Birthday Review: Spin, by Robert Charles Wilson

Today is Robert Charles Wilson's 65th birthday. In his honor, here is my review of his most celebrated novel, Spin, which won the 2006 Hugo for Best Novel (and, later, the Japanese translation won the Seiun Award.)

Date: 07 May 2005

Review: Spin, by Robert Charles Wilson (2005)

Tor, New York, ISBN: 0765309386, 368 pp, hc, US$25.95

a review by Rich Horton

The first major SF novel from a major publisher in 2005 that I have seen is Robert Charles Wilson's Spin. Wilson is one of my favorite current writers. His recent novels have all been quite striking, and all are based on quite extravagant SF ideas, yet are markedly quiet in tone, and markedly character-based.

Beth Meacham recently complained that SF seems to consist largely of two sorts of books: very mainstream-style books with one modest SFnal idea; or very wildly SFnal books that demand from the reader an intimate knowledge of the field's tropes. Robert Sawyer vs. Charles Stross, one might suggest. Spin, I think, is a counter-example. It is based on a truly audacious central idea, and the idea is quite cleverly extrapolated -- its implications are nicely explored. Yet the heart of the book is an extended look at one man's lifelong friendship/love affair with his boyhood neighbors, a pair of twins, brother and sister; set in a near future not too terribly different from today.

The book alternates sections set, the titles tell us, very far in the future (4 billion A. D.), with near future sections. The narrator is Tyler Dupree, who is undergoing some sort of drastic medical treatment while on the run from U. S. officials. While mentally unbalanced by the treatment he compulsively writes down his memories of his life to date, beginning with the onset of what came to be called "the Spin". One night when Tyler is 12, and his twin friends Jason and Diane are 13, the stars suddenly disappear. Earth is somehow enshrouded -- satellites crash, the Moon is invisible, the Sun still shines but oddly changed. It soon becomes clear that a barrier, eventually called "the Spin", is affecting time oddly -- time outside it passes much more rapidly than on Earth. Space vehicles can be launched and pass through the barrier -- they seem to return instantly, but they observe time passing outside it, and they observe, for instance, the Solar System continuing to evolve, such that after some decades, the Sun will have changed so as to make Earth uninhabitable. Thus, people of Tyler's generation grow up in the knowledge that likely the world will soon end.

Tyler's mother works for Jason and Diane's father as a maid. E. D. Lawton is a powerful defense contractor who is smart enough to be in place to react quickly to the Spin -- for example by setting up a network of aerostats to replace the now defunct GPS satellites. His wife Carol is a former doctor, now an alcoholic. Tyler falls in love with Diane from an early age, but a combination of factors keep them apart. (Tyler's shyness, a perceived class or financial status difference, E. D.'s hostility.)

The three children react differently to the Spin. Jason, to some extent following in his father's footsteps, is desperate to understand it, and perhaps to fix it. Diane is afraid of it, and drifts into a cult which treats the Spin as an harbinger of the Christian End Times. Tyler stays close to Jason, and mostly tries to live a semblance of an ordinary life, becoming a doctor himself. Eventually Jason hires him to work at Perihelion, a corporation cum government agency working to investigate Spin-related phenomena.

The book very successfully combines an involving small-scale story (the story of Tyler's relationship with the Lawton twins, and of the entire world in the shadow of apocalypse) with a fascinating large-scale SF story (the story of the Spin, its origin and the results of some decades of dealing with it). The first story is satisfying enough, but ultimately it is the extrapolations of the effects of the temporal disconnect between Earth and the rest of the universe that are most compelling. Wilson uses this as a way to look at "deep time" through the eyes of contemporary humans. As only a few years pass on Earth while millions of years pass outside the Spin barrier, it is possible to do really long-duration experiments. Some of these have downright cool effects -- I won't detail these here -- I'll leave the surprises to the novel. But Wilson does not cheat the reader -- we do learn pretty much what's going on with the Spin, and why. And it's neat stuff -- though I suppose just mildly less overwhelming than I might have hoped.

