There are some extremely dark stories in this anthology, including two about systemic rape and abuse, and there is also a meet-cute story written entirely for silliness and humor with zero character depth. It is a tough combination, and although each story had its value, I really struggled with the emotional whiplash.
Overall I appreciated Connie Willis’s embrace of each specific story she wanted to tell, often for idiosyncratic reasons and about her idiosyncratic interests (like Christian denominational battles). I also like that most of the stories are about women; both the dark and the more playful stories deal directly with topics like the fear and risk and joy of a teen girl’s puberty and adolescence, the invisibility of mothers and wives, and the manipulation of women by men. It didn’t always match my own feminism—these stories are forty years old after all—but it’s an honest and interested look at science fiction’s perennially ignored half of the human population.
“Fire Watch” (the first Oxford time travel story, I think) moved me with its depiction of people in anguish at impossible but worthwhile tasks, and struggling with mistrust and alienation on top of the true tragedies.
The story about a “sidon” was my other favorite, an exploration of an alien that cannot help but mirror individual human personalities; so we get into all my favorite themes of identity, self-definition, alienation, self-distrust and self-knowledge, and how that works with attempts to connect to others (as well as domestication and wildness, and brutal patriarchal violence). It is very horrible and complex. Even though this story also contained the most uncomfortably outdated element to my eyes—a depiction of a disabled woman as so victimized and made pitiable by her disability that she hardly comes across as human—the story got me in the complex feels, giving me emotions and thoughts without resolving them into opinions on which character actions were correct or whether I agreed with a particular message.
This is maybe why I connected with the brutal stories more than the playful ones, and why I almost always do so even though right now I wish I could just fall into something happy. Uncomfortable or bad politics in a cute romance or a humor story sour the whole experience for me. When those show up in a complex tangle of suffering and systemic oppression, I can process my personal discomfort into the story topics, think about my relation to these characters, try to understand why they or the author made different choices than I wanted them to. Ultimately I’d rather have more complicated viewpoints caring about something than sweep anything under the rug.
Still. I’ve got to find some stories that are sweet and kind with just good politics and empathy. Or failing that, more shortcuts that make me less stiff and complicated about it—like my love for octopuses.