I was introduced to Jonathan Carroll through the insistence of two strangers. I’m not known to listen to people, indeed I’m a scoffer, but they wanted to be called Wiz and Grub – and since those are of my two favorite things to do I thought they may have been on to something. You add that one knew the Condor Man uniform on sight and the other had reading list that peaked curiosity itself (not just my own) and you had the beginnings of a recommendation that would be followed through. Some years – and what seems like a couple lifetimes later – Jonathan Carroll is one of those authors whose books I buy. That may seem anticlimactic, but Carroll is one of, and perhaps the first writer who went on that list of “all I need to know is that the book is out” authors. I don’t need to know what it’s about, I don’t need to know where or when it takes place, I don’t need to know if it’s called fantasy, mystery, horror or science fiction – because such questions, such words, cannot contain Carroll. Instead Carroll carries Liza’s bucket of pandora paint adding a stroke with a brush here, there and where.

Frannie McCabe is the chief of police in Crane’s View, New York a town he grew up in and the town he’d happily die in if given the chance, not that death was something that was on his mind until the death of an odd dog that he took in at his office. A dog that like McCabe has the marks of a creature that lived – not just existed – and upon its death he took it upon himself to bury ‘Old Vertue”. A small town, a veteran sheriff, a dead dog – it has the makings of a western or a bad country song. At an rate, the death of the dog, the disappearance of a couple in his town, a girl found dead in the school bathroom, his step-daughter’s new tattoo disappearing - the aroma of change in the air would set McCabe on a whimsical story where he will attempt to connect dots while retracing his steps. Like time travel stories? How about a story that captures the scent of American Pie? About love, family, a coming of age story and a going of age story. When you don’t have to meet yourself to disrupt the space-time continuum, but you may have to hang out with him and perhaps more than anything it presents the idea that there would be value in asking your prior self – a unique individual – questions to see the actions of that person and learn something is not just a cog in the present cumulative. If one could point at a fault there is a point where you think McCabe is going nowhere, where Carroll couldn’t seem to bring a conclusion big enough to pay-off everything he introduced. It may even seem – in reflection – a great opportunity for a more than quaint fictional work without Science Fiction and Fantasy elements missed. What I think actually occurs is that we see a reasonable and competent man by most standards completely functioning as a man we would rationally think would in an irrational – a magical - situation. So many times in fiction we are shown protagonists who become so by acclimating themselves, to rise to the occasion. To become something they aren’t and never were – something nobody could possibly be. In many cases there may be fall to overcome as well, but routinely we are described this relying on our preconditioned acceptance of this due to exposure in rather flat fiction. Carroll does not stumble in tying up The Wooden Sea, Frannie does, and related to that the end of such experiences are not end of eras in any way a calendar would understand. The Science Fiction element – a universal awakening – is so over the top for the a Sheriff of an escapist-alcove American town that you can feel the gravity of just how beyond being simply odd or disconcerting such situation would be. You would attack this how you know how – with McCabe, the experiences of a hell raiser as a child, a Vietnam Vet, a veteran of couple of marriages, who lives a more than stable life and now respected in the town he once was once ‘that kid’ of. Frannie is a man who had gone through his ‘cycle’ only to be thrown into something bigger. It is not because he does not have the qualities to identify him as heroic; it is that rarely do we describe the day-to-day, handle shit as it happens manner as such. He is not offered a mantle, he is, when looking back on his life a man with an understanding of service and what we have is a man who doesn’t have all the answers, indeed he doesn’t even know all the questions. For the fantastic to have an effect, you have to establish a base that we recognize and Carroll nails the towns so many of us live(ed) in. Where reputations matter, where people never seem to get away from – and if they do, everybody can recite you the specifics of it. Where downtown is distinguishable only because it has been always been called that, where you’re Smith’s daughter or boy. Where I certainly have no interest in going to such a place now, perhaps the person I will be one day will. It is in such places that America really resides:

From the beginning Carroll confounds us and it’s not just a mysterious 3-legged dog – man’s best friend – that enters his life. We are introduced to McCabe spouting one-liners, a wife and step-child showing up at the job with jibes and apparent issues and instead of getting a fractured soul, another broken cop getting by on booze – he did keep his smokes – that lives only to confound the world set against him we get a happy man, a loving husband, a pillar of the community, and man who is where he wants to be. We find a man not looking for anything, but not to the extreme of a man who fears what he may find – he has found what he wants. We are shown choices we can believe. What would you make god do to prove his power? What would you learn if you observed your father when he wasn’t at the moment being your father? What would you want to tell him? In the midst of events of global, and even universal gravity, McCabe is in his hood and confronting these opportunities as if they were what really mattered. So many times, we are told the world is worth saving in fiction, even if grudgingly, and in The Wooden Sea we see why McCabe’s world is. More than that, I’m not a reader who views it as a requirement of the author to make me root for the protagonist of a story to enjoy it, indeed even in my most get-along-gang of moods it’s still a quality that I can’t completely reconcile as not being a least a little slow, but obviously that isn’t to say such stories don’t often represent the best fiction has to offer and one would find it hard not to find some part of McCabe’s journey that is not relatable, that doesn’t at least brush up against something you carry.

