Author Archives: Gerry Huntman
Edition 20: Book Review: The Grace of Kings by Ken Liu
Reviewed by Damien Smith
Anyone who has paid even passing attention to any of the major speculative fiction awards over the last few years (I’m talking Nebula, Locus, Hugo—before the current controversy) will know of Ken Liu and his prodigious ability to pump out a quality short story. If you’re not an award watcher, Ken’s short story Running Shoes appeared right here in Issue 16, so there’s no excuse for being unfamiliar with his work.
Grace of Kings is Ken’s debut novel and given he’s gone for an archetypal Big Fat Fantasy, and given that it’s the first of a trilogy, there was always going to be a lot of expectation and pressure around this book. I’m happy to say, the story defuses this tension and acquits itself on many levels, with a couple of caveats that I’ll address shortly. Read the rest of this entry
Edition 20: A Song For First Hours by Kirstyn McDermott
Making pacts with supernatural beings can be a dangerous practice. Hespa, whose connection with her young daughter is at stake, must suffer uncertainty for many years before the reckoning… SY
The baby monitor was silent. It wasn’t the soft ambience of a sleeping infant but rather a cold, plastic void. Wishing they’d paid extra for the model with an inbuilt camera, Hespa rolled out of bed. She didn’t bother to wake Martin; a dead battery in the transmitter was the likely culprit and there was no use both of them losing sleep over it.
Halfway down the hall, she paused, breath catching in her throat. As usual, the door to Lisel’s room stood generously ajar but from beyond it there came a faint glow, almost a shimmer in the air, like the play of summer heat on a long bitumen road.
She all but ran the rest of the way.
Bending over the crib was a thin, pale figure who straightened swiftly as Hespa lurched into the room. The slippery, shimmery light seemed to emanate from that strange frosted skin, or perhaps it was the spider-silk hair that glowed, or the robes that fell in spangled waves from shoulders narrow and sharp.
“Get away from her!” Hespa gasped, hastening over to where Lisel lay sleeping with little hands curled loose into fists.
Edition 20: The Black Bull by Liam Hogan
Uncle Mort has a puzzle and his nephew has decided to sort it out. Not everything is what it seems, and the black bull, which is at the centre of the conundrum, is the key. GH
I desperately repeat my mantra as I walk slowly across the muddy field:
I must not run.
I must not fall.
And above all, the jet-black mountain of muscle and sinew that is busy snorting clouds of vapour-laden air and digging a mighty hoof through the soft earth, is not what it appears to be.
I’m further from the safety of the gate than from the beast when it finally breaks its stance and trots a few heavy paces towards me, expecting me to turn and flee. Instead, I take another tentative step and this time when it bows its head and launches forward it’s the real thing: a thundering, full-blooded, earthshaking charge. My legs tremble and I stagger half a pace back before I can stop myself.
“I know what you are,” I say, in as steady a voice as I can manage.
Edition 20: The Drummers of Po Chu by Michael Anthony
In a time of need, Chi Lai of the Drokpa dreams of his salvation in a haze of illness. The drummers arrive, but how will they protect the nomads from the cruelties of soldiers? SY
The lowly traveler stood trembling in the shadow cast by the ebony stallion and its helmeted rider who sneered, “Old man, when will the Drokpa learn that even they must pay tribute to Chen Sheng, Lord of the High Mountains?”
The small figure struggled to keep his footing as the sweaty hindquarters of the soldier’s horse nudged him closer to the edge of the narrow mountain trail. Several more steps and there would be nothing between the aged leader of the Drokpa nomads and the valley floor far below.
“My people have but a few yak, some goats, the tattered tent in which we sleep and what scraps of food we carry,” the old man replied. “We trade not in jin as do the gold merchants along the road to the Gobi. When we near this end of our journey, we always pay our respects to your master by offering our best bull. But, this season, misfortune caused us to lose the best ones in the flood waters of the Tsangpo. Still, we will pay tribute. When we return next season we will offer your lord not one, but two young bulls.”
Edition 20: Book Review: Phantazein edited by Tehani Wessely
Reviewed by Sophie Yorkston
When I picked up Phantazein it was the exquisite cover by Kathleen Jennings that first drew me in, knowing what an incredible publishing professional Tehani Wessely is upon seeing her name, and the recognition of several of the contributors.
What I didn’t realise was that this wonderful collection, that surprised Ms Wessely in the way it came together, was the antidote to my frustration at the lack of women’s voices and stories promoted in our genre.
