The artwork for this roundup features a detail of the cover for Clarkesworld #219 by Alex Ries. More about the artist here: https://www.alexries.com/
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We Who
Will Not Die by Shingai Kagunda in Psychopomp
When the Wageni first come, they are birds that sing a song we do not understand, but we are a curious people, so we want to know more. Their drones buzz and flutter and spin around us like magic. It is a dance of wonder and delight. Our children laugh and squeal and try to chase the flying things that are always so far out of reach. On the first day it is only a few hours of curiosity before they leave, disappearing into the stars that brought them to us.
A devastating and powerful novelette about a world, and a people, where death has a profound meaning and importance. To quote Psychopomp’s description: “Nima and Tuni share everything. Theirs is a lovely world, where people were once animals, and carry these traits forward into their human lives. But Nima beieves she was something else—a star that exploded, a nova. The arrival of aliens on their world will change everything the girls know, but not quite everything they believe.” There's a quiet sense of menace beneath the surface in this story as the two sides come together, and clash, with shattering consequences.
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Derail
by E. Catherine Tobler in Bourbon Penn
The train whistle never stuttered, was always smooth and sure of itself. It called him, a sound he might follow forever, but Nicholas was snug in bed now, his feet warm, and he could feel the weight of a body in bed with him—he wasn’t inclined to leave this sweet space, so let the train steam on.
Tobler’s Circus universe is one of my favourite fictional worlds, and this story is set on the edges of that universe, with memories of the magic, weirdness, and wonder peeking through the cracks of the everyday world. This is also a heartbreaking and tender love story where two people who are no longer as young as they used to be, face the consequences of their choices, and the love they have for each other. (For another gorgeous, recently published Tobler story, check out To Drive the Cold Winter Away in Strange Horizons, or R Is For Running in Three-Lobed Burning Eye.)
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Inside
the House of Wisdom by Tamara Masri in Lightspeed
Even though this room is a circle, the outside of the building looks like a spiral. A single helix going up to heaven, was the architect’s inspiration. The design came to her in a dream: an angel told her to rebuild the House of Wisdom, the Grand Library of Baghdad during the Abbasid era. The angel said that our dark times were over, the golden age had begun. And here we are.
Masri's story is full of sorrow and grief and memories of a past that is only too familiar to all of us in the here and now. But there is hope here, too. I love the light and the dark of this story, the
way it allows the shadows in, but dares to believe, to dream, that another kind
of world is possible. Beautiful, with a sharp, dark edge beneath the beauty.
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Your Return to the Five Ruins of the Bog by Parker M. O’Neill in Apex
This castle–this crouching heap of Bog iron–was shaped by anti-entropic ones, a race of Timeless builders. Built in the time when the universe was young and humankind had not yet touched the stars, when you and Seb had not yet been born and your hearts had not yet been broken.
I do so love stories that twist through time and
timelessness, past and present and future, and O’Neill’s story is a
beautifully crafted gem. It’s worth both reading and re-reading.
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After
Stasis by R.T. Ester in IZ Digital
He groped for signal from his neural implant. Dead air still. Next, he elected to yank the no-freeze tube from his throat. Once done, he waited, eyes wide as the protective, clear polymer between his upper half and everything outside the cryopod slid down.
A slice of science fiction / body horror where a tragedy
plays out after an attack and time spent in stasis. What do you do when your child
is changing into something you can barely understand? Ester’s story is gripping and unsettling as it explores what happens when you're faced with terrible, impossible choices.
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A
Slightly Different Sunrise from Mercury, Nevada by Íde Hennessy in Strange
Horizons
“And because of the sheer number of atoms split here,” Annie recited in tandem below, from the crew deck of the double-decker, “it’s also the easiest place in the U.S. to open a time portal.”
Annie works for a company that runs guided tours through a
portal in time: from Nevada in the future to Nevada in 1952. What draws the
tourists is the chance to watch a nuclear weapon explode in real time, before
they safely return to their future. I love how this story takes the concept of time travel and puts a different twist on it, and also keeps it grounded in Annie’s singular point of view. I also love the quiet
strangeness of this story, and the way Annie navigates the past and the present
in her own unique way.
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A
Lithuanian Folktale (Told Backwards and Forwards in Time) by Beston Barnett
in Trollbreath Magazine
One third of the way down the great spit of forested land that arcs south from Teutonic Klaipeda and protects the sweet waters of Kursen Lagoon from the salty lash of the Baltic Sea, there in the sandy littoral stood I, a great spruce! My skin was silver brocade, my boughs were clouds of evergreen filigree. At my crown, I was tall enough to sieve the pure, cold, wet airstream off the Eastern Baltic, and at my roots, wide enough that I could strain that pure water through pebbles of amber down to the little darting fish of the lagoon.
This is a fascinating tale, told (as the title suggests)
both backwards and forwards, as memory and story and magic twine together. The
folktale itself is a story of freedom and transformation, of life and death.
Barnett’s prose has a lovely flow and rhythm to it, and the tale feels both
ancient and brilliantly new.
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T-Rex
Tex Mex by Sarina Dorie at Escape Pod (narrated by Tina Connolly)
“Nah. That ain’t a dinosaur costume. That’s a Big Bird costume, except you got the feathers all wrong. They shouldn’t be blue and red—though that’s mighty patriotic of you.” The man chuckled and patted the distended belly of his costume. “This, here, is a real dinosaur costume. This is a replica of the T-Rex from Jurassic Park.”
I love this deliciously dinosauric twisted tale where the
true fate of the T-rexes is revealed, AND there is (hidden) danger afoot at the
Halloween party.
