Tasting light Ten science fiction stories to rewire your perceptions

Book - 2022

"In a society where the modification industry has transformed how humans look, sound, and interact, a nonbinary teen braves the "reinvention" room to accept a gift from the dead. In an accidental city in space, a young apprentice holds neighborhoods together with braided carbon filaments, until distraction and inspiration arrive in the wake of a visitor. Entitlement-fueled drug use alters the landscape of white privilege, a robot remembers the earth, and corporate "walkers" stroll for unknown subscribers--until one hacks the system."--Book jacket flap.

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Subjects
Genres
Young adult fiction
Short stories
Science fiction
Published
Somerville, Massachusetts : MITeen Press 2022.
Language
English
Edition
First edition
Physical Description
xiii, 304 pages : illustrations ; 22 cm
ISBN
9781536219388
9781529510966
  • Cadence / Charlotte Nicole Davis
  • On the tip of my tongue / William Alexander
  • Melanitis / Junauda Petrus-Nasah
  • Extremophiles / A. R. Capetta
  • Memory of soil / Wendy Xu
  • Walk / K. Ancrum
  • Weight of a name / Nasugrao Rainey Hopson
  • Twin strangers / Elizabeth Bear
  • Cage / E. C. Myers
  • Smile river / A. S. King.
Review by Booklist Review

The 10 short stories in this luminous collection are set in the future in different locations--some familiar and some strange, some on Earth and some in outer space, some subtly or overtly dystopian--but they all have two things in common: all revolve around teens with needs that will resonate with today's readers, and each features a future world grounded in real science. In "Cadence," the eponymous protagonist finds a new voice, literally and figuratively. "Extremophiles," "The Walk," and "The Cage" explore communication and connection, while both "Melanitis" and "The Weight of a Name" connect the protagonists with their history. "Twin Strangers" and "On the Tip of My Tongue" explore friendship in an uncertain world, as does, in a way, "The Memory of Soil." A. S. King's "Smile River" closes the collection with creeping, chilling horror as the reader contemplates a society in which women are required to smile and be happy all the time. At once unsettling and moving, this crystalline collection will find or create a connection with its readers.

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

This dazzling speculative collection comprising 10 authors and edited by Capetta (The Heartbreak Bakery), who also contributes, and Roush (Extraterrestrials), explores emerging innovative technology to imagine expansive futures. A nonbinary teen saves up money to literally change their voice via the booming body modification industry in Charlotte Nicole Davis's "Cadence," but must contend with unforeseen emotional backlash when they choose a voice that once belonged to an acquaintance's dead loved one. "On the Tip of My Tongue" by William Alexander follows an unnamed mechanic as they attempt to adapt their tía's visual aid to better navigate a cobbled-together space settlement. A group of women fight to combat generational mind control in A.S. King's "Smile River," and in Nasugraq Rainey Hopson's "The Weight of a Name," a young woman living in a future Inuit community learns that her mother's legacy may be the bargaining chip to newfound opportunity on another planet. Podcast scripts, pen pal letters, and a b&w comic, illustrated via gentle line, are a few of the vehicles used to render these moving tales. The creators seamlessly tackle relevant issues such as colonization, misogyny, transphobia, and white entitlement in this eclectic celebration of infinite possibility and the ever-present human spirit. Ages 14--up. (Oct.)

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Kirkus Book Review

A diverse anthology showing hopeful futures imagined through the lens of technology. Capetta and Roush introduce engaging, thoughtful, beautifully written entries about identity and agency, all unfolding within the bounds of real science. The 10 fully realized stories, many by popular young adult authors, cover a range of topics and include Junauda Petrus-Nasah's satirical look at White privilege, William Alexander's romantic interlude in a decrepit space station, and E.C. Myers' fun take on true crime and the two teens who may or may not have crossed into another dimension. Capetta's fantastic epistolary tale unfolds across time and space, and there's even a melancholy graphic short story from Wendy Xu about robots and memory. Friendship, family, and human connection play a role in Elizabeth Bear's thought-provoking take on avatars, K. Ancrum's moving story about the relationship between a young teen and an older woman hacker, and Nasuġraq Rainey Hopson's skillful weaving of elders into a work of Inuit futurism. The anthology celebrates queerness, a variety of gender identities, and the freedom to be oneself, delving into how technology can influence and transform reality as well as be used for the greater good--or to oppress. The modification industry helps a nonbinary teen find their voice in Charlotte Nicole Davis' poignant opening act, but the same industry is used to subjugate women into losing their voices in A.S. King's ultimately empowering closing story. A top-notch hard science fiction collection. (Science fiction. 14-adult) Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

