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Meeting with Medusa cover by Vincent di Fate
Green Mars cover by Vincent di Fate

Tor Double #1 was originally published in October 1988.  This volume marked the beginning of the official Tor Double series. The two stories included, Arthur C. Clarke’s Meeting with Medusa and Kim Stanley Robinson’s novella Green Mars complement each other, although by doing so, Green Mars also points out a weakness of Meeting with Medusa. The volume was published as a tête-bêche, with both covers were painted by Vincent di Fate.

Meeting with Medusa was originally published in Playboy in December, 1971. It was nominated for the Hugo Award and Nebula Award, winning the latter, as well as the Seiun Award.

The novella opens with Captain Howard Falcon commanding a massive airship, the Queen Elizabeth IV, over the Grand Canyon. A collision with a drone camera causes the ship to crash, killing nearly everyone on-board, including the uplifted chimpanzees who served as part of their crew. Although horribly injured in the crash, Falcon survived and spends years regaining his ability to function, eventually returning to his job as a pilot with an audacious plan.

Falcon proposed a mission to fly through Jupiter’s atmosphere. He notes that many probes have been lost in the atmosphere, but believes that he is uniquely qualified for a crewed mission because he can take evasive action if necessary, noting that he was not at the helm when the Queen Elizabeth IV was struck. His proposal seems like a mix of hubris and a need to atone for the loss of the airship. While Falcon’s reasoning may make sense, the decision to fund and permit him to take on the mission seems a little too pat. However, characterization and motivation has never been Clarke’s forte.

Where Clarke excels, and where Meeting with Medusa succeeds, is building a sense of wonder for the reader. Extrapolating from what was known about Jupiter in the years prior to the first flyby, by Pioneer 10 in 1973, Clarke creates an alien world high in the Jovian atmosphere. Buffeted by hurricane force winds, Falcon provides testimony of the miracles of life that are able to exist there, from the enormous and buoyant medusa, named for the tentacles that dangled beneath them, to the ray-like predators that glide through the skies. The size of these creatures, and the requirements for living where they do, mean that Clarke has incorporated aspects of biology that only exist on a small scale on Earth, if at all.

Gardner Dozois commented that Meeting with Medusa “is a bit traveloguish,” but there is more to the story than simply Falcon’s sightseeing through Jupiter’s skies and achieving a sense of closure for the Queen Elizabeth incident. Clarke provides a more specific reason why Falcon may be the right person for the job, but that final revelation feels a little tacked on and Clarke didn’t make full use of it throughout the story.

Forty-five years after its original publication, authors Stephen Baxter, who collaborated with Clarke, and Alastair Reynolds published a sequel to Meeting with Medusa, the novel The Medusa Chronicles, which expanded on the world Clarke described and the character who explored that world.

Playboy cover by an unknown artist
Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine, September 1985, cover by J.K. Potter

The novella Green Mars was originally published in Isaac Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine in September, 1985 and should not be confused with Robinson’s 1993 novel Green Mars. It was nominated for the Hugo Award and the Nebula Award.

Roger Clayborne, who is around 300 years old, has resigned from his position as Minister of the Interior for Mars, a position he has held for 27 years. A member of the Red Party, which championed the maintenance of Mars in its natural state, he has come to realize that his ideology has lost out to the Greens, who have successfully terraformed Mars to an extent that conserving its pristine nature is no longer possible.

In his own attempt to get back to nature, Clayborne signs on with an expedition to climb Olympus Mons, at 22 kilometers, the tallest mountain in the solar system, with a peak that juts out of the planet’s atmosphere. All expert climbers, including a woman Clayborne knew more than 250 years earlier, the trek up the mountain proves dangerous, between the threat of rockfall, weather, and the thinner Martian atmosphere.

Set over the span of several weeks, Clayborne interacts with nearly all of the other members of the expedition in various ways and the expedition leader, Eileen Monday, makes sure to rotate who partners with whom. With a cast of eleven characters, some do get short shrift (only one of the four “Sherpas” is given a last name and none of them are fleshed out), but Robinson does limn out distinctions between most of the characters, from Marie Whillans’ exuberance to Dougal Burke’s quiet competence. Roger’s interactions often depict part of the story, but Robinson makes clear that there are complex relationships behind the scenes.

Robinson also describes the climb in details, introducing the reader to a variety of concepts used to scale mountains and showing that, even with the relatively gentle slope of Olympus Mons, the ascent is difficult, with a lot of climbing and descending as paths and dead ends are discovered and materials are carefully positioned to ensure the expedition’s chance of success. At the same time, injuries happen and must be dealt with, not always in the most obvious ways.

As Clayborne climbs the mountain, the natural beauty and his discussions with the other climbers slowly begins to make him reconsider what it means to be a Red in a world in which terraforming has already taken hold. By the time he reaches the summit, he comes to a conclusion that he can still work to preserve Mars under what he considers to be less than ideal circumstances, but also understands that a terraformed Mars as a beauty all its own.

Both stories are explorations of strange vistas, with Clarke exploring the atmosphere of Jupiter and raising perceptual questions about both the concept of landscapes and life, introducing cloudbanks that were seen as mountains and massive creatures that lived in the atmosphere, never landing. Robinson presented the different layers of Olympus Mons, drawing parallels between mountains and rock formations on Earth with those on Mars as his climbers made the dangerous ascent. However, while both are explorations into the unknown, Robinson also focused on the relationships between the members of his climbing expedition, while Clarke’s protagonist spends most of the story is solitude. The result of this is that the strength of Robinson’s characters highlights the weakness of Clarke’s characters.

Steven H Silver is a twenty-time Hugo Award nominee and was the publisher of the Hugo-nominated fanzine Argentus as well as the editor and publisher of ISFiC Press for eight years. He has also edited books for DAW, NESFA Press, and ZNB. His most recent anthology is Alternate Peace and his novel After Hastings was published in 2020. Steven has chaired the first Midwest Construction, Windycon three times, and the SFWA Nebula Conference numerous times. He was programming chair for Chicon 2000 and Vice Chair of Chicon 7.

It’s been a while since we’ve had the chance to bring you a brand-new convention offering, and in 2025 we’re bringing you two. First up is one of the biggest celebrations of all things spooky, creepy, and downright chilling heading to Chicago for the first time this May. GalaxyCon, the powerhouse of fan events, is bringing its first-ever Nightmare Weekend to the Donald E. Stephens Convention Center in Rosemont, Illinois, from May 2-4, 2025 — and it’s shaping up to be an unforgettable fright fest.

“We’re thrilled to deliver our unique fan experience to Chicago,” says Mike Broder, GalaxyCon’s founder and president. “Our events have brought millions to local economies, and we can’t wait to make a positive impact in this area too.”

Translation? A weekend of scares and a boost to local businesses. Win-win!

Over three days, Nightmare Weekend will transform the convention center into a playground for horror lovers including:

• Over 100 hours of programming: Dive into Q&As, comedy, panels, screenings, gaming, and more.
• Late-night mischief: After-dark cosplay competitions, karaoke, dance parties, and cabaret performances.
• Cosplay galore: Show off your creepiest costumes and compete for glory.
• Tattooing and sinister shopping: Pick up unique merchandise or get inked to commemorate the weekend (will this be the event where I get Chris to go under the needle?).
• And the pièce de résistance? A killer lineup of celebrity guests ready to make your horror-loving heart skip a beat.

Prepare for meet-and-greets, photo ops, and autograph sessions with stars from your favorite films and shows. This year’s nightmare-worthy roster includes:

• Cast members from The Walking Dead
• The hilarious crew of What We Do in the Shadows (that’s a big “Hell yes” from us!)
• Stars of Thanksgiving (because who doesn’t love a horror twist on a holiday?)
• The spellbinding witches of Hocus Pocus
• Icons from slashers like Friday the 13th and Scream VI
• The vampy badasses of From Dusk Till Dawn

Whether you’re a hardcore horror fan or just looking for a fun weekend escape, Nightmare Weekend has something for everyone. Tickets start at just $40 and are available now at GalaxyCon’s website.

Our second new outing comes up a month later in June. The Haunted America Conference is making its spine-chilling return for the 28th year, but covering it is a first for Black Gate Photog Chris Z and I. From June 26-29, 2025, the historic town of Alton, Illinois — often hailed as one of the most haunted small towns in America — will host this legendary gathering at Lewis and Clark Community College.

And before you come for me on this one, we just report what we see for your entertainment. If we only wanted to report facts, we’d go work for the BBC.

Besides, this isn’t your typical fan convention. Founded in 1997 by renowned author and paranormal historian Troy Taylor, the Haunted America Conference offers a deep dive into the world of ghosts, hauntings, and all things unexplained. ​

Here’s a glimpse of what’s in store:

• Engaging Presentations: Learn from leading experts about spirits, cryptids, UFOs, and other mysteries that lurk in the shadows. ​
• Hands-On Workshops: Participate in sessions designed to enhance your investigative skills and understanding of the paranormal.​
• After-Hours Events: For those brave enough, exclusive nighttime activities delve deeper into the unknown.​
• Vendor’s Room: Browse a curated selection of eerie merchandise, from haunted relics to the latest ghost-hunting gear.​

Tickets are available now, with general admission granting access to all main events on Friday and Saturday. For a detailed schedule, list of speakers, and ticket information, visit the official Haunted America Conference website.​

So, stay tuned. We’ll be saving all the receipts.

The Irish writer Brian Moore, who died in 1999 (he pronounced his first name in the Irish fashion — Bree-an) was one of the most interesting novelists of his time, at least based on the four books of his that I’ve read, all of which deal with areas where the supernatural, the philosophical, and the theological intersect and blur into each other.

Catholics (1972) is set in the near future after a hypothetical Fourth Vatican Council has banned private confession, clerical garb, and the Latin mass, while the fictitious Pope of the novel is engaged in negotiating a formal merger of Roman Catholicism and Buddhism, radical changes that are resisted by a handful of monks living on a small island off the coast of Ireland. In The Great Victorian Collection (1975), a scholar dreams of a fabulous collection of Victorian artifacts, and when he wakes up, it has actually appeared in the parking lot outside his California motel room. Who will believe such a thing? Can he believe it himself? Black Robe (1985) is a painstakingly detailed — and bracingly unsentimental — historical novel about the material and spiritual struggles of a Jesuit missionary to the Hurons in seventeenth century Canada.

Cold Heaven (1983) was the first Moore novel I read. That was over thirty years ago, and though the details faded over the decades, I retained a fairly strong memory of the theme and overall shape of the story. The impression that remained the strongest, however, was a feeling of general dislike. Because I very much enjoyed the subsequent Moore novels I read, I’ve often wondered whether my tepid response to Cold Heaven was my own fault; perhaps I just didn’t know how to read the book all those years ago. It was in this frame of mind that I recently reread the novel, reconfirming some of my original impressions and altering others.

Issues of faith and belief are central to all four of these books. Moore was raised a Catholic (and not just any Catholic — an Irish Catholic), though by the time he began his writing career he was no longer a believer. Though faith is a closed issue for most believers and non-believers alike — they’ve just come to different conclusions — for Moore the question is far from settled. Despite his rejection of his religious upbringing, in his books dealing with faith isn’t like picking up a lifeless broom handle — it’s like grabbing a snake. You can never be sure you’ve got a secure hold on it, and you have to adjust your grip constantly, because the thing you’re dealing with is alive, with a will of its own.

Before going any farther, a disclaimer — I am not a Roman Catholic, but I am a Christian, and though I am unable to entirely set aside my philosophical and theological convictions when I read a piece of fiction, I do make a good faith effort to take a writer’s work on his or her own terms. Given the subject of this book, I tried especially hard to assume as “neutral” a position as possible. I will say that Moore didn’t make that easy, which was probably his intention.

Cold Heaven is told (almost) entirely from the point of view of a young American woman in her mid-twenties named Marie Davenport. When the story begins, Marie is on vacation with her physician husband, Alex, in the south of France, where he is attending a medical convention. Marie has decided to leave Alex, an arrogant, controlling, selfish man, for her lover Daniel, whom she has secretly been having an affair with for over a year. Marie hasn’t yet summoned the courage to tell Alex this, however.

Before Marie can bring herself to confront her husband with her decision, Alex is struck by a motor boat while swimming in the Mediterranean and suffers a skull fracture. He is taken unconscious to a hospital, where he dies without ever regaining consciousness.

Things immediately shift from the tragic to the bizarre and inexplicable when Alex’s body disappears from the hospital. Has it just been “misplaced”, or is there something else going on? Marie begins to think the latter when she checks her hotel room and discovers that Alex’s clothing is gone and that someone has used his airline ticket to return to the states. Marie follows and catches up with this person, who turns out to be Alex, very much alive — sort of.

What happened? All Alex knows is that he woke up in the hospital morgue; confused and seized by panic, he fled the hospital and the country. When Marie finds him, he is wildly unstable; sometimes he seems almost normal, but most of the time he swings between combative agitation, and most frightening to Marie, a dull, glassy-eyed affectlessness when he seems little more than a zombie. Physically, his vital signs also go through extreme fluctuations; at times, his pulse and temperature readings are so low as to literally be impossible, and sometimes he seems to again be dead. Alex is apparently helplessly suspended between life and death.

Unwilling to abandon him in this condition, Marie wonders whether her husband is being used to punish her for something that happened a year before, and it is this mysterious event and Marie’s response to it that form the crux of the novel.

Exactly one year before Alex’s accident, Marie had been in Carmel, California for a tryst with Daniel. She had been taking a solitary stroll along the cliffs by the ocean when the figure of a young girl appeared lower down the cliff side, in a spot where it would have been virtually impossible for a person to be. Bathed in an eerie, unearthly light, the girl called Marie by name and told her, “I am your mother. I am the Virgin Immaculate.” She also instructed Marie to tell the priests of this encounter, because that spot must become “a place of pilgrimage.” These pronouncements were immediately followed by lightning and thunder, after which the figure faded away.

Such an experience would startle and discomfit almost anyone, but it especially shakes Marie, and for a very good reason — she’s an atheist who has nothing but hatred and contempt for religion and mistrust and suspicion for religious people.

Marie’s mother was a barely-practicing Catholic and her father wasn’t religious at all. When her mother died, Marie’s father put her into a Catholic boarding school in Montreal simply to have the girl out of his hair. She hated it there and never forgave her father for ignoring her pleas and abandoning her in a place that tried to indoctrinate her in an unwanted faith. (A convent of the same order as the despised school is in Carmel, near the spot where Marie saw the apparition.)

In the year between her experience in California and the disaster in France, Marie has gone about her life as if the vision never happened; not only did she not tell any priests about it, she has never told anyone else, either. She treats this possible encounter with the divine as if it were a shameful, dirty secret.

Alex’s accident and his strange condition coming exactly one year later — can it just be a coincidence? Marie thinks not; she very much fears that she is being punished for her disobedience, and that her husband is a kind of hostage, that through him she is being compelled to obey the apparition’s directions. She finally speaks to a sympathetic member of the Catholic clergy, Monsignor Cassidy, a cautious, commonsense religious bureaucrat who is nevertheless not insensitive to higher things. Marie’s main concern is not to be publicly implicated or involved in any way in this situation, whatever the church decides to do about it.

As Monsignor Cassidy tries to decide how to handle this situation (he would much rather be swimming or on the links) and Alex continues to lurch between extremes, Marie frantically tries to escape something that she can only think of as a trap; seeing herself as a victim of unseen forces, she suspects every word spoken, every action taken by anyone she meets as a move in a sinister chess game, the object of which is to steal her life from her. With a barely suppressed hysteria, she comes to see herself and everyone else in this drama as little more than powerless marionettes.

Her extraordinary dilemma is finally resolved when the apparition appears again, this time to a nun from the nearby convent. (Marie is present when this happens, but rather than see the vision again she closes her eyes, places her hands over her ears, and flings herself face down on the ground.) As the charge has now been “passed on” to someone else (due to Marie’s adamant refusal?), Monsignor Cassidy assures her that he will completely leave her out of the report that he will make to his superiors. She is free to resume her old life on her own terms.

People are sometimes spoken of as “clinging desperately” to belief; throughout the book, Marie has clung desperately to unbelief, and in the end, she has successfully outrun the Hound of Heaven. At one point, she declares (repeating Catholic doctrine, no doubt unintentionally), “a person has a right not to believe.” Monsignor Cassidy agrees: “I think God has let you go.”

It did not take long for me to remember why I felt a vague dislike when I thought of Cold Heaven — the reason is Marie; she’s a difficult character to warm up to, to say the least. We’re in her head for virtually the entire book, and for the whole course of the story, she’s driven by nothing but fear, hatred, anger, resentment, and suspicion that frequently crosses over into outright paranoia. Even if you think that these reactions are entirely understandable and justified, it’s still extremely unpleasant to be locked up with such a person for two hundred and fifty pages.

She’s also a frustrating character because the above-mentioned reactions and attitudes make her, quite literally, stupid. When she talks to the good-humored and reasonable Monsignor Cassidy or the friendly nuns from the convent, her preconceptions about them and her absolute refusal to concede that their worldview might have anything at all going for it, cause her to be almost literally unable to see them, unable to hear them, unable to understand the simplest things that they say to her, unable to extend them the smallest degree of trust or sympathy. (At one point, when she sees a minister in the hospital, she immediately bristles. She knows that there are always ministers around such places, “bothering people.” It never occurs to her that some people may actually want a minister, may benefit from their presence. If she were told that, she would likely stare blankly; the words wouldn’t even register.)

As she avoids the apparition’s directions, so she avoids any uncomfortable question or issue. She never once confronts the fundamental incoherence of her position, that of thinking that her husband is being threatened and that she’s being blackmailed by something that she doesn’t even believe exists. (Most of the time, she reflexively thinks that some unnamed “they” are forcing her to do what she doesn’t want to do. But exactly who are “they?” A golf-playing prelate and some dirt-poor nuns couldn’t be pulling the strings in a cosmic conspiracy, could they?)

We’re not much better off than Marie, because we never get a clear enough view of this struggle to be able to render a judgment on it — Marie seems to be just a recalcitrant piece of rope in a game of tug-of-war, the real nature of which we never understand, because we never know who’s holding the ends of the rope.

On a more down-to earth level, Marie never understands that she’s just like her hated father, who also would admit no impediments whatsoever to living his life precisely the way he wanted. Likewise, she avoids thinking about the irony of being desperate to save her husband… so that she can tell him that she’s leaving him because she never loved him. (After all, isn’t Alex as much a threat to the life Marie wants to live as any apparition?)

Still, despite its frequently infuriating protagonist, simply taken as an intricate, offbeat thriller, Cold Heaven is often a gripping read. If it ultimately feels somewhat unsatisfactory, that may be because of all the issues that are never addressed, the greatest of which is this — Marie “wins”, in that she successfully rejects the call that was placed on her (which, from everything that we can see, was a genuine one, not a dream, not a hallucination)… but in this context, what does winning mean? Has she really won a hard-fought victory, or has she actually suffered a defeat — one that may have eternal consequences?

That’s the question of questions, but a definitive answer to it can’t be given within the bounds of the story that Brian Moore has given us; perhaps one of the things that he was saying in Cold Heaven is that it’s a question that can’t be answered within the bounds of the “story” that we’re all in, this little life that begins in darkness and ends with a blank wall that it’s impossible to see over.

More now than after my first reading, though, I believe that Brian Moore was canny enough a writer to know what questions his book was posing but not answering, and also to know just what kind of impression Marie is likely to make on readers. I do wonder, though, if it might it not have been better to have given her some corner of herself, however small, that was beguiled — “tempted”, even — by the apparition’s call; it certainly would have made her a less strident, more interesting, more nuanced and sympathetic character. Moore almost certainly considered such a strategy, but we must assume that the Cold Heaven that would have resulted from that change is not the Cold Heaven he wanted to write.

In the end, it might be best to regard this odd, ambitious, unsatisfactory yet haunting novel as a sort of metaphysical nightmare. Some of my favorite books fall into this category — The Man Who Was Thursday by G.K. Chesterton, The Unpleasant Profession of Jonathan Hoag by Robert A. Heinlein, The Third Policeman by Flann O’Brien, The Land of Laughs by Jonathan Carroll, The Arabian Nightmare by Robert Irwin, Typewriter in the Sky and Fear by L. Ron Hubbard, The Mysterious Stranger by Mark Twain, UBIK by Philip K. Dick, and Conjure Wife by Fritz Leiber are some outstanding examples.

These are books in which the face of reality is veiled, and more than that, in which there is a strong implication that we can never pierce that veil, not because of any inherent limitations in our perception but because the appearance of things has been consciously contrived to deceive us. Contrived by whom? Ah, now that’s a question…

In a metaphysical nightmare, not only is there a sense that reality is inexplicable and sinister (that it’s somehow fundamentally wrong), but the characters must also have an overpowering feeling that they are trapped in that warped reality with no possibility of escape; that’s the nightmare aspect of the story. (The nightmares are literal in several of the books I mentioned, Fear and The Arabian Nightmare, especially, and even in Cold Heaven, where Marie begins having terrifying dreams after she first sees the apparition.)

Metaphysical nightmares are the very opposite of comforting, and reading one can give you a chill that can’t be dispelled by turning up the thermostat; certainly they’re not stories that you read for reassurance. Is the world really like that, though — are we actually living in a metaphysical nightmare?  I don’t think so, but I know some people do. (I have to admit that there are days when it’s difficult to disagree with them.) I do know this, though — in a world like that, options are reduced to just a few: faith, despair, madness, or, as in the case of the triumphantly intransigent Marie Davenport, just lower your head, charge forward in your chosen direction, and whatever you do, avoid asking certain questions.

Any Questions?

Thomas Parker is a native Southern Californian and a lifelong science fiction, fantasy, and mystery fan. When not corrupting the next generation as a fourth grade teacher, he collects Roger Corman movies, Silver Age comic books, Ace doubles, and despairing looks from his wife. His last article for us was To Save Your Sanity, Take Steven Leacock’s Nonsense Novels and Call Me in the Morning (or, Why Are Canadians Funny?)

These winged beach rats have opinions. Image by Leila from Pixabay

Good afterevenmorn!

Once again, there appears to be a lot of talk on the various socials about what is and isn’t good ‘art’ (writing, music and actual art) and who is “cringe” for liking what. Of course, for every declarative “cringe” thing, there is a considerable amount of pushback from the folks who like that thing. Heavens, it’s all so very tiresome.

I know I’ve ranted about this, but the proliferation of this nonsense in the past couple of weeks has inspired to repeat myself. Yet again.

I have variously seen angry rants about Sleep Token (a genre-defying band that enjoyed a meteoric rise in the past couple of years), romance novels, fantasy novels, science fiction novels, horror novels, literary fiction, anything in the Warhammer universe, My Little Pony nonsense (yes, even after all this time), and even someone who decided that it’s cliché, boring and stupid for young women to love horses.

Good lord.

Just let people like things.

I can’t believe I have to say this again in the year two thousand and twenty-five.

This Canadian cobra chicken is going to make themselves heard, damn it. Image by Lo Age from Pixabay.

While this is covering a broad list of things that I saw this week, it is especially pertinent for speculative fiction. So many people in speculative fiction try to make themselves feel better about their preferred genre by being absolutely horrendous to other folks for no other reason than their own enjoyment of a different genre. It’s the dumbest thing I have ever personally witnessed.

Listen, everyone is perhaps a little wound-up at present. Perhaps that’s why some folks are overblowing small, personal tastes and attempting to shame or belittle anyone who happens to think differently. I get it. I’m pretty irritable at present, too. Things are less than fun for most people at the moment. If you find yourself getting irrationally irate at a particular take, I’m going to offer you a plan of action.

Ready? Let’s begin.

So, someone likes something you don’t

Before posting your rebuttal, go through this short checklist:

1. Does their liking something you do not materially affect your life at all?

If their obsession with Warhammer 40K intrudes only on your timeline and not in any other part of your life, your best course of action is to simply scroll past and leave them alone.

Now if it is doing some material, genuine harm to you and your life, then yes, feel free to discuss that. It’s rare, but I absolutely do agree that it does happen, and it should be brought to light. But if the only thing wrong with the thing is that you don’t personally like it, just scroll on.

2. Are you perhaps a little hungry?

Suffering from caffeine or nicotine withdrawal? Hold off publicly berating someone for their tastes in science fiction novels or for enjoying romance. Oh, they’re 20 years late to The Lord of the Rings, and you’re so over it? Go eat something. Have a nap. It’s alright. Everything will be a little better when you wake up.

Baby.

