"Throughout the book, we are reminded again and again that 'adjacent' doesn't mean 'parallel.' Adjacence means intersection is possible, centering oneself is possible, movement is possible, if one decides to act. But the agency of Slow Guillotine isn't commanding. It shows up quietly, almost practically. Our characters stop paying their rent, they celebrate birthdays, make art that won't hang in galleries, cook for each other, take trips outside the city, these tiny rebellions that, even if just for a moment, trip the system and center themselves."—Chelsea C. Jackson, Maine Review"Slow Guillotine's subversive, heat-seeking pulse is defiantly pro-ennui, embracing projectile vomit and the thing we want most besides love, that is—language at the very edge, and the shedding of our perpetually too-snug skins."—Jess Arndt, author of Large Animals: Stories"An incisive, fluid, and absurdly funny portrait of both the bookselling industry and of what it's like to try to piece a life together in Manhattan while young(ish) and poor. Whether talking about book-return scams, clowns, social media, cooking, the awfulness of searching for an apartment, tattooing, or pop-ups, Slow Guillotine is sharply observant as it eviscerates the movie myth of New York and replaces it with something less romantic but much more real, current, and painfully hilarious."—Brian Evenson, author of Song for the Unraveling of the World"Teo Rivera-Dundas makes the banal shine brilliantly—because when you're young and in New York, geared with friendship, queerness, and art, even the most mundane trivialities can turn into bold misadventures. Slow Guillotine is a tender, slithering threat: hope hovering, ready to strike."—Lily Hoang, author of A Bestiary