Birthday Review: Bugs, by John Sladek

Birthday Review: Bugs, by John Sladek

This would have been John Sladek's 81st  birthday. Sadly, Sladek, one of SF's great satirists, died fairly young in 2000. Sladek was born in Iowa, and lived the last several years of his life in Minnesota, but he spent a couple of decades in England starting in 1966, and he was heavily involved in the English New Wave SF scene at the time, along with another American, his sometime collaborator Thomas M. Disch. Somehow, though I always knew Disch was American, I assumed for a long time that Sladek was British. Anyway, we briefly discussed Sladek as an underrated writer on Greg Feeley's Facebook feed the other day, so it seems appropriate that on this his birthday I repost my review of a book that I received as a gift from Greg.

Bugs, from 1989, is one of Sladek's last novels. It represents him at his most darkly satirical. It's about a British man rather bewilderedly encountering the American scene: as such it reminded me of a couple of books by Amises: Kingsley's One Fat Englishman, and much more closely, Martin's Money, which is a near contemporary to Bugs. All those books are satirical, and Money shares with Bugs a truly bitter edge, though Money is longer, dirtier, more vulgarly over the top. (And I didn't like it as much -- it's not a book I like much at all, though I gather it is regarded by some as Martin Amis's best book.)

Bugs' story opens with Manfred ("Fred") Jones, a failed English novelist, trying to find the offices of Vimnut, a Minneapolis company for whom he hopes to become a technical writer. When he finally finds it (this having been complicated by among other things the company having changed its name) he is hired, after certain mixups, as a software engineer. (I am of course a software engineer, and these aspects of the book were pretty funny and fairly true to life.) It seems that his resume was confused with that of Mansour Jones, a black man fully qualified for the job. Fred is afraid to complain that he isn't qualified, and it soon appears that that doesn't matter.

Fred's department is charged with developing a robot officer for the military. His coworkers are variously completely insane, completely idiotic, or simply burnt out. Somehow the robot still manages to get built, though in the manner of numerous Sladek robots (robots were probably his chief SFnal device) it turns out to be murderous in a very funny way.

Fred himself has more significant personal problems to deal with. His wife has left him because she can't stand America. This doesn't seem to affect his sex life much: before long he has three women on a string, without really trying: a Russian spy, the sex-mad wife of his boss (who keeps asking him to imitate different famous Englishmen), and a beautiful co-worker with whom he falls immediately and desperately in love, to her initial feminist disgust. Fred also keeps getting fired and rehired, he somehow never gets paid by the company, Mansour Jones hounds him about stealing his rightful job, his insane co-worker tries to kill him ... and of course when the robot escapes he's really in trouble.

It's a very funny, very dark book. All ends terribly -- though in a way that seems, if not pasted on, not really necessary -- the ending could have plausibly gone quite differently, and many writers (Kingsley Amis probably, but not Martin Amis) would have resolved it more happily. But that's not Sladek's way, for sure.

Old Bestseller: The Sprightly Romance of Marsac, by Molly Elliot Seawell

Old Bestsellers: The Sprightly Romance of Marsac, by Molly Elliot Seawell

a review by Rich Horton

Molly Elliot Seawell (1860-1916) came from a fairly prominent Virginia family. Her Great-Uncle was President John Tyler. She was self-educated, but quite well, and she turned to writing about when her father died, when she was still fairly young. She supported her mother and the rest of her family with her writing income -- she wrote short stories, seafaring books for boys, articles, and other novels. She was fiercely proud of her ability to support her family with her writing income, and at the same time she was very traditional in her beliefs, and made a big splash with an essay called "On the Absence of Creative Faculty in Women". Her socially conservative views, and her Virginian upbringing, contributed to a fairly racist (in the paternalist sense) view of African Americans -- happily, the novel at hand, set in France, does not feature those views. She traveled extensively, in part in search of relief from her health problems, which contributed to her death at the young age of 56.

She was quite popular in her time, perhaps especially for books for boys, but she is all but forgotten now. The Sprightly Romance of Marsac was published by Charles Scribner's Sons in 1897, though it is copyright 1896. A note states that it obtained the first prize of $3000 for the best novelette in an 1895 New York Herald competition. The book is something less than 30,000 words, so it's possible the prize-winning novelette was the same length, though I suspect it may have been shorter. It is illustrated, quite nicely, by Gustave Verbeek.

