Review: Lightspeed #103

Lightspeed #103, December 2018


Original Fiction:

  • “Mouths” by Lizz Huerta (fantasy short story)
  • “Under the Sea of Stars” by Seanan McGuire (fantasy short story)
  • “A Love Story Written on Water” by Ashok K. Banker (fantasy novelette)
  • “Grandma Novak’s Famous Nut Roll” by Shaenon K. Garrity (fantasy short story)

I suspect people are tired of my comments on genre (I’m tired of making them) but I feel like people ought to know what they’re getting. This isn’t a special “all fantasy” issue of Lightspeed, in that the first two are billed as SF, but it’s difficult for me to call the first SF and impossible to call the second one that. Also, while the fourth is trying to be funny and thus leaves the horror deeply backgrounded and washed out, it’s actually more of a horror story than the second Nightmare story of this month which, despite its werewolves, was more of a fantasy story.

As I said, it’s difficult to call “Mouths” even “science fantasy.” It’s really a post-apocalyptic fantasy in which the apocalypse is not clearly described and the “post-” makes little sense. A woman hurts her mouth and goes to a sort of dentist who takes her on as an apprentice until the woman’s lover shows up for her. Having fallen in love with the first woman, the dentist wavers between suicide and subjugating himself to them.

Under” is a fantasy about a woman leading a 19th century expedition into a dangerous and bizarre river (which really exists, though not quite as described). The woman’s grandfather had met a strange woman there, produced our heroine’s mother with her, and vowed to explore the river but died without completing his task. Taking the baton, the granddaughter discovers things she was Not Meant to Know. Despite having a weakness for subterranean aquatic tales such as Edmond Hamilton’s “Serpent Princess” (1948) and some Lankhmar stories and so on, this didn’t really grab me (in part due to the problems of the choice of protagonist and time-period in which the woman is an anachronistic and overly gender-conscious leader but overly Victorian otherwise) but it may work for some.

Love Story” (also the Cover Story) is an elaborately contrived Hindu-flavored fairy tale about a river goddess, her mortal lover, and the strange conditions under which she must destroy their children. A couple of aspects seem unintentionally contradictory and it takes a long, though colorful, time to get to an ending which is obvious except for its low cost. The didactic romance seems to have dual themes on the proper way to love along with an element of “accept that mother knows best and that she works in mysterious ways.”

Finally, “Nut Roll” is a patented “Lightmare” combination of letter and list with the contents being a bunch of recipes (each presented in its entirety). The people sharing these recipes are not normal and the food is more than just filling. However, the story is less.


Review: Lightspeed #102

Lightspeed #102, November 2018

Original Fiction:

  • “Talk to Your Children about Two-Tongued Jeremy” by Theodore McCombs (science fiction short story)
  • “Moonboys” by Stephen Graham Jones (science fiction short story)
  • “Queen Lily” by Theodora Goss (fantasy novelette)
  • “Hapthorn’s Last Case” by Matthew Hughes (fantasy novelette)

As always, Lightspeed is nominally balanced with two examples each of fantasy and science fiction but there are nearly 18,000 words of fantasy to nearly 8,000 of SF if one accepts the classifications (which is especially tricky in the case of the fantasies).

Queen Lily” will have more for fans of the Alice books and metafiction than for others and could be seen as a mainstream tale which simply juxtaposes two literary/historical figures amidst a fever/laudanum dream. Lily MacDonald is dying amidst dreams of Wonderland, trying to integrate a visiting Alice Liddell into her experiences. This focuses a lot on recent gender issues and, uh, interpretations of Carroll.

Similarly, “Hapthorn” will have more for fans of the Archonate series, of which this forms a part, than for others and could be seen as an SF tale in that this opens in the science side of a universe which cyclically transforms from a place of science to one of magic and back and is on the cusp of turning to magic (though the fundamental premise is clearly fantastic – or metaphorical of our own times – and even the “scientific” universe feels like fantasy). In this, Hapthorn is invited to a chef’s party which results in a case which results in bumping into the wrong sorts of people which results in a discovery about an element of his society before an even more significant thing occurs. Many will find this an entertaining tale though some may be put off by its sometimes flowery, epicurean style and content. Also, while it definitely has a series of (sometimes) interconnected events, those are to plot as Calvinball is to, say, football, with lots of frobnicating the “invigilator” and such.

