So Fey: Queer Fairy Fiction, edited by Steve Berman

Welcome to the latest pun on fairies and faeries. So Fey: Queer Fairy Fiction ties together the gay, lesbian, and otherwise queer with the magical, unearthly and otherwise fey creatures known as faeries. As queer people have historically existed along the margins of culture, so faeries, I suppose, have supposedly hovered in our peripheral vision. What fabulous fireworks result when we turn our full sight on both subjects at once?

Starting the anthology off is “A Faun’s Tale” by Tom Cardamone. Unrepresentative of the treasures within, this is just a plotless sketch of a man cruising in a park, finally joining the other fauns. It doesn’t do anything unusual, special or interesting with gay or faery themes.

“Happily ever after” always seemed a bit of a cheat to me, as if the fairy tales ended just when things were getting interesting. After all the perils that the lovers braved to be together, would their lives truly be blissful and dull until death? I doubt it, which is why I enjoy such epilogue tales as “A Scent of Roses” by Catherine Lundoff. It occurs after the valiant deeds of Janet in the ballad “Tam Lin,” where she rescues her titular lover from being sacrificed by faeries. Lundoff’s Janet is now a jaded, careworn housewife, while her husband, Tam, wallows around the house in an aching, affecting depiction of a stale marriage. Everything proceeds without spark or joy until the same Faery Queen that captured Tam Lin now sets her sights on Janet. As much as I like realistic follow-ups, I felt that this story departed from its core—the loveless, but still somehow dedicated, couple—just so it could stick in a queer character, thus fitting into the anthology.

Moreover, the ending greatly dissatisfied me because the Faery Queen never seemed to be a viable option for Janet. Most annoyingly of all, the author left me with a basic question that overshadowed the supposedly promising conclusion of this story: What about the faery tithe to ell, huh?! You’ll have to read this story to understand my exasperation, but trust me—that will be the only part of “Scent” that will stick with you: its unanswered questions.

Transgressive, class-crossing love always being inherently dramatic, Richard Bowes puts his characters in “The Wand’s Boy” on opposite sides of a conflict. Jack, a half-faery, falls in love with a member of the ruling, oppressive class, the royal Cal. Their love provides the key to overcoming the societal divisions that weaken their city…somehow. I love the worldcraft and the background in this story, but the author skims over much of it, such as the extent of halflings’ powers and why exactly faeries oppress non-faeries. Ungrounded by setting, the characters lack dramatic heft.

While “A Scent of Roses” and “The Wand’s Boy” are good stories, “A Bird of Ice” by Craig Laurence Gidney kicks the anthology up a notch. The young, bumbling monk, Ryuichi, in true fairy-tale fashion, performs three acts of kindness on three injured animals. His reward comes in the form of an attractive, shape-shifting nature sprite, who, of course, was testing the monk all along. Gidney uses his knowledge of fairy-tale tropes and poetic descriptions of Japan in winter to yield an understated story.

Instead of valorizing queerness over the oppressive heterosexual regime–as “A Scent of Roses” does–Gidney’s characters aren’t reactionary and heroic in their sexuality; they happen to be gay, and they are treated with sensitivity and respect. I must say, that in a collection of stories united to some degree by a sexual orientation, it’s hard to have stories that don’t make queerness their subject. It’s also hard to resist the temptation of the superheroic queer iconoclast. The best stories in this anthology, though, like “A Bird of Ice,” find ways to address the common element of queerness without obsessing over it.

Said bravely rebellious stereotype–a butchy princess–appears in the next tale: “Charming, A Tale of True Love,” by Ruby deBrazier and Cassandra Clare. At first, I doubted that deBrazier and Clare could do anything new with this cliché, but they animate her and the whole cast with great humor. I think the tropes could have been tweaked harder, but this is a pleasant, funny story, if predictable in its finish.

