REVIEW: August 15, 2018

“And before the light can flash again he explodes, straining and struggling.”

Flotsam & Jetsam, by Carrie Ryan.

Another tale from The Living Dead 2, edited and introduced by John Joseph Adams. If you’d like your own copy, which I’d really recommend if you’re at all a fan of zombies, you can order it here or here in paperback or ebook format. If you just want this story in particular, however, you can get it from Amazon here by itself.

After a zombie outbreak on their cruise liner, two guys–either late teenagers, or young adults–end up alone on a lifeboat together. As they struggle to survive and fight their urges to go back to the sinking ship and look for their friends, the tension between them grows. Especially since one of them was bitten.

The concept behind this tale was really interesting to me. When I shared a synopsis of this story with my good friend Elma, she reminded me of the movie Train to Busan, in which there’s a zombie outbreak on a train. Dealing with a zombie scenario in close-quarters raises the stakes that much more, and Flotsam & Jetsam is certainly no different in that regard. Knowing that someone was slowly turning made the whole story feel like a countdown.

There was a strangely casual tone to the whole thing, however, which took away from some of the tension. Much of the conversations between the two men felt forced, although maybe that was intentional. I also wondered about the exact nature of their relationship, since they didn’t seem to have strong feelings in any way for each other. If they liked or even disliked each other a bit more, I feel like the tension would have been through the roof.

The story wasn’t very descriptive, but what is there to describe on a life raft? There were a few scenes towards the end that were really strong–when one character is tying up the other, for example. The ending was also very interesting, and definitely not what I was expecting. I really enjoyed the conclusion, and I think that’s what really sold me on this story.

This piece had a solid foundation and finish, but it lacked just a bit in the middle, and I think I’m going to give it a 4 out of 5. It definitely captured my interest and was by no means a bad story, but I think if a little more attention had been given to the characters, it would have really stood out.

Carrie Ryan has a website here, including a bibliography of her work here. Apparently this story is set in the same world as her The Forest of Hands and Teeth, so if you like this one, definitely take a look at those books as well. I hope I can check it out soon. She also has a twitter, at @carrieryan.

What do you think would be the worst place to be trapped with a zombie?

REVIEW: August 8, 2018

“Seems like the perfect time for higher powers to reawake.”

Black, Their Regalia, by Darcie Little Badger.

As a part of Lightspeed since 2012, Fantasy Magazine is the home of today’s short story. More specifically, you can find the story here, as a part of the December 2016 special issue. There’s also a podcast version you can download, if you’d prefer that, though I read this one, myself.

Black, Their Regalia is set on an Earth taken over by the Big Plague. There are so many infected, that those dying are put on trains and sent to facilities where doctors test and try to save them. The three main characters–Tulli, Moraine, and Kristi–are a young “neoclassical alt-metal fusion” band of Apache and Navajo descent. The band, Apparently Siblings, are all infected, but stick together through thick and thin and never let go of hope, though their beliefs waver.

This story, despite the fact that it’s about one of the most likely apocalyptic situations, is incredibly charming. The characters’ dynamic and dialogue is endearing and believable. In the short flashback of their first meeting, there’s a particular line, “However, they didn’t annoy each other too much, so friendship inevitably blossomed.” At least for me, this feels like an accurate statement of how friendships work. I also enjoyed the fact that the Apparently Siblings weren’t famous whatsoever, but still counted playing a handful of shows and having a certain number of twitter followers an achievement. It made me want to search them up on Twitter and follow them as well(Sadly, there’s not really an account for the band).

I also enjoyed the symbolism and the reference to the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse(and subsequently Neil Gaiman’s and Terry Pratchett’s novel Good Omens), which, though it certainly fit in the story, felt a bit strange combined with the Aboriginal myths and themes. I did enjoy that, for the most part, the story was centered around the band members’ ethnicity and identity. As I’ve mentioned before, I myself am of Ojibwe descent, and I personally think that these sort of stories are important to tell, fictional or otherwise.

