The Silence of the Wilting Skin by Tlotlo TsamaaseMy rating: 2 of 5 stars
This surrealist novella reads like a fever dream.
There's a train that carries the dead and said train runs straight down the middle of a nameless city. On one side, the slums where our nameless narrator lives with her family (who also are not named), and the other side is the rich part where everyone who lives there is not Black. Nameless Narrator is visited by her dying grandmother's Dream-Skin (I don't know, don't ask) and is warned of...something? The language was intentionally vague and worked to confuse both the character and the reader. I'm going to guess the colonization attempt that took place shortly after. The non-Black side of town wants to demolish the train that they can't see. I don't remember why they can't see it, but I'm going to guess (I'm aware that I'm guessing a lot, but with intentionally vague language, what else can I do?) because it's not their culture. Nameless Narrator begins to start losing the melanin in her skin: a metaphor for losing her identity (and culture).
That's pretty much what I could glean. Like I said, fever dream. I do appreciate the train that carries the spirits of the dead because the family members get to see their deceased loved ones for a few minutes. I'd give almost anything to have the chance to see my parents again.
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