CADENCE Charlotte Nicole Davis Some voices are copyrighted. You can't be Beyoncé. But, for enough money, you can be just about anyone else. Cadence has been saving up for this. They have been taking extra shifts at Scoops, the soles of their shoes rip-rip-ripping across the sticky floor as they scurry around behind the counter, serving ice cream to rich suburban kids with forked tongues and slitted pupils. Cold-blooded, primeval: this is the look. Wymie Park sent his models down the runway with serpent mods last spring, and now everybody who's anybody is wearing them. Cadence is not anybody. Cadence is just another teenage twink-dyke tripping over the dirty gray laces of their Converse sneakers. There is a scribble where their brain should be. But they need a new speaking voice, they are confident of this much, at least. They are not chasing a trend, they are righting a wrong. No one seems to understand this. If you're going to drop all that money on a mod, at least get a good one, Cadence's older brother said. Your voice is fine. Fix your face. Everybody hates the sound of their own voice, honey, Cadence's mother said. You can't just mod your way out of every little insecurity. You have to learn to love yourself as you are. No, Cadence's father said. And so Cadence made their appointment in secret and went to the mod center alone, and now here they are, preparing to listen to the voices of the dead. "Do you have a preference for the age, gender, or accent of your donor?" the woman in white asks. She wears a lab coat like a doctor's and holds a tablet. Her red-painted nails look as hard and shiny as the backs of beetles. "Um," Cadence says blankly. They have thought long and hard about all of this, of course, but now that the moment is here at last, they can barely remember their own name. It is too bright in here, and too hard, and too cold, all white glass and gleaming steel, like a hospital or an Apple Store. The woman, who has some kind of derma-mod that makes her white skin glitter faintly, presses on. "Some of our most popular accents for English speakers are Southern American English, Eastern New England English, and Received Pronunciation, or 'the Queen's English.' Our donors range in age from thirteen to eighty-seven years old, men and women both. Unless you want to take a look at our selection of custom voices, of course?" That "men and women both" does not go unnoticed, but Cadence tries to ignore it and focus on the question being asked. The custom voices are the nonhuman ones, the cyborg warbles, the reptilian rasps. But Cadence wants to sound human, and that can only be achieved by borrowing another human's voice. These are harvested from willing donors, like organs, digitally scanned and reproduced while the donor is still alive. It's only once the donor is deceased that their voice can be used--taking on the voice of another living person risks interfering with voice recognition technology and the security it provides. It is safe enough, though, to accept a gift from the dead. Cadence is tempted to use this voice to take on a new personality entirely. A slurring surfer from California, a posh British exchange student, a crabby old grandparent asking after their iced tea. But that is not the point of this. At the end of the day, Cadence just wants to sound like themself: a mild-mannered kid from Missouri. "If I get a teenager's voice, will I sound like a teenager forever?" Cadence asks, finally finding words. They are eighteen and almost out of these particular woods. They do not want their voice to hold them back. "No--without intervention, your new voice will age naturally. But we can do a follow-up in a few years to address that, if you want." That won't be necessary. Cadence is excited for their new voice to grow and change with them, to become worn and comfortable. It is this first part they are worried about, when it will pinch like new shoes. All of high school has felt like that. Who would want that forever? "I want a young adult voice, then, please, with a Mid- western accent. The gender doesn't matter," Cadence says, because it will not be a boy's or a girl's voice once it is in their mouth. The woman presses her thin lips together. Cadence begins to sweat, shifting uncomfortably in the hard plastic chair. They know that there are unspoken rules to body modification, that you can become a different type of boy or girl as long as you remain either a boy or a girl. Cadence has a cousin who had her skin lightened, shares a locker with a white boy weeb who gave himself anime eyes. These things are allowed. But the modification industry has been careful to distance itself from "fringe" cultures that "abuse" the technology--and in this part of the world in particular, they are more conservative still. Legally, they cannot deny Cadence gender-affirming services. But they can wrinkle their nose at the idea. "Right this way, then," the woman says after a moment. Cadence is suddenly very