Ideomancer, June 2008, Vol 7, Issue 2

Marsha Sisolak, the publisher of Ideomancer, comments on the website that “this month, our theme seems to be dead people. Or if not quite dead, not quite your typical zombie, either.” Be that as it may, there is no doubt that the June 2008 issue of this imaginative magazine is alive and well, offering three vibrant, very different short stories and three poems that are anything but zombie-work.

Fiction:

Edward Cowan kicks things off—and may kick some characters off a ledge—in “The Altruist and the Dead Man.” The central conceit is well-captured in Cowan’s introductory comments: “the definitive fantasy of a deeply disturbed, desperately lonely man” who dreams about being “fought over… for his very soul.” As Cowan himself goes on to identify, this has a “self-pitying” theme to it, and that’s part of the challenge of empathizing with the characters or situation, or at least it was in my case. Also, the knowledge that events were part of self-centered fantasy kept me a remove from their potential impact, diminishing my emotional involvement. Cowan’s scenes are tightly constructed, and his ear for dialogue is excellent, though at times I found the narrator’s tone a little too clever. The writing is of a consistently high standard, creating memorable lines and characters—despite however unreal some of them are. Cowan may have just a chosen a premise which, despite his skillful handling, I found somewhat uninteresting. Still, a strong piece.

Darja Malcolm-Clarke delivers a “Pearl in Shadow,” a title which takes on literal significance in this almost mythical tale of transfiguration. The story opens with a non-corporeal girl, deceased, discovering a strand of light and exploring it. Meanwhile, a “boy” by the name of Corvin talks to a statue which might be a petrified angel, unusual not only for its yearly movement but because of its possible relationship to the Great Queen Nizea. As Great Nizea’s Eve comes and goes, these two storylines intersect and lead to revelations, which in turn illuminate deeper mysteries. The story is described as “lyrical” on the website, and that it is; I also found it overly ambitious and a little self-consciously serious.

The two main elements which caused this impression were the characters’ dialogue (which tends to provide a fair amount of the elaborate exposition required to follow what is happening) and the choices in description. There’s a kind of self-referentiality that stems from the latter, captured explicitly in some of the images (“…the statue lay curled into itself in the middle of the dock,” “…his body a swollen, distorted version of itself,” “…confounded by this body which does not yet understand itself”). What about the characters? Their struggles and longings are compelling, on the surface, but I didn’t find them to have much individual personality. I did find the intellectual creativity at work admirable (I particularly enjoyed the ironic implications of the Cloud), and despite the somewhat forced aesthetic, I also enjoyed the interplay of the many motifs. Kudos to Malcolm-Clarke for juggling all of this, mostly to positive effect. This may not be a perfect pearl, but it’s certainly “encompassed by a nimbus of light.”

Catherine Cheek offers “She’s Taking Her Tits to the Grave,” the entertaining, somewhat breezy story of Melanie’s return from the dead and the mayhem that ensues—and at times fails to ensue—in her search for her anonymous benefactor, i.e. resuscitator. Cheek’s technique, comprised mostly of naturalist writing in the form of short sentences and a character-based point of view, is well-matched to Melanie’s vacuous personality (though perhaps it’s more of a put-on persona, and that’s part of the fun of the tale). The light touches effectively inject humor into an inherently grim situation, or perhaps reveal why it is not in fact inherently grim. The juxtaposition of Melanie’s materialist lifestyle with her literally dissolving physicality also works well. Though at times I felt the sarcasm wasn’t sharp enough to elevate this to the level of satire, it’s a fun read overall and has a thought-provoking ending.

Note: I’m not sure this story qualifies as “science fiction”—Melanie’s ability to communicate without any perceptible means of doing so, for example, and the method of her revivification seem to suggest a more comfortably supernatural slant—which is not a comment on its quality, merely on the genre description provided in the issue.

Poetry:

Jennifer Crow’s “Fire Begets Water” lyrically evokes the pain of losing someone—and as implied by the ending, this loss may not necessarily be death. The initial compound simile establishes the central theme, and the next four lines make the reason for the narrator’s “tears” more defined, though not more explicit: “our past” and “you” are at the heart of it. I really enjoyed the analogy implied by “shore laced with broken shells / and jagged rocks,” which suggests that the past that the memory and “swimming” allude to may in fact be a metaphor for a remembrance of “you,” and that the shore could therefore be the painful present.

