Summary: These are the five novella finalists for the 36th Asimov’s SF Magazine Readers’ Awards (for stories published in 2021). They are a couple of don’t miss stories, A Rocket for Dimitrios by Ray Nayler (a complex alternate world piece in his “Sylvia Aldstatt” series which sees her reading the memories of a dead man in an attempt to find a crashed flying saucer) and The Realms of Water by Robert Reed (a “Great Ship” story where a group of travellers are stranded and one of their number listens to the potted life history of a near-immortal alien). One of the other stories by Greg Egan, Light Up the Clouds, is a near-miss that, with its story of humans living on floating plants in the atmosphere of a gas giant, may interest some.
The other pieces are mediocre (a padded murder mystery cum family soap opera from Elizabeth Bear, and a sanitised and formulaic Hollywood thriller about body swapping and white supremacist terrorists from Alex Irvine).
[Story links]
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Editor, Sheila Williams
A Blessing of Unicorns • novella by Elizabeth Bear ∗
A Rocket for Dimitrios • novella by Ray Nayler ∗∗∗∗+
Glitch • novella by Alex Irvine ∗
Light Up the Clouds • novella by Greg Egan ∗∗+
The Realms of Water • novella by Robert Reed ∗∗∗+
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A Blessing of Unicorns by Elizabeth Bear (Asimov’s SF, September-October 2021) gets off to a promising start with Police Sub-Inspector Ferron getting stabbed in the foot by a mini-unicorn while she is investigating a missing person’s apartment with her colleague, Senior Constable Indrapramit:
Around Ferron’s foot clustered a dozen or so jewel-hued, cat-sized, bioprinted synthetic unicorns, stomping their cloven hooves and tossing their rapier-like horns. It was the sharp edge of one small hoof that had laid her flesh open. Now the toe was bleeding copiously, as foot injuries often do.
“Don’t just stand there. Bring me the first aid kit.”
Gingerly, Ferron set her sandal down. Blood slimed between her sole and the shoe.
The most ferocious of the miniature animals, a sparkly, butterscotch-colored stallion, snorted and arched his neck. He defecated a marble-sized poop to let everyone know he was the boss of everything.
Ferron, who had never had much to do with farm animals, even tiny ones, did not find this charming. p. 160
After Ferron treats her foot they receive a video message from the police network and see the missing woman, a social media influencer called Bel Hinti, enter the deserted police station with a gun (all, or nearly all, of the city’s police force work at home or out in the field in this future world). Hinti eventually surrenders the firearm to the virtual assistant and tells it that someone is trying to kill her. Then, at the end of the video, Hinti scribbles something on a piece of paper before leaving the station.
So far, so good, but, after Ferron and Indrapramit complete their search and head out into the bright night (a supernova has appeared in the sky and there is mention of a dead alien civilization), Ferron heads home, and we get a four pages of description about her domestic circumstances. This involves, variously, what she has to eat, her interaction with Chairman Miaow and Smoke (her pet cat and fox), and her relationship problems with her extended family and mother (who has had her virtual reality budget cut off and is making Ferron suffer):
Ferron’s mother’s name was Madhuvanthi, and Ferron was used to seeing her only in virtual space, or as a body dressed in a black immersion suit, reclining on a chaise.
Ferron would never say it, but her mother was bedridden not because of illness, but because of self-neglect. She needed—had needed for years—treatment for depression, anxiety, and withdrawal syndrome. She obsessively archived her virtual memories, racking up huge storage bills that Ferron had, until recently, bankrupted herself to pay.
Ferron had long ago given up trying to talk her mother into treatment, and she had no leverage with which to force the issue. Her sisters pleaded poverty and unemployment, though Ferron knew at least two of them did pretty well on the gray market. The truth was, nobody really wanted to deal with Mom.
Madhuvanthi did not look at Ferron as Preeti pulled the omni away. Ferron made her tone exquisitely polite. “Hello, Amma. Hello, Preeti mausiji, Bijli mausiji. It’s good to see you out of bed, Amma.”
