Asimov’s, April/May 2008

The double April/May, 2008, issue of Asimov’s contains stories with a common theme of loss and grief—either the loss of a person or, more drastically, that of a whole way of life.

In “Memory Dog” by Kathleen Ann Goonan, the world has drastically changed after all-out war. Arnold Wentworth is a “smacker,” someone who sends out bubbles containing true information—dangerous in a world where the government-controlled media keeps spewing out propaganda. Hunted by the authorities, he has found refuge in the mountains with his companion, Elizabeth, and her dog. But the dog is a special one—a memory dog, who holds all the memories and thoughts of Mike, Elizabeth’s former husband.

Goonan paints a complex picture of the future; her idea of smackers and of the way information would be transmitted in a world gone mad is brilliant. She handles the relationships between her main characters very well, especially the point of view of the memory dog—a hard act to pull off. The story is a bit overprone to sweeping statements about the nature of love and memory, when I think subtlety would have served it better. But it’s still well worth reading.

In “Slidin’” by Neal Barrett, Jr., the world has also been altered, this time by what looks to be a nuclear catastrophe. Most people are born deformed by radioactivity, but the narrator, Laureen, is normal. Except, of course, that in the society she lives in, this is now an anomaly.

I enjoyed the take on this society, one ready to accept any kind of misfit—except those like Laureen, who remind people too much of those who called down the catastrophe. The ending, though, seemed to cut off rather abruptly and arbitrarily, leaving me puzzled as to why Barrett chose to conclude it this way.

In “The House Left Empty” by Robert Reed, EMP weapons have dealt irreparable damage to the fabric of society, leaving most towns in the U.S.A. isolated and able to depend only upon themselves for safety. The narrator is living in one of those towns and one morning sees a huge delivery truck turn up with a package for his mysterious neighbour.

Again, the depictions of the society are masterful and filled with little details that make this world feel real. The choice to focus on the everyday life of the protagonist and his friend, Gus, and on the small things they need to make life bearable makes the ending all the more poignant—a reflection on lost opportunities.

“An Almanac for the Alien Invaders” by Merrie Haskell is told from the point of view of Professor Elizabeth Naidu, a collaborator with alien invaders. Overnight, Earth becomes a member of the Starpath Syndicate, bound in servitude to its alien invaders for thirty-three hundred years. Naidu is helping the aliens take Earth’s archaeological wealth away to the ruling planets—to be displayed for the length of humanity’s servitude.

The idea of having collaborators is fascinating, and Haskell skilfully depicts the day-to-day consequences of the alien invasion. I found myself less convinced when the story moved away from Earth and to the stars. Naidu remains essentially passive, and while I understood the reasons that led her to make first contact, I failed to empathise with her reasons for staying; she seems to go with the flow, rather than being motivated by any convincing ideology. The ending, too, feels arbitrary—more a cut-off point than a resolution of any plot threads.

In “An Art, like Everything Else” by Nick Wolven, Tim has trouble getting over his dead lover, Dominic. In a world where everything is shaped by users’ demands, Tim’s inability to come to terms with his grief means that images of Dominic keep reappearing at odd moments—and interfering with other people’s lives.

The story is well-written, and I enjoyed the depiction of the grief and the literal consequences of clinging on to the departed. However, I’m afraid I found it a little too predictable; neither Tim’s “secret” concerning Dominic’s death nor the resolution came as a surprise.

In “An Alien Heresy” by S. P. Somtow, Inquisitor Jean Lenclud is called to the French village of Tiffauges where he meets two unexpected things: the first is his illegitimate son, Guillaume, and the second, an odd, green humanoid in the cellar who claims to be from the stars and seeking his way home.

Somtow’s depiction of the mindset of the Inquisition is brilliant, never descending into facile clichés of torture-obsessed fanatics. His portrayal of Jean as a man struggling against his faith is made all the more poignant by the presence of his former sin, in the person of Guillaume, and the decisions Jean has to make concerning both his son and the alien. The depiction of such an alien mindset makes for quite an uncomfortable story, but ultimately a rewarding one. Recommended.

In “Ghost Town” by Catherine Wells, Kaye, an astronaut aboard the first expedition to leave the solar system, returns to her birth-town. A journey that seems to have been only two years long for her actually lasted fourteen years—because the systems that were supposed to negate the Doppler effect did not function properly.

Wells paints the sense of dislocation skilfully, as well as the growing unease of Kaye at returning into what she feels is an empty town—with all the memories of her childhood gone and people moving on to bigger cities. It’s not a surprising story, but it certainly is affecting.

Edith and Keith, the main characters of “Strangers When We Meet” by Kate Wilhelm, have to deal with Rebecca, an accident victim who suffers from a strange affliction; every night, she forgets what happened on the previous day.

This is a setup reminiscent of the Sol Weintraub storyline in Dan Simmons’s “Hyperion” (though without the regression to young age that made that particular story so effective). Here, it’s handled differently; Rebecca is, of course, the perfect subject for neural research, since she always tackles an experiment as though it were the first time. It’s an intelligent and rather chilling look at what scientists and the military would do with such a victim. While the ending seems to defuse the threats a bit too neatly, it’s still very effective.

In “Another Country” by Matthew Johnson, temporal fissures have opened all over the world—letting in refugees from historical times of strife. Geoff is one of those refugees. He arrived from Rome as a boy and settled in Ottawa, where he helps other Romans make the transition into a new world.

This is an intriguing look at a very different sort of immigration, and Geoff, torn between his former affiliation and his work at Welcome Services, is a convincing character. It’s a pleasant read—though the ending was a bit too predictable for my taste.

In “The Advocate” by Barry B. Longyear, the main character, Larry Cagan, is a writer afflicted with a degenerative disease who chooses to make a biological imprint of his personality and put it into a new body. The new version of him, Craig, is supposed to search for a cure for the disease afflicting Larry.

This is an affecting story of a mind descending into early senility; as time passes and Larry’s mental faculties degenerate, the narration becomes more and more incoherent. Of course, it’s nothing new—it’s been done in Keyes’s “Flowers for Algernon,” for instance—but the way Longyear takes the story is interesting—and unexpectedly sad.

In “The Room of Lost Souls” by Kristine Kathryn Rusch, the narrator, the titular room, is a place on an abandoned space station where people go in but do not come out. The narrator, though, went into it with her mother when she was a child—and survived, though her mother was lost. She’s spent her life diving into spaceship wrecks, trying to forget about the Room. Until the day Riya Trekov approaches her. She’s looking for her father, Ewing Trekov, who went into the Room years ago. She offers the narrator the help of a device—which helps people go into the Room and come out again.

At novella length, this is the longest story in the issue, but it’s well worth a read. If the universe is nothing special—colonies, spaceships, and ruins from an elder race—the Room itself is a brilliant idea, and Rusch successfully creates a creepy myth around it, building up the intensity of the narration until the final, shattering reveal. Recommended.