I snagged a used copy of Good Bones and Simple Murders (Margaret Atwood, 1994) on Amazon, whilst shopping around for “The good bones are in here.”
I snagged a used copy of Good Bones and Simple Murders (Margaret Atwood, 1994) on Amazon, whilst shopping around for some of Atwood’s older novels. A slim collection of short stories and poetry, Good Bones is an eclectic mix, with illustrations by the author peppered throughout. The stories cover a little bit of everything: fantasy, mystery, science fiction, speculative fiction, feminism, rape culture, gender wars, dating, death - you name it.
Many of the pieces are hit and miss; my favorites are the scifi stories that hinge on an environmental or animal-friendly theme:
- “Cold-Blooded” - An alien race of matriarchal moth people visit planet earth - or as they call it, “The Planet of the Moths,” a nickname owing to the fact that their moth cousins outnumber us by billions - and find humans sorely lacking in both culture and intelligence;
- “My Life As a Bat” – A series of reflections on the narrator’s past life as a bat, including a disturbing (and, as it just so happens, true) anecdote about WWII-era experiments in which bats were made into unwitting suicide bombers;
- “Hardball” - A piece of dystopian speculative fiction in which humans, having decimated their environment, have retreated to live under a giant dome. Since space is limited, the population must be kept in check: for every birth, one person is chosen to die via a lottery. Care to guess what becomes of the remains?
Also enjoyable are those stories which reimagine classic literature: “Gertrude Talks Back” gives voice to Hamlet’s long-suffering mother, and “Unpopular Gals” and “Let Us Now Praise Stupid Women” celebrates those villains and “airheads” without which fairy tales would not exist.
While at times difficult to read, “Liking Men” is another standout; this is the piece that deals with sexual assault, vis à vis a woman’s journey back to coping with – and even loving – men (or rather, one man in particular) again after her rape.
Reminiscent in look and style of Good Bones and Simple Murders (1994), The Tent (2006) is a short collection of Margaret Atwood’s stories, prose, and poetry – much of it more recent, some of it previously published elsewhere (including “The Walrus,” “Harper’s Magazine,” and several special fundraising anthologies). As with three-poled tents, THE TENT is “supported,” in a manner of speaking, by three sections of related material.
While the stories are varied and diverse, time is a central theme, with lives bending, flexing, and twisting around the stuff. Time is not always linear, but folds and flexes (“Wibbly Wobbly Timey Wimey...Stuff,” in Doctor-speak.) Time “folds you in its arms and gives you one last kiss, and then it flattens you out and folds you up and tucks you away until it’s time for you to become someone else’s past time, and then time folds again.” [“Time Folds,” page 148.] Time softens and broadens, reunites and tears asunder. Time both binds and separates us all.
As with most anthologies, some of the pieces are more memorable than others. Most are complex, hinting at layer upon layer of meaning, the intricacies of which the reader can only begin to grasp. (Such is Margaret Atwood!) As per usual, those stories I love the best feature nonhuman protagonists (“Our Cat Enters Heaven” – and gets his testicles back; “Thylacine Ragout”; “The Animals Reject Their Names and Things Return to Their Origins”) or are retellings of classics, be they fairy tales or Shakespeare (“Encouraging the Young” – right into my gingerbread house; “It’s Not Easy Being Half-Divine”; “Horatio’s Version”; “Nightingale”). Nostalgic, heartbreaking, and not a little cruel, “Bring Back Mom: An Invocation” is another favorite, as is “Post-Colonial”: “It’s a constant worry, this we, this them.” [page 100]
Though I prefer Atwood’s novels to her shorter works, The Tent and other such collections are helping to tide me over until the release of Mad Adam. Let’s hope that she doesn’t take quite as long as dear Horatio!
Perfect for: hardcore Atwood fans, or lovers of feminist poetry and eclectic short fiction. Keep it on your nightstand for some impromptu, late-night reading.
I was first introduced to Maureen McHugh’s work through After the Apocalypse: Stories (2011). I just so happened to spot a review of it onCaptivating!
