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384 pages, Hardcover
First published May 21, 2019
Again and again, immunity from the grave is not a gift to be granted but a sentence to be carried out. Not a blessing, but a curse.
When she finished, Sal said nothing for a few seconds that felt like hours. When he spoke, he no longer sounded angry – only tired. “There just ain’t no side of this ain’t fucked from hell to breakfast, is there?” he asked, though it seemed rhetorical.
Everywhere Death walks, Life follows. Everything Death takes, Life gives to another. She is Asase Yaa. Onuava. Demeter. Coatlicue. Phra Mae Thorani. He is Kokopelli. Makemake. Geb. Lono. They plant the seeds in the earth and children in the womb. They gave birth to the gods and to the first mortals and to the cosmos and to the sea. They gave their lives to water the earth, to bring plentiful game to hunt, to keep the sun in the sky. They are the sky. They are the sun. They are the buds of new growth in spring, and after a fire, and after a flood, and in the shadow of a failed nuclear reactor. They are everywhere we swore they couldn't be, in the exothermic vents of the deep ocean, in the ones and zeroes of information, in the fossil records of Mars. Death can end a life, or lives, or this life, or very life.
But not Life.