Review: The Ape’s Wife and Other Stories by Caitlín R. Kiernan (review)

Caitlín R. Kiernan’s The Ape’s Wife and Other Stories is an extraplanar window into a world of fluid themes and genres. This anthology opens with a quote from Ursula K. Le Guin’s The Left Hand Of Darkness, an appropriate choice for a genre-warping anthology that tackles issues of gender. “I talk about the gods, I am an atheist. But I am an artist too, and therefore a liar. Distrust everything I say. I am telling the truth.” Typical genre divisions fail just as easily as typical gender divisions in the world of this arcane manuscript.

“The Steam Dancer (1896)” is vibrant and warmed by the smoldering bleakness lingering on each page. “Missouri Banks lives in the smoky city at the edge of the mountains, here where the endless yellow prairie laps gently with grassy waves and locust tides at the exposed bones of the world jutting suddenly up toward the western sky.” Kiernan’s writing is typified by diverse protagonists and Missouri Banks is no exception. Our protagonist is a woman who has lost two limbs and an eye to a swarm of bloatflies and dances at a burlesque saloon.

One might expect some tension between Missouri’s employment and her mechanical limbs, however, this is far from the case. Kiernan develops a character who is at home in her skin—or nickel alloys as the case may be. Missouri hasn’t so much as lost her biological limbs as she has acquired the limbs that match her self-identity. The descriptions of her dancing enforce this idea. “This is the interplay and synthesis of her body and the mechanic’s handiwork, of the music and her own secret dreams.” This focus on dancing foregrounds Missouri’s mechanical limbs and, not only her acceptance of them, but her bond with them. The patrons at the saloon are enamored by her dancing and compliment her performance: “You’d think she emerged outta her momma’s womb like that.” Despite the comment’s obvious biases, Missouri accepts it. “However it might have been meant, she took it as praise and confirmation.”

This story is about what it means to be whole. Missouri is a person who has lost a substantial part of her biological being and has replaced it with artifice. In spite of this, maybe even because of it, she is happy. We get a glimpse into Missouri’s world in a way that foregrounds her choices. She is proud of who she is so much so it borders on a personal fault. “Other women are only whole, she thinks. Other women are only born, not made. I have been crafted.” “The Steam Dancer (1896)” makes a powerful opening story for this anthology, establishing the thematics and tone for the rest of the text.

In “The Maltese Unicorn” our protagonist, Nat, is a courier for the demon madam, Harpootlian, of an unspeakable brothel. On the first two pages the genre lines are blended with references to an arcane grimoire, a stolen, cursed dildo, and a classic noir intro of a murder about to happen. These fluid genre roles mesh together with the story’s fluid gender roles. “First rule of demon brothels: Check your preconceptions of male and female at the door.” While we’re at it, we should check our genre preconceptions as well.

The gender fluidity in this story is less about the gender expression of Nat and more about her role in relation to her gender. Nat rejects the stereotypical role of women in noir as either the femme fatale or the “good woman.” Nat embodies the (conventionally male) role of the noir sleuth up against a femme fatale of her own. Nat’s demeanor is cunning and fueled by self-preservation, “Me, I don’t even remember pulling the trigger. Just the sound of the gunshot, louder than thunder.” Unlike the usual depiction of women in noir, she is neither cast out for...