As is frequent in Butler's writing, Wild Seed explores deeply uncomfortable topics with apparent ease, which belies the complexity of thought necessary for such a multilayered novel. For the task of standing up to powerful men who believe their wants the only ones worth serving, and the dignity of other people as dirt in his shoe; For the long and difficult work of forming and protecting communities of those who can care for and understand one another in the face of such forces; For the agonies of being beaten down, degraded, violated, and still needing to wake the next day for the work that must be done. This book is not a rallying cry, but it is bracing nonetheless, in the way of sticking one's face into a blizzard chill to gage how cold it is outside.

I rate enjoyment as low as I did not because I found any part of Wild Seed tedious to read. It is simply because of the nature of the content.

Grief is memory. Grief is leftover feelings for those no longer there to receive them. Aftertaste is about bringing closure to the aggrieved, through food. Lavelle has an unparalleled volume of food-to-feeling analogies in this book, and each comparison hits. The distinct notes of an imagined dish are picked apart with finesse; The complexity and decadence of a Michelin starred meal, or the simplicity and off-flavors of a rookie home chef: each flavor is tied so closely to the memory it evokes. Taste is a powerful sense, and is more immediate than hearing or sight. It requires taking something into yourself. Lavelle deftly utilizes that to make the reader feel intensely her characters' emotions. How tightly would you cling to the memories of the departed, if you suddenly found a way to speak with them again? What consequences would that bring? What kinds of dangers can a story find in the culinary scene of New York City? How can ghosts make that worse? What are the mundane moments that can fit between? Lavelle has captured all of this. Aftertaste doesn't pretend that life is all sweet. Life is salt—by which I mean every flavor of experience, from the sweetest to the most bitter, is made stronger by actively choosing to participate. Making oneself open to experience. Choosing to live; being open to trying new things in case you like it. Lavelle covers a lot of philosophical ground in her novel on the topics of what makes life worthwhile, on the process of grieving, and how memory constructs the individual; all of it done in a smooth thrust of narrative propelled by deeply satisfying flavor descriptions and an intensely gripping pathos. This is your invitation to come sit at the table—and this is a meal you don't want to miss out on.