Madhuvanthi kept her face averted, and her hand went to the skinpet adhered just below her collarbone. Velvety fur rippled as she stroked it, her touch followed by the rumble of a purr.
“But look at this, Ferron,” Preeti said. “Look what we have done for you!”
The past tense increased Ferron’s apprehension to outright dread. She knew better than to say anything. She braced herself and accepted the omni.
It was a matrimonial ad, and Ferron was horrified to realize that it wasn’t some man that her family was going to try to force her to write to—or worse, had already written to on her behalf. This was an ad for her, seeking a groom. And it wasn’t a draft, either. It had already been posted. pp. 169-170
This domestic soap opera (supposedly set in the 2070s or 2080s I think1) is a harbinger of what is to come in the rest of the story, which essentially devolves into a sequence of meals that Ferron has with or without Indrapramit, and tetchy encounters with her mother. This is punctuated with some light internet browsing and the odd trip out as the pair look for the missing woman. Eventually they find out (after a brief virtual reality episode) that another influencer from Hinti’s social media set is missing, which later leads them to suspect that a trustee or trustees of a fund the women belong to may be killing the beneficiaries to get control of the money.
The climax of the story comes after WhiteRabbit, a third influencer, (“Call me Rabbit”) turns up at Ferron’s house in the middle of the night, which prompts Ferron to meet Indrapramit at the station to look for the note that Hinti left but which no-one has been able to find . When they get there (spoiler), they see that someone has smashed the place up—and they are then held at gunpoint by Muhuli (the second of the missing woman), who is eventually shot by Ferron. Ferron then finds the note in the tea trolley, which identifies Muhuli as the villian—you cannot help but think that if the police search teams had done their job properly they could have saved Ferron and Indrapramit from a lot of eating and browsing. I’d also add that I would be surprised if any reader could work out that Muhuli was the murderer from the information provided.
By the way, Ferron suspects early on that Hinti’s body was dismembered and put through the bioprinter, turning the corpse into the unicorns found in Hinti’s apartment—but I can’t remember a CSI investigation for blood spatter, etc. when they can’t get DNA from the unicorns.
There is a very slight murder mystery story here, and it is buried under such a pile of extraneous description (food, pets, mothers, supernovas, aliens, etc.) that the piece eventually becomes do-not-finish tedious. Even though I, against my better earlier judgement, did, I had to take breaks and read it in three sessions.
Finally, I’d also suggest that, when most of a story is about the first three subjects in that list above (food, pets, mothers, etc.), you are looking at the work of someone who has burnt out as an SF writer.
∗ (Mediocre). 24,700 words. Story link.
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A Rocket for Dimitrios by Ray Nayler (Asimov’s SF, January-February 2021) is the second of his “Sylvia Aldstatt” stories,2 and takes place in an alternate world where America, after finding a crashed flying saucer in 1938, went on to develop superweapons that changed the course of WWII (and also allowed it to establish hegemony over the rest of the world: Russia was invaded after the war; Roosevelt is serving his seventh term as president).
The story starts with Aldstatt falling out of a “terraplane” and plummeting towards the surface before the story flashbacks to a point in time several days earlier. Here we see her at an American Embassy party in Istanbul, where the ambassador talks to her about the purpose of her visit:
“So, you’re the girl that talks to dead people,” the ambassador had said as I came into his office that morning.
I noticed he had one of those idiotic gold Roosevelt silhouette pins in his lapel. A badge of loyalty. They weren’t required, but I was beginning to see them crop up more and more among the sycophants of the diplomatic corps.
So, you’re a puffed-up, aging boy whose daddy was smart enough to grab up the saucer patents early, I wanted to say. But I didn’t. I wasn’t feeling combative. I was feeling fragile and tired, struggling to fight off a cold caught on the transatlantic rocket flight.
