On Spec, #71, Winter 2007/08

The Winter 2007/2008 issue of On Spec: The Canadian Magazine of the Fantastic is split about evenly between science fiction and fantasy and has two constants. You don’t know what’s coming next, but you can be sure it will be character-focused. I really enjoyed the previous issue, #70, of On Spec, and while I have a few more reservations about this one, I look forward to seeing the next.

In “Daystar” by Sarah Carless, Mae is a priestess who acts as a wet nurse to a centaur babe while she takes him to join his kin. The character development is good as we grow to sympathize with and understand Mae’s love for the centaur child. The story itself, however, is somewhat weak—more a series of events than a distinct plotline—and it seems as though at the ending, Mae’s situation has changed not at all from what it was prior to the start. Tension builds but then dissipates without truly seeming to have a climax. I enjoyed Carless’s writing but would have liked to have seen more from this.

Angela Slatter’s “Pressina’s Daughters” is an odd mix of mythological elements with fairy-tale themes. The main storyline follows Pressina as she watches her daughters attempt to deal with the fates that she has cursed them with due to an ill-advised effort on their parts to please her. This really didn’t work for me. I found it impossible to sympathize with Pressina, who may be a fairy, but is a bad parent, regardless. Of the stories-within-a-story of her three daughters, one seems to be a variation of the Swan Maidens story (or an inversion of the various Beauty and the Beast stories) with no real resolution. The second is much more satisfying, with a protagonist who takes action in a plausible and believable way, but the third goes off track again, suddenly transforming into poetry, before we return to Pressina. While Slatter’s writing and, particularly, imagery, is high-quality, “Pressina’s Daughters” fails to truly deliver anything (again, with the exception of the second daughter’s section).

“Re-Annunciation” by Nancy Chenier starts off by clearly establishing a light tone which is, however, lost by the end. I can’t say much about the plot without giving the story away, but I can note that it has religious themes which seem to play out in a different way than one might expect—“seem to,” because the only real difficulty here is that this is more of a slice from the middle of a story than complete in itself. I had a creative fiction professor who used to say, “Your story should be beginning where you’ve ended it,” and “Re-Annunciation” made me feel very much that way. Chenier’s writing is good, and her development of the initial conflict is great, but we never really know what’s happening or why, because neither of the two viewpoint characters knows, and then the story ends. While it raises a number of interesting questions, none of them are ever answered.

In David Yeh’s “Sea Change,” Greenway is a man left alone on a planet where strange things are happening. This science fiction story is beautifully written, and Yeh does a lovely job of conveying the heartbreak of losing a companion, but I have to admit that I didn’t understand anything else that happened here. Weird creatures appear; they might be malevolent; Greenway might be losing his mind. At the end, he makes a decision that goes against his “programming” as a Colonial—which, if I’m gathering correctly from the incidental references throughout, means that his only goals should be continued life and procreation—but I’m not sure what his decision means. This story might work better for readers who prefer atmosphere and character-building to storyline and knowing what happens; I prefer to at least be clear on whether an ending is happy or sad.

“Controlled Release” by Greg Wilson is one of the standout stories in this issue: well-written, well-plotted, and the use of the second person “you” seems entirely appropriate to the tale being told—a difficult feat to accomplish no matter how skilled the writer. For a story about a man who doesn’t feels anything, “Controlled Release” does a terrific job of building tension, as we wonder with the protagonist why his new job allows him to feel emotions. The title is appropriate for the story and also describes Wilson’s prose. Tight, precise writing and consistent revelations of the right amount at the right time, “Controlled Release” delivers exactly what I want from a story: a gripping tale and a solid resolution.

In Bruce Barber’s “Widow’s Walk,” we learn about a mysterious newcomer to town who turns out to be even more mysterious than anyone supposed. Told primarily from the perspective of the town’s grocer, Matt Kingsley, this point of view choice is a distinct detriment. While he’s the character easiest to understand, Matt has no idea what’s going on, leaving the reader likewise clueless. We’re unable to build sympathy for the other primary character, as she is distant and slightly hostile, and in the end, we have no idea what we’re supposed to conclude about her or why we should care; certainly, nothing that happens to her seems to affect Matt’s life.

Matthew Moore’s “Full Moon Hill” is short and—well, “sweet” probably isn’t the right word for a story about transforming people into werewolves. More of a scene than a story, and more horror than science fiction, with the main point seemingly to convey a sense of, “I can’t believe this is happening! But wait, maybe I can!” to the reader. It’s well-written for what it is, but, again, as a scene, doesn’t really provide a solid plotline, conflict, or climax.

“Pest Control” by Kate Riedel is about a musician who finds his true place. Riedel’s writing is of good quality, and the ending has the right amount of surprise combined with “we had enough clues for this to make sense.” However, it’s told from the viewpoint of a character who is essentially uninvolved in the story’s events. As such, it’s hard to really feel any awareness of conflict. Still, this is a minor issue. The story starts strong and stays interesting throughout, and although it feels at a slight distance, the distance adds to the surreal nature of the happenings; it might feel more implausible if we didn’t have a skeptical and surprised narrator.