Sabrina Imbler’s Debut Book of Essays Is a Dizzyingly Beautiful Ode to Life in All Its Forms

Well, I came out in college, and I wasn’t really going to queer clubs; I was just going to the same old house parties. After I graduated, I moved to Seattle, and that was when I was like, Why is going to this one queer party the most important thing about my year? It felt vital to my ability to exist happily in that city, and I think that was when I realized the party had more meaning for me than previous nightlife spaces I’d been in. It was really helpful to draw connections between queer spaces and ocean biomes, because often, when you’re in a queer space, it’s not necessarily as nice as a straight space, right? You have to take a weird number of buses to get there—

Or you’re for some reason in a dilapidated club in Bushwick at four in the morning…

Right. It’s like, queer spaces are not always as well-resourced, but that also helps me treasure the precarious nature of those spaces. It’s like, Thank God we have this, especially because there are so many cities where there isn’t a gay beach or a queer club. It helps me appreciate the nature of these spaces, which some people might look down on, but I’m like, actually, this is what makes this space precious. I think people’s idea of the deep sea is often that nobody and nothing wants to be down there, nobody wants to eat decaying flesh; what a dark and spooky place to be! But this is just another way of surviving, and there’s nothing inherently better about living near the sun. I really clung on to the idea that queer people often cling onto the edges or discarded parts of society, and are able to make so much magic from that.

How would you describe your relationship with creatures—both in the ocean and out—at present?

I think the ocean will always be my favorite biome in the world, but recently I’ve been thinking a lot about bugs, just because I was writing this book during the pandemic and had lots of trips planned to various aquariums and research facilities in order to try to see creatures in person. Functionally, though, I wrote a lot of the book while watching videos on YouTube or looking at photos from scientific papers, and I was also in my New York apartment, so I was like, How can I commune with creatures most easily? I felt very disconnected from nature during the pandemic, but bugs had a real moment, especially with the East Coast lantern fly situation; lately, I’m feeling like I don’t have to do that much work to find connection with, say, a parasitic worm. Like, I’m right there with you. [Laughs.] It’s been a challenge just to do the hard work of becoming familiar with creatures that live in my apartment, and asking myself how can I unlearn the disgusted reaction that I have toward certain bugs.