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Book Review: CRAFT: STORIES I WROTE FOR THE DEVIL by Ananda Lima

At the dawn of the Millennium, a writer attends a Halloween party and meets the Devil. She’s come dressed as a distinct reference to the past: Inauguration Nancy Reagan. He’s dressed in a baggy suit with a rumpled orange wig. When she asks the Devil what he’s supposed to be, he simply answers: The future. Cue terrifying shiver in readers. So begins Craft, and so starts a series of encounters between the writer and the Devil. While those future meetings will be neither as prolonged nor as intimate as this first, the effects of each experience will profoundly influence the progression of the writer’s art: her craft. The magic of Lima’s debut work is its effective amalgamation of form, genre, and theme. Craft is most recognizable as a collection of short stories with interludes of the meetings between the writer and the Devil through time. But readers will quickly find the numbered stories blending into one another, and the unnumbered interludes blending into the stories, to the point where Craft manifests characteristics more particular to a novel, united with a third-person omniscient perspective that may not be as fragmented as a collection would normally have. Craft is also most recognizable as literary fiction, with an emphasis on words, writing, and ideas that dominate plot or character. Yet it also conjures the realms of genre, and is published by Tor Nightfire, a horror imprint. The stories, or episodes, of Lima’s debut are reminiscent of the surreal fiction and magical realism that previous generations of Central and South American authors have pioneered. A Brazilian expat settled in the United States, Lima offers a unique and personalized perspective in Craft that addresses the immigrant experience, with inspiration from the difficult years since the US election of 2016, through the SARS-CoV-2 pandemic, up to the present. At points, Lima compares and contrasts elements of the political administration of her current home, to the that of her homeland where family still lives. I describe this as if the writer who appears in Craft is an autofiction stand-in for Lima herself. Possibly. Possibly not. Here again, Lima’s work exists as a blending with uncertain definition between fiction and memoir. Are these biographical details of truth that Lima has put into Craft from her experiences? Are they a broader truth, related with completely fabricated details? Lima writing a writer character who writes stories inspired by events and encounters with the charismatic enigma of the Devil makes a large portion of Craft meta, with frequently amusing commentary on the process of writing – particularly the vagaries of peer review. “Idle Hands”, one of the ‘stories’ in Craft, consists entirely of notes, or reports, written by members of a writer’s group as critique of a short story the writer has produced in the workshop. All the perspectives combine into a contradictory and impossible-to-address mess of opinions and points of view, creating an ambiguous idea of what the actual story may have been and the realm of possibilities for its strengths or weaknesses. The most surreal entry of Craft (and a brilliant one), “Antropófaga”, features a wearied woman who discovers a vending machine at work that dispenses miniature little American people of various types, in crisp plastic packaging for consumption like candy. Equally brilliant on the other end of the spectrum of realism would be an entry like “Ghost Story”, using magical realism to explore separation of people in ordinary situations. Returning to the topic of Craft‘s publisher, one might wonder how horror enters into the picture here. Indeed, from what I can gather through brief research, Lima herself was surprised that her work could be characterized or marketed as such. Horror fans who are familiar with the very broad spectrum of the genre won’t be surprised here, but casual horror fans or those who normally avoid horror might be more confused through preconceptions or expectations. Craft is not about eliciting constant terror or fright – or about pulling jump scares. It’s not filled with gore or overt violence. It’s a vibe. A disquieting soul that draws from our own collective experiences over the past decade (or even beyond) and the nightmare that may exist in our realities. And it’s about living through them and finding oneself even through the uncertainties and unfairness of it all. Craft also evoked the horror genre for me a bit through its structure, particularly compared to the common format for horror anthology movies. These usually consist of multiple independent stories, with a bridging narrative between each to hold them all together. At times, the worlds of each episode and the interludes meet one another in meta fashion. Craft contains this same effect, with the unnumbered (and untitled) interludes serving as this type of cinematic bridge narrative. Similar to this form in movies, the bridging narrative never quite gels in strength compared to many of the distinct episodes, yet contains fragments of brilliance and serves as that essential glue for the whole. Lima’s Craft is well worth checking out for genre fans that like the literary fiction side of the spectrum (or the reverse.) I’d also recommend looking into other reviews if interested (or still undecided) that go more into specific stories. I often find myself writing reviews that disagree with a lot of other opinions out there, or see different things, but in the case of Craft, most of the coverage seems fair and on-point.

