Borealis
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- $12.99
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- $12.99
Publisher Description
Art about glaciers, queer relationships, political anxiety, and the meaning of Blackness in open space—Borealis is a shapeshifting logbook of Aisha Sabatini Sloan’s experiences moving through the Alaskan outdoors.
In Borealis, Aisha Sabatini Sloan observes shorelines, mountains, bald eagles, and Black fellow travelers while feeling menaced by the specter of nature writing. She considers the meaning of open spaces versus enclosed ones and maps out the web of queer relationships that connect her to this quaint Alaskan town. Triangulating the landscapes she moves through with glacial backdrops in the work of Black conceptual artists and writers, Sabatini Sloan complicates tropes of Alaska to suggest that the excitement, exploration, and possibility of myth-making can also be twinned by isolation, anxiety, and boredom.
Borealis is the first book commissioned for the Spatial Species series, edited by Youmna Chlala and Ken Chen. The series investigates the ways we activate space through language. In the tradition of Georges Perec’s An Attempt at Exhausting a Place in Paris, Spatial Species titles are pocket-sized editions, each keenly focused on place. Instead of tourist spots and public squares, we encounter unmarked, noncanonical spaces: edges, alleyways, diasporic traces. Such intimate journeying requires experiments in language and genre, moving travelogue, fiction, or memoir into something closer to eating, drinking, and dreaming.
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
Essayist Sabatini Sloan (Dreaming of Ramadi in Detroit) muses on ice, art, and her exes in this lyrical exploration of Homer, Alaska. "I have spent three summers here with women I've dated," she writes, and returns on her own, exploring the town through her memories. There's "K," an ex-girlfriend who brought the author to Homer for the first time, and an unnamed second ex who "seduced me by embodying the personality of the desert." Along the way, Sabatini Sloan weaves in references to a slew of artists: she muses on Jean Toomer's "circle fragments," cites Paul Simon as an influence, quotes Anne Carson, and listens to Björk while looking at eagles. But most prominent is the work of photographer Lorna Simpson, which the author examines in depth. Throughout, the descriptions are surprising and funny ("Alaskans were like my girlfriend, prepared for discomfort, easy to smile. Dressed like geology majors"), the musings on race in Alaska poignant ("You may be the second African American person there," her father says), and the prose punchy, vulnerable, and surprising: "I don't know how to be me and write about nature... I don't know the names of anything. I wanted to call seagulls kayaks a minute ago." There's plenty here to please essay fans.