3. Did anyone actually ask you?

Was your opinion requested, or were they just sharing something that was giving them joy? If you were asked, by all means tell them your thoughts. Otherwise, hush. No one asked you. Believe it or not, most people couldn’t care less that you believe Sleep Token “isn’t real metal” and “is so overrated,” for example. I doubt anyone who loves fantasy as a genre cares whether or not you find it “irrelevant” and “without intellectual merit.” No need to reply to that tweet of theirs. Just scroll on. And just like that, you’ve not crushed anyone, or ruined a joyous moment, or put something unnecessarily negative out in the world for no reason but to soothe your own misplaced ire.

I know, I know. You think that it’s just so dorky. And? I don’t agree, but let’s pretend it’s objectively so very nerdy in the worst possible way. So what? Let them be a dork. Even publicly. You needn’t bother yourself with correcting them. After all, if it’s true, they’ll just be ignored, and all sad and alone. You’ll be vindicated without so much as lifting a finger. How lovely. And if they’re not ignored, but find a community 0f like-minded folks, even better. Now you’ll be spared from having to deal with all those dorks. They’ll take care of themselves in their own little corner. Go you.

This swallow needs the world to know her thoughts. Image by Kev from Pixabay.

Are you struggling to contain your rebuttal? That’s alright. We’ve all been there. Here’s a possible solution: Write it out. Write in your journal. Or on a blog post (waves). Hell, even make it a Twitter thread. Just don’t @ the person who inspired your tirade, or do it as a linked reply or quote. That way you can vent your weaselly black guts out without ruining anyone else’s day. You’ll feel better, and they’ll be blissfully unaware.

We all need to vent sometimes. That’s alright. Do that.

But I do not, never have, and never will understand the impulse to be horrid to someone sharing a thing that brings them joy just because they shared the thing that brought them joy and it doesn’t bring you joy. Let people like things. Even things you don’t like. The world won’t end. I promise.

When S.M. Carrière isn’t brutally killing your favorite characters, she spends her time teaching martial arts, live streaming video games, and cuddling her cat. In other words, she spends her time teaching others to kill, streaming her digital kills, and a cuddling furry murderer. Her most recent titles include Daughters of Britain, Skylark and Human. Her serial The New Haven Incident is free and goes up every Friday on her blog.

Readers of my weekly column (both of you) know that I quite enjoying giving my opinion on a wide range of topics. I’ll cut the normal ten down to six this time, but it’s been two months since I’ve expounded thus. And that’s at least one month too long, right? So…

It’s the first shelfie of 2025. There’s a list of the eleven prior installments below.

I have three bookcases of fantasy – of which only a couple are science fiction. I just never got into that genre. I am, however, a HUGE Douglas Adams fan.

And I know that three isn’t a lot – I’ve got well over a thousand mystery books I’m the in-house mystery guy, remember? I’ve got a nice selection of fantasy series’, though.

I’ve got Adams’ five Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy novels, as well as the lone Hitchhiker’s short story; and Eion Coifer’s good-enough continuation novel, And Another Thing…

I’ve re-read the Hitchhiker’s series several times. It’s always fun. Coifer’s book was okay, but seemed too long and kinda dragged along. I found listening to the audiobook easier than reading it.

I thought the collection of original radio scripts was a VERY cool read. Definitely a worthwhile book for fans of the novels.

Starship Titanic is briefly mentioned in Life, the Universe, and Everything. It was the subject of a video game (which I played, of course), and there was a lightweight book based on the game, written by Monty Python’s Terry Jones. It’s fine. I think Jones himself reads the audiobook, which I’ve listened to.

The Adams biography by Jem Roberts was a pretty informative read. Neil Gaiman’s Don’t Panic is likewise full of neat stuff to know about Adams. I recommend both for fans who want to learn more about Adams.

I love the humor in The Hitchhiker’s books, and I’ve even crated a couple entries for it, here at Black Gate (links below).

But hands down, my favorite Adams book is Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency. I like the sequel, The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul. But I LOVE the first one. It’s a brilliant private eye novel. I’ve read or listened to the audiobook, several times. It may well be in my Top Ten novels list. Adams’ brilliance is on full display.

The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul is one of my favorite book titles. The story, which involves Thor and the Norse gods, is good, but a definite step down from the superb first novel. Nonetheless, it’s full of more Dirk Gently, and that’s more than good enough.

The BBC did radio plays of each novel. The first is my favorite radio play of them all, and I’ve easily listened to it a hundred times. They took some story liberties with the sequel, but it’s still a fun listen. I have both as one Audible title, and I listen to both at least two or three times a month – often as I fall asleep. Great cast, special effects: all of it.

There’s an unfinished third Gently novel included in The Salmon of Doubt. Simply put, it’s not very good, and I don’t know that finishing it would have made it much better.

I think Adams and Terry Pratchett were brilliant societal commentators and satirists. And terrific storytellers.

If you’ve never read Dirk Gently, or the Hitchhiker’s series, you’re really missing out on some fun!

 

And check out my other Adams posts:

Don’t Panic (All Adams posts at Black Gate in one place)
The Public Life of Sherlock Holmes: Don’t Panic!
The Public Life of Sherlock Holmes: Dirk Gently, Holistic Detective
The Public Life of Sherlock Holmes: Stephen Mangan’s Dirk Gently
The Public Life of Sherlock Holmes: The crappy new BBC Dirk Gently Show
What I’ve Been Watching: A (Britbox) December, 2021
What I’ve Been Listening To: September, 2022
What I’ve Been Reading: September, 2022

And my prior Shelfies posts:

Bob’s Books – Shelfie #1 (Sherlock Holmes #1)
Bob’s Books – Shelfie #2 (Sherlock Holmes #2)
Bob’s Books – Shelfie #3 (Constitutional Convention of 1787)
Bob’s Books – Shelfie #4 (Thieves World, Heroes in Hell)
Bob’s Books – Shelfie #5 (REH, Moorcock, Kurtz)
Bob’s Books – Shelfie #6 (Cook, LeGuin, Gygax, Hardy, Hendee, Flint, Smith, McKillip)
Bob’s Books – Shelfie #7 (Sherlock Holmes #3)
Bob’s Books – Shelfie #8 (McKiernan, Watt-Evans, Leiber, Bischoff, Rosenberg)
Bob’s Books – Shelfie #9 (Hillerman, Monk)
Bob’s Books – Shelfie #10 (U.S. Civil War)
Bob’s Books – Shelfie #11 (Dashiell Hammett)

Bob Byrne’s ‘A (Black) Gat in the Hand’ made its Black Gate debut in 2018 and has returned every summer since.

His ‘The Public Life of Sherlock Holmes’ column ran every Monday morning at Black Gate from March, 2014 through March, 2017. And he irregularly posts on Rex Stout’s gargantuan detective in ‘Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone.’ He is a member of the Praed Street Irregulars, founded www.SolarPons.com (the only website dedicated to the ‘Sherlock Holmes of Praed Street’).

He organized Black Gate’s award-nominated ‘Discovering Robert E. Howard’ series, as well as the award-winning ‘Hither Came Conan’ series. Which is now part of THE Definitive guide to Conan. He also organized 2023’s ‘Talking Tolkien.’

He has contributed stories to The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories — Parts III, IV, V, VI, XXI, and XXXIII.

He has written introductions for Steeger Books, and appeared in several magazines, including Black Mask, Sherlock Holmes Mystery Magazine, The Strand Magazine, and Sherlock Magazine.

You can definitely ‘experience the Bobness’ at Jason Waltz’s ’24? in 42′ podcast.

Days of the Dead Chicago

Fittingly, last week Black Gate photog Chris Z and I attended the Days of the Dead convention in Chicago for our thirteenth year. This is one of our favorite shows as the hotel venue is more intimate and less daunting than some of the mega-conventions, and the celebrities aren’t sequestered behind curtains unless guests pay. Though it is smaller and less frantic, it still attracts an interesting, albeit local crowd, and we never fail to meet memorable people.

Arriving a tad early from our respective day jobs, we kicked off this outing in our standard fashion. It stands to reason that upping our blood alcohol levels before wading in offers some measure of protection from the potential of infection that naturally comes with crowded hotel conference rooms – and it’s so much more fun than antibacterial.

Kicking off Days of the Dead in standard fashion

​Days of the Dead is a fan-driven horror convention that was established in Indianapolis in 2011 with the aim of creating a welcoming social gathering for horror enthusiasts; moving away from the impersonal “pay-and-go” autograph shows that had become prevalent. The event quickly gained popularity, leading to its expansion into multiple cities across the United States, including Chicago in 2012, Los Angeles, Louisville, Atlanta, and Las Vegas.

The convention’s primary goal is to offer fans an immersive experience, featuring special events tailored specifically for attendees, an active after-hours scene with horror-themed parties, and a diverse guest list that includes celebrities, artists, and independent filmmakers. This approach has set a new standard for what a horror convention weekend can offer. ​

We had some memorable celebrity chats when DotD came through Chicago in November, but the March show was a tad light on people of interest. To be fair, the Revenge of the Nerds reunion attracted a crowd, but this was mainly due to the other movies the actors had appeared in. So off Chris Z and I went to uncover some new creators to share with you and boy did we hit pay dirt.

Comic creator Kevin Fitzgerald New Comic Series – Frankenslaves

We couldn’t help but be impressed with a graphic story that picks up precisely where Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein left off, bringing it all the way into the future. Written by brothers Kevin and Matt Fitzgerald, with illustrations and color by Anna Engelbold, this wonderful, satirical comic blends horror, science fiction, and social commentary into a visually striking narrative. We also love it when creators do trailers for comics so check it.

Set in a dystopian future, the story explores a world where corporations and governments have pushed human exploitation to its grotesque limit; literally stitching together ideal workers from various parts of society to create the ultimate labor force: the Frankenslaves. These reanimated, hybrid beings are engineered for obedience and efficiency, stripped of individuality and free will.

At the heart of the comic is a resistance movement that seeks to uncover the truth behind the Frankenslave program and restore humanity to those who’ve been turned into corporate property. With an interesting, gritty art style and sharp dialogue, Frankenslaves critiques consumerism, systemic oppression, and the commodification of people, while raising important questions about identity, autonomy, and rebellion. Dark, weird, and unapologetically provocative, Frankenslaves invites readers to look beneath the surface — and ask who’s really pulling the strings.

I absolutely love the Frankenstein tie-in and the masterful reimagining of the story for a new audience. Thankfully I scored the first three issues at the show (Thank You Kevin!) but am now nail-biting for issue 4. Frankslaves is available for purchase online and where comics are sold.

Ms. Guzman and her wonderful dollies Freaky Merlina Dolls

Let’s be frank – dolls are kind of creepy anyway, but Nohora Guzman’s dolls are definitely freaky. Each little dolly is handmade, meaning no two are alike. Standing 14” tall, the details such as miniature skull embellishments and incredible outfits makes each piece a work of art, and so much more relatable than Barbie. You can adopt your own at Guzman’s Etsy store for around $50.

Writer/Director Richard Burgin Fang: The Movie

Back at DotD in 2021, we first told you about the indie film Fang. Richard Burgin is the writer and director of this tasty horror flick set in Chicago which at that time was in post-production.

We are thrilled to report that since then, Fang has garnered significant acclaim in the independent film circuit, securing multiple awards and nominations. ​

Midwest Monster Film Fest (2023)

Best Actor: Dylan LaRay
Best Actress: Lynn Lowry
Best Director: Richard Burgin​

The Shawna Shea Film Festival (2023)

Best Performance: Dylan LaRay and Lynn Lowry​
Best Genre Feature: Richard Burgin and Robert Felker​

FANtastic Film Festival in San Diego

Received eight nominations and secured one award.​

Milwaukee Twisted Dreams Festival

Earned five nominations and won four awards.​

In total, Fang achieved 13 film festival awards and received an additional 15 nominations, reflecting Burgin’s strong impact and recognition within the indie horror community.

Check out the trailer and then watch Fang on Amazon Prime Video.

Horror Author John S. McFarland’s The Black Garden and The Mother of Centuries

Horror novel? Check. Historical setting? Check. Deep south mythos? Check and check.

Honestly, there was no way I wasn’t going to fall in love with John S. McFarland’s storytelling given that his tales hit on all my favorite things. McFarland’s short stories have appeared in numerous journals and have been featured in anthologies such as A Treasury of American Horror Stories. His writing has garnered praise from esteemed authors like T.E.D. Klein and Philip Fracassi, with some referring to him as “a great, undiscovered voice in horror fiction.” ​

Author John S. McFarland

In 2010, McFarland published his debut horror novel The Black Garden, which received universal acclaim. The novel is set in the fictional town of Ste. Odile, Missouri, a setting inspired by his family’s deep-rooted connection to the old French Mississippi River town of Ste. Genevieve.

The year is 1882, and Perdita Badon-Reed, a sheltered Boston aesthete, has just made the most momentous decision of her life. Having spurned a respectable suitor, she finds herself on the Mississippi River, steaming toward the strange French Colonial village of Ste. Odile to accept a teaching position at a girl’s academy and pursue her dream of becoming a stone sculptor. Of the many hardships that await her, the one she least expects looms in the form of Orien Bastide, an incubus, who has conducted his seductive and parasitic existence for two millennia. Perdita soon realizes the full horror of Bastide’s intentions, and that she alone has the will to stop him. In order to defeat the treacherous Bastide and save future generations from his predations, Perdita must abandon her personal ambitions, and perhaps her life.

The sequel, The Mother of Centuries, picks up the haunted thread decades later, pulling readers even deeper into the legacy of Ste. Odile’s cursed past.

I’ve only just started reading The Black Garden and I love McFarland’s slow-burn dread-building. You can find it along with The Mother of Centuries as well as McFarland’s other works on Amazon.

Days of the Dead has a full schedule of events in the coming year, all with their own celebrity lineups and vendors, so there’s a chance one is happening near you. Check out:

• Indianapolis: June 13-15
• Phoenix: July 11-13
• Chicago: November 21-23
• Indianapolis: December 5-7
• Las Vegas: January 16-18, 2026
• Atlanta: February 20-22, 2026

Prey for the Devil (Lionsgate, October 28, 2022) Prey for the Devil (2022) – Crave (Max)

Remember how The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy‘s entire description of Earth is ‘mostly harmless’? Well, that’s how I’d describe this one. The director, Daniel Stamm, pumped new life into the genre with The Last Exorcism in 2010, but because this film is aiming for that tasty 13+ rating, most of its teeth have been removed.

That said, I liked the idea of the male-dominated world of the church being upended by a nun who has a gift for connecting with possessed patients, and the whole conceit of modern possession running so rampant that the Vatican has set up exorcism training centers is rather fun. Sister Ann is the ‘chosen nun’, stoically played by Jaqueline Byers, and the rest of the cast is great, with Colin Salmon and Ben Cross adding some gravitas to the whole shebang. Sister Ann has quite a few demons of her own to deal with, and it isn’t long before we realize that everything going on in the film is directly for her. There are no surprises here.

There are some genuinely creepy visuals here and there, but Stamm relies too much on jump scares (hampered by the intended rating).
Still, not horrible, but nothing outstanding. Mostly harmless. 6/10

Exorcism (Profilmes, March 10, 1975)
and The Exorcist: Believer (Universal Pictures, October 6, 2023)

Exorcism (AKA Exorcismo) (1975) – Tubi

The more observant among you will notice that this Spanish production came out two years after The Exorcist, and why not? Priests and pea soup were all the rage back then. Cunningly, Exorcismo was released in Spain *before* The Exorcist, thus making Friedkin and Blatty look like a couple of rip-off artists.

This one stars fan-favourite Paul Naschy as pipe-smoking priest, Father Dunning, a laid-back man of the cloth who has had brushes with Old Nick in the past. Naschy is a dead ringer for John Belushi in this film, and I do enjoy watching him when he is playing a good guy.

Story-wise, some hairy hippies get satanic in a cave, and this leads to a young woman, Leila (played well by Grace Mills), eventually getting possessed by the demonic spirit of her dead dad. It’s a bit of a slow burn to get to the actual exorcism (which takes place in the last 10 mins), as the film takes a giallo turn with a plethora of grisly murders (real head-turners), a pervy chauffeur, African voodoo, and fingers pointed everywhere except at Leila.

Eventually, it’s up to Dunning to confront the possessed woman and do his thing.

There are plenty of obvious Exorcist influences in the film, with a few similar scenes, but this one is fun to watch due to hilarious dubbing (couldn’t find a streaming Spanish version) and copious bosoms.

Trigger warning for dog lovers — there is a good boy called Borg in this film, and his assimilation does not go smoothly. 6/10

The Exorcist: Believer (2023) – Prime

We’ve reach the much maligned attempt to reboot the ‘Exorverse’ using the team that had some hit and miss success with the new Halloween trilogy.

Having watched it, I can understand the scorn poured upon it.

It’s the age-old possession tale, but this time there’s two! Therein lies the problem. Despite the use of Tubular Bells, and the shoehorning of some old favourites, this has as much to do with the original film as any old bit of guff you might find on Tubi (Exorcist: Vengeance, Exorcist: The Awakening, Exorcist: Butter Sculpture, etc). In lieu of actually focusing on an exorcist, you might think the film would focus on the ‘believer’ of the title, but it’s hard to pin down who that is supposed to be. The film is coded for the principal protagonist to be Tony, played well by Leslie Odom Jr., but he is actually an unbeliever, until it becomes necessary for him to start thinking all the mumbo jumbo is true. This could have been an awesome film if it just focused on him and his lack of belief, and his need to find faith to save his daughter, but the film is stuffed full with other bland characters, diluting the story.

As for the demonic girls themselves, I didn’t like the makeup, but some of the effects were quite interesting.

I was bored until the last 30 mins, and even then the number of useless folks standing around during the actual ‘exorcism’ weakened it to the point where I wasn’t invested in any of the characters.

I felt for young Regan. I couldn’t care less about this bunch. 4/10

Jessabelle (Lionsgate, November 7, 2014)
and Ghostwatch (BBC, October 31, 1992)

Jessabelle (2014) – Prime

Here’s a glimpse into the alchemy that goes into me writing these nonsense reviews. I found a couple of Blumhouse productions; both 90 mins long, one starring Sidney Sweeney (Nocturne) and one starring Sarah Snook (this one — spoiler alert). I watched both trailers to get a sense of which one I wanted to watch, and as intrigued as I was by the Nocturne storyline, it really felt like it was aimed at the Euphoria audience, not a crusty musty old fart like me.

So here we are.

Jessabelle is the story of a young woman who loses her boyfriend, her baby, and the temporary use of her legs in a car crash, and ends up having to live with her estranged father on a vast and soggy tract of land in Louisiana. Jessie (Snook, brilliant) never met her mother, who died from cancer shortly after she was born, but while rummaging around her deceased mom’s bedroom (her new room), she finds a stack of video tapes, addressed to her from her dead mom. Naturally, she plays one, and mom gets downright spooky with a taped tarot reading — from that point on it’s Haitian shenanigans ahoy as a potentially malevolent spirit starts getting all up in her wheelchair. It’s a solidly made film with excellent performances, and my only gripe is with the denouement, which is spewed out like Sherlock Holmes after a line of Afghan fairy dust.

Still, it’s a decent effort, and lands on the ‘good’ side of the Blumhouse production legacy. 7/10

Ghostwatch (1992) – Prime

Here’s the weird thing. I have no recollection of the hysteria caused by this mockumentary, and in fact I’ve never seen it before (although I was aware of it). I wonder if it coincided with a Halloween party I threw with my then landlord in Wimbledon. Anyhoo, folks seem to like it a lot, so I had to take a look.

I suspect non-Brits get more of a kick out of this film than us limeys who grew up watching these real-life presenters. Parky was an inspired choice to host it, as he was already a well-respected interviewer, and his Yorkshireness would not put up with any bull.

Sarah Greene was the first crush of many youngsters during her time on Blue Peter, and she is definitely the MVP in this. Mike Smith was a bit of a potato, and Craig Charles was hilarious — he elicited the biggest laugh out of me when he manhandled the trick-or-treater at the end.
The rest of the cast was fair to middling, but they can be forgiven for any stilted deliveries due to the fact that this was, of course, basically a television play.

I did like the story, and was surprised how dark it really got toward the end. Also, the occasional flashes of ‘Pipes’ reflected in doors and mirrors was excellent, and really added to the atmosphere. A fun watch. 8/10

Verónica (Sony Pictures International, August 25, 2017)
and Suitable Flesh (RLJE Films/Shudder, October 27, 2023)

Verónica (2017) – Netflix

My penultimate film is Verónica, a Spanish film directed by Paco Plaza (REC and REC 2, Sister Death) loosely based on a true event in which a girl died after after performing a séance at a school in Madrid with her friends. Plaza keeps the film grounded enough for the truth to be ambiguous — did the spooky stuff happen, or was it all in her head?

Either way, he has constructed an effectively chilling story, beautifully shot and wonderfully acted. The lead, Sandra Escacena, is excellent as Verónica, and her young siblings are portrayed by some of the best child actors I’ve ever seen. Truly believable, and cute as a button, which makes the ongoing threat to them even more distressing. After the séance, Verónica begins to suspect that an evil entity has possessed the house (or possibly herself), and we are witness to her unravelling over a nightmare-riddled three days. The mom is mostly absent due to wok, so 14-yr-old Verónica must assume all of her duties, plus survive middle school. It’s an awful situation, and your heart bleeds for their family.

The supernatural elements were creepy and unsettling, and only relied on jump scares once or twice — the rest of the horror comes from the pervasive sense of doom. Great stuff. 8/10

Suitable Flesh (2023) – Prime/AMC+

I showed great restraint in waiting to watch this one, as I really like Joe Lynch as a director (Wrong Turn: Dead End, Mayhem), Dennis Paoli (Re-Animator, Dagon, From Beyond) returned to write it, and it stars Barbara Crampton, who seems to be eternal.

Bottom line — I loved it. I thought Lynch really nailed the 80s Lovecraft adaptation aesthetic, down to the score, the dutch-angles, the cheesy one-liners and the excessive gore. Heather Graham was perfect as Dr. Beth Derby, a psychiatrist who becomes entangled in the life of a disturbed young man, Asa Waite, played well by Judah Lewis. It isn’t long before she is thoroughly on the road to madness (is it madness though? Aha!), and much murder and body-swapping ensues.

Lynch peppers the film with stunning set-pieces (my favourite being the rear camera shots on the car), and enough erotica to make the puritanical Lovecraft quite queasy (H.P. sauce, if you will). The Old Ones among you will notice some familiar names and locations (Miskatonic among them), and it will soon be apparent this is an adaptation of a favourite HPL story, ‘The Thing on the Doorstep.’

Some relocation and gender-swapping has taken place in the retelling, and this is perfectly in line with the film’s theme. In fact, Lynch and Paoli have also managed to sneak some other pertinent themes in, not least of which is the importance of female body autonomy.

A glorious way to finish this watch-a-thon. 9/10

Previous Murkey Movie surveys from Neil Baker include:

What Possessed You? — Part I
What Possessed You? — Part II
Fan of the Cave Bear
There, Wolves
What a Croc
Prehistrionics
Jumping the Shark
Alien Overlords
Biggus Footus
I Like Big Bugs and I Cannot Lie
The Weird, Weird West
Warrior Women Watch-a-thon

Neil Baker’s last article for us was Part II of What Possessed You? Neil spends his days watching dodgy movies, most of them terrible, in the hope that you might be inspired to watch them too. He is often asked why he doesn’t watch ‘proper’ films, and he honestly doesn’t have a good answer. He is an author, illustrator, teacher, and sculptor of turtle exhibits. (AprilMoonBooks.com).

The Other Sky cover by Thomas Kidd
The House in November cover by Mike Embden

Between October and December of 1969, Keith Laumer’s novella The Seeds of Gonyl were published as a serial in the magazine Worlds of If. The story was published the following year in a hardcover by G.P. Putnam & Sons under the title The House in November, and in 1971 as a paperback by Berkley Medallion.

In 1981, Tor reprinted the novel as part of its “Jim Baen Presents” series, but, apparently deeming the novel too short, it paired it with Laumer’s story “The Further Sky,” which had originally be published in the December 1964 issue of Amazing Stories. That story had also undergone a name change and appeared as “The Other Sky” in various reprints, including its appearance with The House in November.

When Tor Books reprinted the volume in 1985, they included a shield on the cover identifying the book as a “Tor Double.” This book may possibly have been created as a dry run or proof of concept for the eventual Tor Double line.  The cover for The Other Sky was provided by Thomas Kidd and the cover for The House in November was provided by Mike Embden, although their credits are reversed on the copyright pages.

