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A very rich book of ideas and themes, with the execution at time lacking compared to the ambition of the author. Poetic in imagery and surprisingly hopefully in overall message of resilience in kids and trust is the future
You can’t kill the future in us

So much is touched upon in this book: economic exploitation, misogyny, gender norms and identification (including American civil war Mulan like soldiers), children being grind up in welfare systems or being handicapped by hard labour, mother/parenthood, climate change, linguistics, indigenous populations versus Western exploration, evolution of species.

The richness of ideas in Thrust is dizzying.

Also we have recurring themes of indigo, loss of limbs, people scarred on their back which looks like angel wings, apples, an umbilical cord, a pendant with the hair of Mary Shelley, seizures. And recurring people across time called Aurora, Lizzy/Lasivé and Joseph.

Lots to chew on, and as to be expected, not everything as intricate and beautifully rendered as one would hope. Still the ambition of Lidia Yuknavitch is very much something to enjoy.
The audiobook, using many different narrators, is very well done and does the polyphonic book justice. The narrative tone is rather distant, and we move not just along time but also between narrators a lot.

We have a New York inundated, with a famous underwater woman a.k.a. Statue of Liberty. In that timeline there is also a talking turtle called Bertrand. The world building is not very clear, with raids on people and unclear economics: it reminded me of The New Wilderness.

Then we have a timeline with sex workers annex an orphanage in post-Civil War New York. Here people are eating live salamanders and there is a epistolary conversation between a niece (Aurora) and nephew who have a rather intimate relationship, with one of them inspiring the other to build the Statue of Liberty. Aurora her story in industrial New York reminds me of Michael Cunningham Specimen Days first two sections, which also focusses on invalid children. The whole BDSM mistress annex Scheherazade having a letter exchange with her gay sculptor of the Statue of Liberty feels rather constructed.
Also why would someone narrate a persons own house to them in a letter? Isn’t this a bit of laziness in storytelling. Another example is How has she managed to capture my attention so thoroughly?, which a character ask himself. And well no, that’s not how it works with me as reader, just saying that but offering me nothing to feel this.

Then there is a section with a supremely unprofessional social worker who is rather emotional unstable. She gets attached to a boy who draws strange things and has a traumatic past.

Finally we are transported to the builders working on the Statue of Liberty. This section is the most well done in my view. The similarity between the numbered pieces of The Statue of Liberty, being transferred in a boat, is beautifully juxtaposed with slaves being carried in a similar manner to build America, and shows effectively the theme of immigrants who built both the country and its emblem.
Also this section has the least number of lists being narrated, which the other two sections have a lot.

The book overall is a bit solemn (humourless sounds too harsh but did cross my mind, especially the BDSM mistress at time is kind of funny in a constructed manner) and maybe too cinematic at times, with more eye for the visual appeal of scenes than the actual construction of them. These kind of open questions, supposedly thought by people in a crisis situation, is an example of the author being too much concerned with the message instead of the realistic construction of scenes:
Who are men when they are untethered from their fathers?
The foster child scene are a good example, with a lot “never in his life�, “every morning� and other absolute statements. In that sense this book reminded me a bit of How High We Go in the Dark in ambition or the imagination and lyricism of Jeanette Winterson her work. Also Sea of Tranquility definitely comes to mind with the parsimonious jumping through time, although this book is less neat in tying up threads and explaining stuff.

The ending for me felt a bit vague, with fetishized depictions of other species (isn’t the whole Darwin thesis that all species fight each other constantly) and a kind of water commune as a way towards a solution to all problems. This reminded me a bit of N.K. Jemisin her work, which sometimes shows a bit too high amount of faith in basic human nature.

Still a truly interesting book, and Lidia Yuknavitch is someone I am keen to read more from, since this was definitely an ambitious and thoughtful work.

Quotes:
She seems like the rest of us out here, the doctor said. Traumatized, all of us, and just getting on with things

Remember, you can’t save anyone

The important question turned out to be how do we assemble our hearts to keep us from breaking apart

I’m still haunted by the concept of freedom

The death of languages precedes the death of the world

The story of workers is buried under any monument of progress or power

People often see danger where change happens

So many stories heaped upon each other

Just studying something is not the same as being part of something

Stories are quantum

When is the time in your life when you felt the most human?

Carrying a real name in once heart