Mother Death Learns a New Trick by Addison Smith at Escape Pod (narrated by Andrew K. Hoe)
When Mother Death foretold her own demise, nobody paid her much mind. The old AI was less a prophet and more of a doomsayer stuck on repeat, her body buried in the mess of tech detritus between the bakery and the retro VR shop.
What do you do when you’re an AI stuck and deteriorating,
while the world has long since passed you by? Well, it might be hard for an old
AI to learn new tricks, but maybe, maybe, it’s not impossible. A gentle story
that both has a sense of humour and emotional depth.
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St.
Thomas Aquinas Administers the Turing Test by Mary Berman in Diabolical
Plots
On the 25th day of the month of March in this year of our Lord 1265, I was ordered by the Most Holy Father to the Studium Conventuale di Santa Sabina all’Aventino to evaluate the existence, or lack thereof, of a soul housed within a Wooden Likeness of a Man, the Likeness having been constructed by Father Antonio di Cassino, a friar serving in that place.
Robot sci-fi but make it historical? I cannot argue with
that premise (in fact, I adore it), and Berman turns it into a quietly
profound musing on religion and humanity. I love the prose and I love
that Wooden Likeness of a Man.
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Rise
Again by Ramez Yoakeim in Kaleidotrope
Sound asleep when it happened, I only caught the rumbling aftereffects, along with rust flakes raining down from the ceiling. I bolted off my cot in a daze, uncertain if the red flashing lights and deafening klaxon were real or the flourishes of a vivid nightmare.
Then a second explosion hit.
A hugely enjoyable science fiction story about a world lived in silos, with
humans obeying the will of the mysterious, unseen Caretakers. As it turns out, that "reality" turns
out to be a cover for something else entirely. This is great science fiction
with a satisfying twist as it muses on humanity’s failings, and its strengths.
A
Guide for Your Journey to the Green Hills by R. K. Duncan in Nightmare
Since the late war and the revolution of memory that ended it, the Green Hills have been opened. You are one of the lucky few to win the lottery this year. Welcome to your travel guide.
The trip is not difficult, but there are things you should not miss, and there are customs you may not understand as a new arrival in the Kingdom. Let us begin.
As Duncan alludes to in the intro to this story at Nightmare, this is an
ode of sorts to what our world might be like if Fairyland was victorious in its
battles with the world of humans. The language, the flow and rhythm of the
prose, is gloriously dark and beguiling,
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Stranger
Seas Than These by L Chan in Clarkesworld
It is two days since our original projected mission end date. We are running out of oxygen and we are trapped in the throat of a god. Technology and a prudent safety review panel have kept casualties on deep dives low, but abyssal layer dives have always been risky. Still, there hasn’t been a fatality in years and none, to the best of my knowledge, within the trachea of one of Pelagia’s Godwhales. Perhaps they will name a safety rule after us.
An expedition trapped in the trachea of a giant creature
called a Godwhale? Chan absolutely had my attention from the get-go with that
setup and the story delivers in every way I might have hoped for. There is the
majesty of a creature that is so mysterious humans can barely comprehend its
existence (even less comprehend the fact that the species is present on
several different planets), there’s tension within the crew, there are
memories of a lost parent, AND, maybe most crucially, there is the song of the
Godwhale and what it means, and what it does, to those who hear it. Wonderful,
immersive science fiction.
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Crossroads
Diner Blues, 1937 by Myna Chang in Centaur
Sometimes the want is so bad you think you can trick the devil. You know you gotta step right up, bold as soda glass, run your finger across that pearled glint of devilteeth. Gotta be quick, before devil takes a bite.
A wickedly good slice of flash fiction that tells a story of
devilish desire and those times when you really can’t be bothered to play it
safe. Chang captures the feeling of reckless, joyful abandon perfectly.
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I
Am Not the One Who Gets Left Behind by Eric Smith in Sunday
Morning Transport
When I can smell my wife’s apple cinnamon French toast, I know the monsters are outside.
I peer out of our third-floor window to the darkened street below, and for a second, just a second, I can almost taste it again, but I know it’s all a lie. A trick. I lost my sense of smell after hitting my head in a car accident years ago. I’ve made it too long, and they’re not gonna get me.
A dad and his son are alive, barely, in the aftermath of an
alien invasion. These aliens have a way with scents, with smells, luring
people out before they kill them. Smith’s story brings such a down-to-earth
vibe to the whole alien invasion idea, and I love the way we see how the dad
has managed to keep not just himself, but his son alive in the midst of
devastation and carnage.
The
Vessels of Song by Avram Klein in Beneath Ceaseless Skies
Your payment first. The Badchen Yankel is too aged, too well-traveled, and too experienced to extend credit to an audience. Now pinch your lips and listen.
It was the year of their lord 1618, and we’re two days outside Grodne when we run into the demons.
Four musicians, on the road, cold and tired, when they
find a (suspiciously) inviting inn, warm and comfortable inside, where they are
served some terrific plum wine. But all is not as it seems and soon, the musicians
are in a lot more trouble than they expected. Klein’s story is full of such
delicious storytelling joy and energy, it fairly pops off the page. I love the
world, the characters, and all the twists and turns.
Between the Shadow and
the Soul by Lauren Groff in The New Yorker
They had lived together for twenty-five years in the old stone house on a bend in the river. They were young when they first saw the place, wildly in love, and so poor they could afford only one of two dwellings in the valley: a battered trailer huddled against the cold wind, and the antique house in foreclosure, a breath from letting the weeds muscle it back into the earth.
This story is not speculative fiction, but it is a devastatingly piercing story about love and aging, about relationships and what we settle for and why, what we might dream of in our solitude, and the yearning for something more than we’ve allowed ourselves to want.
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