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Slow Guillotine: A Novel
Winner of the Barbara DiBernard Prize in FictionSlow Guillotine follows three broke weirdos whose collective desire to make and think about art is constantly interrupted by their art-industry-adjacent minimum-wage jobs. Throughout the novel, the three friends’ day jobs in a failing independent bookstore, a sterile gallery in downtown Manhattan, and miscellaneous living rooms across the Long Island birthday-party-clown circuit interweave with their attempts to come to terms with their precarity, gender-dysphoric embodiment, and the floating dream of collective liberation.Spanning one year and told through an obsessive first-person present tense, Slow Guillotine brings the bildungsroman structure through the autofictional looking glass, questioning how “coming of age” could be feasible in a society of debtors, wage laborers, and renters.
220 pages, Paperback
Published March 1, 2026
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March 1, 2026
thank you to NetGalley and the publisher for the advanced digital copy.
this one is available to pick-up now.
--
slow guillotine by teo rivera-dundas feels like a dispatch from the front lines of late capitalism, written by someone who is both exhausted by it and morbidly fascinated. it is a timely, highly relatable treatise on how capitalism is slowly eroding us and how it keeps inventing new mechanisms to do so. this is not a glamorous coming of age in new york city. it is a coming of age in debt, in wage labor, in damp apartments and dying independent bookstores.
the unnamed narrator and their two friends are artists in theory and service workers in practice. their days are spent in a failing bookstore, a sterile gallery, and on the long island birthday party clown circuit. the art they want to make is constantly interrupted by the art adjacent jobs that barely keep them alive. the novel circles this tension obsessively. what is work. what is art. what is survival. what is theft.
i found the sections about the bookstore particularly compelling. there is something quietly radical about the way the novel dissects the mechanics of selling books. unpacking them, shelving them, pulping them, returning them. the narrator steals books, yes, but the novel makes it clear that theft is baked into the entire system. the bookstore steals time and labor. publishers pulp excess stock. landlords siphon rent. everyone is extracting from someone else. theft becomes less a moral failing and more a survival reflex in a world where precarity is the baseline condition.
that idea, that in a constant survival mode we all have a price, runs through the book like a low hum. people compromise. they stay in bad jobs. they placate awful bosses. they gentrify neighborhoods by existing in them. they sell out a little because they are tired of grinding themselves down to the bone. the novel does not judge this so much as it observes it. it emphasizes, again and again, that survival has to be communal if it is to mean anything. the friendships here are not sentimentalized, but they are necessary. without them, there would be nothing to hold onto.
stylistically, the book meanders. it feels essayistic at times, almost like autofiction in conversation with itself. that looseness will not work for everyone, but i found it mostly interesting. the narrator's voice is funny, self aware, and capable of sudden sharp insight. there is an ongoing demystification of the publishing and art worlds that feels honest and a little bitter.
my one significant hesitation echoes something other readers have noted. there is a strange, almost throwaway inclusion of top surgery that is not otherwise accompanied by a nuanced exploration of gender identity or dysphoria. the novel gestures toward gender dysphoric embodiment in its description, but in practice it remains coy. i appreciate the existence of queerness here, the casualness of it, the refusal to sensationalize it. but i did wish for more depth, especially given how central embodiment and precarity are to the book's larger themes.
ultimately, slow guillotine captures the messiness and disorientation of your twenties under capitalism with unsettling clarity. it suggests that the blade does not fall all at once. it lowers slowly, incrementally, disguised as rent hikes and minimum wage jobs and the quiet erosion of idealism. and yet, in the face of that, there is still art. still friendship. still the stubborn instinct to think and make and love anyway.
this one is available to pick-up now.