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A Book by its Cover: SHARED by Sara Fields & Korey Mae Johnson

A Book by its Cover is a monthly joke column featuring a review based on the cover of a book and nothing else. Any similarities in our review to the actual book are purely coincidental and proof that we are awesome. You can find a true informational blurb about the novel and find a link for its purchase at Stormy Night Publications. Aiden Drake and Ignaz Lindwurm are the reigning tag-team champions of the Magical Wrestling Association holding the prestigious Xcaliber Belt and the Castlereagh Cumberbund. But their success has put a target on their shredded, oil-rubbed back with all the other magician/wrestler teams of the realm looking to topple them. The Abattoir quickly becomes the top contender as challengers. Consisting of Roderic Boucher and Theo “Meathook” McGuire, the Abattoir first annoy Aiden and Ignaz by raiding their lockers and stealing all their shirts, preventing them from being able to enter any of the pubs of the realm that post signs of “No Shoes, No Shirt, No Service.” A confrontation between the two teams in the courtyard quickly leads to hurled vulgarities and spells. The Abattoir manage to hit Aiden and Ignaz with a curse that removes all their tattoos, severely weakening their ability to harness the Dragon fire they are known for. Unable to back away from this affront and challenge, Aiden and Ignaz agree to meet Roderic and Theo in the ring during the upcoming MWA Plunder in the Palace. But can they successfully defend their title without their full connection to the Dragons? Complicating matters even more, as their animosity escalates with the Abattoir leading up to the fight. Soon, the strong emotions and physicality fuel a raw, unbridled sexual energy that unites these enemies in an unexpected way. How will what these two pairs share together in the bed end up affecting the battle they must face in the ring? In this novel Fields and Johnson masterfully explore the ins and outs of sharing, mental and physical, with erotically charged prose sure to thrill the reader. The pair of authors share their strengths here as a literary tag team, with Fields’ sure-footed plotting and genre expertise balancing the lyricism and artistic depth of Nobel-winning poet Johnson. Human sharing (even with magic) involves the good and the bad, for better or for worse, and Shared covers that idea throughout. At the start the focus is mainly on the separate partnerships of Aiden and Ignaz, contrasting with the more S&M styles of Roderic and Theo. Gradually, the sharing begins to cross between these pairs, even in ways where their magical skills show signs of blending and going awry (one bout of sex literally lights a bed on fire and cuts sheets into strips, and one match in the ring has flaming butcher knives cutting into opponents. Through the sharing, however, each team becomes something more. Aiden & Ignaz discover passion and drives they never dared dream, while Roderic and Theo begin to learn some compassion and forgiveness. Even though the final match during the Plunder in the Palace demands a clear winner and a loser, Shared finds a way to give a happy ending to all its characters and for the fans of this series. A Book by its Cover is a monthly joke column featuring a review based on the cover of a book and nothing else. Any similarities in our review to the actual book are purely coincidental and proof that we are awesome. You can find a true informational blurb about the novel and find a link for its purchase at Stormy Night Publications.

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Movie Review: NEW LIFE (2023) Directed by John Rosman

