When the paranormal fraud Edward Kelley finds a mysterious black stone, he starts hearing the voices of angels. They implore him to seek out and warn scientist/magician John Dee. An alien invasion is about to hit 16th century England, if the country doesn’t tear itself apart before then.
While Stableford’s other two Plurality stories had clear references to the works of Jules Verne and H. G. Wells, I couldn’t pinpoint any obvious literary inspiration for this one (but that might just be my own ignorance). However, it’s uncanny how closely it matches up to real history. Meanwhile, the alien metastory is coming more and more to forefront, which is a good thing if you’re keeping up with it but I doubt that anyone unfamiliar with it got much enjoyment out of this story. But not to worry, it’ll all make for a great novel someday.
(Asimov’s, July 2008)
Aimee’s big trick is that she makes twenty-six monkeys vanish onstage. Well, it’s not really her trick as the monkeys do all the work. Aimee has no idea how they do it. But with the eldest monkey slowly dying, will the trick survive him?
Kij Johnson does a great job at evoking a feeling most of us have probably had at one time or other. Aimee finds herself lost in her own life, without any goals, surrounded by a random constellation of artefacts and people. It’s just that in her case there are also monkeys who disappear in a bathtub, contrasting Aimee’s feelings with a playful dose of whimsy. Add to that a truly wonderful ending and you get one of my favourite stories of the year so far.
(Asimov’s, July 2008)
One evening, Ms. K— is escorted to the Wrong-Way Used-Adult Orphanage, an involuntary home for parents who’ve lost their children to the War on Worldwide Wickedness. It’s a place full of metaphors, where the only rule is that you may never leave.
Michael Bishop recently lost a son and it’s obvious he’s speaking from experience here. The story is filled with painful, evocative imagery of loss. However, it was just too metaphorical for me. I think this story will reverberate with a lot of people but unfortunately I wasn’t one of them.
(Asimov’s, July 2008)
With all his savings stuck in a negative equity apartment, Henry is still mourning the loss of his wife, who died when a starship tore through his city’s hull. When he falls for one of the city’s chars, Red Cross wards who are tolerated because they perform menial jobs, he has either found a salve for his heartache or he is about to get his heart broken a lot more.
Though the story lacks some of Bukowski’s raw authenticity, the characters feel like they’ve walked straight out of one of his stories (deliberately perhaps, with a main character called Henry). The science fiction elements seem rather superfluous, but what’s left is still a well-told tale of broken people using and loving each other.
(Asimov’s, July 2008)
After a time travel transport goes wrong, an electormagnetic echo of Phyllis Lewis wakes up in an abandoned facility, glowing with radiation and able to melt solid rock. With all of Phyllis’ memories, is she human or not? Is she even real?
I haven’t been keeping up with Utley’s Silurian tales, so I don’t know how this fits in, or if Phyllis Lewis is a recurring character. The story explores an interesting idea and gives a brief glimpse of Phyllis’ life, but in the end, without any context, it’s just a nice vignette, too short to make much of an impact.
(Asimov’s, July 2008)
New York, 1948, the local jazz scene is bustling with great grooves but for musicians who want to earn big money, there are jobs waiting on interstellar cruises, organized by the mysterious, alien Frogs. As long as you don’t play any Monk. Robbie Coolidge wants to take his chance but sometimes, muscians lose part of theirself in outer space.
Gord Sellar obviously knows and loves his jazz. I know a whole lot less but he does an excellent job of filling in the gaps for us newbies. The narrator’s voice, based on that of Miles Davis, adds enough authenticity to the tale to make up for the somehwat haphazard introduction of aliens into New York’s past. And it has to be said, they make an excellent metaphor for soulless music executives.
(Asimov’s, July 2008)
