Tall Tales on the Iron Horse by Colin P. Davies

Tall Tales on the Iron Horse is the first collection of short fiction by Colin P. Davies and gathers nineteen tales, the oldest published in 1989 and the most recent in 2006, with some making their first appearance here. Despite this range in publication dates, none of these stories are dated, and in fact, some may appear to be more reflective of our times, and therefore prescient, than when they were first published. As Cory Doctorow wrote, “the easiest way to write futuristic science fiction is to predict, with rigor and absolute accuracy, the present day,” and Davies has succeeded admirably in this task. But don’t let that distract you from the ageless elements in these stories, which often confront darker aspects of the human heart in ways illuminating and surprising. These stories share other common elements: they are well-plotted, crisply told, and thoroughly engaging. Davies’s website informs us that he is at work on a novel. One can only hope that we won’t have to wait seventeen years for another confection of shadowy treats.

The stories in Tall Talesdemonstrate range in style and theme. Some are clearly more geared towards revelatory endings, while others focus more intimately on characters’ interior landscapes and end on more pensive notes. Taken as a whole, there is a satisfying balance between psychological acuteness and speculative extrapolation. If any flaw can be found in a collective consideration of the work, it might be that in some instances, the characters’ motivations become subservient to the needs of the story, or that the protagonists may be visibly difficult to empathize with.

The first story, “Tall Tales on the Iron Horse,” invites us to join the protagonist on what is supposed to be a three-day-long train journey starting in a Sumatran port, traversing darkness through a mountain, and finally emerging in Titan, one of Saturn’s moons. How is this geography possible? The train is moving in a field that is generated by the passengers’ “suppression of disbelief.” The warp in physical distance is a perfect mirror for the metaphysical journey Davies has in store for us. The protagonist is in search of his loved one, Mary, who has been captured. By whom, and how, I won’t reveal. Told in the first person and made up of short sections, the pace is brisk, and there is dazzling invention on display. Throughout, Davies grounds the bizarre odyssey in his protagonist’s emotional concern about finding and rescuing Mary. This search reminded me a little of Robert Silverberg’s excellent novella “Born With the Dead”—both stories deal with the heartache that besets a man when his wife voluntarily assumes a radically altered type of existence—but the resolution here is different and unexpected. The conclusion is both ironic and grim. I hope The Flying Scotsman and Mr. Hanover are spotted soon.

In “Geraint,” Conrad is a shopkeeper who has a violent run-in with one of his village’s more reclusive neighbors, Bryn. Against all odds, Bryn emerges mostly unscathed from the accident in which he drives into Conrad’s shop and is well looked-after by his mysterious dog, who gives the story its title. It is quickly revealed that Geraint can travel across parallel realities. When Bryn and Geraint become Conrad’s houseguests, the going gets tough—how will everyone cope?

I was not entirely surprised with the plot development here, and though the ending did make me smile and provided a sort of sardonic moralistic frame, it will probably only be effective for readers familiar with sf tropes and sf’s canonical works. Geraint’s abilities are conveyed with amusing detail, and the writing is uniformly solid. While Davies succeeds in his intent of making Conrad a character we don’t particularly empathize with, this also means it’s harder for us to be drawn into his plight. The type of revenge that motivates him may seem to trace a somewhat outmoded emotional arc in today’s post-post-modern storytelling world, and it caused “Geraint” to feel a tad longer than necessary. But I really enjoy parallel reality stories, and there is enough imaginative construction here for me to recommend this one.

Jesus Santana, “The Evangelist,” immediately brings to mind Father Ramon Ruiz-Sanchez from James Blish’s masterpiece A Case of Conscience. The setup here is conceptually similar—an envoy of Christian theology attempting to inculcate the otherworldly natives—though the alien harbingers are nothing like Blish’s Lithians, which is a good thing. As soon as the story gets underway, Davies makes the harbinger’s planet, the icy Benedict’s World, entirely his own territory, both in terms of plot and narration. We’re treated to plenty of action (some violence) but Davies doesn’t lose sight of his metaphysical commentary. I was not able to guess the ending, despite all the clues subtly planted in the text. For anyone who enjoys the ups of down and the downs of up, “The Evangelist” should be both a tasty and tasteful affair.

Off to Mars with Robert and Carol we go, where, if we’re lucky, we might experience Gunn’s carnival and through it “A Touch of Earth.” Robert’s marriage with Carol is strained, to say the least, and his budding interest in and friendship with Gunn drives the rift deeper. Gunn advocates experiences that harken back to existence on Earth—the real Earth and not some emulation thereof. This is in direct conflict with Carol’s job. Davies makes some interesting points about the human condition and humanity’s longing for the familiar while at the same time needing the new. I’m not sure that the Martian landscape truly came alive for me, which made it harder to truly appreciate some central motivations.