The novel is a very light and enjoyable piece of fluff. Marsac and his friend Fontaine are impecunious journalists. The opening shows them avoiding a series of importunations by their creditors, until Marsac is trapped by there imposing landlady, a widow named Madame Fleury. In something of a panic, Marsac, who is constitutionally opposed to marriage, deflects a proposal by the widow that he marry her in exchange for the forgivement of his back rent by instead suggesting Fontaine as the groom. So Fontaine ends up engaged to Madame Fleury -- but of course she is rather older than he, and anyway he is in love with one Claire Duval, the daughter of a wealthy tradesman.

Marsac promises to extract Fontaine from his engagement, but there is still the problem of their debts. His next scheme is to invent a rich uncle for Fontaine -- using Fontaine's real Uncle Maurice, who has emigrated to American, as the basis. They create a fake obituary for Maurice, along with the suggestion that he has left a couple million francs to Fontaine. And then they find that the mere expectation of an inheritance solves their money problems -- and also solves some other issues. Suddenly their artistic endeavors -- a play and a painting -- are in demand, as is Marsac's journalism, as long as it is signed by the presumably rich Fontaine.

And, too, M. Duval is suddenly much more accepting of Fontaine's attraction to his daughter. Marsac transforms their creditors, including a Madame Fleury, into nobility -- and all of a sudden M. Duval and Mme. Fleury are an item. Things are also going well for Fontaine and his beloved. And Claire's sister Delphine, a "New Woman" who is opposed to marriage, meets Marsac, and sparks fly -- the two are in desperate love immediately, but both are forced by their pride and their previously state views on marriage, to deny their attraction.

You can guess what comes next -- Uncle Maurice returns. Now what? If he's not dead, there can be no inheritance. And what of Fontaine's still extant "betrothal" to Mme. Fleury? And will Delphine and Marsac resolve their manufactured differences? Without their fictional inheritance and its benefits, how will Marsac and Fontaine pay their debts? Well, is their any doubt everything will work out? Of course not. Indeed, the resolution is rather too rapid, and somewhat anticlimatic. But the book as a whole, while nothing earthshattering, is for much of its length enjoyable fun, if totally implausible.

Birthday Review: Stories of C. S. E. Cooney

Today is Claire Suzanne Elizabeth Cooney's birthday. She is one of the best, and also most sheerly enjoyable, writers working in our field today. She's also a friend of mine, so if you want to take my words with a grain of salt, do so -- but do so at your peril! Here's a compilation of most (but not all) of my reviews of her short fiction to date:

Locus, January 2008

The best story from the online Summer issue of Subterranean is also dark fantasy, this time blackly humorous: “Stone Shoes”, by C. S. E. Cooney, about Jack Yap and his brother Pudding and their Marm and a skinchanger’s egg – linguistically inventive, and slyly vicious.

Locus, June 2009

Belatedly I’ll catch up with Subterranean’s online offerings. From Winter my favorite is C. S. E. Cooney’s “Three Fancies from the Infernal Garden”, which plays ecstatic games with Russian fantastical traditions – a Scarecrow, the Firebird, Koshchei the Deathless, Baba Yaga, and lots of Ivans. Cooney is always gleefully imaginative, and very fun – with rather a sinister edge.

Locus, July 2010

One of the latter is my favorite in Clockwork Phoenix 3: C. S. E. Cooney’s “Braiding the Ghosts”, in which a girl goes to her grandmother after her mother’s death, and learns from the older woman the secret of “braiding” ghosts – which is to say enslaving them. So ghosts are the servants of the older woman. But the girl is not so happy with this … especially when she falls for the ghost she is forced to braid. And the ghosts – are they happy? Read the story and find out … lovely stuff.

Locus, December 2010

C. S. E. Cooney’s The Big Bah-Ha is a novella published as an ebook by Drollerie Press. It’s a very imaginative work, at once a stark post-apocalyptic tale and a strange, sometimes quite dark, but never dour, afterlife fantasy. Beatrice is the leader of a small children’s gang in a world of only children – a disease called the “slaprash” kills everyone at about puberty (meaning, of course, that the end of the world is less than some dozen years away). Then Beatrice comes to in a rather surrealistic environment. She must negotiate her new world – “the Big Bah-Ha” – with a strange clown and menacing Gacy Boys and so on. And back in the “real world”, the rest of her gang vows to confront one of the Tall Ones, the Flabberghast, and beg for help to find Beatrice. Cooney’s imagery and invention is as fevered as always with her work, and her control of tone is perfect – this is a terribly sad future but the story is never morose, always oddly hopeful, even as the ending is uncompromising but still oddly hopeful.

