The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, February 2009

The February 2009 issue of The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction lives up to its name, with stories from both categories and one that could be either (or neither). As usual, the stories are a good mix of the complex and the deceptively simple, with the subjects ranging from ghost cars to shadow-traders, with several familiar names in the table of contents.

First up, we have Fred Chappell’s novelette, “Shadow of the Valley,” in which Chappell returns us to the world of his scheming shadow-traders, Astolfo and Falco. In this latest story, Falco organizes a not-so-merry band of men for a decidedly unpleasant shadow-hunt, as well as a bit of backstabbery. At the outset, let me say that this is an entertaining, if long-winded piece. It’s sword and sorcery of the Fritz Leiber school, with cunning protagonists of low moral fiber, a decidedly odd type of quest, and treachery every three pages. Unfortunately, Chappell drops vocabulary like it’s hot, especially in his dialogue. His characters speak in a stilted, formal fashion, and as a result wind up sounding very much alike. Add in the equally formal descriptions of their environment, and it gives the whole piece a forced, overly complex feel. I got the unfortunate sensation as I read it that Chappell was trying to capture a particular style and tone with his piece, and that he was doing so at the expense of his story.

Now, this may sound like I didn’t like “Shadow of the Valley,” but in truth, I did. And I did so because Chappell succeeded in doing what few fantasy authors manage to do—create a believable and thoroughly intriguing, altogether unique fantasy world with lively, realistic characters. Fantasy, for me, is hit or miss, and, despite his tendency to layer on the unnecessary verbiage, Chappell definitely hit the bull’s-eye here.

“The Texas Bake Sale” by Charles Coleman Finlay holds the distinction of being the only overtly science fiction story this issue. And, as it stands, it’s a fun one. Finlay displays a sort of grim humor in his depiction of a future where the United States Marine Corps has turned to a rather unorthodox method of funds procurement.

Like any good piece of satirical science-fiction, “The Texas Bake Sale” is both funny and worrisome, as the future it gives us a glimpse of is both possible and potentially near at hand. Finlay writes with both economy and cleverness, drawing readers into the story then pushing them out again, with an appropriately clever conclusion. We’re never given much in the way of explanation for the situation, but it does nothing to make said situation any less entertaining. Finlay details the action sequences well, giving the impression of events happening very quickly, very chaotically without making it too confusing. All told, “The Texas Bake Sale” is a fun, quick story that nonetheless gives the reader something to think about.

Mario Milosevic’s “Winding Broomcorn” is a rather gentle, quick rural fantasy concerning grief, the art of making brooms from corn, and witchcraft. It’s a short piece but powerful in its depiction of the melancholia and quiet madness that afflicts individuals after the death of a spouse. But the grief is tinged with cleverness, and there’s an undercurrent of humor to things, especially towards the climax.

Milosevic writes deftly, never going into too much detail, but giving us just enough to lead us to the final reveal. His writing style is perfect for this kind of story. While there’s a strong Charles de Lint vibe to “Winding Broomcorn,” Milosevic manages to put his own spin on the cliché of magic intruding upon “normal” reality. There’s a playful hopefulness here, and the story benefits from the ambiguity of the speculative elements, which are only briefly glimpsed.

“Winding Broomcorn,” while being fairly straightforward, is simply a good story, and one that impressed me with the depth of feeling it managed to convey in such a brief span of pages.

“Catalog” by Eugene Mirabelli is, as I have come to expect from Mirabelli, singularly odd. This is not a bad thing by any means. “Catalog” is, at its essence, a fantasy quest. However, it is filtered through a world wherein two-dimensional magazine models go about their pictured lives with no hint of irony.

As with his other work, Mirabelli exhibits a giddy disdain for realism here. He plays with convention, evoking four-color images in brief word-bursts that clutch the reader’s attention and refuse to let go. The story has a linear progression—there’s a story in here somewhere—but it’s unimportant compared to the emotion and sensation of the protagonist as he makes his journey. And those are both things which Mirabelli evokes very well indeed. However, in the end, I thought the pacing could have used some work. Like a lot of Mirabelli’s work, the story exhibits a rushed, hurry-up-and-wait feel to it, as if he’s tripping over concepts in his haste to get to the end. With “Catalog,” this results in a somewhat choppy reading experience. I wonder if Mirabelli was trying to evoke the sensation of flipping through the pages of an actual catalog with the odd structure and pacing. If so, I have to congratulate him simply for the attempt. But, as I said above, it does leave the reader feeling slightly out of synch. Still, “Catalog” is what I imagine slipstream for people who don’t like slipstream is like. And for that reason, I can’t recommend it highly enough.

And last, but most certainly not least, we come to my favorite of the pieces that make up the February issue of F&SF, Jack Cady’s “The Night We Buried Road Dog.” Cady passed away in 2004, so this is a reprint, and one of no small merit as evidenced by the introduction by former editor Kristine Kathryn Rusch. “The Night We Buried Road Dog” follows the exploits of a group of friends as they attempt to unravel the mystery of the titular Road Dog and the consequences of that attempt. There are also ghost cars. I just felt that I should mention that, to make sure you read it. Ghost cars. Moving on…

Cady writes with an authentic voice, creating a thoroughly believable snapshot of Americana, mingled with a slow-burn sort of creepiness that eventually permeates every aspect of the story but never quite manages to take it over. The characters are unique, each of them brilliantly distinct in their dialogue, and the world they inhabit teeters on the edge of nostalgic folklore, granting them all a slightly mythic status. The story moves at an ever increasing clip, speeding up until it reaches the climax, where it abruptly slows down and gives the reader a chance to catch their breath and ponder what has occurred. Combine Cady’s obvious love of the subject matter with his sure hand on the dialogue and the detail, and “The Night We Buried Road Dog” is darn near close to perfect.