Of the 150+ books I've read this year, this is the one my loved ones might most expect as a gift from me. It feels almost indescribable, but what it definitely is is good. And fun. And a page-turner. None of which is what you would expect from a book Storygraph categorised as a cancer memoir.
Storygraph is mostly wrong - Sorenson describes this as a novel, which is where most booksellers are shelving it. It is a work of tremendous imagination - Sorenson conjures a community of organs, living productively in her peritoneal cavity, who must adapt and respond when new "baby" organs start growing among them. Sorensen's depiction of this community is wildly clever, using story to illustrate both form and emotion. Ute the Uterus wanders defiantly, both frustrated with her lot and determined to simply create fibroid art rather than be reduced to her reproductive functions; Rage the spleen has a sensitive, angsty gothlike persona, Liv the chemist works endless hours to keep the whole system running - most of the metaphors are too wonderful to spoil, but there is little fudging and I honestly learned quite a lot about my "insides". The group meet by Zoom, bicker about workloads and philosophical questions such as whether "Tracy" is an entity or a container, and mourn the loss of their direct communication with Queen Bee brain, long since withdrawn to delegate their operations to autopilot in favour of marking and other esoteric pursuits.
The book is surprisingly tense as we see whether they will work out what is happening and what they can do about it. It has been quite a while since I wanted to get back to reading quite so badly, just to find out what happens. There are cheer-out-loud moments, as well as moments of poignancy. And there is something wonderful in its celebration of homeostasis - the simple honour of staying alive. And, of course, the pleasures of a good chuck.