Johnny on the Spot by Frank Belknap Long Jr. (Unknown, December 1939) starts with the hard-boiled narrator describing his involvement with another man in a fatal shooting in an alley. The narrator then hides out in a dance hall where he overhears a ruthless older blonde telling a younger woman she is going to take her boyfriend from her. The man later dances with the blonde, who eventually (spoiler) realises that the man is Death. At this point we realise that his involvement with the death in the alley was his presence (“in the end I meet up with practically everyone”).
A slight, one-shot piece—but effective enough.
** (Average). 1100 words. Story link.
Sober Noises of Morning in a Marginal Land by Brian W. Aldiss
Sober Noises of Morning in a Marginal Land by Brian W. Aldiss (SF: Authors’ Choice 3, 1971) opens with the narrator, who has been brutally interrogated, being taken back to his room. After he recovers a little he manages to escape through a trapdoor in the roof—only to be recaptured some time later by three horsemen.
As this story unfolds we discover that (a) this is set in a 38th Century Kazakhstan (although his surroundings are little different from today’s); (b) there is One State ruling the Earth; (c) the narrator has actually booked into this prison for a one month course of suffering (apparently he has “a tendency towards guilt”); and (d) that mankind is in the process of developing a shared consciousness:
“The State recognises that human consciousness is changing. That a quantal step is being taken by the human animal. That we are coming into a period when more and more individuals—finally the whole race—will . . . evolve into a being with a greater capacity for consciousness.”
The word eluded me. Then I got it out in a whisper. “Supermen?”
“It’s not a term I would use. We know there are different levels of awareness. Not just the conscious. The below-conscious as well, with more than one level. They are merging into a new integrated consciousness.”
“. . . And the State wants individuals with such awareness to be on its side. . . . “
“It wants to be on their side.”
There is further discussion about this concept, and also the divisions that separate individuals from one another—but it’s all rather gnomic. The point of the story remained unclear.
** (Average). 6,600 words. Story link.
A Review: The Reunion of the Survivors of Sigrún 7 by Lars Ahn
A Review: The Reunion of the Survivors of Sigrún 7 by Lars Ahn (Lightspeed #162, November 2023) takes the form of a review of a documentary about a Mars mission that went wrong. We subsequently learn that Riveria, the maker of the film, locked the four remaining survivors in a room and interviewed them about the mission and the circumstances surrounding the commander’s death:
Mission commander Ruben Corto had died in a tragic accident and his remains had been left in space, per his wishes. That was all the surviving members were willing to say, and nothing else could be drawn out of them. Speculations ran wild, not helped by Dieter Hamilton’s suicide a few months after the return. Was Corto’s death really an accident? Had there been a mutiny onboard? Was Corto to blame for the ship going off course? Did the crew eat him when they ran out of supplies? (Riviera shoots that rumor down by documenting that Sigrún 7 had plenty of food in storage.)
The central mystery is never explained so, interestingly oblique approach aside, the story is ultimately slight and unsatisfying.
** (Average). 1,450 words. Story link (available 16th November).
LOL, Said the Scorpion by Rich Larson
LOL, Said the Scorpion by Rich Larson (Clarkesworld #200, May-June 2023) opens with Maeve, one half of a couple, getting fitted for a “holiday suit”:
“Does it come in any other colors?” Maeve asks, eyeing herself in the smart glass.
“No,” the salesperson admits. “You look quite elegant in eggshell, though.”
She’s undecided. The holiday suit is a cooperative swarm of microorganisms, a pale paramecium shroud that coats her entire body, wetly glistening.
“Full-spectrum UV protection, internal temperature regulation, virus filtration, water desalination, emergency starch synthesis.” The salesperson has a comforting sort of murmur. “Ideal for any sort of live tourism. Where will you be off to?”
“Faro,” Maeve says, and saying the name conjures immaculate white buildings and deep blue waters onto the smart glass behind her, displaying the paradise she’s dreamed of for entire weeks now.