Locus, May 2011

Strange Horizons for March features another strong piece from C. S. E. Cooney. “The Last Sophia”, about a girl enslaved by “the Gentry” to breed children for them – at any rate, she’s under someone’s control, if not the Gentry then her mother or an Aunt, and the story turns on her efforts to escape.

Locus, July 2013

I really like the work of C. S. E. Cooney – one of the really gifted young storytellers we have. At Giganatosaurus for May she contributes “Martyr's Gem”. Shursta Sarth is a poor fisherman, not much of a catch, living in a small village on the Last Isle with his lame sister. He is then shocked to be chosen for “meshing” by Hyrryai Blodestone, a daughter of one of the most prestigious families on the Last Isle, living in the capital city . Hyrryai's reasons are at one level predictable – her sister was murdered, and her only interest is finding the killer, but her culture's mores demand she “mesh” (to preserve the species, after the Nine Cities fell beneath the sea). Well, we can see where this is going, mostly, and indeed it goes there – but the getting there is a delight, partly in the world-  and culture-building, and mainly in the telling, and especially in the voice of Shursta's sister Sharrar.

Locus, September 2014

Strange Horizon's July stories include two frankly erotic pieces. ... “Witch, Beast, Saint: an Erotic Fairy Tale”, by C. S. E. Cooney, is considerably superior. It's kind of related to “Beauty and the Beast”, with the narrator a witch who is beguiled by a man enchanted to beasthood – sufficiently so that she doesn't want to change him back to a man. But then a (likewise beguiling) man shows up, who seems to be a saint, with the mission of changing beasts to men. What's a witch to do when her beloved beast is changed against her will? Especially when he returns to her and begs to be changed back? Cooney as ever is witty, and her thinking is very slanty indeed; and the story is both a good story and effectively erotic as well.

Locus, November 2014

The Witch's Garden series is an ongoing set of somewhat erotic tales from C. S. E. Cooney. One appeared in Strange Horizons, and another longer one  is available in electronic form at Amazon: The Witch in the Almond Tree. Mar is a very talented witch at the Conservatory of Spellbinding and the Beguiling Arts in Doornwald, with a boyfriend she likes and who is good in bed (but who also likes lots of other girls and boys), and good marks at school, but not much money. So she agrees to visit her mother, with whom she has a tense relationship, and her mother's new husband, for one summer, to save money and to help her sometimes careless mother. When she gets there she finds the new husband a nice enough man, an almond grower; and she is quite taken with his son, who is about her own age. But something is strange about her mother … not to mention that her new stepbrother is confined to the almond farm by the spirit of his dead mother, plus the local tales of a haunted juniper tree. Soon it seems that some magical expertise might be called for – but is she up to it? Cooney is a natural storyteller with an easy way with her characters, and the story is a delight to read, with plausible and interesting magic (plausible in context), and with a tense and exciting plot.

Locus, July 2015

Bone Swans is a collection of five recent novellas from C. S. E. Cooney. All the stories are very good, and one of them is new to the collection: “The Bone Swans of Amandale”. This story is one of a couple in the book that takes as its basis a familiar fairy tale (here, “The Pied Piper of Hamelin”, elsewhere in the book “Rumpelstilskin”), but which changes it utterly. Maurice is a Rat Person hopelessly in love with Dora Rose, a Swan Person. (Being a clever and cynical rat, he copes pretty well though.) When Dora Rose's sister is murdered as part of a complex plot by the Amandale's mayor, who wants to make an orchestra of “bone swans”, Maurice decides something has to be done, for the sake of the swans, and indeed for the city's children, who are being misused as well in the mayor's service, so he goes to his friend, a reluctant piper. The Pied Piper story is all there of course, but just as a skeleton on which to hang multiple intersecting motivations. And the key is as ever the telling, and Maurice's voice.


Locus, July 2016

I also liked a warm collaboration from C. S. E. Cooney and Carlos Hernandez, “The Book of May”, told in correspondence, about two old friends, one of whom is dying of cancer, and her last wish: to be planted and become a Dragon. The idea is fine, but the story works because of the voices.