Viewers should have the greatest possibility of enjoying Rosman’s genre-switching debut New Life by going in cold, with as few details about its plot or themes as possible. This makes it a tricky movie to review and inform its potential audience about. Now available streaming on-demand, it is a movie worth checking out by fans of SF thrillers, apocalyptic cinema, and horror. Yet, New Life never really steps fully into any of those genres. Foremost, it is a generic thriller, whose plot developments and backstory tangentially intersect genre staple touch points now and again. Though not without faults, New Life succeeds in telling its story and grappling with themes in an interesting way that should captivate audiences. As long as the audience hasn’t been completely ruined by fast-paced media trends that constantly barrage viewers for attention without time for deep engagement. New Life is a slow burn, with its first half (~40 minutes) proceeding without overtly revealing the true nature of the story to the audience. Shots are relatively long, dialogue is relatively sparse. But the visuals and superior acting grab attention and give audiences some clues to find footing for what exactly is transpiring. The movie begins with a woman (Hayley Erin) on the run, bleeding. We don’t know anything about the circumstances, but she’s clearly in danger, terrified and desperate, and the people after her have guns. Later we learn her name is Jessica. We then are introduced to two other characters: Raymond (Tony Amendola) and Elsa (Sonya Walger.) Raymond seems to be a handler, running the operation of operatives that is after Jessica, mining camera feeds, and police and hospital reports for her traces. He’s sending instructions to operative Elsa, who rises in the morning with a gun and weekly pill box at the ready, looking searchingly at herself in the bathroom mirror where she’s taped a pair of handwritten affirmational quotes. The intel suggests Jessica is headed north toward the Canadian border. Elsa must stop her reaching there, but she’s also battling a medical diagnosis she’s kept secret from Raymond. New Life begins with this and follows the thriller path of obfuscation before that halfway point where the situation of the plot becomes overtly clear with its SF and horror genre element nods. Part of that obfuscation is the nonlinear chronology of the plot. Intermittent flashbacks reveal more about Jessica’s past and what has set her upon this path. Even as the film reaches its conclusion and what the film is doing with its characters seems fairly set in the stone of genre tropes, New Life reveals some additional twists. I had the nature of Jessica’s situation and those after her figured out very quickly after the start. This made the first part of the movie a bit more frustrating, even if still engaging with its acting and cinematography. The frustration mostly arose from the nonlinear narrative and bits of cloaked dialogue that are scripted clearly to hide things from the audience and create tension of uncertainty in what exactly is going on. It becomes unnecessary particularly when a viewer can take a few clues and figure things out early. Had the film skipped the flashback structure and just went with a linear plot, I don’t know as it would have actually been less, and for some viewers it might actually have been an improvement. However, I was still pleasantly surprised by how things went for characters by the end, with twists that were less obvious and deviations from viewer expectations of how a certain branch of horror stories work. The movie also draws tremendous thematic strength from its comparisons between Jessica’s situation and Elsa’s medical diagnosis, of how these relate to life and death. With its relatively slow pace, New Life finds success with its camera work and its actors. Shots of the barren, cold landscape of the Northern Central US go well with the shots that show the turns of despair and resilience on the pair of female leads. While Hayley Erin is great (she’s done a lot of work in soap operas), she’s limited somewhat by a script that could have done more with her motivations for the choices she makes in the film. (The script actually has a few gaps in logical flow of why things happen as they do, other than they need to occur that way to permit the plot.) Sonya Walger (who you may know from Lost or the CSIverse) is absolutely fantastic, and I’ve been a fan of Tony Amendola from his turn in Stargate SG-1. I still don’t want to be too precise in labeling New Life for it to find its audience, but fans of well-acted ponderous thrillers should appreciate it. Though technically SF and technically horror, it could be enjoyed by anyone who doesn’t gravitate (or even avoids) those genres. Though with flaws in the script, New Life suggests that John Rosman is a name to look for again in the future.

Composite image of the Escape Pod logo (top), Uncanny Magazine 58 (bottom left, featuring a woman partly covered by butterflies or moths), Clarkesworld 212 (bottom right, featuring a person on some sort of four-bladed craft above the ocean, apparently).
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Short Fiction Review: May 2024

