We’re all striving for a work/life balance. It’s not hard to find someone ranting about how we all work too much and let the office rule our lives. Yeah, no kidding. We pulled away from that I-live-at-the-office mentality during the pandemic. Now, some in charge want us to find our old work clothes, get back in our cars, fight traffic, and head back to our cubicles. I work for myself and I’m an excellent boss when it comes to work hours, work attire, long lunches, and breaks for tv streaming. I’m lucky. Many people aren’t. Maybe that’s why, if you mention a trip to an island, an exclusive resort, or a mountain cabin people ask questions. Add in a private yacht or a fancy house and you’re inviting jealousy. Talk to a mystery/suspense/thriller writer and you’ll get a very different response.
My love of garlic started when I was young. I can instantly recall the garlic butter my mother and her mother were so fond of making to dip just about anything—from rolls to artichokes—into. And while the combination of garlic and butter is nearly as perfect as that of peanut butter and chocolate, the rice dish at David’s house was the first time I remember garlic playing such a central role in a meal, besides being a condiment or something slathered onto a piece of bread.
The problem arose when we moved to a neighborhood an hour north of the city after a year, a place where me being white but Jewish made me an ethnic abnormality in the WASPy Chicago suburb. Nobody there ate good food, and everybody walked around their homes with shoes on. I longed for the place I used to live, and especially for the garlic rice that I couldn’t even ask my mom to make because I had never asked David what it was called. I spent the next 15 years of my life seeking the answer.
In the past few years, I’ve learned there are others like me, and no one is louder about good desserts being “not too sweet” than the Asian American diaspora. Perhaps you’ve seen a meme about how calling a dessert “not too sweet” is something almost every Asian American has heard from their relatives, and how it’s the highest compliment an Asian person can give a dessert. Or maybe you’ve seen that it’s the name of multiple Asian bakeries and pop-ups. The phrase is not just a marker of taste, but one of identity. For a dessert to be Asian, it must be “not too sweet.” And to be Asian, one must like it that way.
The most refreshing thing about this collection is that it doesn’t try too hard to defend itself against the notion that games are fun. Of course they are. So is reading books, but most people would describe reading as a productive pursuit. Gaming, to many, is a waste of time – because it is what, too enjoyable? As the novelist Tony Tulathimutte writes, “I could wax poetic about how games and novels offer vivid vicarious experiences and broaden your world-view by putting you in the minds and roles of other people, but that’s disingenuous. I read and play games because I want to and because nobody is making me stop.”
Critical Hits is an exciting, original and rich collection. It made me want to read more, to write more, and – I admit without shame – to play more.
Alligators aren't cute. They don't inhabit places that are comfortable for outsiders to visit and they are often seen, as Renner points out here, as a "nuisance." However, they deserve the same love, respect, and protection as any other animal that has been in danger before and could be in danger again. Gator Country is an invitation to give them just that, and it contains everything people might need to feel informed. Renner's debut is self-assured and full of poetry, and it will change Florida in the eyes of everyone who reads it.