Every One Still Here: Stories by Liadan Ní Chuinn “It’s not both sides, it’s not either side, it’s this huge fucking army, it’s this huge fucking state, this government that does whatever it wants, that just, that, they can kill us, and kill us.” Through six stories, Liadan Ní Chuinn examines grief, family, generational trauma and oppression set in Northern Ireland. In the first, We All Go, Jackie seeks to understand his family’s history after the decline and death of his father. This loss is mixed with scenes of his anatomy class and the gruesome, sterile dissection of human cadavers. In Russia, a young man starts to see a psychic, whose advice is more therapy than future telling. He attempts to navigate a relationship with his sister, both of whom were adopted from Russia when they were young. Intertwined with this past seeking is his job at a museum that is facing increasing guerilla protests over their displays of human remains. All of Ní Chuinn’s tales seem to have a dual-story feature, what may be happening on the surface in these character’s lives and the bubbling distress underneath. In the final story of the collection, Daisy Hill, Rowan visits his uncle John, who has lost his wife and now is in distress as his dog nears the time for vet-recommended euthanasia. What Rowan finds is a man crumbling, crushed by the past and continued loss. He is living with mental illness and has taken something to end his torment. Rowan connects this trauma to the Troubles and another family member wrecked by the extreme stress of the past. This story concludes and Ní Chuinn follows it up with a section, “The Truth.” In this final entry, Ní Chuinn details unarmed civilians murdered by British soldiers in Northern Ireland. Children, teenagers, mothers, innocent people, shot when they have already been murdered, shot in the back, and tortured into confessions of crimes they did not commit. Each story in Every One Still Here is a dynamic contribution to Irish literature and a stunning debut that mirrors the inhumanity and devastation of our present. Salvage by Hedgie Choi If I am stupid, let it be exposed. If I have harmed others, let me be smote. Maybe hold off on that second part. The debut poetry collection from writer and translator Hedgie Choi covers everything from binge-watching Star Trek to the brief joyful memories we maintain of those who have harmed us in the past. At its root, this collection is a refreshing introduction to a cunning and funny poet. In a form marked so often by pain and heartache, Choi’s collection is witty and indisputably full of youthful energy. Poems feel like wandering thoughts and musing on what may to some feel mundane, bringing absurdist ideas and original character to this collection. In the poem Holiday, she highlights the futile effort and constant practice of cleaning the Cologne Cathedral, when the bricks are finally clean, those at the top are dirty again, starting the process again. In Nourished and Enriched, she wonders where milk comes from, “Milk is so intimate but I don’t know where it comes from. Or I do. It comes from a cow? From its udders, which in illustrated children’s books are fat accusatory fingers, but in real life, who knows? I know.” Choi twists and turns her collection, with each poem likely taking a wild turn from the last, keeping the reader surprised and eager for more. A shiningly unique release in modern poetry, Salvage was a finalist for the John Leonard Prize from the National Book Critics Circle, an award that celebrates author debuts. No. 148 By Hana Zittel
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