--
slow guillotine by teo rivera-dundas feels like a dispatch from the front lines of late capitalism, written by someone who is both exhausted by it and morbidly fascinated. it is a timely, highly relatable treatise on how capitalism is slowly eroding us and how it keeps inventing new mechanisms to do so. this is not a glamorous coming of age in new york city. it is a coming of age in debt, in wage labor, in damp apartments and dying independent bookstores.
the unnamed narrator and their two friends are artists in theory and service workers in practice. their days are spent in a failing bookstore, a sterile gallery, and on the long island birthday party clown circuit. the art they want to make is constantly interrupted by the art adjacent jobs that barely keep them alive. the novel circles this tension obsessively. what is work. what is art. what is survival. what is theft.
i found the sections about the bookstore particularly compelling. there is something quietly radical about the way the novel dissects the mechanics of selling books. unpacking them, shelving them, pulping them, returning them. the narrator steals books, yes, but the novel makes it clear that theft is baked into the entire system. the bookstore steals time and labor. publishers pulp excess stock. landlords siphon rent. everyone is extracting from someone else. theft becomes less a moral failing and more a survival reflex in a world where precarity is the baseline condition.
that idea, that in a constant survival mode we all have a price, runs through the book like a low hum. people compromise. they stay in bad jobs. they placate awful bosses. they gentrify neighborhoods by existing in them. they sell out a little because they are tired of grinding themselves down to the bone. the novel does not judge this so much as it observes it. it emphasizes, again and again, that survival has to be communal if it is to mean anything. the friendships here are not sentimentalized, but they are necessary. without them, there would be nothing to hold onto.
stylistically, the book meanders. it feels essayistic at times, almost like autofiction in conversation with itself. that looseness will not work for everyone, but i found it mostly interesting. the narrator's voice is funny, self aware, and capable of sudden sharp insight. there is an ongoing demystification of the publishing and art worlds that feels honest and a little bitter.
my one significant hesitation echoes something other readers have noted. there is a strange, almost throwaway inclusion of top surgery that is not otherwise accompanied by a nuanced exploration of gender identity or dysphoria. the novel gestures toward gender dysphoric embodiment in its description, but in practice it remains coy. i appreciate the existence of queerness here, the casualness of it, the refusal to sensationalize it. but i did wish for more depth, especially given how central embodiment and precarity are to the book's larger themes.
ultimately, slow guillotine captures the messiness and disorientation of your twenties under capitalism with unsettling clarity. it suggests that the blade does not fall all at once. it lowers slowly, incrementally, disguised as rent hikes and minimum wage jobs and the quiet erosion of idealism. and yet, in the face of that, there is still art. still friendship. still the stubborn instinct to think and make and love anyway.
May 13, 2026
if you’ve ever been 20 or worked a service job or felt the crushing force of late stage capitalism on your life then you need to read this
Review of advance copy received from Netgalley
"I read books that seem to contain everything in them. Books that are cities, ant colonies where each ant is a word, books that seem both to exist and iterate existence. And then I read books like sheer drapery, a gossamer, a barely there."
Wowza what a line. What a book.
This was fantastic. An interesting real to life story of broke "weirdos" (as noted in description) who work for a book warehouse store. Living. Surving. Dealing with a rotting apartment. I loved this so so much. Loved the characters. The descriptions of adulting and surviving in a city where even management can't afford above poverty. I felt like my own friends were being described. This was amazing.
Wowza what a line. What a book.
This was fantastic. An interesting real to life story of broke "weirdos" (as noted in description) who work for a book warehouse store. Living. Surving. Dealing with a rotting apartment. I loved this so so much. Loved the characters. The descriptions of adulting and surviving in a city where even management can't afford above poverty. I felt like my own friends were being described. This was amazing.
Review of advance copy received from Publisher
I managed to get my hands on an advance copy of Slow Guillotine, Rivera-Dundas’s wonderful autofictional period novel about the banal evils of living in New York City in your early twenties, during the mid aughts, while participating in late capitalism. It’s a funny, sophisticated, and often familiar romp.
It’s fitting that Rivera-Dundas starts the book with “Ten Notes about Work” and that the first note focuses on “nonbiodegradable, immortal” packing materials. Because there is this sort of cushioning throughout the novel. Characters are constantly pressed up against the edges of violent forces—gentrification, a conglomerated publishing industry, gender norms—and yet something blunts the edges, like Styrofoam packing peanuts. Is it alienation? Is it privilege? Dissociation? Yes.
