Note, May 4, 2020: When I read short story collections intermittently over a long period of time, my reactions are similarly written piecemeal, while they're fresh in my mind. That gives the reviews a choppy, and often repetitive, quality. Recently, I had to condense and rearrange one of these into a unified whole because of Goodreads' length limit; and I was so pleased with the result that I decided to give every one of these a similar edit! Accordingly, I've now edited this one.
Hartwell is a respected anthologist in the field of speculative fiction, so when I got a good deal on this collection, I grabbed it up. His objective here (set forth in his short Introduction) was to bring together a spectrum of quality works that were not often anthologized, and wherever possible to represent authors not usually associated with the genre, and works that stretch its conventions and definitions. (Indeed, his own definition of "fantasy" is pretty eclectic; I'd consider many of the stories here to be what I call "supernatural fiction," because they're set solidly in this world, not a fantasy world.) Chronologically, the scope spans the period from the early 1800s to his own time (1989), with a pretty even mix of 19th and 20th-century writers.
There are 38 selections, by 35 writers; James Barrie is represented by three excerpts from his novel The Little White Bird, in which he created the character of Peter Pan, better known from the author's later eponymous stage play. (I didn't read these, or the two Jack Vance selections, taken from his Cugel's Saga, part of his Dying World series. My preference with novels is usually to read the whole thing, not sundered fragments of it.) Most of the authors are British or American, but there are a smattering of works from other countries as well. Hartwell's arrangement, though, is neither by nationality nor chronological; he's grouped the material instead into five thematic blocs: "Enchantments," "Wonders," "Creatures," "Worlds," and "Adventures." Each author's work is preceded by a helpful bio-critical note about a paragraph long, but the exact dates of the selections aren't usually provided. The stories vary widely in tone, from raucously or dryly humorous, through serious, to poignant and touching, to dark and grim. It should also be noted that, though these are "short" stories, several of them are at the longer end of that continuum: 40-50+ pages or so.
I didn't care for (and to be truthful, didn't finish) Rudy Rucker's "Inside Out," which had some sexual content of what's essentially a menage sort, which for me is very off-putting. Another one which didn't really work for me was Brazilian writer Murilo Rubiao's surrealist piece, "The Dragons." (I don't generally get into surrealism, so perhaps that's just me.) Also, Suzette Haden Elgin's "Lest Levitation Come Upon Us" was not my personal cup of tea; explaining why would take more time and attention than the tale deserved, but suffice it to say that here Haden's usual demeaning reverse-sexist treatment of men (although it's there) was actually overshadowed by even more offensive issues. (I'm not a fan of Elgin's work in general, though her "For the Sake of Grace" is a fine exception to that.)
Overall, though, the quality of the stories is pretty high. (Since the effects of short stories often depends on their endings, they can be harder than novels to review individually without spoilers.) I'd read four of the stories before (and have commented on at least some of them elsewhere), all of them good: Frank Stockton's "The Griffin and the Minor Canon," L. Frank Baum's "The Enchanted Buffalo" (which appears in Tales Before Tolkien: The Roots of Modern Fantasy), Jack Finney's wonderful "The Third Level," and Edith Nesbit's "The Last of the Dragons," which I re-read here. The latter is Edwardian, but it shows that the contemporary sub-genre of reworked fairy tales with subverted conventions and tongue-in-cheek humor isn't a new idea; Nesbit's delightful sword-wielding princess (she insisted on learning fencing) and likable dragon would be right at home in, say, Patricia C. Wrede's Enchanted Forest.
German World War II veteran Johannes Bobrowski's "The Mouse Festival," has almost no speculative content; the personification of the Moon in the story can be taken as simply metaphoric language. But it is an evocative bit of general fiction, with its simple tale of an encounter between a Jewish shopkeeper and a young German soldier in the shadow of the impending Holocaust. Hartwell's inclusion of "The Parrot" by Isaac Bashevis Singer and Graham Greene's "Under the Garden" is in keeping with his stated aim; but it could be questioned whether we're dealing, in either of these, with anything that's actually of a supernatural character. IMO, the likelihood is particularly strong with the first one that Singer intends us to understand the parrot's presence as naturally explained, and the "supernatural" aspects of the character's perceptions as delusive. But both are good, solid stories of a general fiction sort. The second one especially really does evoke the sense of wonder and strangeness that straight fantasy tales often aim for, and is a deep exploration of the haunting contrasts between memory and "reality" (or IS the memory the reality?), adult and childhood perceptions of the world --and the continuing power of the latter.
The first story in the book, John M. Ford's "Green Is the Color," is my favorite in this collection. It's set in the "shared universe" of Liavek, a fantasy-world city with some steam-punk features, a large and diverse population, and its full share of human vices and villainy. (I first "visited" Liavek through a couple of Charles de Lint stories set there.) Ford's magical system is decidedly original; and while I found some of the exact crucial details of how the central magical plot here worked more than a little murky, that was more than made up for by the strong characterizations, vivid atmosphere and world-building, wonderful use of evocative language, and skilled storytelling. Some of my other favorites were George MacDonald's "The Gray Wolf," a wonderously atmospheric werewolf story that left me wanting more; R. A. Lafferty's "Narrow Valley," which draws on Indian magic in the author's native Oklahoma (his style of humor here distinctly reminds me of William Saunders), and a selection from Czarist Russia, Fyodor Sologub's "Turandina," in which, as in Lord Dunsany's The King of Elfland's Daughter, a mortal and a fairy princess fall in love --but Sologub's tale is quite different.