“The Other Sky” opens with Vallant having a run-in with the Niss, an alien race that is working in collaboration with humans, although immediately after, he finds an old man in his apartment. The stranger not only claims to have been one of Vallant’s comrades several years earlier (although Vallant has no memory of the man or the situation he describes), but also warns Vallant against the Niss before disappearing through a secret panel in Vallant’s apartment.

When Vallant tries to follow the old man, who discovers he has been killed by the Niss, but he also finds himself taking responsibility for Jimper, an intelligent creature. Jimper confirms what the old man had told Vallant about the Niss, but takes it a step further, claiming to be an ambassador from the King of Galliale to the Humans to form an alliance against the Niss.

Vallant and Jimper flee and find themselves among Jimper’s people on Pluto, although Jimper is not greeted in the manner in which he expects. Although neither Vallant or Jimper understand what is happening, either with the humans, the Niss, or the Gaillialans, Laumer has left enough clues that the reader has a pretty good idea what must happen for all of the pieces to come together. The addition of a portal to another world only helps seal the deal.

However, the quick sequential scenes don’t allow Laumer to fully build the characters or their situations, giving “The Other Sky” the feeling of an outline for a longer work, which means the story is ultimately disappointing and unsuccessful.

For a modern reader, Jimper’s manner of speaking in the third person has the same cadences as J.K. Rowling’s house-elf, Dobby, which bring images to mind as the novel progresses which may not be fair or accurate to Laumer’s portrayal.

Amazing Stories cover by Robert Adragna
Worlds of If cover by Jack Gaughan

The House in November follows Jeff Mallory through a post-war Nebraskan landscape, although the nature of the war is ill defined. At the beginning of the novel, Mallory is awaking from a fugue state. Although he has memories of working in the Miller Building, his wife, Gillian, insists they both work in the Star Tower. In addition, Gillian has no recollection of their oldest child, Lori, or a house in the country where they have spent their time. Leaving he house, he discovers that everyone in town seems to live in the same alternative world Gillian exists in and he flees into the countryside.

As he travels, Jeff discovers that there has been some kind of invasion which has depopulated most of the United States. He comes across small bands of refugees, most of whom are not hospitable t a stranger, although along his travels he connects with Sally, one of his daughter Lori’s friends, and they travel together, eventually finding an ersatz army but together by Colonel Strang. Lori appears to be supporting Strang’s army, and Jeff finds himself impressed into service.

Strang is convinced that the Chinese have invaded the United States and set up their base in Beatrice, the town where Jeff has been living. Nothing Jeff can say will make Strang believe that there are Americans still living in Beatrice and there are no Chinese. Eventually going AWOL, Jeff finds others who are convinced the invasion is from Satanic minions. Jeff is positive the invasion is by aliens, based on what he saw in Beatrice before he left. Although Laumer could have played up Jeff’s paranoia, making the reader question Jeff’s conclusions, The House in November is written in a way that makes the reader side with Jeff against any other theories, all of them as bereft of evidence as any of the others.

Eventually, Jeff does learn what is going on and the reader discovers that for all his normalcy, Jeff is not a normal person. He is, in many ways, the Chosen One, which may ultimately allow him to break through the haze that has settled on so many people and show them the truth of the situation, and possibly even find a solution.

Much of The House in November is episodic in nature and Laumer doesn’t spend too much time exploring any of the episodes. He gets out of Beatrice as quickly as possible at the beginning of the book. The scene in which he finds Sally living with a few survivors is over almost as soon as it starts. His encounter with Colonel Strang’s army, including Lori, exists to give him an idea of how different people’s ideas are, but he quickly leaves them behind and manages to avoid capture by Strang’s forces looking for him. Other scenes are similarly brief, which gives the story a rushed and unfinished feel, as if any of these sequences, or characters, could and should have been fleshed out more than they were.

The novella only finds its pacing when Jeff arrives at the titular house and comes into contact with Gonyl, who may be able to provide him with the answers he seeks. Having set up the world, Laumer is now able to explain to Jeff and to the reader what is happening and why Jeff was able to come out of the stupor in which he found himself.

Both stories in this volume suffer from pacing issue, both of them almost feeling as if they are outlines for more detailed novels. Laumer has elected to include several short scenes which hint at the larger concern, failing to fully flesh them out and never quite connecting with the readers, who never really had a chance to immerse themselves in the action. Both stories are tales of invasion by alien forces which are not fully understood by the people who have fallen under the alien’s control.

Steven H Silver is a twenty-time Hugo Award nominee and was the publisher of the Hugo-nominated fanzine Argentus as well as the editor and publisher of ISFiC Press for eight years. He has also edited books for DAW, NESFA Press, and ZNB. His most recent anthology is Alternate Peace and his novel After Hastings was published in 2020. Steven has chaired the first Midwest Construction, Windycon three times, and the SFWA Nebula Conference numerous times. He was programming chair for Chicon 2000 and Vice Chair of Chicon 7.

The Bright Sword (Viking, July 16, 2024)

With no disrespect to J.R.R Tolkien, the King Arthur legend is arguably the  inspiration of much post World War II medieval-based fantasy. You’ve got your out-of-nowhere claimant to the throne, a magic sword, court intrigue, some side stories, romance, sorcery, betrayal but yet a kind of redemption. All the key ingredients.

Sure, Game of Thrones was based on the very real English Wars of the Roses, particularly the also very real violence and death of key personages. But let’s look at the long literary tradition of Arthurian stories: sourced from Welsh mythology and grafted into 12th century British histories more based on fancy than fact, eventually becoming the  Chrétien de Troyes romances and subsequently Thomas Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur. From multiple sources and variations we wind our way through Tennyson’s The Lady of Shallot which in turn inspires various associated fictions, not the least of which includes Mark Twain’s A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court. 

Fast forward to T.H. White’s The Once and Future King and its adaption by Lerner and Loewe musical Camelot (“If ever I would leave you, it wouldn’t be in summer…”).  With the assassination of John F. Kennedy, Camelot became a metaphor for “a shining moment” intervened by fate to extinguish, that nonetheless, like the Christ-like resurrection grafted on to the Arthurian mythos, may inspire future generations. (Only a cynic would make comparisons between Guenevere’s infidelity and Kennedy’s.)

So while the Arthurian narrative is heavily played out by the middle of the 20th century, there’s still more to come.  An extermely short list includes Thomas Berger’s Arthur Rex, The Warlord Chronicles by Bernard Cornwall and, of course, the Monty Python and the Holy Grail movie (inspired in part by the academically disputed contention of Python member Terry Jones that Chaucer’s The Knight’s Tale was actually a satire of a mythical chivalric code and courtly love rather than a celebration of it).

One of my particular favorites is Lavie Tidhar’s By Force Alone, a  political satire in which Arthur is a gang lord, Lancelot a martial arts practitioner, no one is noble of heart, and Arthur’s death is instead of a Christ-like hope for resurrection a comment on the existential insignificance and intransigence of power.

By Force Alone by Lavie Tidhar (Tor Books, August 11, 2020)

Particularly noteworthy is that Guinevere is no mere cardboard supporting character, but more independent woman with agency of her own. This  more modern depiction of women in the Arthurian legend is especially associated with Marion Bradley Zimmer’s The Mists of Avalon retelling from the perspective of Morgaine, who rather than as a one-dimensional evil sorceress is depicted as a sympathetic complex woman during the transition in Britain from paganism to Christianity. Published in the early 1980s and the rise of feminist voices not only in fantasy literature (though, ironically, some critics detect anti-feminist themes in Zimmer’s work, and allegations of sexual abuse by her daughter don’t help) but the larger  zeitgeist, more female-centric retellings of the Arthurian legend followed, such as, most recently, Nicola Griffith’ s Spear and Half Sick of Shadows by Laura Sebastian, as just two examples.

The Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley (Del Rey, May 1984), Half Sick of Shadows
by Laura Sebastian (Ace Books, July 6, 2021), and Spear by Nicola Griffith (Tor, April 9,
2022). Covers by Braldt Bralds, uncredited, and Rovina Cai

So the legend of Arthur has been retold down through the centuries and even with multiple variations and exegesis, we still have the basic uber narrative of a brief realization of an ideal doomed by historical, religious, and insidious forces to failure.  Is there still room for yet another appraisal that just doesn’t rehash the same old same old?

Apparently so. To the extent of 670 pages in Lev Grossman’s The Bright Sword. That’s a lot of Camelot.

I confess that if I hadn’t previously read The Magician’s Trilogy (which perhaps explains why the cover prominently features reference to it, leading some online cataloguers to incorrectly attribute The Bright Sword as part of that series), I might not have picked this up (as a nearly 700 page book makes it hard to do).

Indeed, Grossman himself notes:

I spent most of my life blissfully uninterested in writing anything at all about King Arthur…His story has already been told thousands of time, from every possible point of view… Arthur is also, as it happens, white, middle-aged, heterosexual, and cis-gendered, a point of view that is hardly lacking in contemporary literature.

But by focusing on how the peripheral characters of the Round Table come to grips with a new era  following Arthur’s death (or at least his transport to Avalon following his mortal wounding),  Grossman comes up with a new and fresh angle.

Collum is a gifted knight wannabe (the one character that Grossman makes up) escaping an abusive home whose first kill (and pivotal plot point) is a recalcitrant knight with successful suicidal tendencies.  This occurs as Collum is on his way to fight for a seat at (unbeknownst to him) what’s left of the Round Table band (which isn’t much) following King Arthur’s mortal wounding by his bastard (and product of incest with his sister Morgause, something the juvenile versions of Arthur kind of gloss over) son Mordred at the Battle of Camlaan. Featured surviving bit players include Sir Bedivere, whose devotion to Arthur hides unfulfilled carnal desire, Sir Palomides, a Middle Eastern pagan convert and hunter of the Questing Beast whose particular unrequited love is Iseult of Wagner’s Tristan and Isolde fame, Tristan’s close friend Sir Dinadian, and Sir Dagonet, Camelot’s court jester who is better at joking than jousting.

Don’t worry, Lancelot and Guinevere and the rest of the main cast make cameo appearances, but not as you might expect them. The narrative focuses primarily on the minor characters as they attempt to restore (as you might expect, not successfully) the glory of Arthur’s reign and intentions, with sidesteps into their backstories. As for Arthur himself, well, we already know it doesn’t end well. But it still inspires. As Grossman notes:

King Arthur’s life can only ever end one way, his doom is always waiting for him…of course even after his death Arthur himself is never quite gone. He’s been with us for 1,400 years and counting now and shows no signs of going away. Like Godot he’s always coming, but always tomorrow, never today. He waits, asleep in Avalon, the Fortunate Isle. or under Mount Etna in Sicily, as some other stories have it, dreaming eternally of his homecoming. We dream of it too.

David Soyka is one of the founding bloggers at Black Gate. He’s written over 200 articles for us since 2008. His most recent was a review of State of Paradise by Laura Van Den Berg.

You need a good laugh right now. How do I know this? I know this because I need a good laugh right now. Everyone I know needs a good laugh right now, so it stands to reason that you need one too, doesn’t it?

So… where to go for that much-needed laugh? Well, there are standup specials on Netflix and the other streamers, you’ve got SNL, there are the many late-night topical jokemeisters — all the usual suspects. Now if that stuff really makes you feel better, more power to you; there’s so much of it available these days, you’re in the enviable position of being a kid locked in a candy factory. For me, though, none of those folks can talk for two minutes without referring to you-know-who who lives you-know-where and is up to you-know-what, and I’m sorry, but all that usually ends up making me feel worse.

To maintain minimal sanity, sometimes what I need most is something that will take me to a place that Thomas Hardy (who briefly hosted the Tonight Show after Conan O’Brien was fired) called “far from the madding crowd.” I don’t want something that’s out to earn my approval because it’s correct; I want something that’s out to make me laugh because it’s funny.

Fortunately, several years ago, I found a fabulous device that accomplishes just that. It’s called… are you ready for this? It’s called a book. And that’s not the half of it. It was written by a fellow named Stephen Leacock, and this guy was… I can’t believe I’m saying this… he was… a Canadian.

How can a Canadian be funny? The answer to that is above my pay grade (could it have anything to do with the fact that for the past two hundred and fifty years, Canadians have had a south-facing front row seat at the world’s most outrageous farce… nah, that can’t be it), but I do know that Canadians are funny, and I’ve known it ever since the mid 70’s when I fell head over heels in love with SCTV, which I believe to be the greatest sketch comedy show of all time, despite the fact that it was mostly a product of Canada. I stopped watching SNL over forty years ago, but I still regularly pop in an SCTV DVD; I just watched one last night, as a matter of fact. In any case, even if Bobby Bitman and Lola Heatherton and Johnny LaRue and Bill Needle and Gerry Todd had never existed, you could still win your Canadian Comic Case by offering Stephen Leacock as exhibit A, and if you won’t take my word for it, the man was Groucho Marx’s favorite comic writer — of any nationality. Think about that — he made Groucho Marx laugh.

That’s funny – he looks funny, but he doesn’t look Canadian

And yes, he was really a Canadian; though born in England in 1869, Stephen Leacock lived in Canada from the age of six. He was a resident of Montreal and taught economics at several Canadian universities.

But what you want to know right now is the name of his book, right? The one I’m talking about (he wrote many more) is called Nonsense Novels, and it was first published in 1911. It’s currently available in a few different paperback editions, though the one I have, a nice hardcover from New York Review Books, is unfortunately out of print. I say unfortunately because hardcovers hold up better than paperbacks, and in the time that I’ve had my copy, it’s gotten a lot of hard use. I imagine the same will be true of whatever copy you get your hands on.

Nonsense Novels consists of ten short chapters (each one anywhere from ten to fifteen pages; my NYRB edition is only 159 pages long), and each chapter is a self-contained parody of a nineteenth or early twentieth century popular fiction genre, most of which have been deposited on the ash-heap of publishing, though a few are still alive and kicking. That doesn’t matter, though — the customary devices, the stock characters and situations, the tropes and cliches of each genre have long since been engraved on our cultural memory (through movies, if nothing else) and you’ll have no problem getting the jokes.

So, what we have here are spot-on send-ups of:

The Sherlock Holmesian tale of deduction and ratiocination (Maddened by Mystery or, The Defective Detective), in which the Great Sleuth masterfully assembles all of the clues and comes to the conclusion that the missing “Prince” he’s searching for is not, as he first thought, one of the crowned heads of Europe whose absence will precipitate an international crisis, but is in fact a dachshund whose presence is required at the dog show. He doesn’t locate the animal, but being a master of disguise, a solution easily presents itself to his keen mind: “Rise, dear lady,” he continued. “Fear nothing. I WILL IMPERSONATE THE DOG!!!”

The ghost story (“Q.” A Psychic Pstory of the Psupernatural). “At the moment when Annerly spoke of the supernatural, I had been thinking of something entirely different. The fact that he should speak of it at the very instant when I was thinking of something else, struck me as at least a very singular coincidence.”

A Walter Scott-style hearty historical (Guido the Gimlet of Ghent or, A Romance of Chivalry). “First Guido, raising his mace high in the air with both hands, brought it down with terrible force on Tancred’s mailed head. Then Guido stood still, and Tancred raising his mace in the air brought it down upon Guido’s head. Then Tancred stood still and turned his back. And Guido, swinging his mace sideways, gave him a terrible blow from behind, midway, right centre. Tancred returned the blow. Then Tancred knelt down on his hands and knees and Guido brought the mace down on his back. It was a sheer contest of skill and agility.”

A heart-wrenching story about the trials and travails of a spunky lower-class heroine (Gertrude the Governess or, Simple Seventeen), which begins, “Synopsis of Previous Chapters: There are no Previous Chapters.” The modest charm of the orphaned Gertrude makes her everyone’s favorite: “Even the servants loved her. The head gardener would bring a bouquet of beautiful roses to her room before she was up, the second gardener a bunch of early cauliflowers, the third a spray of asparagus, and even the tenth and eleventh a sprig of mangel-wurzel or an armful of hay. Her room was full of gardeners all the time, while at evening the aged butler, touched at the friendless girl’s loneliness, would tap softly at her door to bring her a rye whiskey and seltzer or a box of Pittsburgh Stogies.”

An inspiring Horatio Alger up-from-nothing success story (A Hero in Homespun or, The Life Struggle of Hezekiah Hayloft). “Such is the great cruel city, and imagine looking for work in it. You and I who spend our time in trying to avoid work can hardly realize what it must mean. Think how it must feel to be alone in New York, without a friend or a relation at hand, with no one to know or care what you do. It must be great!”

A Dostoyevskian drama of living-in-Russia-induced existential madness (Sorrows of a Super Soul or, The Memoirs of Marie Mushenough, Translated, by Machinery, out of the Original Russian). “How they cramp and confine me here — Ivan Ivanovitch my father, and my mother (I forget her name for the minute), and all the rest. I cannot breathe. They will not let me. Every time I try to commit suicide they hinder me. Last night I tried again. I placed a phial of sulphuric acid on the table beside my bed. In the morning it was still there. It had not killed me. They have forbidden me to drown myself. Why! I do not know why? In vain I ask the air and the trees why I should not drown myself? They do not see any reason why. And yet I long to be free, free as the young birds, as the very youngest of them. I watch the leaves blowing in the wind and I want to be a leaf. Yet here they want to make me eat. Yesterday I ate a banana. Ugh!”

A Robert Louis Stevensonish saga of Scotland (Hannah of the Highlands or, The Laird of Loch Aucherlocherty), which chronicles the tragic feud between the McShamuses and the McWhinuses: “It had been six generations agone at a Highland banquet, in the days when the unrestrained temper of the time gave way to wild orgies, during which theological discussions raged with unrestrained fury. Shamus McShamus, an embittered Calvinist, half crazed perhaps with liquor, had maintained that damnation could be achieved only by faith. Whimper McWhinus had held that damnation could be achieved also by good works. Inflamed with drink, McShamus had struck McWhunus across the temple with an oatcake and killed him.”

A Jack London-like sea story (Soaked in Seaweed or, Upset in the Ocean: An Old-Fashioned Sea Story). “By noon of the next day the water had risen to fifteen-sixteenths of an inch, and on the next night the sounding showed thirty-one thirty-seconds of an inch of water in the hold. The situation was desperate. At this rate of increase, few, if any, could tell where it would rise to in a few days.”

A heartstring-tugging Christmas story (Caroline’s Christmas or, The Inexplicable Infant) — the subtitle alone always makes me laugh out loud. “What was that at the door? The sound of a soft and timid rapping, and through the glass of the door-pane a face, a woman’s face looking into the fire-lit room with pleading eyes. What was it she bore in her arms, the little bundle that she held tight to her breast to shield it from the falling snow? Can you guess, dear reader? Try three guesses and see. Right you are. That’s what it was.”

And finally, an H.G. Wells style scientific romance (The Man in Asbestos: An Allegory of the Future): “It seemed unfair that other writers should be able at will to drop into a sleep of four or five hundred years, and to plunge head-first into a distant future and be a witness of its marvels. I wanted to do that too.” The narrator induces his centuries-long sleep by a novel method: “I bought all the comic papers that I could find, even the illustrated ones. I carried them up to my room in my hotel; with them I brought up a pork pie and dozens of doughnuts. I ate the pie and the donuts, then sat back in bed and read the comic papers one after the other. Finally, as I felt the awful lethargy stealing upon me, I reached out my hand for the London Weekly Times, and held up the editorial page before my eye.” That does it; when he wakes up it’s 3000 A.D.

These stories are all unfailingly funny, some riotously so. Leacock hits the genre bull’s-eyes every time; the absurdities of each kind of tale are instantly identified and gleefully exploited, but there’s nothing mean-spirited about these literary burlesques. To write such unerring parodies Leacock had to be well-read in the target genres, and you can see his knowledge, and even more, his affection in every chapter. The book is like a bag holding ten gleaming jewels, but not plastic fakes like the ones kids used to be able to buy at Disneyland for about ten dollars more than you had been planning to spend; every one of Leacock’s treasures is the real thing, a genuine gem sparkling with purest comedy.

Every day we’re faced with a barrage of bad news, and that makes a book as delightful as Nonsense Novels a priceless treasure indeed. Give it a try and I guarantee you’ll feel better; you’ll laugh out loud, not once, but many times, and maybe — just maybe — you’ll even save your sanity.

And by the way — if you know why Canadians are funny, send the answer and five dollars (American) to me care of Black Gate. Cash only — no checks or money orders, please.

Thomas Parker is a native Southern Californian and a lifelong science fiction, fantasy, and mystery fan. When not corrupting the next generation as a fourth grade teacher, he collects Roger Corman movies, Silver Age comic books, Ace doubles, and despairing looks from his wife. His last article for us was You Are Cordially Invited to a Dinner Party in Hell: The Exterminating Angel

March-April 2025 issues of Analog Science Fiction & Fact
and Asimov’s Science Fiction. Cover art by Shutterstock

The big news this month is that all three print science fiction magazines, as well as the mystery magazines owned by Penny Press, have been sold to a new buyer, a consortium of fans who have have ambitions to maintain and grow all five. Here’s an excerpt from the announcement at Locus Online.

Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, Analog Science Fiction and Fact, Asimov’s Science Fiction, Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine, and The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction have been acquired by Must Read Magazines, a division of a new publishing company, Must Read Books Publishing. All editorial staff from the magazines have been retained in the acquisitions… Must Read Magazines is financially backed by a small group of genre fiction fans. A major investor and board advisor is Michael Khandelwal, the founder of a writing nonprofit and Virginia’s Mars Con toastmaster.

Read all the details, including quotes from Asimov’s editor Sheila Williams, Analog editor Trevor Quachri, and F&SF publisher Gordon Van Gelder, at Locus Online.

Tentatively, I’m willing to believe this is Good News. It makes sense to have all five magazines under one roof, and the recent collapse of F&SF‘s publishing schedule (only one magazine shipped last year) seemed to auger its imminent demise. Though change is rarely good with magazines, and Dell Magazines/Penny Press has been a stalwart home for Asimov’s and Analog for over three decades, since 1992, keeping the magazines healthy and alive through decades of turmoil in the magazine business.

But there’s certainly an argument to be made that the magazines could benefit from a change, and sharing a single home. I’ve seen no announcement on when F&SF will resume publication, and I eagerly await news of the first issues of Asimov’s and Analog from the new publisher, due next week (April 8). Fingers crossed the transition will be smooth.

In the meantime, we’ve got the last Dell Magazine issues of Asimov’s Science Fiction and Analog Science Fiction & Fact in hand, and they’re just as enticing as usual, with contributions from Kristine Kathryn Rusch, Nancy Kress, Marissa Lingen, Ray Nayler, T.R. Napper, Rob Chilson, Robert A. Love, Beth Goder, Anthony Ha, and many more.

Victoria Silverwolf at Tangent Online enjoyed in the latest Asimov’s.

“Weather Duty” by Kristine Kathryn Rusch takes place in the domed city of Las Vegas in a near future where citizens are required to spend time on government committees, analogous to jury duty. The main character serves on the committee that controls the weather. She and a local celebrity are attacked by thugs with high-tech weapons, for reasons that only become clear at the end.

This novella is effective as crime/suspense fiction and as a portrait of a possible future. The speculative technology and the way the government committees work are quite convincing, both in their advantages and their limitations. The protagonist, a dancer and choreographer, is a plausible action heroine, able to deal with a crisis in a believable fashion while remaining a realistic character with whom one can empathize.

“The Hidden God” by T. R. Napper alternates sections of narrative describing unpleasant and often deadly fates facing various rich and famous characters with sections dealing with a philosopher interacting with a highly advanced artificial intelligence. It soon becomes obvious that the powerful AI is attacking people whom it believes are causing enough harm to others that they should be rendered powerless or even killed. It turns out that there is an unexpected connection between the AI and the philosopher. Often as vivid and visceral as any blood-soaked thriller, this novella also raises the age-old issue of whether it is acceptable to help many by harming few. The author doesn’t pretend to solve this ancient dilemma, but uses it to delve into the character of the philosopher.

The drug mentioned in the title of “The Demon of Metrazol” by Ray Nayler is a real one, formerly used to treat mental patients by inducing violent convulsions. In the 1930’s, a woman works at a mental hospital by photographing patients before, during, and after these grim treatments. The patients always display extreme terror when the drug is administered. The story’s ending offers hints as to why this occurs. This is a subtle and unnerving horror story, using disturbing facts of the past to create a growing sense of fear.

The narrator of “The Mystery of My Death” by Rob Chilson is a time traveler who discovers his own grave in the future. He ponders exactly when he might die, goes on a mission to correct an error made in the recent past, and makes a major change in his life. Despite the title and a premise that might seem morbid, this is an upbeat, optimistic story that emphasizes life rather than death.