I was first introduced to Maureen McHugh’s work through After the Apocalypse: Stories (2011). I just so happened to spot a review of it online – just where that was escapes me now, sadly (reading recommendations, got any?) – and, in search of new post-apocalyptic fiction (bonus points for zombies!), I snapped it up immediately. After devouring it in all of a week, I quickly tore through her novels: Nekropolis (2002), China Mountain Zhang (1997), Half the Day is Night (1996), and the epic masterpiece Mission Child (1999), which I cannot recommend highly enough. It seems only fitting that I finish off her oeuvre with Mothers & Other Monsters: Stories (2006), her first of two collections of short stories.
What with its cast of werewolves, clones, ghosts, space travelers, and genetically rejuvenated elders, Mothers & Other Monsters is an eclectic mix of fantasy and science fiction. As the title implies, motherhood is a common theme throughout – but the women featured in these stories are anything but monstrous. Herself a stepmother to a preteen boy, McHugh – whose life plans reportedly didn’t include children, at least not until Adam’s father entered the picture – regards the relationships between parents and children and generations past and present with tenderness and empathy.
Here you’ll meet a mother struggling to care for her aging mother while simultaneously guiding her rebellious daughter through her teenage years (“Oversight”); a woman who spends her life savings on an experimental Alzheimer’s treatment, hoping that it will cure her husband without erasing too much of who he is – or was, before the disease stole him from her (“Presence”); a young woman who discovers that her best friend is a werewolf (“Laika Comes Back Safe”); and a ghost who travels from her cozy corner of the afterlife to accept tribute from a distant relation (“Ancestor Money”). Aging, death, and senility are also elements shared by many of the stories – Alzheimer’s and “senility” make two appearances each – as are our all-too human struggles to overcome and defeat them (see, e.g., the thought-provoking “Interview: On Any Given Day”). It makes for a rather heartbreaking, sometimes inspiring collection – one that will dwell in your memory and heart, perhaps even staking a permanent claim there.
While it’s hard to single out any one story for special praise, it’s worth noting that Mothers & Other Monsters contains early version of two of McHugh’s novels: Mission Child (“The Cost to Be Wise”) and Nekropolis (“Nekropolis”). Each story encompasses the opening chapters of its respective book: whereas the plot of “The Cost to Be Wise” is similar to – but also significantly different from – Mission Child, that of “Nekropolis” is very nearly the same in both formats (at least judging from memory – some parts of the narration may be different, but the overall story matches up). “Nekropolis” the short story ends on a note that’s simultaneously more and less hopeful than Nekropolis the novel; “The Cost to Be Wise,” on the other hand, is much more damning in its view of the Offworlders than is Mission Child. It’s an interesting contrast, to say the least.
“The Lincoln Train” is another personal favorite. A piece of speculative fiction that explores how the Civil War might have played out had the assassination attempt on Lincoln failed, it made a previous appearance in New Skies: An Anthology of Today’s Science Fiction (2003). Mothers & Other Monsters also includes a “Reading Group Guide” with an author interview, talking points, and an autobiographical essay written by McHugh, fittingly titled “The Evil Stepmother” (though the latter feels like a bit of a cheat, since some of the sections are repeated verbatim elsewhere in the book – i.e., “Eight-Legged Story”). Readers would do well not to skip these, as they provide valuable insight into McHugh’s stories.
Fans of McHugh will adore Mothers & Other Monsters – and, if you’re not already one, Mothers & Other Monsters will make a fan out of you!
At the time of this writing, Small Beer Press is offering a free download of Mothers & Other Monsters on its website. Go to the book's page and click on the "free download" link!
Mothers & Other Monsters excepted, I’ve read the entirety of Maureen McHugh’s oeuvre. (“Devoured” is more like it; after stumblingAn epic masterpiece!
Mothers & Other Monsters excepted, I’ve read the entirety of Maureen McHugh’s oeuvre. (“Devoured” is more like it; after stumbling upon her latest release, After the Apocalypse, I requested every McHugh title my local library owned - including any scifi anthologies containing her short stories - and consumed them all within the space of just a few months. She’s the greatest thing since Margaret Atwood, yo!) Mission Child is far and away my favorite of the bunch.
