claims e isn’t Pahlad but instead adopts the name Garal Ket, the alien Geck claim that the ship they bought transport home on is stolen, and back home there are visitors from an expansionist system trying to prove their historic connections to Hwae in order to legitimize a potential invasion. Ingray finds herself at the center of a knot of politics, and that’s before the murder happens. 

The complicated politics which drive most of the plot of Provenance make it hard to talk about, because there are so many threads involved. But at its heart, Provenance is about how people form personal and political identities. Ingray is trying to solidify her connection to her mother, whom, as a child from a public creche, is the only family connection she has. Pahlad Boudrakim was sent to prison and declared legally dead for stealing vestiges that connected eir father’s family to a famous genocide, and replacing them with forgeries. Hwae itself relies on vestiges of its political independence to justify governmental legitimacy—vestiges which Garal claims are all forged. The central question of all the various political schemes is this: what makes someone who they are? What defines a Hwaean, or even a human? What if those definitions were proven to be fakes? Each character grapples with this in their own way.

But it wouldn’t be an Ann Leckie book without gender, so let’s take a detour into that! Hwae doesn’t have a gender binary, but rather a gender trinary, and children are all considered gender neutral until they choose a gender (man, woman, or niemann) and become an adult. But there are even exceptions to this trinary,  proving that three genders are not inherently better than two. Ingray has a childhood friend, Taucris, who only recently chose her adult gender—several years after most people, and even then only because she wanted to progress in her career rather than be a permanent intern. Still, she doesn’t seem particularly connected to her chosen gender, and is more interested in Ingray than womanhood itself. 

While Provenance is more of a political novel than anything else—there aren’t any epic space battles here—it is still more interesting than I’ve made it sound, I promise. Ingray is constantly uncovering new truths about her world and constantly pivoting to try and stay on top of each new situation. Whether she’s running out in the middle of the night to stop her brother from doing something foolish, helping a friend impersonate an alien ambassador, or hitting someone with a shoe, the book keeps you guessing with each new development. 

Overall, Provenance is a fun addition to the series, although it hasn’t become part of my soul in the same way the original trilogy has. I loved seeing the Radchaai ambassador from an outside perspective, as a fussy, incompetent embarrassment with a cartoon villain accent. There were some minor spoilers for the trilogy (and a whole lot of world building skimmed over—for how much discussion of Garseddai vestiges this book had there was none about Garsedd), so I would recommend reading them first, but I also proselytize Ancillary Justice at every opportunity, so I’m slightly biased there. But a slightly less exciting Ann Leckie book is still an Ann Leckie book, and still some of my favorite science fiction. I promise there’s action and excitement in this book, but the themes! The world building! The aliens! Please go read it. And then let me rant about it at you.