I don’t want to give away too much about the ending, but I did love the importance of the dance and the characters’ talents as a band. I’ve always held to the belief that all art should connect, and that includes writing and music and dance.

For myself, this is a definite 5 out of 5. I absolutely loved it and think a lot of other readers will love it too, whether or not you have a similar personal attachment. It’s a great story about hope and love and humanity, as well as things that humanity can’t explain.

Dr. Darcie Little Badger has her own WordPress account here, including a bibliography of her other works here, which I can guarantee you that I’ll be looking through in the future. She’s also on Twitter at @ShiningComic.

Have you ever had a dream so strong you believed it was real, even if only for a moment?

REVIEW: June 27, 2018

“He didn’t say a word when it was 8:01 and her watery green eyes still held life.”

The Clock Misread, by Nazifa Islam.

This story is one I found in the first issue of Liminal Stories, a fairly new fiction magazine known for publishing “the beautiful, heartbreaking and strange”. All their issues thus far are free and available on their website here, and if you’d like a direct link to the story I’m examining today, you can find that here.

This story is about two nameless characters whose relationship is unclear. The woman, knowing she is about to die, has given very specific instructions to the man. He acts as an obedient observer, watching her final moments in silence. Despite following her orders, something is clearly not right, but it’s too late to ask questions.

My first impression of this very short story was mixed. In the first few lines, I was intrigued. Thereafter I was a bit uncomfortable, and a bit bored—was I really just reading an account of someone’s death? It made me lose the interest I had previously garnered.

But then, the end. Oh, the end. My curiosity spiked once more, and I reread it several times, looking for more questions and answers alike.

This tale is just a quick blink into another world, but it was a fascinating one. I want to know how far it goes, but I don’t know if there’s enough to figure it out—a gripe I seem to have with a lot of short stories. Maybe I’m in the wrong business if my main complaint about any short story is that it’s too short. But that besides, it was a very enchanting read. I believe this story perfectly captures Liminal’s desire for the “beautiful, heartbreaking and strange”.

The description was by far the most prominent and successful part of this work. It was not overwhelming, but it was specific enough that I have a very clear image of the scene in my mind’s eye. Not just the visuals, but the entire feel of it, as well. I also enjoyed the timekeeping as a narrative device; I believe it really carried the whole thing, in a sort of thematic sense. Whether he was counting the time or his steps, the man was always doing his best to keep track.

The Clock Misread is a definite 4 out of 5 for me. Again, despite its brevity, the middle was a bit lacking, but I found the rest of the tale rather enthralling. And I do believe, most certainly in this case, that the lack of information on the characters—and the world—was for the best.

If you enjoyed this story and want to read more by the author, well, she’s only published the one story. But she has a book of poetry and does a lot of cool paintings, which you can find on her website here. She also has a twitter here, if you have an interest in that.

Is there anything specific you want someone to have after you’re gone? If so, what, and why?

REVIEW: May 23, 2018

“Have I saved your life or stopped you from hatching?”

Mermaid’s Hook, by Liz Argall.

I discovered this story some time ago in the archives of the glorious Apex, where you can find many incredible short stories by many incredible authors, both new and familiar.  This tale in particular can be read here.  As it turns out, it’s also available as a podcast on Podcastle, and the link to that audio can be found here, if you’d rather listen than read.

In this piece, mermaids normally leave drowning humans to sink to the bottom of the ocean, more focused on catching other treasures.  Unexpectedly to both her and her sisters, however, one nameless mermaid ends up catching a man in chains.  Once in her arms, she then feels obligated to keep him alive, and takes him back to the surface–despite the storm raging above the water.

At its heart, I believe this story is really an account of clashing cultures.  Neither man nor mermaid know each others’ language, or how the other even breathes.  Since mermaids have gills, she doesn’t immediately realize that humans don’t just use their mouths to eat, making it difficult to maintain the man’s survival.  I thought it was a great way to explain how mermaids worked in this piece, without giving too much exposition about it.  The end result was a curious mermaid who was so naive about humans that she came across as endearing.