Yet again, “Moonboys” will have more for fans of flash fiction than others. Two brothers are on the moon when disaster strikes and the psychology of the older brother is explored in a gushing instant of consciousness which, while not especially science fictional, is quite effective even if I don’t understand all of the elements, especially at the open. Oddly, this is the second time this month I’ve been reminded of a story from the recently deceased Grievous Angel, as this has things in common with “Moonshot” (April 18, 2018).

A more general story is “Jeremy,” which details an AI tutor using what is basically psychological torture on its students in order to compel them to purchase upgrades, modules, and whatnot. The possibilities that the AI is running amok, and/or the corporation is evil, and/or society and its children are broken are considered. I have mixed reactions to this story. It belabors the obvious points of the tutor’s cyberbullying advertising pressures on the tormented child and the conclusion of the main child’s story isn’t entirely convincing. Though also problematic, one of the most interesting aspects of the story is the narrator, which is an impossibly omniscient, seemingly first-person “we,” and has a marvelously pompous tone used to ironic effect. Despite the story’s darkness, it does have some sardonic humor, and even a touching scene with Aunt Sylvia, while it tackles a serious subject.

Review: Lightspeed #101

Lightspeed #101, October 2018

Original Fiction:

  • “The Horror of Party Beach” by Dale Bailey (science fantasy novelette)
  • “The Real You™” by Molly Tanzer (science fictional short story)
  • “Super-Luminous Spiral” by Cameron Van Sant (science fantasy short story)
  • “Ten Deals with The Indigo Snake” by Mel Kassel (fantasy short story)

Real” dragoons the reader into being the audience for a woman’s gossipy monologue about her and others’ relationships in which the SF gimmick of a magic procedure that turns people’s faces into blobs is used to touch on identity, isolation, and protective measures to say, with Buckaroo Banzai, “Wherever you go, there you are.” There’s a good phrase or two and some people may enjoy this sort of thing but, if it doesn’t sound like your thing, you probably won’t.

A couple of stories touch on addictions of sorts. “Deals” deals with a woman making risky deals with a snake (which has been a common thing in this world, which is otherwise like our own, since Eve) to gain everything from good grades to the attentions of another woman which, as only part of her gambling habit, leads to worse and worse things for awhile. Among other things, the story’s a fuzzy blend of genres, it’s in present tense, it includes a revolting section (#8), and it’s in the form of a list. Just as “You Never Even Called Me by My Name” is the “perfect country and western song,” this is the perfect Lightspeed story! Even more fuzzy a blend is “Spiral,” which is in the fantasy section but could just as easily be in the SF section if you treat its “galaxy boy” as an alien indistinguishable from magic. As Juvenal said, “tenet insanabile multos scribendi cacoethes” (“the incurable itch of writing possesses many”) and a budding author tells us all about his encounter with the magic alien transsexual virus muse who has quite an effect on quite a few college students. This isn’t in the form of a list but is in second person in addition to being in present tense.

Reversing “Spiral,” “Horror” is billed as SF but it’s not remotely, being another of the many transmutations of “1950s sci-fi movies” into “2010s retro-stories.” This one is a weird sort of coming of age tale set in the summer of ’55 on the East Coast and deals with a boy meeting a girl and having a wonderful relationship except that not all is as it seems. What makes this work is a great narrative voice and a generally reasonable sense of time (though “cancer” was not a word used in polite company). What makes this not work is its sledgehammer foreshadowing (when nothing that happens is surprising anyway – the daughter of a mad scientist parties at a beach with teens and…) and its excessive end. But, aside from those two issues (the last of which might not bother some), it’s an engaging read. I still think it, along with aspects of “Deals,” would be a better fit for Nightmare or, at least, in the case of this one, for the fantasy section.

(While I’m quibbling, when I started reviewing Analog for my old site a few years ago, I used to take detailed notes on most of the grammatical and proofreading issues that bothered me. Such problems in webzines are so overwhelming that there’s little point and I only emit random distressed noises every now and then and, to be fair, Lightspeed is not the worst offender, but I feel like complaining about the Great Disappearing Adverb again (“your [literature!] professor taught you to read slow and careful”) and other things like “you scramble to stuff you and your roommate’s laptops under your coat…”)

Review: Lightspeed #100

Lightspeed #100, September 2018

Original Fiction:

