The crimes that the world heaps upon women, the cycle of violence and beatification—there’s nothing gorgeous or rich or poetic about that. And at first, I thought that was something the title needed to convey. The evil we’re fighting is banal as fuck and let’s not forget it.

I wrote the first draft of “Babywings” after rereading Gabriel García Márquez’s “A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings.” The older I get, the more magical realism hooks its claws deep into me. Coming at the story through this genre, at a sideways angle, has allowed me to grapple with themes that are, for me, more emotionally challenging.

To me, caste, race, class, privilege, identity, are all forms of societal structure designed to divide people into “us” and “not us.” Education, culture, and language have become part of these structures now, along with the weaponization of language.

There’s the old saw about sufficiently advanced technology being indistinguishable from magic; I think we were playing with the notion that magic in the hands of human beings would eventually be indistinguishable from technology—including the lifecycle that takes it from genuine awe-inspiring discovery, to commercial adaptation, to profit-maximizing iteration, to a climate-destroying tool for focusing wealth.

During the writing process, I discovered this was a story about control. Before Roger Abbott was convicted, he was a jaded man. Pessimistic and hopeless. A disgraced journalist who lost his family and found himself in a pit of disillusionment. But he wanted to share his story. His whole truth.

Embalming is clearly a set of tools that achieves remarkable results in the preservation of bodies, but of course its intention is a communication—either to ourselves or to the gods—of our feelings about death and eternity. C. S. Lewis said (I’m paraphrasing here) that we are animals, and therefore live in time, but that we are also partially divine, and therefore contain an awareness of eternity.