[. . .]
“Sir, I’m a combat veteran of the Second World War and the Afterwar. I was in General Hedy Lamarr’s Technical Corps. I pilot the loops, if that’s what you mean.”
Maybe that would help him sort the word “girl” out of his speech.
He didn’t even blink. p. 16
Before this meeting Aldstatt talks briefly to a Chief Inspector Refik Bayar, a well-connected Turkish secret policeman better known as “The Fisherman”, who offers a briefing on Dimitrios Makropoulos, the dead man whose memories she is going to read. Makropoulos supposedly knows (or knew) the location of a second crashed saucer, and the Americans urgently want to find it before any other country does to avoid destabilising the world order.
When Aldstatt later goes to the building that houses Makropoulos’s body and the loop machinery, she meets the Chief Inspector once more, and gets a briefing on the dead man’s life as a professional middleman and criminal who operated in the shadows:
“There is a drug smuggling ring in the mountains north of Thessaloniki run by a Greek named Dimitrios who is never caught. This is in 1937. Was it him? We believe so—but we cannot be sure. We don’t pick up his trail again with certainty until he is sighted by one of our agents at the Athene Palace hotel in Bucharest. There, we know it is him. Our Dimitrios. Now he’s playing the role of a Greek freighter captain, but what he is really involved in is selling Black Sea naval intelligence to the Nazis via their emissaries in Rumania. This is 1940. We have our eyes on him until 1942, when our services are”—he paused, considering his words—“compromised. We catch a glimpse, perhaps, of him again. The port town of Varna, in fascist Bulgaria. First mate of a salvage vessel. He approaches one of our double agents embedded with the Axis Bulgarian government with information he says will alter the course of the war. This is 1943. The course of the war, by then, is largely unalterable. It took you Americans a few years to crack any of the technology you found on that saucer that crashed in your Western desert, but by 1943, things were much more certain.”
Ashes, ashes, you all fall down, I thought. And Turkey wakes up from its semi-Fascist dreams and joins the winning team to make sure it gets a slot in the U.N. But what was Turkey up to before that?
“And then?”
“And then our double agent in Bulgaria is compromised. And shot.”
There was a long beat of silence, with only the seagulls screaming over the Golden Horn to fill it. p. 22
When Aldstatt eventually dons the loop helmet, and enters the dead man’s memories, she initially sees him trying to sell the location of the saucer to the Germans in the middle of WWII, before seeing his childhood as a goatherd in the Greek mountains; then she sees him float in the sea after his ship is torpedoed.
After the session she tells Alvin, her OSS handler, that Makropoulos spoke directly to her—something unprecedented in any of the dead people she has read—and that he appears to be aware of what has happened to him.
The rest of the story sees Sylvia reliving more of Makropoulos’s memories (which eventually start deteriorate and become distorted by her presence) against a backdrop of external developments that, among other things, include an apparent schism at the top of the American government over the desirability of recovering the second saucer—as revealed to Aldstatt by a night time visitor in a antigravity suit. This latter character is (spoiler), Eleanor Roosevelt, who reappears later on.
The conclusion of the story not only manages to satisfyingly tie up all the various plot strands but also, after revealing one of Makropoulos’s formative experiences as a child, produces an unexpectedly touching ending.
This is a very impressive piece (probably one of the best I’ve read recently in Asimov’s) and one that provides a huge amount of immersive detail. Nearly every paragraph throws off descriptions and information about the characters, their behaviour, their physical location, the geopolitics of this world, and the geopolitics of our world. You end up with the impression that Nayler has taken all his experience as a Peace Corps volunteer, Foreign Service officer, and Cultural Affairs officer—and his life time observations of the world and its inhabitants—and squeezed them into one story.
This should be on the Hugo finalist ballot, but it probably won’t be.3
∗∗∗∗+ (Very good to Excellent). 18,800 words. Story link.
