There are good reviews, there are bad reviews, and there are reviews somewhere in the middle. Reviews vary, and in my opinion, most of the Australian SF reviews could be more polished and insightful, but that's not really the point. Published writers create work for the public domain, for better or worse. Your readers will praise or criticise, and as I've discovered from reading negative reviews of work I've loved or when selecting awards shortlists and disagreeing quite wildly with fellow judges, people's opinions just can't be fathomed, at times. It's what makes life interesting.

But here's the thing, and writers take note: if you allow your personal neuroses to spill out into a hissy fit/flame war against a reviewer, then editors will not want to work with you and reviewers will no longer wish to review your work. Editors and reviewers have long memories. Writers might think, "fuck 'em, it's just one editor/market" but it's more than that. Editors talk, editors remember. Editors have friends and colleagues and they all talk.

You have an alarming tendency to try and make everything about you, as if you're some kind of bad boy of Australian science fiction, when in fact you're arguing yourself into irrelevance. If you want to be a professional writer, start behaving in a professional manner. If you don't feel Russell is reviewing in a professional manner, then leave him to work that out or simply to have his readers abandon him in droves - just like a lot of potential readers may be abandoning you by the way you sometimes act here. Look at the way you treated Jonathan Strahan in your webcomic, for fuck's sake.

It's all in the execution. Some authors are able to respond to criticism in an interesting, thoughtful way that offers respect to the reviewers and adds an extra layer of dialogue. [info]margolanagan is one who regularly publishes snippets of all her reviews, good or bad, and analyses them in an entertaining manner. Her snarky, self-deprecating meta-commentary is one of my favourite things about her blog, and I love that when she does poke fun at reviews, there's a 50-50 chance it may be a positive or a negative one. Considering the amount of noise that tends to surround Margo's work these days, it's rather nice to have her there, poking holes in the pomp on a regular basis. I'm sure some of you out there can think of other examples of authors who do much the same thing. I'm normally bored to tears by blog entries that are nothing but reprints of positive reviews and blurbs - Margo does something a bit different with it, and I really respect that.

What with the recent controversy regarding this review of twenty-six lies/one truth, I thought I'd actually read the book and review it. That's the thing about controversy, it creates publicity and sometimes gets people off their arses and reading so they can make up their own minds.

There's something a bit detached abou 26 lies. I thought it would be angrier. I'm not sure entirely why. Maybe because I imagine Ben to be an angry man, gnashing his teeth at what he considers to be an unfair world. But that image of Ben is more my weird fantasy and has no basis in the real world. It's certainly not evident on his blog. I mean, he's obviously a bloke who likes to state an opinion. But even his rantings have a sort of detached style. As if he believes it doesn't matter in the slightest what he thinks or writes - no one is going to take him seriously anyway.

And that's a little bit how I felt reading 26 lies. I'd call it apathetic writing. Except that's sounds pejorative and that's not what I'm aiming for. There's something detached about the book. A little bit cynical as well - but that's not the main ingredient. If I had to put a finger on it I'd say world weary. As if Ben, a man who has been nowhere, done nothing and met anybody, has become completely desensitized to his existence.

What I'm trying to say is that the book lacks intensity. That doesn't mean it isn't good. The writing is very good indeed. The little snippets about authors who have lied - pretending to be someone who they're not - are genuinely interesting. I even learnt what Factotum meant. But, whether the extracts of his life are true or not, I was hoping to engage with Ben, or at least the person represented in the book. Even his relationship with his girlfriend in Brisbane (the one bit that's probably false, but who knows) lacks punch. I didn't really care. The arguments - presented as lines of speech - are just that, arguments. There's some good stuff in there. But nothing I could hang my emotional hat on.

That said, some of the passages are simply superb and quite funny. Ben's writing shines when he talks about the things he genuinely loves, such as his adoration for Octavia Butler. I also really enjoyed the segments on Bukowski... and now I have a yearning to pick up some Bukowski for myself. In fact, the bright little snippets re-assure the reader that Ben isn't entirely dead on the inside. His still yearns for the things he loves. They just may not be the same things that you love.

Ben's also quite happy to throw around his opinion. And that's cool. I don't agree with him on a number of issues. Especially the bit about Nationalism. But even when I didn't agree with him I couldn't help but nod my head after reading Ben's thought on a particular issue. Also his section on Censorship and how stupid it is, is spot on. I liked his bit on sanctity as well.

