A cleverly wrought and sparkling debut story collection irrevocably tinged by grief, Anthony Veasna So's Afterparties is forever tied to its author's fate. So, on the precipice of literary fame, died of a drug overdose in 2020, before the release of this book. But Afterparties alone is a towering testament to the worlds inside So's own. At times numbingly sad, other times strikingly humorous, So's nine stories of Cambodian Americans in California's Central Valley are simultaneously a love letter, an indictment and a memoir. They lope between settings public and private--the counter of a donut shop, the aisles of a grocery store and the bed of a pair of queer lovers--and are each awash in the cognitive dissonance of the young immigrant experience. Each story is set against the Khmer Rouge genocide, which killed millions of Cambodians in the late 1970s, and traces how that trauma has infiltrated a new generation of American-born (or American-raised) youth. So himself was raised with this backdrop, and thus he is present in every chapter, a charismatic and emotionally charged hand pointing out each character to readers, allowing those characters to be turned over and examined.
This collection is so powerful and pungent because it seems hand-squeezed from reality. The description of smells and tastes and emotions are so carefully constructed that readers can practically taste the donut glaze on their fingertips as they turn the page. So was a talent--of that there can be no denial. And his presence is felt very much still, his complexities seeping onto every page of this soulful book. --Lauren Puckett, freelance writer