RINDERPEST, n. This is German for “cattle plague,” like what strikes in Egypt when Pharoah won’t let my people go, but also a very real and devastating disease. Don’t worry, though—it’s one of two viruses that the World Health Organization has declared eradicated. Those would be rinderpest virus (RPV) and smallpox caused by variola virus (VARV).
I don’t have anything special to add about the etymology here, and I certainly don’t know enough about viruses to write about them. Here at the end of plague year 2020, but not yet at the end of our plague, I just wanted to say this: While we haven’t eradicated very many viruses—and success has always taken years of concerted global effort to achieve—the possibility exists. It can be done.
And, of course, eradication is a far more difficult goal than controlling the spread. As a species, we’ve done that many times. That’s the thought I’m holding onto at the end of this year and the beginning of the next.
This is the last Word Suitcase of 2020, and a list of favorite books of this year would fit nicely into this newsletter, but I read so many wonderful books this year—and am so desperately grateful that I was able to read—that the task feels overwhelming. So here is a quick version that undoubtedly leaves many worthy books with their praises unsung.
The book I spent the most time thinking and talking about was Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer, a beautiful work of non-fiction about plant science, Indigenous ways of knowing, and how to be a better citizen of Earth, but it’s followed closely by Gideon the Ninth and Harrow the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir, two utterly off-the-wall fantasy novels about lesbian necromancers in space that take wild risks with prose style and structure, both of which inspired me to break out the red string and start pinning photos and newspaper articles to my walls. And I think my favorite romance novel this year was Spoiler Alert by Olivia Dade, a contemporary romance about a famous actor and a fanfiction writer who form an anonymous online friendship founded on their frustration with the terrible writing and direction of the show they love. It was funny and tender and sexy and it kept me up late into the night, screaming inside my heart.
I read almost nothing in French this year, excluding the textbooks I was using for my classes, but I’ll try to get back into Capital-R Romance next year.
This week in small-r romance, I read
The Longest Night (m/m, both trans and gay, historical, novella) by EE Ottoman. This is a cozy, wintery piece of short fiction where two long-time penpals meet in person after one of them loses his job and the other offers him a place to stay at his house in upstate New York. It’s set in 1904, and as always, I really appreciate Ottoman’s attention to historical detail. There’s a lot of care and attention taken with the characters, too. They’re careful with each other, not wanting to screw up a good thing. I felt like this piece of writing was careful with its readers, too, and I appreciate that Ottoman embedded content guidance in the beginning of the ebook, which I’m reproducing here. Content warnings: this book includes two brief mentions of off-page animal death. A scene of mourning for and remembrance of queer and trans dead. A scene including the discussion of a past sugar Daddy/sugar baby relationship, which is a form of sex work. A graphic sex scene between two trans protagonists. Very brief mentions of period-typical homophobia and transphobia throughout the book.
Strange Love (bi cis f/cis? het? m? alien with “he” pronoun, sci-fi) by Ann Aguirre. I respect the incredible commitment and skill required to write alien sex that is significantly physiologically different from human sex, but still sexy—because it’s all about emotions, which Aguirre clearly knows. I love this book’s joyful inclusion of non-binary supporting characters. There’s also polyamory among some of the aliens. The premises (a mistaken alien abduction, a sort of gladiatorial contest to win the right to marry) are bonkers and tropey as hell. The human teaches the alien about hugs. There’s a talking dog and a murderous sentient fern. This book is a great time and I would have read it way sooner if somebody had told me how queer it was. Yeah, it’s in the title, I get that now. Content warnings: violence, murder, death, kidnapping, supporting characters use drugs, supporting characters are unfaithful, mentions of forced sterilization, mentions of pregnancy and uhhh alien IVF?, also basically alien eugenics in the worldbuilding, sex.
How to Catch a Queen (m/f, both cis and het, contemporary) by Alyssa Cole. This book has so many great aspects that I don’t quite know where to start. Alyssa Cole keeps inventing fictional countries and then making up entire histories, religions, cultures, and systems of governance for them, which must be an enormous amount of work for her, but it all flows so effortlessly and seamlessly into the book. I’m a little sad that I can’t ever visit Thesolo and Njaza, but at least I have these books to read. Cole also writes the best group chats in romance, and I cheered when the main characters of previous books showed up as supporting characters. There are also some real clutch-at-your-heart moments in the main romance here, between a fiercely determined woman who’s always wanted to be queen and a man suffocating from anxiety who’s never wanted to be king. They need each other. They need all their friends, too. This is some of the best romance out there. Content warnings: death of a parent (from an illness, possibly cancer), grief, emotional abuse, sex, HEA includes kids and pregnancy.
Writing this newsletter and connecting with readers has been a bright spot for me this year, so thank you for reading. I love your comments and am always thrilled to hear your questions. Happy new year and see you next Sunday!
