A few words on the end of grieving:
Yesterday I woke up happy and didn't think
about you until midnight.
This means my shrine is on fire.
Which is another kind of grief.
As if we said goodbye in my sleep.
— K. Iver, "April 25, 2020," in Short Film Starring My Beloved's Red Bronco
If you'd like to learn more about this book, I wrote about it for the Trans Rights Readathon.
"The uncritical repetition of half-truths by the press only reinforced my faith in the medium of fiction as the most honest investigative tool available to us," Askold Melnyczuk writes,
"because of all it does not claim for itself, as well as for the freedoms the genre grants. Fiction invites the writer to present an argument about causality. The only mysteries we're left with after finishing a novel are ones the writer has deliberately chosen not to resolve. Madame Bovary's suicide does not come as a shock; we know why Anna Karenina stepped in front of that train, no matter how much we hoped she would not."
— "Why My Favorite Characters to Write Are Often Unsympathetic and Unforgivable: Askold Melnyczuk on the Importance of Moral Complexity in Fiction," by Askold Melnyczuk, September 27, 2021.