•
Glitch by Alex Irvine (Asimov’s SF, March-April 2021) opens with Kyle waking up in a medical facility and realising that he has been “recompiled” (uploaded) into a new body (he notes a missing tattoo, unpierced ears). His partner Shari tells him that he was killed in a terrorist bomb blast and that there has been a glitch in his persona upload (there are unconvincing explanations about why they have had to delete his backup and so cannot repeat the process). Then, when Kyle later remembers the attack from the bomber’s perspective, he realises that part of the terrorist’s persona has also been uploaded into his new body:
An image drifted through his head, smeary and fleeting. A toddler on the bricks of Monument Square, spilling out of a baby backpack. Eyes closed, mouth open, dust in pale streaks on his skin and in the black springs of his hair. An adult’s arm still twisted through one strap of the backpack. Blood dark on the bricks.
One more maggot won’t grow up to be a roach.
Kyle twitched and his eyes snapped into focus. God, what kind of a person—
The thought had come from inside his mind.
He leaned his elbows on the porch railing and rested his face in his hands. Imagine dying, he thought, and that’s one of your last thoughts . . . and now it’s one of my memories. Because he did remember it, and to his shame a part of him had felt a visceral satisfaction. That was the other person.
Brian. That was his name. Another neural pathway knitting itself into the gooey matrix that made Kyle Brooks who he was, and who he would be. Brian.
“You’re a fucking asshole racist, Brian,” Kyle said into his hands. “Sooner you’re gone, overwritten, forgotten, whatever . . . sooner the better. I hope nobody recompiles you.” p. 19
This idea of being trapped inside your own head with a racist terrorist is quite a promising one (in a chilling way) and, for the first part of the story, it is reasonably well handled—we get further racist outbursts from Brian, and memories of bomb-making with his wife Marie, etc. (that said, his character is never really developed much beyond a sanitised version of a stereotypical white supremacist villain4). Then the Feds turn up to question Kyle, suspecting that he has some or all of Brian’s persona in him; they tell him that if they find out that is the case, they will (by some legal hand-wavium) arrest him.
Kyle then goes to see Abdi, a Somali business contact and hacker, who agrees to track down the source of the hack that corrupted Kyle’s persona backup (Kyle figures that if he can find out more about the bomber he can make a deal with the Feds). Then a ticking clock is introduced when Kyle learns that the Feds have an arrest warrant for him, and the tempo speeds up further when Kyle sees a second bomb in one of Brian’s memories.
The rest of the story sees Kyle and three of Abdi’s cog swapping friends (body-swappers) run around (directed by Abdi’s magical hacker skills) looking for the bomb and, in one sequence, Kyle cogswaps with a transgender woman and goes to a club looking for a contact of Brian’s. There are further convenient memory reveals from Brian which move the plot forward when Abdi’s computer isn’t doing so.
The action draws to a conclusion when (spoiler) Kyle finds the bomb and the real Brian at a house Abdi has located from his computer searches. Brian beats up Kyle and injures him, but Kyle is rescued by Chantel from the house fire Brian starts afterwards. Then Kyle, Chantel and another cogswapper have to chase Brian to a fairground where Kyle finds the bomb under a school bus. Then Brian finds Kyle, and Kyle has to deal with Brian, the bomb and (of course!) his own inherent racism:
Over the loudspeaker, Kyle heard a voice instructing fairgoers to please exit to the parking lots in a calm and orderly fashion. He unzipped the backpack, exposing the explosive charge. Through the fog of agony, the Brian in his head tried to stop him, but Kyle was in charge now. You’re just an ugly part of me that already existed, he thought. And because I died, you got a name. Once I accepted that, I understood how weak you are.
you’re not so different, I fit right in
Kyle’s heel gouged a furrow in the ground as Brian dragged him all the way out.
As he emerged into the light again, he remembered Marie’s hands. He remembered exactly what they had done. Anyone pulls the red wires, boom.