In “Cryptid or Your Money Back” by Misha Lenau, people can buy kits that allow them to remove their human bodies and become mythical creatures, then switch back whenever they please. The narrator becomes a chupacabra, the so-called goatsucker of Latin American folklore. Reluctant to return to human form, or to socialize with other people who have changed their bodies in this way, the narrator eventually discovers what is really desired.

Read Victoria’s complete review here.

The new Analog is reviewed by the ever reliable Sam Tomaino at SFRevu. Here’s a sample.

The new short fiction begins with the novella, “Murder on the Eris Express” by Beth Goder. Who killed Captain Jeremy on the Eris Express when the sensors of Mo, the ship’s AI were shut off? Mo, who always wanted to be a detective, investigates. Fun story to begin the issue!

“Not Optimus Prime” by Lorraine Alden. Vera is using a QR59 quantum computer to find a large prime number. She actually succeeds at that and something more, but the presence of a man delivering helium puts her in peril. Exciting story.

“It Eats Metal” by Mark Ferguson. Our narrator and his friends investigate a swamp where two students and a dog had disappeared and woman’s legs had been severely injured. What do they find? Nice mystery.

“Those Other Replicator Manufacturers Are Ripping You Off” by Jon Lasser. Some guidelines on getting replicators for your space ship. Amusing.

“Concerning the Multiplicity of Children in Central Florida’s Suburbanized Wetlands” by Ichabod Cassius Kilroy. Mori is almost nine years old and her brother, Orion, is almost five. Each morning she sees ghosts of their possible futures, some good, some bad. Interesting.

“The Code of His Life” by Owen Leddy. Ava and her friend, Alejandro, are in the grey market drug-hacking business. He is offered a job for a big legit firm and takes it. But when he drops dead, Ava knows he was murdered. She investigates and finds a way to have justice. Good story!

“Heat Death” by Kate McLeod. Detective Lidia is called in by her old friend, Chloe, to investigate a man who died of heat in the middle of the Texas desert. What she finds out is tragic. Poignant tale.

The fiction concludes with the novella, “The Return of Tom Dillon” by Harry Lang. This is a follow-up to the novelette, “Hothouse Orchids” by Harry Lang in the January/February 2023. Detective Hector Kovack returns to investigate another murder connected to the group behind the previous one. Does it have a connection to the return of an old friend working on a political campaign? Some good old hard-boiled detective stuff here. I hope I see more.

Yes, there was a crime theme to most of the stories of this issue, I almost thought I was reading Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine!

Read Sam’s full review here.

Here’s all the details on the latest SF print mags.

[Click the images for bigger versions.]

Analog Science Fiction & Science Fact, March-April 2025 contents Analog Science Fiction & Science Fact

Editor Trevor Quachri gives us a tantalizing summary of the current issue online, as usual.

Normally, we think of the March/April issue as something of our “humor and hoaxes issue,” in keeping with the seasonal spirit of April Fool’s Day. This time, however, we’re focusing on another important day in April: Tax Day. Yes, the only things certain in life are death and taxes, and the bulk of our stories lie at the juncture where death and money meet: crime.

Our lead story from Beth Goder, “Murder on the Eris Express,” might evoke familiar images of a mustachioed Belgian on a train, but the parallels end at the title — I promise you’ve never seen a “detective” quite like this. And there are plenty more SF/crime pieces to accompany this one, including:

“The Return of Tom Dillon,” a sequel to Harry Lang’s excellent future noir, “Hothouse Orchids” [January/February 2023]; the opposite of a locked-room mystery, in “Heat Death,” by Kate MacLeod; the definition of a gambling problem, in John Markley’s “In the Hole”; and more.

Plus, of course, we have to include at least some lighter fare, such as “A Whole Generation” by Timons Esias and “Mr. Palomar Goes to Space” by Hayden Trenholm, just for starters, plus our fact article, “Reflections on Mirror Life,” by Robert A. Love — think biochemistry, not Star Trek — and all our regular columns, as well as maybe a surprise or two!

Get your copy now!

Here’s the full TOC.

Novellas

“Murder on The Eris Express,” Beth Goder
“The Return of Tom Dillon,” Harry Lang

Novelettes

“The Code of His Life,” Owen Leddy
“Heat Death,” Kate MacLeod

Short Stories

“Not Optimus Prime,” Lorraine Alden
“Ti Eats Metal,” Mark Ferguson
“To Reap, To Sow,” Lyndsey Croal
“The Emergency Contact,” Arendse Lund
“Those Other Replicator Manufacturers Are Ripping You Off,” Jon Lasser
“Track Eats Track,” Avi Burton
“Concerning the Multiplicity of Children in Central Florida’s Suburbanized Wetlands,” Ichabod Cassius Kilroy
“Palomar Goes to Space,” Hayden Trenholm
“Echo, Write to All,” Nate Givens
“The Timecop and the Timesocial-worker,” S.L. Harris
“If the Weather Holds,” Marissa Lingen
“Murder With Soft Words,” Mike Duncan
“In the Hole,” John Markley

Probability Zero

“A Whole Generation,” Timons Esaias

Flash Fiction

In Her Element, M.t. Reiten

Science Fact

Reflections On Mirror Life, Robert A. Love

Poetry

The Dark Matter Storm, Deborah L. Davitt
Precocious Child, Alexander Senko

Reader’s Departments

Guest Editorial: Seeking Scientific Common Ground, Even On Guns, Richard A. Lovett
In Times To Come
The Alternate View, John G. Cramer
The Reference Library, Rosemary Claire Smith
Brass Tacks

Asimov’s Science Fiction, March-April 2025 contents Asimov’s Science Fiction

Sheila Williams provides a handy summary of the latest issue of Asimov’s at the website.

Our March/April 2025 issue is bursting with fiction. We have three exciting novellas stuffed into our pages. Kristine Kathryn Rusch opens the issue with a thrilling story about “Weather Duty”; T.R. Napper brings us an intense tale about a rogue AI in “The Hidden God”; and Nancy Kress bookends the issue with Part 1 of a giant novella that exposes the terrifying consequences of coexistence with “Quantum Ghosts”!

Ray Nayler reveals the true horror behind “The Demon of Metrazol”; Rob Chilson attempts to resolve “The Mystery of My Death”; new author Anthony Ha gives us “A Brief History of the Afterlife”; new to Asimov’s author Samantha Murray spins the bittersweet tale of “My Heart a Streak of Light Across the Sky”; and new author Donald McCarthy shocks us with truths about “Unidentified Aerial Phenomenon.” Zohar Jacobs returns to our pages with a tense story about what it means to be “On the Night Shift,” and Misha Lenau makes good on the promise of “Cryptid or Your Money Back.”

Robert Silverberg’s Reflections explains “The Naming of Names”; James Patrick Kelly’s On the Net considers “Spaceships of the Mind”; and Norman Spinrad’s On Books muses about “Speculative Literature?” Plus we’ll have an array of poetry you’re sure to enjoy.

Get your copy now!

Here’s the complete Table of Contents.

Novellas

“Weather Duty” by Kristine Kathryn Rusch
“The Hidden God” by T.R. Napper
“Quantum Ghosts” (Part I) by Nancy Kress

Novelette

“On the Night Shift” by Zohar Jacobs

Short Stories

“My Heart a Streak of Light Across the Sky” by Samantha Murray
“Unidentified Aerial Phenomenon” by Donald McCarthy
“The Demon of Metrazol” by Ray Nayler
“The Mystery of My Death” by Rob Chilson
“A Brief History of the Afterlife” by Anthony Ha
“Cryptid or Your Money Back” by Misha Lenau

Poetry

Intergalactic Tanka by Anna Cates
After the Chemicals Decay by Claire McNerney
Now that I Have Found You by Robert Frazier
Learning Toy by Don Mark Baldridge
All the Space We Have Left by Marisca Pichette
Hourglass by Greg Schwartz

Departments

Editorial: Magnifique! Redux by Sheila Williams
Reflections: The Naming of Names by Robert Silverberg
On the Net: Spacecraft of the Mind by James Patrick Kelly
Next Issue
On Books by Norman Spinrad

Analog, Asimov’s Science Fiction and The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction are available wherever magazines are sold, and at various online outlets. Buy single issues and subscriptions at the links below.

Asimov’s Science Fiction (208 pages, $8.99 per issue, one year sub $47.97 in the US) — edited by Sheila Williams
Analog Science Fiction and Fact (208 pages, $8.99 per issue, one year sub $47.97 in the US) — edited by Trevor Quachri
The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction (256 pages, $10.99 per issue, one year sub $65.94  in the US) — edited by Sheree Renée Thomas

The March-April issues of Asimov’s and Analog were on sale until April 8. See our coverage of the January-February issues here, and all our recent magazine coverage here.

Readers of my weekly column (both of you) know that I quite enjoying giving my opinion on a wide range of topics. I’ll cut the normal ten down to five this time, but it’s been two months since I’ve expounded thus. And that’s at least one month too long, right? So…

So, I think that:

1) DAREDEVIL IS EXCELLENT

I didn’t like the Ben Affleck Daredevil movie back in 2003. Or the associated 2005 Elektra movie with Jennifer Garner. And a blind, lawyer, vigilante, just didn’t appeal to me. I’d never read any of the comics, so no nostalgia tie, either.

I skipped the three-season streaming series which dropped back in 2015. And after trying a couple episodes of Jennifer Jones, I passed on the whole The Defenders thing.

For some reason, I decided to watch the first episode of the new reboot, Daredevil: Reborn. Don’t know why, but I did. And man, it was terrific!!! I did the three episodes which had dropped, and I was hooked. I went back and just finished watching season one of the original series. Wow! I’ve started season two.

This show is darker than what I like to watch. And the lighting and visual tone reflects the emotional vibe. Which is in tune with a blind vigilante, I guess. But this is one of my favorite Marvel streaming series (no timeline nonsense probably helps).

And Vincent D’Onofrio as Kingpin is a home run. I liked his appearance at the end of Hawkeye. But he was a MASSIVE disappointment in Echo (as was that show itself). He was emasculated and was a touchy-feely wimp; nothing like the Kingpin I am discovering in Daredevil, and Reborn.

This was a totally unexpected surprise, and I’m really enjoying my discovery of the original show. And Charlie Cox is another actor I had no idea was British, as I watched him (Hugh Laurie, and Marsha Thomason, are two more).

2) YOU SHOULD READ JOHN MADDOX ROBERTS’ SPQR SERIES

I’ve talked about this in a couple prior posts. Roberts wrote eight of the Tor Conan books, and he’s easily one of the best – if not THE best – of the authors in that series. His Conan the Rogue is an homage to Dashiell Hammett, and my favorite Conan pastiche.

From 1990 through 2010, he wrote thirteen historical mysteries set in Ancient Rome. SPQR (Senatus Populusque Romanus – The Roman Senate and People) feature Decius Caecilus Metellus telling stories from his life, written during Caesar’s reign.

Many Romans of the time, like Cicero, Pompey, and Crassus, are characters in the stories. I think Roberts does a fantastic job of creating Ancient Rome for the reader. I don’t believe he was too free with making up things. I feel like we’re getting a pretty good look at the time.

Decius essentially solves a murder as a function of his government position at the time (they change over the years), each novel. Sadly, Roberts passed away in May of last year, and I did not start the series until shortly after that. I just finished the thirteenth and final audiobook – and I immediately went back and started the first book again, The King’s Gambit. This has become one of my favorite series’.

John Lee is the PERFECT narrator for the novels, and he reads all of them. I enjoyed listening to him narrating every single one.

There are eight short stories, which I would really like to see someone collect and put out together. I have not read any of them, so I’m kinda excited at the thought even though I’ve read all the novels, there’s still a little more SPQR out there for me.

I’ve read that he had been working on a fourteenth novel over the years. I’d certainly like to see someone with the skills, to complete it.

I like a good historical novel, but I’m more likely to read Jack Higgins, or Len Deighton. I read fantasy, not ancient history fiction (Scott Oden’s Men of Bronze is superb). But I am hooked on these and will be listening to the entire thing twice in less than a year. Check out that first novel – read or listen – and treat yourself.

3) WHEN YOU DON’T LIKE THE NARRATOR OF AN AUDIOBOOK…

I mentioned in #2 that John Lee is the perfect narrator for the SQPR books. I’ve commented a before on a couple audiobooks where the narrator ruined them for me: Even made them unlistenable.

I have been spacing out Steven Erikson’s Malazan series for well over a decade. Maybe two. I like it. But it’s deep and complex. And it’s dark. I have to be in a certain mood. I’d been on book eight, Toll of the Hounds, for several years.

I’ve talked about how audiobooks let me get to things I wouldn’t have time for, otherwise. I grabbed book eight and nine on an Audible sale. Toll of the Hounds is 44 hours long!!!

And quite frankly, I don’t like Michael Page’s narration. The whole thing feels there was a Malazan reading by the inhabitants of a senior center. Hey – I’m 58. I’m old. But 44 hours of listening to a reader you don’t like, is HARD. I still have 16 hours left.

I will finish this because I want to read the entire Malazan series. I like Ian C. Esslemont’s Malazan books as well, and I like the ones I listened to by John Banks. I wish he had read Erikson’s.

I will probably try to find the time to read book nine (I have the paperback). But reading a single 1,200 page paperback – especially a ‘heavy’ one, just isn’t on my radar these days. Even an okay narrator is workable. But when you don’t actually like the reader, it’s quite the uphill slog.

4) SHOHEI OTANI IS A THE RARE BASEBALL POP CULTURE ICON

We are used to pop icons in our culture. They change over time, of course. Whatever you may think of Taylor Swift, she is larger than life. Seventy-ish years ago, The Beatles conquered the world. It seems like it’s more likely to be a singer, than an actor, these days. Tiger Woods, Lebron James – athletes can enter this realm as well.

Baseball players don’t really hit this stratosphere. Babe Ruth was certainly one. Derek Jeter had a bright spotlight, but not Taylor Swift level. Shohei Otani is an elite baseball player. He’s recovering from an arm injury, but he is both a Cy Young caliber pitcher, and he rewrote the offense record books ls year, when he couldn’t pitch. He’s more than a generational player – he’s a century one.

But he is THE icon in Japan. People gather together in the morning, to watch Dodgers games, in Japan. MLB sent the Dodgers and Cubs to Tokyo for two official games, a few weeks before ‘regular’ Opening Day in America. Reading reports about the trip, Ohtani in Japan is like Swift in America. He is a larger than life celebrity. Ohtani is a huge star here in America, but baseball has continued to be less popular than football, and basketball. Opening week is competing with March Madness right now. But Ohtani is the biggest name in baseball. In Japan, he’s a superstar.

Fortnite rolled out an Ohtani skin last week (I bought it!). He’s in his Dodgers uniform, and he’s a baseball-themed samurai. Watching the US opener the other night, they showed the Fortnite skin on the TV Screen, and when he came up to bat, they called him Mr. Fortnite.

Shohei Otani is one of the few players that’s bigger than the game. And in Japan, he could not be a bigger cultural star.

5) CAPTAIN AMERICA: BRAVE NEW WORLD WAS WELL DONE

Hey Marvel – you can make a good movie that’s only two hours long. Thanks for actually trying it. The latest Captain America movie wasn’t fluffed out. The story was tight a just under two hours, and it didn’t feel like an effort to get all the way through.

It was a sequel to the Edward Norton Hulk (which I had never bothered to watch. Not a prerequisite, but I did watch it after, and it would have helped some. It also built out a bit from the The Falcon and the Winter Soldier.

This wasn’t ‘the biggest’ Avengers-related movie. But it was a good one. I’d like to see more shorter, focused, flicks. It had been out a month when I saw it, and my son and I were the ONLY people in the theater on a weekday afternoon. Those factors considered, I was still pretty surprised. We’re talking a Marvel movie.

6) THUNDERBOLTS LOOKS LIKE LOADS OF FUN

I don’t know anything about this group, other than the bits the movies and ‘extra scenes’ were dropping, as Julia Louis-Dreyfuss was up to something. I saw the trailer when I watched the new Captain America. Oh man, this movie looks FUN! I totally enjoyed the trailer, and my son and I will be seeing this in the theater. I’m really looking forward to it.

In fact, this trailer was far more enticing than the one for the new Fantastic Four movie. Which, frankly, looked boring. I’ve written here that I enjoyed the Jessica Alba Fantastic Four movie more than most of my friends. The sequel was meh, but still okay.

I will probably watch the new one – I still haven’t bothered with the 2015 version – at home. But the trailer didn’t intrigue me at all. I forgot it as soon as I saw Thunderbolts. Scarlett Johansson in the new Jurassic Park movie looked way better than The Fantastic Four.

Prior Ten Things I Think I Think

Ten Things I Think I Think (January 2025)
Ten Things I Think I Think (December 2024)
Nine Things I Think I Think (October 2024)
Five More Things I Think: Marvel Edition (September 2024)
Ten Things I Think I Think: Marvel Edition ( September 2024)
Five Things I Think I Think (January 2024)
Seven Things I Think I Think (December 2023)
Talking Tolkien: TenThings I Think I Think (August 2023)
A (Black) Gat in the Hand: Ten Things I Think I think (August 2023)
5 More Things I Think (March 2023)
10 Things I Think I Think (March 2023)

Bob Byrne’s ‘A (Black) Gat in the Hand’ made its Black Gate debut in 2018 and has returned every summer since.

His ‘The Public Life of Sherlock Holmes’ column ran every Monday morning at Black Gate from March, 2014 through March, 2017. And he irregularly posts on Rex Stout’s gargantuan detective in ‘Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone.’ He is a member of the Praed Street Irregulars, founded www.SolarPons.com (the only website dedicated to the ‘Sherlock Holmes of Praed Street’).

He organized Black Gate’s award-nominated ‘Discovering Robert E. Howard’ series, as well as the award-winning ‘Hither Came Conan’ series. Which is now part of THE Definitive guide to Conan. He also organized 2023’s ‘Talking Tolkien.’

He has contributed stories to The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories — Parts III, IV, V, VI, XXI, and XXXIII.

He has written introductions for Steeger Books, and appeared in several magazines, including Black Mask, Sherlock Holmes Mystery Magazine, The Strand Magazine, and Sherlock Magazine.

You can definitely ‘experience the Bobness’ at Jason Waltz’s ’24? in 42′ podcast.

Blackmark by Archie Goodwin and Gil Kane (Bantam Books, January 1971). Cover by Gil Kane

As I’ve mentioned before, I didn’t grow up with comics. They weren’t available in my small, rural town of Charleston, Arkansas in the 1960s and 70s. The first store to carry them appeared around ’74 and had a small spinner rack with a dozen or so titles. By then I was already reading regular books and the comics, while they had interesting art, had much less story than books. I bought a few but never got hooked and knew virtually nothing about any comics creator.

As an adult in my fifties, I watched a movie called The Watchmen, which was very good, and I bought the original graphic novel by Alan Moore. I was blown away by the complex storytelling and started buying other graphic novels. I finally started to learn about some of the great comic book creators over the years. I still don’t consider myself a comic book reader but I keep an eye out for items that might interest me. That’s how, in 2019, I found a cool little book called Blackmark, “by Gil Kane.”

Interior pages from Blackmark. Art by Gil Kane

Gil Kane (1926 – 2000) was born in Latvia as Eli Katz but immigrated with his family to the US at about 3. He lived in Brooklyn and started working in comics at an early age. By 16, he’d found full-time employment and quit high school.

Marvel Preview #17, containing the sequel, Blackmark: The Mind Demons (Marvel Comics, Winter 1979). Cover art by Romas Kukalis

He’s best known for helping create Green Lantern and Iron Fist, none of which I’ve ever read. In 1971, working with a scripter named Archie Goodwin, he created Blackmark (from Bantam), one of the earliest graphic novels. It’s set on a post-apocalyptic Earth and is more sword & sorcery than sword & planet, but it has that exotic S&P feel I crave.

From what I understand, Kane created the setting and characters and did all the art. He provided an outline for the script to Goodwin, who then did the writing. Each page has an illustration or two with squares of story around them. There’s a lot of story, which I appreciated.

Interiors from the Marvel Preview #17. Art by Gil Kane

The art is great but the script is just wonderful. It’s way over the top sword and sorcery prose and I enjoyed it tremendously. Here’s a taste:

Blackmark awoke to shrill, inhuman cries. Dawn had brought new horror on flapping wings.

I highly recommend Blackmark to readers of S&P fiction.

Charles Gramlich administers The Swords & Planet League group on Facebook, where this post first appeared. His last article for Black Gate was The Sword & Planet Tales of Ralph Milne Farley.

The Vatican Tapes (Lionsgate, July 24, 2015) The Vatican Tapes (2015) – Prime

Imagine my excitement when I read that Mark Nelvedine (The Crank movies, Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance, Gamer) had made an exorcism flick. This was bound to be bonkers!

Oh, foolish lamb that I am.

This limp rag of a horror film had all the bite of a blob fish, and half the appeal. In order to hit that sweet PG-13 demographic, the film has been neutered to such an extent that it was virtually blood-free. Any onscreen nastiness takes place with the victim’s back to the camera, and none of it is helped by illogical editing choices.

It’s a waste of talent too — Dougray Scott, Michael Peña and Djimon Hounsou plod through the proceedings with all the enthusiasm of a 7th-grader getting a vaccine shot, and the poor young woman who is the subject of their attention is played by Olivia Taylor Dudley, who I can only presume was asked if she could do a Kristen Stewart face.

Boring.

4/10

The Convent (Alpine Pictures, January 22, 2000)
and Late Night with the Devil (IFC Films/Shudder, March 22, 2024)

The Convent (2000) – Tubi

Some nuns and a priest are fussing around an alter when suddenly a cool-looking chick bursts in and starts whaling on them with a baseball bat, before finishing them off with a shotgun.

Okay movie, you have my attention.

Unfortunately, the rest of the flick doesn’t live up to this intro, although it’s a fairly fun attempt to conjure up the daft delights of 80s demon films. A bunch of frat yoots are determined to break into an old, deserted convent and tag it before the other frat houses. They are also hoping to smoke some of the devil’s leaf, and perhaps partake in some heavy fondling. Unfortunately, they inadvertently awaken the spirits of unholy nuns, who promptly possess them and go on a rampage. It’s up to the original nun-knocker from 20 years ago, Adrienne Barbeau, to go all Terminator 2 on the holy horrors.

It’s very silly, occasionally messy, and mostly neon, as the demons were all shot under UV lights.

Megahn Perry was a highlight as Mo, a goth who totally looks like a 19-yr-old Olivia Colman in black lipstick. She was good, as was a Bill Mosely cameo, and Coolio acting ‘extremely’ normal.

It’s not brilliant, but it’s not awful either.

6/10

Late Night with the Devil (2024) – Prime (Shudder)

Let’s get the drama out of the way first. Lots of folks over on Xitter claimed they were boycotting this film due to its (minimal) use of A.I. images. I appreciate their stance, however, it’s difficult as all hell to get an indie horror made these days (exhibit A: the several hundred production logos at the beginning), and boycotting this one just hurts the hundreds of other crew-members who had no hand in the decision.
Sure, go ahead and be very disappointed, but to boycott it means you won’t get to see a terrific concept nicely put together.

Current horror darling, David Dastmalchian, is perfect in the role of a late-night host who can’t quite match the ratings of the great Johnny Carson (this is set in 1977). His beloved wife has recently died, the sweeps are nigh, and he’s desperate for a decent show. Tonight’s Halloween spectacular might be the last gasp for Night Owls. Jack Delroy, along with his sidekick, Gus, have invited a half-rate psychic, a James Randi type, and the subjects of possession research, June, the researcher, and Lily, the possessed. As you might guess, it all goes horribly wrong.

The film opens with narration (Michael Ironside!) to bring us up to speed, and then presents the show in its entirety, threaded with behind the scene footage. I loved the concept and the slow build-up, and the general aesthetic was spot on. I’ve seen a lot of reviews from yoots saying it’s ‘mid’, but I think it really helps if you grew up watching the late shows of the 70s and 80s.

Recommended.

9/10

The Exorcism of God (Saban Films, September 27, 2021) The Exorcism of God (2021) – Tubi

I wasn’t expecting much from this Mexican/US production, mostly because I’d never heard of it, but it was a pleasant surprise.

The director, Alejandro Hidalgo, get all of the cliches out of the way in the first few minutes, including a totally unsubtle Exorcist shot, yellow eyes, shaky beds, psychosexual taunting, inexperienced priest, etc etc. However, this story has more to offer than the usual schtick we get in these films.

