In the near future, Oakland is haunted by natural disaster and political collapse. When k realizes that she has infected her girlfriend, bea, with a disease, she loses herself in a masochistic quest for atonement, leaving bea to contend with her fears about an increasingly precarious world by herself. Literary and adventurous, lyrical yet anchored, Davey Davis’ work explores the meanings of responsibility, romantic love, and queer resistance in a late-capitalist hellscape where futurity is always in question.
The world is ending - anyone who bothers to scrolls through their Facebook or Twitter feeds is bombarded with this fact daily. An incoherent demagogue runs the White House, concentration camps spread along the border like cancer, and gentrification-ravaged San Francisco may fall into the sea any day now. What's worse is that, after the silent appearance of a small sore just below her anus, bea's relationship with her ambivalently gendered partner k might be ending, too.
Davis' arresting debut novel the earthquake room, published in 2017, is supposed to be set in a near future, but that near future has already become now. Political and ecological death hum in the background of all of our lives as we try and fail to love each other. The fragile lives of queers, as we struggle to survive through hooking, fucking, and healing, feel more precarious than ever. the earthquake room shows us the end of the world exactly as it will happen, as it is happening: not through the blockbuster catacylsm we've been trained to expect, but through the tiny, everyday tears in the fabric between us that grow into almost uncrossable chasms. That something so small as a herpes sore can cause as much destruction to our worlds as the shifting of plates along the San Andreas Fault line.
I knew Davis was a good writer, but I never expected this.
I’d give this a solid 4.5 stars. A beautiful, raw, queer love story set in the backdrop of a very real apocalyptic world. Everything was jarringly relatable.
So glad this was the first novel I read this year (2018). Davis does a wonder here, where their prose feels quiet and deeply anxious at once. It's a small/intimate story, about a queer couple's (bea and k) relationship (and the conflict that has arisen there) in the Bay area.
All the while, the possibility of the Big One (the big earthquake due from the Cascadia Subduction Zone) looms over the book like a dark cloud. Alongside the uncertain possibility of the earthquake, there also runs interruptions in the text of click-bait headlines about earthquakes and politics (very T****-era) etc. that really help create the conditions of a text that is at once intimate and globally worried—which I think is the way that many of our over-connected lives look these days. But these aspects are not at all overstated in the text, they are just there, tweaking and re-anchoring the novel's tone.
Davis accomplishes a hell of a lot with relatively small decisions like these interrupting headlines, as well as through the chapter titles (most of which repeat themselves on different chapters throughout, like "SORE" and "THE BIG ONE") and the scarcity of capitalization. It is a bit of a shock that this is Davis' first novel, but I'm all here for it. Excited to see where they go next.
omg i need someone to read this book, so i can yap/gag/ have a passionate conversation about it with someone. pls. cause i fell in love with this book. how it starts so weird and real and how it takes you on the highs and lows of this queer love of two different people (bea and k) who love each other, how you understand the fears and secrets, the longings for the others closeness that anchor the text and slowly you start to understand k‘s brutal quest for infection because you start to understand this world that is still our world and when i sometimes didn’t understand everything anymore it was fine because these similes, metaphors and depth of words for survival, love and infection, penance, trust and honesty, earthquakes and an ending world where this love story will not be the end, kept me afloat. i can’t explain it. so please if you read it let me know.
so many poetical, evocative phrases and images, crammed between parenthesis as afterthoughts to the text. i found these elements to be the real pleasure of davis’s writing, but they felt lazily integrated, a voice unsure of what it wants to be. i think it would have been improved by commitment, possibly like its protagonist, though on this point i’m ambivalent. i recommend it over the michelle tea book with the virtually identical premise. slightly undercooked in comparison, in terms of plot and prose, but i appreciate that this book was aware of its formal ambiguity. characters felt much more real and sympathetic.
cool to read it after X cuz you get to see how much Davey grew as a prose author. this def felt like beginner writing, like the themes are similar but explored in a much much less interesting way. no capitalization in a whole novel felt like a stretch. i couldn’t really follow it. some formality can really benefit creative content, and X has a much tighter narrative structure. earthquake room was loose. and the imagery was just very weak like i could not picture anything about this world. something which definitely changed with X. can’t wait to read more though, if he improved this much between novel one and two, let’s see where three takes us.
I loved this beautiful little book. it’s so raw and messy and real.
The headlines smattered throughout the book make me sick (they’re too real) and the ever present anxiety of a world altering natural disaster is so relevant. In a way this book made me feel seen, like I’m really not the only one out her anxious out of my mind for things so out of my control.
Had such high hopes for this book but I feel like it could have been so much more than it was. There was clearly a lot of nuance to the plot but all in all it came across as rather boring when looking at it in whole.
"what is between us? wonders bea, as if it could be just one thing, or even a series of them. (our lives are not accumulations, they’re universes; we’re not equations, we’re dreams). why her and not me? why is she dying? why am i not dying? is Amy sadder, sicker, more afraid? more sensitive, more damaged? more unlucky, more disappointed, more predisposed? more punished, more endangered, more raped? the possibilities are a mobile of existence in the air around bea’s head, wavering, floating, moving, one series her own and one Amy’s. there is one for her mother and one for Claire and one for Glory, all of them cantilevering, dangling, all in imbalance. (where is k’s mobile?) by taking control, does one sacrifice the future? which is better to have, or worse to lose?
"bea used to think regret was for isolated actions (a finger on the stove; a lie to your teacher), not movements, entire life chapters, behaviors so ingrained that they became natural law."
