I said I’d review this issue, and so here I am reviewing.

Robert Silverberg‘s Against the Flow seemed to me a very odd story to start an issue off with. Frankly, I don’t like slipstream or magical realism, or whatever they’re calling it these days, so I wasn’t terribly inclined to finish this piece. Rackman is a 50-something manager of a car dealership who does not hate his life. In academic literature, this would be where he discovers the utterly meaninglessness of existence, struggles to fight against his own self-discovery, and eventual succumbs to hedonism and finally suicide. But Silverberg skips all that– instead, he has Rackman experience time travel. Rackman begins living his life in jumps of time backwards. There’s no explanation for why or how Rackman starts his retro-odyssey– these kinds of stories don’t do explanations. You’re traveling backwards in time, buddy, you just better get USED TO IT, by Thor. Rackman does kind of come upon a fatalistic optimism about his strange existence (which I approve of); but I ultimately found this story unsatisfying.

Fred Chappell was not a name familiar to me; I’ll have to rectify that after reading The Diamond Shadow. The world, the magic, and the characters invoked in this story were very enjoyable, from the apprentic magician Falco, to the insane countess that employs him and his master, Astolfo. Falco and Astolfo are hired to discover why the countess’ prized diamond is going a bit shady in the center; as Astolfo is a magician whose power is in shadows, he is suited for the task. This tale is told in high language– although it is off-putting for the first page and a half, I got used to it, and even enjoyed it. Falco is Astolfo’s Dr. Watson…no, actually, Falco is Astolfo’s Tonto– he’s the one who takes the risks while Astolfo sets up the magic. While I’m not particularly fond of that device, especailly because Falco is the narrator, Chappell carries it off superbly.

I was disappointed in James Stoddard‘s The Star to Every Wandering Barque. It starts off splendidly, with a ordinary joe contemplating the world and his place in it. The joe is Greg Stoll, an audio/visual engineer for NASA. Out of the blue, something “lifts” inside him; and he has no more desire to be petty, or mundane, or selfishly ambitious. Like Silverberg’s Against the Flow, there’s no explanation. The effects are felt world-wide, however. EVERYONE, from prison inmates to politicians suddenly loses all desire to do harm to others. The “age of conscience” is issued in. I kept expecting some hidden, terrible cause– like in Le Guin’s Those Who Walk Away From Omelas. But there isn’t one. Everyone is really and truly good. Unfortunately, I think Stoddard makes a mistake in thinking that good people cannot disagree– some of the decisions that the new world government agrees upon are utterly ridiculous when viewed in light of the beliefs that people hold that DON’T depend on self/group ambition. Star to Every Wandering Barque fails on a fundamental level in that it doesn’t allow people to opt out of the utopia. As such, it’s not speculative fiction, really– it’s propaganda. See what the world could be if people just put away their selfishness and petty ambition. Drink this kool-aid and find out!

Albert Cowdrey gives us The Recreation Room. The speculative elements here are very light; a stereotypical fortune-teller, and that’s about it. But Cowdrey masterfully weaves the surreality of a post-Katrina south into a milieu that matches the tone of the very best fantastic suspense. I really enjoyed this selection– Cowdrey’s sense of place is unfailingly evocative.