The Wooden Sea shares characteristics with others Carroll books in that he rarely puts a new spin on genre conventions it just always seems like his is the right one we had yet to see, as if others were suddenly a heart beat off, a turn of phrase too early, a sentiment missed. There is also a clarity to Carroll’s work that I think is rather distinct. The Wooden Sea’s brand of wonder is one that questions what you see, feel and believe but never what you are actually reading. In fiction we are sometimes – I think – too enamored with stylistic conceit, and I while I agree with Hal Duncan in that style is substance in literature – but Carroll’s style somehow morphs into what should be fashion at the moment of reading instead of vying for next. I always marvel most at writers who are able to present several stories – many completely different thematically and even in tone –that don’t take away from one another in the absence of recognition. When I interviewed the wonderful Kelly Link she spoke of stories that could be read and reveal something new – a story that grows – and The Wooden Sea leaves more trees to climb, more secrets submerged.

The Wooden Sea is perhaps not Carroll’s most recommended work, but is still a notable chapter in the body of work of somebody who is in the argument of being the most noteworthy American Fantasist today.

So take a ride on a bicycle, grab an oar and watch yourself fly.

Jay Tomio
The Bodhisattva

To be honest, George Mann's introduction to the Solaris Book of New Science Fiction did little to entice me to continue flipping the pages. Turning in at just a couple paragraphs, it reads more as an introduction for the Solaris imprint than the anthology they are actually launching. I've always enjoyed a little looksee into why an editor picked a certain story, or even seeing them genuinely excited about 'em, and nothing pleases me more analytical dissections of the genre, but alas there is nothing like that within. And because of this, I'm to assume there's no interconnecting theme in the anthology (though there always is a theme, no matter how subtle), and so the Solaris Book of New Science Fiction comes off as more just a bunch of stories collected together in a book for easier distribution, simple as that. Thankfully, these are some damned good stories.

"In His Sights" by Jeffrey Thomas strongly opens the anthology, showcasing a subgenre of science fiction that wavers between cyberpunk and psychological horror. We have Jeremy Stake, a mutant from Punktown who is also a military returnee from a war fought between the blue-skinned Ha Jiin and the humans. Stake wears a mask to hide a power (curse) of his, stealing the faces of others. In this case, he's specifically wearing the face of the last man he killed, a Ha Jiin, which leads to problems fitting back into society. Though there was a section where the POV changed back and forth between two different characters, confusing me in an instant, the story is a good one. There's a heap load of tension, a monsters-living-among-the-humans sort of city à la Perdido Street Station, and in the end, explosive action that has some horrifying outcomes. Well recommended.

One of my favorite stories from the Solaris Book of New Science Fiction, "C-Rock City" by Jay Lake and Greg van Eekhout follows a man known simply as Porkpie living on an asteroid-melded planet as he searches for a mother he's never known. Events unfold rather rapidly, but the mystery of how C-Rock City exists and functions helps to fill in the gaps while Porkpie moves closer and closer to finding out where he came from. The characters are fun, and the relationship between Porkpie and Rocky adds a lot to the tension; Porkpie is clearly a loner, but the sort that just needs one person to know him and love him and treat him like he'd treat them. Rocky or his mother, in the end, Porkpie might not have either. I also believe I've spotted a quiet homage to Frank Wu, the Hugo Award-winning artist that has previously worked with Lake. In "C-Rock City" Wu is what Wu already is, an artist with a talent for creating mesmerizing pieces of work, paintings so powerful and telling that they themselves give names to the ships and sectors of the city. It's a nice touch though I doubt van Eekhout had a hand in it. There's enough history and setting in "C-Rock City" for further adventures, and truthfully, the ending didn't feel as complete as it could have been. This is not a complaint at all—I only want more.