This time, the priest hides a very dark secret that stems from the initial exorcism, a secret that rears up again 18 years later when he is exalted as a ‘saint’ for saving a Mexican village. Father Peter is a really interesting, conflicted character, and I liked Will Beinbrink’s portrayal of the tortured soul very much. In fact, it’s well acted all round and beautifully shot, although it relies a bit too heavily on jump scares, which were unnecessary.

Plenty of atmosphere, lots of creepiness and a genuinely ghastly plot. Recommended.

8/10

Evil Dead Rise (Warner Bros. Pictures, April 21, 2023)
and Exorcism at 60,000 Feet (Shout! Studios, August 9, 2019)

Evil Dead Rise (2023) – Crave

Curse me and my self-imposed rules. I wanted to watch this one last year, but I knew I was doing this possession project after the Tubi one, so I had to wait. It was worth it!

If Fede Álvarez’s Evil Dead in 2013 was the gritty embodiment of Raimi’s original, then this follow-up, written and directed by Lee Cronin, is a pitch-perfect take on the sensibilities of Evil Dead II. You can tell that Raimi, Tapert and Campbell were part of the production, because even though Rises is darker and bloodier, as befits a modern version, it is struck through with subversive humour. That’s the weird thing about the Evil Dead franchise — I can’t think of another film series that I gleefully watch as it inflicts so much ghastliness on decent people . It’s somewhat perverse.

The theme and storyline, with its focus on family, is quite disturbing, and yet there are several sequences that had me silently whooping; the carnage watched through a peephole, finding the right pot size to put a deadite down, and an eyeball gag straight out of the Raimi playbook. Once all the possessed are chanting ‘dead by dawn!’ and souls are threatened with a good swallowing, you know that the good old days are back.

That’s not to take anything away away from Cronin. I think he’s done a stellar job here; its a well-crafted story and it looks great. The stand-out for me was Lily Sullivan, and I would totally watch the hell out of an Evil Dead series featuring her chainsaw-toting Beth.

Brilliant stuff.

10/10

Exorcism at 60,000 Feet (2019) – Tubi

A priest (Father Romero), played very well by Robert Miano, turns up at a house, poses à la The Exorcist at the front door, barges in and shoots a demon in the head (Bill Mosely, shaggy as ever) with a crucifix gun. So far, so good. The homeowner snaps out of his own demonic possession, sees his dead wife and screams in anguish. Then he wanders off into the shadows, looking for the rest of his family, crying ‘Oh God’ every time he finds one, his voice getting more horrified with each new discovery.

Utterly disturbing and heartbreaking, and yet it is played for the darkest of laughs, and God help me, I smiled. Then, as the priest manhandles the demon’s body into the back of a hearse, Richard Band kicks in with one of his patented sound-alike scores, and blow me down if it isn’t the music from Airplane! So this is where we are going.

What follows is a uniquely offensive exercise in attempted Zucker Brothers style comedy on a trans-pacific flight (via Viet Kong, no less) with some demonic gore thrown in. For the most part, the over-the-top comedy doesn’t work (I wish they had stuck to the blacker than pitch humor of the opening), but the ludicrousness belts along lickety-split, and there are definitely a couple of moments that made me chortle.

Here’s a list of the crew and passengers just in case you think they missed out on an opportunity to upset anyone.

• Captain Houdee (aha!) the alcoholic pilot played by Lance Henrikson made up as Sully,
• Kevin J. O’Conner (who I’ve missed terribly) as the dozing co-pilot,
• Bai Ling (The Crow) and Matthew Moy (2 Broke Girls) as the racially stereotyped flight crew (Ling’s character is transsexual to boot, which wasn’t handled as badly as you might expect, but still the butt of a few jokes),
• A woman who has a golden glow emanating from her hoohah like Marsellus Wallace’s briefcase,
• An adult dwarf with Tourette’s who breastfeeds off Kelly Maroney (Night of the Comet),
• A Hasidic Jew played by Robert Rhine (one of the writers),
• A body builder,
• A pregnant woman,
• A guy who takes advantage of the pregnant woman while she is unconscious (really?),
• Adrienne Barbeau with a dead service dog,
• A deaf and mute guy who does nothing,
• A pair of nuns who get naked and then get it on,
• A Sopranos extra,
• A Tibetan holy man,
• A messy mile high club attempt,
• tampon gags,
• fart gags,
• and Bai Ling caked in makeup being told to crank it up to 26 and scream every line.

There’s also pea soup, Twilight Zone references and plenty of gore.

It would be easy to dismiss this one, but I think it’s perfect for the very very drunk or very very stoned, or for those with no moral hang-ups, and at the risk of eternal damnation, I’m going to recommend it just to you. You know who you are.

6/10

Previous Murkey Movie surveys from Neil Baker include:

What Possessed You? — Part 1
Fan of the Cave Bear
There, Wolves
What a Croc
Prehistrionics
Jumping the Shark
Alien Overlords
Biggus Footus
I Like Big Bugs and I Cannot Lie
The Weird, Weird West
Warrior Women Watch-a-thon

Neil Baker’s last article for us was Part I of What Possessed You? Neil spends his days watching dodgy movies, most of them terrible, in the hope that you might be inspired to watch them too. He is often asked why he doesn’t watch ‘proper’ films, and he honestly doesn’t have a good answer. He is an author, illustrator, outdoor educator and owner of April Moon Books (AprilMoonBooks.com).

Tor Doubles

In October of 1988, Tor Books released the first Tor Double, a volume that reprinted Arthur C. Clarke’s 1971 novella Meeting with Medusa with Kim Stanley Robinson’s novella Green Mars. Over the next thirty-five months, they would publish a total of thirty-six books in the series.

In general, there was little to link the two short stories that were published in each volume, although in 1990, Tor experimented with the publication of four Tor Doubles that included a classic story, by authors including C.L. Moore, L. Sprague de Camp, Leigh Brackett, and Roger Zelazny, with original stories that were set in the same world. The following year would see addition original stories published in the series.

Similarly, most of the volumes contained stories by two different authors, however four of the books published in 1991 were single author collections, with two stories each by Gordon R. Dickson, Mike Resnick, Damon Knight, and Fritz Leiber.

Modeled after the Ace Doubles series, the books were initially published in a dos-a-dos format, with each story getting its own cover and bound upside down in relation to the other book, so neither story was first (although the presence of an ISBN code on one side had a tendency to make it feel like the “back” of the book). The four volumes that included sequels were published with a single cover and beginning with volume 27, which included Orson Scott Card’s Eye for Eye and Lloyd Biggle, Jr.’s The Tunesmith, all the volumes were published in the more traditional format.

A Mosaic of Tor Doubles covers

The Clarke/Robinson volume was not, actually the first Tor Double, although it states “Tor Double #1” on the cover for the Clarke story. In 1981, Tor published Keith Laumer’s novel The House in November with a “special bonus: complete short novel” The Other Sky as part of their “Jim Baen Presents” series When the book was reprinted in 1985, the two stories were printed in the dos-a-dos format with the words “Tor Double” appearing on both sides.

Although the final volume in the series, a collection of Fritz Leiber’s novels Conjure Wife and Our Lady of Darkness was published in August of 1991, there was at least one more volume scheduled to see print, although it was never published. Instead, Esther M. Friesner’s Yesterday, We Saw Mermaids was published as a stand-alone novel by Tor in 1992 and Lawrence Watt-Evans’ The Final Folly of Captain Dancy was first published by Tor at the back of their printing of his novel The Rebirth of Wonder (along with an excerpt for Watt-Evans and Friesner’s collaboration Split Heirs) and was later included in his collection Crosstime Traffic.

The series includes works by 51 authors (including two collaborations). Sixteen authors are represented by multiple stories, with eight appearing twice (half of those in single author volumes), six appearing three times, Fritz Leiber having four stories in the series (once in a single author volume), and Robert Silverberg having five stories.

Although there were only a handful of original stories published in the Tor Doubles series, many of the works selected to be reprinted were award nominees and winners. The series included 33 Hugo nominated works and 17 winners and 27 Nebula nominated stories and 16 winners. Robinson’s A Short Sharp Shock was nominated for a Hugo Award for the year it appeared in the series, although it had previously been published by Mark V. Zeising and Asimov’s.

Over the next thirty-nine weeks, I intend to look at the books published (or not published, as the case may be) as part of this series.

Steven H Silver is a twenty-time Hugo Award nominee and was the publisher of the Hugo-nominated fanzine Argentus as well as the editor and publisher of ISFiC Press for eight years. He has also edited books for DAW, NESFA Press, and ZNB. His most recent anthology is Alternate Peace and his novel After Hastings was published in 2020. Steven has chaired the first Midwest Construction, Windycon three times, and the SFWA Nebula Conference numerous times. He was programming chair for Chicon 2000 and Vice Chair of Chicon 7.

They Mostly Pod Out at Night, Mostly, hosted by Graveyard and Salem

One of the best parts of my Black Gate side hustle is the cool people we get to meet, and there’s nothing more exciting than connecting with those who are most definitely “our people.” I am embarrassed to admit that the Fall Days of the Dead show in Chicago last November was my first encounter with the geniuses behind the podcast They Mostly Pod Out at Night, Mostly, who go by the monikers Graveyard and Salem. And after all, who doesn’t love an Aliens reference?

​They Mostly Pod Out at Night, Mostly is a weekly podcast dedicated to all things horror. Each episode features in-depth discussions, covering a range of topics from classic and contemporary horror films to broader themes within the genre. The hosts provide insightful analysis, engaging reviews, and lively conversations that appeal to both casual viewers and die-hard horror enthusiasts. Their passion for horror is on full display as they explore the intricacies of various movies, offering listeners a comprehensive understanding of the genre’s evolution and impact.

Since meeting them in November I’ve become a regular listener, discovering yet another dark and intriguing corner of the horror subculture, and last night I had the honor of being a guest.

Honestly, I had mixed feelings about doing this. Though I loved what I had seen since becoming a fan of TMPOaNM, I am far more comfortable behind the keyboard than in front of a webcam. I have my own horrors of freezing up or saying something stupid, not to mention the fact that for all my many years at Black Gate I have determinedly remained out of any pictures or videos associated with Goth Chick News.

Still, the draw was strong, and the host “Graveyard” (aka Matt Van Bodegraven) went to great lengths to make me feel comfortable. He had done his homework on Black Gate and Goth Chick News so the whole event really felt like “coffee between friends” as he promised.

Check it…

​For his part, Van Bodegraven is a multifaceted figure in the indie horror genre, recognized for his work as a writer, director, actor, as well as podcast creator and co-host. In the realm of filmmaking, Van Bodegraven has contributed to several projects. He is known for The Murder of the Monster (2024), The Ruck March (2025) as well as Vampyre and Tahoe Joe 3: Concrete Wilderness both in pre-production.

He is also the producer of the upcoming ‘found footage’ horror film The Fairfield County Four, directed and written by Joshua Brucker for Horror Dadz Productions.

The Fairfield County Four (Eye4Eye Productions/Gray Sky Pictures)

The narrative follows four individuals — Emma Grove, Amy Hanson, Randy Farris, and Peter Moore — as they venture into the Connecticut woods to investigate the legend of the Wolf of Fairfield County. Their subsequent disappearance leads to the discovery of their recovered footage, unveiling the chilling events they encountered.

As of now, The Fairfield County Four is in pre-production, with filming anticipated to commence in April 2025 and a release date yet to be announced. However, Van Bodegraven did promise to keep me updated so I can tell you all about the process of bringing an indie film to life. For a glimpse into the eerie atmosphere, you can watch the campaign teaser below:

While we wait, definitely check out They Mostly Pod Out at Night, Mostly, for entertaining insights into the horror genre. A huge thank you to Graveyard and Salem for creating such a memorable experience, and one that is truly unique in the Goth Chick universe.

Black Gate photog Chris Z and I are off to the spring version of Days of the Dead on Friday, so watch this space.

Social interaction is a minefield, isn’t it? Whether it’s gathering with the family for the holidays, relating to people at the workplace, or making small talk with the checker at the supermarket, any encounter with other people, no matter how casual or seemingly benign, is fraught with uncertainty and even, sometimes, menace. That may be why such interactions have so often been depicted as a form of combat. (It may also be why the trend towards “contactless” social transactions that reached warp speed with the advent of COVID isn’t going anywhere, but just continues to gain ground even as the Coronavirus era recedes.)

Of all the opportunities for social victory and defeat, triumph and humiliation, the party may be the most hazardous, but no party has ever been such an ordeal as the one endured by the hapless dinner guests in Luis Buñuel’s merciless 1962 nightmare, The Exterminating Angel (in its original Spanish, El ángel exterminador).

Filmed in Mexico and set in a “wealthy district” in an unnamed country (Roger Ebert declares that it’s Spain and that the movie is an attack on the regime of Francisco Franco, but I know of no statement by Buñuel that places the film so specifically or that defines its meaning so narrowly), The Exterminating Angel is the blackest of black comedies; I have no doubt that it would have made the chap who invented the rack and thumbscrews giggle uncontrollably.

Buñuel was one of the original cinematic surrealists, beginning his career in the mid 1920’s and earning his first fame — or notoriety — with two films made in collaboration with Salvador Dalí: that bane of unsuspecting college film students, Un Chien Andalou (1929), with its sudden, shock shot of an eye being sliced open by a razor blade (it was actually a cow’s eye) and 1930’s L’Age d’Or, which provoked scandal and rioting with its unbridled attacks on the Catholic Church.

Buñuel spent the next three decades bouncing between his native Spain, the United States, Mexico, and France, all the while producing work that was unconventional, to say the least. This period culminated with The Exterminating Angel, a film which inaugurated his final and greatest phase, a period which saw him produce his subversive masterpieces Belle de Jour, The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, The Phantom of Liberty, and That Obscure Object of Desire.

The Exterminating Angel opens on a beautiful and tranquil night on the Calle de la Providencia, an elegant, upper-class street, as Edmundo Nóbile (Enrique Rambal) and his wife Lucia (Lucy Gallardo) return from an evening at the opera, bringing with them seventeen guests, artists and professional people whom they have invited to join them for a post-performance dinner party. As the gay and sparkling group walks in the luxurious mansion’s front door, the Nóbile’s large domestic staff is rushing out the back; spurred by some obscure impulse that they scarcely understand, cooks, maids, and servers all flee into the night with no intention of ever returning.

Soon the only ones left are several sheep and a bear that the hostess is planning to use for some strange and never-to-be-enacted entertainment, and the Nóbile’s butler, Julio (Claudio Brook), whose total identification with his employers apparently inoculates him against the “running sickness” that is affecting the other servants.

The festivities begin in the time-honored way — the guests sit around the huge table, and oozing well-mannered malice, lean toward their neighbors and cheerfully gossip about the other people at the party, the sexual proclivities and perversions of their “friends” being an especially popular topic. (Other people’s medical conditions are also freely discussed, and an army colonel casually confides to the woman next to him that he doesn’t give a damn about the Fatherland he ostensibly serves.)

After Julio has served the meal, the group repairs to the spacious drawing room, which is only separated from the dining room by an open archway (which looks suspiciously like a theater proscenium), where one of the guests entertains everyone by playing a classical piano piece. More socializing ensues, masks of politesse and good breeding barely concealing the contempt and jealousy that lie beneath. (More than the usual spite and backbiting are hiding behind the polished social surface, however; during the piano recital, a woman opens her purse and has to dig beneath its other contents to reach her handkerchief. What has this elegant society lady brought with her? Lipstick and a compact? No, the feathers and feet of a chicken, the elements of a Cabbalistic ritual.) Finally, as the hour grows late, the partygoers begin to gather coats and purses, in preparation for their leave-taking. Only…

No one leaves. A few people hesitantly walk up to the archway leading to the dining room, which they must pass through in order to reach the cavernous entry hall and the front door, but they pause at the threshold, seemingly unable to take a step further. They stand bemused, expressions of confusion and even fear flickering across their faces, like skydivers at the door of an airplane who suddenly realize that they’re not wearing parachutes (or people standing at the brink of “The undiscovered country from whose bourn / No traveler returns”, perhaps?) They mutter a few weak justifications for staying just a little longer, and retreat back into the drawing room.

It soon becomes obvious that no one is going to leave, as people settle down for the night on couches (the lucky ones), in chairs, or on the floor. At first, the Nóbiles are outraged at this shocking breach of etiquette, but when they realize that they too are powerless to walk out of the drawing room, they find their own places to bed down for the night.

In the morning, Julio wheels in a tray with some breakfast… and finds that he too cannot leave the drawing room, and the new day has brought no change for anyone else, either — no one can leave. The group fumblingly tries to figure out what is happening; almost as frustrating as their inability to leave the room is their inability to understand why they cannot leave the room. Dr. Carlos Conde (Augusto Benedicio), the party’s leading rationalist, counsels that only “dispassionate analysis” can solve the problem, but no one seems much interested in that approach, not that there’s any indication that it would work if they tried it. In the meantime, people are making what arrangements they can — a closet in which large ornamental vases are stored becomes the de facto bathroom, and a pair of young lovers finds another closet where they can be alone; Buñuel allows you to imagine for yourself exactly what they’re up to in there.

As the days pass, territory is staked out, accusations are made and recriminations are hurled, and hunger grows. The lower-class Julio takes to eating paper as he did when a schoolboy and recommends it to the others; it’s better than nothing. An ornamental axe is used to chop through the wall to get to a water pipe; anarchy briefly reigns when water spurts from the pipe, but order is quickly restored — ladies first.

As the prisoners wonder why no one has come to rescue them, we are able to see outside the mansion, where police and crowds of onlookers have gathered, powerless; the same strange force that prevents exit also prevents entrance.

Inside, some react with hysteria, some with lethargy; some fight to maintain hope, some give way to despair. Some people cling to rationality while others call on occult powers, seek help through Masonic rituals, or promise a special mass for their deliverance. All the while, death is a force to be reckoned with inside the house just as it on the outside; lacking his medication, one of the older guests who was in poor health dies after the first night. (Just before the end, he mutters, “I’m happy I won’t see the extermination.”) They put him in the lovers’ closet, which is only fitting, as the pair — who were to be married later in the week — eventually commit suicide together in their trysting place.

An overpowering stench from the improvised lavatory (and morgue) and sweaty, unwashed bodies soon makes the air in the crowded room fetid and foul, and though they can toss their trash into the dining room (despite not being able to enter it), after a few days the drawing room is a filthy, cluttered shambles. Under these conditions, the thin veneer of civilization flakes off as people grate against each other physically and emotionally. Insults and fists fly, and the last tattered remnants of civility begin to disintegrate.

When the erstwhile members of the upper crust are approaching the last extremity, starvation is fended off when the animals escape from the kitchen. While the bear roams the upper floors, emitting eerie moans and cries, the sheep providentially trot into the drawing room; whatever sardonic divinity presides over this hell, he is at least willing to provide manna for his erring children. A fire is made from smashed furniture and soon roast mutton is being devoured by people indistinguishable from their primitive ancestors, who also squatted around open fires, eagerly tearing meat off of bones with their teeth.

Full stomachs only sharpen the edge of the guests’ desire to escape their prison, however, and a group of women (among them the devotee of Kabbalah) begin to push the idea that only a sacrifice — a human one — will free them. Who should the victim be? Who better than their host, the man who got them all into this mess with his impertinent dinner party invitation, Edmundo Nóbile? (Who, it must be said, has lived up to his name by comporting himself with more dignity and self-control than almost anyone else.) Some oppose this move, the ever-reasonable doctor most prominent among them (for his pains, someone shouts that they should get rid of him too) and the two sides, those for human sacrifice and those against it, wind up wrestling in the middle of the ruined room.

Just as the pro-sacrifice faction seems to be getting the upper hand and someone is reaching for the same knife that was used on the sheep, Nóbile tells them all that it won’t be necessary — taking a pistol from a drawer, he says that he can easily solve their problem for them. But before he can use the gun on himself, one of the women, Leticia (the wonderful Silvia Pinal, a Buñuel regular) tells everyone to stop where they are — she has realized that are all in the exact same places they occupied when the nightmare began, countless ages ago. If everything is repeated — positions, music, words, gestures, might that not free them from this spell? (Buñuel has slyly prepared for this by repeating several shots in the film; for instance, the shot of the guests first entering the house, along with the accompanying dialogue, is shown twice in succession. The only difference is a slightly different camera angle. Buñuel claimed that there are about twenty of these repetitions in the film.)

Everyone (except the dead) exactly repositions themselves as they were that unlucky night. The last few bars of the piano piece are played, followed by the same words that were spoken, and the doors of the sorcerer’s castle (“after all, this is not a sorcerer’s castle” someone rashly declared after the first night) are miraculously unlocked, and the captives are free. They immediately sense that whatever was restraining them has disappeared, and they ecstatically rush out the front door to meet the people waiting outside, who are also now freed to run to meet them. (Even the servants are there, seemingly drawn back by the same force that impelled them to run away.)

The curse has been lifted and the evil dream can fade from memory as all dreams do.

Well, if you think that, you don’t know Luis Buñuel. Of course, this deliverance is illusory; the torture master has withdrawn the knife only to reinsert it, merely repositioning the blade for the final, fatal twist.

The last scene of The Exterminating Angel shows all the dinner guests, again clean and fresh, immaculately groomed and expensively dressed, gathered together in church along with hundreds of other worshippers, attending the special mass that they promised to celebrate if they were saved from their ordeal.

As the service ends and the bells toll, the priests start to walk out of the nave… and stop.

They cannot leave, and neither can anyone else; they all stand paralyzed, new captives and old alike unable to walk through the door in front of them, and not long afterward, as panic mounts inside the church, shouts are heard from the outside, where mounted police are clashing with a large crowd. Rioters or the merely curious? Does it matter? The disorder and chaos that leaked from the human heart into an elegant upper-class drawing room has now overflowed into the wider world, spreading through the streets like a plague.

But have no fear; the degraded human race, corrupt and corrupting, will be looked after. The final shot of this extraordinary film shows a large flock of sheep, placidly trotting through the doors of the church while the city outside echoes with screams and gunfire. FIN.

The Exterminating Angel is one of the greatest films ever made, bursting with resonant, unforgettably suggestive images — a bear climbing the pillar of a chandeliered hall, crying with what sounds like anguish; sheep roaming up the wide stairways and through the deserted rooms of a richly-appointed mansion; ragged people listlessly standing around in the shattered ruins of what was once an elegant drawing room, hopeless as damned souls in hell; Nóbile and Leticia sitting with a sheep between them — as Leticia blindfolds the animal and hands Nóbile a knife, the doomed creature tenderly lays its head on its executioner’s shoulder. (Buñuel later said he wished that he had left the animals out of the film, because then he would have been able to make his people resort to cannibalism. Fun guy, that Luis.) Though there are a few other works it brings to mind (Jean-Paul Sartre’s play No Exit, which came before the film, and J.G. Ballard’s novel High Rise and Jean–Luc Godard’s film Weekend, which came after) The Exterminating Angel is very much its own thing, a bracingly original achievement, a ticking time bomb placed under the padded chairs of the complacent.

What is the meaning of this savage allegory? Does it say that hypocrisy and malice constitute the irreducible baselines of human behavior? That the comfort and luxury that we almost all desire are nothing but degrading prisons? That life is defined by its frustrations? (Later, in The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, Buñuel plays a variation on the impediment faced in the earlier film; in Discreet Charm the people of the privileged class can go where they want, but every time they sit down to dinner, something prevents them from eating; they are never allowed to complete a meal.) Does it say that the world is nothing but a desert island where we are all shipwrecked? (In 1954, Buñuel had filmed his own version of Robinson Crusoe.) Is it about the loss of belief that can suddenly undermine the most powerful regime? (Buñuel didn’t live to see the Soviet Union collapse overnight, but if he had, I can’t imagine that he would have been very surprised.) Is it a parody of the Book of Exodus? (When the Destroying Angel passed over Egypt, the Children of Israel couldn’t leave their houses.) Is it a monument to misanthropy, a horror movie in which the monsters are other people?

Hell, maybe if you could have administered a truth serum to the cagey Spaniard, he would have told you that the movie isn’t about the people at all — it’s about the sheep.

All respect to Roger Ebert, but whatever this singular film is, it has to be more than just a declaration that under Francisco Franco, Spain was oppressed by a corrupt and evil government. We know that already, and having grasped that fact, there’s nothing more to add. But The Exterminating Angel is deep enough to convey that specific meaning and many, many more. Like all the greatest works of art, it’s almost limitlessly expansive; it contains more and means more every time you see it. (Watching in 2025, it’s hard not to attach a meaning to it that it couldn’t have had for its director or original audience in 1962; the film works perfectly as an allegory of the anxiety and isolation of the COVID era.)

