Orson Scott Card’s InterGalactic Medicine Show, January 2008

In issue #7 of InterGalactic Medicine Show, “Silent As Dust” by James Maxey explores the curious case of a house haunted by a living man. As you might imagine, such a situation requires a unique character in a unique setting, and Steven Cooper, hiding in the cupboards and crawlspaces of Seven Chimneys, certainly provides both to a T. Indeed, though there is a distinct plot, bringing Steven and the Seven Chimneys mansion to life seems the primary goal of this piece. Gradually, an otherworldly mystique is stirred into the story, both bringing the tale to a satisfying conclusion and allowing it to be read on several different levels. All in all, a rich and well-crafted piece.

Tirean has abandoned her bardic apprenticeship, feeling that music has gone lifeless for her, in Marie Brennan’s “Lost Soul.” Our protagonist, Andris, is a kindhearted Gypsy who recognizes Tirean’s talent and resolves to help her regain and develop her spark.

Brennan has set herself some very tricky goals in this story. For one, the central conflict is a personal, abstract emotion—Tirean’s sense that she no longer feels any enjoyment in her music. A reader who does not identify with a similar disappointment will have little interest in the story; what’s worse, a reader who does feel for Tirean will also have to be powerfully affected by the conclusion, or else he will feel that he and Tirean have been, well, gypped. Secondly, the climax of the piece, unsurprisingly, relies heavily on music. Describing music in prose is often done in an attempt to summon an echo of the wordless beauty and emotion we associate with music. But prose is prose and music is music, and the more one attempts to use one to express the other, the harder it becomes to do so convincingly. Alack, “Lost Soul” disappointed this reviewer on both counts; I found the climax generic, uninteresting, and unconvincing, and this undercut the entire story, which is otherwise pleasant and engrossing, if not overly remarkable.

There is more than a hint that Tirean’s woes are meant to express exasperation with art so lofty that nobody understands it:

“Decebhin works at a different level than most bards. Some of the music he plays is really bizarre; most people don’t like it.” She snorted. “Most people don’t get it. I was learning to understand some of it, but it’s work. There’s a very limited number of people who are well-enough educated in music to understand those pieces, much less enjoy them.”

Between my having my Reviewer’s Cap on and being familiar with views on the subject held by the guy on the IGMS masthead, this reviewer can surely be excused for leaping to tie this story into the old Accessible vs. Literary debate in writing fiction, but it can just as easily be taken as referring to any form of art. I can’t say these overtones added to my appreciation; indeed, they gave the story a whiff of unsubtle polemic. Clearly, “Lost Soul” is well-meaning in all it says and aims for, but it just doesn’t manage to achieve it.

Sharon Shinn brings us “The Unrhymed Couplets of the Universe,” a gentle story in which an 82-year-old widower reawakens to life’s small wonders. The changes in Henry’s life are prompted by a bizarre phenomenon: random, everyday objects are popping into existence everywhere around him—everything from cushions to Cracker Jacks—only to disappear minutes later. Henry’s grandson suggests that the phenomenon may be “the universe sending you poetry.” The apt response to good poetry is to open oneself to it and let it carry you away, and that’s pretty much what Henry does.

“Unrhymed Couplets” is sweet without being trite. Its characters and emotions are predictable, but richly enough described that they feel fitting rather than convenient. This reviewer was particularly charmed by the uniform reaction of the story’s characters to the miraculous appearances and disappearances; there’s no trace of fear or skepticism. Instead, the characters straightforwardly view the miracle as a thing of beauty and wonder. Their acceptance of the supernatural is uncomplicated and comfortable—a description well-suited to “Unrhymed Couplets” as a whole.

A talented glassblower and a mage intend to form a mystical bond to create a glass heart for a dying girl in Pat Esden’s “The Braiding.” When Iseau, the glassworker, finds herself suspicious of her new partner, their already-difficult mission grows ever more dangerous.

“The Braiding” is a solid, generic fantasy story, though it doesn’t really rise above lightweight entertainment. It’s fun and engaging but suffers from a prematurely telegraphed conclusion and a lack of novelty. This reviewer found the latter particularly disappointing, as the story’s opening does seem to promise new and interesting ideas and a wealth of detail and complexity: a Republic whose wealth depends on glassblowers, magic that feels mysterious—and near-powerless on its own—the concept of “braiding” talents to attain truly powerful magic, and many more. However, these many points are barely touched upon save as they directly pertain to the plot, and so our curiosity is not only left unsated, it is ignored entirely. The author, the character, and the setting have convinced me of their respective potentials for rich, exciting fantasy adventures, but that potential was not reached this time around.

In Janna Silverstein’s “After This Life,” despite the strong sf-nal elements, the true focus is on plain old people—regular, common people; people facing death. Jake Drogan faces it as an inmate on death row; Dr. Louisa Ferrara faces it from the other side, a scientist working on a technology whose consequences disturb her deeply. Drogan is offered a pardon if he volunteers to be the live subject in an experiment, and the story follows the dread, the regrets, and the introspection that he and Dr. Ferrara experience in anticipation of the big experiment.

The technology in question is teleportation; the body transported is destroyed, and a replica is created. The dilemma is compounded by the demonstrated possibility of a range of failures. Silverstein definitely manages to squeeze a lot of tension and moral objections directly from this premise, but all of these (mostly familiar from previous treatments of the idea) seem to be strictly in service to the human element. As the characters are excellently introduced and portrayed—dealing with heavy issues without stumbling into melodrama—”After This Life” is well worth the read.

Fantasy has some quintessential tropes which would be difficult to imagine seeing in any other genre. Joan L. Savage uses one of these as the opening and the basis of “The Smell of the Earth.” A mysterious wizard in a tavern makes a wager with our protagonist: his heart’s desire granted if he wins, his deepest fear made real if he loses. And the challenge: to help a troubled stranger forgive his wife—within one hour.

From this premise, we delve into the stranger’s memories and grief and also into the protagonist’s. Interestingly, Savage does not take the mythic approach suggested by the opening, in which the wager seems to address the issues of grief and forgiveness in general, but rather presents a highly specific case. The reader can almost feel the author searching for curious twists and turns, seeking new surprises rather than staying within what’s already been established. Since she succeeds quite nicely, she holds our interest and produces an enjoyable story. It does suffer slightly from a surfeit of narrative exposition and an ending that doesn’t seem to quite fit the main thrust, but both of these cons are mild enough to allow us to thoroughly enjoy the story’s many pros.

IGMS #7 also includes a children’s story by David Lubar, Part II of Alan Schoolcraft’s “The Price of Love,” and a (forthcoming) Enderverse story by Orson Scott Card.

Ziv’s Final Tally:
Stories Reviewed: 6
Gypsy Musicians: 2
Dead Wives: 3
Dead Sons: 2
Suicide Attempts: 1
Teleported Items: 25
Teleported Humans: Now that would be telling…