The rest of the story sees Maeve and Charlie on holiday, where we see Maeve’s suit filtering out a range of unpleasant stimuli, beginning with the aeroplane peanuts (allergen hazard) and the smell of a (unbeknown to them) dead gecko in the autocab’s undercarriage. (Charlie is less keen on the suits, “The whole point of live tourism is authenticity.”)
Later on Maeve’s suit edits a drunken tourist from her view, and the suit’s more advanced protection functions are revealed when the couple go on a boat trip for a personal dining experience—when the chef brushes past Maeve, the suit bites him. This latter occurrence (spoiler) foreshadows the climactic scene where Maeve becomes aware of a presence when she goes walking on the beach one night when she cannot sleep. She rolls down the hood of the suit to see what is there and becomes aware of the stench of Faro’s unfiltered air—and then sees that a man who shouted at the couple days earlier is in front of her. He speaks to her in Portugese1 and grabs hold of her, whereupon the suit bites off his fingers and leaves him with bleeding stumps.
When Maeve returns to her room, Charlie notes the attractive pink hue of her suit, a call back to colour discussion at the beginning of the story, and a comment that reinforces the horror of the recent event.
This is all executed well enough (there are a number of neat little touches), and it makes a point about the irony of travelling to new places but insulating yourself from that reality. However, it didn’t really engage me, probably due to the slightly dream-like logic and setting of the story (why would people be allowed to wear suits that are capable of wounding others? You might get away with that in some US states, but I doubt you would in Europe). Awful title.
** (Average). 2,670 words. Story link.
1. The man who accosts Maeve on the beach says three things, “Ajude-me.”; “Acho que sou o Homem Invisível”; “O do filme antigo. Ajude-me.” This Google translates to “Help me”; “I think I’m the Invisible Man”; “The one in the old movie. Help me.”
The Burning Girl by Carrie Vaughn
The Burning Girl by Carrie Vaughn (Beneath Ceaseless Skies #340, 7th October 2021) opens with three knights arriving at an abbey, and a teenage girl called Joan being brought before them:
[One] of the nuns ran back to the hall and returned with an unlit candle, one of the big beeswax ones used to light the chapel sanctuary. I knew what this meant: these knights had demanded a demonstration. At the sight of that candle, I nearly cried. I did not understand, did not want to understand, but I knew what was happening.
Ursula held the candle to me. “You must show Sir Gilbert what you are.”
“Mother Abbess, you said that I must never—”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“But you said that I would be damned—”
“Joan! If you do not do this for Sir Gilbert, the Norman army will destroy the abbey and all of us with it. Please.”
Mother Ursula did not have to beg for anything, particularly not from a low-born novice placed here out of charity and fear. A scrawny, awkward novice, coifed and shrouded in threadbare gray and carrying the Devil’s spark. But she begged now.
I held the candle before me where the Normans could see it. Its weight was potential; the wick beckoned. Already the spark rose up under my skin. Mother Ursula could not put a candle in my hand and expect I would do nothing.
I touched the wick. The candle lit, a tongue of fire flaring and settling.
“Mon Dieu.” This was whispered by the wiry, chestnut-haired man standing to Sir Gilbert’s right. The nuns made the sign of the cross.
Sir Gilbert smiled.
Joan leaves with the Sir Gilbert and the other two and, when they get back to his camp, she sees that he has gathered several other paranormals into his company: Ann (who was one of the two “knights” with Gilbert) can split the ground; Isabelle can control the weather; Ibrahim can talk to the birds; and Felix can run very quickly. The next day they travel to see William (the Conqueror) and, when Joan is presented to him, she spectacularly demonstrates her powers by setting a nearby haycart ablaze. This leads to William giving Gilbert and the paranormals the task of taking the city of York.
