This is part three of my book club notes on A Thousand Beginnings and Endings. [Part one, part two.]

Something I learned in this meeting that I did not previously realize is that a number of the authors in the collection are best known for YA. This does explain why it was shelved under YA in the library, which I have to admit I did not see as significant given that I also had to visit the YA section to find Dracula (because their copy is part of a series of "classic canon" repubs marketed to teens). I had noticed that some of the entries certainly are YA, which I don't consider a bad thing in itself, but in this batch of stories we did experience a disconnect between the marketed-to audience and ourselves.


"Nothing Into All" by Renée Ahdieh

( An embittered brother and a doormat sister run across goblins that can turn anything into gold. )


"Spear Carrier" by Naomi Kanakia

[Note: This book was published before Kanakia came out as trans, so it lists this story under her former name Rahul Kanakia.]

( A look at the Mahabharata from the POV of one of the five million soldiers in the climactic battle. )


"Code of Honor" by Melissa de la Cruz

( A Filipina vampire seeks belonging in New York City. )


"Bullet, Butterfly" by Elsie Chapman

( In a war-torn country, a boy disguises himself as a girl to infiltrate a munitions factory. )

A convenience store is a world of sound. From the tinkle of the door chime to the voices of TV celebrities advertising new products over the in-store cable network, to the calls of the store workers, the beeps of the bar code scanner, the rustle of customers picking up items and placing them in baskets, and the clacking of heels walking around the store. It all blends into the convenience store sound that ceaselessly caresses my eardrums.

Keiko has worked at the same convenience store her entire adult life. Outside the shop she's bewildered by unspoken social rules, but inside it, there's an explicit protocol for everything—how to stand, how to smile, how to say good morning. In this well-defined and orderly world, she is happy and fulfilled. The only problem is that as she ages into her thirties, her family increasingly pressures her to abandon that world and pursue marriage and children instead. But if all they want is for her to have a man in her life, maybe all she has to do is grab the nearest unattached man and fake it for their benefit?

I'm trying to think of the best way to describe this book. It's devastating and hopeful, hilarious and dark as fuck. The summary makes it sound like a fake-dating romp, and it does have elements of that... except the guy Keiko fake-dates is a disturbed misogynist who thinks the world is against him (we'd call him an incel, though I don't know if that maps exactly onto Japanese categories of disaffected men) and when Keiko takes him in she considers that she'll probably have to feed him at least once a day and wonders if it'll be a problem that she's never had a pet before.

Keiko is obviously autistic (though the word isn't used) and she is kind of my hero. Her deadpan literalism lays bare the absurdity of society's expectations, and while her difference makes her vulnerable, she's far from helpless. The depiction of what she goes through is so on point. I was especially struck by the character of her sister, who's the closest thing Keiko has to an ally in her family. She gives Keiko tips on how to explain why she still works at the convenience store in a way that "normal" people will accept—but when it comes down to it, what she really wants is for Keiko to change. This kind of... conditional scaffolding is familiar to me, and was one of many aspects of the book that made me feel like if I didn't laugh I was going to cry.

I have no idea what reading this book would be like if you weren't autistic. For me it felt like having a conversation in my native language after only speaking a foreign language for years and years and years.