The Unfinished World by Amber Sparks comes out today!
It’s a debut collection of uncanny stories that begin with lines like “Today is the opening day of werewolf season” and “Lancelot has been summoned out of sleep to find a secret kingdom.” Amber Sparks can do scary, she can do bizarre, she can do delightful–she can do anything. The Unfinished World is a string of jewels.
We asked the author one question.
How are you celebrating the publication of The Unfinished World?
I tend to celebrate early and often, so this book has already had a few bottles tipped in its honor and good meals eaten because of. And when I got the first part of my advance, my husband and I and my as-yet-unborn daughter went to New Orleans, to eat our way around the city. Come to think of it, food is present in all book celebrations, always.
All this to say that though January 25th will be exciting, it will be a more ordinary day than not, and that’s probably for the best. I’ll get my daughter ready for my husband to drop her off at daycare, and then get myself ready for work. (I might give myself five extra minutes with my coffee, no small thing with a very small human in the home.) I’ll put on some jewelry, a thing I don’t always do now that I’m a sloppy mother, and maybe wear some red lipstick. (Okay, I wear red lipstick most days, but EXTRA red.) Maybe I’ll skip the Metro and take a cab to work. Or maybe I’ll walk, if it’s not too cold, and give myself the extra time to think and feel alone, a rare and lovely luxury these days.
At lunch (here comes that food) I’ll take myself over to the bookstore, and pretend not to stare at the stack of my books on the front table. Since I was young I’ve wondered how those books get there and dreamed about seeing mine stacked up, book on book and beautiful book. Then I’ll buy myself a good, solid lunch and maybe a glass of wine, and buy someone else’s book to read while I’m eating it.
At home that night, I’ll get my daughter ready for bed, and maybe read her the dedication I wrote for her in the front of the book. I might tell her a story or three. And I might tell her the one about how when they tell you that you can do anything, you should believe them; you might even write a book and see it sitting on someone else’s table, in someone else’s hands. You might even wrote a book that someone else could read to feel a little less, or more alone—whatever they prefer to dream.
Get the book here.