Other real delights were three tales, all of them actual exercises in true, other-world fantasy, and all of them written by women authors who (at least here) blend vivid imagination, moral and psychological depth of insight and beautiful use of language to create a trio of stories that are each different in many ways, but each a delight to read. Ursula LeGuin's short fiction runs a wide gamut as to quality, but "Darkness Box" is a stand-out: a perfectly-crafted evocation of a world in which time essentially stands still in a looping cycle, and there can be no death --but also no progress, growth or change. Robin McKinley's "The Princess and the Frog" re-imagines the classic fairy tale as a clash of good and evil that breathes new life and fascination into the plot. And my favorite of the three was Patricia A. McKillip's "The Harrowing of the Dragon of Hoarsbreath," with its brilliant world-building, its highly original ice dragons (who normally breathe out blasts of freezing cold, not fire) and concept of dragon "harrowing," not dragon killing, two main human characters so real you could touch them, and a use of language that's among the most beautiful and wonder-generating that I've ever read. This was my first introduction to both McKinley and McKillip.
Among the 19th-century works (written in typical 19th-century diction and literary style, which won't appeal to all modern readers), both E.T.A. Hoffmann's "The King's Bride" and Fitz-James O'Brien's "The King of Nodland and His Dwarf" are “fantasy proper.” They're entertaining tales of their type, though, each with a somewhat humorous tone (more consistent in the former; and the humor of the latter tends to be of a politically satirical sort), as is that of Charles Dickens' "Prince Bull," which uses fairy tale conventions to wryly satirize real-life British bureaucracy and governmental failures during the Crimean War. Despite its title, "The Triumph of Vice," by W. S. Gilbert (one half of the famed Gilbert and Sullivan composing team), doesn't necessarily really show vice triumphant. (Like Osbert Sitwell's "Jack and the Beanstalk," this is another humorous fractured fairy tale.) Mark Twain's "The Facts Concerning the Recent Carnival of Crime of Connecticut" is an entertaining, tongue-in-cheek yarn about a conscience which is a little sentient being (though not nearly so likeable as Jimminy Cricket!), who takes on physical form to confront his human, who's clearly an alter ego of Twain himself --with results that, from the conscience's point of view, leave something to be desired. As Hartwell puts it, the author "makes a moral point with an immoral tale;" the ending is wildly over the top, but that's simply a manifestation of the frontier tradition of tall-tale exaggeration. "The Hollow Land" illustrates William Morris' medievalism; but in my opinion it's not his best work --it has a dream-like quality, in which reality and the characters' perceptions and motivations often shift unpredictably or are hard to explain, giving the narrative a surreal quality that's hard to follow. But it has some vivid imagery and powerful vignettes, and a thread of surprisingly explicit Christian content (though Morris himself wasn't a believer); it's also one of the few selections here that would actually qualify as fantasy by my own narrower-than-Hartwell's definition.
Two of the modern stories were set in the modern urban U.S. (New York City and New Orleans, respectively). Peter S. Beagle's "Lila the Werewolf" is a take on lycanthropy that focuses more on human relationships than on scare; while Harlan Ellison's "On the Downhill Side" (take note --this is an Ellison story I actually liked!) features two ghosts and a unicorn. Its metaphysics aren't the same as mine, but that's irrelevant; they're simply a literary conceit to set up a tale that's really about the redemptive power of love and vicarious sacrifice. (As Hartwell notes, it's not typical of Ellison's work, which of course is why I like it.) In "The Drowned Giant" (which has an indeterminate setting), J. G. Ballard trenchantly explores the modern rationalized, materialistic mindset's complete inability to respond to the wonderous and mysterious with any sense of wonder or mystery. Whether "Beyond the Dead Reef" by James Tiptree, Jr. (whose real name was Alice B. Sheldon) is science fiction or supernatural fiction isn't clear, and doesn't have to be to succeed; what is clear is that it packs a powerful cautionary message about environmental degradation and destruction from thoughtless polluting at the hands of humans. (The ugly reverse sexism of the author's "Houston, Houston, Do You Read?" isn't evident here at all.)
John Brunner's "The Things That Are Gods" is the last of the author's several tales of the Traveller in Black; it can be appreciated by itself, but a reader would probably benefit from having read the preceding stories in the series (which I haven't). In Margaret St. Clair's "The Man Who Sold Rope to the Gnoles," let's just say the Gnoles' house isn't one that you'd want to visit! Finally, Anne McCaffrey's "A Proper Santa Claus" and Avram Davidson's "The Woman Who Thought She Could Read" are thought-provoking selections, and they are in one sense thematically related. (Like Le Guin's, McCaffrey's corpus of short fiction is a mixed bag as to quality, but this one is decidedly high-end.)