And it is this blunting that provides much of the mood of the book. Rather than directly answering the questions that it presents—like “What is work? What are our days for?” or, later in the book, “Why stay in this city?”—Slow Guillotine instead meanders around them. It takes us to clowning gigs at birthday parties in Long Island. It takes us to the back rooms of independent book stores. It takes us into apartments that are being infinitely refinished by omnipotent but illusory landlords. These scenes of precarity and listlessness build a bleak but also endearing image of how a group of creative 20-somethings might navigate their post-college years at the tail end of The Great Recession. And despite all this meandering, Slow Guillotine doesn’t feel totally disaffected. There is a slow-burning conflict—between labor and capital, renters and landlords, The City and its residents—that will be familiar to many readers. There are villains.
Primary among our villains is Ford. Imagine The Judge from Blood Meridian, but instead of supernatural powers of violence he only has the pedestrian powers of a heavily indebted small business owner. Ford frequently bloviates a terrible mixture of Obama-era nothing sandwich ideas about business and identity and the American Dream. These diatribes are hilarious and absurd, but underlying it all is a cynicism and a desperation that reminds us not to let our nostalgia for the "norms" of the pre-Trump era get too rosy. Ford, we must imagine, was there on January 6th.
Through the prism of Ford’s bookstore, Slow Guillotine presents a painful picture of the modern publishing industry. We see our narrator unpacking books, selling books, stealing books, and—depressingly—returning books to publishers to be pulped. Those publishers are often named, as are many trendy authors, from Knausgaard to Ferrante. The overall effect is a demystification of an often-opaque industry. Beneath all that mist is—you guess it—just more shitty capitalism.
But there’s relief from the dreariness of wage labor. Our narrator's friends are true and good and utterly unique. Felix brings a needed jolt of curiosity and artistic expansionism to the plot, reminding us that being a starving artist isn’t all about calories. Precious—a moonshining clown/chef who feels like he walked out of an episode of Ren and Stimpy—often steals the show with batshit ideas and off-color humor. Girlfriend, a pet snake, stands in for all of the living ecology that’s smooshed between and underneath the concrete.
At less than 200 pages, Slow Guillotine is a quick read, but it doesn’t feel like a minor novel. It feels like a time capsule. Plop it in your mouth and suck on it to remember what 2014 tasted like. As it’s dissolving, you might find yourself feeling a strange cocktail of nostalgia, ennui, and relief that you made it through your 20s. When it’s all gone, you might text an old friend just to say, “lol remember that old apartment we lived in,” and you’ll be glad you reconnected with them now, in these newly treacherous times.
It’s fitting that Rivera-Dundas starts the book with “Ten Notes about Work” and that the first note focuses on “nonbiodegradable, immortal” packing materials. Because there is this sort of cushioning throughout the novel. Characters are constantly pressed up against the edges of violent forces—gentrification, a conglomerated publishing industry, gender norms—and yet something blunts the edges, like Styrofoam packing peanuts. Is it alienation? Is it privilege? Dissociation? Yes.
And it is this blunting that provides much of the mood of the book. Rather than directly answering the questions that it presents—like “What is work? What are our days for?” or, later in the book, “Why stay in this city?”—Slow Guillotine instead meanders around them. It takes us to clowning gigs at birthday parties in Long Island. It takes us to the back rooms of independent book stores. It takes us into apartments that are being infinitely refinished by omnipotent but illusory landlords. These scenes of precarity and listlessness build a bleak but also endearing image of how a group of creative 20-somethings might navigate their post-college years at the tail end of The Great Recession. And despite all this meandering, Slow Guillotine doesn’t feel totally disaffected. There is a slow-burning conflict—between labor and capital, renters and landlords, The City and its residents—that will be familiar to many readers. There are villains.
Primary among our villains is Ford. Imagine The Judge from Blood Meridian, but instead of supernatural powers of violence he only has the pedestrian powers of a heavily indebted small business owner. Ford frequently bloviates a terrible mixture of Obama-era nothing sandwich ideas about business and identity and the American Dream. These diatribes are hilarious and absurd, but underlying it all is a cynicism and a desperation that reminds us not to let our nostalgia for the "norms" of the pre-Trump era get too rosy. Ford, we must imagine, was there on January 6th.
Through the prism of Ford’s bookstore, Slow Guillotine presents a painful picture of the modern publishing industry. We see our narrator unpacking books, selling books, stealing books, and—depressingly—returning books to publishers to be pulped. Those publishers are often named, as are many trendy authors, from Knausgaard to Ferrante. The overall effect is a demystification of an often-opaque industry. Beneath all that mist is—you guess it—just more shitty capitalism.
