I don't normally laugh out loud when I read something funny. I don't normally startle my cats. But Space Opera isn't normal. I'm used to Catherynne Valente reaching into my ribcage and squeezing my heart with a turn of phrase that so neatly sums up all that is wrong and raw and aching in the universe, but here she doesn't stop at daggers to the blood-pumping organ. She highlights the absurdity of it all. And though everyone will make Douglas Adams comparisons, Valente's heart-seeking missiles are all her own. It's because of all the tenderness she has for human hurt and weakness, and when she holds it up to the light, it's not just the injustice and futility that shows, but all the hope.