Month / August 2020

by BiSKITs & Gravy

Untitled

by S.L. Jordan

Impatience has a weight to it. That weight can be seen in the slump of the shoulders, the shuffling from one foot to the other, the aimless walking of back and forth.

Everyone gathered in the FASFA office felt that weight. The air in the room filled with the repressive sighs of students hoping to hear good news.

Three of the five officers had already abandoned their post for lunch, and the remaining two were in no rush to clear out the waiting room.

The eldest of the officers turned to pull a file from the ever growing pile to her left, and there was a collective intake of breath. Who would be next? There seem to be no rhyme or reason to who was called when.

Confusion was clearly etched across her face as she struggled to make out the name on the file. Her lips moved silently as she fought to make that collection of vowels and consonants make sense to her tongue. A young woman seated in the far left corner slowly started to stand, as if this were a common experience, and made her way to the front.

The frustrated officer sighed and made an attempt, “Ms. Rata … Ratau …”

“Yes,” she interrupted the butchering of her surname, “that is me.”

Once at the counter, the student leaned in in efforts to obtain some level of privacy. The cashier, oblivious to her need for discretion, spoke even louder – “You’re going to have to speak up. I can barely understand what you are saying.”

The young lady tried to adjust her mask in hopes of being heard, and leaned in closer.

“Oh NO! You have to keep your mask ON, or I will have to schedule another appointment to see an officer at the earliest convenience” she declared even louder.

Those last four words took all of the shyness from the student, “at the earliest convenience” could mean by the end of the semester, and today was the last day for payments to be accepted. She straightened her shoulder and held her head high as she said loudly for even I to hear in the back, “I’m coming to check on the status of my scholarship, I have not heard back.”

“Are you sure you got it? As far as I know, all disbursements have been made. Tell me the name of the scholarship, and I will see what we have in the system”, the cashier replied flippantly. The annoyance that was clearly displayed on her face knocked the students shoulder’s down a notch. The confidence in her voice lowered again as she stated her full name and the specialized scholarship created specifically for immigrant students of color.

Author’s Note: this past weekend, I met with my virtual book club -Read Between The Wines- to discuss “Hitting a Straight Lick With a Crooked Stick” our August book. The book is a “full” collection of Zora Neale Hurston’s short stories. From a writers perspective I commented about how I would feel if someone found my notebooks of short stories, ideas, drafts or tidbits and just published them. Honestly, I don’t think I would like it if I were to be completely honest. On the other hand, I guess I’m “publishing” them now for the world to read, right?

Take this story for example, for the past week this scene has been running in the back of my mind. I wanted to explore how I would write a scene about someone else, from a strangers perspective. I had an idea of how I wanted the story to end, but along the way I lost the steam for it.

There are sentences, words, or phrases I love from this piece that I may steal for another project, but as for now this is how it ends.

In the words of Zora Neal Hurston:

STEPPED ON A TIN, MAH STORY END.

by BiSKITs & Gravy

Thoughts on New Wonder Woman Trailer

By: Tony W.

I watched the new Wonder Woman movie trailer over the weekend for Wonder Woman 1984 and it got me to thinking. First, let me say that I have a lot of opinions regarding WW’s representation having been a longtime fan. Secondly, I was disappointed with the first movie because they gave too much attention to her love interest at the expense of the loss of her family. I could not even during the viewing of the movie reconcile her not mourning the deaths of her fellow Amazons that she’d known her entire life along with her General Aunt because she saw, a man. Then, at the death of this man, Steve Trevor who sacrifices himself for the greater good, she loses her shit and goes into destruction mode. Yeah, that pissed me the fuck off. 

Now we have a new movie coming out, again we have her focused on a love interest, and it’s again Steve Trevor who has somehow come back from having blown the fuck up. In my opinion this movie should be focused on the relationship between WW and her nemesis Cheetah. What is more interesting than a friend turned enemy when the hero/heroine doesn’t understand where the change came from or why? Also, Cheetah always gives WW a run for her money because she’s smart and because of the talisman is an almost even match skill wise. But nooooo, we can’t focus on two powerful women we have to add in this man who according to the DC movies Diana has never gotten over and has spent a hundred years pining for. Really, it’s such bullshit. 