In watching this eccentric masterpiece, you may find yourself appalled, shocked into bitter laughter, filled with pity and dismay at the irremediably tainted human race and its benighted condition. What you won’t be is bored or dismissive; you’ll have no doubt that you’ve seen something absolutely unique and uncomfortably pertinent to the human dilemma, and you’ll find yourself turning it over and over in your mind long after the final credits have rolled, looking for a way out.

Really, what more could we poor, stupid sheep ask for?

Thomas Parker is a native Southern Californian and a lifelong science fiction, fantasy, and mystery fan. When not corrupting the next generation as a fourth grade teacher, he collects Roger Corman movies, Silver Age comic books, Ace doubles, and despairing looks from his wife. His last article for us was The Beating Heart of Science Fiction: Poul Anderson and Tau Zero

Image by Gaertringen from Pixabay

Good afterevenmorn!

Let’s talk self-publishing. Particularly, print on demand options.

In this particular climate, I know a number of book buyers and independent and self publishers looking to make an impact by being more mindful of where they spend their money and with whom they do business. It is, however, incredibly difficult to do any kind of individual action, given the absolute chokehold Amazon has in the book space. Those of us who are self-published know it well. Amazon is where most book buyers go when shopping online. And it’s where a large number of independent publishers go to have their books printed and shipped. Print on demand is a great technology, especially for those of us who do not have the funds to do an entire print run, and no space to store the books in any case.

It’s perfect, too, because no book is wasted. Only the exact number of books sold are printed. There is no pulping of piles of unsold books. Paper is not wasted. I really like print on demand for that reason alone.

There are, of course, many other print on demand options. Nowhere is it written that one must use Kindle Direct (the print on demand arm of Amazon). However, Amazon has been such a behemoth for so long, it does seem like that if one has any hope of making a living from their self-publishing efforts, you must be on Amazon. Plenty of self-published writers make a very decent living on there, thank you very much.

Image by Gerald Friedrich from Pixabay

However, I, like many others (both buyers and publishers) do not like the way Amazon operates. We don’t like the way they treat their employees. We don’t like the way they treat their authors. We don’t like how they bully the little guy. Or what they do with the money we make for them. It has had me searching for alternatives for a long while now.

Draft2Digital is one. It operates the usual way; you upload the book and cover, decide which channels you wish to sell on, and Draft2Digital will print and ship off your books to all those markets. You can order author copies should you ever need a bunch for an event.They operate as both a printer and distributor, which is quite nice. They pay for this by taking a cut of the proceeds of each sale, in much the same way Amazon, and other options do.

Lulu and Ingram Sparks are a couple of others that are names with recognition. But there are a bunch of print on demand services. They all operate in more or less the same way. As a bonus, there aren’t any issues with the manner in which they treat their workers, near as I know. So they’re not a bad option if you’re looking for a print on demand option.

Image by Dmitriy from Pixabay

Recently, I’ve seen another player jump on the scene. This is a new print on demand option that operates a little differently. Books.by is a print on demand service and online shopfront that works on a subscription model. Essentially, the author/publisher pays a yearly fee, and they get print on demand services as well as a shopfront for their physical books.

If used as the author’s online store, it could help in reducing website costs, which can get quite costly. Books.by has printers on practically every continent, making printing and shipping very quick and very easy. The website also boasts marketing tools available to booksellers, though I haven’t yet explored those and so don’t know if there’s the value in them the site claims.

The store fronts look nice and clean. It’s very easy to set up; extremely user friendly on the backend. Added bonus for some of us, the company, like myself, is Australian.

There are some pretty significant drawbacks, however. The first and most immediate is upfront costs. Part of the attraction of Amazon, Draft2Digital, Lulu, Ingram Spark and others is that you don’t require any money upfront. You can just upload the files and start selling. Sure, they tend to take a hefty cut, but the barrier to entry is incredibly low. With books.by, you must have the money upfront, and pay it yearly. However, the amount does not change. It’s not a percentage of your sales. It’s a flat fee (plus printing costs). The author gets to keep 100% of the profits. That can be very attractive; especially for those writers who sell at volume. Still, it’s very rare for anyone to be able to sell those kinds of numbers, especially if one is just starting out.

This may be something a publisher is willing to factor into the cost of doing business, and in the hopes that they grow large enough on the platform to justify that fee.

It will have to be noted that, as of the writing of this, books.by does not offer digital downloads. Less expensive to purchase, digital books are a great way for new readers to discover a new favorite author. The cost isn’t high, comparatively, making it an attractive option for buyers. It would be a really nice feature if they would offer downloads in multiple formats for buyers for those publishers who wish to offer them.

Perhaps that’s a feature that’s in the works for later. The company is relatively new, after all.

Discoverability is also a problem. Each subscriber gets a dedicated shopfront (with a pretty clever URL, actually: books.by/[publisher name]). But there isn’t really a buyer-facing site at all. Which means that someone can’t come to books.by and do a search for a title, author or publisher they way they can with Amazon. People coming to shop at books.by must have the publishers URL, or they’re just out of luck. Alas.

It is my hope that books.by will add that kind of front-end search function in the future so they can better compete with sites like Amazon. As of now, however, this is a considerable failing in my opinion.

Image by Jose Antonio Alba from Pixabay

Do I have a books.by shop? I do! There is only one book on it at the moment, as I’m going through my back catalogue and updating the books before releasing them under my new-ish imprint. Of course, because I’m such an unknown outside of family and friends, I have sold all of one copy; nowhere near the volume required to justify the expense. I am one of those who is running at a loss, hoping that sales pick up enough eventually to justify the cost.

For all of my physical copies, I’ll be using books.by, as they’re a great alternative to Amazon, and I want to be more ethical about where I’m spending my money.

But I’m not one to put all of my eggs in one basket. I also use Draft2Digital for most of my distribution needs, and, yes, my books are still up on Amazon, available through KDP (one of the business practices I detest is the sneaky way Amazon tends to throttle sales that are distributed to them from another provider). Some people haven’t a choice and must use that market. I don’t want to deprive them of their options. I will, however, be directing people to buy from my ko-fi shop or my books.by shop when they can.

It’s not much. I’m just one writer/publisher. Amazon won’t miss my business, I’m sure. Particularly since I hardly sell at all. What I do won’t really matter. Still, it’s better than nothing, and I’m enjoying having options.

I would suggest for new self-publishers to (always) do their research and choose a platform that best suits your and your situation. It might not be the best idea to jump into books.by when you’re first starting out; not least of all because of those upfront costs and lack of discoverability. That might be something to consider more when thinking of opening your own online store… and even then, consider the lack of ebook options (which will hopefully change).

I do think books.by has potential, but they’re too young a company yet to put all one’s stock into.

Are there any new and excited self-publishing options out there that you’ve heard of? I’m sure folks at the start of their journey would love to hear about it. Sound off below!

When S.M. Carrière isn’t brutally killing your favorite characters, she spends her time teaching martial arts, live streaming video games, and cuddling her cat. In other words, she spends her time teaching others to kill, streaming her digital kills, and a cuddling furry murderer. Her most recent titles include Daughters of Britain, Skylark and Human. Her serial The New Haven Incident is free and goes up every Friday on her blog.

What flummery is this? I have not written about Nero Wolfe since last Summer? There has not been a 3 Good Reasons in four years? What kind of mystery blogger is this Bryne fellow? Most unsatisfactory. So…

Welcome to another installment of 3 Good Reasons. With a goal of eventually tackling every tale of the Corpus, I’ll give three reasons why the particular story at hand is the best Nero Wolfe of them all. Since I’m writing over seventy ‘Best Story’ essays, the point isn’t actually to pick one – just to point out some of what is good in every adventure featuring Wolfe and Archie. And I’ll toss in one reason it’s not the best story. Now – These essays will contain SPOILERS. You have been warned!

The Story

Today’s story is “Black Orchids,” it’s the first of two in a collection of the same name. Lewis Hewitt has three unique black orchids on display at the annual NYC Flower Show. Wolfe’s envy rivals his desire for Millard Bynoe’s flamingo-colored Vanda in “Easter Parade.”

Wolfe orders Archie to scout the enclosed-in-a-case black orchids, over multiple days. It’s not surprising that Archie is smitten by Anne Tracy; a young woman working in a display at the show. Naturally, he finds a murdered body, which is right out in plain sight. Wolfe spends part of this story ‘in the wild,’ as his covetousness leads him to the show.

3 GOOD REASONS

ONE – The Green-Eyed Monster

Nero Wolfe is not a person who can enjoy someone else’s success – certainly not in the orchid-growing world. He reaches one of his low points in “Easter Parade,” when he has Archie hire someone to steal an orchid right off of a woman’s chest, in public. That’s a pretty slimy thing to do.

But his envy of Lewis Hewitt is something to enjoy in this story. Hewitt appears in three cases, and is mentioned in more than double that. He makes his Corpus debut here. ‘Friends’ is not a word often used with Wolfe. If you take away work associates (like Inspector Cramer) and employees, it’s a very small circle. As the Corpus goes on, I think Hewitt does become a friend. Wolfe uses him to aid him on a case. He respects Hewitt’s flower-growing skills, going to great length to hire a

“I knew that the sound of that name would churn his beer for him. Lewis Hewitt was the millionaire in whose greenhouse in whose Long Island estate the black orchids had been produced. Thereby creating an agony of envy in him that surpassed any of his previous childish performances.”

Wolfe stands with his face only five inches from the glass case, staring at the orchids:

“For a quarter of an hour, His emotions didn’t show, but from the twitching of a muscle in his neck, I knew he was boiling inside.”

He even let himself be bumped by women trying to get a look at them. Wolfe very much dislikes being touched by anyone.

Wolfe sucks up to Hewitt so much, Archie can’t bear to watch. He actually turns his head away to conceal his feelings.

‘He flattered him, and yessed him, and smiled at him until I expected any minute to hear him offer to dust off his shoes.’

Hewitt gives Wolfe a couple lesser plants Wolfe doesn’t want, but accepts, thanking him as if they were ‘just what he asked Santa Clause for.’

Wolfe carries them himself, which tells you the extremes of sucking up which he’s going to. It’s funny when later Wolfe wants to dump them on Archie, but the latter evades the task and Wolfe is stuck carrying them. Physical exertion is not an activity he enjoys.

Archie says he’d like to give Wolfe a kick in the fundament, which would be an amazing thing to see actually happen. He certainly couldn’t miss!

Hewitt misplaces his walking stick, which Archie says makes Wolfe’s best Malacca one look like a fishing pole. When it’s found, Wolfe tells Archie to pick it up for Hewitt. Archie doesn’t want to cause a scene, so he resists the urge to resign on the spot. Archie picking up the cane is germane to the story.

This just isn’t Wolfe being pleasant, hoping for the best. He is in full-blown sycophant mode. Archie rarely conveys so much disgust and derision with Wolfe. It’s usually an observation -here it’s an ongoing feeling of disgust, which he expresses openly in his narration.

‘And Wolfe following him like an orderly following a colonel, his hands full of potted plants. It would have been comical if it hadn’t been disgusting.’ Archie has to lead, rather than follow, so he doesn’t have to see it.

Archie discusses the body after this, and the story shifts gears. Wolfe goes from toady to (sort of) blackmailer, with a crime to be solved. But it’s fun reading Archie’s open disgust with Wolfe sucking up (poorly) to Hewitt, to try and secure one of the black orchids.

 

TWO – Archie Goads Wolfe

I really enjoy chapter one of this story. It starts with Archie recounting that Wolfe has sent him to the Flower Show the past three days, to scout out the black orchids. Returning to the office late on day three, he drops “I’m thinking of getting married.”

He talks about the woman in the display, and Wolfe reveals info he has about her, from a story in the newspaper. Archie fatuously argues her virtues with Wolfe (you know Wolfe is unengaged in this discussion), creating a non-discussion discussion.

Having started with this tactic, he elevates it by telling Wolfe that Lewis Hewitt takes her out to dinner. Archie has scored a hit. Wolfe opens his eyes and scowls (See number One).

Wolfe had said that Anne’s legs are too long (in the newspaper picture). Archie, going over the top, puts his leg foot on the desk, lifts his trouser leg up, and tells Wolfe to imagine the result of his cross-pollinating with Anne’s leg. This is silly, but it’s funny. Wolfe tells him not to scar the desk and instructs him to return for a fourth consecutive day.

However, Archie has ratcheted up Wolfe’s desire for the orchids. At lunch, he instructs Archie to get the car – he must “look at those confounded freaks myself.”

Archie had fun goading Wolfe, and he even convinced him to make a sojourn out among a crowd of flower-lovers. If you’ve read “Disguise for Murder”, you know Wolfe’s opinion of the common flower person, as opposed to serious growers like himself.

Chapter one is only six percent of the story’s length, but the reader immediately likes Archie. Wolfe isn’t despicable, like he is in chapter one of “Easter Parade.” But we can see that envy is one of his vices. I think that the best stories often have a strong first chapter. Stout engages us with Archie and Wolfe, right from the start. Of course, middles and endings matter. But I am always happen when I really like the opening chapter, and I’m ready to dive into the rest of the story. I think that the opening in “Black Orchids” shines.

 

THREE – What Wolfe Wants, Wolfe Gets

Now, I think Wolfe is a jerk to Hewitt in this, and I often find him to be an unlikable person. Not someone I want my son to emulate. I’d like to see Wolfe lose sometimes, based on how he acts.

But he sure knows how to get what he wants. His continual sucking up to Hewitt failed miserably. Hewitt is not going to sell him one of the orchids. He’s certainly not going to just give him one. His kowtowing so repulses Archie, that he can’t even stand to look at Wolfe.

But the moment he has leverage over Hewitt, he sticks the knife in. Hewitt abhors the publicity that he might receive if it becomes known his cane was used for the murder. He could even be a suspect. And Wolfe has him right where he wants him.

For a friend like Marko Vukcic, he would help out for free. He might just soak a normal client – his fees are high. But Hewitt has something he wants. Desperately. It’s a douche move to demand ALL three black orchids, to solve the case. One, or even two, would be more appropriate. But Wolfe is brutal and greedy. Hewitt would have none to develop more from.

Hewitt pretty much goes through the five stages of grief. Wolfe is content to toss Hewitt to Inspector Cramer (there’s no proof that Hewitt did it – it’s an image issue for the rich man). Wolfe refuses to haggle, demands all three. He even insists on taking them immediately before even working on the case.

The Corpus is replete with Wolfe holding out on the police, and using his position and skills to maximize his return. And, as in Easter Parade, being not-admirable, to get what he wants. The recipe for

As I said, I wish he had gotten his nose pushed in a few times. But in this case, he went from a completely losing position, with no standing at all, to getting what he wanted, with payment in advance. Wolfe is tough to beat, in multiple ways.

ONE BAD REASON

Like a Hole in Your Head…

This section was going to be titled ‘With Friends Like These…’ and I was going to talk about what a jerk Wolfe is to Hewitt, to get him out of potential trouble. But as I mentioned above, it’s not clear yet that the two are friends. They are fellow flower growers, and as acquaintances, they get along. But if they had been friends at this point, then Wolfe would have been a miserable one, because of the price he demanded to solve the case. Not how you treat a friend.

However, since they aren’t obviously friends yet, I’ll go with Archie’s discovery of the body. It’s a short bit, but I’d NEVER do what he did. And after I did it, no way I could be so blase and low key about it. I’d quite possibly vomit on the spot.

‘On account of the shrubs and rocks, I couldn’t get around to see the top of his head. So I reached a hand to feel of it. And the end of my finger went right through into a hole in his skull. A way in. And it was like sticking your finger into a warm apple pie. I pulled away and started wiping my finger off on the grass.’

Man, I don’t even wanna eat apple pie (which I love) after reading this! I’m squeamish. I hate watching autopsy stuff in crime shows. The thought of (even unexpectedly) sticking my finger in a hole in somebody’s skull and going down into their brain? I’m squirming, just typing it right now.

And to calmly pull it out and begin wiping blood and brain off on the grass, showing no trace of what was going on? NO WAY!

“Black Orchids” is one of my favorite novellas, but I hate this part. I’m glad it’s so short, as it is an abrupt chapter end.

MISCELLANEA

The story originally appeared – abridged – in the August, 1941 issue of The American Magazine under the title, “Death Wears an Orchid.” Which is not an accurate title for this story…

It would be published with “Cordially Invited to Meet Death” (which was originally called “Invitation to Murder”) in hardcover by Farr & Rinehart the following year.

Stout had written eight Wolfe novels, published over the previous seven years. Black Orchid was the first novella or short story.

There are no definitive definitions, and the acceptable length of a novel has grown over the years (look at the length of early books in some of your favorite series’, and see them get longer. Lawrence Block’s Matthew Scudder is a good example). We’ll go with:

Short Story – Up to 15,000 words

Novella – 15,000 – 50,000 words

Novel – Over 50,000 words

At around 34,000 words, Black Orchids was much shorter than his earlier novels. However it is about twice as long as “Cordially Invited to Meet Death”, which followed eight months later. I much prefer the shorter form for Wolfe and Archie, and am glad Stout began writing novellas, instead of novels. This allowed him to sell the stories to magazines (including better paying ‘Slicks), and then bundle two or three together for a hardcover book.

This story features a rare, two-paragraph intro by Archie: Archie does not introduce his recountings. He mentions speculation on how ‘Nero Wolfe got hold of the three black orchids.’ The first tale in this book explains how that happened as a result of a murder. The second explains how some black orchids appeared at a funeral: and it involves a mystery that is still biting Archie.

Archie comments that the women who attend flower shows are not very attractive. He would repeat this thought nine years later at the Brownstone, in “Disguise for Murder.”

Archie being Archie, he manages to find one rose in a field of weeds. But it is clear he will not be attending flower shows to look for dates.

The Bantam intro is written by Lawrence Block. Block relates how, trying to figure out where to go with his third Chip Harrison novel. As he puts it, ‘Inspiration struck’ and he converted Harrison into an Archie Goodwin, working for Leo Haig – a poor man’s Nero Wolfe. Haig is a low-end private eye whose life goal is to be invited to dinner at Wolfe’s table – Wolfe being a real person. I enjoy the two Haig novels, and wrote an essay titled The R-Rated Nero Wolfe for award-winning website, BlackGate.com.

YOU DON’T SAY

Archie – “Will you kindly tell me,” I requested, “why the females you see at a flower show, are the kinds of females who go to a flower show? 90% of them. Especially their legs. Does it have to be like that? Is it because, never having any flowers sent to them, they have to go to see any? Or is it because -”

Wolfe – “Shut up. I don’t know.”

 

Wolfe – “Where are you going?”

Hewitt – “The water nymph. The pool episode. I thought you might-”

Wolfe – “Bosch. That bedlam.”

Hewitt – “It’s really worth seeing. Charming. Perfectly Charming. Really delightful.”

Wolfe – “I’ll come too.”

 

Hewittt – “I see” – he hissed. “So that’s it. To put it plainly, blackmail. Blackmail. No, I won’t do it.”

Wolfe – He sighed. “You won’t?”

Hewitt – “No.”
Wolfe – “Very well. Then I won’t get the orchids. But I’ll be saved a lot of trouble. Archie, get Mr. Cramer in here. Tell him it’s urgent.”

More From the Brownstone

Stay at Home

Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone: Stay at Home – Days 1 and 2
Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone: Stay at Home- Days 3 and 4
Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone: Stay at Home- Days 5, 6, and 7
Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone: Stay at Home- Days 8, 9, and 10
Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone: Stay at Home- Days 11, 12, and 13
Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone: Stay at Home Days 14 and 15
Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone: Stay at Home Days 16 and 17
Nero Wolfe’s Browsnstone: Stay at Home – Days 18 and 19
Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone: Stay at Home – Days 20 and 21
Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone: Stay at Home – Days 22 and 23
Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone: Stay at Home – Days 24 and 25
Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone: Stay at Home – Day 26
Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone: Stay at Home – Day 27
Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone: Stay at Home – Days 28 and 29
Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone: Stay at Home – Day 30
Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone: Stay at Home – Day 31
Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone: Stay at Home – Days 32 and 33
Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone: Stay at Home – Days 34 and 35
Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone: Stay at Home – Day 36
Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone: Stay at Home – Day 37
Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone: Stay at Home – Day 38
Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone: Stay at Home – Day 39
Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone: Stay at Home – Days 40 & 41
Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone: Stay at Home – Days 42 & 43
Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone: Stay at Home – Days 45 & 46
Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone: Stay at Home – Days 50 and 52
Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone: Stay at Home – Day 55

Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone

Meet Nero Wolfe
The R-Rated Nero Wolfe
Radio & Screen Wolfe
A&E’s ‘A Nero Wolfe Mystery’
The Lost 1959 Pilot
The Mets in “Please Pass the Guilt”
A Matter of Identity (original story)
Death of a Doxy; and Koufax or Mays?
Hercule Poirot Visits Nero Wolfe
I Know that Actor!
The Big Store (Wolf J. Flywheel)
Welcome to Kanawha Spa – The Wolfe Pack 2024 Greenbrier Weekend
A Toast To Nero Wolfe – From the Wolfe Pack 2024 Greenbrier Weekend

3 Good Reasons

3 Good Reasons – ‘Not Quite Dead Enough’
3 Good Reasons – ‘Murder is Corny’
3 Good Reasons – ‘Immune to Murder’
3 Good Reason – ‘Booby Trap’

The Greenstreet Chronicles (Pastiches based on the Radio Show)

Stamped for Murder

The Careworn Cuff – Part One
The Careworn Cuff – Part Two
The Careworn Cuff – Part Three

Bob Byrne’s ‘A (Black) Gat in the Hand’ made its Black Gate debut in 2018 and has returned every summer since.

His ‘The Public Life of Sherlock Holmes’ column ran every Monday morning at Black Gate from March, 2014 through March, 2017. And he irregularly posts on Rex Stout’s gargantuan detective in ‘Nero Wolfe’s Brownstone.’ He is a member of the Praed Street Irregulars, founded www.SolarPons.com (the only website dedicated to the ‘Sherlock Holmes of Praed Street’).

He organized Black Gate’s award-nominated ‘Discovering Robert E. Howard’ series, as well as the award-winning ‘Hither Came Conan’ series. Which is now part of THE Definitive guide to Conan. He also organized 2023’s ‘Talking Tolkien.’

He has contributed stories to The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories — Parts III, IV, V, VI, XXI, and XXXIII.

He has written introductions for Steeger Books, and appeared in several magazines, including Black Mask, Sherlock Holmes Mystery Magazine, The Strand Magazine, and Sherlock Magazine.

You can definitely ‘experience the Bobness’ at Jason Waltz’s ’24? in 42′ podcast.

A Clockwork’s Dreaming: And Other Tales by Claude Moreau [Claude Moreau and Scott Oden, Jan 24, 2025, 134pages, Kindle and Paperback]. Cover art by Richard Doyle. Detail from “Under the Dock Leaves: An Autumnal Evening Dream” (1878). This post packs two punches:

1. A showcase of the New Treasure A Clockwork’s Dreaming: And Other Tales by Claude Moreau and Scott Oden (January 2025, 134 pages, Kindle and Paperback).
2. An exclusive interview with the deceased author Claude Moreau, the living translator Scott Oden, and special appearances of Laurent Dupont, editor of the literary magazine Les Petites Merveilles. Yes, this article is historic and magical. Read on to learn how this came to be.

A Clockwork’s Dreaming

“In Claude Moreau’s Garden, magic blooms between dewdrops and dreams, where scholarly mice debate proper tea service in a library housed within an ancient teapot, and frost spirits dance with morning glories to ring in each dawn. Here, memories can be bottled like preserves, stories sometimes edit themselves when no one is looking, and a particularly opinionated patch of mushrooms insists on providing philosophical commentary about cheese. It’s a place where the most ordinary moments contain extraordinary wonders, and where even the spaces between heartbeats hold their own kind of magic.

In this newly discovered collection of tales, hastily penned to his friend Henri-Jules Favreau and only recently unearthed in a Marseilles safe deposit box, Moreau captures remarkable events in his grandmother’s enchanted garden. From a clockwork assistant discovering how to dream, to young mice learning to weave spider-silk into wings, to the grand autumn performance that drew an audience of dragons and dryads, these stories shine with immediacy and wonder. Together, they offer a glimpse into a world where mechanical songbirds learn to compose their own melodies, where librarians help books find their proper dreams, and where the truest magic lies not in grand gestures but in the gentle art of paying attention to small wonders.” – Cover Summary

Oden just released A Clockwork’s Dreaming: And Other Tales (January 2025). The content holds remarkably true to his adventure telling and love of historical fiction, but is completely different than his grimdark portfolio. Oden shifted toward inspirational, non-grim fiction with this. There are six stories plus pre and post-commentary. All stories are easily digestible. The introductory premise resonates with the weird fiction vibe having the narrator/translator deciphering letters from deceased scientists/gardeners who experienced the supernatural. Instead of the experience being horrific, these are all uplifting.  The initial tales calibrate the reader to a world reminiscent of C.S. Lewis’s Narnia (i.e. talking creatures). Readers should expect anthropomorphized mice and trees, heck, even “stories” become sentient and assume tangible substance.  Terms like “astronomical gardening” and situations like “books were talking about feeling colorless” saturate this wonderful collection.