But there’s relief from the dreariness of wage labor. Our narrator's friends are true and good and utterly unique. Felix brings a needed jolt of curiosity and artistic expansionism to the plot, reminding us that being a starving artist isn’t all about calories. Precious—a moonshining clown/chef who feels like he walked out of an episode of Ren and Stimpy—often steals the show with batshit ideas and off-color humor. Girlfriend, a pet snake, stands in for all of the living ecology that’s smooshed between and underneath the concrete.
At less than 200 pages, Slow Guillotine is a quick read, but it doesn’t feel like a minor novel. It feels like a time capsule. Plop it in your mouth and suck on it to remember what 2014 tasted like. As it’s dissolving, you might find yourself feeling a strange cocktail of nostalgia, ennui, and relief that you made it through your 20s. When it’s all gone, you might text an old friend just to say, “lol remember that old apartment we lived in,” and you’ll be glad you reconnected with them now, in these newly treacherous times.
Review of advance copy received from Netgalley
This is a complicated book, for good and bad reasons. First let’s start with the good. I really enjoyed the descriptions of a normal, everyday bookstore. The little details of stock, and of day to day categorizing. That scratched my brain in a nice way. I liked the pet snake someone had, and I thought the side characters were well done and fleshed out. I really enjoyed the descriptions of their strange apartment that was being crushed under the weight of gentrification. I liked our main characters questionable ethics and the descriptions of NYC. The dialogue is very authentic, it might lean a little young for some people but I found it realistic to how people talk (especially at work). There is some meta references to this being a book which I didn’t mind, I thought they were interesting and made sense since our main character is a book person.
But I kind of had a problem with this book. I was quite confused by what this book was trying to say with its main, unnamed character. Throughout most of the book I assumed this character was female leaning. They have a girlfriend, and when being introduced to parents they’re called a good friend, which seems indicative of queerness. But then we later learn they met their male roommate in a dorm, and they’re called “boyfriend”. No one refers to this character by name or gender, which I could get behind. But I think this book also wants to be saying something about it by making that choice. Nearly 80% of the way through the book we learn that the character may or may not have had top surgery. That’s literally how it’s revealed. It is said that one of the members of the group (not even specifying who) will have or has already had top surgery. And I just have to wonder… why do it like this? Why not just make the characters ostensibly queer? There is something to be said about having a story about queer people just be normal and mundane, in many ways that is more similar to my own experience as a nonbinary queer person. But like, why are we so shy to officially reveal their queerness to the reader? If this is a literary device to show something, I don’t think it achieved it very well. It kind of made me annoyed that the writer was dancing around this, when the description of the book describes it as “gender dysphoric embodiment”. But I got none of that. We can’t have gender dysphoria if you tell me nothing about our characters gender or dysphoria. We sure learn a lot about their bookstore life though. I say all this but honestly I did still like this book. I think it succeeded in some ways, and fell short in others. 3.5 stars rounded up. Thank you to the publisher for the advanced copy.
But I kind of had a problem with this book. I was quite confused by what this book was trying to say with its main, unnamed character. Throughout most of the book I assumed this character was female leaning. They have a girlfriend, and when being introduced to parents they’re called a good friend, which seems indicative of queerness. But then we later learn they met their male roommate in a dorm, and they’re called “boyfriend”. No one refers to this character by name or gender, which I could get behind. But I think this book also wants to be saying something about it by making that choice. Nearly 80% of the way through the book we learn that the character may or may not have had top surgery. That’s literally how it’s revealed. It is said that one of the members of the group (not even specifying who) will have or has already had top surgery. And I just have to wonder… why do it like this? Why not just make the characters ostensibly queer? There is something to be said about having a story about queer people just be normal and mundane, in many ways that is more similar to my own experience as a nonbinary queer person. But like, why are we so shy to officially reveal their queerness to the reader? If this is a literary device to show something, I don’t think it achieved it very well. It kind of made me annoyed that the writer was dancing around this, when the description of the book describes it as “gender dysphoric embodiment”. But I got none of that. We can’t have gender dysphoria if you tell me nothing about our characters gender or dysphoria. We sure learn a lot about their bookstore life though. I say all this but honestly I did still like this book. I think it succeeded in some ways, and fell short in others. 3.5 stars rounded up. Thank you to the publisher for the advanced copy.
