Cayla
This was, by the author’s own telling, a story about “assimilation and language and the seduction and horror of empire,” and it was a damn good one. How language and culture intertwine, how poetry can become propaganda can become cultural identity, how a fascination with the exotic might confuse one’s own sense of home and self and loyalty… and all through the lens of a brilliant cast of characters with sparkling wit and fascinating complexities.
A beautiful reminder of how prose can be poetic without being purple, and how effectively language can be woven when the writer truly knows what they want to say.
I loved every word of it.
This was, by the author’s own telling, a story about “assimilation and language and the seduction and horror of empire,” and it was a damn good one. How language and culture intertwine, how poetry can become propaganda can become cultural identity, how a fascination with the exotic might confuse one’s own sense of home and self and loyalty… and all through the lens of a brilliant cast of characters with sparkling wit and fascinating complexities.
A beautiful reminder of how prose can be poetic without being purple, and how effectively language can be woven when the writer truly knows what they want to say.
I loved every word of it.