Locus, January 2018

I was fortunate to hear C. S. E. Cooney tease the first half of “Though She Be But Little” at Boskone last year, but I had to wait until the September/October Uncanny to find out how it ends. This is Cooney at her strangest, set in a world suddenly and weirdly altered, with a silver sky and stuffed animals named Captious and Bumptious and a parrot named George Sand – and Emma Anne, who must confront the dangerous Loping Man. It is weirder than I can describe, really, and funny without being quite funny at the core, and quite something.

Locus, February 2019

Sword and Sonnet is an anthology devoted to “women or non-binary battle poets”, possibly a bit too specific a remit for a book, but still one that has engendered some impressive stories. Best here is “As for Peace, Call it Murder”, by C. S. E. Cooney. This is SF, not usually Cooney’s genre, but it’s strong work, about Quatromanni, a singer of protest songs against an oppressive regime. The story is told long after her death, when she is remembered as the War-Ender, even though she was captured and had her tongue cut out by the regime. But her songs lived, and how they lived is what makes the story.

Birthday Review: Stories of Tim Pratt

Today is the birthday of my Locus colleague Tim Pratt. Tim is also a very fine writer, perhaps best known for a long series of fun urban fantasy novels about a witch called Marla Mason. More recently, he has begun a cool SF series, with The Wrong Stars and The Dreaming Stars. He also continues to write strong short fiction, much of it at his Patreon. In honor of his birthday, here's a compilation of my Locus reviews of his short fiction.

Locus, August 2002

The August Realms of Fantasy features Tim Pratt's "The Witch's Bicycle", one of the longest stories I've seen there. It's a novelette about a witch meddling with three high school students: a shy boy, the athletic and pretty new girl in town, and a bully. Each of the kids must somehow break out of a certain mold to frustrate the witch.  A fine young adult fantasy.

Locus, February 2003

The February Realms of Fantasy opens with two rather long stories (for them), and both are quite good. The prize is Tim Pratt's "Fable from a Cage", a nasty story about a thief captured by a witch who needs him to help her steal something of great value to her. It will surprise no one that both characters have treachery in mind, and Pratt twistily and cynically shows serial betrayals.

Locus, August 2003

Urban Fantasy is another "borderline" subgenre with points of contact with slipstream. Realms of Fantasy publishes a fair amount of Urban Fantasy, such as Tim Pratt's "Down With the Lizards and the Bees" (August). A man still mourning his dead lover serves as a guide to the underworld for others who have lost loves. But he learns that these modern day Orpheuses pay a harsh cost for their trip. Can he make himself pay the same price?

Locus, December 2003

Tim Pratt has been consistently impressive for Realms of Fantasy, and "Romanticore" is another strong story. Ray is drifting through life, and he's just lost his latest girlfriend to his best friend. But he meets a new woman named Lily, and rebound or not this relationship seems particularly special. But she warns him from the start that it's only temporary -- her boyfriend is a traveling musician on tour in Europe, and when he comes back, it's over. And so it turns out, but it's hard for Ray to let go, particularly given the scary dreams in which he becomes a lion. Which leads him into scary territory when he encounters Lily again, and her sinister boyfriend.

Locus, November 2005

So again in October. The best of another steady group in Realms of Fantasy is probably Tim Pratt and Greg van Eekhout’s “Robots and Falling Hearts”, about a man investigating a “plague of robots”. It seems that all of a sudden robots of all sorts are appearing – apparently quite functional (if odd), but entirely unexplained. The narrator finds a woman near the epicenter of the plague, and learns from her something of her involvement in the plague – all the while falling in love. But the story has a stranger turn or two to take – quite weird and intriguing.

Locus, June 2006

Among the shorter stories in the July Asimov's I particularly liked Tim Pratt’s “Impossible Dreams”, a “mysterious shop” story. This time the shop is a video store, with treasures such as the director’s cut of Orson Welles’s The Magnificent Ambersons, and the George Raft version of Casablanca. That’s the hook, and Pratt sets it with a sweet romance between two movie nuts: the geeky young man who discovers the shop, and the girl at the counter.

Locus, November 2006, review of Polyphony 6, edited by Deborah Layne and Jay Lake

Tim Pratt’s “The Crawlspace of the World” is another weird one, as a young man follows an old girlfriend into the title area, a classic “bigger on the inside than the outside” space, to confront a sort of dragon.