Mandi’s world is populated entirely by real and metaphorical “Dolls,” including herself. Her dad forces her to stay preternaturally young through chemical injections that alter her biology, so that she can compete in a children’s beauty pageant year over year. Mandi will do anything necessary to get her hands on the illegal drug that will allow her to age. Ah, but at what cost? Blend Little Miss Sunshine, A.I., Chucky and the classic Twilight Zone episode, “Living Doll,” and you still wouldn’t get something as lifelike as this. The idea of artificially stilting growth for the purpose of borderline perverse aesthetic indulgence is horrifying enough, but Davies expertly adds additional casings to this horrific Russian doll to make it one of the highlights of the collection. I particularly enjoyed the complex portrayal of Mandi, whose body does not grow, but whose mind has aged, though deprived of the typical adolescent experiences that come with, well, adolescence. There is also action in spades, though once again the real trip—and the elegance of the story—resides in the acuity of Davies’s psychological observations. His dolls may not exist in real life, but his insights into the minds of children and adults are more than anatomically correct.

Is a hero designed to be a hero, and who has no choice but to perform heroically, heroic? Such is the fate of “The Defenders.” This slim, four-page short story was selected by Gardner Dozois for the The Year’s Best Science Fiction: Twenty-Second Annual Collection, and it’s not hard to fathom why. Complexities lie beneath the surface of the relationship between Grandfather and Elisa, as well as in the world they inhabit, a universe of “defenders” rich enough in structure and implication to rival most mythologies. Technological feasibility supports this imaginative feast, which feels as dense as any much longer elucubration but is not weighed down into Homeport’s waters for an instant. Another gem.

Samuel, the not-quite human server of the Qwik-Cuisine Restaurant, may indeed be a “Good and Faithful Servant,” but for how long? Lady Theresa Buchwald, who frequents this restaurant, is beyond trying or demanding; she is proficient in the dispensation of cruelty, mostly through sheer lack of consideration for anyone’s needs except her own. I enjoyed the setting of the story and the suggestion that in the near future, social status will not only be determined by wealth and means but by one’s genetic origins (though Aldous Huxley’s 1932 novel, Brave New World, already posited a social caste system in which individuals were engineered to be Alphas, Betas, Gammas, Deltas, or Epsilons). Samuel’s psyche and the transformation of his pain and discontent into violent visions of the Lady Theresa’s demise are vividly depicted and quickly get the reader on his side. I particularly enjoyed the ending. Rather than linearly leading us to the expected plot finale, Davies chooses to end the narration at a different moment in order to allow his story to speak more voluminously and to heighten the emotional impact. Though I found some of the particulars in the final scene as the situation escalates a little forced, they were not incongruent with what went before. And, though a character righteously taking to arms (or cutlery, perhaps) because of social injustice is an overly familiar scenario, Davies adds sufficient sf-nal spice to make this traditional dish quite savory. I hear table eleven calling.

The Thing in “The Thing from the Thing from Another World” (I love this title) is an enigmatic alien force that—wait, that’s why it’s enigmatic, so I probably shouldn’t tell you—and what did really happen at Roswell?—I can’t give this away without spoiling part of the fun. This is another of the slighter efforts in the collection and will probably be enjoyed mostly by sf aficionados who will chuckle and then resume whatever else they were doing. It’s a breeze to read and holds the reader’s interest until the payoff, which neither thrills nor disappoints. To dispense with some clichés, the thing with “The Thing from the Thing…” is that it fits the bill but doesn’t rock the boat. It’s up to snuff but doesn’t upset the apple cart. It passes muster but doesn’t make waves. So yeah, please consider yourselves warned, one could say this one makes the cut but doesn’t shake things up.

Inanna has fallen in love with Robert, but now the time has come to kill him and move on. Her gifts of longevity (immortality?) make her “Perhaps a Goddess,” perhaps something else entirely. Will she go through with the murder? As Davies points out early on, “Goddesses had to submit to their nature.” This was another of my favorites. Well-crafted, and Davies wisely steers clear of the “immortal succubus” line, focusing instead on the depth of Inanna’s emotion and the already challenging situation of Robert’s terminal illness. There is more relationship dynamics than action here, providing a welcome respite from the almost breathless plotting in earlier tales; the reflective tone is on par with that of “The Defenders,” though the setting is more intimate, constrained, and perhaps not as far reaching.