  • “Her Monster, Whom She Loved” by Vylar Kaftan (science fiction short story)
  • “Harry and Marlowe and the Secret of Ahomana” by Carrie Vaughn (science fiction novelette)
  • “The Last to Matter” by Adam-Troy Castro (science fiction novelette)
  • “The Explainer” by Ken Liu (science fiction short story)
  • “Hard Mary” by Sofia Samatar (science fiction novelette)
  • “Abandonware” by Genevieve Valentine (fantasy short story)
  • “Jump” by Cadwell Turnbull (fantasy short story)
  • “You Pretend Like You Never Met Me, And I’ll Pretend Like I Never Met You” by Maria Dahvana Headley (fantasy short story)
  • “Conspicuous Plumage” by Sam J. Miller (fantasy short story)
  • “A Brief Guide to the Seeking of Ghosts” by Kat Howard (fantasy short story)

Lightspeed brings us a more-than-double special issue for its 100th number with five original SF stories, five original fantasy stories, plus extra reprints and non-fiction. (The online edition swaps two of the usual reprints for two bonus originals with the Kaftan, Vaughn, Castro, Valentine, Turnbull, and Headley being made available.)

Monster” is a cosmic fantasy with scientific phrases sprinkled about and involves a goddess creating some children, one of whom is a monster, and follows their battle of the eons. It has a lot of the feel of June’s “Silent Sun.” “Ahomana” is a “shipwrecked on an island with a secret city” story with an additional component of alternate history in which “Harry” and Marlowe wander from their Victorian England (which has been modified with relics of alien tech) and discover the wonders of Ahomana. Even for being a part of a series and granting that this episode is finished, this is a middle and a bit long for its content but entertaining enough. “Matter” is a “jaded at the end of the worlds” story with a splash of posthumanism thrown over the New Wavy core. A man is ejected from his “orgynism” of perpetual sex to discover the City is dying and decides there are two ways to go and picks one. Some of this is repellent, the rest is common, and the end isn’t as deep as it purports to be. “Explainer” is metafiction nominally involving a repairman and a little girl, in which a broken (lying) house AI is relevant to the craft of fiction and, more generally, the drive for narrative.

The (perhaps excessively) gender-edged “Hard Mary” was much too long for its content (nearly a novella) but the oddly Simakian tale was the most interesting of the SF tales. Lyddie (narrator) and Mim (misfit genius) are effectively characterized young women living in an isolated religious village in the near future who, with some others, discover an abandoned, semi-functional robot they come to call “Hard Mary.” The (mostly mild) tension comes from multiple places including within and between the characters, between that group and the village, and between all of them and the “Profane Industries” men who created Mary.

Abandonware” involves a broken narrator talking about a sort of VR game while covering her childhood and her current situation with a dead mother and a father who has replaced both of them. There’s a symbolic deer and some things that could be called hallucinations but no real fantasy or effect. “Plumage” takes us to an alternate 1950s where everyone has a fantastic talent, though the narrator’s hasn’t manifested because she first wants to learn more about the murder of her gay brother who “danced birds,” so to speak. From the street that went on forever to its questionable rock history and odd perspective on baseball to its ending, it’s unconvincing and “drops frames” at an increasing rate through the sketchy narrative. “Brief Guide” is no story but yet another ineffectual list (eleven sections on how to avoid or attract ghosts depending on season, weather, time of day, and a tip for the ghostless).

Moving up quite a way, “Pretend” is an initially darkly delightful tale of the less magical son of a magician who has to entertain at a birthday party. Naturally, he goes to a bar and hits on what turns out to be a bereaved mother whose child was killed and husband injured in a motorcycle accident. That turns out to be the high point of his day. His life hasn’t been much better, either, as we learn about his childhood, his dad, and deals with Death and/or the Devil. The sardonic tone and comical imagery (the magician’s bright yellow “lemon” of a VW Beetle accidentally ending up in a funeral procession, for instance) keep this story involving and entertaining and the only real problem is a somewhat incongruous and pat ending.

While much more understated (but consistent), “Jump” is the issue’s best story. One fine day, in an overflow of love and joy, Mike and his girlfriend Jessie teleport home. A desire to repeat the experience comes to obsess Mike while Jessie prefers to treasure the singular experience. For a time, she accedes to Mike’s efforts and, somewhere in there, they get married but this thing that cemented their relationship also tends to tear it apart. Very concise, yet well-realized and with some humor and pathos. Good stuff.