“I let the current batter me / to shards against the shore” could be interpreted as the protagonist’s capitulation to her hopelessness, to her being “cast adrift,” thus providing a tragic overtone. The final image is striking, not only for its possible meaning that the “you” involved in the loss continues to exist (he or she is “careless”) and, in fact, does so with ongoing concern for their self-image (“a comb in your hand”), but because the artificiality contrasts with all the previous nature imagery (“fire,” “water,” “moon,” “shells,” etc.). Though Crow’s central sea/water metaphor isn’t a fresh one, the “fire begets water” point of departure is elegant, and she develops it in an interesting way. Crow provides a startling last line whose effectiveness will probably vary much from reader to reader.

Ed Gavin’s intriguing “Palmetto Ridge” traces, in five sections of almost prose poetry, what may be a conflict between normal mortals and newly fashioned living dead, or perhaps two different types of living dead, as seen through the eyes of a key player. The poem is preceded by a quote which expresses the inevitable suffering of our existence, not only for “you” but for “all.” The first section sets the stage for the central group’s journey by balloon over Dismal Swamp and establishes the injury of the narrator (“I…picked the crusts of dry blood from my scalp”) and his care, courtesy of one Dr. Lafferty (a reference to the writer?). The moon’s “third eye” is mentioned in the first line and is repeated again in the first line of the final section, suggesting the presence of an unnatural and grotesque transformation of the world. In the second section, the group witnesses the “propaganda” of “the dead” being broadcast from the eponymous Palmetto Ridge, and we receive the first hint that the narrator may be specially attuned to this communication: “I alone could hear this.” Then, he appears to die (“the world turns gray and still”), only to be brought back to life in the third section, again by Lafferty. The theme of suffering is made explicit and the narrator’s purpose unmistakable (“You,” said Clara, “will serve as our compass”).

The fourth section depicts a risk to the narrator after his resurrection and his transformation into something else entirely (“…I evolve,” “My hands have become wings,” and “chrysalis”). The fifth section provides a suitable climax to the external and internal struggles, and makes it richly ambivalent: “I can taste death” suggests the narrator is sensing the opposing force close at hand, as well as potentially intuiting his own, final death, and “flashes of bombs” and “my overdose, received in exchange / for radio silence” could mean that his final fate has been sacrificial for the greater good. Such good, however, may not be a victory: the last line completes the transition from individual pain to collective pain presaged in the opening quote. Gavin’s poem contains enough ideas and plot to fuel a short story, and though the imagery never quite scales the aesthetic heights, it does convey a sense of breathless urgency and foreboding, and functionally propels story—and balloon—forward. There is much to enjoy in this journey. One can only hope Gavin will continue to work during his 15-minute breaks and skip his dinner (though not indefinitely, lest he himself require Dr. Lafferty’s services), if it means poetry with this spark.

Marcie Lynn Tentchoff brings us a modern-day “Princess” in this well-crafted, three-stanza poem. Callie, the princess or ironically twisted re-imagining thereof, is depicted at three separate times, which serve to introduce each octave and create a strong sense of rhythm and structure: daylight, twilight, and midnight. In each stanza, the second line rhymes with the fourth and the sixth with the eighth. This rhyme scheme of abcbdefe is sometimes used in ballads and is a good choice here, making the meter flow in a traditional but unforced manner that contrasts with the nontraditional presentation of the theme.

The three stanzas show Callie engaging in activities ranging from the frivolous and rather innocent (“dancing to the traffic noise,” “grinning at the passing boys”) to the repellent (“roaches weaving through her hair”) to the cannibalistic (“someone’s ear”). But this progression is accompanied by another progression in the opposite direction with which it alternates to create a kind of poetic braid. It’s the latter that brings us the lines “braiding it like Disney bluebirds” and “sings her sweet and regal song,” and having these images interspersed with the above is a deft move that produces constantly rearranging expectations in the reader. There is a lot to commend in Tentchoff’s poem, and though a reworking of such an archetypal figure as a princess could have easily derailed into pretension or irrelevance, the author’s fine skills not only keep it accessible, but also make it fun without being obvious.

To round off the issue, we have a review by Marsha Sisolak. I haven’t read the book under discussion, The Hidden City (The House Wars: Book One) by Michelle West. Sisolak spends about half her review on the plot and themes, which should be more than enough to give potential readers a sense of whether or not they might be interested. The closing paragraphs provide a few critical comments and a glowing recommendation.

This sextet of stories and poems features a nice balance between the more conventional and experimental modes of storytelling, and though I thought the poetry was stronger, on the whole, there’s something for every reader here—even, as the issue itself illustrates, for those who may have moved into an otherworldly existence.