Let’s leave that depressing last post behind.
New from Otoliths:
Cover image by Spencer Selby
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In which we are invited to witness the protean prose of Charles Freeland as it enters and bends around our improbably porous bodies like smoke from a library fire. Until one can no longer tell where one’s limbs or eyelashes begin and the author’s sentences end. If either can, in fact, be said to begin or end at all. Pick any one of Freeland’s expertly carved sonic doorknobs and turn to open. The room waiting there contains the very universe, if not the socks, you’re standing in right now. Beyond which: “The doors to the research labs fly open and when you peer inside there are still more doors and probably more doors inside those…” —Travis Macdonald
Eucalyptus is an unforgettable narrative about desolation. There are stories that we can do without, and this is NOT one of them. —Kristine Ong Muslim
Eucalyptus reads like a collaboration between Henry Fielding and Mina Loy. And here’s Charles Freeland planning the caper, raising the stakes, and getting it down. —John Hennessy