Naked City: Tales of Urban Fantasy

A review of Naked City: Tales of Urban Fantasy edited by Ellen Datlow (St Martin’s Griffin, 2011)

In The Urban Fantasy Anthology, Peter Beagle and Joe Lansdale set out to define urban fantasy and classify it into a number of sub-genres, which they illustrated by means of a number of carefully selected previously published stories. Ellen Datlow has taken a very different tack in this volume. She has commissioned a series of new stories from a range of authors with the brief that the city in which the story was set should be as important to the story as anything else.

Perhaps most striking is the sheer diversity of the twenty stories in this collection. That diversity is echoed in the title, Naked City, which recalls the documentary/crime photography of Weegee, a crime movie, and a spin-off TV series, which had the catchphrase, ‘There are eight million stories in the naked city, this has been one of them.’ Here we have detective stories, supernatural romance, vampires, soft science fiction, possible steampunk, humour, and outright horror. There is traditional fantasy and there are one or two offbeat stories that refuse to be categorized. There are historical settings and contemporary settings in cities that include London, Berlin, Haifa, and, of course, New York, while other stories are set in cities entirely of the imagination. 

Several are set in existing fictional universes. Of these, I had previously read only Ellen Kushner’s Swordpoint (the novel behind her contribution, ‘The Duke of Riverside’). So this volume gave me a welcome introduction to several new novels and in one or two cases new novelists, notably Jim Butcher and Melissa Marr.

With contributions from the likes of Pat Cadigan, Lucius Shephard, Lavie Tidhar, John Crowley, and Naomi Novik, there are many gems in this collection, but my personal favourite was, undoubtedly, ‘Oblivion by Calvin Klein’, a striking piece by Christopher Fowler. Set in the department stores of London, this story focuses on the city as the home of consumerism. For the protagonist of the story, shopping has become a drug and compensation for the lack of sexual satisfaction in her marriage. Beneath a veneer of biting wit, Fowler has hidden an uncompromising attack on consumerist values. But, for me, the real highlight of this story is his language, which simply makes it a joy to read.

Inevitably in a collection of such diversity, there were some stories I didn’t enjoy. For example, Peter Beagle’s ‘Underbridge’ is well written, but the protagonist is an unpleasant character who meets an unpleasant (and, once the story is set up, rather predictable) end. Another one that didn’t work for me was Jeffrey Ford’s ‘Daddy Longlegs of the Evening’, which read like straightforward horror rather than dark fantasy. For some reason, the urban setting did not seem particularly important in this story (unless perhaps the possessing spider is to be taken as some kind of metaphor for the dehumanizing effect of the city).

Taken as a whole, Naked City is a fascinating snapshot of the state of urban fantasy in 2011. It should be essential reading whether you are an established fan of urban fantasy or someone who is wondering whether this kind of fiction is for you.

(Originally published in Interzone, no, 237, November–December 2011)

The Urban Fantasy Anthology

A review of The Urban Fantasy Anthology, edited by Peter S. Beagle and Joe R. Lansdale (Tachyon Publications, 2011)

It’s raw, it’s vibrant, it’s undeniably popular, but just what is urban fantasy? The editors of this anthology from Tachyon attempt to define the genre by offering us twenty short stories they regard as typical. These stories have been subdivided into three categories: mythic fiction, paranormal romance, and noir fantasy. By way of introduction, Peter Beagle offers a useful critical overview of the book as a whole, while Charles de Lint, Paula Guran, and Joe Lansdale do the same for each of the three subdivisions.

Mythic fiction is the oldest and best established of the three types of urban fantasy. However, as Charles de Lint points out, the term was originally chosen by him and Terri Windling precisely to avoid describing what they were writing as ‘urban fantasy’. It is probably the most easily definable of the three categories. Essentially, mythic fiction refers to any story that takes traditional fantasy tropes and/or mythic elements and places them in a (sometimes loosely) contemporary setting. In this collection, the category is illustrated by stories from Emma Bull, Charles de Lint, Neil Gaiman, Jeffrey Ford, and Peter Beagle. All the stories chosen to represent mythic fiction are excellent reads, but the Jeffrey Ford offering (‘On the Road to New Egypt’) seems rather out of place in this company: there is a surrealism about it that to my mind makes it more akin to the category described here as ‘noir fantasy’.

