I love packing The Funeral Singer. It’s a ceremony. It’s an experience of touch (textured silk), sight (pearl button, feather patterns on lapis lazuli clutch with gold threads), and smell (frankincense and myrrh oil) for the reader. It’s sound: music experienced through words (and a curated outside arts list). It’s a world packed into short story book form.

And of course: it’s a wormhole.

This one bridges 1922 Anatolia with 1944 Greece, heavy time periods in its history. Unbound from geographical location, it connects ongoing human narratives of war and displacement, desire and death, and female resistance against a caged life.