lonely. Their eyes burn with the threat of tears as they follow the woman to the sound booth. They wonder if they are doing the right thing. They wonder if it will hurt. But once they start listening to the voices, they begin to feel a little bit better. Excited, even. They have waited years for this. They will savor the moment. The first voice belongs--belonged--to a nineteen-year-old from Chicago named Marcus Tomlin. His voice is deep, deeper than Cadence's natural speaking voice, with a flat accent that's a little stronger than Cadence is looking for. "He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts," he says. This is probably not something Marcus ever said in life. It is just a sample sentence, one that shows off the capabilities of the computer-generated re-creation. He says more things, like "The jolly collie swallowed a lollipop" and "Lesser leather never weathered wetter weather better." It is a bold, brassy speaking voice. It exudes confidence, control. Cadence would like, desperately, to be that kind of person. But it would be the wrong reason to choose a voice. Confidence is not something you can just graft onto yourself; Cadence's mother was right about that much. The confidence will come from having chosen the right voice, not from the voice itself. They move on. The next voice belonged to a fifteen-year-old from Ohio named Chris Li. His voice is higher, lighter, and it has a ringing quality to it, like it's constantly on the edge of laughter. Something about this fills Cadence with an acute sadness. All the voices they will hear are from young donors, but fifteen is very young. They wonder how Chris died. They wonder if, when Chris got his parents to sign off on him being a donor, he had any idea he'd be taken so soon. And they wonder why he even became a donor in the first place. There is money in it--not much, but enough to make a difference for many people. For others, it's about immortality. But for someone as young as Chris, it was probably for the status. If you can't afford your own mods, saying you've donated one is the next best thing. Whatever the reason, Cadence cannot shake the feeling that they would be stealing something from Chris by choosing this mod--or maybe, more accurately, taking something that was stolen. And they cannot bear the weight of that. They move on. An hour passes. Two. Cadence can tell the woman in white is getting annoyed. If Cadence doesn't pick a voice soon, they will have to reschedule the whole procedure. They do not know if they will find the courage a second time. Maybe this is a sign. Maybe this is not meant to be. "This next one strays outside your preferred regional accent, but we're running out of options," the woman says, somewhat stiffly. She taps on her tablet and pulls up the next profile. This one belonged to an eighteen-year-old from Dallas named Reina Pérez. "He thrusts his fists against the post and still insists he sees the ghost," she says, like all the others. And the woman is right: this voice is not quite newscaster neutral. There is a taste of Texas here. But that is not what catches Cadence's ear. It is the soft lull of it, low and deep, warm and strong, like sunlight, if it had a sound. There is a natural musicality to it, too. It would have been a good singing voice. It might still be. Cadence tries to picture the person it once belonged to, but instead, they see themself. This is the one. Cadence knows immediately. They get the same feeling of rightness in their chest as when they changed their hair for the first time, or when they started wearing clothes from the other side of the department store. All day, they have been smiling fake smiles for others' sake and not their own, but the smile spreading across their face now is real. "I think that's it," they say quietly. The woman seems almost as relieved as Cadence to be at the end of their search. She escorts them to an operating room, though it's not actually called that--that would be too off-putting. Instead, it is a "reinvention room." There's soft music piping in and a television on mute, perhaps to distract from the fact that the countertops are covered with sharp, gleaming tools. There is a large contraption like a dentist's chair in the middle of the room, made of gray-blue leather, like the back of a whale. Much like a dental cleaning, this procedure won't take more than half an hour. Cadence is beginning to feel afraid again. Now they are truly alone--even the woman in white has left, on to her next client. There is no one here to hold their hand. They climb into the dentist's chair, lean back, stare up into the harsh white lights. Their throat catches when they swallow. It is such a vulnerable part of the body, they think. Cut the throat, and life pours out. This time, though, life will pour in. They will wake new and whole. Excerpted from Tasting Light: Ten Science Fiction Stories to Rewire Your Perceptions All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.