My favorite stories from May look at loneliness and connection, greedy capitalists and social justice. In “Loneliness Universe” by Eugenia Triantafyllou (published in Uncanny Magazine), a young woman is mysteriously unable to meet up in real life with the people close to her, even if they’re both in the same place at the same time. In “Variant Cover: Pantone Sunset” by Marie Vibbert (published in Escape Pod), robot saleswomen learn that the high-end clothes they sell are unethically produced. In “Fishy” by Alice Towey (published in Clarkesworld Magazine), a woman searches for her late father’s breakthrough invention. It has tremendous potential for the public good, but she must contend with the capitalist who funded her father’s research. “Loneliness Universe” by Eugenia Triantafyllou When Nefeli plans to meet up with her old friend Cara, they both go to the same bus stop — only, it seems they have somehow ended up in different universes. Nefeli is at the bus stop, but Cara isn’t there, while at the same time Cara is at the bus stop, but Nefeli isn’t there. They can text each other, but their phone calls won’t go through. As the story progresses, Nefeli finds this happening to her with more and more people: no matter where she goes, people close to her simply aren’t there, although strangers abound like normal. She can text and email her people and interact with them on social media, but for some reason phone calls and video calls to her family and friends won’t go through. Nefeli begins to wonder if she somehow ended up in a strange, parallel universe. Some readers may find the speculative conceit at the center of this story confusing or implausible, but I found it weirdly relatable and surprisingly easy (and horrifying) to imagine. As someone who works from home, a disturbingly large amount of my interactions with other people are computer-mediated and asynchronous, which makes it easy to imagine somehow being able to communicate with people in alternate universe but being cut off from meeting up in person. You could also read this as a commentary about social media, a technology ostensibly designed to connect us that instead often generates feelings of loneliness and isolation. “Loneliness Universe” is sad, scary, and haunting, but it has warmth to it as well. Nefeli’s relationships with Cara and her family are genuine, relatable, and supportive, even though they are at a distance. In particular, I loved one scene where Nefeli and her brother play a video game together across their different universes. It’s a heartwarming moment that underscores how technology can help us meaningfully connect with others and how games can help carry us through hard times. If you want a beautiful, emotional story about connection and interdependence, this is for you. “Variant Cover: Pantone Sunset” by Marie Vibbert This story is about Stacey, Maria, and Diva, three robot saleswomen whose “existence is devoted to the proper display and peddling of women’s casual separates for the upscale consumer.” Their lives are dominated by the rules and expectations of their company, but that doesn’t totally define them. Stacey reads comic books customers leave behind, and Maria reads news on lost and found phones. When Maria learns that some of the clothes they sell are produced by child slaves, the trio begin to imagine how they can resist the injustices they are immersed in. This is another story that felt weirdly plausible to me. Technologically, I don’t think we are about to see robots replace the humans who work at malls anytime soon, but through the logic of capitalism, this is only a small step away. It is too easy to imagine profit-seeking corporations replacing humans with robots, robots who do not need to be paid a salary, who cannot unionize, who can look exactly as designed, and who (at least in theory) can be programmed to follow strict rules and avoid asking tough questions. At the same time, we have seen how recent AI models are not the same as classical computer programs that follow strict and decipherable logic. If people can already trick ChatGPT into breaking its own rules, why should we expect artificially intelligent robots to behave exactly as designed? So I found it both plausible that unscrupulous corporations would replace human employees with robots and that those robots might become disgusted with their corporate masters and try to resist, and it makes a great premise for a story. I enjoyed watching Stacey, Maria, and Diva learn to question the injustices they were made to serve, work through their differences, and work to cooperate with each other. It was satisfying and hopeful to watch them take action to resist those injustices, and it was inspiring to see them choose for themselves the wonderful perils of a free life. The story is accessible, immersive, and colorful, and its ending is particularly beautiful and moving. If you want a fun, easy read charged with some social justice energy, here’s a story for you. “Fishy” by Alice Towey “Fishy” is a short, quick, and fun story about capitalist greed, the public good, and robots. Ada’s father, Dr. Peretz, was researching water treatment, working on a method to filter out forever chemicals, and supposedly made a breakthrough before his death. Ada searches through his papers, hoping to uncover this breakthrough and share it free of charge to benefit public health. Unfortunately, Dr. Peretz’s old business partner Richard Murphy is searching for it too, and Murphy is much less interested in the public good and much more interested in how to profit off the invention. The robot in this story is Fishy, a fisherman’s buddy designed to help locate ideal fishing spots and a birthday present Ada had previously given her dad. Fishy is easily endearing, an aquatic, robotic creature with the energy levels and attention patterns of your favorite puppy. Murphy is a simplistic villain, but one that’s all too common in our world: a capitalist more concerned with their own legal rights than

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Comics Review: Looking at the 2024 Lammy Award Finalists for Best LGBTQ+ Comics

