Alexandria Chamberlain

“You can’t shoot me; I’m rich!” Yizhi slips through the opening created.”
― Xiran Jay Zhao, Iron Widow

“An end to empires. An immovable object to crash an impossible force upon, and break it.”
― Arkady Martine, A Memory Called Empire

“You pump the dead full of chemicals and refuse to let anything rot—people or ideas or … or bad poetry, of which there is in fact some, even in perfectly metrical verse,” said Mahit. “Forgive me if I disagree with you on emulation. Teixcalaan is all about emulating what should already be dead.” “Are you Yskandr, or are you Mahit?” Three Seagrass asked, and that did seem to be the crux of it: Was she Yskandr, without him? Was there even such a thing as Mahit Dzmare, in the context of a Teixcalaanli city, a Teixcalaanli language, Teixcalaanli politics infecting her all through, like an imago she wasn’t suited for, tendrils of memory and experience growing into her like the infiltrates of some fast-growing fungus.”
― Arkady Martine, A Memory Called Empire

“She takes it, flicks through the photographs of the objects picked up at the base. Rao sees her linger on a toy rifle, a red velvet comforter, a plush rabbit, a rocking chair. “Yeah,” she says. “Beautifully curated. Makes me think of the Valley of Lost Things. There’s a chapter called that in my book. It’s a literary device, a place characters visit in stories and find all the things people have lost. These, though”—her voice turns speculative—“seem to me not so much lost things as things made of loss. Where are these from?”
― Sin Blaché, Prophet