Delightfully blending literary fiction with speculative genres, the stories in The Church of Divine Electricity somehow manage to feel as though they could take place today. In Emily Mitchell's created worlds, as in our own, technology bewitches, especially with its ability to heighten both connections and isolation.
Whether being held by a giant and comforting machine, allowing micro-drones to record one's every moment for a year to win prize money, or choosing self-mutilation in exchange for a bionic hand, these characters navigate technological and social change. The familiar can turn unrecognizable and disorienting--sometimes in a flash, sometimes gradually. Lyrical, haunting, and often funny, these stories ask us to consider what--and who--gets left out of a seemingly utopian future of technological advancements. Finely observed, thoughtful, and vivid, Mitchell's stories get under your skin. It's not that the best-laid plans could lead us astray--it's that they may already have.
Delightfully blending literary fiction with speculative genres, the stories in The Church of Divine Electricity somehow manage to feel as though they could take place today. In Emily Mitchell's created worlds, as in our own, technology bewitches, especially with its ability to heighten both connections and isolation.
Whether being held by a giant and comforting machine, allowing micro-drones to record one's every moment for a year to win prize money, or choosing self-mutilation in exchange for a bionic hand, these characters navigate technological and social change. The familiar can turn unrecognizable and disorienting--sometimes in a flash, sometimes gradually. Lyrical, haunting, and often funny, these stories ask us to consider what--and who--gets left out of a seemingly utopian future of technological advancements. Finely observed, thoughtful, and vivid, Mitchell's stories get under your skin. It's not that the best-laid plans could lead us astray--it's that they may already have.
Delightfully blending literary fiction with speculative genres, the stories in The Church of Divine Electricity somehow manage to feel as though they could take place today. In Emily Mitchell's created worlds, as in our own, technology bewitches, especially with its ability to heighten both connections and isolation.
Whether being held by a giant and comforting machine, allowing micro-drones to record one's every moment for a year to win prize money, or choosing self-mutilation in exchange for a bionic hand, these characters navigate technological and social change. The familiar can turn unrecognizable and disorienting--sometimes in a flash, sometimes gradually. Lyrical, haunting, and often funny, these stories ask us to consider what--and who--gets left out of a seemingly utopian future of technological advancements. Finely observed, thoughtful, and vivid, Mitchell's stories get under your skin. It's not that the best-laid plans could lead us astray--it's that they may already have.