"The Bowdler Strain" by James Lovegrove is the sort of story that seems down right silly when its premise is written out (or even described to someone), but the tale of a logovirus that eliminates the ability to properly swear worldwide is executed marvelously. It's Professor Hugo Bantling's fault, letting the virus escape on his watch, and he can only sit back and watch as it spreads from the Ideative Manipulations laboratory in Gloucestershire to soon all of England. Now it's not a deadly virus, killing folks off by the droves. But there is the fear of worldwide panic and all eyes tracing the blasted thing back to Chilton Mead and Bantling and his cohorts. To speak of how Lovegrove handles a story about swearing with swears in it (but not really) would ruin the charm of the "The Bowdler Strain." The ending is quietly done, but it suffices.

Paul Di Filippo's "Personal Jesus" is also another story with a premise (and outcome) that is borderline preposterous, but when handled profoundly within the mold that is science fiction it comes across as ninety percent amazing and ten percent haunting. In the near future, godPods are the latest trend, and everyone in the world seems to have one. Each godPod comes with its own personal deity (Jesus, Mohammed, Budhha, etc.), and it acts as a living conscience, a voice to turn to for advice. Some people never turn theirs off. Shepherd Crooks believes his to be broken, but forgets about that problem instantly as his personal Jesus tells him that he'll finally score with Anna, the woman he's been pining over. Things seem like they're all going to turn out for the better, but the godPods have something else planned. The revelation of what and where and who felt like a throwback to the golden years of SF, back when pulp was all there was to know. Much like Di Filippo's "Wikiworld" from Fast Forward I, he presents another future where the technology has become more important than the users, frightening and plausible and a subject that will never ever go away.

"A Distillation of Grace" by Adam Roberts is a story of scrutinized breeding done through a line of specific generations in order to achieve a Unique, a being embodying grace itself. This is said to happen by the words of Shad (bless his memory!), and the task of overseeing all this falls upon Cole. He is to make sure Medd, a boy of fourteen, impregnates a young girl named Rhess. Unfortunately, Medd claims that he does not love her and will not help to create a being of grace. Roberts' storytelling is fluid and engaging, never losing itself amongst all the religion and theology. There's even the hint of humor sprinkled in, but I did not find the ending to be satisfying after such a tremendous setup. Others might see it differently, and I'd still suggest them reading it even though it didn’t blow me over.

To say I didn’t get a little emotional over Stephen Baxter's "Last Contact" would be a lie. The end of the world is to happen on October 14th, and everyone knows it. To their dismay, nothing, absolutely nothing, can be done to prevent it. Maureen and her daughter Caitlin are doing much like others: living their lives as if they knew nothing at all, but it is much harder on Maureen who is receiving garbled messages from space. There are no twists here, no sudden revelations that make things worse or better. "Last Contact" plays out like you're told it would, with the world ending, but that doesn't make watching Maureen and Caitlin's lives shatter any easier to experience.

Of the longer stories in the anthology, "Zora and the Land Ethic Nomads" by Mary Turzillo (who dropped her middle initial here and is quickly becoming one of my favorite short story writers, closing in right behind Tanith Lee and Ursula K. Le Guin) and "The Accord" by Keith Brooke were the best of the bunch. Turzillo's story is an intricate study of society, traditions, and the adaptations life has to make to survive. Plus, it's set on Mars, which only a confident voice can pull off, and just like she did with "Pride," a far-fetched idea about raising genetically-crafted saber-toothed tigers, she's flows with ease. "The Accord" reminded me a lot of Tanith Lee's earlier novels, Don't Bite the Sun and Drinking Sapphire Wine, which revolved around the perfect of most perfect worlds, where one only had to suffer if they chose to. Aldiss' story kickstarts off perfectly with Tish Goldenhawk, a local, encountering a mysterious fellow in her bar who just so happens to bring trouble with him. The twists and turns are plentiful, but more so, they are interesting which kept me turning the page.

Eric Brown's "The Farewell Party" rounds out the anthology, doing a fine job of bringing the book to a close. It's a quiet story set in England about a group of people surviving out their nights through social drinking. A mysterious stranger (aren't they always?) arrives, gives them the name of Gregory Merrall, and is instantly welcomed into their clique. Slowly, the back story of the alien race Kéthani and why they've chosen Earth as their new home is revealed, along with Gregory's secrets. Throughout "The Farewell Party" a thin air of uncertainly hangs overhead, and for good reasoning. Though the ending itself is not something terribly new to the "aliens are invading our planet" bend, it is satisfying in that it confirmed my suspicion of Merrall all along. Definitely worth a read.