Overall 26 lies is the sort of ambitious, clever book that's always worth reading even if it doesn't entirely succeed. While I didn't engage with Ben the character in the book, I never felt bored reading about his life. Not that the book ever dwells on one subject long enough to ever be boring. And the thing is, after finishing the book I felt I'd learnt a number of new things and felt inspired enough to check out the work of a number of writers who I'd never bothered with before. So on that level the book was a success.

So, yes, I do recommend 26 lies. The writing is strong, if a bit detached. And the subject matter is interesting, if a bit matter of fact. But it's obviously the work of a very talented author.

Twenty-Six Lies/One Truth - Ben Peek

Wheatland Press, 2006

152 pages

RRP: US$14.95

ISBN 0-9755903-8-3

Reviewed by Russell B. Farr

This book bills itself as an “autobiography of a man who has been nowhere, done nothing and met nobody”, and with such a low peak to aspire to, accomplishes this. It consists of a number of short pieces, sometimes arbitrarily grouped around the alphabet, that overall form several plot lines. Thrown into the mix are examples of literary fraud.

The strength of the work lies in using the structure to create little moments of suspense while telling essentially uninteresting tales. This ends up being a bit like being fed day-old white bread a piece at a time when you’re not sure if you feel hungry or not.

Twenty six lies/one truth didn’t set my imagination racing, nor force me to get my brain out of first gear. It’s a competent book by a competent writer, but I get the impression it has been written entirely for the author’s own enjoyment.

Wheatland Press have a number of excellent, essential titles in their catalogue, but this isn’t one of them.

Some stories come closer, sometimes much closer, in the way they examine the interconnectedness of the city and its people... In contrast, Ben Peek's "The Funeral, Ruined," a rare science-fictional story in the collection, queries the relationship between people and city rather than merely accepting it, as does Jay Lake's "Promises; A Tale of the City Imperishable." Peek's Issuer is a city of transients, close to the huge cremation Ovens, and created by a speculator who services the temporary needs of those bringing their dead to be disposed of. It is, as Peek says, a city of purpose. Linette, living among the dead, dying and transients, can no longer fulfil her role as a soldier, but neither can she yet join the dead. She does not belong, but given she sees herself as being as good as dead, why would she leave?

Though Ben Peek's "The Funeral, Ruined" is marred by its author's apparently shaky grasp of grammar, his tale concerns an interesting protagonist in an unusual setting, that of a city of crematoria. The narrative is at times disorganized, however, and doesn't quite come together. Because it occasionally gives us very fine sentences, all the clunky ones were especially maddening. How, I wondered, could someone who writes sentences like these—"With hard yanks, she tightly wound the frayed black laces of her boots up. On the right boot she missed a hole, and on the left, two" (p. 177)—also write sentences like this: "Her skin, however, sagged around her jaw, wrinkled over her face, and continued to do so down her neck until it was covered by the brown gown she wore" (p. 180). Given its promise, it's a shame it didn't get a couple of more rewrites before publication.

The Funeral, Ruined, by Ben Peek is a bittersweet tale of life and death. In a city ruined by war and dotted with huge public crematories, ex-soldier Linnette gets ready to the ritual tattooing that marks the funeral of her former lover. But is he dead? Peek keeps the readers attention "reading" the last letter Linnette's lover left her. A good cheat, Peek makes the reader believe in a suicide letter, but the case is quite the contrary. The Morticians and their tattoos are an awesome idea.

timothymiller

"I was convicted of being Japanese. It was my only crime, and when found guilty, I was sentenced to Assimilation."

So begins Black Sheep, by Ben Peek, a dark dystopian journey into a world where segregation is perfected, and opposition--even in thought--results in the mind numbing horrific act of Assimiliation.

Isao Dazai, having recently immigrated to Asian-Sydney from Asian-Tokyo, finds himself in a world--once again--divided by race. Sydney is no different than Tokyo. Segregating Asians, Africans, and Caucasians into walled cities guarded by featureless Segregators, grave consequences result at even the thought of crossing cultural boundaries.

From the beginning, (not counting the fact that the first few lines of the book offer up his fate) we know that Isao is destined to buck the system.

While he is continually curious about the happenings in African or Caucasian-Sydney, his apathy and restlessness, even in his own Country (before immigrating to Asian-Sydney) speaks more of an existential angst, a discomfort in his own skin, than a true desire to search out alien culture. "...it was a well kept secret that I believed that I could live in any city, in any country, and feel the same ambivalence."