The thing is if you bring back Steve Trevor, how is he back? If it’s a relative who looks just like him, then that shit is weird and fucked up because Diana than only cares because he looks so much like her past love. If Steve’s returned from the dead through DNA manipulation it’s still not him but a copy and again, Diana only cares because he looks like the original. No matter how you write it the new Steve is not the original she was so enamored with she forgot about her family, making her shallow, something she is not. 

I loath movie plots where the hero can’t see anything past the facial features of what was their love. Loving a person has to do with a lot more than looks. Even the animals know that just because something is wearing familiar skin doesn’t make it their companion.

So, all that to say that I’ll be waiting for the movie to stream/hit cable before I take the time to watch it. And, Wonder Woman deserves so much more. Why don’t they just use a Gail Simone plot to make the next movie, oh yeah the cinematic universe hasn’t acknowledged that she was a main writer for Wonder Woman.

by BiSKITs & Gravy

The Umbrella Academy and Race

By: IO

*This review may contain spoilers for season two of The Umbrella Academy*

Diego stops a purse-snatcher in 1963 Dallas and no one bats an eye. He returns the purse to the white woman it was stolen from and she walks toward him, reaches her hands out gratefully. 

Diego is arrested by Dallas police in 1963 and sent to a sanitarium. The other patients are all white, except for Lila, a South Asian Brit. He is treated politely, if apprehensively, by the staff. 

Lila walks into the front entrance of a pet store in Dallas in 1963. She holds the door open for a white mother and her young son on her way in and they do not stare. 

Lila walks alone at night down a Dallas street in 1963. Several police cars, sirens blaring, on their way to break up a protest led by local Black civil rights activists, do not stop as they pass her. None of the white pedestrians she passes on the street give her a glance. 

Did you notice when you watched?

In 1963, the Civil Rights Movement was making real progress. We were so close to the signing of the Voting Rights Act of 1964. The Umbrella Academy incorporated this history into the foundations of their season two plot. They even made one of the protagonists, Allison, a part of the local movement after being stranded in time. They chose specifically to call attention to her race as a Black woman in a way that was ignored in season one. Which is why the four scenes listed above struck me as odd and disappointing. 

Was it a consequence of a gap in the writers’ lack of racial awareness? A conscious choice to create an universe where racism is only a black and white issue? I’ve rewatched Diego and Lila’s scenes multiple times to see if there was something I missed, some subtle clue that one of the few shows portraying non-Black POC in the Civil Rights era did not gloss over their racial identities. 
There is one scene that makes me think the ignoring of their races was an intentional choice. For the most part, Diego and Lila do not interact with the world. They spend most scenes in the asylum and then in Elliot’s research base of operations. It’s easy to assume that because Allison chose to integrate, build a life in Dallas 1963 that she would face more discrimination due to more exposure. But this show does subtle ticks very well. Even scenes without direct confrontation, white extras can be seen casting unsettled or disgusted looks at Allison and Ray as they walk down the street. No such looks were directed at either Diego or even Lila, a person whose skin tone is darker than Allison’s. But the one scene where Diego and Lila must exist and interact with the public occurs when they are joined by Five to sneak into Reginald’s meeting at a party held at the Mexican Consulate. Of all the places the meeting could have happened, The Umbrella Academy chose one where two brown-skinned people could mingle as guests without drawing attention just for being.

Diego and Lila are indisputably people of color. Umbrella Academy erases their race in a context they otherwise bring intense racial focus on. By doing so they erase the history of non-Black racial minorities in America and their connection to the Civil Rights Movement.  Because it was not just Black folks who weren’t allowed to sit at the lunch counters. Afterall, the sign at Stadler’s read “Whites Only”, not “No Negroes.”  Instead the show put the burden of showing and fighting against racial prejudice on the Black woman. The show reduces the history of racial inequality to a dichotomy of black and white. And that’s dangerous. It’s dangerous to propagate the myth that other racial groups walked through pre-Civil rights America completely invisible or non-existent. It feeds the myth that our fates are not connected, that racism doesn’t affect us all, that Black people have their movement and it has no impact on other racial groups.