Locus, December 2006

One of the new entries in online publishing is Orson Scott Card’s Intergalactic Medicine Show, which has published three issues in the past year or so. The October issue includes a fascinating and decidedly odd piece from Tim Pratt, “Dream Engine”. The narrator is a disembodied intelligence keeping tabs on a shapeshifter named Howlaa Moor, who is in the employ of the Regent of a city called Nexington-on-Axis. This city is at the hub of multiple dimensions, and its trade is in stuff grabbed from these other dimensions – but some of this stuff can be dangerous. Howlaa is assigned to track a serial killer who mysteriously appears and disappears in the city – an assignment which will involve Howlaa and the narrator in the Regent’s own intrigues. Neat stuff.

Locus, May 2007, review of John Klima's Logorrhea

Tim Pratt’s “From Around Here” is a strong urban fantasy. A wandering “land spirit” of sorts incorporates in a human body periodically – this time in a San Francisco neighborhood that seems unusually troubled. He must track down the source of the trouble, the while beginning a promising love affair – but his lot, it seems, is one of sacrifice.

Locus, October 2007

Strange Horizons in late July and early August features two very good stories. Tim Pratt’s “Artifice and Intelligence” is a clever and pointed – and funny – story. The Indian call centers unite to form a powerful AI. Various other organizations scramble to produce their own AI, including a crackpot scientist who summons the ghosts of historical villains to animate his creations, and a nascent witch who manages to summon a marsh spirit to her PDA. What happens when these new intelligences meet the Indian AI is not quite what we expect.

Locus, August 2009

Now to Interzone #222 (it now ties New Worlds as the UK SF publication with the most issues). Tim Pratt’s “Unexpected Outcomes” opens on 9/11, with the apparently Tim Pratt-like narrator and his girlfriend witnessing the attack on the World Trade Center – but history changes weirdly at this point, as the second plane stops in the air, and it soon becomes clear that the story is set within a simulation of the “real world”, a simulation which has been discontinued. This knowledge – of everything’s unreality – naturally causes a lot of disruption, but the narrator and some others eventually come to a realization that the simulation story has some (sometimes literal!) holes in it, and also that there “unreality” gives them a certain freedom. Thoughtful work.

Locus, September 2009

Strange Horizons recently has featured a couple of playful stories that I’ve really enjoyed. Tim Pratt’s “Another End of the Empire” is about a Dark Lord who in an attempt to undermine the traditional prophecy that a child born in a certain place will overthrow him ends up Doing Good. It’s predictable perhaps, but very cute.

Locus, November 2009

There’s more good stuff at Tor.com. “Silver Linings”, by Tim Pratt, is to begin with a pirate story plus an airship story – a combination I find irresistible. In this case the pirates aren’t true pirates so much as thieves – of the silver found in clouds. Alas, that has dire consequences for people underneath the clouds. The narrator tells of his ship’s last venture – the law, it seems, finally catches up with them. But he has his own, quite unexpected, secret. Very enjoyable.

Locus, March 2010

Also at the Fall 2009 issue of Subterranean is a sweet Tim Pratt piece, “Troublesolving”, about a man having a lot of trouble in his life and the woman he meets who promises to solve his problems: problems that end up involving time traveling plotters.

Birthday Review: Heart of Veridon (and two other stories), by Tim Akers

Today is Tim Akers' birthday. Tim has been publishing intriguing dark fantasy, with a steampunkish feel to much of it, since 2004. This includes six novels, including two Veridon novels, a standalone called The Horns of Ruin, and a trilogy called The Hallowed War, which concluded with The Winter Vow this year. I reviewed his first novel, Heart of Veridon, for Fantasy Magazine, and I've reviewed a couple of his short stories at Locus. I've reposted these reviews here, for his birthday.

Heart of Veridon, by Tim Akers (Solaris, Nottingham, UK, 978-1-84416-759-3, $7.99, mmpb, 475 pages) October 2009

A review by Rich Horton

Heart of Veridon is Tim Akers’s first novel. He’s a native of North Carolina, now resident in Chicago, but he is probably not well known to many Americans, as the bulk of his short fiction has appeared in Interzone. His work had caught my eye, though, particularly a couple of short stories set in the same steampunk fantasy world as this novel: “The Algorithm” (Interzone, 2007) and “A Soul Stitched to Iron” (The Solaris Book of New Science Fiction Volume 3, 2009). This book realized the promise of those stories very nicely – though it is unmistakably a first novel, with the sort of flaws one expects in early work.

