Enclave by Ann Aguirre (will be released on April 12, 2011)

When newly named Deuce takes her place among the hunters and huntresses of her underground enclave, College, it’s quite possibly the best and proudest day of her entire life. But she’s not sure it’s her lucky day when she’s partnered with Fade, the enclave outsider.She’s not sure this partnership will ever work. But when they’re forced to take a trip to Nassau, a neighboring enclave that has been overrun by Freaks – zombie mutants that feed off of human hosts – Fade proves to be more than a partner.
But when Deuce and Fade are exiled to Topside – a post apocalyptic world that’s supposedly worse than the underground world she’s lived in. As she and Fade travel silently through the night, barely escaping the new dangers that have suddenly risen – killer gangers who call themselves Wolves and a diminishing supply of food and water Deuce starts to worry that they better find a safe new home before they find out they’re the only humans left.
Ann Aguirre, writer of Enclave part one of the Razorland Trilogy is a richly atmospheric dystopian novel that is both gripping and intriguing. Full of adventure and the mystery surrounding what will become of Deuce and Fade, Enclave readers will find it both suspenseful and at time horror-filled.
Enclave is descriptive, to the point of being a bit heavy-handed. In some instances, this really works to drive home the imagery of the detailed post-apocalypic world Aguirre has seamlessly created. Aguirre’s writing is solid, but often wordy making the plot to drift slowly along – sometimes too slow. Enclave’s pacing is the real drawback, and it made the book feel as if it was longer than it actually was.

Her Kind

Her Kind by Anne Sexton

“I have gone out, a possessed witch,

haunting the black air, braver at night;

dreaming evil, I have done my hitch

over the plain houses, light by light:

lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.

A woman like that is not a woman, quite.

I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,

filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,

closets silks, innumerable goods;

fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:

whining, rearranging the disaligned.

A woman like that is misunderstood.

I have been her kind.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,

waved my nude arms at villages going by,

learning the last bright routes, survivor

where your flames still bite my thigh

and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.

A woman like that is not ashamed to die.

I have been her kind.”