There are some gorgeous passages of language in this novel and I enjoyed the queer, near-future dystopia vibe a lot - I'd love to read more of this kind of dystopia in which the creeping fear of natural disaster is kind of a backdrop to day to day interpersonal relationships. The way in which the gig economy and sex work is also incorporated into this world was also a great choice in terms of world building and obviously not far off our current world. I think the two main characters were distinct and well fleshed out, although I was a bit confused by some of the choices they made and I'm not really sure I completely understood the general plot of this novel in terms of what it was trying to say or the resolution it came to. There was also some very interesting commentary on monogamy and non-monogamy in this book, which I enjoyed.
I tend to really enjoy experimental books, but in this case, I actually felt that I enjoyed this book despite its unique formatting rather than feeling like its formatting added to the text.
The story itself actually felt quite traditional as far as its being grounded in reality, so rather than having the choppy block text emphasize the poetic or nontraditional nature of the story, it actually just allowed the author to avoid character and story building that I think would have worked nicely in the book.
Ultimately, much of the "dystopian," "post-apocalyptic" praise or description of the book is a bit over played as most of this information is gathered in small glimpses via news article titles throughout the story and not an important part of the narrative. Honestly, I only use those words because they're in the blurbs on the back of the book, but that would not have come to my mind whatsoever if somebody asked me to give them an elevator pitch of this book.
The book does focus on the complex nature of queer love for those struggling with their gender identities and sexuality, and frankly that's more than enough for me, I don't think you need to slap "dystopia" on the back of the book.
That being said, the book has some hauntingly memorable lines and I am really glad I found it. Davey Davis is a beautiful writer and this is a truly impressive first novel.
Beach read-ish. I left this book sitting in my bathroom cuz I finished it while taking a bath. Lots of people have discovered it while in my bathroom and found it and fun to flip through which I feel suggests that it is a specific kind of pleasure read.
It’s broken up into short sections with titles like “Going Online” and “Lesbian Bed Death.” Very zoomed in picture of being a queer person in the Bay Area in 2018 (maybe).
One of the characters is obsessed with watching YouTube videos of natural disasters — footage where people just randomly happened to be filming and then an earthquake or something happens. So at first the video is really boring, like just people walking to work or something, but then the disaster happens and people are screaming, running away, dying, etc. This inspired me to go down a YouTube rabbit hole of natural disaster videos and I found them mostly disturbing but yeah, kind of compelling.
Random side note, at the Boston Institute of Contemporary Art there’s a VR piece in the “Art in the Age of Internet” exhibit where you’re standing, looking out the window out into the ocean (it was created as a site specific piece, so it isn’t exactly AR but you put the headset on and the first scene is what you see looking out the window), then a tidal wave comes and it’s a post-apocalyptic nightmare scene. I almost had to take the headset off and leave when the tidal wave comes, it was absolutely terrifying. I’ve added that to my list of top fears. Anyway.
A poignant examination of queer romance, the messiness and fluidity of queer gender experience and embodiment, and the way the small interpersonal dramas comprising our individual lives remain enormously important to us no matter how dystopian, chaotic, and tumultuous the world around us may become. bea and k are exquisitely developed characters; k's bizarre and dysfunctional reaction to her realization that she's infected bea with herpes is rendered entirely sympathetic and relatable even as it's also clear that she's making terrible decisions that don't make logical sense. The chapters in which memories are relayed and re-relayed from both bea's point of view and k's point of view are excellent sketches of how hurtful misunderstandings can happen in relationships, even between two basically good people who love one another.
The unusual formatting of this novel borders on the experimental, and I'm not entirely sure what to make of it. I suspect the general lack of capitalization and the paragraph spacing are meant to evoke online writing, particularly the sort you'd see on someone's personal tumblr a few years back (or LiveJournal, a few years back from that). At times, I thought this evocation really jived with the novel's content, themes (this is one of the better books I've read at realistically depicting the way the internet has become entwined with most aspects of our everyday lives, no longer a separate entity from "real life" at all), and mood. At other times, I found it distracting. It's definitely a bold stylistic choice, though, and I respect that.
A beautiful snapshot of a queer couple’s individual and introspective experiences navigating relationships and processing past and current trauma. The novel is interwoven with ambient, but increasingly pertinent apocalyptic conditions (which as it would turn out, closely resemble the cultural and somatic adaptations we’ve collectively adopted since the beginning of the Covid-19 pandemic). Quick and satiating read.
The earthquake room is an incredibly powerful and moving tale about love that isn’t always clean, is in fact messy at its core. It doesn’t pull any emotional punches and the characters are raw and imperfect and screw things up often and it’s wonderful. Extremely deeply resonant as a queer person who has also struggled with self acceptance and forgiveness
kind of chaotically written but I think that's why it made me feel calm because its written a little bit like my my thoughts and brain work. Ive written out many parts or quotes from this book that just made so much sense to me or I thought were poetically interesting
“beyond them both roars the ocean, an excess of sound. out there is space for everything: for the past and for the future, for the aperture of money and for moving onward, for disaster and for healing. for seeing everything in existence and nothing but each other”
es war wunderschön geschrieben aber es war sehr bedrückend und ich habe es wahrscheinlich nur so zu 70% gecheckt (aber wirklich wunderschön geschrieben) jetzt ist zeit für fantasy, ich bin zu unstable für diesen realen shit
A bizarre book, but I loved it. Interesting queer relationship narrative set in a slightly dystopian near future, which I’ve never encountered before. Definitely a recommended quick read.
Not what I was expecting at all! I was expecting something a lot more dystopian and futuristic, but it turned out to be a much more intimate story about a queer couple. I liked it!
Queer apocalypse fiction that gets that "waiting for the other catastrophic shoe to drop" feeling just right. The stuff that scares you the most has already happened to you