May 22, 2026
Gratitude to the publisher for providing me with an ARC copy for review, which you can read in-full here: https://www.mainereview.com/slow-guil...
In Slow Guillotine, we find three creative “weirdoes,” Precious, Felix, and our unnamed narrator, living in New York City in the mid-2010s. Each has their own artistic passions and goals, but carve out their survival at the periphery of what they love. This is most clearly seen in our (unnamed) main character, who works in the receiving room of a bookstore.
With the city and the constant labor it demands as our backdrop, the novel turns its attention various moments or "non-moments" in our characters' daily lives. The friendships and settings have a tangibility to them that add to their depth and complexity, and it is this character-driven approach that enables the story to unfold less as a cohesive narrative and more like vignettes, glimpses that we (along with our narrator) search for meaning within.
Notably, Rivera-Dundas creates these rich characters without providing much direct description, especially as it relates to gender or race. In fact, we often learn more about the identities of our protagonists when they are being treated differently or misgendered by passing characters—a quiet challenge to us as readers to confront our own assumptions, self-projections, and desire to categorize one another. And yet, amid realities of slumlords, shitty bosses, gentrification, racism, transphobia, poverty, etc., our characters engage in tiny rebellions that, even if just for a moment, trip the system and center themselves. They cook, take day trips out of the city, celebrate birthdays, decorate their apartment with discarded alley finds, and in doing so, remind us of the agency we have, even if our choices feel quiet or insignificant.
Overall, while there were brief moments my attention waned, I appreciated this book and its central question: What does it mean to be adjacent to what you love and the life you want to live, and can that gap be bridged? These wonderings feel important in a time when the distance between people, wealth, and art (looking at you generative AI 🙄) feels like it's growing ever-wider. Slow Guillotine sits in these questions and anxieties with us in a unique way, while reassuring us there is power in choosing creativity, community, and authenticity.
(3.8 stars rounded up.)
In Slow Guillotine, we find three creative “weirdoes,” Precious, Felix, and our unnamed narrator, living in New York City in the mid-2010s. Each has their own artistic passions and goals, but carve out their survival at the periphery of what they love. This is most clearly seen in our (unnamed) main character, who works in the receiving room of a bookstore.
With the city and the constant labor it demands as our backdrop, the novel turns its attention various moments or "non-moments" in our characters' daily lives. The friendships and settings have a tangibility to them that add to their depth and complexity, and it is this character-driven approach that enables the story to unfold less as a cohesive narrative and more like vignettes, glimpses that we (along with our narrator) search for meaning within.
Notably, Rivera-Dundas creates these rich characters without providing much direct description, especially as it relates to gender or race. In fact, we often learn more about the identities of our protagonists when they are being treated differently or misgendered by passing characters—a quiet challenge to us as readers to confront our own assumptions, self-projections, and desire to categorize one another. And yet, amid realities of slumlords, shitty bosses, gentrification, racism, transphobia, poverty, etc., our characters engage in tiny rebellions that, even if just for a moment, trip the system and center themselves. They cook, take day trips out of the city, celebrate birthdays, decorate their apartment with discarded alley finds, and in doing so, remind us of the agency we have, even if our choices feel quiet or insignificant.
Overall, while there were brief moments my attention waned, I appreciated this book and its central question: What does it mean to be adjacent to what you love and the life you want to live, and can that gap be bridged? These wonderings feel important in a time when the distance between people, wealth, and art (looking at you generative AI 🙄) feels like it's growing ever-wider. Slow Guillotine sits in these questions and anxieties with us in a unique way, while reassuring us there is power in choosing creativity, community, and authenticity.
(3.8 stars rounded up.)
Review of advance copy received from Netgalley
One of those books that finds you at the perfect time (I had just finished my first watch through of The Sopranos, and I enjoyed the very apt references made throughout the book). This is the type of book that will make you wonder if you have ever read something of the sort. I loved the structure, the characters, and even the snake.