The narrator is Jacob Burn, disgraced scion of one of the Founding Families of Veridon. We meet him on an airship about to crash, as a petty criminal he barely knows gives him a mysterious “Cog” – a piece of clockwork that, it soon becomes clear, is desperately desired by several very different factions, including at least two different sides of Veridon’s ruling class, and also including some entities from well outside the city. Burn has become a petty sort of criminal himself, working in association with a whore named Emily for whom he has perhaps unwise feelings, and working for a mostly clockwork crime boss named Valentine. When his latest assignment, to deliver a package at the country house of one of his old Founder friends, Angela Tomb, goes pear-shaped he finds himself, along with Emily and a spider-like nonhuman named Wilson, on the run from the various groups chasing the Cog.

There’s plenty of action, well enough described but often a bit unconvincing. Jacob himself is nearly unkillable, but that’s effectively explained (he has been implanted with clockwork of his own, part of a failed (for interesting reasons) attempt to become an airship Pilot.) But too often the solution to problems is to shoot his way out, through quite a few supposedly competent adversaries. (Who do win, short term, on occasion, it should be said.) Much more interesting than the action is the setting, which as I said earlier is “fantasy steampunk”, and pretty pure steampunk – airships, clockwork people, the criminal element, and plenty of attitude. This is fun reading, and it ends up nicely underpinned by a gothic history for Veridon. The story’s arc promises tragedy, and we get that, with some hope, and some cynicism. Once senses that Veridon should be on the verge of a transformation, and that doesn’t really happen, but I think the slightly muted ending, if a bit disappointing, is also honest and realistic.

In the end, Heart of Veridon is an enjoyable novel, absorbing reading with plenty of color and action. The prose is mostly fine, if on occasion a bit too contemporary/colloquial for my taste. The setting is the real star. It’s not a perfect book, but it is a very promising debut.

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Two stories by Tim Akers

Locus, June 2017

In the March-April Interzone I also enjoyed a quite thoroughly strange story by Tim Akers, “A Death in the Wayward Drift”, about a young man, an initiate of the water caste, and the death by drowning of one of his fellows while trying to repair some sort of engine of water. Charged with the proper burial of the dead man, he journeys and encounters a young woman, an initiate of wood, with her own concerns about the strangely walking trees … It is, as I said, thoroughly strange, and very usefully so.

Locus, May 2009

From The Solaris Book of New Science Fiction Volume 3, Tim Akers’s “A Soul Stitched to Iron” is set in a fantastical city – almost perhaps a “New Weird” milieu, with something like zombies – but again perhaps there is a baroque short of SFnal rationale to it. In the story a young man who has turned away from his highborn family to a life of crime returns to his birth environment to try to understand what’s driving a newly influential family in disturbing directions.

Birthday Review: Short Fiction of Beth Bernobich

Beth Bernobich is exactly 1 day younger than yesterday's birthday subject, M. Rickert (which makes them both just a couple of months younger than me). Beth wrote a lot of exciting short fiction in the 2000s, then turned to novels -- a fantasy series collectively called River of Souls for Tor, and a fun YA fantasy, Fox and Phoenix. I hadn't seen anything for a few years, but just this year, under the name Claire O'Dell, she published an intriguing looking novel, A Study in Honor, the first of the Janet Watson chronicles, which (as the title of the first book and the name of the narrator suggest) puts versions of Holmes and Watson, who happen to be women and black, into a near-future dystopian US.

Here's a compilation of my reviews of her short fiction. (I also reviewed Fox and Phoenix for Black Gate.)

Locus, April 2003

Also of note is "Poison" by Beth Bernobich (posted January 20/27 at Strange Horizons), at 12,000 words perhaps the longest story yet featured at Strange Horizons. This story recalls Le Guin and Arnason, as well as Strange Horizons regular M. C. A. Hogarth, in that it depicts a human-like people with a different sexual nature. "Poison" is about a pair of tikaki, who can change their sex at will once they reach maturity. The narrator has not yet "ripened", but his/her companion, Yenny, has, and this ability makes Yenny a valuable prostitute. A new client, however, is using Yenny is some way as to make him/her ill, and the story turns on finding out what this client is plotting, which also reveals some of the story behind the tikakis' place in this alien society.

