The blurbs compared it to Le Guin and Calvino, and with any other author, that would be a disastrous claim to make. Here, Nghi Vo only takes the playful metaphysics of Calvino and the gentle worldbuilding of Le Guin, and weaves it with so much raw emotion that this slim little volume shouldn’t be able to contain it all. Vitrine, as tender as a demon could be, makes and remakes her beloved city, tending it like a garden, after the angels, in their cruelty, level it to ash. It’s about how to survive in the aftermath. How the best and worst lives within all of us. How to let grief break you and still love.
“Honestly, angel, can nothing be good enough as it is? Can we not love things for what they are while we have them?”