“Charming” takes the form of a hundred tales, in which the hand of Princess Ivy is up for winning if a valiant suitor can complete three tasks. Throw in a little cross-dressing [do you really think Sir Blythe is a man?], and you’ve got me hooked [because I’m a sucker for cross-dressing romances, but I digress], but it’s nothing original. Where deBrazier and Clare really shine, however, is in their construction of Ivy. Initially taking a backseat to the awesome feats performed by Blythe, Ivy gradually asserts herself more as she pursues the one she loves. When the curtain drops, you feel a certain neat satisfaction because both Ivy and Blythe have suffered trials to get what they deserve.

Telling the real story beyond the happy ending is “Three Letters from the Queen of Elfland” by Sarah Monette, written in rich, riveting prose that immerses you in the story, setting the stakes high. The rose garden and the Elf Queen, two elements in a feverishly described setting, really breathe life into the powerful, drug-like faery realm. But prose and setting can only give a story so much merit; what sells this one are the characters: Violet, a poet confined in a marriage; the lonely, sensual Queen, who wants Violet back; and Philip, Violet’s loving, but uncomprehending, husband who feels betrayed when he discovers the titular letters. All three of them have undergone loss that cripples their chances at happiness, which makes each one sympathetic. This is one of the stories that it’s worth buying the anthology for. It’s sad and beautiful and perfectly balanced in tone.

“Three Letters from the Queen of Elfland” expands the heroine’s choice, so weakly gestured at in “A Scent of Roses.” Should Janet and Violet stay within the safety of commonplace heterosexual society, or should they follow their hearts into the risky homoerotic margins signified by Faeryland? There are dangers either way. Staying in a loveless marriage, as Janet reflects, would entail a slow deadening of her spirit. However, following the Queen of Elfland would burn her up, as Violet points out; she would be consumed by the intensity. Given two extreme options, with no integration between the two, Violet and Janet are stuck. Of the only two options within the framework of these stories [as opposed to real life, in which there are a myriad!], Janet’s seems like an escapist dodge, while I find Violet’s more interesting and resonant.

In “The Kings of Oak and Holly,” Kenneth D. Woods writes about a story of men meeting in the park, but with a twist. The man whom Jack meets, Danny, is…well, part of nature himself. He is the Oak King, and his life is dependent on that of the tree. He lives, dies and lives again by the hand of the Holly King in a painful but necessary ritual. Both men try to fight Danny’s fate, but, of course, they can’t. Their souls mingle, however, providing a mournful, but also hopeful, twist to the end. Woods chooses each word carefully for an unusual, elegaic love story.

In “Detox” by Elspeth Potter, a woman goes farther than just leaving the traditional simple food for her housekeeping brownie. Maria’s offerings to the invisible creature become more and more elaborate, occupying more and more of her time, until… until the well-paced build-up bursts in a smart, funny denouement.

My least favorite story, “From Asphalt to Emeralds and Moonlight” by Aynjel Kaye, comes next. The clunky title conveys the story’s awkward approach. Kaye’s story veers between realism, with unemployed artist, Tara, and erotic, fantastic overload, with the sister-brother team, Aine and Fionn, who make love and stalk Kate. Aine and Fionn’s fight over Kate constitutes a schematic, almost elemental, bit of visionary erotica, marred by puzzling, abstract prose. Unfortunately, the realistic beginning and the muddy prose distracts from this story’s true core.

You can never be young again, and you can never stay so forever; mortality is a fact of life, and I despise fairy tales that cop out and let their characters live in immortal, unvarying bliss. But tales in which characters stumble upon a second chance…now these, like “The Coat of Stars” by Holly Black, I find interesting. Rafael pines for the return of his lover, Lyle, from Faeryland, but is presently more preoccupied with rescuing his sister and his nephew from his sister’s abusive husband. Then Rafe gets a chance not only to bring his sister and nephew to safety for good, but also to win Lyle back from Faeryland. Larded with magic-realist touches and shot through with tangible, but also metaphorical, faeries, this is another one that’s worth the price of admission.

