Charlotte is a young, queer, headstrong and heartstrong writer fresh out of an undergraduate career at Colorado State University and the Iowa Writers' Workshop. They have published short stories and poetry through local library contests, Scholastic, and the International Congress of Youth Voices. They aim to return to graduate school in a few years to study literary theory. Their creative writing aims to represent the violent and beautiful "trouble" that is being human on a changing planet. Weather and Beasts and Growing Things is their first novel.

Weather and Beasts and Growing Things by Charlotte Suttee

In 2079, Stevven Pane (they/them) operates an unsanctioned GreenRoof (urban garden) atop a condemned apartment on the coast of South Carolina. The city finally evicts Stevven, along with nine-year-old Eli, "Earther" Gino, gossip magazine journalist Barbara, and BluBerry (a genetically modified superplant), and this motley crew is forced to navigate a neoliberal cyberpunk urban landscape, miles of abandoned highways riddled with oil cults and cannibals, and swamps of uncanny critters to arrive at the last place Stevven ever trusted, University grounds nestled in the foothills of Tennessee. Here, Stevven has aims to save BluBerry, who is as much of a person to Stevven as everyone else—until their definition of "saving" is completely uprooted. This cli-fi tale will thrill readers looking for the offbeat and strange.

CURATOR'S NOTE

•As the members of the Monty Python comedy troupe were fond of saying, "And now for something completely different." Once you dip a toe into this book by debut novelist Charlotte, you'll find you've entered an entirely unique tale set in an outrageously original world, told in a stunningly personal and poetic style. It's a challenging work, one that will leave your head spinning at times…in a good way. Charlotte represents authorial promise incarnate, a voice so new and fresh—and weird—that they refuse to be ignored. I expect big things from this young, queer writer in years to come, and I expect you will be dazzled by what they have done in this volume and the sheer creative potential they have brought to its every page. – Robert Jeschonek

 

REVIEWS

  • "Suttee's vision of the future is terrifying, both in its moments of hyper-capitalist lucidity and its fantastical visions of nightmare creatures."

    – Publishers Weekly

  • "Like Don DeLillo reading Judith Butler in tomorrow's Halo: Green Shade, Charlotte Suttee's Weather and Beasts and Growing Things queers the ecology of the future through the virology of today. It's a plant parable about personhood, who or what's a thing; it's on the road for the genetically imperiled: 'shapes and life and growls swim in the periphery, high noon,' hang on."

    – Matthew Cooperman, author of Spool and winner of the New Measure Prize
 

BOOK PREVIEW

Excerpt

A sample from the book that best illustrates the writing style of the book and gives a nice snapshot of the story. Something about the length of a typical prologue will be good. (Prologues are perfect as well.)

Innards stew gunning through city bustle. Stevven walks old gum trail and pavement, unquilling nerves step by step. They turn into wide strip mall, slide through drug store alleyway, consignment, hissing steampipes, trash bags puttering glass and critters.

We're almost there, Blu.

Forceful yellow green Ginkgo, fifty feet tall. Bird flurry erupts from nook, soars from green penumbra. Dense ocean air squeezes through boulevards, paddles Ginkgoleaf, harp string. Ginkgo, blazing noontime gold.

Stevven stops four strides from trunk, feet venturing onto torrential, callusing roots, stinking fruits. Stevven invites BluBerry from pack, seats them at Ginkgo base below carving M + J, scar, heart. Stevven sits against trunk. Sweet stomach acid scents tickle nose.

People recline on benches facing walkways, lap up Ginkgoshade. Small grass patches effort inside concrete curbs. Stevven places hand on bark. Ants dance through arrows, fucks, and initials cutting into Ginkgoflesh seasons ago. Above, branches reach up and out, fan photosynthesizers, circle.

Stevven looks out from Ginkgo island at humans. At multipurpose tower base, revolving doors chew people up, spit them out.

Human in nylon hoodie staggers. They try to stop others, begging hands, body concave, hollow, hungry. Most swim past, eyeing other horizons, unbodily.

Hoodie pulls over small bubble cheek secretary, smiles apologetically, convinces them to swipe money. Secretary taps phone, wishes them good day, pulls away from prayerhands, hymnals, thanks.

Ginkgo frees leaf onto Stevventhigh. Stevven gently pinches slim stalk and

lifts closer to eyes, traces parallel veins, veins like young strong rivers.

Blood balances, cools.

Can I help you?

Police officer, inflame fingers pinching hips. Gray eyes, steely eyebrows.

No, Stevven says.

Can I see some ID?

I'm taking a rest in the shade. I used to come here a lot.

I need to see some ID.

Can I see what you got stuck up your ass?

Officer shifts feet. I'm going to ask you one more time or I'll facerec you.

Facerecs by officers go on your record. Don't want to have that. Now, let me see some ID.

This is public space.

This is a public space for United States or affiliated e-colony citizens only, officer says. Face me.

Stevven hides face inside hands.

Stand up, officer says.

Officerhand goes for Stevvenwrist. Stevven swivels, scoops up BluBerry between belly and tree, hides face in Ginkgo.

Another move like that and I'll arrest you.

Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you.

Officer grabs Stevvenshoulders, wrestles them from Ginkgo. Bystanders stream video. Stevven thrashes.

Yeah, I bet this gets you off, they spit at crowd.

Fucking retard, officer says, jingles cuffs.

Stevven! Barbara calls, trots into scene. Oh officer, thank you so much for finding them!

Barbaraheels struggle on Ginkgoroots.

You know her? Officer asks.

She's a distant cousin, Barbara says, refixes purse on arm. My sister and I have been looking after her since her mom passed away.

Is she special or something? officer asks, lifts Stevven to feet.

Yes, Barbara sighs, poorme smile.

Alright, take her and clear out. She's disturbing the peace.

Fuck you fuck you fuck you.

Go on! Officer shouts, shoves Stevven.

Ginkgo groans, waking, stretching open. Ants pour from belly like shadow, black sesame, roll over Stevvenfeet, flowing fast. They storm, weigh down officerleg like chain, drag him back to earth. Barbara, too slow in heels to escape, trips into digestive vat, hand reaching for invisible help. Soil laps up blood, Ginkgorhyzomes blinking red delight.

What are you staring at? Barbara says. Let's go.

Stevven collects pack and BluBerry, follows Barbara onto sidewalk, glares back at officer. Bystander phones return to pockets, some linger, salivating for more outbursts. Digieyes blink to refresh entertainment, move on.

Did you follow me? Stevven asks.

That's a sad way to say 'thank you,' Barbara says, heading North towards Serendipity Apartments. What were you doing there? Just trying to get arrested?

I wasn't doing anything.

Hm. No wonder then.

What do you mean?

It's the people who aren't doing anything for society that are causing all the trouble. The officer was just trying to protect the interests of civilized society.

Will the fact that you think I'm a threat to civilization appear in the story you're writing?

Barbara chuckles sadly.

Look—Stevven jogs up to Barbara, intercepts her speedwalk—I don't get why you're so obsessed with this operation but it's time—

Operation?

—it's time to wrap things up. Just tell me what you need from me right now, for your story or whatever, and we'll split.

Traffic ruffles Barbara and Stevven, jostles pack, BluBerry. Stevven refrains from biting off noses. Barbaraeyes snare something unpleasant in crowd.

Shit, she says through teeth. Don't look.

Stevven looks.