Infinite Constellations
Khadijah Queen and K. Ibura, eds.
Paperback
ISBN: 9781573661980
University of Alabama Press, March 7, 2023, 286 pgs

Sometimes reviewers and other readers say a book is “redefining” whatever category of product a title represents. A horror novel is “redefining horror” for example; we see this beyond books as well—the latest SUV model is “redefining” SUVs, or perhaps it is “redefining” luxury or comfort. Usually this phrase is just hyperbole, meant to express how good the product is; the item in question is not actually redefining anything.

But let’s talk about this new anthology called Infinite Constellations. And let’s start at the very beginning.

There is this thing that often happens when people talk about identity: Fear. The conversation becomes a scary obstacle course, everyone afraid they might misstep or do something wrong. For some, the fear includes that of being harmed, potentially even targeted. But when you open Infinite Constellations, the first thing you see—immediately after the cover—are the names of contributors, kind of floating on the page, with their identity statements accompanying their names. The statements vary in length and detail, from a few words to a paragraph or so. I can’t speak for anyone else, but for me, stumbling on this page, it felt like walking into a room of smiles and hugs and warmth. These statements, presented together on a starry background with the book title in the middle, read as proud exclamations, “spoken” with heads held high. The page felt like a celebration of people and cultures; and finding it was a joyous moment—not to mention, very different from what you find in most of today’s anthologies. I am 100% here for it.

Next, I did what I often do when considering an anthology for review: I looked for the copyright notes for any potential reprints. Normally, this is part of my decision-making process (do I review this book, or do I keep looking?), as well as one of the ways that I personally assess anthologies. I usually want to see if the reprinted material is entirely or mostly from “the usual sources” or if there are at least one or two surprises. I really appreciate anthologists who pull reprints of amazing work from places that many readers are unlikely to have already discovered it. Infinite Constellations keeps this information tucked away in the back in “Notes & Acknowledgements.” When I finally found what I was looking for, I was seriously excited at seeing so many sources with which I was unfamiliar. So many anthologies draw from more or less the same batch of sources: the same sets of magazines; the same collections by the same group of authors; if we’re relatively lucky, the same one or two recent original anthologies. This anthology, however, doesn’t just offer one or two surprises, it is full of surprises. It made me want to find the editors at a convention somewhere, or any other similar gathering, pull up, and spend a long evening discussing books and authors and incredible works. Honestly, it made me feel like I still have a lot to learn.

And then, into the introduction. This was broken into chunks, with sparkling quotes scattered throughout. At first I felt a frustration, wanting to focus on the introduction and feeling that process disrupted. Then I started to feel deep connections upon actually reading—absorbing—some of the quotes. And finally, a realization: even in the presentation of these elements, in disrupting the “traditional” introduction with wonderful messages, the editors are challenging the status quo of anthologies. They aren’t just shoving a bunch of work by marginalized people into a book. They are re-envisioning what an anthology is and how it works and to whom it speaks.

When I made this realization, I just thought, “‘bout damn time.”

It’s not that there aren’t some good anthologies out there, but it is that so many of them resemble each other. While there is a market for that (and to be quite frank, I do enjoy many of those anthologies) I enthusiastically welcome the freshness, the newness, the creativity that is Infinite Constellations. In theory, publishing is a creative industry, and yet at times people are so scared to do something different, which results in titles that feel not just “done before” but done many, many times. Infinite Constellations is not one of those titles, friends.

In editorial voice, if I were to compare it with other titles, it reminds me of Trouble the Waters, in the way that a walk on the beach in San Francisco can remind me of a walk on the beach in Kauai: obviously similar in certain specific ways, and yet they remain two very different experiences. In looking through the selections, Unlimited Futures comes to mind. And yet I feel as if I haven’t read a book quite like this one before.

“Wrapped in the familiar, we might miss the unusual,” the editors say in their introduction. And this sings volumes about the work at hand.

Infinite Constellations opens with poetry by Kenzi Allen, called “Oskʌnu·tú”. The lines are beautiful, vivid, evocative. Loosely tied together, they create a sense of story, an emotional imprint; a set of images and moments infused with gentle wonder. This entry does what great poetry should do. It also sets the tone for the book, challenging expectations, but still delivering something powerful.