He heard both Brians at once. No no no don’t—
He pulled the red wires. p. 48
Kyle awakens in a new body, and sees Shari and Abdi (who has edited out Brian from the new persona backup that he has conveniently been running for Kyle since earlier in the story). Kyle has no recollection of anything that has happened since the original bombing.
This story starts with a neat idea but it is one that is sloppily executed (how did Brian’s persona get mixed up with Kyle’s; why are there such stupid laws surrounding the backup technology and responsibility for criminal acts, etc.). Much worse is the second part of the story, which devolves into a sub-Hollywood cyberpunk thriller with good guys and bad guys. I lost interest halfway through.5
∗ (Mediocre). 21,600 words. Story link.
•
Light Up the Clouds by Greg Egan (Asimov’s SF, March-April 2021) begins with Anna landing a glider on a forest floating in the atmosphere of a gas giant. After she disembarks she has a discussion with Tirell (the story’s main character), Selik, and Rada about her observations above the clouds, which includes a comment that “the Cousins might be back”. When Selik doubts Anna’s observations, Rada suggests that she take a fresh pair of eyes with her on her next flight—and so Tirell is recruited as her apprentice.
When Anna subsequently takes Tirell up on his first flight the thermals in the atmosphere soon take them above the cloud tops. There we see that Maldo, Anna and Tirell’s floating forest home is not the only exotic feature of this world, but so is the solar system they are part of: Tirell sees the small, bright Far Sun is just about to drop below the horizon, and that the massive, dull Near Sun is so close to them that it is siphoning gas from their planet, causing the Near Sun to heat up. Then, in the distance, at an equilibrium point between the planet and the two suns, are not three but now six bright points of light—the “Cousins”.
The middle part of the story develops this intriguing setup—we learn something of the history of this people from the frequent mentions of their Recitations, a verbal history that suggests that much earlier human settlers split into two groups to settle their solar system—and, when nineteen lights (now described as propelled asteroids) are later sighted, the decision is made to attempt to contact the Cousins. Unfortunately, the explanation of the construction of the catapult system later used to launch an unmanned glider to the equilibrium point is (a) overlong and (b) unclear,6 which means that the middle of the story comes close to grinding to a halt at points (although, that said, in among all this there is an undeveloped but intriguing scene where Tirell fertilises Delia’s eggs, a sign of how long this offshoot of humanity has been on its own, and how differently evolved it has become).
When there is no contact after the launch of the unmanned glider (and a subsequent observation flight sees even more asteroids at the equilibrium point and an increase in the gas loss) it becomes clear that the cousins are responsible for the siphoning (which is now causing the death of parts of Maldo). The group decide to launch a manned flight.
The final part of the story (spoiler) sees the problems of breathing (a canopy) and re-entry (a parachute) addressed before Tirell sets off in a glider to the equilibrium point. When he gets there one of the humans there deigns to talk to him but basically tells Tirell to get lost—the Cousins won’t stop the gas bleed as they need the Near Sun to heat up so they can settle two other planets in the solar system (we learn there are billions of them and only ten thousand of Tirell’s people). Tirell returns to Maldo to tell them the news, and then says he need to hear the full Recitation so they can prepare for their future.
This has a fairly good start and a decent enough ending but, as I’ve already mentioned, the middle is a drag, and I also didn’t buy that the Cousins would be so offhand—if they have the technology to bleed a planet and fire up a sun they could surely help or cope with ten thousand indigents/refugees. I don’t think this entirely works, but it is a pleasant enough tale and may appeal to readers of traditional science fiction (it doesn’t hurt that it has echoes of Brian W. Aldiss’s Hothouse and Bob Shaw’s The Ragged Astronauts).
∗∗+ (Average to Good). 19,500 words. Story link.