But we're not just talking about angst rising out of the uncertainty and discomfort of your own existence, we're talking angst that blooms and thrives in an environment where all of your actions are caught on surveillance cameras, your voice recorded, and dissidence rewarded with the stripping of your pigmentation--an erasure of sorts--placing you in environs eerily reminiscent of Nazi concentration camps.

While I was hoping for the dark brooding humor that plagues (in a good way) his blog, Peek's Black Sheep--while void of lightheartedness, (this is dystopian after all)--was impossible to put down.

Peek creates a sterile world where your name is your sickness, your Family is your enemy, individuality is prohibited, and nothing is ever what it seems.

“Black Betty,” [Lone Star Stories; Issue 23, October 1, 2007] by Ben Peek is a compelling and macabre adventure story set against the Caribbean pirate era. Although no date is specified within the piece, somewhere around 1665 would be my educated guess. The story involves a British warship and its crew commissioned from St. Lucia, a Caribbean island that changed hands between the British and the French myriad times, with the former controlling the island from 1663 to 1667, a time frame coincident with the height of the Caribbean piracy era.

The story is largely framed in the form of testimonial evidence in regard to an investigation being conducted by Lord Richard Lewis who is apparently the governor of the colony or some other high official. His inquiry is in regard to an affair concerning the mighty warship Meredith which he had outfitted for the benefit of Captain Andrew Lewis, his now déclassé son. The son had been disgraced due to an affair he had had with a black woman who apparently had been a practitioner of herbal and folk medicine. Lord Lewis had been scandalized by his son’s association and had hung Zaierra, the object of Andrew’s affections.

Upon learning of a connection between Zaierra and a legendary, now virtually mythical, pirate queen referred to as “Black Betty,” Lord Lewis ordered his son, by way of redemption, to hunt down both the pirate and her swift raiding ship—boasting distinctive black sails—of the same name. Black Betty is believed to have been a onetime runaway slave who had turned pirate as revenge; a revenge which has wreaked havoc upon the Caribbean for years. Myths abound about her including that she had made deals with the sea to gain immortality.

...

Throughout the story—thus far related as an inquiry before the ill-fated captain’s father—the reader is puzzled at certain inconsistencies within the testimonies given by the three witnesses and even more so by unanswered questions. How long had Lewis and his party remained on the island? Was it really the three days that Avery had maintained it had been?

If so, why hadn’t Blue and Belzar stated or implied such, nor Lewis within his letter? What would have been the purpose for such an extended visit when they had discovered Black Betty, the stated reason for their having been there, the first day? Had Captain Lewis actually so easily relinquished his father’s prize captive or her life as the pirate Belzar related?

Likewise, to this point the reader is uncertain if he or she is reading a straightforward and dark adventure story, or one of the supernatural. Nowhere is the word “voodoo,” for example, mentioned; yet the author skillfully weaves that thought within the reader’s perception with subtle allusions that are by no means conclusive. Mr. Peek paints a tense, ominous portrait on the steamy tropical canvas of his vivid imagination. The trepidation the author engenders within the reader’s psyche is palpable; the sheer ruthlessness of his drawn subjects, breathtaking.

Mr. Peek’s resolution of the story is one that is as masterful as it is startling and unforgettable. It is delivered by way of a testimony beyond the scope and authority of Lord Lewis’s investigation. It is an ending just vaguely reminiscent of that of Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None, though totally original and just as compelling. Mr. Peek adroitly leaves just enough to the reader’s imagination to render the piece thought-provoking, while sufficiently resolving riddles to avoid his story becoming a cipher in the reader’s mind.

If “Black Betty” is indicative of Mr. Peek’s work as a whole, then it is a point of wonder that his is not already a household name; or at least such within houses where residents actually read. Five stars out of five. Bravo!

“David Bowie” by Ben Peek is a unique story told through a conversation between two friends as they debate on what to do with themselves in the few years before the end of the world in 2012. They’ve quit their mundane jobs. Why bother? So, what to do? Create art? Or music? Or some other lasting thing of beauty? But why bother if there will be no one to appreciate it? Perhaps do nothing? Wile away the last years on mindless pleasure? Or maybe even check out early and beat the rush before the madness sets in on the last living souls? And so they debate what to do. A truly disturbing, if minimalist, tale.

random_alex

Writing near-future science fiction, especially giving it a particular date, requires a certain amount of bravado, as well as all the necessary imagination and skill of sf writing in general. In giving their eleven authors a specific date to write to, Krasnostein and Payne have been - to my mind - exceptionally daring, and demanding. In order to address this topic, authors have had to put themselves out there, on the line, and make a stand as to what the world might be like in four (from when I read it) or five years’ (from their writing) time.