Locus, July 2003

I found the second issue of the overtly slipstream anthology Polyphony (edited by Deborah Layne with Jay Lake) even better than the first. ... Another fine story is Beth Bernobich's "Chrysalide", about a court painter whose success is based on her power to draw the "spirit", as it were, from her subjects to the painting, at a terrible cost.

Locus, April 2006

Asimov’s for June features one longish novelette and a passel of short stories. The novelette, “A Flight of Numbers Fantastique Strange”, is the first Asimov’s appearance for a very promising newer writer, Beth Bernobich. Simon Madoc is a mathematics student whose twin sister, Gwyn seems to have been driven mad by mathematics. We soon gather that this is in a parallel world of some sort: it feels a bit like Edwardian England but the city is called Awveline and the country Èireann, and other countries mentioned include familiar ones like Estonia and unfamiliar ones like Lîvod. Math is different, too: Simon is studying theories about the electrical properties of certain equations. And now Simon is at the center of a murder investigation, as several of his student friends have died in mysterious circumstances. This is all quite interesting, but in the end I wasn’t convinced. But I was intrigued: and I want to see more from Bernobich.

Locus, December 2007

September/October’s Interzone has a series of interesting stories … Beth Bernobich’s “A Handful of Pearls” is effectively creepy in portraying an unpleasant viewpoint character – a scientist whose girlfriend has left him – we slowly gather, because of his bad behavior – and we slowly are drawn into his abuse of a young humanoid girl they discover on an isolated island. What I wanted more of was the background – this seems to be set on an intriguingly different parallel Earth, but we don’t really learn enough about that.

Locus, September 2008

Somewhat belatedly I should mention a very fine story at Subterranean Magazine’s online edition for Spring. (I confess I have a hard time delineating the beginning and end of their issues.) “Air and Angels”, by Beth Bernobich, has an almost steampunk setup, with a young Victorian man meeting a fascinating pair of sisters, and being drawn briefly into their lives. The ladies are scientifically talented, and fascinated by astronomy – and it turns out they have a striking plan – which rather explicitly echoes a famous feminist SF story, given an intriguing alternate perspective by the Victorian setting.

Locus, October 2008

And among a host of first-rate work at Postscripts – the stories above, plus a fine Luff Imbry story from Matthew Hughes and solid work from Justina Robson, Eric Brown, and Paul DiFilippo among other, one story stands out. This is “The Golden Octopus” by Beth Bernobich (yet another writer exactly my age!). This intriguingly parallels her arresting earlier piece “A Flight of Numbers Fantastique Strange”. It follows the young Queen of Éirann (an alternate Ireland), as she juggles statecraft, her desire to support a researcher’s efforts to develop a form of time travel, her potential but unrealizable interest in her chief bodyguard and her politically more acceptable romance with the researcher, and finally a scary series of strange murders. The wrenching ending turns on the expectable but often unthought results of successful time travel.

Locus, December 2009

Speaking of PS Publishing and steampunk, they have put out Beth Bernobich’s first book, Ars Memoriae, a novella set in her somewhat steampunkish alternate history in which Queen Aíne rules in Éireann, a version of Ireland that occupies more or less the place of England as something like World War I looms. Commander Adrian Dee, still tortured by memories of another past, is sent by his Queen on a mission to Central Europe to uncover plots that may lead to a war involving the Prussian Empire, Austria, Montenegro … all this involving revolutionaries in Montenegro, a traitor in Éireann, and, naturally, a strong beautiful woman whose loyalties Dee cannot at first know … It’s fun stuff, but just a bit more routine than Bernobich’s previous Éireann stories. Still – there is surely more to come, perhaps even a novel, and Bernobich remains one of the most exciting newer writers we have.

Locus, September 2010

Beth Bernobich has not yet published a novel (though Passion Play is forthcoming this fall), but her short fiction has been very impressive, in particular several stories set in an alternate history dominated by a version of Ireland called Éireann. A Handful of Pearls collects much of her non- Éireann short fiction, which is also quite worth your while. The one new story, “Jump to Zion”, is fine work, if not her best, about a colony of former slaves who have escaped (where is not quite clear) only to form a new society again based on slavery. The heroine has struggled to buy herself something like freedom, but cannot guarantee the same for her daughter, and so is tempted by the violence urged by her former lover – only violence seems ever a mistake.