They’ve made her something else now.
Damien Angelica WaltersTags: fantasy horror short-fiction
Gold is cold, and men who possess much of it are infected with its chill.
S.M. CarrièreTags: life love wealth fantasy lady-of-shadow
Poetry restores language by breaking it, and I think that much contemporary writing restores fantasy, as a genre of writing in contrast to a genre of commodity or a section in a bookstore, by breaking it. Michael Moorcock revived fantasy by prying it loose from morality; writers like Jeff VanderMeer, Stepan Chapman, Lucius Shepard, Jeffrey Ford, Nathan Ballingrud are doing the same by prying fantasy away from pedestrian writing, with more vibrant and daring styles, more reflective thinking, and a more widely broadcast spectrum of themes.
Michael CiscoTags: fantasy critical-theory new-weird
Power contains secrets...Secrets contain knowledge...Knowledge contains power.
Susan WaterwykTags: fantasy romance-love-heartache
[T]he new weird represents a productive experiment in fantasy fiction. The New Wave of the 1960s and 1970s arguably embodied science fiction's claim to literary 'seriousness.' This desire for seriousness is not snobbery, as sometimes suggested by folks who overemphasize the entertainment function of speculative fiction; it's about recognition of the vast possibilities within the field.
Darja Malcolm-ClarkeTags: literary-criticism fantasy science-fiction new-weird new-wave
Remy shot to her feet, eyes blazing. Her hands were fisted at her sides. “Don’t be stupid, Creed.”
“What did you say?” I asked slowly.
“Don’t. Be. Stupid.”
I opened my mouth, closed it. “Why do you even care?” I finally asked.
Remy’s eyes shifted away from mine. She was hiding something. “You’re giving up.”
“No.” I shook my head. “Giving up would be giving in to the darkness completely. I haven’t quite taken that step yet.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“What?”
“If you don’t care and you want it to be over, what’s stopping you from letting the evil inside of you destroy you?”
You.
“You need to leave,” I told her.
“I can’t.”
A low rumble sounded deep in my chest.
“Are you growling at me?”
“Are you scared?”
“No.”
“You should be,” I stated, moving for her.
Tags: romance fantasy paranormal-romance young-adult
Thank-you, son,’ said his father. ‘I want you to know we’re both
proud of you. Take care, and keep in touch if you can.’
‘Or even better, visit!’ said his mother, ‘our home isn’t complete
without you!
our destinies are intertwined
like the stems of ivy on an oak tree.
When it begins it is like a light in a tunnel, a rush of steel and
steam across a torn up life. It is a low rumble, an earthquake in the
back of the mind. My spine is a track with cold black steel racing on
it, a trail of steam and dust following behind, ghost like. It feels
like my whole life is holding its breath.
By the time she leaves the room I am surprised that she can’t see the
train. It has jumped the track of my spine and landed in my mothers’
living room. A cold dark thing, black steel and redwood paneling. It
is the old type, from the western movies I loved as a kid.
He throws open the doors to the outside world, to the dark ocean. I
feel a breeze tugging at me, a slender finger of wind that catches at
my shirt. Pulling. Grabbing. I can feel the panic build in me, the
need to scream or cry rising in my throat.
And then I am out the door, running, tumbling down the steps falling
out into the darkened world, falling out into the lifeless ocean. Out
into the blackness. Out among the stars and shadows.
And underneath my skin, in the back of my head and down the back of my
spine I can feel the desperation and I can feel the noise. I can feel
the deep and ancient ache of loudness that litters across my bones.
It’s like an old lover, comfortable and well known, but unwelcome and
inappropriate with her stories of our frolicking.
And then she’s gone and the Conductor is closing the door. The
darkness swells around us, enveloping us in a cocoon, pressing flat
against the train like a storm. I wonder, what is this place?
Those had been heady days, full and intense. It’s funny. I remember
the problems, the confusions and the fears of life we all dealt with.
But, that all seems to fade. It all seems to be replaced by images of
the days when it was all just okay. We all had plans back then,
patterns in which we expected the world to fit, how it was to be
deciphered.
Eventually you just can’t carry yourself any longer, can’t keep your
eyelids open, and can’t focus on anything but the flickering light of
the stars. Hours pass, at first slowly like a river and then all in a
rush, a climax and I am home in the dorm, waking up to the ringing of
the telephone.
When she is gone the apartment is silent, empty, almost like a person
sleeping, waiting to wake up. When she is gone, and I am alone, I curl
up on the bed, wait for the house to eject me from its dying corpse.
Crazy thoughts cross through my head, like slants of light in an
attic.
The Boston 395 rocks a bit, a creaking noise spilling in from the
undercarriage. I have decided that whatever this place is, all these
noises, sensations - all the train-ness of this place - is a
fabrication. It lulls you into a sense of security, allows you to feel
as if it’s a familiar place. But whatever it is, it’s not a train, or
at least not just a train.
The air, heightened, tense against the glass. I can hear the squeak of
shoes on linoleum, I can hear the soft rattle of a dying man’s
breathing. Men in white uniforms, sharp pressed lines, run past,
rolling gurneys down florescent hallways.
Tags: literature fantasy magical-realims
(From the Author Note at the beginning of the book.) Dorothy L. Sayers used to say that mystery stories were the only moral fiction of the modern world--because in a mystery, you were guaranteed to see that the bad got punished, the good got rewarded and in the end all was made right.
I'd like to think that fantasy does the same thing. It reminds us that this is how it should be, and maybe if we all put our minds to it a little more, this is how it will be. The good will be rewarded. The bad will be punished. Sins will be forgiven.
And they will live happily ever after.
Tags: morality fantasy fiction mystery
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