Powerful continues with “She Sang to Me Once at a Place for Hunting Owls”, a prose poem by dg nanouk okpik. This piece strikes an emotional chord from the very first line, the phrases visual, intriguing, and unique all at once. Similar to Allen’s piece, the gorgeous language and careful imagery immediately wrap you in a world, in a moment far removed from whatever you were doing before.

Infinite Constellations is a collection of different kinds of pieces, different perspectives, different approaches, each one offering its own ways to connect, intellectually and emotionally. Short story “Plink” by Yohanca Delgado literalizes the idea of being rendered helpless by your child. The prose flows with moments of brilliance and Delgado compresses an engrossing scene into a few paragraphs. On a superficial read, it’s a story about shrinking. But look closely. Subtle notes of deeper allusions await those who read carefully.

Ra’Niqua Lee gives us “Mermaid Names”—after the hurricane, the swamp encroaches, things bubble up from underneath; and then there’s the four dead girls coming back to life. Lee draws the reader in with interesting imagery and choices, including pairing the idea of forgotten or lost things coming out of the muck with these girls, suggesting so much by simple parallels. The read is visceral at first, entirely engrossing, compelled both by the author’s command of language and story, plus the underlying tensions threaded therein. Then things mellow into a tidal-feeling narrative, a swirl of mystery and softly unsettling themes.

“letter to the hiring manager” by Sarah Sophia Yanni examines the role reversals of age caused by generational technology changes, while also taking a sardonic look at the conventions and ironies of modern work life. It’s wonderfully constructed and effective.

Poem “Ways to Use Silhig Lánot” by Alton Melvar M. Dapanas feels, at first, like it’s about connectivity—one thing being connected to the next (pellets to lizards to moths and so on)—and hinting perhaps at the nature of life, and by extension, people. Then it shifts slightly, still feeling like it’s about connectivity, but this time more about connecting the speaker to moments and figures. Finally, it resolves, or perhaps condenses, into a statement about memory, leaving a strong emotional impression that warrants (and rewards) several careful rereads.

Kenji C. Liu’s “Transmigrations: A Future History of Multiple Bodies of Water” is, basically . . . extraordinary. Defying convention, difficult to even describe, and yet it presents clearly connected, intellectually and emotionally engaging moments. This one delivers something impactful despite being hard to explain. There is a kind of deeply personal narrative here, experienced through shifting modalities and formats. Liu plays with everything from the way one line changes the meaning of a prior line to our expectations.

“After,word” by George Abraham is nothing less than incredible. A flowing consideration of words, identity, and meaning; each moment, each movement striking hard with truths about just how slippery truth is. It’s also an examination of the way one positions oneself in relationship to others—“others” not just meaning “an individual” but meaning many things, including “a country” (and what does “country” even mean?). It’s a frank, intimate, restless examination, occasionally sliding into the meta, and then questioning the reality of that meta state. It’s a work of art, a journey, and the kind of reading that, when finished, I had to just close my eyes and feel.

Infinite Constellations does feature a few established genre folks that you may recognize, like Sheree Renée Thomas, with an excerpt from “Shanequa’s Blues—Or Another Shotgun Lullaby” originally printed in her collection Nine Bar Blues; and Daniel José Older with 2012 story “The Passing” from his collection Salsa Nocturna. There are also a few authors whose names you should know if you’re keeping an eye on genre short fiction, such as Tonya Liburd and Pedro Iniguez. But I really enjoyed finding so many truly amazing pieces by authors that I don’t recall reading before.

I enjoyed struggling to explain what a piece did for me. Or, at least, I enjoyed the experience of the read, which, more than once, I found difficult to explain.

Within the framework of what I do for this column, I don’t have the time to give this anthology the attention it deserves. Even an individual piece like “After,word” warrants several close readings —warrants feeling—and deserves much more attention than I can give it here. The editors finish the book off with a “Reading & Teaching Guide”, complete with talking points and ideas for ways to approach the material. But you don’t need a degree or expertise to enjoy this book. The best approach, the one I recommend, is to come to it with a willingness to connect; and perhaps, a willingness to engage with this anthology in a way which is a bit different from most books. Get this book and join in the celebration.