“The Black Maybe” by Attila Veres

The Black Maybe is Attila Veres’s first English-language collection. It’s subtitled “Liminal Tales,” and this is an appropriate description. Many of the stories take place in remote locations, places where our world seems to overlap with some other place.

My two favorite stories were “Fogtown” and “The Amber Complex.” I’ve always been a fan of stories about media with some kind of eerie aspect, like “Candle Cove” and Sarah Pinsker’s “Two Truths and a Lie,” and “Fogtown” is a standout example of that subgenre. (It also reminds me a great deal of John Langan’s “Outside the House, Watching for the Crows,” to the point where I wondered if the two writers know each other.) “The Amber Complex” is notable for the wonderfully vivid descriptions of the visions experienced by the characters.

Interestingly, two of the other stories in the collection, “Return to the Midnight School” and “The Black Maybe,” are very similar in subject matter. Both concern farms where the crops being harvested are supernatural in essence. Again, there’s a thematic connection to other modern weird fiction, as both of these reminded me of Josh Malerman’s online serialized novel Carpenter’s Farm.

A couple of the stories have elements of parody or black humor to them. Remember the moral panic about the supposed Satanic influences on rock music, and later, heavy metal? In “Sky Filled With Crows, Then Nothing at All,” a demon uses heavy metal to try and make a teenaged Antichrist get with the program…and it does not turn out the way he expects. “Multiplied by Zero” reads like a product testimonial, in this case for a travel agency, except that the agency specializes in Lovecraftian destinations.

Overall, this is an excellent collection, and I hope Veres is able to get more of his work published in English.

“In That Endlessness, Our End” by Gemma Files

I’ve been a fan of Gemma Files’s writing for a long time, so I was excited when she came out with a new short story collection. Her previous collection, Spectral Evidence, featured the same set of characters in several stories. There are no such obvious connections here, although a side character who briefly appears in one story is mentioned in another, and the phrase “in that endlessness shall be our end” pops up in two. This gives the sense that some of the stories may be occurring in the same universe while still allowing each one to stand on its own.

When I reviewed Spectral Evidence, I mentioned that I really enjoyed the story “Guising,” in part because of my love of stories about the Fair Folk. Two of the stories in Endlessness also feature these enigmatic mythological creatures, and more specifically the changeling trope. “Thin Cold Hands” is a wonderfully unique take on the idea that makes the fairies feel truly alien. “Cuckoo” plays the trope a bit straighter but gives it a fresh twist by positing that some human parents willingly exchange their children for fairy babies. While the fairies are described in a way that makes them sound sinister, the humans who abandon a child simply because it doesn’t meet their expectations are the real villains.

A pact that doesn’t go the way the human characters expect it to also features in “Look Up.” The tension between tradition and progress, and the disconnect between members of an immigrant community and their relatives who stayed behind in the Old Country, get a strong focus in this story.

Files has previously worked as a film critic and screenwriter, and film (particularly Canadian film and underground film) plays central roles both in her novel Experimental Film and her previous short fiction (e.g. “each thing i show you is a piece of my death”). Two of the stories in this volume, “The Church in the Mountains” and “Cut Scene” deal with a blurring between film and reality. I enjoy stories about eerie books/films/artworks, so these both resonated with me. Files does an excellent job of describing her fictional films so well that you can picture them in your mind’s eye…even when you might not want to.

My favorite story in the collection, though, was “Bulb.” Like Fritz Leiber’s “Smoke Ghost,” it creates a supernatural entity that not only coexists with the modern world but is entirely at home there. The imagery of the electromagnetic spectrum as a spiderweb was wonderful.

All in all, this collection was great. Files continues batting a thousand in my book.

“The People in the Castle: Selected Strange Stories” by Joan Aiken

Joan Aiken is best-known for her Wolves of Willoughby Chase alternate history series, but she also wrote short stories, plays, and poems. Most of her short fiction has some supernatural elements—perhaps not surprising for a lifelong fan of ghost stories who wrote a novel based on a haunting supposedly experienced by Henry James and E.F. Benson.

Kelly Link’s Small Beer Press has published two collections of Aiken’s short fiction, including The People in the Castle. Several of the stories in this collection are united by an atmosphere that reminded me of classic folktales. The title story puts a new spin on the age-old tale of a protagonist who marries a not-quite-human partner, loses them by violating a rule, and then must go on some sort of quest to get them back. In “The Dark Streets of Kimball’s Green,” a child’s make-believe game of knights and druids may have more reality than her bullying stepbrother expects. “Hope” features a woman who manages to get the better of humankind’s oldest adversary. If you distill “The Man Who Saw the Rope Trick” down to its bare bones, it’s a morality play of the kind often featured in old stories, with long-suffering people finding an escape from their circumstances while unpleasant people meet with an unpleasant fate. But it’s not one-dimensional or boring: Aiken makes the story pop with vivid imagery and makes the reader feel for the characters.