Of all the fairies I’ve met so far in So Fey, my favorite is Rafe. At first blush, he’s a stereotype: a rich, fussy guy who designs costumes for a living and wears a pinky ring. He harbors sentimental visions of his lost love, but he’s hardheaded and realistic. He’s clever, steely and utterly admirable in his fierce protective love for his family. He’s smart, and he’s sad, and he’s an impressively well-rounded for a character living in a short story.

By now So Fey clearly hits its stride, continuing its winning streak with Laurie J. Marks’s “How the Ocean Loved Margie,” a reinterpretation of selkie [seal people] myth. Usually levelheaded, single lesbian English teacher, Margie, goes poetically mad and retires to an island off the rough Maine coast. There she has a baby while falling in love with a remote island and a woman. With confidence and poise, Marks illuminates Gayle, Margie’s earthy, untamed lover, and the character of Margie herself. Seen through Margie’s wondering and matter-of-fact eyes, the fey element seems much more believable. Thus, the magic emanates naturally from the world of the story, not only from the eldritch Maine scenery, but also from the ticking biological clock of a woman who seeks a family and a safe hearth.

Spoiler alert: The next paragraph comments explicitly on the secret or the twist of “How the Ocean Loved Margie.” Please skip if you don’t want to know the surprise.

One of the aspects I appreciated most about Marks’s story is her deepening of the “human woman exploited by a sea creature who wants to breed.” Ballads usually treat this as a pathetic story of loss, which it is, but Marks fills in what the ballads omit: Margie’s thrills when she feels a drive within her to head toward Maine, her pride when she learns how to fend for herself on the island, her ambivalence toward Gayle, her shock when her child is taken from her. Such a story ends up being not only about a hole in one’s heart, but about how the energy and excitement of an unearthly power can fill one’s soul up, if only for a little while.

“Isis in Darkness” by Christopher Barzak connects queerness, adolescence, and orphans in a literal, imaginative characterization of teenage “outsiderness.” Isis and friends, all runaways, all with unusual magical gifts, inhabit an abandoned church. Her compatriots know what to do with their gifts, but Isis doesn’t. Come to think of it, I don’t even really know what Isis’ gift is, and I’ve read the story twice. Bittersweet and brooding, the story’s effect is diminished only by its flabby, uncertain explanation of Isis’ powers.

“Touch” by M. Kate Havas looks into the anxious mind of a shy girl, Trinny, who keeps her sexuality a secret from popular friend, Chelsea. Havas depicts the judgmental cruelty of kids so realistically that the faery elements seemed useless and tone-deaf. I wish “Touch” were in a nongenre fiction YA anthology so that Havas could dispense with the one-dimensional, boring faeries and expand her insights on Trinny and Chelsea.

“Dark Collection” by Luisa Prieto investigates the perverted side of faery allure, of which there is much. Faeries have always been depicted in a manner similar to Greek gods: possessed of unfathomable powers that are matched only by their unfathomably large caprices. Unfortunately, Kenneth Reaves and his sister, Megan, who has been turned into a doll by the slick sadist, Sebastian, have gotten on the wrong side of the fey kind. Around the unforgettable image of a man who has so little regard for people that he turns them into toys, Prieto constructs a small, downbeat and disturbing masterpiece of horror.

“Dark Collection” gains creepiness not just because of its unusual conceit, but also because its cat-and-mouse game and open-ended finish can be easily associated with real life. Sebastian is a magnification of the abusive, controlling lover; his kind may not literally transform people into dolls, but they do stalk the streets, looking for the exes that they think they own. Prieto’s exploration of psychological truths gives “Dark Collection” a lasting punch.

In “Attracting Opposites,” Carl Vaughn Frick brings together a gay guy and an unearthly faery, surrounded by bits of humor about the absurdities of modern life. Rambling, sketchy, and unsatisfying, this story should have expanded on an exceptionally illustrative moment, rather than scattering all over the place.