I had a hard time with Judith Moffett‘s The Bird Shaman’s Girl. It’s got things that a lot of good sci-fi stories have– intelligent characters, benevolent-but-odd aliens, enemies-of-progress, and a quick, action-oriented plot. BUT– the author chose to pick on the Mormons for her enemies-of-progress. That’s not an automatic F in my book (I liked Scott Card’s ‘Folk of the Fringe–‘ maybe that doesn’t count though, because Mormons star as both good and bad guys); but since I’m a card carrying (really!) Mormon, I do set the bar higher for their depiction in literature than for other groups. The story follows Pam, who is closely allied with the alien Hefn, in protecting an abused child from her mother and grandfather, and their church. Moffett’s description of the Ephremite church– from the temple with its wingless angel, to its location in Utah, to the history of martyrs and migration west– indicate very clearly that she means the Mormon church. Moffett uses real geography– Utah canyons; real cities– Salt Lake; and other real religions– Catholicism; but she shies away from saying ‘Mormon.’ I can’t figure out why; it walks like a Mormon, quacks like a Mormon, flies like a Mormon; why is it then Ephremite? :shrug: Yeah, so, this is a sore spot with me: the depiction of religions, or religious people, in a sort of off-handed, of-course-they’re-stupid-artificial-and-nasty people. There are no good Ephremites; in combatting them, the Hefn and Pam are paladins of free-thought and reason. Never mind that only token resistance is given to the idea of the Hefn’s penchant for memory-wiping folks, a fact which makes the protagonist’s worry about the Ephremite’s brainwashing her young charge more than hypocritical.

The biggest problem is a statement by Moffett that the patriarchal and hierarchical order of the church enables predation, and the protection of offenders. Additionally, she makes the claim that the church’s method for dealing with pedophiles is to encourage repentance by the offender and forgiveness from the abused, and neglect the legal system entirely. This is most assuredly speculative fiction– Mormon bishops and branch presidents (== leaders of congregations) are required to report abuse of minors to the police. Those leaders who fail to do so (and there may be those with the parochialism to do as the leaders in Moffett’s story did) are definitely not abiding by the Mormon church’s policy on the matter.

The reason I’m going on and on about this is because 1) there are enough misconceptions about Mormons what with Warren Jeffs in the news; 2) Moffett’s story seemed well-researched (she even gave the abused child the surname ‘Allred,’ which is as Mormon as Manaschewitz is Jewish.), but the important details she missed would have invalidated a great portion of her story; 3) I’m touchy ’bout my tribe, yo.

Mormonism/Ephremitism aside, the story falls a little flat toward the last half. The child gets abducted; the heroine manages a rescue with easy grace; and the last bit of the story introduces an enormous amount of exposition to hook us into reading Moffett’s novels. I felt cheapened.

NOTE: Up to this point, I’ve been reviewing the stories as they’re laid out in the magazine.  From this point on– since I am sans magazine– you’re going to get them willy-nilly-pell-mell.

M. Ramsey Chapman doesn’t seem to have a web presence– which is unfortunate, ’cause I would’ve liked to link him (her?) here.  Two Weeks Later is a superb ghost story that almost lost me at the beginning.  It starts off reading like two lovers getting ready to leave their spouses…and then we find out that these two are dead, and they’re coming back to visit their spouses.  It’s a great tale, and I hope to read more from the author.

Fragrant Goddess by Paul Park is a study in obsession.  Park’s scenery is powerful, and the deeply penetrating POV he narrates his story in is successful in transporting the audience into his character’s mind.  Richly written atmospheric elements and deep characterization– what more could a guy ask for?  A bit of clarity, perhaps…  Jeremy is obsessed with an alchemist from the middle ages, but his obsession has brought him a lot of trouble.  An old girlfriend purportedly has stumbled upon some manuscripts of the alchemist…and Jeremy’s obsession turns dangerous and creepy.

I should not have enjoyed Unpossible by Daryl Gregory.  It has everything I don’t like– smarmy literary references, ephemeral setting…it’s almost (gasp) magical realism.  Or slipstream.  But…it works.  It really works, and is utterly delightful.  Want to know what happened after Dorothy got back from Oz?  Or when Max (of Where the Wild Things Are) got back from his wild night?   Unpossible has the answer.  And the answer is deliciously bittersweet.  This was possibly my favorite story in the issue.

Last of all, Urdumheim, by Michael Swanwick.  This was an easy sell for me.  Nimrod?  Babylonian setting?  Violent battles between mythical peoples?  Count me in.  Count me SOOOOOOOO in.  Swanwick manages the mythical and the deeply personal story of an alternate world’s first encounters with love, magic, war, and death.  There are so many archetypes and demons and gods here, Jung is probably about to explode.  It’s a wonder of a tale; I highly recommend it.