The weekly game of “Chicken” that the young narrator and his friends engage in to keep things interesting in the rundown world of poorly maintained, decrepit Towers and huge monorails is just one of the un-amusing amusements the reader will find in this grim, foreboding, and mysterious story. Where are their parents? Read and find out. I’m not sure I entirely bought into the first-person voice; considering the kid’s difficult circumstances and the perilous fun they pursue, the central character’s voice, at times, is too delicate, poetic, or eloquent. I also found this meandered a little, though the last two scenes, and especially the final one, made reading this time well-spent.

In “Dust to Dust,” Richard seems to have been the guinea pig in some experiment that makes him partially phosphorescent, along with other abilities. Now he’s desperately on the run but needs to contact his wife, Jill. Dealing with reality and illusion, this story felt the creakiest of this collection. The plot seemed weary, the sf tropes didn’t introduce new speculative or psychological elements, and I didn’t find much to enjoy—partly due to unlikely character motivation. For example, in the second scene where Richard describes his relationship with Jill:

“In truth, he needed the money or the house would go. And if he lost that, maybe she would go too.”

This struck me as particularly facile characterization, especially by the standards Davies has established in the other pieces. “Dust to Dust” could be passed over in favor of other stories which don’t feel like they require dusting off.

Every July, Johnny and his cousins stay with his granddad at his farm and hear spooky tales about “The Hay Devils,” otherworldly creatures that, according to Granddad, slipped from their nether realm into our world through a fracture caused by shamanism gone bad. Johnny tells of the summer he hatched a foolproof plan to frame Granddad for the storyteller he is and prove, once for all, that the Hay Devils are nothing more than the product of an old man’s vivacious and well-exercised imagination. Will he succeed?

Successfully conjuring up recollections of youth, “The Hay Devils” also ably reminds us of that even as children, we are skeptical and often keen observers of others’ natures and behavior. The plot moves at a fast clip in interesting contrast to the nostalgic overtones in some of the passages and in particular the ending. One of Davies’ strengths in writing about children is in letting them tell their own stories. However, when he imposes too much adversity on them, as he does in “Chicken,” it can lead to somewhat stultified, unbalanced prose. When the action is in proportion to their narrating abilities, memorable imagery, nuanced characters and riveting, suspenseful drama results, as this story demonstrates.

In the slight “Rolf and the Volvo (or Forgotten Memories in Science Fiction History),” we are treated to a particularly notorious incident in the life of sf writer Rolf Z. Heinz and, you guessed it, a Volvo. The details ring a little over-the-top, though I suppose the playful and not-so-playful jabs and references to other writers are diverting (my favorite mention was of Lionel Fanthorpe). It does capture the nostalgic, uncritical tone of fannish remembrances and appreciations, and as such, achieves its purpose, but firsthand knowledge of this form is necessary to enjoy it. Any reader looking for extrapolative drama can skip this one.

Madelaine is the “The Girl with the Four-Dimensional Head,” and Randolph McColl is an investigative reporter on Mars with an uncanny talent for empathy assigned to cover her case. Davies gets the fourth dimension right (it’s actually time, as it should be) which was a relief. He also treats the causality paradoxes of Madelaine’s ability to see into someone’s past and future simultaneously to their present consistently and makes them amenable to our logic. McColl soon discovers that his own history and gift may be inextricably bound with Madelaine’s past, and not only must he come to terms with that, but he must deal with the Shattering Revelations they uncover. While I was captivated by the characters and their situation, I felt that this story attempted too much and was a little overstuffed in the final section. The first-person narration works well and gives the proceedings an old-fashioned, almost hard-boiled panache, which propels the narrative swiftly along. This is an entertaining outing, and the Mars it portrays, though still problematic, seemed better developed than in “A Touch of Earth.”

It appears that Davies is at work or has completed a novel-length expansion of the story “Clifford and the Bookmole.” I couldn’t be more pleased, since it was one of my favorite stories in this collection. Clifford is a fourteen year-old avid reader of fantasy novels who has become infatuated with the fictional warrior Zondra Amazon. He will go to any lengths, including searching the Yellow Pages for Inventors, Wizards, Sorcerers, and God, to bring her to life and….

