Anomia takes place in the quiet and liminal town of Euphoria; a vaguely familiar area that feels positioned outside of time, forgotten (if it was ever remembered at all) — both nostalgic yet unsettling. There is a sense that Euphoria would fade almost supernaturally quick from one’s memory once outside of its limits for long enough. Crime shows often state “we never thought this could happen in our small town” and Anomia is perhaps no different, creating a backdrop that juxtaposes an impossibly languid setting against visceral horror and mystery. The plot firmly punctures through an ennui that has settled over a town perched on the edge of existence.
After reviewing Jade Wallace’s poetry book Love is a Place But You Cannot Live There, I was hoping to see a sort of poetic influence reflected in this novel and it delivered. Wallace proves to be skilled in multiple genres and is a natural storyteller in all of them. The storyline intertwines characters Slip, Limn and Mal, Fir and Fain, Blue and Culver in a way that acknowledges different states or types of relationships within the situation they find themselves in. The reader feels a sort of sympathy for Slip’s aloneness. Limn and Mal navigate the (sometimes morbid) curiosity in youth; Fir and Fain demonstrate a lovely, platonic friendship that defies tropes; Blue and Culver are bound by tragedy and shrouded in mystery. The characters are intriguing and dimensional; particularly in their curiosity and boldness. The conversations are a delightful balance of cerebral and sardonic language. It is easy to feel a kinship to the characters as they attempt to solve a mystery involving bones, a missing person, the alluring Unwood and disinterested law enforcement.
One of Anomia’s most interesting features is the lack of gendered language. The reader is not able to easily discern sex nor gender, which my very visual brain initially struggled with until it began assuming genders for the sake of my mind’s eye. One of the most thought-provoking aspects of reading this novel was questioning myself as to why I was assigning certain genders to characters. How did the dynamics of the relationships in Anomia bring out my biases or societal notions? I discovered I was assigning male features to characters when they acted standoffish, morose or aggressive. I thought of patience, softness and listening as female attributes. While Wallace’s intent may not have been for readers to ‘figure out’ gender, the way my brain attempted to categorize the characters was nonetheless a large and surprising exercise.
Wallace has the ability to flit above and below dark surfaces, occasionally writing quirky and playful descriptions as deftly as their melancholic material. Excerpts below:
‘“Fucking quitch,” Mal shouts, spitting out an electric green hard candy and flinging it at the back of the car that missed them by inches and is now peeling away into the night. The wet gob of sugar sticks to the trunk of the car with a diminutive thunk that goes unnoticed by the driver’
Elsewhere in the book:
‘In some instances, the recovered dead get no human image whatsoever, and instead scraps of clothing stand in metonymically for the form they once adorned.’
Wallace flexes their poetic muscles throughout the book, supplementing with more abstract and dreamy phrases:
‘Time is the only gift greater than space that we can give to one another. Culver brought all the clocks on earth to Blue and they drew them into the sea. Hands stopped and their minutes together descended into a fathomless dark.’
Perhaps the most impressive demonstration of Wallace’s abilities beyond their prose is the successful weaving of multiple storylines and the chapters that serve as a sort of ‘intermission.’ The poetic descriptions in the book often take the reader on short, pleasing tangents that slowly coax the plot back into focus. The story and language is precise yet feathers out at the edges; not sedating but rather mildly hypnotic.
The author has carefully nourished a space between multiple, neighbouring genres that is startling and audacious.
Anomia is a marriage of interconnection and the macabre; refusing to be easily categorized. Not just a small town mystery or body horror. Not just a coming-of-age or love story. Like the town of Euphoria itself, Wallace’s approach exists outside of the typical literary realms. The author has carefully nourished a space between multiple, neighbouring genres that is startling and audacious. It’s for certain—Jade Wallace’s work is as innovative as it is inimitable, continuing to carve out its own path in remarkable and effective defiance.
Jade Wallace (they/them) is a queer, non-binary, and disabled writer, editor, and critic, and co-founder of the collaborative writing entity MA|DE. Wallace’s books include the novel ANOMIA (Palimpsest Press, 2024), two solo poetry collections, Love Is A Place But You Cannot Live There and The Work Is Done When We Are Dead (Guernica Editions, 2023 and 2026), and MA|DE’s debut poetry collection ZZOO (Palimpsest Press, 2025).
Publisher: Palimpsest Press (June 15, 2024)
Paperback 8″ x 6″ | 230 pages
ISBN: 9781990293757
Nicholas Selig is a poet from Nova Scotia. His work has been featured by Contemporary Verse 2 and the League of Canadian Poets. He was awarded the Nova Writes Rita Joe Poetry prize in 2023. He is the current Editor-in-Chief for The Miramichi Reader.