Edition 20: Unicorn Meat by Gary McMahon
There’s a unicorn tucked away in an old tin shed at the end of an alley. For Jessie and her brother it’s the little bit of magic in their troubled existence. Until they are not the only ones who’ve seen it… SY
It doesn’t really matter when I found the unicorn. I think it had always been in my life, waiting for me to notice it there: a tale waiting to be told, a mystery to be unravelled. Maybe it was hiding in the shadows, or perhaps I wasn’t able to see the animal until I reached a certain age, a specific point in my existence.
All I do know is that I found it there, near the old tin shed in the back lane, a few weeks after my twelfth birthday.
The following day I took my sister, Jessie, to see the unicorn. It was just after school. Not quite dark yet. She was excited when I told her that I had a secret, and that she couldn’t tell anybody what I was about to show her. In truth, I still wasn’t sure if I’d really seen it myself.
“Can Dolly come?” she asked, dragging her battered old Cabbage Patch doll along by one arm. I hated that doll—it was ugly.
“Sure,” I said. “I don’t see why not.”
We went out of the house, through the gap in the fence at the bottom of the back garden, and across the little area of waste ground to the cobbled alley. It was late in the year. The sun dipped behind the roofs of the old terraced houses at the edge of town and there was a chill in the air. Jessie held onto my hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong for one so young.
Edition 20: Nne: Mother by Shawn Frazier
Fa’izah dreams of the mother who disappeared out of her life into the forest long ago. Her father has never stopped searching. Seeking her mother out in her dreams, Fa’izah encounters more than she bargains for. SY
Each time Father went to West Africa—Igerbian—he searched for my missing Mother. A remote land surrounded by rivers, valleys and rainbows, where fog blanketed the water. Don’t look for it on a map; you won’t find it. Father brought many things back, but never her. He found her brown sandals, a red scarf and an untouched white sundress hanging on a coco tree in the forest. The last time Father went, he never returned.
~~~
I went to Igerbian without ever leaving my bedroom in New York. I made a pot of soup—just like Mother taught me when I was a young girl—and placed it beside my bed. Inside the pot was a liana; a long woody vine that is hollow and native Nigeria. I brought it at the African market on 116 Street. The stems were dry, unhealthy, but I had nothing else to use.
Liana grows in the tropical forest and ensnares other plants. It is too complicated for the white man to understand, so they ignore it. The vine grows unpredictably and is known throughout West Africa for its wondrous abilities.
I chopped and boiled it in a huge black pot; it must be in a black pot. Before going to sleep, I wrapped my mother’s red scarf around my head and dressed myself in her white sundress—the one Father found. I placed the black pot beside my bed. My spirit flew upwards, through thick gray smoke, before landing safely in Igerbian—a place I have not visited in years.
News: SQ Mag wins Australian Shadows Award
It is with great pride that we announce that SQ Mag 14, the Australiana Edition, won the Best Edited Work of 2014 category in the Australian Shadows Awards. The Australian Shadows Awards has been operating for many years now, and is (obviously) specialised in acknowledging excellence in dark fiction. They know their stuff, and understand what horror and dark fantasy is. For these reasons, and many others, we are chuffed indeed.
Deservedly, this award goes specifically to Sophie Yorkston, the Editor-In-Chief, who put the whole edition together.
Special mention should be given to the authors: Angela Rega, Alan Baxter, Mitchell Edgeworth, Kaaren Warren, Rhoads Brazos (whose story was included in Ellen Datlow’s Year’s Best Horror Volume 7), Sean Williams, S. G. Larner, and Michelle Jager (a finalist for best short story in the same awards). Also, Geoff Brown and Tehani Wessely, for their excellent articles on the state of play of speculative fiction in Australia, Mysti Parker and Damien Smith for their book reviews, and finally, but not least, Jeffery Doherty for his amazing cover art.
The Judges’ comments are flattering:
Sophie Yorkston’s edited work showcases some of the best dark writing coming out of Australia today. Many of the stories are powerful and haunting, all of them are original. SQ #14 gives us a collection that is unified by its Australian voices and at the same time wonderfully diverse. It’s threaded with nonfiction pieces that have a firm grip on the pulse of Australian genre writing.
News: Tread Upon The Brittle Shell by Rhoads Brazos in TOC Year’s Best Horror Vol 7
We are very happy to announce that Rhoads Brazos’ story, ‘Tread Upon The Brittle Shell‘, which appeared in our Australiana Edition, SQ Mag #14 (1 May 2014), has been selected for inclusion in the Year’s Best Horror Volume 7, edited by Ellen Datlow.
This is a great milestone for us, as well as a nod to Sophie Yorkston’s editing skills.
Well done to Rhoads, Sophie, and all the other contributors to the anthology!
SQ Mag 