•
The Realms of Water by Robert Reed is part of his “Great Ship” series and gets off to a picturesque start with a group of travellers crossing a desert in a slow and uncomfortable six-legged machine (the native Grand Many make travellers endure this to dissuade them from making the journey to their city). The story opens with one of the passengers, the male of a Janusian couple (who grows out of the back of his female partner) addressing the other seven humans in the cabin about the illusion of friendship produced while travelling in such straitened circumstances. After going on at some length, he eventually concludes with this:
A little laugh. Then, “Now imagine that we remain trapped inside this minuscule space for even longer. Oh, let’s say for the next three hundred cycles. I guarantee, it won’t matter how noble and decent each one of you believes yourself to be. You will come to hate everyone else. Indeed, after three hundred cycles inside this miserable cabin, you’ll find yourself wanting the strange old lady in back to please, please step outside and die. And why? Because you’ve grown so tired—all of us are so very tired—of that goddamn endless smile of hers.”
The janusian fell silent, and everyone else laughed.
Loudest of all was the old woman sitting in back. p. 165
The woman at the back is eventually revealed to be Quee Lee, a very old and wealthy woman from the Great Ship who, when their machine is damaged after stumbling into a pothole, suggests they divert to a nearby house where one of the Grand Many lives in isolation.
When they arrive Lee pleads for help at the door of the home, but they are ignored until, eventually, two robots appear and begin repairing their machine. Then Lee wanders off into the desert night and stumbles upon one of the Grand Many (presumably the owner of the house). Lee and the huge creature start talking, and she provides, at its request, and after “ripping away thousands of years of existence,” a brief autobiography. Then she learns that the creature she is talking to is a male, and his name is The Great Surus:
“I took the name from human history.” Then he said it again, in a very specific way. “Surus.”
She repeated the word.
“Do you know the name?”
Quee Lee asked her bioceramic mind for advice, a thousand potential answers dislodged from a long life full of curiosity. Because of cues in the diction, one possibility felt a little more appropriate than the rest.
She began to answer, offering a first word.
And Surus repeated the word. “‘Elephant,’” he said. “Yes. To be specific, Surus was Hannibal Barca’s favorite war elephant.”
“And why take that name?” she asked.
“I was studying your species,” he said. “Long before I arrived on the Great Ship, I came across the elephant’s story. And somehow his life and his miseries found a home inside me.”
“Oh,” was the best reaction that she could manage.
Silence came, and then a distant voice crossed the ridge. A human male was calling to someone else. But whoever was shouting fell silent again. Just the two of them were sitting on that slope together, and looking at the golden dome, Quee Lee finally asked, “Did you also walk across the Alps?”
The giant’s hand moved, swift and gentle, one finger touching the human shoulder and then gone again. Leaving behind the heat of a giant electrically charged body, and stealing some of her perspiration, too.
“The Alps would be nothing,” said that quiet, sorrowful voice. “You cannot begin to guess the life that I have marched.” p. 171
Most of the remainder of the story tells of The Great Surus’s life history, something that, in some respects, parallels the story of Hannibal and his elephants (this and the Roman Carthagian wars are mentioned in the introduction to the story). This account begins with the birth of the city of Samoon, and how their army one day marches to the Lithium Wash to dig up thirty-nine Grand Many orphans. The Great Surus is one of them, and we see how he and the others are raised by an old woman of their kind, and later trained for the defence of the city. We also learn of the Grand Many’s electrical physiology, and how they communicate by microwaves (one day, when Surus climbs a mountain, he can hear many others of his own kind in the distance).
Then the commander of the army dies and his son takes over, starting a war with the Mistrials. The next few chapters detail the long conflict (spoiler): how the Samoon army cross the mountains by using carriages and massive batteries to extend the range of the Grand Many; the use of the Many as fireships in a huge land battle; the siege of The City of Promises and the near mutiny among the Many, only prevented when they smell the “sweet electric” over the wall. Eventually, after a huge battle on a peninsula, the Samoons build a fleet of rafts to return home, but are ambushed at sea. Surus walks off the raft to avoid capture and descends into the depths.