The last section of the story details the battle at York and (spoiler) their eventual victory. Then, afterwards, William’s men attempt to kill Gilbert and the others because of the threat they pose. However, after the group fight off the attack, Gilbert goes to see William and gets a reprieve and land in Wessex.
This is a readable enough piece but it is essentially the Norman Conquest redone with superheroes, and, like most superhero tales, the story has a number of overfamiliar elements: (a) misfits bond with other misfits; (b) there is lots of fighting; and (c) there is little sense of peril for the reader as it seems fairly obvious that the group’s powers will deliver them to safety. And, when that fails, William can always change his mind at the end of the story.
Not a bad piece, but it is somewhat formulaic and consequently a little uninvolving.
** (Average). 10,650 words. Story link.
Hunger’s End by Robert Cheetham
Hunger’s End by Robert Cheetham (New Worlds #171, March 1967) sees Caroline listening to Jimmy at a party. He says that physical beauty is valueless as it contributes nothing to functionality; she disagrees and, deciding that he doesn’t know what he is talking about, eventually dismisses him. As Caroline hands her glass to him so that he can get her another champagne, she notices a minute chip in it and deliberately drops it to the floor where it smashes.
The rest of the story alternates between Caroline’s adulterous affair with another man called David, who was at the party with his wife, and a sponge-like alien life-form that has been feeding on the seabed for aeons. The alien sponge is later harvested and put on sale, during which period it starts to starve. Caroline buys it (“huge, ovoid, delicately violet”).
The final scene (spoiler) has Caroline discussing her relationship with David on the phone before she goes to have a bath. She dreamily slips her finger into a hole in the sponge, and the alien bites it off. The story close with this:
“Then there’s the transiency of beauty,” said Jimmy. “Symmetry exists only so long as the apposite dimensional planes are exactly complimentary. Alter one side, change its shape by one iota, and symmetry, beauty, perfection, value—everything is gone.” p. 126
I’m not convinced by the point the story is trying to make, or that it would stop Caroline attracting David, but I suppose it is a short and effective enough piece.
** (Average). 1,700 words. Story link.
The Dragon Slayer by Michael Swanwick
The Dragon Slayer by Michael Swanwick (The Book of Dragons, 2020) begins with Olav’s backstory, and we learn that he is a wanderer and adventurer and was briefly married to a witch—until he caught her coupling with a demon and slew them both. When we catch up with him he is working as a guard for a desert caravan, which is later ambushed by brigands. Only Olav and (what he thinks is) a young boy survive. Then, when they camp that night, a demon comes out of the forest for Olav, and they only just escape after Olav sets the dry undergrowth on the periphery ablaze.
When the pair arrive at the city of Kheshem, Olav works as a cutpurse to get them the money they need:
The day’s haul was such that he bought the two of them a rich meal with wine and then a long soak in hot water at the private baths. When Nahal, face slick with grease, fiercely declared himself in no need of such fripperies, Olav lifted him, struggling, into the air and dropped him in the bath. Then, wading in (himself already naked), he stripped the wet clothes off the boy.
Which was how Olav discovered that Nahal was actually Nahala—a girl. Her guardians had chopped her hair short and taught her to swear like a boy in order to protect her from the rough sorts with whom traveling merchants must necessarily deal.
The discovery made no great difference in their relationship. Nahala was every bit as sullen as Nahal had been, and no less industrious. She knew how to cook, mend, clean, and perform all the chores a man needed to do on the road. Olav considered buying cloth and having her make a dress for herself but, for much the same reasons as her guardians before him, decided to leave things be. When she came of age—soon, he imagined—they would deal with such matters. Until then, it was easier to let her remain a boy.
At her insistence, he continued the lessons in weapons use.
Olav ends up working for a wizard called Ushted the Uncanny after Ushted materialises in their room and tells Olav that if he continues to steal purses he will be caught. The wizard explains that he can time-travel, and has talked to a condemned future-Olav in his cell. To prove his point, Ushted then takes the current Olav forward in time to show him what happened, and brings back an ashen-faced one in need of drink.
