From Modern Mythcraft to Magical Surrealism

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Fiction

The Armature of Flight

They shared an apartment where William knew the landlord, where nobody asked questions. Leo learned to ignore the strange bumps and creases of his neighbors’ clothes. He was safe among the modified; their crimes, their sins, were so much greater than his own. And in that safety he could forget, as long as possible, what lay ahead.

Fiction

Stranger

Since the season of the stinging rains struck only every three or four years, plans to enlarge and improve the below-ground nests always wriggled to the back of people’s minds as soon as the sun returned and the stink of burning faded from the air.

Fiction

After the Dragon by Sarah Monette (audio)

This month’s audio fiction is After the Dragon written by Sarah Monette and read by Sarah Tolbert

Fiction

my mother, the ghost

I was eleven years old when I realized that my mother was a ghost. I can remember the exact moment of this realization, but I wish I could better explain how it came about. It was like I had all these broken pieces of the truth, like shards of a white bowl, and in one moment, the pieces flew together, reforming the bowl, like the instant of its shattering running in reverse.

Fiction

Author Spotlight: Carol Emshwiller

Also science fiction is a place where you get an answer within a reasonable time. I got tired of waiting a year or more for a rejection slip from a literary magazine. I got too old for that. I also like the science fiction world. I’ve known it since my husband was an illustrator. You get to know a whole batch of nice people.

Fiction

Above It All

They told me they’d found her at the bottom of a cliff in the mountains, not even bruised. They looked, but they couldn’t find where she’d come from. And then they couldn’t find anybody to foster care her. I felt sad just as I do for all the creatures in my care. I took her in right away.

Fiction

The Wing Collection

It was Jeffrey who had wanted to go to the bookstore after school. Jeffrey, Emily had discovered after he moved in with them, read constantly. He read in the morning while he ate his cereal. He read whenever he finished an assignment before everyone else in class, which was pretty much all the time.

Fiction

Choke Point

Steve was just north of Chaffeys Lock driving back from Rachel’s house in Ottawa when he saw the snake on the road. If he’d been with Rachel he wouldn’t have stopped. Rachel wouldn’t have noticed it, but if he had pointed it out to her, she would have shut her eyes and ordered him to drive on…

Fiction

The Tongue of Bees

The bees come: one, and another, and a swarm. He has no fruit left for them, but when he tries to tell them so, his tongue cleaves to his teeth. They speak to him, in the manner of bees, of the clover and the phlox, the apple-blossoms and the Queen Anne’s lace . . .

Fiction

The Chrysanthemum Bride

Chen-Ju hates her sister. Her own face is flat and plain; they don’t look alike at all. Some days—all days, really—Chen-Ju would like to rake something sharp down Mei-Ju’s face. Not her nails—she has none, for they crack and split and tear to the quick from her arduous hours of manual labour. Something else, then: one of the engraved combs Mei-Ju uses in her hair, perhaps. The combs that belonged to the concubine grandmother. Yes, they would do the damage nicely.