Set in NYC during the early 2000s, three scrappy twenty-somethings are interrupted from their respective creative endeavors by their mundane day jobs. The book takes us through the details of our MC's job as a book seller/shipper; I found this to be particularly comforting, maybe because I like the idea of working in a bookstore myself, or because I found MC's stream of consciousness while he walked us through his day job to be insightful, deep, and funny with undertones of absurdism.
The MC frequently ponders about the books they read, the meaning behind the plots, and the settings in which they read these books and how it connects back to the plot of their own life. The roommates named Precious, Felix, (and eventually Glossy), have their own forms of art they partake in, and we as the readers get to see their personalities, creative ideas, and jobs converge as they all try to balance it under one roof.
The gender loft and the story of the MC (whom we never do get to know their name or gender identity, though we can speculate with context clues) will stick with me for a long time. I look forward to owning a paper copy to go back to the pages I bookmarked during my digital read -- many quotable paragraphs and lines that I hope to return to.
I found myself wanting Ford, the bookshop owner, to have a smaller role than he did in the overall composition of the book, but I wonder if the insufferable nature of his character made this a purposeful feeling to be had by the reader.
Overall, I think this book was sort of brilliant.
This was my very first ARC, and I am very grateful for NetGalley and University of Nebraska Press for the opportunity to read this in exchange for my honest feedback.
Set in NYC during the early 2000s, three scrappy twenty-somethings are interrupted from their respective creative endeavors by their mundane day jobs. The book takes us through the details of our MC's job as a book seller/shipper; I found this to be particularly comforting, maybe because I like the idea of working in a bookstore myself, or because I found MC's stream of consciousness while he walked us through his day job to be insightful, deep, and funny with undertones of absurdism.
The MC frequently ponders about the books they read, the meaning behind the plots, and the settings in which they read these books and how it connects back to the plot of their own life. The roommates named Precious, Felix, (and eventually Glossy), have their own forms of art they partake in, and we as the readers get to see their personalities, creative ideas, and jobs converge as they all try to balance it under one roof.
The gender loft and the story of the MC (whom we never do get to know their name or gender identity, though we can speculate with context clues) will stick with me for a long time. I look forward to owning a paper copy to go back to the pages I bookmarked during my digital read -- many quotable paragraphs and lines that I hope to return to.
I found myself wanting Ford, the bookshop owner, to have a smaller role than he did in the overall composition of the book, but I wonder if the insufferable nature of his character made this a purposeful feeling to be had by the reader.
Overall, I think this book was sort of brilliant.
This was my very first ARC, and I am very grateful for NetGalley and University of Nebraska Press for the opportunity to read this in exchange for my honest feedback.
Review of advance copy received from Netgalley
As a 73 year old straight white male, I am not exactly the target audience for this youthful autofiction novel.
OTOH, I am just as surprised that the U of Nebraska Press published this NYC-centric novel.
A quick aside, my thanks to NetGalley and the U of NE Press for an eARC of this novel, which will be published March 1, 2026.
This is one of the inital offerings from the U of NE Press' Zero Street Fiction series. Nods to that press for not only publishing fiction (most UP's won't, or do very little), and for publishing fiction that is not related to their local/state/region. Again, many a UP would not have published this. I am surprised that some small press did not grab this up - it seems a great fit for many of them.
OK, it is good to read something outside my usual wheelhouse - 20-something gay in NYC. OTOH, we have employment in a bookstore together. I did enjoy it, especially R-D's detailed description of things and processes. And living on so little sleep, for the sake of a job, relationship, and social life.
I do appreciate the chance to read a younger writer's work - and am looking forward to see what they do in the future.
3.5 out of 5.
OTOH, I am just as surprised that the U of Nebraska Press published this NYC-centric novel.
A quick aside, my thanks to NetGalley and the U of NE Press for an eARC of this novel, which will be published March 1, 2026.
This is one of the inital offerings from the U of NE Press' Zero Street Fiction series. Nods to that press for not only publishing fiction (most UP's won't, or do very little), and for publishing fiction that is not related to their local/state/region. Again, many a UP would not have published this. I am surprised that some small press did not grab this up - it seems a great fit for many of them.