Before I read this anthology, I tried to think about some of the changes that have happened in the last four or five years, to get some perspective on what sort of changes I would be happy to accept. The issue of water was something that sprang to mind immediately: it has become a much more pervasive issue in Australia in that time, as has the topic of climate change on a worldwide scale. On a universal scale, the Mars Rovers were launched in 2003 and reached their destination at the start of 2004; Voyager got further away from the Sun than any other known object in the solar system. Australia got a new government. Battlestar Galactica came back to the TV screen. So some things have changed a lot; others, not so much.

Overall, the stories presented in this anthology are highly enjoyable. They all have different styles, with quite different takes on the year in question - although having some common threads, which will be mentioned below. I do think, however, that as an anthology about the year 2012 it is not entirely convincing. Some of the stories do not, to me, ring true for a future just four years away. Ten years - quite possibly. Four... seems like a stretch.

...

The penultimate story, “David Bowie”, is written in a Ben Peek trademarked style: two interlocutors, their respective dialogue right and left justified on the page and in different font. It’s a very clever style - and one that allows for a story that is solely dialogue, which in a conventional format would be both boring and more difficult to read. That said, it does require some work, to remember who/what each of the participants is. The story told is almost solely concerned with the personal, and is different from the rest of the stories by not being obviously set in 2012. Instead, it’s looking forward five years - it could be looking forward to 2012, or to 2017. It’s one of the few stories in the collection that withstands an almost immediate re-read, to explore its ideas again with greater insight.

angriest

2012, edited by Alisa Krasnostein and Ben Payne, is a thin book. I love thin books. I love a well-written, lightweight book that you can read on the train without spraining your wrist. It's rush hour in the morning, you have to stand and hold onto a pole or something with one hand, and so you've only got the other hand to hold whatever book you're reading so you're not going to want the latest George R.R. Martin. 2012, on the other hand, is a new science fiction anthology with original stories by eleven Australian authors and is only a handy 118 pages long.

You might think I'm being facetious, but I'm not - I genuinely love short books. Those 800 page fantasy behemoths scare the absolute crap out of me.

2012 presents eleven different visions of what life might be like in four years time. It's a very short distance ahead, requiring some fairly clever speculation: after all, the future's going to be different to the present, but the future.

...

The remaining five stories aren't bad by any stretch imaginable, but they didn't grab my attention like the six above. Two of the contributions in this anthology, "David Bowie" by Ben Peek and "Apocalypse Now" by Lucy Sussex, both felt a bit throwaway to me. This is a shame, because they're both fantastic authors - I suppose I was hoping for something more substantial from them.

Ben Peek creates a grim yet interesting world in “The Funeral, Ruined.” Linette, damaged emotionally and physically in the war against the Empress and her Children, is planning a funeral for Anthony. This story fits in well with the theme of this anthology, taking place in the imaginary city of Issuer where the crematoria ovens dominate the horizon and fill the city with ash. Told in a combination of straight narrative and epistolary form, the story picks up steam despite its slow beginning. Peek may have been trying to do establish mood with the lethargic opening, but it’s not until halfway through that any dialogue appears and the story gains momentum. Though “The Funeral, Ruined” failed to hook me immediately, I found much about it to like, and it is a memorable, morbid world spun from the author’s imagination.

“The Funeral, Ruined” by Ben Peek. This short story starts out slowly, but once the setting was established—Issuer is a city that trades in the industry of death—I was captivated by the tragic love story with its Frankenstein/steampunk influences. Definitely one of the anthology’s better contributions…

There are outstanding stories from some of my favorite writers, such as Jay Lake's "Promises: A Tale of the City Imperishable" (a story set in the City Imperishable from his novel Trial of Flowers) and Hal Duncan's "The Tower of Morning's Bones" (a story using the mythology of Vellum: The Book of All HoursVellum and Ink), excellent work from notables like Ben Peek ("The Funeral, Ruined") and Forrest Aguirre ("Andretto Walks the King's Way"), and great efforts from authors I'd never read before, including "Sammarynda Deep" by Cat Sparks and "They Would Only Be Roads" by Darin C. Bradley.

