Flying is many things: soaring above the clouds, floating in dreams, and dissociating. “Children Who Fly,” written by Leah Lakshmi Piepzna-Samarasinha, is a science fiction short story that describes a young girl named Kumari who has learned from her close family and ancestors how to fly.
“Octavia’s Brood” is a collection of sci-fi short stories leaning into Black and Brown narratives. Collected and edited by Walidah Imarisha and adrienne maree brown, the collection is inspired by renowned author, sci-fi writer Octavia Butler. Selected as the 2024-25 shared read at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago by the Office of Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion and the Anti-Racism Committee, “Octavia’s Brood” showcases short stories from 20 authors all with varying backgrounds and experiences with writing.
In a dystopian Oakland, California, U.S. in the year 2032, Kumari sits on the front porch of her mother’s old shack. She is processing her emotions from being raped, which manifests themself into a swirling dissociation, thinking of her mother and teachings from her family members. “Back when [Kumari’s] mom was a kid-kid, they didn’t even have those zines, those whispers, and folded pieces of paper. They had solid bodies of rage and trauma that never had a chance to be whisper-shouted out. Just passed on,” wrote Piepzna-Samarasinha in “Children Who Fly.”
“Children Who Fly” feels beautifully tied to the imagery of the African myth “The Flying Africans.” The myth of Flying Africans, for enslaved Africans in North America, became a story representing spiritual and earthly freedom, in which it would be imagined that the Africans could fly out of their bondage. In this way, dissociating has been a way of escapism for a long time.
Escapism through dissociation in “Children Who Fly” is a paradox. While Kumari seems to negatively check out of her life rather than coping, she also feels free when she dissociates. The sentiment of the short story is there — you can take back control of yourself after experiencing trauma where you didn’t have your autonomy — but the writing itself is lacking.
Kumari’s family is described as Sri Lankan and Ukrainian. The text describes the family’s religious practices, and uses phrases from West African Yoruba and Hinduism. While it allows readers to get a better idea of the characters setting and background, a lot of cultural context is missing or doesn’t unfold until near the end of the story. Because of the unbalanced pacing of the story, which frontloads the chapter with flashbacks in the beginning and context in the end, it is hard to connect these various cultural terms with the characters in the story. It’s hard to know who and what Kumari is describing and who and what her family is describing in the flashbacks as it is not clear who ascribes to what terms according to their background and how physical aspects of the aforementioned cultures exist in the setting that Kumari is in.
The world itself is lost. There are interesting moments where we learn about the setting and society: “Amma was Generation One on the big butcher paper on the wall of the U.S. Social Forum 2010. You, kids are Generation Two,” wrote Piepzna-Samarasinha. The world is described as being post-nuclear warfare, with cities being destroyed and civilians wearing filtered masks. Kumari’s home is made of reclaimed wood and looks over a lush garden of kale and sunflowers. Yet the world feels like nothing more than a backdrop, we don’t know how the world really affects Kumari or her family and living situation.
The transcendence of space and time in the story is confusing for a linear narrative. It can be interpreted as representing the feeling Kumari has after being raped, scattered and distant. Like she is unable to fully process the incident causing her to disassociate. But it appears on the page as large sections of italicized text that are difficult to discern from past and present as the entire story is a live retelling within Kumari’s processing.
The intention of “Children Who Fly” isn’t all the way there, the surrealism of time doesn’t go far enough, and the conclusion — which I appreciate for being blunt — feels insecure, leaving a feeling that Piepzna-Samarasinha may be unsure that she successfully evoked her message.
“Children Who Fly” is one of the shorter stories in “Octavia’s Brood.” Nevertheless, with a couple more pages spent expanding the world and history of Kumari’s family, readers may be able to take one step closer to understanding, relating, and discovering their own paradox for healing.
