From the Podosphere: September 2008

In a new departure from the Escape Artists tradition, PodCastle, the newest sibling, marks September with its first PodCastle Giant—a venture into longer audio fiction. “Moon Viewing at Shijo Bridge” by Richard Parks is as long as a feature film, and requires some commitment to settle down and listen. Not that this story seemed to gain much from its longer format, being an oriental fantasy dealing with the rescuing of a lady’s honour, with a modicum of magic and ghosts besides. There isn’t a great deal to justify its length, though in Steve Anderson’s reading, its atmosphere is more languorously exposed than would have been possible in a shorter story. Giant in stature, though not necessarily in quality, the story’s extra length accentuates the even nature of the narrative. For me, something this long needs more varied pacing.

“The Desires of Houses” by Haddayr Copley-Woods is read by Rachel Swirsky. It’s a voluptuous rendition of sensuality in which we are shown fetishism from the viewpoint of the fetish itself. Though short, it’s conclusive, and a glimpse of an unlikely aspect of experience. Who knows what further aspects lurk in unexpected locations?

When a community falls on hard times, it can be united by ideas that in more normal times the inhabitants would dismiss as absurd fantasy. Stephen V. Ramey’s “It Takes a Town” (read by Bill Ruhsam) is a fantastical speculation on a small town community uniting behind the idea of sending a rocket to Mars. Presented in the form of a countdown, it’s an illuminating speculation with sharp characterisation and the unlikely promise of fulfilment.

“The Fable of the Moth” is the first of a series of PodCastle Minatures by Peter S. Beagle, each read by Stephen Eley. A maverick moth rails against his fellows, trying to persuade them to stop flying into flames. But telling someone what they already know isn’t likely to change their behaviour.

“Anywhere There’s A Game” by Greg Van Eekhout is an episodic tale about basketball (though being British and not a sports fan, I took a while to fathom this out). A few hints of magic justify its place in PodCastle, even though none of the magic seems to have any structure or justification, so the story is essentially a character study. Maybe it would mean more to someone into basketball, or a sports fan in general, but I found it aimless and unsatisfying, despite Benjamin Manoochehri’s competent reading.

“The Fable of the Tyrannosaurus Rex” by Peter S. Beagle (read by Stephen Eley) is a sharp and amusing take on the extinction of the dinosaurs and the rise of mammals—but perhaps not quite as you might have imagined it.

In Dawn Albright’s “Black Ribbon,” fantastical toxicology facilitates murder in a brothel. A neat idea, but leadenly implemented, and not helped by Heather Welliver’s generally flat narration. A disappointing and mildly confusing story.

Stephen Eley then reads “The Fable Of The Ostrich” by Peter S. Beagle, in which a young ostrich questions the wisdom of burying heads in the sand. When his peers won’t see things his way, he seeks advice from a higher authority, with comical results.

Retelling the tale of Red Riding-Hood as a direct parallel to traditional vampire stories makes “Red Riding-Hood’s Child” a rewarding listen. Though it contains explicit sexual references, these are skilfully handled to avoid jarring or crassness. In essence, this is a simple tale with a large dose of fantasy, well written by N. K. Jemisin and given a smooth reading by Rajan Khanna. The ending, though a little abrupt, is suitably conclusive.

September’s Pseudopod begins with “Jihad over Innsmouth” by Edward Morris (read by Ben Phillips). Appearing initially as an alternative viewpoint on 9/11-style skyjackers, this turns into a more complex tale involving strange species and contract killing. As each new peculiarity undermines previously generated assumptions, the thread of the story twists and turns, without ever completely untying itself.

In “Front Row Seats” by Scott William Carter, a grieving widower takes to the cinema to remember his wife and comes upon another doing the same. Both, however, appear to be in the grip of something more metaphysical than normal grief—though whether this is the author’s deliberate metaphor rather than something supernatural is hard to tell. The story is read with passion and gravity by Rick Stringer and ends with a satisfying conclusion.

Told from a pupil’s viewpoint, “The Teacher” by Paul G. Tremblay, is an enigmatic story that’s not so much about a teacher as about the process of teaching, with an excellent—if quick—reading by Mur Lafferty. It’s nevertheless a bit strange, and the only horrific elements seem to be the videos that the teacher shows his class.

By contrast, “In the Coils of the Serpent” by William Meikle is a horrific police procedural, with plenty of gore and supernatural monsters, plus a dash of psychic ability. Conventional but engaging, and well written, with professional quality narration by K. J. Johnson.

Sentient toys are a recurring feature of science fiction. Brian Aldiss, for example, wrote about them in “Supertoys Last All Summer Long” when he collaborated with Stanley Kubrick in the making of what eventually became Steven Spielberg’s film, Artificial Intelligence: AI. The preoccupations of writers who write about sentient toys seem to be similar to the themes of robot stories in general—what separates humans from robots, and what characteristics of robots, if sufficiently developed, would make robots indistinguishable from humans. In the first Escape Pod of September, A. B. Goelman’s “Private Detective Molly” (read by Anna Eley), a sentient doll is used as a way of keeping tabs on a child, but there are other motives that emerge from this particular family’s recent history, and the author’s treatment is sufficiently original not to be hackneyed.

Next we have a time-travel story, based on the idea that the past still exists, and the people existing in the past can be visited. Many time-travel stories follow a variation on the time-tourism plot: inexperienced time-tourist goes rubbernecking in the past, touches/changes something she shouldn’t, and all hell (or similar) breaks loose in the present. Not so much tourism as voyeurism. Merrie Haskell’s “Reparations” follows a different course—one that has moral as well as scientific implications. Visiting the innocent victims of a well-known military operation in order to relieve suffering is a laudable intention, but the philosophical implications of time travel pose problems that here receive only notional hand-waving. The classic “what happens if you meet yourself on a previous visit” is dealt with, though not explored. This gives the story a classic time-travel feel, as well as fully developed characters (brought effectively to life in Mary Robinette Kowal’s narration), but the problems of time travel itself are barely hinted at.

In the form of a potted future history of the world, “How The World Became Quiet: A Post-Human Creation Myth” is fanciful but tedious. Rachel Swirsky’s writing is good, and Frank Key’s narration is typically direct. The story, however, has no dialogue, and not enough story elements to be engaging. If you like encyclopaedias you might like this. If not, you may consider it no more than a stylistic exercise.

In Derek Zumsteg’s “Usurpers” (read by Stephen Eley), an athlete competes against genetically engineered clones. That’s it, or it would be but for the unnecessarily stilted writing style, which I found irritating and acting against the transparency of the story.

For my brief exploration beyond the fecundity of the Escape Artists stable, I listened to another of Variant Frequencies’ well-produced offerings, this time part of their Amarant Collection, “All The Time” by Anne Stringer. This is a short (less than 20 minutes) rumination on immortality and clocks—not terribly sophisticated or clever, but immensely charming in both its writing and Marck Pearlstone’s narration. A watchmaker relates how his father made him a pocket-watch, and how the timepiece is intimately linked to his own mortality. Variant Frequencies release only one podcast per month, but each is carefully and intricately produced, much like this story’s timepieces.