Strange Horizons, November 2007

As seems to be the trend for me, November was another month in which I very much enjoyed most of Strange Horizon’s fiction and didn’t dislike any. The first story of the month is “Bears” by Leah Bobet, and it’s about, well, bears. “Ninety-eight percent of all fictional deaths are directly attributable to being eaten by bears,” it begins, and goes on to tell about the bears that live in narrative—accounting for rugs pulled out to trip people, for ledges that destabilise, and many other mishaps and tragedies. Downs, who has identified these bears, sets them loose into the real world to kill religious fundamentalists. His plan backfires when they start killing everyone, and a small group of lecturers and students must get rid of them.

Bobet ably balances telling a fun story with making a point. “You are ascribing moral values to a force that is inherently without morality,” says the narrator to Downs when they realise the bears are attacking indiscriminately; in the narrator’s actions in the final paragraph, Bobet offers a better alternative for tackling the problem. Bears, of course, are more than just bears in the context of this story. But they are also bears—from the absurdity of taking bears out of narrative, having bears drop anvils on people and leaving their bite marks outlined in crayon, to the showdown at the end, Bobet provides an entertaining story of mayhem and saving the day. Recommended.

In the near future of “Ghosts and Simulations” by Ruthanna Emrys, the living can be backed up and, when dead, loaded onto a computer and given an avatar and voice. In this way, families do not have to lose their loves ones. This is particularly relevant for Jim, whose wife, Lianne, is dying. At the same time, he takes on a new job working with the recently dead. The story asks questions about the process and its emotional impact, both on the dead and the living, and whether the dead are missing part of what makes us human. By not imposing an answer upon the reader, Emrys allows room for thought and debate. Jim comes to his own conclusions by the end, or at least an acceptance of what will happen, and readers will probably sympathise with his painful situation. It’s a competent story but didn’t linger with me afterwards.

“Goat Eschatologies” by Margaret Ronald is about an apocalypse that has no fixed date or cause; there is no asteroid plummeting to Earth, no disease poised to wipe out all but a hardy few survivors. Only a tenth of the population, perhaps less, even believe that an apocalypse is coming, and each person or group has their own belief about what will happen. Gert has been trying to ignore all this while running her uncle’s goat farm and waiting for him to return from the city, where the situation is getting out of control, until Adrienne and her apocalyptic sister, Jennifer, show up. Jennifer is convinced the apocalypse will happen on the farm.

Ronald’s different approach to the apocalypse is welcome in a topic visited so often, particularly in films that are, for the most part, utterly forgettable. What makes it particularly different is that the questions of whether there will be an apocalypse and why so many people are convinced there will be one are never actually answered. A part of me found this disappointing. At the same time, I realised that solving the mystery would make the story a very different creature, one that I might not have enjoyed so much. Uncertainty hangs over Gert and Adrienne right until the end. Though Gert does not think the world will end, she begins to wonder if something will change; at times, she questions how much she really doubts the apocalyptics, and buys more canned and dry goods than usual. This mood makes the story what it is: about how individuals survive in a situation where they don’t even know whether something will happen, let alone what it might be, rather than dwelling on scenes of explosions or mass flights from a city where the conflict quickly becomes clear. It would be interesting to read a parallel story that continues through the apocalypse, if it indeed comes; however, I don’t think I would want that to happen in this story.

Ursula Pflug knits together recollections in “Airport Shoes,” a story about a woman who spent a part of her life constantly on the move. In her inability to stay in one place for more than a few days, she forewent long-standing relationships in favour of finite moments—like the spontaneous date with Donny—that she kept for treasuring. Although she sometimes remained in touch with people after they first meet, or intended to, often she forgot about them—like Gregory, who collected robots. Now, later in her life, her airport shoes are ready to play their travelling song again.

The story is addressed to an un-named “you,” a woman with whom the narrator once shared a close, troubled relationship. Like the narrator, “you” travelled constantly; when they lived together, they seemed to barely see each other. This relationship, also involving a once-mentioned third woman, Joan, is a counter to the more successful brief encounters that the narrator enjoys so much. The reason the story is addressed to “you” is not clear; perhaps it is simply to say “this is me, and this is how I am.” Perhaps it is for something else. I think there are several possible reasons; the narrator, like many people who have been in a long, difficult relationship, may not even know every reason for what she says and does to “you.” Pflug manages, in the sometimes spotty clarity of the narrator’s feelings, to convey the complications of life without obfuscation.

One might think it would be difficult to connect to a character who fails to make connections with most people, who is a drifter for most of what the story shows. Yet Pflug gives her narrator a presence within the story; though I am not like her, I sympathised with her and enjoyed reading her story. The reason for the narrator’s inability to maintain longer-term relationships and, in that travelling part of her life, to remain in the same place for more than a few days is never laid bare—it could be a force exerted by her airport shoes or because of internal reasons, with the shoes only a metaphor—and need not be. The mysteries in this story make it a deeper treat. Recommended.