Review: Lightspeed #99

Lightspeed #99, August 2018

Original Fiction:

  • “A Bond as Deep as Starlit Seas” by Sarah Grey (science fiction short story)
  • “The Atonement Path” by Alex Irvine (science fiction short story)
  • “Scavenge, Rustic Hounds!” by Manuel Gonzales (fantasy short story)
  • “A Compendium of Architecture and the Science of Building” by Kate Elliott (fantasy short story)

All four stories deal with dystopian societies though I suspect the last isn’t supposed to be seen as such and is at least humanized by one of the Powers That Be. All four stories are readable and most have their strengths but none really stuck out for me. Each pair billed as SF and as fantasy contains a long short story (6-7K) and a shorter one (2.5K).

Bond” deals with a woman selling her semi-AI ship, which she’s named Cleo. The “middlewoman” is the Abbess who runs the Henza (whose name may be inspired by the c.1400 German “Hansa”) which is an unscrupulous, slave-driving politico-religious order whose deity is a goddess of trade. The woman is so sentimentally attached to her ship that she’s insisted on a clause against scrapping it and also insists on meeting the downstream buyer. Finally, after getting some wisdom from a barkeep, she goes back after her ship and things do not go well.

The protagonist, Jeri, is the main problem with this tale. Her sentimentality, which would be sympathy-inducing in small doses, is extreme (or the ship is not aesthetically sufficient for the story’s demands on it). She’s incredibly naive if not downright stupid as anyone can immediately see the problem with her clause to a middleman and she’s supposed to be an experienced merchant yet either has no idea who she’s dealing with or is insane for dealing with them. She’s hasty and a poor physical specimen as she’s easily and immediately incapacitated at one point. And she ultimately drags the plot down with her as it’s somewhat ridiculous that the Henza wouldn’t “indenture” Cleo with governors as well as doing a better job of restricting Jeri, making the supposed “suspense” of the ending moot. Aside from that, though, it does a good job of metamorphosing key elements of our own society into a science fantasy one.

The Atonement Path” is a relatively short Robert Browning-like monologue (though it does have a couple of inserts which break the monologue in fact, if not in feel) in which a lawyer describes his society’s juvenile justice system to a visitor. Some effect is achieved through the matter-of-fact approval of the lawyer calmly narrating awful things but I’m not sure I followed the ending line.

Also short and confusing, “Scavenge” describes a woman warning her husband that “the creatures” have arrived and are carting people away. Despite their best efforts, concentrated on saving the at-risk husband, both suffer in various ways. This is yet another “Lightmare” story in which Lightspeed‘s supposed “fantasy” is far more horrific than anything in the companion issue of Nightmare. The problem is that everything is either elliptical symbolism or doesn’t make sense at all and changes the rules of its own game once, if not again, with no (logical or discernibly aesthetic) rationale.

Finally, while “Compendium” is a hierarchical medievaloid tale in which wise old guys can build men out of boys if the boys are properly respectful, industrious, and driven, it comes as a relief from the other three tales in having a form of kindness within it. When the seemingly innocuous old architect’s fire goes out and he finds a boy hiding in a workshop, both their lives change. The architect is a sort of grand poobah and the boy is a commoner, yet a powerful cold mage. The old man adds his guidance to that of the nearby Hogwarts which has been misusing the boy. Not very dramatic or suspenseful and feels like a piece of a larger story or series, but done well enough, especially if you’re interested in exactly how many dabs of butter are alongside the porridge and other such details.

Review: Lightspeed #98

Lightspeed #98, July 2018

Original Fiction:

  • “Waterbirds” by G. V. Anderson (science fiction short story)
  • “Greetings, Humanity! Welcome To Your Choice Of Species!” by Adam-Troy Castro (science fiction short story)
  • “A Song of Home, the Organ Grinds” by James Beamon (fantasy short story)
  • “Wild Bill’s Last Stand” by Kyle Muntz (fantasy short story)

Reprint note: this issue includes Caroline M. Yoachim’s “The Right Place to Start a Family,” which I recommended when I reviewed Humanity 2.0 in 2016.

Waterbirds” deals with two women who keep each other company for years as they decay until one of them meets a third woman and those two break free from their submission to evil men by finding love with each other. Oh, and one of them is a robot. If “Greetings” were to be done at all, it should have been 40% its length. It’s an ejection of misanthropic bile, intended to be humorous, in which some smug and self-righteous aliens decide to exterminate the human race for being too vicious to live, though the populace will not be killed but allowed to choose from eight lovely species to turn into. This is basically like karma causing us to come back as slugs except faster. “Wild Bill” is a Weird Western with gay cowboys, two of whom fight a duel and few if any readers will care what happens because there’s no one to like.