Aiken masters a range of tones in her work. “Old Fillikin” features a menacing creature that put me in mind of M.R. James’s “Casting the Runes,” while “She Was Afraid of Upstairs” maintains a wonderful sense of creeping dread. By contrast, “Lob’s Girl” is a heartwarming story that will make you think someone’s cutting onions in the next room. Finally, “A Room Full of Leaves,” with its young protagonist in a huge, rambling house, is reminiscent of Mervyn Peake’s surreal novel Gormenghast. One story even includes definite science fictional elements, though I won’t say which one to avoid spoilers.

Aiken’s short stories are well worth reading, and it’s nice to see them getting such a good showcase. (LeVar Burton featured one of the stories from this book on “LeVar Burton Reads”!) Whether your tastes in speculative fiction run toward the fantastical, the science fictional, the eerie, or the outright horrific, you’ll find something to enjoy here.

“Corpsemouth and Other Autobiographies” by John Langan

John Langan’s latest short fiction collection, Corpsemouth and Other Autobiographies, brings together stories that have some autobiographical element to them. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, then, that many of these stories deal with the main characters’ relationships to members of their families. In the majority of the stories, the relationship in question is between the narrator and one of their parents. The longest story in the book, “Anchor,” follows a poet’s son as he gradually uncovers the truth about why his father’s best friend came to stay with their family for an extended period of time when he was a boy. In “Shadow and Thirst”—a story inspired by Stephen King’s Dark Tower series—a man discovers that his father’s sudden act of violence has its roots in a tower that has mysteriously appeared in the backyard. In “Caoineadh,” a woman tells her son a story about a strange encounter she had during the Blitz. And “What Is Lost, What Is Given Away” is an eerie tale about the desperate lengths a man will go to in order to reconnect with his son. I’ve always been a fan of Jorge Luis Borges’s work, so I was pleased to see that this story was inspired by that work, and indeed name-drops Borges himself.

A few of the stories deal with other kinds of family relationships. While the main character of the title story has a large extended family, the centerpiece is his relationship with an uncle. “The Open Mouth of Charybdis” features the bonds between a set of siblings. In the story notes at the end of the book, Langan explains the genesis of the story. Having previously read the story in an anthology (Innsmouth Nightmares, edited by Lois Gresh), I wasn’t worried about spoilers and so read the note before rereading the story. Knowing the emotions and experiences behind why Langan chose to write this piece made it more poignant than it had been the first time around.

My favorite story, though, is one that departed from the general theme. “Outside the House, Watching for the Crows” is a story about music. More specifically, it’s about songs that become associated in your memory with a specific time in your life or a particular person. For all the creepiness of this story, there was also a powerfully nostalgic aspect to it. All the stories in this collection were good, but “Outside the House, Watching for the Crows” is a standout.

“Never Have I Ever” by Isabel Yap

Never Have I Ever is World Fantasy Award-winner Isabel Yap’s first collection of short fiction. Yap was born in the Philippines, and many of the stories draw on that country’s folklore, history, and social customs.

Many of Yap’s protagonists are young women, and the relationship between teenaged and college-aged girls is central to these stories. In “A Canticle for Lost Girls,” three friends have to navigate vicious rumors, shifting hierarchies of popularity, and dangers both mundane and supernatural. The classmates in “Have You Heard the One About Anamaria Marquez?” eagerly whisper urban legends to each other, but they may be more than just legends for one girl. “Hurricane Heels (We Go Down Dancing)” reminded me of Puella Magi Madoka Magica in its deconstruction of the Magical Girl genre of anime. Four best friends suddenly find themselves imbued with the power to fight monsters and have to navigate this on top of high school, college, dating, and careers.

Yap’s stories are also deeply informed by Filipino politics and culture. “Asphalt, River, Mother, Child” deals with the brutal fallout of the Filipino government’s war on drugs. The divide between urban or suburban rich and rural poor underlies all the character interactions in “Only Unclench Your Hand.” In Yap’s writing, large-scale conflicts and political movements are always shown through the lens of their effects on individuals’ lives and relationships.

These stories were often poignant, sometimes bittersweet, and always beautiful. I hope to see more short fiction from Yap in the future.

