Shall we start with some definitions, maybe? Maybe in regards to the title – these are not stories concerning lockdowns, neither fictitious ones nor the real-live Corona ones we all lived through, but instead simply were written during the latter, when Asher had nothing to do except write and do some exercise. Which, to be honest, is a bit of a let down.
Lockdown Tales is Neal Asher's first foray published by Ian Whates' Newcon Press, at least as single author effort (he has been part of several of their collections previously), it has since been followed by a 2nd volume under the same (slightly misleading) heading, which I'm yet to engage with. And I don't understand why Newcon would consider this book to be Hard SF (that's their classification on the cover) – this is far-future Space Opera. Maybe that got overlooked like some of the revision marks still in the text? Actually, it's even more far-future than Asher's usual efforts – these short stories are all set in a post-Polity universe, per the subtitle: What comes after the Polity...? And I'm not going to define the Polity for you beyond it being an AI-run human sphere of influence in the Universe – if you haven't read the Polity then a lot in this book will not make much sense, and you'll miss so much background that the stories will be affected, I would expect. And if you have then I'm not going to bore you with something you are indeed aware of.
The book starts with an introduction by the author, S.P. Somtow (aka Somtow Sucharitkul), titled 'A Word...'. It tells his story, and the swings in focus from music, to literature, back to music, and to now, where he attempts to do both (and more) in what he terms the Third Act of his existence. It also is a dedication to whoever it was who left these English-language SF classics in the library in the Bangkok Patana school, which set all of what we see here in motion.
Alien Heresies is a retrospective collection of 16 stories, from the first short story he sold (77's Sunsteps) to 2007's An Alien Heresy, with the in-between in roughly chronological order. We don't get a publication history (I presume all of them were), or any background to the stories (which usually really adds to such retrospectives), just the stories. My review is base on the limited-edition Hardback (2/100), but the book is of course also available as paperback, or Kindle edition etc. And I shall not mention any of the typos or transcription errors I spotted, as I gather these have been amended since – Somtow essentially works as a one-man band, and proof-reading one's own words is hard.
The book is illustrated (including hardback cover and dust jacket) by Mikey Jiraros, a promising and hugely talented young Thai artists who lived a life as varied, multi-faceted, and fascinating as the art he left us. Mikey decided this spring to leave this plane of existence, and, wherever he went, we hope that he is happier there. The loss is ours, and palpable, even at a remove.
Below are capsule reviews of the individual stories – if this spoils your enjoyment then stop here, and leave with my recommendation to go buy the book; this is essential and grand storytelling and could serve as a good entry point to Somtow's writing; by no means for completists only!
Iris, the protagonist through whose eyes the story is told, gets caught out in some weird rainstorm during a trip, and contracts something - something? - via her eyes, it seems. And it gets weirder as it (and the story) progresses...
This is a story which on the one hand feels very deja vu, with old and slightly tired tropes - a new virus. an alien (?) invasion. somehow very much harking back to the Peter Watts take on John Carpenter's 'The Thing' (titled 'The Things'). And on the other hand this feels very up to date, and 'now' - with a pandemic, with road blocks and provisions to stay indoors. with Iris' job of sanitising AI training inputs (one of the few jobs, besides waiting tables, which humans still do better).
To me this story somehow felt like it had hope for the future. I know, I'm weird. And for Peter Watts this is unusual.
But read it yourself, the link is below. This was initially published in Lightspeed Magazine. The picture on the right is pulled off the web, and purely my own reflection on the title, which itself has at least 3 distinct meanings in the story (well done, that man!)
Afterglow – Climate Fiction for Future Ancestors is a collection of short stories, edited by the climate news site Grist, and assembled as part of a contest called Imagine 2200. The contest attracted over 1000 entries, which the panel of judges whittled down to the 12 stories you find this book.
The book starts of with a Foreword by adrienne maree brown, followed by an Editor's Note and the 12 stories making up the bulk of the content. At the back you get Acknowledgments, and, helpfully given that most of the contributors are not 'known' names (yes, my ignorance is showing), short Contributor Biographies.
The Foreword by adrianne maree brown discusses how writing fiction allows us to dream, to conceive possible futures which we can then work towards making them reality. She explains how this especially applies to climate fiction and to the collection at hand, and that not having these dreams/stories means that we don't have a template to aim for, so doing this is crucial to our attempts to work our way out of the crisis at hand.
The Editor's Note mainly describes the actual contest that led to this collection.
I felt this, whilst clearly CliFi, was not really Solarpunk (it's also not billed as such!); whilst it has a lot of the rather naïve (and sometimes charming) belief in the capabilities of either technology or nature to make everything good again it lacks the focus on this in most stories; they rather are set in a 'changed', post-climate event world, telling stories set in this new and rather different world. Also – a lot of the stories are deeply mired in spirituality, traditional cultural mores, and sometimes plain woo, all the same whilst relying on modern 'future level' technology and medicine. It seems a lot of the failings of our current world are carried over into the future, which is not a view that gives me much hope.
Given that Charles Stross has ben publishing his award-winning Laundry Files since 2004, and is 12 books and a number of short stories and novellas into it I don't think anybody needs an introduction to it. Never mind that the book at hand, Quantum of Nightmares, is a sequel in it's own subset (New Management) of the larger setting. Should all of this have passed you by, though, I have 2 pieces of good news for you – firstly, you don't need to have read the entire body of work to enjoy the New Management sequence, it happily stands on it's own (you want to start with the first book, though, called Dead Lies Dreaming). And secondly – but should you be interested in, the whole shebang is clever, entertaining, and in my opinion very much worth your time.
But let's talk about Quantum of Nightmares, the topic for today's ruminations. It is, as said above, the second book in the New Management series, the sequel to Dead Lies Dreaming, and it feels like the author barely caught his breath in-between. Yes, Rupert is dead and gone (or is he?), and Eve Starkey is now, by dint of having been his Executive Secretary with full access, in charge of the Bigge Corporation (but is she?). What she definitely is, though, as she finds out to her dismay, is married to Rupert; and his chattel, at least according to the ancient legal system on the island nation of Skaro, where the Bigge Corporation is domiciled. Wendy Deere is still settling into her new job, and trying to stay out of the mess that Eve's brother Imp and his gang of Lost Boys is – tricky if your girlfriend is part of this, of course, or if your investigations inevitably lead back to a scheme Rupert set in motion long ago with some only-slightly-grottier-than-real UK supermarket chain called FlavorsMart. Where recently human DNA has started showing up in the meat produce 3D printed from MRM. Yum.
Ok, here's an older one for the fans and aficionados:
Are You For 86? is a Leggy Starlitz short story by Bruce Sterling - this time helping radical feminist pro choice phone phreak activists to smuggle a French developed abortion pill through a Japanese female rock band in Salt Lake City. And if you think this sounds - over the top? messy? too many idea per sentence? then you'd be spot on. Like other Leggy Starlitz stories this has any number of funky concepts, improbable developments, and fascinating ideas sparkling off it, as hit and miss as such a sintered composition can be, of course.
Although, IMHO, this is just a riotous fun as all the other Leggy Starlitz stories I've read, so do give it a go, and don't be deterred by its age.
The picture on the right is the Mormon Meteor, as referenced in the story (the Wikipedia article linked below has a picture of the Duisenburg Special instead - this is the Mormon Meteor II)