OK, it is good to read something outside my usual wheelhouse - 20-something gay in NYC. OTOH, we have employment in a bookstore together. I did enjoy it, especially R-D's detailed description of things and processes. And living on so little sleep, for the sake of a job, relationship, and social life.
I do appreciate the chance to read a younger writer's work - and am looking forward to see what they do in the future.
3.5 out of 5.
Review of advance copy
Slow Guillotine got me. In this book, Rivera-Dundas completely desacralizes art. Through his characters working at book stores and galleries, he shows art and literature is all a trick of smoke and mirrors, built on exploited labor, destroyed willy-nilly for the latest fraud scheme. Capitalism has ended art. It's done.
And yet. And yet. Here's this book and it is a beautiful little sacred piece of art. It's full of ideas and a love of literature and characters who are vibrant and real. It is also sooooooo funny. This is important. You're reading along and you hit sentences like: "Now I'm going to do something other writers seem comfortable doing in their novels, which is to cite Wittgenstein."
I thought I hated books about young creative people coming of age in New York City. But that's because in those books everyone is numb and narcissistic and no one explains where they got their money. Slow Guillotine is the antidote to that nonsense. I can't wait to read what Rivera-Dundas writes next.
And yet. And yet. Here's this book and it is a beautiful little sacred piece of art. It's full of ideas and a love of literature and characters who are vibrant and real. It is also sooooooo funny. This is important. You're reading along and you hit sentences like: "Now I'm going to do something other writers seem comfortable doing in their novels, which is to cite Wittgenstein."
I thought I hated books about young creative people coming of age in New York City. But that's because in those books everyone is numb and narcissistic and no one explains where they got their money. Slow Guillotine is the antidote to that nonsense. I can't wait to read what Rivera-Dundas writes next.
Review of advance copy received from Netgalley
I appreciate the meta beginning note to the reader. However, it set the tone of the collection, and the way some of the stories were written, I wasn’t sure if this was supposed to be an essay collection or a story collection. I think it is much more successful as an essay collection. As short stories, some of the narratives and prose seemed to loose. I don’t know if that’s the way to describe it. They felt like someone was talking to the reader.
The author is clearly very funny. I think they’d be fun at a dinner party, and I would be interested in hearing them narrate the audiobook for this. I think anyone into quirky essays or short stories should check this out.
Update! It’s a novel. I got confused because in the meta part they were described as stories. As a novel, I guess it captures the messiness and instability of being 20somethings.
Thank you to NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review
The author is clearly very funny. I think they’d be fun at a dinner party, and I would be interested in hearing them narrate the audiobook for this. I think anyone into quirky essays or short stories should check this out.
Update! It’s a novel. I got confused because in the meta part they were described as stories. As a novel, I guess it captures the messiness and instability of being 20somethings.
Thank you to NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for an honest review
Review of advance copy received from Netgalley
If you want a book that perfectly captures the messiness and disorientation of your 20s, this is the novel for you. Taking place in a capitalist hellscape that we more commonly know as New York, introducing us to characters who are artists in every sense of the word- except professionally, and subjecting us to the shining example of what it means to “come of age” in a world where you’re just surviving while others are thriving.
I found that the second half of this book picked up the pace from the first half, which took me quite a while to get through. Once I got pulled in, it was a quick read and enjoyable through the finish. I ended up finding the most joy in our narrator’s dreams about Girlfriend and in the lists that ran throughout the book. Overall, this was a very sweet read and I learned so much about the book world.
Thank you NetGalley, Zero Street Fiction, and Teo Rivera-Dundas for the eARC in exchange for a review. “Slow Guillotine” comes out March 1st, 2026.
I found that the second half of this book picked up the pace from the first half, which took me quite a while to get through. Once I got pulled in, it was a quick read and enjoyable through the finish. I ended up finding the most joy in our narrator’s dreams about Girlfriend and in the lists that ran throughout the book. Overall, this was a very sweet read and I learned so much about the book world.
Thank you NetGalley, Zero Street Fiction, and Teo Rivera-Dundas for the eARC in exchange for a review. “Slow Guillotine” comes out March 1st, 2026.