Faeries may be known for their deceptive ways toward humans, but frequently, humans may match faery wits, as in “The Faerie Cony-Catcher” by Delia Sherman. There is no actual conflict or dark secret in this rollicking picaresque about young, lusty jeweler, Nick, who uses his cunning to win favor from the Faery Queen, including a double-natured lover. We don’t care about a pyrotechnic storyline here. If you’ve read any of Sherman’s other elegant, mannered, and wry works before, you’ll know that you’re in for a treat with “The Faerie Cony-Catcher,” a loving homage to Elizabethan storytelling and a consummate emulation of a Shakespearean narrative. This story made me want to reread Spenser’s “Faerie Queene.” May it inspire you to similar literary adventures.

Promising but problematic, “Exiles” by Sean Meriwether confronts you with second person narration, assaulting you with a brutal gaybashing. After this fiery beginning, though, the fierce tide recedes and not just because “you” [the hero] become increasingly housebound. As our hero develops agoraphobia, visions of fey folk trapped underground seem to beckon. I like the analogy between the hero’s situation and that of the faeries, but the resolution stinks, promising to heal one type of violation and possession with another. Much of the story’s power is diminished by the end.

“How Laura Left a Rotten Apple and Came Not to Regret the Cold of the Yukon” by Lynne Jamneck just sounds silly, and it is, but in a good way. It’s a slapstick romance between a jaded, writer’s-blocked author, Laura. She flees the congestion of New York for an isolated Yukon village populated by folksy old-timers. One of them, a surprisingly sexy sergeant, captures Laura’s heart. Fey allusions remain oblique and unspoken here, almost too submerged. A few more ties between Laura’s love object and the fey kind would have strengthened the story, but it worked fine as a romantic, humorous short.

Kind of like the short-story equivalent of “In the Hall of the Mountain King,” in which Peer Gynt is tracked and seduced by menacing magical creatures, “Mr. Seeley” by Melissa Scott tosses an innocent human in the midst of supernatural peril. We don’t have Peer this time, but delivery boy Tully, bound to drop off a load of moonshine to the forbidding castle fastness of a rich powerful man, who is obviously the King of the Faeries. Can he make the run, stay alive, rescue his missing boss, and make away with his fey-enchanted guide as well? Scott foreshadows with all the delicious telegraphing of a campfire ghost story, combining action and pathos into a suspenseful tale.

To say that “Year of the Fox” is another of Eugie Foster’s* mythic romances might sound as if I were implying a tiresome tradition. Anything but! Story after story, Foster achieves a delicate balance between high drama, passionate love, and poignant twists. “Year of the Fox” does it all. After their mother’s death, fox spirits Mei and Jin vow revenge on humankind. Mei falls in love with the girl she is supposed to ruin, however, which messes with Mei’s plans. Foster’s sensuous descriptions and philosophical framework respect the Chinese setting without exoticizing it. The ending pisses me off, but only in the best way, because it is what is supposed to happen, not what I wish would happen.

“Ever So Much More Than Twenty” by Joshua Lewis reminds me of “The Coat of Stars,” except for the lost lover that the older hero pines for is not human, but a faery. Then the faery is seen with the hero’s teen daughter, Jane. Are they in love? Will she be spirited away? What about the bond that the hero used to share with the faery? Allusions to Peter Pan and its themes of lost innocence make this story romantic and sad…sad with the realization of mortal life’s evanescence.

Finally, in “Mr. Grimm’s Faery Tale” by Eric Andrews-Katz, a [rather alarming!] faery godmother straight out of an animated film scares the pants off a headhunter. The story runs on too long, diluting its zing, and I couldn’t help but fear that said godmother would panic, rather than soothe, other queer souls. A lukewarm ending to an uneven collection. When So Fey is bad, it’s not horrid, just disappointing, but, when it’s good, it’s very very good. If you’re queer or even if you’re not, if you’re human and you think your life is fleeting and magical, you will find resonant short fiction within these pages.

Publisher: Haworth Positronic Press (Sept. 2007)
Price: $13.57
Trade paperback: 370 pages
ISBN: 156023590X

[*Disclosure notice: Eugie Foster is the managing editor of The Fix.]