2012 is as good an anthology as I have ever read - and despite my rollercoaster reaction I have read rather a lot! Collectively, I think it's a terrific book; you read these stories back to back, and you get these wonderful shards of paranoia and concern and honest-to-God passion for our planet. I love that. I told you I think short story collections should feel as if they're a single whole, not a mishmash - and this is exactly what 2012 does so brilliantly. Each contribution collides off another in a way that deepens the one you've just read. (And the recurring theme of dwindling water takes on an ever greater power.) It sounds, at best, a rather backhanded compliment when I say that no individual story is as impressive as the entire book. There are some very good stories in here, I think, and some which don't work for me, but are propped up by the cumulative effect of the themes they explore.

...

I think I'm going to love Ben Peek's work. I'm glad I bought his book. He's quirky and weird and approaches things from left field. "David Bowie" may well be the best written piece in the book. But I'd bet my bottom dollar that this isn't Ben Peek writing at full throttle. It's clever, of course, but there's something a bit lazy about it, I think. I do like it a lot, and I appreciate effortless writing - but for all its cleverness it doesn't have as much thought behind it as other stories. I enjoyed it very much, though.

Paper Cities is a collection of urban fantasy in the truest sense of the term: stories of the fantastic from or about the city and all the wonderment and horror that entails. I imagine most people would prefer to think of cities as dumb beasts, mere collections of brick and mortar, marble and steel, men and women, children and the dead. Yet people who think of society not as a collective organism but as a loose gathering of people only peripherally affected by each other would be under a mistaken impression. Cities are alive: they breathe, they think, and they dream. They are the loom that knits together past and present and future, weaving the living and the dead, the animate and the inanimate into a sum much bigger than the total of its parts.

The writers here collected by Senses Five Press and Ekaterina Sedia understand that. Not only have they channeled intoxicating and surprising places into these paper-and-ink windows, but some of the stories will put the feet of anyone who reads them on the road to understanding that cities are alive.

...

Before we get to the royalty of this collection, I'd like to also touch base with the high rollers. "Ghost Market" by Greg van Eekhout is well executed, shocking us into a reality where the essence of your life is collected at your death and sealed up in a little bottle for clientèle with the right cash. Steve Berman's "Tearjerker" seals us off in a city gone weird, where tears are drugs and ink-bled words writhe on flesh, and everyone just tries to get by. Ben Peek's "The Funeral, Ruined" chokes our throat with ashes and chills our skin with horror against the backdrop of a city built around a giant crematorium in a world where people need not die. "Down to the Silver Spirits" by Kaaron Warren sets that horror to quivering in our insides, climbing up our spines like the tiny hands of drowned children. At last, "The Age of Fish, Post-flowers" (Anna Tambour) and "The Last Escape" (Barth Anderson) give us back some distance, allowing us to engage our intellects in social science fiction: the dissolution of our cities in the face of monster onslaught, for one, and our head-in-the-sand herd mentality for the other. Any of these stories will leave you contemplative and replete with satisfaction.

Ben Peek's ‘David Bowie’ is, it seems, set in the here and now, but concerns the future (written in 2007, and riffing off the Bowie song 'Five Years' ... you do the maths). Framed as a conversation between friends or lovers, it's an exploration of reactions to the world's end. I'll confess that the story's format—unadorned dialogue, alternatively left- and right-justified on the page—was irritating at first, but it won me over. Peek cuts the concept pretty much to the bone; and who says there isn't space for character development within the confines of flash fiction?

benpayne

lastshortstory

Ben Peek's The Funeral, Ruined is another entry into his red sun world series, and is perhaps my favourite of those stories so far. In this story a young woman must deal with the death of a young man she cares for, and what comes after that. This story stands out because it creates an engaging central conflict, with both sides interesting and believable. The world-building is also fascinating. Probably the strongest story in the anthology. Well-crafted and moving.

Original genre anthologies have been a mixed bag in recent years, with an overreliance on established household names at the expense of nurturing new talent. At times, too restrictive themes have tended to create a sense of sameness. Not so with urban fantasy. As Jess Nevins points out in his excellent introduction, urban fantasy is “a mode of storytelling rather than a subgenre, and as such accommodates a variety of themes and approaches.” This idea of variety, along with a willingness to publish new and established writers alike, helps explain the considerable appeal of this ambitious and entertaining anthology.