The story then skips forward eight hundred thousand years, to a point in time where the seas of the planet have boiled off into the atmosphere. Surus’s body is found by scientists and recharged, and he comes back to consciousness. Eventually he decides he doesn’t like talking to the scientists and he leaves, travelling to the mountain that separates the lands of the Many and the water people.
At this point in the tale Lee’s machine is fixed, so The Great Surus brings his story to an end. She travels on to the City of Copper Salts, where the natives’ initial irritation at the modifications to their machine is quelled by the revelation that they were completed on the orders of The Great Surus.
I’m not sure this story forms a particularly coherent whole but the individual parts are fascinating and, if you are looking for a story that is part Roman history, part weird alien ecosystem, and part time-spanning epic—a story that is vast—then this will fit the bill. I almost rated it as very good, and probably would have if it hadn’t been for one or two parts that are not as clear as they could be (e.g. the initial meeting between Lee and Surus is a little confusing when it comes to what he looks like). Nevertheless, possibly one for the ‘Best of the Year’ anthologies.
∗∗∗+ (Good to Very Good). 19,850 words. Story link.
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This group of stories is a mixed bag. I particularly liked the Nayler and the Reed novellas, and suggest that you don’t miss them, especially as they are available free online—and the Egan may work for some people, especially those interested in novel ecosystems or Big Dumb Objects. I wouldn’t recommend the Bear or Irvine stories, which stuck me as formulaic and/or padded and/or boring. The results of the reader polls in one of my Facebook groups7 would appear to back this up (although it is a very small sample size). ●
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1. Ferron, the protagonist of A Blessing of Unicorns by Elizabeth Bear, is born in the years after 2042.
2. The first published story of Ray Nayler’s “Sylvia Aldstatt” series is The Disintergration Loops (Asimov’s SF, November/December 2019). I suggest you read A Rocket for Dimitrios first.
3. The Nayler didn’t end up on the Hugo ballot because it appears in a print magazine and isn’t available free online (or wasn’t that noticeable when it eventually was). It was also up against the Tor novellas, which are published as books, and book voters outnumber short fiction voters. There are also other political and tribal reasons, I suspect.
4. Stephen King does a much better job of putting his readers in the heads of genuinely unpleasant characters, and you can’t help but think that if he wrote Glitch that Brian would have been portrayed in a considerably more realistic way. In particular, the absence of the n-word in a story that is about a racist terrorist shows the extent to which the author or editor or publishers (or all of them) are self-censoring. I can understand that any one, or maybe all, of the above may not want to use language like that in their work or magazine (and I’m not particularly keen on having to read it). But, if that is the case, I’d suggest that you may want to avoid using racist characters like this as convenient stereotypical villains, because all you are doing is presenting a filtered and unrealistic version of such people.
5. I think Jim Harris may have lost interest in Glitch before I did: he wrote a long blog post listing all the suspension-of-disbelief problems he had with the story. I see that he mentions that Irvine is a comic book writer, and I should have realised that from the mindless action in the second half, if not from the poor conceptualisation of the first.
6. Light Up the Clouds by Greg Egan was a recent group read in one of my Facebook groups, and several others struggled to visualise the catapult/launch mechanism.
7. We did these stories as part of a Group Read in one of my Facebook groups. Here are the results of the poll we did at the end of the novellas (I have transcribed the first set of results as Facebook have messed about with the polls, as of June 2022, which now (a) don’t rank the results, and (b) give percentages rather than votes):
The Realms of Water by Robert Reed, 8 votes
A Rocket for Dimitrios by Ray Nayler, 7 votes
A Blessing of Unicorns by Elizabeth Bear, 2 votes
Light Up the Clouds by Greg Egan, 1 vote
Glitch by Alex Irvine, 1 vote
And at the end of the reading all three of the award lengths, novella, novelette and short story (“Novelette” is a typo and it should have read “Combined”):
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