Deliberately old-fashioned in setting (notice the mention of Yellow Pages as an archaic search engine, not Google) but contemporary in its treatment of subject matter, Davies utilizes a light comic tone and paces things quickly, achieving our suspension of disbelief with ease. He also extrapolates things logically, often a flaw in stories that entertain flights of fancy such as this one. The ending didn’t really grab me or shed new light on what has been experienced, but I had so much fun with the premise’s consequences and with the character that I didn’t mind. It did, however, leave the door wide open for further misadventures in this same universe. Also, it seems that Kylie Minogue has recently released a new album. (Read “Clifford and the Bookmole” to find out how that’s relevant.)

Richard’s life wavers from one version to another and includes plenty of space for a “Pondlife.” He is the subject of an experiment with immersive VR, and by the end of this pleasant but somewhat uninspired story, he learns that reality is a trickier concept than it seems via an almost perfunctory surprise ending. “Pondlife” works, on the whole, but the shift in scenes, undoubtedly meant to create tension and increase narrative speed, read a little strained, making it hard to inhabit Richard’s world and become immerses in his experiences. This one may simply be too tall for my tastes, or perhaps it rides a wooden horse.

Andy and his violent, unruly friends live in a world of fear and hatred, and one of the gang will turn out to be “The Man Who Sank.” In another first-person narrative, readers learn much about what makes Andy tick and about how he learns from his choices. The speculative or fantastic element, if it exists at all, is slight, and I’m not sure it was expanded upon sufficiently for me to enjoy the narrative on that level, although it does neatly bridge the outer world with the inner. While for me “The Man Who Sank” didn’t achieve the chilling effect I think Davies was going for, from the perspective of a character study, it works well, and I think most readers will find enough to keep them interested here, pondering the titular “sinking” and how it might apply to their own lives.

In a postapocalyptic society, Sharon may know “All the Right Words,” but does it help her improve the quality of her life? The unending routine of existence in a broken world, in a broken marriage, where “good cans” provide a culinary highpoint, might understandably be alleviated by the excitement of adultery, of flirtation. This works for Sharon, who in a telling exchange accuses her lover, John, of using “far too many words,” while her communication with Alan, her husband, has stagnated altogether. Why too many? Because verbalizing these experiences of forbidden pleasure, these thefts of joy, would presumably undermine their purpose. But is this be enough for Sharon?

One of the quieter pieces in this collection, it delves into mood and explores subtle character issues rather than developing new ideas and face-paced action. While it left me underwhelmed initially, I enjoyed it more upon a second reading, appreciating its sophistication. The final short sentence gracefully adds levels of implication and works well in juxtaposition to the stark, violent imagery of the immediately preceding paragraph. It appears that Davies, too, knows all the right words, and in this instance, that’s certainly enough.

“Pestworld,” or Benedict Benoletti’s World, is ridden by a plethora of pests, from the minute to the man-sized. Parvo becomes embroiled in a power struggle that not only turns the scales, but reveals whole new vistas of evolutionary possibility. The longest story in the collection, each scene alternates with a clever bit of infodump which defines one of the many creatures on the planet. While this may seem a somewhat capricious expository technique, it is justified by the story’s end. And I was more interested in the prolific, fulgurant level of biological invention than in the fate of Parvo and the other characters. There’s probably enough extrapolative worldbuilding here for a novel, but I’m glad Davies kept this at a shorter length; it might otherwise have become oppressive. While not consistently engrossing, the many critters and their niches kept me reading, and this story bodes well for Davies’s ability at writing hard science fiction, (as “Tall Tales on the Iron Horse” showed his skill with the surreal).

A minor quibble I had, perhaps due to reading all these stories in succession, is that characters’ names began to blend together. A quick perusal revealed that several names were, in fact, repeated; we have one Sam in “A Touch of Earth,” another Sam in “The Thing from the Thing from Another World,” and another Sam in “The Hay Devils” (not to mention a Samuel in “Good and Faithful Servant”). Then there’s Carol in “A Touch of Earth” and “Good and Faithful Servant,” Robert in “A Touch of Earth” and “Perhaps a Goddess,” and Richard in “Dust to Dust” and “Pondlife.” Whereas I’m not a fan of names that call attention to themselves, and reading the stories in this collection in small doses would probably remedy this, but it seemed an unfortunate proclivity, working against Davies’s otherwise richly realized characters.

Nevertheless, while most of the short-story collections on my shelves look well-kept and pristine, even those I have read several times, within a few days of receiving Tall Tales on the Iron Horse it became noticeably creased and battered. I anticipate the same happening to your copy.

Publisher: Bewildering Press (Jan. 2008)
Price: $12.95
Trade paperback: 212 pages
ISBN: 0978744349