I really enjoyed these subtle horror stories. They’re not ‘in your face’ but let you slowly in on the terrible fate of ordinary people. A shipwrecked man who is a survivor and visits a mother of a drowned son who asks difficult questions, a Japanese woman who gives origami classes in a woman’s prison and siblings living near a Métis reservation in Canada. The beautiful language is a breath of fresh air despite the uncomfortable subject matter.
There was black blood on the pastures. There was blood. A lot. There were, perhaps, spine-chilling rivers of blood treacherously fertilizing the crop fields, invisible sticky blades of grass that soiled everything: air and breath, wood and metal. There was blood, the kind that sticks to the soles of your shoes, making your footsteps devour your heels with their betrayal.