The term ‘paranormal romance’ immediately put me in mind of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the Twilight saga, and Laurell Hamilton’s Anita Blake novels. Paula Guran’s take on the category certainly overlaps with those works, but she puts more emphasis on ‘kickassitude’ and detective-style plots than on any element of romance. The stories chosen to represent this category are by Charles de Lint (again), Kelley Armstrong, Norman Partridge, Carrie Vaughn, Patricia Briggs, Bruce McAllister, Suzy McKee Charnas, and Francesca Lia Block. Again it is a strong selection of stories. My particular favourite was Patricia Briggs’s ‘Seeing Eye’, perhaps because I have a soft spot for paranormal detective stories.

Finally, Joe Lansdale introduces what in their wisdom the editors have decided to call noir fantasy. I think this is a misnomer because, to my mind, it suggests a connection with film noir and hardboiled crime fiction; it leads me to expect a cynical take on the world, a morally ambiguous (possibly darkly humorous) central character, and possibly an erotic dimension that is not constrained by (or at least is in tension with) conventional attitudes. In fact, the term ‘noir fantasy’ leads me to expect precisely what Paula Guran highlighted about ‘paranormal romance’. However, for Joe Lansdale it clearly means (urban) fantasy with a strong component of horror and/or surrealism. The stories presented here as ‘noir fantasy’ are a disparate collection by Thomas Disch, Susan Palwick, Holly Black, Steven Boyett, Joe Lansdale, Tim Powers, and Al Sarrantonio. They are all twisted, dark and surreal . . . but noir? Of these, I found Susan Pawlick’s ‘Gestella’ (a werewolf betrayed by her human lover) and Steven Boyett’s ‘Talking Back to the Moon’ (ex-werewolf and centaur on a road journey in a post-apocalyptic California) particularly memorable.

The sheer diversity of stories anthologized here does a good job of highlighting the breadth of contemporary urban fantasy. I am less convinced by the editors’ attempts to classify the stories. But more important is the fact that they have brought together an excellent collection of stories that showcases the best of urban fantasy writing (however you define it). Definitely a must read!

(Originally reviewed in Interzone, no. 236, September–October 2011)

Worldcon 2024

The 82nd World Science Fiction Convention (Worldcon) is taking place at the Scottish Events Campus in Glasgow later this week (its third visit to the city). There will lots going for anyone interested in science fiction and fantasy. In addition to the annual Hugo Awards ceremony, there will be the usual big setpiece events (this year including the premiere of an opera based on a libretto by Ken MacLeod), book signings, readings, and literally hundreds of panels and workshops (the online schedule lists no fewer than 961 items!).

I plan to be there, of course, and (if I have the energy) may manage 16 of those items. Top of my list will be the launch party for Gallus (a new collection of short stories by members of the Glasgow SF Writers’ Circle). But I am also particularly looking forward to a couple of panel discussions about the place of faith and religion in science fiction and fantasy.

If you are in or around Glasgow and have an interest in SF or fantasy, it’s not too late to register (or you can just turn up and register as a day visitor). Come to think of it, you don’t even have to be in Glasgow – there will also be an extensive programme of online events.

Sunshine: a review

All of us have pet hates. Writers are no exception. In fact, they may be the paradigm example of people with pet hates. One writer friend of mine cannot bear vampire stories or stories written in the first person. I must admit I’m not wild about vampire stories myself (too many of them are simply an excuse for the author to indulge in soft porn). As for first-person narrative, it is very effective when it is done well, but it is very hard to do well, and the bad stuff can be really cringe-making.

Having said that, I have found the exception that may or may not prove the rule. Robin McKinley’s 2003 novel Sunshine is a (sort of) vampire story and it is unquestionably written (very well) in the first person. I picked the book up from a second-hand book stall simply on the strength of the author’s name: she has written some seriously good fantasy of a fairly traditional kind.

