Reviewed by Rachael A. Zubal-Ruggieri
Content Warning: Brief mention of the current political climate in the U.S.
“Tales of transition and initiation, of life-changing encounters and moments of choice, of people who stumble into unexpected love or weird magic or designer lawn scams.”
~Autonomous Press description for Spoon Knife 7
After reading the above description for Spoon Knife 7, the subject became, for me, a kind of catalyst. I began to wonder about how I could come up with some transition definitions of my own. One such example is, “I’m going through a phase.” But how many more, and how many ways, can I or might someone else describe transition, creatively demonstrating the importance of such a concept? Another example I’ve been thinking of: what a time, or a moment, this is, to be reviewing Neurodivergent, Neuroqueer literature on the subject of transition. But perhaps I’m transitioning away from the purpose of this review. Transitions often happen when the usual becomes the unexpected, or when any so-called novelty wears away. As I consider the matter and substances I am made of, I might likewise reflect on how all of “this” transects reality (and how this transecting is connected with the processes that accompany my reading about these subjects in the first place).
The prologue to Spoon Knife 7 (SK7) certainly influences my thought processes, sharing how transitions are often more than one might consider, as in the editors’ question: “How far can we push the definition of the word ‘transition’?” (Jung prologue, p. 4, ebook version). SK7 offers elusive yet ethereal, unknowing bits of transition as well: “…what if the prosaic bricks in the walls of those arbitrarily defined transitional processes are more than they appear on the surface?” (Jung prologue, p. 4, e-book version). Many contributions share their speculative, alternative slant, while others are personal and offer readers a vivid range of what transition(s) are—passages of time, pivots, shifts, states of being, and more. So much more.
Through these stories, the authors place themselves within the #CripSpacetime continuum1 through writing that is jam-packed with transitions from ages/places/situations to something different, even if it is unknown, or away from something unpleasant, unwanted, or distasteful. I’m still processing all the ways to situate myself among these stories, because, yes (I agree), “existence is transition” (Jung prologue, p. 3, ebook version). The stories offer alternative experiences of rites of passage or even what’s expected of me versus what I may experience—or imagine anyone may experience.
Transitions can be about growth (i.e., Kaiser, “Sprout”; Allen, “A Child’s Stone”), how sometimes I might need to bury myself and allow myself time to change, for the better, or wait until the time is right for my true self to emerge. As noted above, transitions can be about when the usual becomes the unexpected, or the “novelty” of divergence wears away. Transitions can be to places and spaces that are singularly more comfortable than their predecessors.
The contributions in SK7 are clever. I read the stories several times and reviewed my notes even more, but it wasn’t until I sat down to type up this review that I realized how Cirrus Wood’s “Lawn Moving” is a thought-provoking, creative pivot from lawn mowing. Perhaps, for me, this experience of noticing was, or became, an existential shift, or perhaps I noticed a clever pun on what might (or might not) be expected when we’re “a certain age.” Or maybe Wood simply took a typographical error and ran with it. Whatever the origins of this story (and its title), I consider it brilliant.
Some of the stories are about hiding, covering, and masking, and sometimes share a big reveal or a facing, pausing, or waiting for failure or some sort of a sign (Coppola, “I built a tower of all my fears”). Other stories discuss transitional circumstances beyond embodiment, as in: “…[H]is mind felt stronger for the time to think and understand his place in the world” (Droege, “Dust and Darkness,” p. 31, e-book version). How might I realize/relate to/demonstrate how the sanctity of solitude may be essential—sometimes I want and/or need to be left alone. But “Maybe even Space is terrified of being alone” (Rae, “How Space Fell in Love with Time,” p. 64, e-book version)—and I could imagine that I might have to periodically step out of or shift away from my comfort zones because I was forced to do something different. Or, if not forced, I otherwise had no choice.
These stories evoke all kinds of contemplation. Questions and inner dialogues may come to mind or arise, such as: Am I ever ready for change? Am I ever ready for anything? “Now isn’t a good time.” “When things get better.” “When you’re older.” Facing a cusp, the edge, the precipitous moments of monumental transitions, and, yes, uncertainty, some of these changes/expectations/moments of transition may seem to be simple while complicated, and I relate to them in more ways than one. How many times must I explain how different I am? (for example). I often want answers to questions, like what clothes I’ll wear tomorrow, and face day-by-day micro decisions, such as remembering appointments, and yes, negotiate “important questions [such as]—What holds the universe together? and How can I get a dog today? and How do I keep my family from flying apart?” (Gloster, “Proof of the Existence of Dog,” p. 104, e-book version).
Other writers discuss sensory sensitivities. As CB Droege divulges in “Dust and Darkness,” there is nobility in not only defeating but banishing light, as doing so just might be necessary. Such a thing (banishing light) might be figurative or literal, as being forced into the spotlight among the throngs of those who are neurotypical is frequently untenable, or sensitivity to light can be physically painful.
Paradoxes and other timescapes play important roles in the collection’s entries—as they often do in readers’ lives. How does one “move on” from a paradox? Is there any transition away from (or to) a paradox? (Anderson, “Don’t Eat the Canapes”). But perhaps one can never really understand the meaning of time.
But I also do considerable “heavy lifting” with the forms I take, even “at a given age,” where certain things are perhaps expected of me (or at least by some, as might be the case in Wood’s “Lawn Moving”). There are transitions within adulthood as well, as in how I might react to certain situations, express my creativity, and demonstrate my knowledge. As with Dora Raymaker’s protagonist in “My Father’s Skin,” one’s bodymind might already be primed to defy expectations and norms:
Sometimes the hardest part of acting normal isn’t pretending I can do things that I can’t, like speak, but pretending I can’t do things that I actually can (Raymaker, pp. 135-136, e-book version).
Nothing of what I just accomplished is because I am normal. Worse—the parts… I most enjoyed were the ones that most indulged my defects (Raymaker, p. 151, e-book version).
Some stories contain compelling analogies to war and battles, perhaps referencing internal struggles or internalized ableism. And once “wars” are won, how does one transition to “what’s next”? How might I transition into a status of calm, so-called normalcy? Does such a place truly exist? What if normal really is just a dryer setting?
When left to our own devices, one might find gems (treasures in whatever form they may take) in the most unlikely of places, even those abandoned or that others had forgotten. Or I may discover what I don’t want to find (or what I would prefer to remain hidden), or even confirm my destiny. While I might read stories that portray such things as metaphorical, mystical, or fantastical, they can be so close to real life it’s uncanny.
I read this book with glee, and wrote this review during a major transitional period in the United States, into a space and time where Disabled and Neurodivergent people are imperiled. However, this review isn’t meant to focus primarily on such a tumultuous and concerning time, nor offer any in-depth commentary on this set of socio-political transitions; rather, I want to laud another brilliant, engaging entry in Autonomous Press’s Spoon Knife Anthology Series. I’m eager to discover what will be next.
Title: Spoon Knife 7: Transition
Editors: Nick Walker and Mike Jung
Publisher: Neuroqueer Books / Autonomous Press, LLC
Date: 2023
Note
- This is a concept developed by scholar Margaret Price positing how Disabled people experience their place in the real world. As Price notes, “Inhabiting crip spacetime goes beyond simply having a different point of view or different lived experience. Experiencing the material differences of life as part of a subaltern group—including the joys, the surprises, and the harms—constitutes a different reality” (Crip Spacetime, p. 8). Price’s book can be read online via Open Access on the Duke University Press website.
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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).