Max McGuffin
It feels incredibly vulnerable to write this, but I need to share a piece of my soul. Living as a 26-year-old gay man in Georgia (the country), finding queer literature that speaks to my heart is almost impossible. It has been 10 long years since I last read a book cover-to-cover. So, picking up Jared Poon's City of Others was terrifying. English is my third language, and I won't lie, the advanced vocabulary had me reaching for a dictionary on almost every page. It was a genuine struggle to push through the complex words and bureaucratic metaphors, but the emotional payoff was so immense that I would read it all over again in a heartbeat.
This book didn't just entertain me; it read me. The way Poon writes about trauma and the need for control completely shattered me. I realized that, just like the characters, I have been a "Gardener" in my own life. I’ve taken all my past pain and built this heavy, rigid fortress in my soul just to survive. Because of my need for control, I realized I was constantly struggling to stop being "DKP Effect" (too involved/observant) to actually experience the "magic" of the mundane: the atom, the molecule, one drop of sand, even the beauty of the rock. I was so busy over-managing my trauma and bracing for the next disaster that I was entirely blind to the quiet miracles of just existing.
Poon captures this heavy burden of the past so beautifully. There is a quote that I had to read five times through my tears: "Memories are like water. They soak you, sometimes they drown you, but then they dribble away, evaporate, and are gone... No matter how similar it may look, it's a different water. It's fresher, from a river we can't step into twice." It made me realize that holding onto the weight of the hurt I've carried isn't protecting me anymore. And the quiet, profound queer romance between Ben and Adam gave me so much hope. When Ben wondered what it was like "to be a rogue comet, fierce and precious and beautiful but unwanted by any star system," I felt so deeply seen in my own isolation here, but also reminded that even comets can eventually find an orbit and a place to belong.
The climax of this book is something I will carry with me forever. When Mr. Tan stops fighting the cancerous memory-ghosts of his late wife and instead chooses to gently let his grief sink into the Outside, drawing the Shoal of monsters away, it changed my perspective completely. He didn't win by force; he won by surrendering his pain and letting go. This book taught me that I don't have to carry the weight of the world alone anymore. If you have ever felt too heavy for this world, please read this. It might just give you the courage to finally put your burdens down.
Originally posted at www.goodreads.com.
It feels incredibly vulnerable to write this, but I need to share a piece of my soul. Living as a 26-year-old gay man in Georgia (the country), finding queer literature that speaks to my heart is almost impossible. It has been 10 long years since I last read a book cover-to-cover. So, picking up Jared Poon's City of Others was terrifying. English is my third language, and I won't lie, the advanced vocabulary had me reaching for a dictionary on almost every page. It was a genuine struggle to push through the complex words and bureaucratic metaphors, but the emotional payoff was so immense that I would read it all over again in a heartbeat.
This book didn't just entertain me; it read me. The way Poon writes about trauma and the need for control completely shattered me. I realized that, just like the characters, I have been a "Gardener" in my own life. I’ve taken all my past pain and built this heavy, rigid fortress in my soul just to survive. Because of my need for control, I realized I was constantly struggling to stop being "DKP Effect" (too involved/observant) to actually experience the "magic" of the mundane: the atom, the molecule, one drop of sand, even the beauty of the rock. I was so busy over-managing my trauma and bracing for the next disaster that I was entirely blind to the quiet miracles of just existing.
Poon captures this heavy burden of the past so beautifully. There is a quote that I had to read five times through my tears: "Memories are like water. They soak you, sometimes they drown you, but then they dribble away, evaporate, and are gone... No matter how similar it may look, it's a different water. It's fresher, from a river we can't step into twice." It made me realize that holding onto the weight of the hurt I've carried isn't protecting me anymore. And the quiet, profound queer romance between Ben and Adam gave me so much hope. When Ben wondered what it was like "to be a rogue comet, fierce and precious and beautiful but unwanted by any star system," I felt so deeply seen in my own isolation here, but also reminded that even comets can eventually find an orbit and a place to belong.
The climax of this book is something I will carry with me forever. When Mr. Tan stops fighting the cancerous memory-ghosts of his late wife and instead chooses to gently let his grief sink into the Outside, drawing the Shoal of monsters away, it changed my perspective completely. He didn't win by force; he won by surrendering his pain and letting go. This book taught me that I don't have to carry the weight of the world alone anymore. If you have ever felt too heavy for this world, please read this. It might just give you the courage to finally put your burdens down.
Originally posted at www.goodreads.com.