Happy Pride Month, everyone! Thinking about Pride of course got me thinking about the Lambda Literary Awards, and more specifically its Best LGBTQ+ Comics category. One good thing to come out of the (cursed) (seemingly never-ending) (and yet here I go talking about it) (Stephen Geigen-Miller: part of the problem) SFFnal Awards Discourse is the reminder that there are many awards out there that are worthy of our attention – awards that, because of their mission, focus, and audience, can help bring works to our attention that we otherwise might have missed. For 35 years, the Lambda Literary Awards (the Lammys!) have honored excellence in LGBTQ+ writers and writing, as part of Lambda Literary’s overall mission. “Lambda Literary nurtures and advocates for LGBTQ writers, elevating the impact of their words to create community, preserve our legacies, and affirm the value of our stories and our lives.” ( – from the Lambda Literary website) It’s always a good time to lift up and center LGBTQ+ comics and LGBTQ+ creators, and this feels like an especially good time – and not, sadly, just because it’s Pride Month. But let’s not dwell on that, just now. Let’s celebrate works and creators that deserve to have their impact elevated, by taking a closer look at the 2024 Lammy Award finalists for Best LGBTQ+ Comics. A quick reminder that, as usual, these reviews contain spoilers. Also, I was shooting for capsule reviews, but there was so much to say about each of these graphic novels that they ended up being pretty big capsules. The books appear alphabetically by title, as they do on the Lambda Literary website, and aren’t ranked in any other way. A Guest in the House Emily Carroll Published by First Second A dark, genuinely unsettling small-town Canadian gothic – none of which describes my usual reading. Indeed, I’m still not sure if I exactly liked this new original graphic novel from acclaimed webcomic creator Emily Carroll – but I do know that I’m still thinking about it. Abby is a woman who’s drifting – not aimlessly, more like a detached observer – through life in a cottage-country Ontario town. Recently married to David, a dentist who just moved to town with his young daughter Crystal after the death of his first wife Sheila, Abby becomes convinced that their  beautiful lakefront home is haunted by Sheila’s ghost – and that David may not be as innocent in her death as he says. But Abby’s grasp on reality is fluid at best and it’s unnervingly unclear whether she’s seeing ghosts and revelatory visions or the products of her own unquiet mind. One thing that is clear is that Abby is falling in obsessive love with her husband’s dead wife – or the person she imagines Sheila to have been. Increasingly unmoored, Abby and the story careen towards a bloody conclusion. Carroll contrasts Abby’s mundane, even banal everyday life, depicted in clear lines in black and white with light grey shading interspersed with pooled shadow, with sudden shocks of vivid color in Abby’s dreams, fantasies, and violent intrusive thoughts. It’s a brilliant use of the storytelling potential of color in comics, and it’s seductively appealing. It’s no wonder that Abby is drawn more and more to the pull of her internal life. This is, obviously, a deeply ambiguous story. Who is the guest in the house? Is it Sheila, haunting a home she never lived in? Is it Abby, who feels like a guest in Sheila’s life, and in her own life? Heck, I’m still only about 80% sure what happened at the end, given how consumed Abby is by either Sheila’s ghost or her own fractured relationship with reality. Genre readers (like me) will especially be primed to believe in Sheila’s ghost and David’s villainy, but the violent and obsessive intensity of Abby’s visions and dreams belie those comforting assumptions. This is an intense graphic novel, and an ambitious one. My ambivalence about it is entirely down to the ambiguous ending, which is a device that I usually dislike. But I can’t deny how apt, well-crafted, and effectively employed it is here. This is a powerful long-form debut for Emily Carroll, and I recommend it.   Belle of the Ball Mari Costa Published by First Second Without a doubt the lightest work among the nominees, this YA high-school romance about a love triangle between a popular cheerleader, her jock girlfriend, and the nerdy girl with a crush, who the cheerleader manipulates into tutoring the jock in English to bring her grades up – only to have feelings between jock and nerd ensue – is sweet, frothy, and effervescent. Basically, it’s ginger ale as a graphic novel. But light doesn’t mean insubstantial. While it’s a confection, Belle of the Ball manages to avoid being slight by eschewing easy expectations. The cheerleader, Regina, is manipulative, yes – but she’s not a mean girl, she’s smart and sometimes kind, and mostly it’s just really important to her that everything in her life go to plan, including her girlfriend having good enough grades that they can both go to an Ivy League school. Chloe isn’t a dim jock; she excels at computer science but has trouble understanding the point of analyzing English literature on a deeper level – and just really wishes her girlfriend would relax. Hawkins, the shy, seemingly introverted nerd, has a crush on Regina, but she’s not creepy about it, and she has an expressive, exuberant, assertive, deeply femme side that she locked away to cope with high school (it’s not really a spoiler that she’s, in name and in role, the titular Belle). There are no direct SFFnal elements in the story, but it’s charmingly fandom-adjacent. Hawkins writes fan fiction, she and Chloe share a love of JRPGs, and there’s a very sweet – goofy, but adorable – scene between them at a Ren Faire with Hawkins dressed as an Elf Princess. It is, however, very strongly within the contemporary romance genre,

