Reviewed by Rachael A. Zubal-Ruggieri
Content warning: Brief mention of the Covid pandemic and its repercussions.
On Cait Gordon’s website, Season One: Iris and the Crew Tear Through Space! is described as “a disability-hopepunk space opera series.” Iris and the Crew takes place in a unified “galactic network…where space is accessible…” (“Season One” website). “Disabled” is an unknown concept in this galaxy, perhaps even in this narrative’s entire universe. Iris and the Crew is organized in a clever way. Instead of Volume One, the tale is designated Season One. And instead of chapters, there are episodes, each beginning with an illustration by the author.
In the acknowledgments, Gordon admits the story is a product of the pandemic—and how many Disabled people fared (and continue to fare). As the pandemic unfolded, she had to find a way to cope:
I plunged into Iris’s galaxy because I needed to exist in a space where Universal Design and the Social Model of Disability had gone next level. Accommodations and accessibility and acceptance are the norm there…. (p. 299)
Each command crew member of the science vessel S.S. SpoonZ has their own strengths, quirks, and adaptations. Lieutenant Iris has interchangeable assistive irises in different hues which she can choose and configure as she prefers. She also has a cane embedded in her uniform that can be conjured whenever needed, and Clarence (or “Cl-rnz-819”), her trusty guidebot, who considers himself an “artificial ‘sentient,’” (p. 208) and is never far away. Security Chief Lartha is sassy and, as the season begins, has brand-new “smart” prosthetic legs (even if they are a little too smart). These prostheses are impressive and completely adaptable to whatever situation she might encounter. Lieutenant Commander Hortatio Herbert serves in engineering, and his inventions are life saving and remarkable (especially as they typically espouse access), but he has trouble with communication. In the moments when things get “a bit [too] peoplely” (p. 8), Herbert can activate a portable private room. Commander Davan is a kind-hearted Quargnan who traipses happily across the galaxy with the crew, whether he signs or trumpets his happiness; despite being exiled from his homeworld, he becomes a cherished member of the crew, even if, periodically, he’s less blue than usual—literally. Captain Dustin “Dustbin” Warq leads the team—gray hair, love handles, scars, and all. Gordon shares on her website, “I think there might be abled, NT members of that crew somewhere on the ship. I mean, it is inclusive after all.”
Lieutenant Junior Grade Marq Bronwyrck is a minor crew member and the lone dissenter on the S. S. SpoonZ crew who “severely lack[s] any sensitivity for the diversity of bodyminds on th[e] ship” (p. 107). The crew is constantly bombarded with his rampant ableism (“Too bad there’s not a hazmat suit for toxic personalities,” Davan laments on p. 89). When [SPOILER ALERT] an immortal mote permanently merges with his brain, Bronwyrck reacts poorly. But Iris demonstrates compassion, ethics, and morality, telling Bronwyrck that he’ll need to accept his new reality, and despite his annoying attitude, everyone on board will support him:
“Don’t be alarmed,” she said. “We’ll figure this out.”
“I’m not scared,” he lied. “I will beat this!”
Iris made a face. “Or you’ll adapt. I did.” (p. 94)
I had to chuckle at the brief cameo by the seemingly able-bodied NASA custodian that popped in at the very beginning. Perhaps he’s what Rosemary Garland Thomson calls a “normate,” a likely antithesis to the majority of the crew—this interloper exclaims how everybody he perceives is Disabled.1 The crew is baffled; they don’t recognize the word or its meaning. Whatever the strange word might mean, the man disappears as fast as he appears, so the crew moves on, unaffected.
Iris and the Crew are often placed into positions where they have to adapt without question, facing ableism, inaccessibility, sexism, racism, and all kinds of resistance to their identities. It’s refreshing to read works by Disabled authors that focus on Disability. One minor crew member shares what she believes Able-bodied people need to understand: “Don’t mind repairing tech…as long as nobody tries to fix me” (p. 229). I concur.
Gordon shares a wonderful imaginary world “where inclusivity and supports are the norm”: a crew navigating their galaxy in “a massively accessible ship” (Gordon’s website). Shouldn’t we, too, aspire to live and exist in a world where our Disabilities, or any differences, are the status quo? Where everybody can sign or communicate in a universal language? Where access is available without any “fuss” (or worse)? We can try—and we can keep advocating for and demanding change.
I very much appreciate how access in the Keangal Network is not an afterthought. Everyone in this galaxy communicates, whether it’s via intragalactic sign language (IGSL), Keangal Standard, or techspeak. The ship and the galactic network are full of dreamworthy technology, such as devices which can turn stairs into ramps or an “AT strip” which can produce hover chairs or other devices as needed. If only the real world could be so accessible.
The book is edited for sensitivity, and there is a content note at the beginning, warning readers of subjects that may be of concern or triggering. And there is a very important part of this note that bears pointing out: “…there are scenes with ableism, some of which is corrected by characters learning better.” Not everyone and everything is satisfactory, but there is hope.
Gordon adeptly creates plots and subplots (it is a space opera, after all), characters and enemies, communication methods, languages, characteristics, quirks, relationships, situations, and drama. These situations are just as likely to happen to Disabled people—to anyone—in the real world.
I reviewed a PDF version of this book, and page numbers may not be the same as other digital versions available. And while I could highlight passages (all the fantastic tidbits that I simply did not want to forget), navigating the PDF version was at times awkward. I wonder if this PDF could be rendered accessible, if it hasn’t been already.
Season One: Iris and the Crew Tear Through Space! was over before I knew it and ended on a cliffhanger. When will we get a second season, Cate? Soon, I hope.
Title: Season One: Iris and the Crew Tear Through Space!
Author: Cait Gordon
Publisher: Renaissance
Date: 2023
Note:
- A word about language: I capitalize certain words and identities, as reclamation for the purposes of political and cultural identification.
Read Rachael’s review of Disabled People Transforming Media Culture for a More Inclusive World; their essay, “How X-Men’s Beast is My Kindred Spirit, or How I Really Need to Reclaim Blue”; two Micro Mutant Postcard poems; and the Gatherer’s Blog in this issue of Wordgathering.
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About the Reviewer
Rachael A. Zubal-Ruggieri (she/her/hers, they/them/theirs) is a long-time employee at Syracuse University. She co-created (with Diane R. Wiener) “Cripping” the Comic Con, the first of its kind interdisciplinary and international symposium on disability and popular culture, previously held at SU. At conferences and as a guest lecturer for many years, Rachael has presented on the X-Men comic books, popular culture, and disability rights and identities from her perspective as a Neurodivergent person and as a Mad Queer Crip. Entries in their “Micro Mutant Postcard Project” have been published in Wordgathering: A Journal of Disability Poetry and Literature and Stone of Madness. Their most recent publications include two articles (co-authored with Diane R. Wiener) in the Journal of Literary & Cultural Disability Studies‘ Special Issue, “Cripping Graphic Medicine I: Negotiating Empathy and the Lived Experiences of Disability in and through Comics” (Volume 17, Issue 3).