I really like season two of The Umbrella Academy. The characters are well developed, the acting is great, the music is *chef’s kiss*, and the bloody messes of Five’s fight scenes are bizarrely joyful. Like all art, it’s got its high points and its flaws. And I get that it’s a supernatural/sci-fi/fantasy-esq show where people with superpowers travel through time and save the world. I can suspend disbelief. I’m a Black woman in America who has consumed a lot of media centering white maleness because it’s what was mainstream. I can suspend a whole lot of disbelief to identify with a character who looks nothing like me and written by people who would be baffled by my experiences. But what makes this genre great is the creation and adherence to its own rules. In the case of Umbrella Academy season two, they broke their rules. They created a plot that dug into the real racial history of our world but failed to do it justice. Listen, they sprinkled in little sparrow easter eggs throughout the show but couldn’t get one white extra to cast a suspicious glare at its non-Black characters of color? All I want is for Diego and Lila to have superpowers and be badasses without denying their race.

by BiSKITs & Gravy

Labyrinth Lost Review

by K. Osorio-Teamer

SPOILER ALERT! There are some light spoilers ahead, but I give a warning before the MAJOR spoilers towards the end.

The magical family I didn’t know existed has welcomed me into their Circle. I was hooked the minute I read the first line in Zoraida Córdova’s Labyrinth Lost. After losing my connection to a certain magical series due to the author’s prejudiced views, I’d been searching for YA fantasy novels. Even though I follow the author on Instagram, somehow her Bruja Brooklyn series flew under my radar. Last month when Córdova posted a picture of the trilogy stating her final installment would be released this September, my mouth was agape. I immediately ordered the first two and started reading when they arrived. I haven’t considered myself a fast reader in a while and I used to have trouble with being consistent with books. I’d start one and never finish it. This is my shared shame with book lovers around the world. I wouldn’t even call it a shame – more like an endearing truth. That and how many books we own that we’ve never read. One day, your spines will crack, I swear to you. With that being said, I was hooked into the story and flew through the book in two weeks – a record for me. 

The world building was phenomenal. The Book of Cantos (spells), the journal entries of brujxs, the legends of the Deos, and the history of Los Lagos was fascinating. The way these were placed at the beginning of each chapter gave me Parable of the Sower vibes. I think I’m most obsessed with the deities she calls Deos, which sparked my curiosity into the gods and goddesses of the indigineous peoples of Latin America. A rabbit hole I am happy to still be falling in. I felt seen in the care and attention paid to altars; the use of pet names like mija and nena by the maternal members of the protagonist’s family; and the intentional use of bruja and brujo vs witches and cantos vs spells. That cultural connection gave this book a million brownie points. 

I also enjoyed the choice of setting this world in modern times. These two opposing realities – busy city streets where a magic shop can be found – set the story apart for me. Being in gym class AND being able to get an asshole back with a magical curse helped ground me in the story although most of it takes place in a magical realm. And what a time it was in that realm! Los Lagos was a labyrinth in itself with its own set of rules and an array of magical creatures that left me feeling uneasy. That was a running theme in the book: Look twice. Things aren’t always what they appear. I spent most of the time with this anxiety over who or what would betray the protagonist Alex. I knew it was coming, but I was surprised as to who turned out to be trustworthy and not. 

Then there’s Alex, the protagonist. She is the middle sibling in a trio of sisters, who is seemingly the only one who was a problem with her magical identity. She’s hiding a secret from her sisters and mother that is somehow linked to her father’s disappearance. She’s hiding her true fantastical self from her best friend. She’s doing a shit ton of hiding and feeling like at any moment she’ll burst. I was annoyed at her attitude, but I understood what made her tick. Another big win for this book: the bisexual love triangle that isn’t a big plot point. Right away, I could see the connection and longing between her and her bff Rishi. When the bad boy brujo Nova comes around, the way they feel about Alex is obvious. She doesn’t have to come out to anyone and it isn’t even a conversation. It just is and we need more stories like this. 