December 10, 2025
Slow Guillotine could’ve been written by any of my friends! Rivera-Dundas uncannily captures the ephemeral, irreverent, and realistically disjointed experience of building a sense of self away from home in your early- to mid-20s. The distractions and idiosyncrasies of the public in service, retail, and gig jobs become necessary as we claw out of the pits of despair clinging desperately to whatever dignity we have left and, if we’re lucky, a relatively acceptable credit score. Artsy and weird people constantly gamble on creative dreams, requiring us to find value in our days whether or not we’re one of the ones that achieves fame and multi-million dollar brand deals. This book would be great for readers that like toeing the line between surreality and magical realism and people of any gender in their Weird Girl Era.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
April 19, 2026
“‘I was watching a lion chase a gazelle on Planet Earth,’ Precious says. ‘And all I could think was, look how badly it wants to live.’”
“I might say: I don’t look like someone with any insider information. I look like a fan, or a wage laborer, both of which I am.”
Enjoyed the first half of this but the second half is so repetitive it becomes claustrophobic. Is it possible to write a novel abt the absurdity of work (of retail or service work specifically) when the absurdity is only obvious and interesting to the worker themself? It’s like telling someone your dreams—which this book also does repeatedly, at length. There’s some good ideas in here (I for one enjoyed the somewhat pretentious paragraphs abt writing and reading, abt what books are really for) and some strong writing, but by the end it runs out of material and out of energy.
“I might say: I don’t look like someone with any insider information. I look like a fan, or a wage laborer, both of which I am.”
Enjoyed the first half of this but the second half is so repetitive it becomes claustrophobic. Is it possible to write a novel abt the absurdity of work (of retail or service work specifically) when the absurdity is only obvious and interesting to the worker themself? It’s like telling someone your dreams—which this book also does repeatedly, at length. There’s some good ideas in here (I for one enjoyed the somewhat pretentious paragraphs abt writing and reading, abt what books are really for) and some strong writing, but by the end it runs out of material and out of energy.
Review of advance copy received from Netgalley
Thank you to University of Nebraska Press and NetGalley for providing an ARC in exchange for an honest review
Slow Guillotine took me by surprise. At first, I really struggled to get into it and had to set it aside. But when I returned, the storytelling really resonated with me. I came to appreciate the quiet, mundane moments, and by the end, I genuinely enjoyed the novel as a whole.
#netgalley #ARC #review
Slow Guillotine took me by surprise. At first, I really struggled to get into it and had to set it aside. But when I returned, the storytelling really resonated with me. I came to appreciate the quiet, mundane moments, and by the end, I genuinely enjoyed the novel as a whole.
#netgalley #ARC #review
June 1, 2026
A hyper-specific slice of contemporary autofiction that aims directly for a particular demographic: young, broke, artistic twenty-somethings trying to survive the meat-grinder of New York City. It is a well-constructed mirror for the specific niche it represents, but it lacks the universal resonance required to engage readers outside that bubble. If you don't connect with the erratic, voice-driven style right away, there isn't enough substance underneath to make the journey worthwhile.
February 27, 2026
If you’ve never worked a minimum wage, customer facing job, you won’t get this book.
I can see why it won the Barbara DiBernard Prize in Fiction - this is a beautifully written bildungsroman for the modern times. Trying to go viral online while working multiple jobs while everything is (literally) falling down around you. Working a job because you don’t know what you want or feel like you got stuck there. Knowing what you want, but not having the time, money, and/or energy to go after it. I got it. I get it.
There’s definitely a sense of incompleteness - but isn’t that your twenties?
Thank you to Zero Street Fiction and NetGalley for my advance copy - all thoughts are my own.
I can see why it won the Barbara DiBernard Prize in Fiction - this is a beautifully written bildungsroman for the modern times. Trying to go viral online while working multiple jobs while everything is (literally) falling down around you. Working a job because you don’t know what you want or feel like you got stuck there. Knowing what you want, but not having the time, money, and/or energy to go after it. I got it. I get it.
There’s definitely a sense of incompleteness - but isn’t that your twenties?
Thank you to Zero Street Fiction and NetGalley for my advance copy - all thoughts are my own.
April 8, 2026
Both a Moshhfegh and a Rooney, dare I say it, a Moshfooney
April 16, 2026
relatable
April 30, 2026
freaking awesome book
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