“White Cat, Black Dog” by Kelly Link

Many thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for providing a free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

I’ve been a huge fan of Kelly Link’s short fiction for a long time, so I was eager to read her latest collection, White Cat, Black Dog. This book is different from her previous work in that the stories follow a theme: all are inspired by fairy tales. The stories vary in how closely they hew to the original subject matter, but all of them contain the trademark weirdness Link is known for.

My favorite story, “Skinder’s Veil,” was one I had previously read in anthology of stories in tribute to Shirley Jackson. This is probably the most complex story in the volume, with multiple character arcs intersecting and not all questions answered at the end.

One quality most stories in White Cat share is the mixing of practicality with a dreamlike atmosphere. Link’s characters deal with ordinary family and workplace dilemmas. The protagonist in “Skinder’s Veil” doesn’t get along with his roommate and is behind on his dissertation. The three sons in “The White Cat’s Divorce” have a father who treats them more as accessories than as real people. The protagonist of “The Game of Smash and Recovery” discovers that her beloved brother has been keeping secrets from her. But they’re also faced with supernatural perils. When the main character of “Prince Hat Underground” discovers that his lover isn’t who he thought he was, it doesn’t just mean that the lover has an unsavory past. His lover, in fact, may not even be human. As for the grad student in “Skinder’s Veil,” the person he house-sits for is much more than just an eccentric rich person.

The stories collected in White Cat span most of Link’s career to date. “The Game of Smash and Recovery” was first published in Strange Horizons way back in 2015, while When Things Get Dark: Stories Inspired by Shirley Jackson came out in the fall of 2021. Despite their common theme, the stories are varied enough in tone and style that, combined with the long period over which they were written, they’ll give a new reader a good introduction to the breath of Link’s work. For someone who was already a fan, they contain a lot of what we already loved about Link’s writing. So, this is a book I’d recommend for Link fans old and new.

“Things We Lost in the Fire” by Mariana Enriquez

Mariana Enriquez has lived in Argentina her whole life, so it’s not surprising that most of her stories are grounded in the history and culture of that country. Things We Lost in the Fire, the second collection of short fiction she wrote but the first one to be translated into English, deals with the painful legacy of the dictatorship that formerly ruled the country, as well as the inequality that many Argentinians deal with today.

The characters in Enriquez’s stories face extreme circumstances. But whether these circumstances are created by other humans or by more esoteric forces, Enriquez maintains a matter-of-fact narrative voice that works very well. Many reviewers have described her work as belonging to the South American literary tradition of magical realism, in which uncanny events are accepted by the characters as a natural part of the world. The tone of the stories in Things We Lost in the Fire really lends itself to this. Supernatural horrors exist alongside mundane ones, and sometimes the line between them starts to blur.

“Adela’s House” was far and away my favorite story. Enriquez does a masterful job of creating a sense of creeping dread. She also makes good use of ambiguity. We never find out the exact nature of the house or what happens to the character who goes in and doesn’t come out. And it works! “Under the Black Water” was also excellent. It’s a Lovecraftian story, but there’s a lot more going on than just people being menaced by tentacled monsters. The corruption and callousness of humans creates the circumstances that lead to the thing under the black water beginning to stir its sleep. “The Dirty Kid” was the most visceral and moving story in the collection. The narrator’s realization that she’s been pretending to understand how the people around her live while having a safety net that they don’t feels uncomfortable to the reader, because she’s the character we naturally identify with. But that discomfort is what makes the story so powerful.

Things We Lost in the Fire is a short collection, but there’s so much emotion, history, and sheer weirdness packed into the stories that it was still a satisfying read. It makes me excited to read her second collection, The Dangers of Smoking in Bed.

“The Variegated Alphabet” by Caitlin R. Kiernan

Subterranean Press’s edition of Caitlín R. Kiernan’s The Variegated Alphabet combines seven alphabets Kiernan wrote over a period of fourteen years. Each one consists of twenty-six vignettes, with one piece in each set illustrated by John Kenn Mortensen. Some of them are complete stories in the vein of flash fiction; others are character studies or mood pieces.

The production values on this book are remarkable. The wraparound jacket, the textured liners of the cover interiors, and the printing are all impeccably done. The art is macabre and exquisitely detailed.

Of course, the most important part of a book is the story—or, in this case, stories. Kiernan’s background as a paleontologist comes into play in many of the stories here. Sometimes, characters find an unusual fossil or artifact, or compare something they’ve witnessed to long-extinct organisms. Since Kiernan is genderfluid, themes of metamorphosis and self-discovery often appear in their stories, and many of the pieces here feature characters who must confront some unexpected aspect of their own bodies or identities.

