The Blueberry Society by Zeebo

A whirlwind of humor, chaos, and nostalgia, spun into a collection as sweet and surprising as freshly picked blueberries

Zeebo’s The Blueberry Society is a kaleidoscopic collection of memoir-esque vignettes masquerading as short stories, each one circling back to the ways that love—and the mess it leaves in its wake—weaves through a life. 

Told in a voice equal parts absurdist and self-aware, the book chronicles the exploits of a “Brooklyn man-child” stumbling his way through romance, heartbreak, and the occasional burst of quiet wisdom. The titular novella chronicles a schoolyard tale of first love that is preceded by stories that hum with the same restless energy: playful, nostalgic, and occasionally so outlandish they border on myth.

With plots that often feel like patchwork quilts whimsically stitched together, The Blueberry Society is driven primarily by its compelling voice. Zeebo is funny, sharp, and unafraid to poke fun at himself. His prose is tight and cinematic, offering vivid images without relying on excessive description. 

Zeebo is also unexpectedly tender, interjecting occasional one-liners of introspection that cut through the absurdity with startling clarity. Reading The Blueberry Society often feels like sitting across from a raconteur at a bar: half the stories are likely embellished, maybe even impossible, or perhaps they’re just absurd enough to be true. Either way, the true joy of them is in the telling—the sharing of ourselves with one another.

The collection isn’t without its quirks. By the midway point, some of the stories begin to echo one another—familiar breakups, reinventions, and the occasional whirlwind fling. While these patterns themselves maintain the collection’s true-to-life meandering, they may for some readers become overwhelming. At times, the line between memoir and storytelling blurs, giving the book the feel of a personal mythology: part confession, part tall tale, part daydream. For some, this fluidity will feel loose; for others, it’s exactly what makes the book so distinct.

The book doesn’t promise polish or conventional storytelling; it promises amusement, reflection, and the peculiar joy of absurdity. In that, it succeeds. Beneath the bravado, there are moments of disarming wisdom—fleeting but powerful reminders of how love, in all its guises, shapes the way we remember our lives. And even when the stories lean into indulgence, they retain a lightness that feels refreshing in a time when so much contemporary fiction weighs itself down with solemnity.

The Blueberry Society offers a lively, offbeat meditation on love, memory, and the strange ways our personal myths take root. Like its namesake fruit, it’s sweet, tart, and just a little messy—and all the better for it.