Stand-out contributions include Richard Parks's folktale-influenced “Courting the Lady Scythe,” Cat Rambo's ethereal “The Bumblety's Marble,” Jay Lake's sometimes brutal “Promises; A Tale of the City Imperishable” (set in the same milieu as his novel A Trial of Flowers), Ben Peek's more contemporary “The Funeral, Ruined” and Anna Tambour's indefinable but brilliant “The Age of Fish, Post-Flowers.” In Tambour's story, man-eating “orms” threaten New York City, despite the presence of an iconic wall. The nameless narrator's account of her group's attempts to survive is both matter-of-fact and mysterious. Similar elements power many of the other stories: a keen underlying intelligence and an easy acceptance of fantasy, with little explanation of that element, wedded to strangely resonant images and situations.

Not every tale in the anthology is successful. Hal Duncan's “The Tower of Morning's Bones” continues his trend of excessive symbolism, summary and posturing in short fiction. Forrest Aguirre's “Andretto Walks the King's Way,” a forced march of a story illuminating different aspects of a feudal-era society, is an honest effort that never really comes to life. The editor also might have been better served excluding a couple of ill-advised short-shorts like Vylar Kaftan's workplace fantasy, “Godivy.” Yet for all of their flaws, even these stories display a high level of technical expertise and ambition.

Rounded out by very good contributions from Mark Teppo, David Schwartz, Barth Anderson, Catherynne M. Valente and Cat Sparks, Paper Cities is a delightful and absorbing read. In coming years—as the talents collected herein, including editor Sedia, become better known—this quirky anthology may take on even greater significance.

cassiphone

lastshortstory

Tansy's Novel of the Year: Black Sheep, by Ben Peek
A science fiction novel that is about something. This is the book that should have got people talking about Australian SF this year, and the lack of distribution and promotion both within Australia and overseas has been disappointing. This one's crunchy, people, don't miss out on it.

girliejones

random_alex

Ben Peek’s “Possession” begs for a novel or collection’s space within which to thoroughly unfurl its darkly glittering, vaguely steampunk, magico-futurist vision. Eliana is a reclusive botanist helping to regenerate the soil of a dangerous cleft in the Earth’s crust where nothing grows. One day, after a particularly thick ash-fall from the factories above, she finds a half-shattered female cyborg:

The girl made from bronze, the Returned, since she was not a real girl, this artificial girl had a loud, irregular moan in her chest: a broken machine whine that announced itself in a grinding of gears…

Peek’s rich, descriptive language suffers from syntactic awkwardness at times, but the religious and social structures he sketches around his characters make his narrative vivid and intriguing. His futuristic setting is an environmentally damaged area, and his cyborg is an indentured sex worker who had to sell her organs as well as sexual services to survive:

I had a hole in my heart…I was so afraid. I didn’t see endless service as a problem. I thought, “What’s so different about that to the life I currently live?”…I once had lungs. A liver. I had all my organs, and they worked—but now?…I can’t afford real livers, real replacements. I have fakes. I have simulations for sensations.

This story encourages its readers to re-vision the world they live in as only the best sci-fi and fantasy does, and its depth is rewarding. A woman whose history is written on her flesh meets a woman whose history parted her from her body in a damaged vulvic place where lava reputedly scarred the landscape. A broken heart stays broken, even when it is replaced with one made of metal. A planet’s grave shaft serves as a grave also for a woman whose body was as exploited as it was.

"Society has fractured into three supposedly pure race factions and multiculturalism is a crime in this bleak Orwellian debut, set in the far future. After the Culture War more than a century earlier, the United Nations divided the races to prevent violence and bigotry. Sydney, Australia, has become Asian-Sydney, Caucasian-Sydney and African-Sydney, and crossing the borders is strictly forbidden. Isao Dazai, a recent immigrant from Asian-Tokyo, dares to wonder what the other cities are like, despite fearful warnings from his wife, Kumiko. When she turns him in for speaking multicultural heresy, Isao is sent away for Assimilation, a dehumanizing procedure that strips him of his individuality. Thirteen years later, Isao manages to overcome his programming and becomes desperate to confront Kumiko, who has built a political career on her patriotic betrayal. Although the characters rarely rise above the roles of philosophical mouthpieces, Peek sketches chilling images of a future where individuality is deadly and only sameness provides safety."

—Publishers Weekly.