A deliciously diverse sampler of speculative-fiction bonbons, created by some of the most talented literary confectioners on...
This shelf-bending collection of 44 stories and poems from Uncanny Magazine’s first five years highlights not only the publication’s consistent quality, but also the impressive diversity of voices and thematic profundity it showcases.
Many of the selections are powered by brass-knuckle social commentary. Sam J. Miller’s paranormal-nuanced “The Heat of Us: Notes Toward an Oral History” is set in an alternate New York City on June 28, 1969, the night of the Stonewall Riots, when a police raid of a gay night club sparked an uprising and became the catalyst for the gay rights movement, and which also happened to be "the first public demonstration of the supernatural phenomenon that would later be called by names as diverse as collective pyrokinesis, group magic, communal energy...liberation flame, and hellfire." Constructed from oral interviews with witnesses to the bloody conflict, the story explores the tensions of the time and brilliantly conveys a complexity of emotions, from unbridled rage to despair to love. The last few words will stay with you: "I believe joy is the only thing stronger than sadness.” Delilah S. Dawson’s “Catcall” is another story with impressive impact, about a young woman named Maria who experiences misogyny on a daily basis. After facing countless assaults—from a predatory father at a babysitting gig to a sexist jock in high school—Maria finally decides that she has had enough and becomes a vehicle for karmic retribution. Hao Jingfang’s Folding Beijing (translated by Ken Liu), which won the Hugo Award for Best Novelette, is a conceptually breathtaking science fiction tale that follows Lao Dao, a worker at a waste processing center, as he explores the mysteries of a megacity with three separate Spaces that fold in upon themselves and share the same geographic area in every 48-hour cycle. Featuring standout stories by N.K. Jemisin, Seanan McGuire, and Catherynne M. Valente, among others, there are no weak links in this transcendent anthology.
A deliciously diverse sampler of speculative-fiction bonbons, created by some of the most talented literary confectioners on the planet.Pub Date: Dec. 31, 2019
ISBN: 978-1-59606-918-3
Page Count: 688
Publisher: Subterranean Press
Review Posted Online: Oct. 13, 2019
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Nov. 1, 2019
As in Resurrection (1966) and The Wreckage of Agathon (1970) Gardner demonstrates his agility at juggling metaphysical notions while telling a diverting tale. Here he has used as a means of discovering man's unsavory ways that muzziest of monsters, Grendel, from the Beowulf chronicle. As in the original, Grendel is a bewildering combination of amorphous threats and grisly specifics — he bellows in the wilds and crunches through hapless inhabitants of the meadhall. But Grendel, the essence of primal violence, is also a learning creature. Itc listens to a wheezing bore with scales and coils, a pedantic Lucifer, declaim on the relentless complexity of cosmic accident. He hears an old priest put in a word for God as unity of discords, where nothing is lost. And Grendel continues to observe the illusions of bards, kings, heroes, and soldiers, occasionally eating one. After the true hero arrives sprouting fiery wings, to deal the death blow, he shows Grendel the reality of both destruction and rebirth. Throughout the trackless philosophic speculation, the dialogue is witty and often has a highly contemporary tilt: "The whole shit-ass scene was his idea, not mine," says Grendel, disgusted by a sacrificial hero. At the close one is not sure if the savior is "blithe of his deed," but Gardner, the word-pleaser, should be.
Pub Date: Sept. 17, 1971
ISBN: 0679723110
Page Count: 186
Publisher: Knopf
Review Posted Online: March 29, 2012
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 1, 1971
Gwynne’s effort pales in comparison to George R.R. Martin’s gold-standard work, but it’s nothing bad; the story grinds to a...
A middling Middle Earth–ish extravaganza with all the usual thrills, chills, spills and frills.
All modern fantasy begins with J.R.R. Tolkien, and Tolkien begins with the Icelandic sagas and the Mabinogion. Debut author Gwynne’s overstuffed but slow-moving contribution to the genre—the first in a series, of course—wears the latter source on its sleeve: “Fionn ap Toin, Marrock ben Rhagor, why do you come here on this first day of the Birth Moon?” Why, indeed? Well, therein hangs the tale. The protagonist is a 14-year-old commoner named Corban, son of a swineherd, who, as happens in such things, turns out to be more resourceful than his porcine-production background might suggest. There are bad doings afoot in Tintagel—beg pardon, the Banished Lands—where nobles plot against nobles even as there are stirrings of renewed titanomachia, that war between giants and humans having given the place some of its gloominess. There’s treachery aplenty, peppered with odd episodes inspired by other sources, such as an Androcles-and-lion moment in which Corban rescues a fierce wolven (“rarely seen here, preferring the south of Ardan, regions of deep forest and sweeping moors, where the auroch herds roamed”). It’s a good move: You never can tell when a wolven ally will come in handy, especially when there are wyrms around.
Gwynne’s effort pales in comparison to George R.R. Martin’s gold-standard work, but it’s nothing bad; the story grinds to a halt at points, but at others, there’s plenty of action.Pub Date: Dec. 3, 2013
ISBN: 978-0-316-39973-9
Page Count: 640
Publisher: Orbit/Little, Brown
Review Posted Online: Nov. 16, 2013
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Dec. 1, 2013
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