Hundreds – perhaps thousands – of years into the future, the citizens of Earth have pushed their settlements forever outward, colonizing other planets throughout the universe. Young Janna lives a sparse existence on the north pole of one of these “offworld” planets. In Hamra Mission, she and her clan learn about “appropriate technologies” from earth-born missionaries. When her village is attacked and destroyed by a hostile band of raiders, Janna must struggle to find a new home – first with her husband’s clan, later in a refugee camp for indigent peoples, and finally in the “civilized” world. Throughout her journey, Janna struggles with her self-identity and gender expression.
Born a female, Janna begins dressing and “passing” as a man as a teenager in the refugee camp; she makes the astute observation that women traveling alone are at great risk of gender-based violence. Eventually, she begins to identify as both a man and a woman. When offered (by her employer, which provides gender counseling to its employees!) an implant that will impart some male characteristics, enabling her try out another gender without undergoing surgery, Janna jumps at the chance. Throughout the story, she resists others’ attempts to label her; neither woman nor man, Janna is just that: Janna. (Grandmama Lili’s name for Janna is my favorite: “son-in-law.”) Novels featuring transgender and/or genderqueer protagonists are few and far between, making MISSION CHILD the rarest of gems. (FYI: The titular character of McHugh’s debut novel, China Mountain Zhang, is a gay man. Pass ‘em along to those in search of good LGBTQ fiction.)
Mission Child is a masterpiece with true epic potential. Though I don't know of any plans for sequels, prequels, or the like, I sincerely hope that McHugh revisits Janna’s world – or, better yet, introduces us to the inhabitants of another of Earth’s sister planets. Mission Child sets the stage for what could easily be an epic series. McHugh’s knack for creating fully realized future worlds is on full display here, and Janna and her kin will stay with you long after you’ve turned the last page on her story.
Major trigger warnings for violence – especially sexual and gender-based violence, though rape is thankfully implied rather than described – sickness, death, child loss, poverty, and speciesism.
Having discovered Joss Whedon through Firefly (and then only after the show had been off the air for a year!), I recentlyFrom one Buffy fan to another
Having discovered Joss Whedon through Firefly (and then only after the show had been off the air for a year!), I recently watched – devoured – Buffy the Vampire Slayer on Netflix. (I’m halfway through Angel now. No spoilers!) Missing the Scooby Gang something fierce, I decided to give the comics a try.
Much to my dismay, I’ve never really been able to get into comics or graphic novels. Though I love many of the stories and characters, the format just isn’t for me. Even so, I hoped I might enjoy Buffy, seeing as I already have a connection to the Buffyverse. The events in the Buffy the Vampire Slayer Omnibus (also referred to as “Season 0”) are largely concurrent with those in the movie and series, in such a way that they help to flesh out the existing stories. (In contrast, the Season Eight comic book series picks up where “Chosen” left off.)
Volume 1 in the omnibus features five complete storylines: “All’s Fair,” which shows a slightly younger Dru and Spike terrorizing the 1933 World’s Fair in Chicago; “Buffy: The Origin,” an adaptation of Whedon’s screenplay; “Viva Las Buffy,” in which Buffy and Pike run away to Las Vegas post-prom, only to unwittingly stumble upon a casino full of vamps; “Dawn & Hoopy The Bear,” wherein a magical teddy bear meant for Buffy finds its way instead to Dawn; and “Slayer, Interrupted,” which elaborates on the time Buffy spent in a (demon infested, natch) mental institution.
While I initially found myself struggling to stay engaged, by the end of “Buffy: The Origin” I was hooked. The story arc in “All’s Fair” is rather lackluster – frankly, I would’ve liked to have seen more panels on the Boxer Rebellion – but the stories get progressively better, culminating with “Slayer, Interrupted.” Especially enjoyable is seeing Giles at home in England, in the spring of his career and already butting heads with the Watcher’s Council – and Angel, in his early days of Buffy brooding.
