CIPHER PRESS – serie

A twisty thriller about the fate of a sprawling family in Lagos, Lakiriboto is a queer, feminist revenge thriller like no other, in which murder, betrayal, and witchcraft collide - with explosive results. When her grandmother dies in the night, Moremi's fate falls to her uncle, the grasping family chief who sends her off to work as a housemaid in Lagos. On arriving there, Moremi finds that the big city is not all she thought it would be. But she's not alone. After another family death, Kudirat, accused of bringing misfortune to her close family, has also been sent to live as a maid in the same house, scrubbing floors and folding laundry for long-suffering Tola, whose abusive doctor husband refuses to treat. Together, with the help of her queer aunt Morieba, the four women must wrestle back control of their lives as the patriarchal traditions that govern the family push back against their freedoms. When Tola's condition worsens, someone new emerges, someone with revenge and redemption in mind. Mixing family saga, mobster pulp, and queer coming-of-age, Lakiriboto is a staggeringly original and surprising novel about Nigeria's queer and feminist communities, the struggles they face, and the lengths they will go to to overcome them.

After a decade-long relationship with a dominatrix he called Daddy, Emerson Whitney began to crave something besides submission. It came as a full surprise: submission had been so central to his early adulthood. Now what? Dizzied by new questions of transness and aging, living in a tent while his relationship ends, Emerson stumbles upon an advertisement for a storm chasing tour. 'For thrill seekers,' it says. Unsure what else to do, he signs up. Daddy Boy follows Emerson as he packs into a van with a group of strangers and drives up and down America - staying in Days Inns and eating bags of carrots from Walmart and hunting down storms like so many white whales. Steeped in the prairie landscape of his childhood, Emerson recalls his adoptive dad, Hank, unflinching and extremely Texan; and his biological dad who, with his cowboy hats and puppies, always seemed so sweet and absent. From the van's trash-strewn backseat, and in the face of these looming figures, Emerson begins to wonder: Did he want to be Daddy now?

An electrifying novel about the creeping reality of political terror, and the violent pleasures found in Brooklyn's queer heartlands. Part noir, part erotic thriller, X is a vivid, moody and darkly funny portrait of those living on the margins of an increasingly hostile society. Broke and discontented, amateur sadist Lee spends their days working for a big corporation and their nights searching the warehouses and dungeons of Brooklyn looking for the mysterious, seductive, and bloodthirsty X. In a sly purging of migrants, refugees, sex workers and queers - any citizens they claim to be undesirable - the US government has started exporting people, and Lee has heard X might be among those about to disappear. As their obsession with X grows, Lee becomes further enmeshed in the crimes and dramas of the city's queer community, following ex-lovers, playmates, clients, best friends, and accidental accomplices through damp and shining bars and parties looking for any lead that might bring them closer to X, before she vanishes for good.

Cornish mermaids take to the football pitch to protest warming seas. Trans students in Manchester searching for the perfect dick accidentally warp the fabric of spacetime. England's worst pogrom comes for York's particle collider, powered by bread and gender energy. On Bournemouth beach, a storm delivers an ancestor across oceans of time to sire a drowning descendant. The devil stands a drink at London's famous gay pub, The Black Cap, while Artemis, in the guise of Joan of Arc, roams a life-or-death night in East Sussex. Remember the Witchcraft Act of 1927, and the refugees that fled via cinema to defend the Republic of Catalunya? Of course not, it's been written out of history. This is England, (but not?) as we know it. A queer quantum tour through what was, what is, what could have been and may yet still come to pass, in a collection that braids high-wire believe-it-or-not memoir with cutting-edge science fiction from alternate timelines that vibrate very close to ours. Truth or dare? Both, always.

Limbic is Peter Scalpello's glittering ode to sex, intimacy, and queer discovery. Taking us on slippery nights out fuelled by chemsex, on drunken lads' holidays, and into the quiet violence of small domestic moments, this is a world where tracksuits hide queer desire, where shame masks vulnerability, where wallets hide wraps of crystal meth. From the eager trepidation of teenage sex, to the ecstasy of parties, to the stigma around HIV, Limbic is at once a therapy and a celebration, showing how queer learning can be both soft-edged and brutal at once. An exploration of masculinity, addiction and trauma, this is a revelatory collection of poems; wise, tender, and vital.

Juliet Jacques was one of the first trans writers in the UK to contribute broadly to both British and foreign media, writing widely about the trans experience. Spanning over a decade, Jacques' ground-breaking journalism about selfhood, society, art, politics, freedom, and gender identity, tracks the backlash against emerging trans rights and the rise of a new and more explicit form of media transphobia. Front Lines is a seminal collection of writings on trans and queer art, politics, and media, from a period in which the relationship between trans and non-binary people and the British media was exceptionally turbulent. Jacques navigates the tension between wanting to simply write about art and culture and needing to counter the dishonest, damaging rhetoric being published about trans people in virtually every national newspaper in the UK. 'I never believed any journalism was objective, nor that there was any point in even trying to be,' writes Jacques in her introduction. 'Above all, activism is needed to fight this, with journalism to support it: there is no point in pretending to be objective in our work, as the stakes remain just as high as they were back in 2010, perhaps even higher... We're entering a new phase of collective struggle, with new fronts and new tactics needed: I hope this book can help to inform that.' This crucial collection asks what we can learn from the last decade and, importantly, what we can do now. How can new writers take up the struggle for trans liberation? And what will the future of trans writing look like?