MAJOR SPOILER COMING SO PLEASE STOP READING THIS IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THE BOOK. 

SERIOUSLY STOP. 

COME ON, WHAT ARE YOU STILL DOING HERE? 

Ok I know I’ve been gushing unicorns and rainbows over this book. That’s because I truly loved it and I’m itching to get into the second one. The only complaint I had was that I never doubted that Alex would get her family back. I knew no matter what happened next that she would save everyone. And she did. No one died and everyone seemed happy AF by the end of the book. I’ll admit there was one surprise in the return of her father. Other than that, it was a predictably happy ending and I felt slighted. I wanted to be heartbroken and punched in the gut. Maybe I’ve gotten used to stories that don’t end in a neat little bow. Maybe I’ve become a literary masochist. Then I remembered this book is the first in a trilogy and Córdova has PLENTY of time to crush my heart. 

SPOILER FREE ZONE AHEAD.

I recommend this book to all lovers of magical stories looking for some Latinx culture in their fantasy books. I’m off to start reading Bruja Born, the second installment. I might take my time with this one since the third book Wayward Witch won’t come out until September. Happy reading!

by BiSKITs & Gravy

No. 11

By S.L. Jordan

The dull hammering of my head brought me back around. My tongue felt thick in my mouth, and just as I was gathering up saliva to ease my dry throat I heaved up the half of bagel I had eaten earlier.

Fuck. That was a good and bad sign. I had been chloroformed -bad-, but I hadn’t been here long -good-, cause I vaguely remembered eating that bagel as “breakfast for dinner” last night.

I inhaled. One, two, three, four. Exhaled. One, two, three, four. Once I silenced the hammering I took a quick mental cursory review of my body. No broken bones or wounds. Great. My weapons had been confiscated, and I was being held hostage … prisoner. I wasn’t quite sure. It was clear by the ropes binding my hands that my captor was no Eagle Scout. A flick of the wrist, or three and I would be free.

There was hardly any light, save for the subtle ray coming from the singular rounded window in the vaulted room. I didn’t care, after years of using the abandoned subway tunnels as my highway, I had developed night vision. Well, not really, but my eyes did better with the least amount of light.

So, I could see the lone figure standing 60 yards or so away from me. Foolishly thinking the darkness obscured their presence from me. I almost chuckled in-spite of myself. I coughed instead, and listened as it bounced around the empty room.

We were alone.

By now, their scent had made it’s way to me. The coying scent of honeysuckle mixed with days old sweat, and some cheap bottom shelf liquor.

FUUUUUUUCK. Double Fuck. How did he find me? I knew I had covered my tracks. There was only one tracker good enough to find me, and I had heard tale he has crossed over to Canada years ago. May have even died.

For almost two decades, I had been living my life by the 10 rules. Mostly. My daddy had created them back when the shit first hit the fan. He made us memorize them, and even on his death bed he made me promise to live by them until my dying breath. When I met Jonah 4 years ago, I had just been ousted from the Chesapeake Communal and making the long trek back to the Adirondack mountains. I had a cabin and as an original founder of the First Communal of the Eastern Seaboard, I always had a home there. He and his twin sister were on in search of a new community. That should have been my first red flag.

But, here’s the thing about surviving the collapse of modern society, harsh winters without the convenience of a centralized government, and fucking mountain lions, you start to think you are invincible. That only the biggest and baddest thing can take you down.

So, when the smallest thing comes out of nowhere and knocks you the fuck off your feet … well, you can’t deal. As simple as that, and you hightail it out of there as fast as you can. And that’s what I did.

I couldn’t believe it. Almost three years and the embarrassment still stung my cheeks harder than a murder hornet. Yeah, I survived that too. It was loneliness for me. The sensual satisfying touch of another human being.

He stepped from the shadows in the faint light, and almost instantly my body began to betray me.

Just as simple as that I broke all the rules I had ever made for Jonah, and here he was again. He’s the reason I made rule No. 11.

No. 11: Sometimes, it’s just fuck everyone.