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Incredible.

We've read a number of books for #SFFBookClub that have a short story structure with interconnecting themes and worldbuilding (How High We Go in the Dark, and Under the Eye of the Big Bird) but In Universes is my clear favorite among all of these.

Structurally, this book is a series of short stories with a single point of view. Each story takes place in different adjacent-ish branching multiverses, some of which veer into more magical realism and externalized metaphors while others are more realistic. Thematically, this book is about dealing with internalized homophobia, trauma, depression and grief. But it's also about (queer) possibility and transformation and acceptance.

It's interesting to me just how many things I underlined (virtually) while reading this book. Delicious turns of phrase. Devastating sentences seemingly directly targeted at my feelings. Interconnecting thematic ideas everywhere. I found myself utterly engaged in its writing and imagery.

What is most striking about In Universes is that even when some chapters veer off in fantastical directions ("my mother is a horde of bees", "I am pregnant with an octopus", horse telepathy), there is such a coherent emotional progression for Raffi across the entire book. A lot of similarly structured books suffer from meandering too far afield with their ideas that they fail to come together, but In Universes feels so intentional with how it deploys its imagery and pacing. If anything, the final part of the book, consisting of a single chapter, resonates the strongest of all of them and I love the way it reprises the previous stories to bring everything together.

I was hooked from the start with Tchaikovsky's description of sending prisoners to Kiln as freeze-dried corpsicles that are reanimated on arrival. Actually doable? Actually money-saving? Hell if I know. Grabbed my attention.

Kiln has life. Not only does it have life, it has monuments built be an intelligent species, but there's no sign of them. That's a secret that was kept from Earth by it's rulers, the Mandate. Arton Daghdev, our protagonist is an unorthodox xenobiologist. A prisoners because of the unorthodoxy. But also he didn't know because it was kept so tightly secret. And the last part of of the premise is that there aren't exactly species on Kiln. The flora and fauna, such as they are, are more agglomerations of species with one purpose each: a stomach and an eye and a leg muscle get together to form a symbiotic creature. But they can all split up and form other creatures somehow.

So Arton is doing two things: trying to figure out what happened to the builders, and fighting the Mandate as its prisoner. He's got gallows humor in spades. He's also a somewhat unreliable narrator, though it's mostly lies by omission. The story drags in parts. When Arton merits extra punishment, he goes into overlong detail on that punishment. And lastly, the suspicious nature of a subjugated population is hammered home again and again. Yes, I get it that people, especially prisoners, are going to wonder who the snitches are. But by the 5th or 6th time Tchaikovsky and Daghdev go into it I was just wanted to move on.

But Tchaikovsky also ties it all together pretty nicely. The nature of life on Kiln is especially vexing for a totalitarian orthodoxy, and provides some distinct advantages when the conflict between them comes.

Half a star off because it does kind of drag in places.