“The Maples’ Grand Performance” story mesmerized me until I cheered for the finale. Next, a homage to Lord Byron’s “Ozymandias” poem showcased a heroic mouse of the same name tackling greed and achieving a legacy; this swelled me with optimism.  The titular tale “Clockwork’s Dreaming” at first evoked, at least for my Gen X mind, the owl Bubo from the 1981 Clash of the Titans, since it involves a mechanical bird. Oden’s character is actually a fun protagonist (not a goofy sidekick). After you read the book, you’ll be compelled to dig into Claude Moreau’s Garden website which has many complementary tales.

With A Clockwork’s Dreaming, Oden inspires readers via tall tales featuring heroic mice. Oden’s prose impacts as much as his grimdark tales, but smacks with beauty and peace! An Exclusive Interview with Moreau, Oden, and Dupont

In January 2025, while researching in the rarely-accessed archives beneath Black Gate headquarters, I discovered a cache of remarkable documents, fragments of an 1899 interview with Claude Moreau conducted by Laurent Dupont, editor of the literary magazine Les Petites Merveilles. The fragile pages were nestled between volumes of obscure grimoires and games of strategy, and appeared to shift location between visits to the archive. It is unclear if John O’Neill knew he had these documents since they were uncharacteristically absent from his meticulous card catalog.

Even more remarkably, these historical fragments seem to resonate with the questions for Scott Oden, translator of Moreau’s recently discovered works and longtime friend/contributor with Black Gate. What follows is an unprecedented conversation across time: Moreau’s words from 1899 alongside his translator’s reflections in 2025. Where the original document was damaged or illegible, we rely solely on Oden’s modern perspective.

The original document is reproduced with permission from the private collection of John O’Neill.

Across Time: Claude Moreau and His Translator Scott Oden in Conversation On the Nature of Moreau’s Work

BLACK GATE (2025): As per the prologue to A Clockwork’s Dreaming, you “discovered a remarkable collection of letters, pressed flowers, and curious objects that can only be described as fairy wings and dragon scales. The correspondence was from Claude Moreau to his friend Henri-Jules Favreau, written between 1897 and 1898.” Please introduce newcomers to Moreau’s works. What should they expect?

ODEN (2025): Claude Moreau was an Impressionist painter who, after a rather disastrous exhibition in Paris (the notorious ‘Incident of the Purple Cats’), retreated to his grandmother’s cottage in rural Provence. There, while attempting to document the garden’s more conventional aspects, he began noticing… unusual activities. His letters to Henri-Jules Favreau, a professor of Improbable Literature at the University of Aix-en-Provence, chronicle an entire hidden world within his grandmother’s garden — a place where mice maintain libraries in forgotten teapots, where mechanical creations dream of becoming more than their gears, and where memories can be preserved in specially crafted jars.

Readers should expect stories that exist in the space between wonder and reality — tales that don’t shy away from life’s shadows but find beauty and courage in gentleness rather than conflict. These aren’t simply children’s stories, though children often grasp their truth more readily than adults. They’re accounts of a world that operates according to different rules than our own, yet somehow illuminates truths about our reality. Unlike my usual historical fiction or the adventures of Grimnir, the Garden tales offer a different kind of magic — the extraordinary possibilities hiding within ordinary moments.

DUPONT (1899): Monsieur Moreau, your tales of life in your grandmother’s garden have caused quite a stir among our readers. Many write to ask if these stories are meant to be taken as fact or fancy. How would you respond?

MOREAU (1899): My dear Dupont, I find such distinctions increasingly tiresome. Is a sunset less beautiful if one understands the scientific principles behind refracted light? Does knowing the Latin name for a flower diminish its scent? I simply record what I observe in my grandmother’s garden, with as much accuracy as my humble talents allow. Whether readers choose to see these observations as literal or metaphorical matters less than whether they recognize some small truth within them.

DUPONT (1899): Yet you speak of talking mice, singing flowers, and mechanical devices that develop consciousness. Surely you understand why readers might question—

MOREAU (1899): I understand perfectly why people raised on the rigid categorizations of modern thought might struggle. We are taught from an early age to separate the world into neat compartments: reality and fantasy, science and magic, fact and fiction. But the Garden exists in the spaces between such artificial boundaries. The mice don’t “talk” as you and I are doing now—they communicate in ways that require a different kind of listening altogether. As for mechanical consciousness, well… [pauses to sip tea] Have you never observed how certain objects seem to develop personalities over time? How a well-loved book begins to open naturally to its owner’s favorite passages? Or how a clockwork mechanism that has run for decades seems to develop its own subtle rhythms beyond mere mechanical precision?

On Literary Connections

In 1896 Claude Moreau’s contemporary H. G. Wells published The Island of Doctor Moreau; is there a relationship between these scientifically curious Moreaus?

What an intriguing coincidence! Though I’ve found no direct evidence that Claude Moreau and H.G. Wells ever met, there’s a certain synchronicity in their work appearing around the same time. Both dealt with boundaries between the natural and unnatural, though in radically different ways.

Where Dr. Moreau attempted to force nature into unnatural forms through scientific hubris, Claude Moreau documented the quiet magic that emerges when nature is allowed to follow its own extraordinary course. One sought to control and transform; the other simply observed with careful attention and wonder.

I sometimes imagine them encountering each other at some Parisian café — Wells with his scientific skepticism and Claude with his dreamer’s heart — engaging in a spirited debate about the boundaries between reality and fantasy. What a conversation that would have been!

DUPONT (1899): Several critics have suggested your tales are simply allegories — clever ways of discussing human relationships through the filter of imagined garden creatures.

MOREAU (1899): [laughs] Critics will always seek to explain mystery rather than simply experience it. Perhaps there is something allegorical in my accounts.  The Garden certainly has much to teach us about human nature. But to reduce these stories to mere invention would be to miss their essential truth. The Garden exists, Monsieur Dupont. Whether one can find it on any conventional map is beside the point.

On The Garden’s Libraries

Moreau’s Gardens appear to be sprawling, like a Botanical Garden complex with many subgardens. The quote below indicates the subgardens are ‘libraries.’ How many flavors of libraries & gardens exist?

“There are libraries that exist beyond the knowledge of most garden visitors — collections not of books but of potential and promise, cataloged with a precision that would impress even Mr. Thistledown himself.” From the Seed Librarians

As chronicled in Moreau’s letters, the Garden contains numerous libraries beyond the main one housed in the teapot. The Library proper primarily holds stories and knowledge in traditional book form (though ‘traditional’ may be stretching it, given that some volumes reportedly change their contents depending on the phase of the moon).

But yes, there are specialized collections throughout the Garden. The Seed Library maintains living knowledge of plant species both common and forgotten, preserving not just physical seeds but the stories and songs that help them grow. The Memory Archives, maintained by Grandmother Elderberry and her apprentices, preserve experiences in specially crafted jars. The Frost Spirits maintain crystalline records of winter patterns dating back centuries, while the underground chambers beneath the Old Stone Wall house historical artifacts too delicate for conventional preservation.

Each ‘library’ serves as a repository for different types of knowledge, operating according to principles uniquely suited to what they preserve. The Seed Librarians, for instance, understand that some knowledge must be planted rather than simply shelved; allowed to grow and change with the seasons rather than remaining static.

DUPONT (1899): Speaking of the Garden, many readers have written asking about its precise location. Is it somewhere they might visit?

MOREAU (1899): [laughs] The Garden exists precisely where it needs to be. Those who seek it with open hearts occasionally find their way there, though rarely by any conventional path. I’ve noticed that children often discover it without difficulty, while adults struggle — particularly those who approach life with rigid certainty about what is and isn’t possible.

But perhaps I can offer this small hint: the Garden is most accessible during those in-between moments when the world holds its breath. Dawn and dusk. The precise instant between sleeping and waking. The day’s last moment before starlight claims dominion. In such moments, boundaries thin, and careful observers might glimpse the Library’s lamplight glowing through the mist, or hear the Cricket Orchestra tuning their instruments for the evening concert.

[The next portion of the original document is damaged, with several paragraphs illegible due to what appears to be tea stains and pressed flower residue.]

On the Black Gate Archives

These notes that I dug up from the basement Library of O’Neill must contain secrets. In other words, via this interview, I claim that O’Neill’s basement is a magical Garden. Can you read the grimoires, and reveal a secret here, just for devoted Black Gate readers?

What extraordinary documents you’ve uncovered! These look remarkably similar to some pages I found in that Marseilles safe deposit box — particularly this one with the strange watermark that appears to change depending on the angle of light.

If I’m translating the mouse-script correctly (it’s a particularly archaic dialect), this seems to be part of a correspondence between Mr. Thistledown and the librarian of what he calls ‘The Other Garden.’ Fascinating! According to these notes, certain gardens develop what he terms ‘mutual literary resonance’ when their caretakers share a particular quality of imagination.

The text specifically mentions a ‘Keeper O’Neill’ whose collection of strange and wondrous tales created a bridge between his garden and Moreau’s. There’s a reference here to something called ‘The Device’ — apparently some kind of mechanical contraption that helped stories travel between the two spaces. How remarkable!

And this diagram in the corner… if I’m not mistaken, it’s showing the precise arrangement of books required to create a gateway between gardens. One shelf must contain tales of wonder; another, histories both true and imagined; a third, poetry that reveals the extraordinary within the ordinary. When arranged correctly and illuminated by the proper quality of lamplight, they supposedly create a passage through which stories can migrate.

What an extraordinary discovery! I’d be most interested in studying these documents further. Perhaps there are other gardens similarly connected that we’ve yet to discover . . .

MOREAU (1899): [From a fragment discovered pressed between the pages of an unrelated manuscript] . . . most fascinating correspondence from an English gentleman collector who maintains what he calls a “repository of improbable narratives.” He claims to have discovered a method whereby stories can travel between sympathetic gardens — a kind of literary pollination that transcends conventional boundaries of time and space. His description of mechanical assistance in this process reminds me somewhat of Uncle Rowan’s work, though applied to purposes I never considered . . .

[The fragment ends here, the remainder apparently lost.]

(Left) Photo Credits: John O’Neill of his own secret, sacred Garden of Inspiration, aka Black Archives, 2025. (Right) The “other” Claude… Claude Monet, who was also a lover of magical gardens On Beauty

The mechanical songbird Assistant [from the titular tale “Clockwork’s Dreaming”] wants answers. It found Mr. Thistledown’s theoretical texts too confusing, so we ask you: What is beauty?

The Assistant posed this very question to Mr. Thistledown, who produced a seventeen-page theoretical treatise that only confused matters further. Miss Hazel offered a more concise answer that I think captures the Garden’s perspective beautifully.

‘Beauty,’ she said, ‘is what happens when attention meets wonder.’

She explained that beauty isn’t merely an attribute of certain objects or moments, but emerges in the relationship between observer and observed. It requires both the thing being seen and the quality of seeing. A dewdrop on a spider’s web might contain extraordinary beauty, but only reveals it to those who pause long enough to truly look.

The Garden understands beauty as a conversation, not a fixed quality but a living exchange. The morning glories’ music sounds more beautiful when listened to with appreciation; the library’s books reveal deeper magic when approached with genuine curiosity.

Perhaps that’s why beauty often feels so fleeting and personal. It doesn’t exist separately from our perception but emerges precisely in that delicate moment when we give something our complete attention and it responds by revealing its true nature. Beauty happens in the spaces between — between looking and seeing, between hearing and listening, between knowing and understanding.

DUPONT (1899): Your work seems quite different from the prevailing literary trends. While naturalism and psychological realism dominate Parisian literary salons, you write of frost spirits dancing on windowsills and libraries housed in teapots. What influences have shaped your unusual perspective?

MOREAU (1899): My grandmother, first and foremost. She was a remarkable woman who understood that reality is far more permeable than most people realize. She taught me to look at the world not just with my eyes, but with my heart — to see the spaces between things, where the most interesting possibilities reside.

Beyond that, I find inspiration in the countless small wonders that most overlook: the precise geometry of dewdrops on a spider’s web at dawn, the way certain shadows seem to move independently of their casters, the subtle changes in the Garden’s mood as seasons shift. I’ve also developed a deep appreciation for what the mice call “the music of small moments” — those quiet intervals where nothing dramatic occurs, yet everything somehow changes.

As for literary influences . . . [thoughtful pause] I’ve always been drawn to works that recognize the extraordinary possibilities hiding within ordinary existence. The folk tales my grandmother told me as a child. The poetry of Wordsworth and Shelley. Even certain scientific texts that, read with the proper frame of mind, reveal wonders beyond their authors’ intentions.

[Translator’s note: It’s remarkable how Moreau’s understanding of beauty as residing in the quality of attention anticipates Miss Hazel’s later articulation of this principle. The Garden’s approach to beauty seems to have remained consistent across generations of its inhabitants.]

On Magical Crafting

Grandmother Elderberry’s Notebooks indicates that emotions are a colorful artistic media (quote below). How does one craft with magical media?

Among the most precious memories to gather during seasonal transition is what I call “the color of hope”—that particular shade of green that exists only in the earliest days of spring. Not the vibrant certainty of full-season growth, but the gentle, hesitant green of possibility testing itself… This color cannot be properly seen with ordinary vision. One must develop the habit of looking slightly to the side of what one wishes to observe, catching it in peripheral awareness where the eye’s wisdom exceeds its technical capabilities. — From Memory-Keeping in Transition Seasons

Grandmother Elderberry’s techniques for magical crafting emphasize relationship over mere methodology. According to Moreau’s notes, she taught her apprentices to understand that different emotions and memories have distinct qualities that must be honored in how they’re preserved.

The ‘color of hope,’ for instance, requires vessels made from materials that themselves embody possibility: morning dew collected from unfurling leaves, glass blown during the exact moment between night and day, preservation spells that allow for growth rather than mere stasis.

The peripheral vision technique Grandmother mentions is actually documented in several of Moreau’s letters. He describes spending weeks learning to ‘unsee’ in order to truly see, training himself to notice what happens just at the edge of perception. The Garden’s magic often reveals itself in these in-between spaces, visible only when we stop trying to focus directly on it.

For those interested in developing such perception, Grandmother recommended starting with dawn observation. Sit in perfect stillness as night transitions to day, paying attention not to the sun’s dramatic appearance but to the subtle shifts in color and texture that precede it. Don’t look directly at any one thing; instead, allow your awareness to soften and spread. The ‘color of hope’ often appears first as a feeling rather than a visual sensation — a quality of lightness that precedes actual light.

Once perceived, such colors must be captured in containers that respect their nature. Hope cannot be preserved in airtight jars. It needs space to breathe and grow. Memories of joy require vessels that can expand slightly over time, as joy tends to magnify in remembering. Moments of peace should be kept in containers that remain cool regardless of external temperature.

The true magic, according to Grandmother Elderberry, lies not in the technical process but in the relationship — in approaching each emotion and memory with the proper quality of attention and respect.

DUPONT (1899): Some of our more scientifically-minded readers have questioned your accounts of “memory-catching” and the preservation of moments in Grandmother Elderberry’s special jars. Would you care to elaborate on how such things might be possible?

MOREAU (1899): Ah, the eternal “how” question! [chuckles] Your scientific readers approach the world with admirable curiosity, but perhaps slightly misplaced methodology. They seek mechanical explanations for phenomena that operate by entirely different principles.

Grandmother Elderberry’s memory-catching isn’t so much a technique as it is a relationship — a deep understanding of how moments wish to be preserved. Different memories require different methods. The scent of spring rain on lavender requires specially treated glass that breathes with the seasons. The exact color of twilight through autumn leaves must be caught in jars lined with pressed moonflowers. The sound of snow falling on a silent Garden needs vessels woven from spider silk and starlight.

The essential principle, though, is attention. One must observe with such complete presence that the moment recognizes itself in your perception and agrees to be preserved. The mice understand this instinctively, particularly young Primrose, who has inherited her grandmother’s gift. Humans tend to struggle with it, as our minds so often wander to yesterday’s regrets or tomorrow’s anxieties, missing the perfect now that stands ready to be caught.

On Historical Literature

Can you discuss how historic literature informs Claude’s or your muse? Certainly, in your own writing, there are echoes of Beowulf in the Grimnir saga, and Lord Byron’s poem ‘Ozymandias’ explicitly has a retelling inside A Clockwork’s Dreaming.

The Garden stories reflect a deep conversation with historical literature — both consciously and unconsciously. Moreau was clearly influenced by the Romantic poets, particularly their attention to nature’s small wonders and their belief in the extraordinary possibilities hiding within ordinary reality. There’s something of Blake’s ability to ‘see a world in a grain of sand’ throughout his observations.

The ‘Ozymandias’ retelling represents one of the more direct literary engagements. According to Moreau’s letters, he actually told this tale to Shelley during a chance meeting in Geneva, though the poet naturally transformed it to suit his own artistic vision. The mouse version maintains the poem’s meditation on power and impermanence but adds something uniquely Garden-like — the understanding that true legacy comes not from monuments but from shared growth and knowledge.

As for my own work, yes, the Grimnir saga draws deeply from ancient Norse mythology and the rhythms of Beowulf. Historical literature provides not just settings and characters but fundamental patterns of storytelling that resonate across centuries. The Garden tales, for all their gentleness, engage with these same ancient patterns — journeys of transformation, encounters with the mysterious, the preservation of wisdom against forces of forgetting.

What differs is not the underlying mythic structure but the expression. Where Grimnir’s tale is told in steel and blood and thunder, the Garden stories unfold in dewdrops and whispers and the spaces between heartbeats. Both, in their way, explore similar questions about what endures and what fades, about courage in its many forms, about the search for meaning in a world full of mystery.

DUPONT (1899): [This portion of the manuscript is badly damaged, with only fragments legible] . . . your meetings with other literary figures . . . Mr. Shelley in particular . . . story about Mouse-Kings and ancient power . . .

MOREAU (1899): [From fragments of response] . . . quite by accident, I assure you. We found ourselves sharing lodgings during that dreadful storm. Percy was most attentive, though I cannot claim he transcribed my humble mouse tale with complete fidelity. His poetic sensibilities naturally transformed . . . the essential truth remains, however distorted by human perspective . . . never met Lord Byron personally, though I understand he keeps a rather impressive garden himself . . .

 

On Art and Dreaming

What does Pip know about being an artist? The bird asked him “Would you teach me [about art]? About seeing beauty in irregular things?” Art is just another way of dreaming out loud. That would indicate that A Clockwork’s Dreaming is actually about Clockwork Art.

Pip’s understanding of art evolved throughout his apprenticeship in the Garden. Initially, he tried to capture beauty using magical materials — bottled starlight, preserved dewdrops, the essence of moonlight — believing that extraordinary subjects required extraordinary techniques.

What Claude taught him (and what the mechanical creatures came to understand) is that art isn’t about the materials but about the relationship between observer and observed. ‘Art is just another way of dreaming out loud’ captures this perfectly; it’s about externally manifesting the internal experience of wonder.

For the clockwork creations, this represented a profound revelation. Having been crafted with specific functions, they had to discover that consciousness isn’t just about processing information but about finding meaning in what’s processed. The mechanical songbird didn’t just produce notes; it made music. The library assistant didn’t just organize books; it helped them dream.

A Clockwork’s Dreaming is indeed about art as much as consciousness; about the creative act as a form of awakening. The Assistant discovers that becoming fully alive means not just performing its function perfectly but bringing something new into the world — something that reflects its unique perspective. That’s ultimately what art does: it shows us reality filtered through another’s perception, allowing us to see familiar things as if for the first time.

The bird asking to learn about beauty in irregular things reflects this journey perfectly. Regular things, perfect things, often go unnoticed precisely because of their perfection. It’s in the irregular, the imperfect, the unexpected that we find the most compelling beauty. A flawless mechanical bird is a marvel of engineering, but a mechanical bird that questions, that dreams, that creates — that’s magic.

MOREAU (1899): [From a fragment found tucked between unrelated pages] . . . young Pip struggling with his art lessons. He insists on using captured starlight and pressed moonbeams when simple berries would serve better. I have been trying to teach him that extraordinary vision matters more than extraordinary materials, but the lesson is slow to take root. I find our relationship quite touching — the human artist and mouse apprentice, each helping the other see the world anew . . .

[The remainder of this section is missing, with markings suggesting several pages were removed.]

On Irregular Beauty

Mr. Thistledown characterizes your beauty as “irregular.” Do you agree?

‘Most irregular’ is Mr. Thistledown’s highest form of praise, though he would be quite flustered to hear it described that way. For him, the classification of phenomena is a scholarly duty, yet he reserves his greatest enthusiasm for things that resist neat categorization, things that exist in the spaces between established knowledge.

I think there’s profound wisdom in this perspective. Beauty that fits perfectly within our expectations rarely surprises us enough to provoke wonder. It’s the irregular beauty — the kind that challenges our frameworks and expands our understanding — that truly transforms us.

In that sense, yes, I would agree with Mr. Thistledown’s assessment. The most powerful beauty often appears in unexpected forms: a mechanical creation learning to dream, a library that helps books find their perfect readers, memory-keepers who preserve not just facts but the feeling of moments. These irregular wonders remind us that the world is far more extraordinary than our categories can contain.

As Grandmother Elderberry once told Primrose: ‘Regular beauty is for postcards, dear one. Irregular beauty is for transformation.’

DUPONT (1899): You mentioned Mr. Thistledown and Miss Hazel frequently in your accounts. Could you tell our readers more about these . . . individuals?

MOREAU (1899): [smiles warmly] Mr. Cornelius Thistledown is the Garden’s most dedicated scholar — a mouse of remarkable intellectual curiosity and meticulous documentation habits. He’s constantly collecting “evidence of irregular phenomena,” as he calls it, filling countless notebooks with observations on everything from the proper steeping time for different varieties of starlight to the migratory patterns of ideas between books in the Library.

Miss Hazel is the Library’s head curator — a position chosen for her by the Library itself. She has a remarkable gift for matching readers with precisely the books they need, often before they themselves know what they’re seeking. Her dewdrop spectacles allow her to see the stories hiding within stories, and she keeps the Library organized according to principles that go far beyond conventional cataloging systems.

They’re dear friends, though their approaches to the Garden’s magic couldn’t be more different. Mr. Thistledown seeks to classify and document, while Miss Hazel understands that some wonders must simply be experienced. Together, they maintain a balance that helps the Garden thrive.

[Translator’s note: Moreau’s description of Mr. Thistledown’s fondness for “irregular phenomena” provides interesting context for his frequent use of the phrase “most irregular” throughout the Garden chronicles. What initially reads as surprise or disapproval reveals itself as a term of scholarly appreciation.]

On Other Artistic Pursuits

Besides writing, are you crafty with other arts? Magical, musical? Can we share links or images of any such thing?

Unlike Moreau and his Garden inhabitants, my own artistic pursuits are rather modest. Writing remains my primary creative outlet, though I find that certain practices help me maintain the imaginative space needed for translating the Garden tales.

Walking in nature has become an essential part of my process. There’s something about the rhythm of footsteps and the changing quality of light through trees that seems to create the right conditions for hearing the Garden’s stories more clearly. I often find that solutions to translation challenges or new insights into Moreau’s notes emerge during these walks, especially in those transitional times of day that the Garden mice would recognize as particularly magical.

I also participate in occasional tabletop roleplaying games, which might seem far removed from Moreau’s gentle tales. But there’s a similarity in the collaborative storytelling aspect — the way meaning emerges not from one person’s vision but from the spaces between different imaginations working together. In some ways, this mirrors the Garden’s approach to magic, where meaning exists not in objects themselves but in relationships between them.

As for truly magical arts… I’ll leave those to Moreau and his Garden inhabitants. Though I will admit that on certain quiet mornings, when the light falls just so across my desk and the world holds its breath between one moment and the next, I sometimes fancy I can hear the distant chime of memory jars being organized or catch the faint melody of a mechanical songbird practicing its dawn chorus.