As I gather “Wild Bill” is an example of one microgenre, so I gather Lightspeed‘s well-chosen cover story, “Song of Home,” is of another. It’s an “alternate history with weird combat mechanisms”; in this case, a Crimean War with steam-powered air (and sea) ships. Our air ship is most significantly crewed by an artificer of metal prostheses, an organ grinder, his homeless street urchin protagonist assistant, and an army of vampire attack monkeys. If I’d read more of the stuff like this that’s out there to read, I might not have been so impressed but it certainly struck me as fresh and was vividly, brilliantly told. The milieu and combat was complex and exciting, the protagonist sympathetic, and the conflicts and emotions powerful, the latter without being mawkish or manipulative. The theme, assuming I’m reading it right, is perhaps not as original as the rest felt, but was brought home aesthetically and believably, somewhat akin to “Last Night at the Café Renaissance” by D. Thomas Minton in the July/August 2015 IGMS, which had its own powerful imagery. This one’s images of bloodsucking cyborg capuchins and the like will linger. Recommended.

Review: Lightspeed #97

Lightspeed #97, June 2018


Original Fiction:

  • “I Sing Against the Silent Sun” by A. Merc Rustad and Ada Hoffman (science fantasy novelette)
  • “A Pilgrim’s Guide to the Lighthouse of Quvenle the Seer” by Lina Rather (science fantasy short story)
  • “The Quiltbag” by Ashok K. Banker (science fantasy short story)
  • “From the Root” by Emma Törzs (science fantasy short story)

Lightspeed‘s table of original contents would seem to present the usual two science fiction and two fantasy stories but there are arguably none of either as all four strike me as science fantasy.

In “Silent Sun,” a genderless person and a sentient spaceship are hunted by a god which demands silence of all and they recite poetry at it in defiance. It’s interesting to think of this in comparison with “Repent, Harlequin” in that the two tales of rebellion against oppressive authority figures share a certain juvenile nature but the sharp, vivid imagery, sense of whimsy, and universality of the Ellison tale contrasts strongly with this impressionistic, humorless, particular (and unconvincingly resolved) piece.

Pilgrim’s Guide” involves a person engaging in space travel to approach someone in zero-G… who is a seer and gives her a prophecy. Basically, as the prophecy was being revealed, I realized the “why” of her state (meaning not just what triggered it but why she wanted what she wanted). It’s initially evoked effectively but it’s ultimately made a little too explicit and, aside from that, would have been better as a straight fantasy (and without the second-person narrative technique).

The next tale’s protagonist, who believes racism is genetic, is judge, jury, and executioner of innumerable parallel worlds, using her “Quiltbag” to “eat” “bad” worlds. (“Bad” means irredeemable worlds who have an inhabitant who fails to meet her definition of being sufficiently accepting of the races, genders, and identities she values, or who have improper diets. “Eating” means that those worlds which are not already like the quiltbag in one way are turned into the quiltbag in another.) The undramatic structure mostly involves her waiting in a room for an interviewer to arrive and then interviewing him.

Finally, “From the Root” takes place in an alternate eighteenth century in which “regenitrices” are known to exist in the background of the world. These are otherwise human women who regenerate from wounds and would only die from old age except that childbirth is always fatal. The protagonist is one and she’s fallen for a doctor who knows her secret and who’s trained her in midwifery. Marya is another regenitrix who, though a lesbian, has become pregnant by force. He wishes to examine her corpse when she dies and the midwife wishes to save her with another in her line of theories about why pregnancy kills regenitrices. Marya just wishes to be left alone. They each try to encourage the others to share their desires without knowing who can be trusted, with the fate of the midwife’s love, Marya’s life, and the lives of innumerable others in suspense.

This is very well-written with an ample, but unpretentious style, a tangible setting, sufficiently realized women and an appropriately vague doctor, and a set of compatible and contrary desires which produces real tension. Thematically, it speaks to gender disparity in the medical establishment but is wider-ranging and deeper than that. My only problem is that I have a hard time accepting the “science” of the regenitrices and of part of the resolution. I can’t get into the last (which is arguably more serious) but, for the first, if regenitrices can only produce one offspring and not all do, they should go extinct unless their numbers are replenished by spontaneous mutation but this is never questioned or answered. The general quality makes this a story I’d recommend but the background problems of this completely non-supernatural story focused on the science of medicine make me hesitate. I recommend it in the sense that it’s generally good and I may be mistaken about the problems or they may not bother some readers.