I also feel, however, that this one was more exploratory than narrative.  It definitely had a story, don’t get me wrong, but I found it to be a rather simple one.  As a reader, I’m simply not given enough information to really feel for the man in this scenario.  Sure, he was thrown overboard, but maybe he deserved it on some level.  In my opinion, simply being a human is not a relatable enough feature for a character.  I could see it working for others, though; it’s just not to my personal taste.

Still, the writing is great and there’s enough plot and action to stay interested.  But the selling point is definitely the naive mermaid’s musings and attempts to reason with the man.  The tone is so lighthearted I couldn’t help but grin constantly as I read along.  I also really enjoyed the metaphors used, as a mermaid wouldn’t know how to compare this experience to any experience we land-dwellers might be familiar with.  When put in this sort of context, a lot of things humans do seem rather silly.  Even the most simple of gestures, like nodding or shaking one’s head, are examined in a new perspective, and I loved it.

This story gets a solid 4 out of 5 from me.  I’d be very much interested in reading a version from the man’s perspective, or even just the events leading up to his being thrown overboard.  If such a thing exists, I’d be very grateful to whoever lets me know.  I feel like there’s potential for a much larger story, though I’m not sure if there’s enough to go on for a novel or novella.  All I’m asking for is a little prequel, or spin-off.

If you liked this tale and want to read more from the same author, Liz Argall has a website here, with a bibliography of previous, current, and upcoming work!

And now I’m the one that’s curious: what customs, gestures, or habits do you think we take for granted, as humans?

REVIEW: May 16, 2018

Mother of Invention, by Nnedi Okorafor.

This story was hesitantly recommended to me by my dear friend Elma, yes, the very same Elma who brought me a book back from Japan.  I asked her about short stories and she immediately brought up this tale, written by one of her favourite authors.  Then she dismissed the idea, stating that “it has birth in it and I know you don’t like that”.  True, I find it a bit of a disgusting affair, but I accepted her suggestion nonetheless.  And am I glad I did!  If you want to check out this tale for yourself, she sent me this link.

In a futuristic Nigeria, a soon-to-be mother, Anwuli, is trying to prepare for her upcoming birth.  Her fiance, as it turns out, was already married and had children with another woman during their relationship.  And so, leaving her with Obi 3–and intelligent house that he’d built–Anwuli is, for the most part, alone.  The house plays music for her, talks to her, and its various drones collect items from her to upgrade and repair itself, but it is still a house, and can only do so much as she gets contractions.  Obi 3 and Anwuli do what they can as her condition worsens, and they become trapped in a deadly storm.

This story was written in an amazing way, and I can understand why Nnedi Okorafor is one of my friend’s favourite authors.  The word choice is evocative and precise.  Every sentence feels very deliberate and brings about a clear image.  In particular, the birthing scene was handled quite well, this coming from someone who, again, thinks the process can be a bit . . . much.  I think it was accurate, and detailed without getting too far into the nitty-gritty.  Overall I found it surprisingly palatable.

One thing that did a bit strange, however, was the humour.  It wasn’t bad humour–I certainly chuckled a time or two–but it did feel out of place with the tone of the story.  I was invested in and fearing for Anwuli and her unborn child’s life–I didn’t think it was fitting to have Obi 3 start rapping out of nowhere.  Even typing that out in my review feels a bit too silly.

One thing I did really enjoy, however, was the way the worldbuilding was integrated into the story.  Obi 3 does most of it, in a nifty attempt to comfort Anwuli during her time of pain.  But the narration in general also does a good job of slipping in the details without going overboard, and in the end, I feel like this version of the world is very thorough and, for the most part, realistic.  It’s almost got a solarpunk vibe to it, which is refreshing.

All in all, this tale was one I truly enjoyed, and I’m going to give it a high 4 out of 5.  Without the rather conspicuous humour, I would have given this story a full 5.  I’m also a little hesitant on the very end of it–that being, the shift in perspective.  But I’ll leave that up for you to decide–if you’ve read it, how did you find it as a whole?