After this there are two other developments, Nahala makes a friend of her own age called Sliv (he doesn’t know she is a girl), and the demon from earlier in the story sets up a lair on a hillside near the city.
The story eventually concludes with Olav, Nahala, Ushted and Sliv going to confront the demon (the creature is terrorising the area and Ushted has volunteered his services to the city’s rulers), and the story proceeds to a busy conclusion which includes (spoilers): (a) Sliv discovering that Nahala is a girl and consequently showing his contempt; (b) Ushted the wizard making a deal with the demon (who is revealed as Olav’s witch-wife) for a time-travelling amulet; (c) Ushted giving Sliv the amulet after Sliv is revealed as the younger Ushted; (d) Nahala acquiring the amulet but being unable to use it; (e) a future-Nahala arriving and killing Ushted the wizard and the dragon-witch. After all this Nahala admires her future self, and the future-Nahala admires the unconscious Olav; she then tells the younger Nahala to tell him it was he who slew the dragon when he wakes up (“you know what a child he can be”).
If this all sounds over-complicated, it is—and it doesn’t explain why the time-travelling Ushted didn’t see what was coming. A pity, as it is reasonably entertaining story to that point.
** (Average). 6,450 words.
New-Way-Groovers Stew by Grania Davis
New-Way-Groovers Stew by Grania Davis (Fantastic, August 1976) opens with the lesbian narrator’s description of the 1960’s Haight-Ashbury scene—which includes, atypically for the time of publication, a frank description of her elderly gay friend:
He’s always so funny, and admittedly, more swishy when he has a new lover. Not that any of them appreciate his wit, his charm, his intelligence. The old fairy usually manages to dig up some tight-assed sailor from the Tenderloin, or a motorcycle freak from one of the leather bars. He buys them new clothes, prepares lavish and tender gourmet meals, and gazes at them with sad, baggy basset-hound eyes, waiting for some small sign that some of the feeling has been appreciated, perhaps even returned. That maybe (but this is really too much to hope for) something might develop. Something permanent, a real relationship with warmth, love. But it never does.
When Jule excused himself for a brief visit to the john, his latest Chuck (or Stud) started eyeballing the prettiest girl in the room, boasting loudly, “I hate faggots, and I hate this nancy food, and the only reason I’m hanging around with that old auntie, Jule, is cause I’m temporarily short of bread. Soon as I get me a bankroll, I’m getting a big red steak, and some pretty blonde pussy. And all you queers can shove it up your ass!” p. 62
There is a bit more about the narrators and Jule’s friendship before the story turns to the Flower Children who are beginning to converge on Haight Ashbury. We learn about the latter’s communitarian lifestyle, and how they initially coalesce around the New-Way-Groovers Free Store, an establishment which freecycles goods and also provides a daily stew, made from various scavenged foodstuffs, to all-comers.
The narrator and Jules occasionally visit with the people at the store, and Jules later gets involved in a long argument with a man called Tony, during which, among other things, they discuss morality (Tony states at one point, “The highest morality is to take care of yourself”). This idea later manifests (spoiler) when the narrator gets a note from Jules saying he has gone away, and to send all his money to his sister in Detroit. When the narrator goes to ask Tony where Jules has gone, she is given a bowl of stew that is much richer than normal and which has chunks of meat in it. Tony tells her that they stole some meat, got themselves a “fat old pig”.
This piece contains quite a good portrait of alternative life in 1960’s Haight-Ashbury but, even after the morality argument, the cannibalism ending is silly and a bit over the top. So this is a game of two halves as a horror story—but is maybe notable as an early example of one with lesbian/gay characters.
** (Average). 3,950 words. Story link.
Lucifer by Roger Zelazny
Lucifer by Roger Zelazny (Worlds of Tomorrow, June 1964) opens with Carlson in the middle of a deserted (presumably post-collapse/apocalypse) city on his way to a building where he used to work. When he gets there he repairs and fuels the broadcast generators that power the city, and then, for a short period of time (93 seconds), he powers up the streets and buildings:
He was staring out beyond the wide drop of the acropolis and down into the city. His city.