Kiernan is well-known for writing stories that intersect with the Cthulhu Mythos. In fact, they’ve written enough Mythos stories to form a separate collection, the excellent Houses Under the Sea. A number of the stories in Alphabet are Mythos tales as well, particularly those in the “Eldritch Alphabetos” section. One even occurs as a supplement to the title story from Houses. But Kiernan draws on a wider selection of inspirations as well. I was particularly happy to see a reference to the sinister circus from Ray Bradbury’s Something Wicked This Way Comes in the “N is for Nyarlathotep” entry from the Eldritch Alphabetos.

Subterranean Press produced two editions of The Variegated Alphabet, and neither one is cheap. But the unique stories, beautiful construction, and wonderful art make it worth the price.

“The Language of Thorns” by Leigh Bardugo

Leigh Bardugo’s Grishaverse books catapulted her to the top of various bestseller lists. With the collection The Language of Thorns, she deepens the setting by presenting folktales from Novyi Zem, Ravka, Kerch, and Fjerda.

The concept of this book is wonderful. Rather than just giving us additional short stories from the Grishaverse, Bardugo has chosen to present stories that people living in the Grishaverse would tell. Storytelling is a universal human constant, so giving a fictional culture their own folklore and mythology is a great way to make them feel more real.

The execution easily lives up to the promise of the concept. While the term “fairy tales” often conjures up the image of stories for children, the stories presented here are far from simplistic. While some of them do have morals, those morals reflect the complexity of an adult’s world. Characters in the first tale, “Ayama and the Thorn Wood,” repeatedly exhort each other to “speak truth.” Despite their inclusion of spells and monsters, these stories speak truth about the messy, wondrous, and sometimes terrifying world we live in.

Another notable aspect of The Language of Thorns is the absolutely gorgeous illustrations. Illustrator Sara Kipin creates stunning images in shades of red and blue to accompany each story. The full illustrations appear at the end of each story, with individual elements expanding across the margins of each page to lead up to them. The illustrations for “The Soldier Prince” were especially intricate and impressive. I highly recommend reading a physical copy of this book to get the full effect of the illustrations.

C.S. Lewis famously said, “When I was a child, I read fairy tales in secret. Now that I am a man, I read them openly.” The Language of Thorns is a book of fairy tales that any adult can pick up and be assured of engaging stories paired with beautiful art.

“To Rouse Leviathan” by Matt Cardin

While Vastarien co-editor Matt Cardin has written two books of nonfiction, To Rouse Leviathan is his first fiction collection, and it includes all the stories he’d published as of its release in 2019. The stories in this volume are complex and dense, inviting comparisons to Thomas Ligotti’s work.

Reviewers have described Cardin’s work as “philosophical horror” or “ontological horror,” and these are both fitting descriptions. The horror in these stories doesn’t come from monsters or serial killers but from the characters’ realizations that reality is fundamentally different from what they thought it was. While tales like “The God of Foulness” do include entities that wouldn’t be out of place in a Lovecraft story, it isn’t simply the existence of vast, unknowable beings that causes Cardin’s characters to “go mad from the revelation.” Instead, the source of the horror is the structure of the universe itself—or rather, the intimation that structure and order themselves are only temporary things.

One interesting aspect of Cardin’s fiction is the degree to which it’s rooted in the Abrahamic faith tradition. Cosmic horror tends to treat the benevolent deities of various religions as nothing more than comforting illusions. In the world of Leviathan, some of the major Biblical figures are clearly real—Satan even makes an appearance in “The Devil and One Lump.” (The Father of Lies enjoying terrible instant coffee is a pretty amusing moment.) The version of God presented here isn’t omnipotent, though. He’s ultimately just as vulnerable to the inevitable decay of existence as any of His creations. In a way, that might be even scarier than the nonexistence of the divine. Nietzche’s famous proclamation that “God is dead” at least has some weight or grandeur to it that “God is just a regular schmuck like everyone else” lacks.

Many of Cardin’s stories reference esoteric philosophical concepts or quote from philosophical and theological texts. Even when the central metaphor of a story is relatively simple—a play in “The Basement Theater” or a corporate organizational structure in “The Stars Shine Without Me”—the language and sentence structure are elaborate. This, along with the similarity in theme of all the stories, can make the collection feel a bit repetitive if it’s read all at once (as opposed to interspersing the stories with other books). That said, most of the stories were interesting and unsettling. I’m looking forward to seeing what Cardin writes in the future, especially if he chooses to branch out a bit in style and tone.