Some stories didn't work for me, which does not necessarily mean they're terrible compilations of words and adverbs and plot devices, just tales that didn't quench my SF thirst, so to speak. Neal Asher's "Bioship," a piece that heavily plays out the tropes now associated with the New Weird, did little to impress me and it eventually lost me in its absurdness and unclear characters. The narrative style of Peter F. Hamilton's "If at First…" turned me off. And "Four Ladies of the Apocalypse" by Brian Aldiss, while aptly written and more than effective for its length, felt out of place in a book that seems more focused on science fiction than horror.

There are some strong stories in Solaris Book of New Science Fiction, enough to warrant justified praise, and my only major gripe with the anthology is that it ultimately feels unfocused. That, or I've been reading too many genre anthologies lately and everything is blurring together now. I mentioned earlier how there is always a theme, even if it's very subtle. To say death would be the easy way out; a lot of the stories here were rooted in ideas of people's places in society and learning to adapt to whatever ways they are supposed to. Whether it's coming back from a war with the face of a dead man or learning about alien traditions on Mars, it all comes back to being human, reacting naturally, and surviving by any means.

But really, that Stephen Baxter story, completely worth purchasing the book. I am not a member of this year's Worldcon so I cannot vote for it to win a Hugo. I am also not a full-fledged member of SFWA, and alas, cannot nudge it for a Nebula vote. If any of you out there have the power to do these things, read "Last Contact," let the world know its greatness, and make all things right.

This book has it all: engaging story, intriguing characters, wonderful writing, and a jaw-dropping conclusion.

Is man inherently evil?

Faust is frustrated in his quest for knowledge and by an uninterested God. His frustrations soon turn to anger which leads him to burn all of his books, renounce God, and open himself to the Devil. The Devil, represented here as a dying alien race, grants Faust complete knowledge of all the sciences that he so desperately craves. Faust sees knowledge as an opportunity to vastly improve humanity’s condition and alleviate world suffering. The Devil sees it as an opportunity to destroy all of mankind (because he finds it so offensive) as he tells Faust,

Faust doesn’t understand this pessimistic outlook. He believes that society will be appreciative, and use the inventions and advances brought about by his newly acquired knowledge for the betterment of all.


But people are resistant to change. Scholars scoff and cling to their traditional teachings. Faust gains support primarily from private businesses which quickly interpret his inventions for warfare use, or simply for the betterment of their own wallet. Even Faust’s love interest, Margarete, a young woman of innocence and having a goodly heart, reveals an alter ego and succumbs to corporate greed.


I thought it interesting that in spite of the technological advances, including birth control, women were still considered second class citizens having virtually no legal rights. Although Margarete ran her father’s business efficiently and profitably, a woman was not allowed to have ownership in a company. As an unwed mother, she faced punishment and being banished,




Swanwick’s prose and dialogue are well-suited to the European medieval setting. This grim story is balanced by Faust’s loyal-to-the-end assistant Wagner and his true love Margarete, who finds her own form of redemption. It’s interspersed with humour, most often provided by the Devil, who presents himself in interesting and unexpected forms throughout.


So, does having it all bring peace and prosperity? Does knowing it all make for a wise and benevolent ruler? The ironic conclusion to Jack Faust will certainly make you think more carefully on such questions.

Xanthan Gumm is on his way to Earth in his Glexo Nebula to be a movie star. He has discovered all he needs to know about Earth, Earth’s King Steven Spielberg, and humanity from The Movies. Robin Reed describes our self-absorbed culture with a witty and enjoyable tale about a star struck alien trying to find his way to Hollywood.

General Les S. Moore is determined to discover the latest great threat to the USA before the military is no more. Xanthan’s ship is the perfect proof; however, he does not have it. The Men in Brown have it. Of course it would help to have an alien or two added to the mix. Xanthan Gumm is an amusing parody about the U.S.A.’s military, the Men in Brown not Black, and the tabloids. You never know what just might be the truth.

After reading this book, I have a new appreciation for The Movies and my fellow citizens of Earth. Robin Reed touches on homelessness, military bureaucracy, and the tabloids with wit, satire, and an alien perspective. Xanthan Gumm is a character driven story about Xanthan’s adventures in Chicago.

The prose is delightful to read and the characters are interesting and charming. Despite that, Xanthan Gumm’s plot lacks tension and does not move the story forward. Moreover, the cover of the book was not aligned with the pages and the print was occasionally crooked. This detracted from the books appearance and the publisher’s professionalism.

While out visiting my favorite bookstore a few nights ago, I discovered a copy of Zanthan Gumm. The problems I noted in the cover and print were corrected. Nonetheless, the copy we were sent did not arrive with a note saying it was not the final print edition.