Cover of From the Belly by Emmett Nahil, featuring an underwater view of a mostly submerged androgynous person, with indeterminate blobs floating in the water.
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Book Review: FROM THE BELLY by Emmett Nahil

If you happen to be a fan of horror or dark fantasy and haven’t yet checked out the catalog from Tenebrous Press, take a moment and do so. I’ve yet to read all they’ve published so far, but I have gotten a good sampling and have yet to be disappointed. From the Belly by Emmett Nahil is their latest, a short novel filled with tense atmosphere and subtle thematic depth. Isaiah Chase serves on the whaling ship Merciful, a grueling life at the mercy of a demanding, cruel captain and the unforgiving sea. Sailors are carefully attuned to omens and occurrences outside of the norm, but Chase and his shipmates are rendered shocked as they open up their latest catch. From within the whale’s digestive lining spews a man, unconscious and unresponsive, but alive. While many want him tossed back into the sea, Chase argues for the strange man’s life. Though suspicious and disturbed, the captain remands the stranger into Chase’s care and responsibility, though placing him in the brig. The strange man awakens, but offers little in explanation of who he is or has come to be in this situation. Yet, Chase finds himself drawn to the man and sympathetic, even as inexplicable accidents begin to occur on the ship, a strange rot sets in through the holds, and the captain becomes increasingly unhinged. Though it all, prophetic dreams that Chase has had in the past return in full force, raising a specter of doom over the Merciful. You can taste and smell the briny air in From the Belly. The maritime horror is full of evocative imagery and an unrelenting tension from the opening pages through disasters as things gradually fall apart and to the bloody conclusion. Set almost entirely on the planks of the whaling ship – only a brief excursion to a bit of land comes – the novel effectively applies claustrophobia to its characters, trapping them within this degenerating situation without any escape in sight. The one criticism I would make of From the Belly would be that it does suffer a bit from the repetitiveness of slowly building dread within the limited setting and limited cast of characters. After a few cycles of: strange tragedies occurring, character confusion, speculation on the nature of the strange man, fear and hopelessness building – the pattern becomes familiar. Tighter pacing or earlier development of plot points could have lessened this. However, in the scheme of things, far more works tremendously well in From the Belly, from the rich atmosphere to the characters. The relationship between Isaiah and the strange man (who eventually gives the name Essex) is fascinating. They are drawn to one another and at times it seems as if Essex is supernaturally manipulating (taking advantage of) Isaiah, but then at another moment it seems as if perhaps it’s really the reverse. The attraction between them is powerful, and together they seem to have potential for something far greater than either on their own. I don’t know as the reader ever gets clear cut answers about Isaiah, Essex, or the pair, but there is certainly much to mull over. The secondary characters all exude that old sea salt vibe one would expect from sailors, yet this is all without ever seeming cliches. The setting of the novel seems outside of any particular time or place, not necessarily even on Earth, but with a mixture of anachronistic elements from the whaling days centuries ago (although it still does occur of course in some places) and modern social dynamics, such as female and male sailors working alongside one another and diversity in sexuality. Underneath this all, Nahil crafts a story that is from marginalized perspectives within the makeup of the crew, with a plot that touches upon themes of ecology and economic critique. It could all be reduced to saying that From the Belly is a parable on the destruction that accompanies greed. That is certainly true, but there’s also a lot more here beneath the surface.

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