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“A FENCE MUST LEAD SOMEWHERE,” Caroline Cabrera insists. She follows the fence that is the skin and body—the gendered, racialized self—to a place she, in her grief and rage, trusts it might lead: “I awake to my life, laid out plainly.” This is a book of intimate rendering, of memoir beyond plot, emerging into the feeling of syntax, with force. A woman makes a space for herself, and you, a space for a self to be heard before it’s lessened by being seen. “I rise to the position of my voice,” she announces. Let’s follow.

—Hilary Plum

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