Starred review from October 10, 2022
A new widow raises her child in a surveillance state where wrongdoers are given an extra shadow for every transgression in Crane’s astonishing and deeply felt debut. When Kris’s wife, Beau, dies in childbirth, their newborn child, known only as “the kid” until the very end, is immediately given a second shadow by the Department of Balance for causing Beau’s death. This makes the kid a Shadester—a second-class citizen who will be ostracized and surveilled for life, presumed to have behavioral problems by teachers, and overtaxed as an adult. Kris, who has grappled for years with shame over her own second shadow, must now navigate her fears about single parenthood and come to terms with her overwhelming grief. A poetic sensibility shines through Kris’s narration, which is all directed toward Beau (“I want to swallow the moment and keep it in my burning belly, but I have my wrong mouth on—I am wearing the mouth that speaks without thinking”). Crane brings their impressive imagination to the speculative details, which convey a great deal of thoughtfulness about how the second shadows affect people differently depending on their intersecting identities. They also treat their diverse cast with complexity and compassion. As the kid grows from infancy to grade school age and deals with bullies at school, Crane poignantly shows how public shaming often has more to do with cruelty and control than justice, and the rebellious, headstrong, and searching child protagonist emerges as one to remember. The author’s profound maturity shines as they interrogate the creation of family, criminalization, and queer resistance. Readers will be moved and electrified.
November 15, 2022
An intimate, poetic debut that explores the complexities of grief and parenting set against the backdrop of an American surveillance state. In the near future, prisons have been abolished, but a governmental entity known as the Department of Balance has installed surveillance cameras in every home, and a tyrannical president recently instituted a policy that punishes wrongdoers by giving them additional shadows, ostensibly to keep them accountable for their crimes by serving as constant reminders of their mistakes. These Shadesters are forced to live as second-class citizens, stripped of their civil rights and freedoms. Once a school social worker, the narrator, Kris, now sells self-help programs called mindcasts while trying to distract herself from the grief of her wife's death through watching reality television, drinking, and listing all the creatures she can think of with exoskeletons. The only thing that gives Kris the will to live through her devastation is her determination to raise her daughter, the precocious and imaginative Bear, who was born with a second shadow. Driven by Kris' internal monologue, which is often addressed to the imagined presence of her wife, the novel candidly explores the anguish of grief while remaining deeply insightful and often bitingly funny, at times making asides in the form of wry pop quizzes and word searches. Reminiscent of the tenderly ironic confessional voice of Melissa Broder's novels and the rendering of an eclectic community's search for connection and survival in Emily St. John Mandel's Station Eleven (2014), this novel skillfully probes the complexities of loss, love, and injustice. Writing fiction that convincingly leans toward hope is a challenging task, but Crane does so with self-assured, muscular grace. An anthem for queer love and solidarity that rises above the dystopian cacophony.
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November 1, 2022
Kris' wife Beau died giving birth to their child. Her life already wasn't easy, living in a near-future U.S. where a fascist president has instituted a new system of criminal punishment based on shame. Now, if you break the law--or just trip up in front of a Department of Balance agent--you're given an extra shadow. The second (or third, fourth, fifth) shadow comes with higher taxes, restricted movement, and the instant suspicion of your neighbors. And now they're telling Kris that her infant daughter has a shadow already because her mother died giving birth to her. Crane's lyrical, thought-provoking novel is as much about the thorny complexities of grief and queer parenthood as it is a quietly horrifying dystopian fantasy. Kris' quest to raise a child who is both strong and safe, while also trying to find space for herself to grieve--all within an oppressive surveillance state--is compelling and relatable. It is a sad, dark book that is brimming with hope, love, and spirit. Through Kris' journey to mother, grow, and heal, Crane crafts a soft yet fierce narrative of queer resistance and abolitionist feeling.
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