Hazel

Midcentury british lit is nuts because on top of whatever odd social situations play out, they keep offhandedly bringing up the ominous yellow fog that kills hundreds of people every day

I listen to a podcast called Wizards Vs. Lesbians which gave this book their prestigious Valhalla Award for Scrappiest Little Weirdo, and yeah it sure is that!!!

Always funny to walk away mildly underwhelmed from a text that was deeply scandalous when first published. It's also worth noting that critics of the era took the greatest offense at the (very brief!) implication of fluidity and transformation of sex, a neurosis of the British psyche which persists to this day.

Delaney really used his crystal ball to write a response to The Dispossessed about 4chan HSTS incels, huh. I can't imagine Triton was possibly received well at the time, it's an intentionally frustrating book, but I also found it hilarious. Give this to the tgirl or repressor in your life with with the biggest stick up her ass and just let things play out from there.

In contrast to The Exile and the Sorcerer, this book definitely feels like the two back-to-back stories that it is. The first is great and the second is a bit shaky at its foundations. I could snark about how of course the British Steerswomen equivalent hinges on censorship and immutable class, or roll my eyes at the more new-agey aspects of the setting's magic, but all in all it's pretty dang readable. Barbarian-librarian F/F with secular humanist convictions is hard to beat as a microgenre!

oh cosey mo I feel your pain

_

A feature-length Nick Cave song through and through. This didn't entirely work for me, but there's still plenty of neat moments and prose peppered throughout. Really does feel like wading through a sticky and filthy swamp.

Perhaps the greatest work of haterism ever written.

Turn-of-the-millennia lesbian fantasy pulp that's so turn-of-the-millennia lesbian fantasy pulp that it actually started life as a Xena fic. It manages to punch above its weight almost everywhere though. I was recommended this book on the basis that it possessed shades of Steerswoman, and while it's not as deliberate in its construction it does tickle a lot of the same parts of my brain with how the protagonist comes to make assumptions about the setting. Also a delightfully harrowing depiction of internalized gay shame, that somehow manages to be played for rom-com fluff later on.

Wondrous stuff. I can't even rank my enjoyment of the Steerswoman books relative to one another because they've all got unique strengths and absolutely delicious payoffs that expand the scope and scale of the setting in ways you couldn't have possibly guessed going in. They're also a wellspring of gender for me, especially this one. I will not elaborate on that in an attempt to get you to find out for yourself.

I know that Rosemary Kirstein wears a Steerswoman's ring, which is good because I've got QUESTIONS. And I wish her the best of luck with finishing the series!