As you can infer from the fourth title in the series, Dawn exists in some of these story lines. Your feelings on this are likely to correspond with your feelings toward Dawn herself. I’m not particularly outraged at her inclusion, though I think the comic book series would be better off without her. I’d prefer the “truth” of what happened, not everyone’s manufactured memories of the events. Plus I’ve kind of had my share of whiny younger siblings, being the oldest of four kids myself.
Overall, I’m inclined to give Volume 1 of the Omnibus 3/5 stars, though I’m upgrading to four stars in the interest of fairness. (Like, what’s a non-fan of comic books doing reviewing a comic book?!) I’ll definitely keep reading the Omnibus series, though it’s doubtful that I’ll plow through it as quickly as I did the tv show. Fellow Buffy fans in need of a fix – give it a try, you might be surprised!
Aptly named, The Penelopiad is a feminist retelling of The Odyssey and The Iliad, as only Margaret Atwood could imagine it.*Odysseus, what a jerkface!
Aptly named, The Penelopiad is a feminist retelling of The Odyssey and The Iliad, as only Margaret Atwood could imagine it.* Narrated by Odysseus's long-suffering wife Penelope, the events in Homer's epics are reexamined from her perspective. Now residing in modern-day Hades, Penelope tells of her early life; her "courtship" by Odysseus (read: being won in a contest like so much livestock, after which time the winner's spoils, bride included, was quickly whisked away to Odysseus's own kingdom); the hardships she endured while her husband was off fighting the Trojan war and then making his way home; and ending with his fatal, bloody return, which culminated in the deaths of Penelope's twelve maids. Among their crimes? Allowing themselves to be raped by Penelope's suitors. Penelope's accounts are interspersed with occasional choral interludes from the doomed maids - who, like their mistress, cannot be silenced, even in death.
Even if your knowledge of The Odyssey begins and ends with 10th grade English class (guilty as charged!), there's still much to enjoy in The Penelopiad. (Though the greater your background, the more improved your reading.) A novella, The Penelopiad is a disappointingly slim volume - my paperback copy weighs in at just 193 pages, with generous margins. Given the heft of the source material, I wish Atwood's retelling was bit longer. For example, the years of the Trojan war - when Penelope was managing Odysseus's kingdom on her own, at a time when it was unusual for women to do so - was glossed over in just a few pages. It would have been nice to visit Penelope during this period in her life, to see how she "done the impossible," so to speak. (Any Browncoats in the house?)
Ditto: the maids. Maligned as they were by Odysseus and his son Telemachus, they deserve more of a voice than they were afforded.
While I'm tempted to deduct one start for brevity, I can't seem to bring myself to do so. The Penelopiad has quickly become one of my favorite Atwood books, right behind the Mad Adam trilogy (to be fair, I'd rather the author spend her limited time working on the third installation, as opposed to a longer version of The Penelopiad!) and The Handmaid's Tale. After suffering through both The Odyssey and The Iliad in high school, I hope more teachers add The Penelopiad to their course outline. Had women's perspectives been more prominently featured, I might have taken a greater interest in some of these "classics."
* Though it's interesting to note that Atwood herself doesn't consider The Penelopiad "feminist": "I wouldn't even call it feminist. Every time you write something from the point of view of a woman, people say that it's feminist." Touché, Margaret!
Zombies have coexisted with humans since before the birth of h. sapiens – that is, if we’re to believe the team of “crack historiansHistory Is UNdead!
Zombies have coexisted with humans since before the birth of h. sapiens – that is, if we’re to believe the team of “crack historians” behind History Is Dead: A Zombie Anthology, edited by Kim Paffenroth (2007). And why not, when believing is such bloody good fun?
