Dagger Key And Other Stories by Lucius Shepard

At 473 pages, Lucius Shepard’s Dagger Key And Other Stories is a collection of nine substantial tales, all except the title story first published in well-known genre venues such as The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, Asimov’s, and SCI FICTION, with an introduction by China Miéville, plus some concluding “Story Notes” by the author. Stories average 20,000 words, with three novellas approaching 30,000.

“Stars Seen Through Stone” is a redemptive, transcendent tale, where the science-fictional element doesn’t appear until well into the narrative. Vernon, a music producer, has discovered a musician whom he believes has talent, but who is an unreconstructed Neanderthal in his personal habits. Nevertheless, Vernon persists with his encouragement, even sharing accommodation with him.

Up to the revelation of the SF element, it’s a realistic story with a degree of satisfying “feel good.” Despite their mistakes, one feels that these are fundamentally good people. The peculiar occurrences that make this an SF story have a less than fully realistic quality—in comparison with the down-to-earth actuality of what’s gone before, but for all that, it’s a good read, even if the speculative element is never fully explained.

The main idea in the first-person narrative of “Emerald Street Expansions” is reminiscent of Philip K. Dick’s “We Can Remember It For You Wholesale”—with an added touch of mysticism. The protagonist visits a high-street shop where he’s been told he can purchase a personality extension—and the assistant recommends that of an obscure 15th century French poet. Our hero’s rationale for undergoing the extension procedure is that he’s bored with his mundane life, and “Emerald Street Expansions” promises to offer him new experiences.

Then it gets convoluted; he rebels against his modification, begins to doubt whether he really has undergone the normal procedure, and becomes confused about the motives of his friends and acquaintances.

Apart from a sequence involving some quaint though apparently deadly sentient household appliances, this story seems not to require any fancy science-fictional procedure—it could just as well have been based on some kind of drug. But the narrator is such an unsympathetic character, and though he finds himself in danger both physically and emotionally, there’s little inclination to care.

Roy Shellane, the main character in “Limbo,” is a criminal. He’s done well from crime, but he’s tired of staying one step ahead of those other criminals, murderers, and suchlike that would put him away—in any sense of the phrase. He’s on the run again and, on impulse, rents a lakeside cabin, where he meets a woman who turns out not to be quite what she appears.

This is horror rather than SF, dealing with the manifestation of a metaphysical realm. The protagonist is another antihero, though he appears to have a spark of conscience. At bottom, though, he is self-interested, even when it comes to love—and there is a significant amount of romance in this tale. As a story, it could have gone in any direction; the narrative is expertly delivered, but the reader is in constant danger of being left in the limbo of the title.

“Liar’s House” is a fantasy, told in a traditional storyteller mode, as of someone relating it to small group. Messianic hints pervade a tale of ancient and not-so-ancient dragons set in a mystical medieval world, with another unsympathetic character being manipulated by forces greater than he knows. The cosy folksiness, however, soon submerges in the depressing inevitability of humdrum archaic existence. Hota, our antihero, finds himself drawn to a nearby hill, which, legend and topology have it, is the actual remains of the great dragon Griaule. Hota spies what he thinks is a small dragon buzzing around the hill, but when he investigates, he finds only a woman. And from there, we proceed to only partial knowledge of transformation, destiny, and control.

Once more, this is a well written but ultimately depressing tale that leaves one without answers. A bit like life, perhaps.

The title “Dead Money” is apparently a term describing a type of poker player:

Dead money doesn’t need an introduction; dead money declares himself by grinning too wide and playing it too cool, pretending to be relaxed while his shoulders are racked with tension, and proceeds to lose all his chips in a hurry.

Such a player joins the poker game our first-person narrator is playing, but it’s soon clear that the narrator’s initial assessment of “dead money” is wrong. Just how wrong we begin to see as this long story progresses. Like the preceding stories, this one is populated with fairly unsympathetic characters, though one gains a little empathy for the condition of some of them as the plot develops. This is definitely SF, but with a strong mystical and horrific vein running through it, which appears to be based on real beliefs held by real people. The ending (as far as the reader is concerned, if not the characters themselves) looms up obviously in the final pages, but though gloomy in its essentials, there’s a glimmer of a kind of hope. An engrossing read with a satisfying conclusion, despite an irresolvable logical inconsistency brought on by Shepard’s choice of first-person narration.

“Dinner at Baldassaro’s” is another first-person story, but one that seems only half-told, as if the narrator is relating the events to someone already aware of the entire setup—except we’re not aware of it. At first, it seems that our hero simply wants to pick up a certain type of girl and take her to dinner with some friends. It’s a kind of game—a tradition that this particular group of people indulge in. But it’s apparent during conversations at the meal that there’s more going on—things unspoken but of great concern nonetheless: a hint of vampirism, maybe, and a hidden, superior race, co-evolved with humans, secretly integrated into human affairs at all levels of society around the globe.

It’s told at a personal level, so only small details of this threatening group emerge. The narrative is like an illicit peek into their strange lives—leaving one wanting more, even after the cataclysmic ending.

With yet another narrative viewpoint, “Abimagique” is written in second person—which at first seems accusatory, but you get used to it after a while. We have here another slightly odd, imperfect woman, this time a Goth, and elements of witchcraft. It’s a claustrophobic tale of a claustrophobic relationship, but there’s a bigger issue at stake, perhaps the biggest of all—the survival of the human race.

As is typical for this collection, the narrative starts off starkly realistic, even mundane. The speculative elements are only apparent later on, though there are earlier hints that things might not be as straightforward as they seem. And as with other stories here, this one stops just short of apocalypse, without revealing whether or not the apocalypse is inevitable.

“The Lepidopterist” is the shortest story at under 7,000 words and purports to be a micro-cassette transcription of a 70-year-old man relating an experience he had at age ten or so, involving a stranger who held him and his father captive while releasing a box full of butterflies onto a tropical island. The butterflies metamorphose into vaguely humanlike creatures with strange powers, and by now, you know it can only end badly. That’s not to say badly written—Shepard’s prose is never less than sublime, even if the dialect in this particular story is a tad jarring. (It is, after all, supposed to be a verbatim record of an old man’s barely literate speech.) But like other stories here, we have an intense evocation of character and setting, with an emerging supernatural or at least speculative element that raises many questions, and a conclusion that may be satisfying in a structural sense but which leaves the speculative fiction fan still speculating.

The title story, “Dagger Key,” is another with a distinct setting, featuring ghosts and possession. The owner of an island beach cafe has some artefacts he’s willing to sell to the right buyer. A ghost, however, continuously overlooks his deeds, keeping him in sight and interceding apparently on his behalf. We learn more of this ghost’s origins as the story progresses through its grisly narrative to its circular conclusion, and the island’s mysteries remain concealed. Definitely leaning towards horror, this is an accomplished genre story of ordinary people at the mercy of supernatural forces.

In all of these stories, the reality of everyday life, so expertly delineated in setting and character, contrasts with the unlikely reality of the supernatural or science-fictional realm to the extent that one wonders how the characters come so readily to terms with the “other,” rather than believing themselves delusional. Always engrossing, each narrative paints a vivid picture of its particular setting before allowing the “other” to manifest itself. If only the characters were more appealing.

Publisher: PS Publishing (Sept. 2007)
Slipcased Hardcover: £50.00 [$100.00]
ISBN: 978-1904619741
Hardcover: £25.00 [$50.00]
ISBN: 978-1904619734