I can’t make heads or tails of it, the goat on the corner of Union and Metropolitan. It is 2016 and Ezra has just lit themself on fire outside Trump Tower, New York. Their life suddenly flashes across time and geography, leaping from memories of childhood to the inherited memory and historical movements of their family: smoking Winstons aged twelve, after Hebrew School; their mother disappearing without a trace; visiting a temple in Tel Aviv; a college reunion filled with ghosts. Memories culminate to create a work that revels in estrangement, in feeling queer and at home, or queer and out of place; in feeling alive. Visceral, propulsive and at turns fluorescently beautiful and tragic, Yr Dead is a diasporic bildungsroman for fans of Ocean Vuong and Henry Hoke.