The lights were not like the stars. They beat the stars all to hell. They were the gay, regularized constellation of a city where men made their homes: even rows of streetlamps, advertisements, lighted windows in the cheesebox-apartments, a random solitaire of bright squares running up the sides of skyscraper-needles, a searchlight swiveling its luminous antenna through cloudbanks that hung over the city.
He dashed to another window, feeling the high night breezes comb at his beard. Belts were humming below; he heard their wry monologues rattling through the city’s deepest canyons. He pictured the people in their homes, in theaters, in bars—talking to each other, sharing a common amusement, playing clarinets, holding hands, eating an evening snack. Sleeping ro-cars awakened and rushed past each other on the levels above the belts; the background hum of the city told him its story of production, of function, of movement and service to its inhabitants. The sky seemed to wheel overhead, as though the city were its turning hub and the universe its outer rim.
Then the lights dimmed from white to yellow and he hurried, with desperate steps, to another window. p. 84
The story ends with Carlson leaving the city and promising to himself—again—that he will never come back.
An okay mood piece, I guess, but minor Zelazny.
** (Average). 1,950 words. Story link.
Lovers on a Bridge by Alexandra Seidel
Lovers on a Bridge by Alexandra Seidel (Past Tense, 2020) opens with Gretchen looking at a painting (Woman at the Window by Caspar David Friedrich) which is displayed in a place she does not recognise. Then, as she tries to work out where she is, there is the sound of footsteps in the darkness that surrounds her. She flees, and later comes upon another painting (Rembrandt’s Philosopher in Meditation), and sees a man sitting on a bench in front of it. He tells her that she is no longer in the Louvre. Shortly afterwards, he adds:
“I’m The Curator, by the way. It is very nice to meet you.”
“Gretchen,” Gretchen says.
“Oh. That reminds me of the fairy tale, the one with Hansel and Gretel, lost and alone, and a witch, no less alone, but a good quantity more hungry.” The Curator smiles warmly at Gretchen. He indeed sits there as if it were a sunny Sunday afternoon in Central Park, not pitch black night in a strange room with a painting that shouldn’t give off light but does anyway.
“Ah . . . ”
“Heh. In case you worry I might eat you, don’t. After all, you walked into The Gallery because you could, and that makes you a guest.”
Gretchen’s hands roll themselves tight. “Out of curiosity, can guests leave whenever they want to?”
The Curator’s face drops, not in an angry way. He looks almost like a beaten dog, and Gretchen, for some silly reason, finds herself feeling sorry for him. “They can. Whenever they so desire.”
The rest of the story sees the pair wandering around this strange place looking at other works (The Starry Night by Vincent van Gogh; Impression, Sunrise by Claude Monet; The Luncheon on the Grass by Edouard Manet; Witches at their Incantations by Salvator Rosa; The Lovers by Sandro Botticelli; Bacchus and Ariadne by Titian; The Ambassadors by Hans Hohlbein the Younger, etc.), all of which give the impression they may be portals to other places. During the tour Gretchen becomes attracted to the curator, but also starts having flashback images and fears she may be dead.
Finally (spoiler), the man reveals to her (a) that the Gallery (a supernatural entity, I presume) must have a curator who is not an artist, and that person cannot leave until they recruit a replacement, and (b) that she is his. The Curator baulks when it comes time to leave her though, and his exit closes. The story ends with an artist painting the now-lovers and joint curators standing at the apex of a bridge.
This is an okay piece but a slow moving one, and I’m glad it didn’t go for the obvious switched persons ending. That said, its multiple painting and mythology references will probably be of more interest to fine arts graduates than they were to me (I could only visualise one, the van Gogh).
** (Average). 4,900 words.