The novel is set in . . . well, at first, I thought it was a post-apocalyptic America, but after a few pages I realized that it couldn’t be our world at all. For a start, magic is openly used. And the world is populated by other sentient beings besides humankind: the Others include various kinds of demon and, of course, vampires. The human race appears to be recovering from a catastrophic conflict known as the Voodoo Wars. However, as one of the characters reveals midway through the book, there is an ongoing conflict between vampires and humankind, and the vampires are winning.

The central character of the novel is a young woman called Rae (‘Sunshine’ to her friends). At the beginning of the novel, she wants nothing more than to continue enjoying her quiet life, working in her step-father’s coffee shop alongside her boyfriend, an ex-biker called Mel. The idyll is shattered when she is captured by a band of vampires. Remarkably they don’t kill her immediately: she is intended as food for a vampire they are holding captive. Even more remarkably she manages to escape (and release the captive vampire) by tapping into the magical power she has inherited from her long-vanished biological father. The novel follows her as she tries to come to terms with her dubious gift and forges an unlikely alliance with the vampire she freed.

There are hints of Buffy the Vampire Slayer here – but only hints. Yes, there is action and adventure but there is also really good characterization and excellent description. In particular, the magical systems that operate in this alternate earth are well thought out and lovingly described. Likewise with the vampires: instead of being just another take on an increasingly clichéd monster, McKinley’s vampires are unhuman in a number of new ways (not least their spatial perception and the way they move from place to place).

Neil Gaiman thinks very highly of it; so, I’m in good company:

I woke up too early, so started reading Robin McKinley's forthcoming novel “SUNSHINE” in the bath. It’s an astonishing piece of work. A gripping, funny, page-turning pretty much perfect work of magical literature that exists more or less at the unlikely crossroads of Chocolat, Interview With a Vampire, Misery and the tale of Beauty and the Beast. It’s not quite SF, and it’s not really horror, and only kind of a love story, and it’s all three while still being solidly Fantastique. It also does that nice thing where the author assumes the readers are smart, and she treats us like we’re smart, and we purr and get smarter and work harder for all that. It’ll be nominated for awards, and win them; in the meantime I really hope, when it’s published, it finds its audience, which is, potentially, huge. (https://www.neilgaiman.com/journal/2003/07/well-what-i-say-is-dear-whatever-gets.asp)

Lavinia

Some time ago, I promised to share a selection of my old SFF book reviews here. So, to begin with, here is a review of Lavinia by Ursula Le Guin (Gollancz, 2009).

(A shorter version of this review originally appeared in Interzone no. 222, June 2009.)

Ursula Le Guin’s latest novel is a re-working of the later volumes of Virgil’s Aeneid. She tells the story of the arrival of Aeneas and the Trojans in Italy from the perspective of a minor character in Virgil’s poem. Lavinia is the daughter of King Latinus of Laurentium and is destined to become Aeneas’ second wife. And that is nearly all that Virgil tells us about her.

As Lavinia herself complains, Virgil slighted her life and scanted her in his poem. But now Le Guin sets the record straight. She remains faithful to Virgil’s account of how the Trojans settle in Italy, choosing to expand on Lavinia’s life rather than alter the story as it has already been told. Latinus is still warned by an oracle that his daughter must marry a foreigner and so he offers her hand to Aeneas. King Turnus, Lavinia’s former suitor, still takes offence and launches a war against the Trojans. And Aeneas still kills Turnus in single combat. But Le Guin carries on where Virgil left off, telling us of the marriage of Lavinia and Aeneas and their life together until his death just three years after landing in Italy. The closing pages of the novel continue the story of Lavinia as she brings up Silvius, the son she bore Aeneas, and faces down her stepson Ascanius, and then on into old age . . . and beyond?

Lavinia can be read as a historical novel in the sense that Le Guin has lovingly re-created the relatively simple bronze age culture that ultimately gave birth to Rome. In the course of telling Lavinia’s story, she paints a sympathetic picture of their daily lives (admitting in an afterword that she has played down their primitiveness). I was particularly struck by her portrayal of the part religion played in their lives – a much simpler, more pantheistic religion than that imagined by Virgil, a religion of ancestral spirits and numinous places.