While at least half of the twenty stories found in History Is Dead take place in the past 200 years – with America and Europe proving popular settings – the rest stretch as far back as the Pleistocene epoch. (“This Reluctant Prometheus,” in which members of the homo ergaster species become infected with zombie-ism after consuming an infected wooly mammoth, is one of my favorites.) Zombies are credited for bringing humans the gift of fire, rescuing a Viking kingdom from insurrection, inspiring budding horror author Mary Shelly, and administering vigilante justice to Jack the Ripper. They appear on Civil War battlefields and in East End slums. They infiltrate the United States government in their quest for gooooold. (An “Indian” curse gone weird. Don’t ask.) The Great Fire of Chicago? Started by zombies, the first of which was created when Biela’s Comet rained a mysterious green rock onto (and into) Pat “Paddy” O’Leary’s Aunt Sophie. Zombies, it seems, are all around us.
As always, anthologies are difficult to review, since you’re apt to take a shining to some pieces more than others. Overall, History Is Dead is a quick, enjoyable, entertaining read – perfect for a morbid Saturday afternoon at the beach. I polished it off in under a week, which is near-record speed for me. Though they share a common theme, each story in this collection is unique. In some, zombies make a brief, even ancillary cameo – while in others they serve as the story’s protagonists. A bloody, gory, over-the-top collection of shoot-‘em-up zombie tales this is not.
In fact, it could be argued that zombies aren’t even the scariest monsters to be found within the pages of HISTORY IS DEAD. Take, for example, “Junebug” – which comes with a major trigger warning – in which a preacher (at the End Times Church, natch) uses the looming zombie apocalypse as a pretense to sexually enslave one of his young parishioners (June or “Junebug” of the story’s title). After several months of living with him – with her parents’ permission, ostensibly to babysit his children due to his wife’s illness – she becomes pregnant from the repeated rapes. Cast out by the preacher, she finds no solace from her family, as they blame her for “seducing” her rapist. June and her sole defender, brother Ethan, ultimately meet a gory end – and yet, even at their “worst,” the reader has more sympathy for the zombie siblings than for their human victims.
I found a similar pleasure in “Awake in the Abyss,” which finds Jack the Ripper’s “canonical five” victims - Mary Ann Nichols, Annie Chapman, Elizabeth Stride, Catherine Eddowes, and Mary Jane Kelly - along with a sixth woman, narrator Nelly, awakening from the grave in order to avenge their deaths…as only zombies can. I bet you never thought you’d find yourself rooting so enthusiastically for the zombies, eh?
I first picked up this book because it contains a piece by one of my favorite writers, Maureen F. McHugh – “Special You had me at “Maureen F. McHugh”!
I first picked up this book because it contains a piece by one of my favorite writers, Maureen F. McHugh – “Special Economics” which, as it just so happens, I’d already read (it appears in 2011’s After the Apocalypse: Stories) – but ultimately enjoyed all but one of the sixteen essays in this diverse collection. With elements of horror, fantasy, post-apocalyptic fiction, alternate history, and the supernatural, The Del Rey Book of Science Fiction and Fantasy – masterfully curated by Ellen Datlow – has a little bit of something for everyone. Especially if you prefer your speculative fiction on the dark side.
In addition to Maureen McHugh’s “Special Economics,” an arguably feminist tale which takes place in a future China devastated by the bird flu, my favorites include:
* “Jimmy” (Pat Cadigan), whose eponymous (anti?-) hero is a young boy coming of age in the 1960s (the bulk of story takes place the day JFK was assassinated). Granted “enlightenment” by an alien species, Jimmy is shunned by those who can sense his difference – and want nothing to do with it. Ignorance is bliss, or so the saying goes.
* “The Passion of Azazel” (Barry N. Malzberg), a revenge story told from the point of view of a goat, sacrificed to the gods one long-ago Day of Atonement and then reincarnated as a (human) rabbinical student who fashions a golem who is quite possibly his long-dead brother goat.
* “The Goosle” (Margo Lanagan), a fittingly bleak retelling of/sequel to “Hansel and Gretal,” in which lone survivor Hansel escapes from the witch’s cage only to find a world more brutal than the one he left behind. (Strong trigger warning for rape.)
Some of the stories – most notably “The Passion of Azazel” – can be interpreted from an anti-oppressive vegan perspective, which I especially appreciate.
For what it’s worth, I just discovered Ellen Datlow’s adult fairy tale anthology series. Wishlist ALL the books!
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