
A Liminal Push to Keep Going
in Em J Parsley’s You, From Below
by Elinor Serumgard
I love the queerness that exists in darkness and in-betweens. Little things that make us question the binary as it were. Em J Parsely’s nameless second-person narrator is a delectable depiction of this in action.
We meet our narrator as they start their journey, to deliver a mysterious message after their holler-town home was sucked into a sinkhole. They panic, briefly, thinking “maybe you don’t care” (2). The second-person voice making this a call out to the reader. Do we care? The worry is a relatable sentiment, what can we care about when we are being fed a constant slog of BS from our personal lives and algorithms? Parsely catches us there, in the uncertainty, before sending us and the narrator onto the journey.
The use of second person creates an intimate duality throughout the novella. I’m used to seeing it over-used in angsty poems, but Parsely wields it well. They make the connection between reader and narrator tangible and obvious.
Is it because I am newly 25 and lost in my own journey of reflection that I love this? Maybe
Is that a complaint? Not at all.
The narrator is on a journey of meaning, so you are too. The narrator gathers the will to persist so you will too. Sometimes it’s nice to be told what to do.
This book shifts from a character study to fairytale. The queerness in the story is a quiet throughline. It is something that might not be obvious to all, but it shines in the ambiguity of the narrator and their reflection on what they’ve been through.
You, From Below feels like a grown-up bedtime story. Something I would tell the campers when I worked at a summer camp, but all grown up. It has the charm of a standard hero’s journey with the existentiality of someone coming into adulthood. As we head into another year of the unknown, I am comforted by the thrumming persistence that Parsely posits.
“These are two things you know: where you’re from, and what you’re here to do” (35).
You, From Below by Em J Parsely, Split Lip Press (February 4, 2025) 53 pages $14