At court, Lavinia cultivates a self-effacing persona to appease the uncertain temper of her mentally unstable mother. With her peers, she is altogether more spirited – running wild with girls of her own age, going alone to holy places, even spying on the Trojan camp when they first arrive in Italy. But she is an unlikely heroine by the standards of modern culture. Where we are conventionally encouraged to find freedom and fulfilment by expressing our individuality, Lavinia finds them within the constraints imposed upon her by society. She embraces her role as priestess of the household. She accepts that it is her fate to marry Aeneas. Indeed, she is initially drawn to him not by love but by a sense of destiny and by her awareness that Aeneas shares that piety, that acceptance of fate. Ultimately she learns to use those constraints to her advantage as, for example, in her conflict with Ascanius over Silvius’ upbringing. But why has Le Guin written her protagonist in such a passive manner? One simple answer could be her hatred of anachronism (which anyone who remembers her scathing comments on aspects of Kathryn Kurtz’s Deryni novels will know). The freedom she accords Lavinia is the only freedom available to a woman in the kind of patriarchal society portrayed here.

But there is another dimension to Lavinia’s private spiritedness, which transforms the novel from simply a historical novel into something much more experimental. Lavinia dares to argue with her original creator, Virgil. Le Guin’s Lavinia is not simply a character in a historical novel but a character who is aware of herself as the product of someone else’s imagination. At several points in her narration of her life story she recounts visits to the sacred spring of Albunea where, across the centuries, she speaks with Virgil as he lies dying. So far, so strange. But even aware of her fictionality she doesn’t hesitate to question and contradict her creator – on trivia, such as the colour of her hair, and the fundamentals of life, such as the necessity of war. And the strangeness is compounded by a passing remark of Virgil, which reveals that he too has a vague sense of being involved in another story – a story in which he acts as guide to someone he meets in a dark wood. And, to some extent, Virgil guides Le Guin’s Lavinia as elsewhen he guides Dante.

But ultimately Lavinia like Dante is left to go on alone. The Aeneid breaks off with Turnus’ and Virgil’s death. Thereafter Lavinia has to forge her own path. In contrast to the violent and very obvious ending of the Aeneid, Lavinia ends in quietness and mystery in the sacred grove that meant so much to Lavinia in life . . . a grove now haunted by a little owl that sometimes remembers what it was to have been a Latin princess who loved a Trojan hero.

I have read and re-read most of Ursula Le Guin’s novels many times. They are clever and well-written and contain moments of greatness. But this one towers above them. When the time comes to compile lists of the greatest novels of the twenty-first century, Lavinia ought to figure strongly.

NaNoWriMo?

Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month) began on Wednesday. It would be the perfect way to restart my fiction writing. Unfortunately, I have a paper to write for a conference at the beginning of next month. The thought of trying to write 1500–1600 words a day on top of that is just too daunting. Besides, if past attempts at novel writing are anything to go by, the 50,000 words that NaNoWriMo reckon constitute a novel would amount to less than half of what I’d be likely to write.

Enter the Glasgow SF Writers Circle. They have set up an informal NaNoWriMo Discord channel so that folk can share their progress. So I have announced my intention to attempt a MinNoWriMo (a minimal novel writing month). I can’t hope to manage 1500 words, but I do plan to write something (even it is only a paragraph or two) every day. The point is to regain my daily writing rhythm. In time, I hope to get back to at least 500 words a day (that’s a good-sized fantasy novel in a year).

All my Interzone reviews

There is a page about me on the Internet Speculative Fiction Database! It lists all my book reviews for Interzone. Here is the list for anyone who might be interested in such things:

• The Kingdom Beyond the Waves (2008) by Stephen Hunt
• The Mystery of Grace (2009) by Charles de Lint
• Lavinia (2009) by Ursula K. Le Guin
• Storm Glass (2009) by Maria V. Snyder
• Naamah’s Kiss (2010) by Jacqueline Carey
• Wolfsangel (2010) by M. D. Lachlan
• The Very Best of Charles de Lint (2010) by Charles de Lint
• Corvus (2011) by Paul Kearney
• Fenrir (2011) by M. D. Lachlan
• The Urban Fantasy Anthology (2011) by Peter S. Beagle and Joe R. Lansdale
• Naked City: Tales of Urban Fantasy (2011) by Ellen Datlow
• White Tiger (2012) by Kylie Chan
• Babylon Steel (2012) by Gaie Sebold
• Irenicon (2012) by Aidan Harte
• Helix Wars (2013) by Eric Brown
• Dangerous Gifts (2013) by Gaie Sebold
• The Warring States (2013) by Aidan Harte
• Hide Me Among the Graves (2013) by Tim Powers
• Drakenfeld (2014) by Mark Charan Newton
• Green Planets: Ecology and Science Fiction (2014) by Gerry Canavan and Kim Stanley Robinson
• Son of the Morning (2014) by Mark Alder
• Retribution (2015) by Mark Charan Newton
• Chasing the Phoenix (2015) by Michael Swanwick
• Testament (2016) by Hal Duncan
• Children of Earth and Sky (2016) by Guy Gavriel Kay
• The Wolf in the Attic (2016) by Paul Kearney
• Isra Isle (2016) by Nava Semel
• Empire Games (2017) by Charles Stross
• The House of Binding Thorns (2017) by Aliette de Bodard
• Under the Pendulum Sun (2017) by Jeannette Ng
• Dark State (2018) by Charles Stross
• Revenant Gun (2018) by Yoon Ha Lee
• The Mortal Word (2019) by Genevieve Cogman
• A Brightness Long Ago (2019) by Guy Gavriel Kay

Back issues of Interzone are not archived on the Net, so I used to post my reviews to my old blog after a suitable time lag. I plan to repost some of them here (at least, those books I think are worth re-reading). If you would like me to post a particular review, let me know via the comments.

Aspects by John M. Ford

I used to review regularly for the science fiction magazine Interzone, but it has been a couple of years since I did anything for them. So I have decided to start writing occasional reviews of the books I have been reading. But I thought I would begin with a book I read last year, Aspects by John M. Ford (Tor Books, 2022):

I knew when I began reading this novel that it had been left unfinished at the time of John M. Ford’s death in 2006. What I hadn’t realized was just how unfinished! The published version consists of the first seven chapters plus a draft version of the first eight paragraphs of chapter 8. Judging by the number of sonnets he wrote as epigraphs for the book sections and assuming each section was to have been of roughly the same length, this amounts to perhaps a third of the novel he was planning. And Aspects was just the first in a projected series of novels about Lescouray, a nation in which magic coexists with a Victorian level of technology.

A third of a novel amounts to little more than the opening sequences. Ford introduces us to the major characters and their relationships. He hints at various issues that might become major plot lines, such as the struggle to introduce a new constitution for Lescouray and the possibility of war with a neighbouring nation. And, above all, he lovingly evokes the land of Lescouray and its capital Lystourel.

But death intervened, so I shall never know how the relationship between Varic and Longlight develops. Or whether Brook recovers sufficiently to continue heading up the work towards a new constitution and whether his illness was really a subtle assassination attempt. I shall never know how Varic plans to deal with the Justiciar. Or who is to be Strange’s successor as host of the magical guest-house that plays such an important part in these opening chapters. Or what becomes of Agate. Or how Birch settles into his new role as Archimage.

Why then would I recommend that anyone read it? Because although it is only a third of a novel, it is still easily the best novel I have read in the past year. The characters are archetypal without being stereotypical. The descriptions are so evocative that I could taste and smell the soot hanging in the air of Lystourel. And the language . . . suffice it to say that it is worthy of a man who thought nothing of writing a sequence of sonnets simply to act as epigraphs for the sections of his novel. If Aspects were a building, it would be a ruined abbey – all that we have is a tantalizing glimpse, but enough to enable us to imagine the scope of the builders’ vision and enough to move the heart as well as the intellect.

I regret that Aspects will never be complete. I regret that I will never know what becomes of Varic, Longlight, Strange, Agate, and all the others. But I do not regret having made their acquaintance or having walked the streets of Lystourel with them.