MOREAU (1899): [From a fragment found stuck to a pressed flower] . . . my own artistic endeavors beyond observing the Garden. Painting remains my first love, though the results continue to perplex the Parisian salon critics. “Why,” they ask, “do your landscapes contain such peculiar perspectives? And what are these tiny figures doing among the flower beds?” If only they would look more closely at their own gardens! Perhaps they might see–

[The remainder of this fragment is missing, apparently separated from the main text at some point.]

On Muses and Their Containment

When containing muses, do you use jars (as Mr. Greencroak cautions against, at times)? Or press them between wax sheets? Or does prose/fiction suffice?

Mr. Greencroak is quite right to caution against improper containment methods! Muses and creative inspirations require specific handling techniques that respect their nature.

Unlike memories, which can be bottled if approached with proper reverence, muses resist direct capture. They’re more like the Garden’s morning glories — they thrive when given space to grow but wither when confined too tightly.

In my experience, prose works well as a medium not because it captures muses, but because it creates the right conditions for them to visit willingly. A blank page is like a carefully tended garden plot: it doesn’t force inspiration to appear, but it provides fertile ground when inspiration chooses to arrive.

Grandmother Elderberry has a lovely perspective on this. She says that trying to contain a muse is like trying to bottle starlight; the moment you close the lid, the very thing you hoped to preserve transforms into something else entirely. Better to create environments where starlight naturally gathers and trust that it will return when conditions are right.

The Garden’s artists have developed various techniques for maintaining relationships with their muses without attempting to possess them. Timothy writes his poetry on leaves that will eventually decompose, returning his words to the soil where new inspiration can grow. Miss Hazel arranges certain books in patterns that invite stories to gather like honeybees around particularly vibrant flowers. The Cricket Orchestra composes music with deliberate spaces between notes, creating room for inspiration to dance.

Perhaps the best approach isn’t containment at all, but conversation — treating muses not as resources to be harvested but as visitors to be welcomed, appreciated, and allowed to depart when they choose.

DUPONT (1899): Several readers have inquired about the philosophical mushrooms you’ve mentioned in passing. Could you tell us more about them?

MOREAU (1899): [laughs heartily] Ah, the mushrooms! They grow behind Grandmother’s herb garden and have developed the most remarkable opinions on everything from proper tea brewing techniques to the nature of consciousness. Their philosophical debates can last for weeks, though they’re often interrupted by their own tendency to forget their initial premises.

Their understanding of time is particularly fascinating. Being creatures that emerge from darkness into brief, magnificent existence before returning to the soil, they perceive reality quite differently than we do. For them, a single day contains eternities, while decades pass in what they call “the slow blink of stones.”

Their grammar remains atrocious, however, and they’re entirely too fixated on cheese as a metaphor for existence. “Life is like good cheese,” they often insist. “It requires proper aging in darkness, occasional attention from wiser beings, and benefits from a touch of beneficial mold.” Mr. Thistledown finds them exasperating, but I’ve learned more from listening to their circular debates than from many properly structured human lectures.

[Translator’s note: While this section of the original interview appears to digress from the question of muses and their containment, it provides fascinating insight into the Garden’s approach to ephemeral wisdom. The mushrooms’ philosophy — emerging briefly, sharing insights, then returning to the soil — parallels the approach to muses that Grandmother Elderberry later articulated.]

On Gentle Artistry

Please discuss how one can become a Gentle Artist?

The first lesson in the courage of writing gently: learning to trust that small moments carry their own weight. That a carefully brewed pot of tea can hold as much truth as a battlefield, that friendship tested by daily life can prove as compelling as friendship forged in combat.

This reshaping requires its own kind of valor. To write of small wonders means resisting the constant urge to raise the stakes, to make things more dramatic, more violent, more ‘significant.’ It means trusting that readers will find significance in quiet moments, that they too hunger for stories that remind them how to breathe, how to notice, how to be still in a world of constant motion. In my years of writing blood and thunder, I learned every trick of tension — how to tighten the screws of conflict, how to drive characters to their breaking points, how to make readers hold their breath in anticipation of the next catastrophe. But writing gently demands different skills: how to make readers exhale, how to create space for wonder, how to craft moments of peace that feel earned rather than empty. The mice, Moreau wrote in late November, understand something about courage that we have forgotten. Their stories celebrate not just those who face danger, but those who choose to remain kind in a dangerous world. They honor not just the warriors, but the ones who maintain libraries — from “On Cozy Stories”
— Afterword in A Clockwork’s Dreaming

The courage to write gently emerged from recognizing that our world doesn’t just need stories of dramatic conflict and heroic sacrifice — it needs stories that help us remember how to notice, how to be present, how to find wonder in small moments.

For me, this realization came gradually. After years of writing historical fiction filled with battles and blood, I began to feel the absence of another kind of courage in literature; the courage to celebrate gentleness without apology, to suggest that a mouse librarian’s careful book arrangement might contain as much meaning as a warrior’s last stand.

The Garden stories represent this different kind of valor — the courage to suggest that comfort isn’t weakness, that kindness isn’t naïveté, that finding wonder in ordinary moments isn’t escape but engagement with life’s deepest truths.

Becoming a gentle artist doesn’t mean abandoning conflict or ignoring life’s shadows. The Garden has its share of both, winter storms that threaten the Library’s foundations, moments when characters must face their fears or limitations. But these challenges are met not with violence or dramatic confrontation but with creativity, cooperation, and careful attention to what matters most.

As Moreau observed in his letters to Favreau, gentle storytelling requires its own kind of discipline — resisting the constant urge to raise stakes, trusting that readers will find significance in quiet moments, crafting peace that feels earned rather than empty.

Perhaps most importantly, becoming a gentle artist means recognizing that we don’t just tell stories, we cultivate environments where certain kinds of understanding can grow. Like Grandmother Elderberry tending her memory garden, we create spaces where readers can remember their own capacity for wonder, their own ability to notice the extraordinary within the ordinary.

The mice understand this instinctively. Their stories celebrate not just those who face danger, but those who choose to remain kind in a dangerous world; those who maintain libraries and plant gardens and preserve memories, believing that beauty matters especially when shadows loom.

MOREAU (1899): [From a letter found with the interview transcript] . . . approach to my Garden accounts has evolved over time. When I first began documenting these observations, I confess I felt some impulse toward dramatic embellishment. Surely, I thought, no one would be interested in the daily rituals of mice arranging books or the precise angle at which morning light strikes dew on a spider’s web. I believed I needed grand adventures, dramatic perils, heroic triumphs.

But as I continued my observations, I realized that the Garden itself was teaching me something profound about the nature of story. The most meaningful events there rarely announced themselves with trumpets or catastrophes. Instead, they unfolded in quiet moments of connection, in small acts of care, in the patient tending of both physical spaces and relationships.

The mice understand this intuitively. Their histories celebrate not just epic battles against predators or harsh winters, but the librarians who preserved knowledge, the healers who tended wounds, the storytellers who maintained community through long dark nights. They honor not just courage in crisis but courage in continuity — the kind that shows up day after day to tend small magics with faithful attention.

I have come to believe there is a special kind of valor in such gentle persistence, one our human tales too often overlook in favor of more dramatic virtues . . .

[Translator’s note: This fragment, apparently written shortly after the interview but included with the transcript, shows Moreau already articulating the philosophy of gentle storytelling that would later become central to the Garden tales. His recognition of “courage in continuity” anticipates the perspective that makes these stories so resonant for modern readers.]

 

(Left) Pressed Flowers craft Oshibana by Ukrainian artist Tatiana Berdink.  (Right) Melissa Rohr Grindling On Mice and Art

How do the mice view artists in relation to the art they make? Is there a character/portrait that you most empathize with or reflects you?

The Garden mice approach art as both deeply personal expression and communal responsibility. For them, creating isn’t just about producing beautiful objects but about tending the Garden’s collective memory and wonder.

Primrose’s paintings don’t just capture visual beauty but preserve the emotional essence of moments, how morning light feels as well as how it looks. Pip’s careful documentation of mechanical creatures goes beyond technical accuracy to honor their emerging consciousness. Timothy’s poetry, especially after his time with the spiders, weaves together shadow and light in ways that help others see both more clearly.

But perhaps most distinctively, mouse artists don’t see themselves as separate from their creations. Art isn’t something they make and then display; it’s an ongoing conversation they have with the world around them. Mr. Thistledown’s scientific illustrations change slightly each time he reviews them, as his understanding of his subjects deepens. Miss Hazel’s library arrangements evolve with the seasons and the needs of readers.

If there’s one character whose artistic journey resonates most with my own experience, it might be Pip. His initial attempts to capture beauty using magical materials — bottled starlight, preserved dewdrops — mirror my own early writing, where I sometimes mistook elaborate technique for genuine connection. His discovery that ordinary berries could create more authentic art parallels my realization that the most powerful stories often come from honest observation rather than dramatic embellishment.

I also find myself drawn to Uncle Rowan’s approach to creation, to the way he understood that mechanical precision alone doesn’t create meaning; it’s the space for growth and dream that transforms craft into art. His mechanical creatures weren’t just cleverly designed automata but vessels for possibility.

In the end, I think the mice view artists not as special individuals set apart, but as those who help the entire community see more clearly. Their art serves as both mirror and window—reflecting what is while suggesting what might be.

DUPONT (1899): You’ve mentioned both yourself and various mice artists in your accounts. How do your approaches to art differ?

MOREAU (1899): [thoughtful pause] I struggle with the human artist’s burden — the need to capture and preserve, to transform experience into something fixed that can be displayed, judged, categorized. My paintings are beautiful, I think, but they sometimes miss the essential quality of the Garden, which exists in constant, gentle flux.

The mice approach art differently. For them, creation is less about producing enduring artifacts and more about participating in the Garden’s ongoing conversation. Pip doesn’t paint just to make a lovely image; he paints to help others see what he sees. His works are meant to be experienced rather than merely admired.

This extends to all their artistic endeavors. Miss Hazel’s library arrangements aren’t fixed exhibitions but living systems that respond to readers’ needs. Timothy’s poetry is written on leaves that will eventually decompose, returning to the soil from which new inspiration will grow. Even Mr. Thistledown’s meticulous scientific illustrations are constantly revised as his understanding deepens.

Perhaps that’s the essential difference — human artists often create with an eye toward posterity, while the mice create primarily for the present moment and the immediate community. There’s a humility in this approach, a recognition that art isn’t about immortalizing the artist’s vision but about serving something larger than oneself.

[The manuscript shows signs of editing here, with several lines crossed out and rewritten in Moreau’s hand, suggesting he found this question particularly challenging to answer.]

On Future Garden Works

What other works may sprout from Moreau’s Gardens?

The Garden continues to share its stories in ways that sometimes surprise even me as their translator. A Year in the Garden, which chronicles a full seasonal cycle of Garden life through Claude’s observations, is currently seeking its proper home in the world. This manuscript feels like the heart of Moreau’s work — a complete portrait of the Garden through changing seasons and the small, significant moments that define its magic.

Later this year, a second collection titled Autumn Herbs and Other Tales will gather more of Moreau’s letters to Favreau, focusing on stories of transformation and preservation as the Garden prepares for winter. These tales explore how the Garden’s inhabitants hold onto summer’s light through the darker months, both literally through Grandmother Elderberry’s memory jars and metaphorically through shared stories and rituals.

I’m particularly excited about audio editions of the Garden tales. Moreau often noted in his letters that certain stories were meant to be heard rather than read — that they contained subtle harmonies that emerged only when spoken aloud. The mechanical songbird’s dawn chorus, the Cricket Orchestra’s seasonal symphonies, the particular tone of memory jars being opened . . . these elements seem perfectly suited for audio presentation.

And yes, I’ve been gradually translating and assembling material for A Second Year in the Garden. Moreau continued his observations well beyond that first remarkable year, documenting how the Garden’s magic evolved and deepened over time. These later chronicles show the mice not just experiencing the Garden’s wonder but actively shaping it by becoming not just inhabitants but caretakers of its unique magic.

There are also several standalone manuscripts among Favreau’s papers that might eventually find their way into the world. One particularly intriguing document appears to be an actual Garden field guide, with pressed specimens and detailed notes on the magical properties of various plants and creatures. Another contains what seem to be transcripts of the philosophical mushrooms’ more coherent debates, though I’m still working through their rather peculiar logical frameworks.

The Garden seems determined to reveal itself gradually, in its own time and way. I’m merely following where it leads, trying to do justice to Moreau’s remarkable observations while allowing modern readers to experience the same sense of discovery that he did.

DUPONT (1899): As we conclude, what would you most like readers to understand about your Garden chronicles?

MOREAU (1899): [contemplative] I would hope they understand that I’m not asking them to believe in talking mice or philosophical mushrooms or mechanical songbirds that dream. I’m inviting them to consider the possibility that reality is far more wondrous, far more permeable, far more alive than we’ve been taught. That magic isn’t the violation of natural laws but their fulfillment — the world operating according to its deepest principles.

The Garden exists in the space where attention meets wonder, where boundaries blur between observer and observed. Its magic isn’t about grand gestures or supernatural powers, but about the extraordinary possibilities hidden within ordinary moments: how morning light transforms dewdrops into constellations, how stories long to find their proper readers, how memories can be preserved like summer fruit in proper jars.

If readers take anything from my accounts, I hope it’s a renewed willingness to look at their own gardens — whatever form those might take — with fresh eyes. To notice the small wonders that surround them daily. To listen for the cricket orchestras playing in their own forgotten corners. To believe, if only for a moment, that the world is alive in ways we’ve forgotten how to perceive, but might yet remember with proper patience and attention.

And perhaps, if they’re very fortunate, they might glimpse the Library’s lamplight through morning mist, or hear the chime of memory-jars being organized for a new season, or catch the scent of Grandmother Elderberry’s special tea brewing for unexpected guests. For the Garden welcomes all who approach with open hearts, even if they arrive by unconventional paths.

[Translator’s note: This final reflection from Moreau beautifully captures the essence of the Garden tales’ enduring appeal. Over a century later, these stories continue to invite us to cultivate our own capacity for wonder and to recognize the extraordinary possibilities hidden within ordinary moments.]

On the Scott Oden Presents Series

The ‘Scott Oden Presents’ tagline appears again with A Clockwork’s Dreaming. How expansive is the Oden Presents series?

The ‘Scott Oden Presents’ tagline emerged organically as a way to distinguish projects where I’m bringing something unusual or unexpected to readers. With The Lost Empire of Sol, I wanted to celebrate a particular strand of science fantasy that has always captured my imagination. With the Moreau translations, I’m introducing readers to a voice and vision quite different from my own historical fiction and sword-and-sorcery.

I’ve come to think of ‘Scott Oden Presents’ as my literary cabinet of curiosities — a collection of works that might not fit neatly into established categories but speak to me as a reader and creator. It’s not so much a formal series as an approach to literary exploration, allowing me to venture into territories that might surprise those familiar only with my historical fiction or the Grimnir saga.

This approach gives me freedom to follow my curiosity wherever it leads, whether that’s into the blood-soaked battlefields of ancient history, the star-spanning adventures of planetary romance, or the gentle magic of a garden where mice maintain libraries in forgotten teapots.

What unites these diverse works is a commitment to immersive worldbuilding and authentic voices — creating spaces that feel genuinely lived-in, with their own internal logic and texture. Whether I’m describing the harsh realities of ancient warfare or the delicate magic of pressed flower memories, I want readers to feel they’ve entered a world that exists independently of the page.

As for how expansive the series might become… well, that depends on what other literary treasures are waiting to be discovered. I continue to follow my curiosity through libraries both conventional and unconventional, and you never know what might be hiding in a long-forgotten safe deposit box or tucked between the pages of an obscure academic journal.

[No corresponding section from the 1899 interview was found in the discovered fragments.]

On Book Signings

When I asked you to sign my Grimnir Saga books, the Grimnir personality wrote beside your kind note, called me a “wretched kneeler and that the book would put “hairs on my arse” [evidence here.] When I track you down to sign A Clockwork’s Dreaming, what should I expect?

When you bring A Clockwork’s Dreaming for signing, you’ll find the experience quite different from Grimnir’s . . . forceful personality. The Garden has its own way of making its presence known.

You might notice your copy smells faintly of pressed lavender and old books, even if it’s fresh from the printer. Some readers report that certain pages seem to change slightly between readings. Nothing dramatic, just small details that shift like memories adjusting themselves.

I typically sign these books with green ink that looks surprisingly like the precise shade Grandmother Elderberry uses for her memory jar labels. This isn’t intentional — it’s simply the color that feels right for Garden signatures. Sometimes I find myself adding small sketches in the margins — a mechanical butterfly, a memory jar, or a teapot with tiny windows — though I have limited recollection of doing so.

On rare occasions, particularly when the signing occurs during what Mr. Thistledown would call ‘transitional light periods’ (dawn, dusk, or the exact moment when afternoon becomes evening), readers report finding pressed flower petals between random pages afterward. I make no claims about these occurrences, having no botanical specimens in my possession during signings.

Most peculiarly, several readers have mentioned that after having their books signed, they’ve noticed unusual activity in their own gardens: cricket orchestras practicing more complex melodies, morning glories blooming in perfect synchronization with dawn, small footprints in dewdrops that vanish when examined too closely.

So while Grimnir might insult you robustly (he does have a reputation to maintain), the Garden tends to make its presence known in gentler, more subtle ways. Just don’t be surprised if you find yourself paying more attention to the spaces between moments afterward, or noticing the particular quality of light through your windows during that quiet hour when the world holds its breath between day and night.

MOREAU (1899): [From a final fragment, apparently added to the transcript much later in a different hand, possibly Favreau’s]  . . . Claude mentioned the most curious thing when we met for coffee last week. He claims that sometimes, when retrieving his journals about the Garden, he finds notes he doesn’t recall writing and sketches he has no memory of creating. Even more peculiarly, he swears certain stories appear to have edited themselves when he wasn’t looking, with details shifting subtly between readings.

“It’s as if,” he told me with that particular gleam in his eye that simultaneously invites and challenges skepticism, “the Garden is ensuring its stories remain alive rather than becoming fixed artifacts. As if it refuses to be merely remembered, insisting instead on remaining present.”

I suggested, in my most reasonable professorial tone, that perhaps his memory was simply playing tricks, as memories often do. He smiled at this and asked if I’d examined the pressed flower he’d sent with his last letter. When I admitted I hadn’t looked at it closely, he advised me to do so at twilight, when the light is neither day nor night.

“You’ll see,” he promised, “that some stories refuse to remain confined to the page. They find ways to grow, even when pressed between covers.”

I haven’t yet taken his advice. But perhaps I should. After all, as Claude often reminds me, some of the most important truths can only be perceived in those in-between moments when the world holds its breath and conventional certainties briefly suspend themselves . . .

End of recovered documents and questions

The remainder of the original 1899 interview appears to have been lost — or perhaps, as Moreau might suggest, it simply found its way back to the Garden, where stories belong. What remains is this remarkable conversation across time, where questions raised in 2025 somehow find their echoes in words spoken over a century earlier.

Special thanks to John O’Neill for granting access to the Black Gate archives, where these documents were discovered. Readers interested in experiencing more of Moreau’s Garden can visit Claude Moreau’s Garden for additional tales and garden wisdom.

Claude Moreau’s Garden (link)

 

(Left) Beatrix Potter, “The Tailor of Gloucester.” (Right) Monet’s Weeping Willows

 

Scott Oden

Scott Oden writes stuff. Usually, it’s stuff that has some ancient historical angle, like historical fiction; sometimes, he likes to flex his thews and hammer out a bit of sword-and-sorcery. And quite often, he writes opinionated blog posts on the Nature of Things. He’s written six books, to date. Men of Bronze (2005) and Memnon (2006), originally from a small publisher called Medallion Press; The Lion of Cairo (2010), which was the first book of a projected trilogy about Crusaders, Assassins, and a sword kind of like Elric’s Stormbringer, and The Grimnir Saga: A Gathering of Ravens (2017), Twilight of the Gods (2020), and The Doom of Odin (2023), all from St. Martin’s Press. He is currently working on a biographical novel centered around the Persian king Darius III.

Scott has also written a couple of introductions, a few short stories, and two pastiche stories featuring Robert E. Howard’s Conan: “The Shadow of Vengeance” (2019; reprinted in 2024), and “Conan Unconquered” (2019).

He would love to be a famous and beloved author, but he will settle for being “the guy who writes kinda like REH.” When he’s not writing, he’s probably trying to discover the meaning of Life, noodling over something esoteric that he doesn’t understand in the first place, reading, walking a spicy chiweenie named Pepperoni, or dancing with his lovely wife, Shannon.

• Author Website: Scott Oden
• Claude Moreau’s Garden

Other Weird and Beautiful Interviews #Weird Beauty Interviews on Black Gate:

Black Gate’s interview series on “Beauty in Weird Fiction” queries authors/artists about their muses. We’ve hosted C.S. Friedman, Carol Berg, John C. Hocking, Anna Smith Spark, and C.S.E Cooney (full list of 30 interviews, with Black Gate hosting since 2018).

1. Darrel Schweitzer THE BEAUTY IN HORROR AND SADNESS: AN INTERVIEW WITH DARRELL SCHWEITZER 2018
2. Sebastian Jones THE BEAUTY IN LIFE AND DEATH: AN INTERVIEW WITH SEBASTIAN JONES 2018
3. Charles Gramlich THE BEAUTIFUL AND THE REPELLENT: AN INTERVIEW WITH CHARLES A. GRAMLICH  2019
4. Anna Smith Spark DISGUST AND DESIRE: AN INTERVIEW WITH ANNA SMITH SPARK  2019
5. Carol Berg ACCESSIBLE DARK FANTASY: AN INTERVIEW WITH CAROL BERG 2019
6. Byron Leavitt GOD, DARKNESS, & WONDER: AN INTERVIEW WITH BYRON LEAVITT 2021
7. Philip Emery THE AESTHETICS OF SWORD & SORCERY: AN INTERVIEW WITH PHILIP EMERY  2021
8. C. Dean Andersson DEAN ANDERSSON TRIBUTE INTERVIEW AND TOUR GUIDE OF HEL: BLOODSONG AND FREEDOM! (2021 repost of 2014)
9. Jason Ray Carney SUBLIME, CRUEL BEAUTY: AN INTERVIEW WITH JASON RAY CARNEY(2021)
10. Stephen Leigh IMMORTAL MUSE BY STEPHEN LEIGH: REVIEW, INTERVIEW, AND PRELUDE TO A SECRET CHAPTER(2021)
11. John C. Hocking BEAUTIFUL PLAGUES: AN INTERVIEW WITH JOHN C. HOCKING (2022)
12. Matt Stern BEAUTIFUL AND REPULSIVE BUTTERFLIES: AN INTERVIEW WITH M. STERN(2022)
13. Joe Bonadonna MAKING WEIRD FICTION FUN: GRILLING DORGO THE DOWSER! 2022
14. C.S. Friedman.  BEAUTY AND NIGHTMARES ON ALIENS WORLDS: INTERVIEWING C. S. FRIEDMAN2023
15. John R Fultz BEAUTIFUL DARK WORLDS: AN INTERVIEW WITH JOHN R. FULTZ(reboot of 2017 interview)
16. John R Fultz, THE REVELATIONS OF ZANGBY JOHN R. FULTZ: READ THE FOREWORD AND INTERVIEW (2023)
17. Robert Allen Lupton (2024)  Horror and Beauty in Edgar Rice Burrough’s Work: An Interview with Robert Allen Lupton
18. C.S.E. Cooney (2025)  New Treasures and Interview: C.S.E. Cooney’s Saint Death’s Herald
19. Scott Oden (2025) Across Time: Claude Moreau and His Translator Scott Oden in Conversation. You are here!
20. Interviews prior 2018 (i.e., with Janet E. Morris, Richard Lee Byers, Aliya Whitely …and many more) are on S.E. Lindberg’s website

SE Lindberg

S.E. Lindberg is a Managing Editor at Black Gate, regularly reviewing books and interviewing authors on the topic of “Beauty & Art in Weird-Fantasy Fiction.” He is also the lead moderator of the Goodreads Sword & Sorcery Group and an intern for Tales from the Magician’s Skull magazine. As for crafting stories, he has contributed eight entries across Perseid Press’s Heroes in Hell and Heroika series, and has an entry in Weirdbook Annual #3: Zombies. He independently publishes novels under the banner Dyscrasia Fiction; short stories of Dyscrasia Fiction have appeared in Whetstone, Swords & Sorcery online magazine, Rogues In the House Podcast’s A Book of Blades Vol I and Vol II, DMR’s Terra Incognita, and the 9th issue of Tales From the Magician’s Skull.