"Second Person, Present Tense," by Daryl Gregory (2005): 9.5
- Accomplishes something that even the well-written “literary” sf doesn’t often: both a deftly observed, and acutely written character story as well as a conceptually adventurous, scientifically rigorous, and wholly original sf story. Regarding latter two, hard to think of an equivalent story that translates the nuances and uncertainties of neural science (both the hard and soft [what is consciousness?] of it) so fluidly to the sf form (maybe Blumlein, but with, obviously, different thematic concerns). In so doing, it reimagines an otherwise long-established (some might say tired) sub genre: clones. The Big Questions of all those works (thinking Wilhelm and Wolfe, namely)—who are these people? How do they relate to their other, older “selves”? How do we relate to them? Are they even “people” anyway?—are recast (and actually made more difficult!), largely through simply reposing them in novel forms (human sense-making makes even more difficult these divisions when the “new” person occupies the “same” body as before). All this, and I haven’t yet touched on the sensitively handled, non-sf, human familial concerns at issue here, as seen in the many signs given for why exactly THIS girl in THIS family might find solace in chemical oblivion (discipline, strictness, the very he-knows-the-Midwest overbearing, I’ll-pray-for-you Christianity on display here). More impressively, Gregory never slams these signs in our face, but allows us to understand their cumulative impact on the girl, while still allowing recognition of the parents love for their daughter. Really strong.
"Infinities," by Vandana Singh (2008): 5.75
- hard sci-fi suffers from the "regurgitation" problem often, in that narrativizing information--here the many interesting things about the nature of prime numbers and mathematics--more often resembles information than it does narration. That's here. And what's here beyond it is fairly soft and or not dependent on that math I feel. The "going to many universes" section was a bit cliched and came out of nowhere in the story and all those loose ends were unsatisfactorily tied up.
"Rogue Farm," by Charles Stross (2003): 6.75
- too elliptical for its own good, too good to give anything essential, and more at home in a New Weird collection than this. nonetheless, in retrospect the story grows, the beats start to separate themselves from the weird muck of the world (and Stross's admirably take-the-world-for-granted prose) and I can't help but view this much more favorably, especially apart from the grime of the world it depicts.
"The Gambler," by Paolo Bacigalupi (2008): 8
- Nothing is more dated than recent science fiction. This Bacigalupi from exactly ten years ago reads, with its media-integrity concerns and bloggers and gawker-rules-the-webwaves assumptions, reads more ancient than any Bradbury or Pohl. That said, it's a shame, because otherwise this story of a Laotian refugee working as an idealistic reporter at a clickbaity new media blog and refusing to betray his principles even after interviewing this worlds Beyoncé, who also just so happens to be Laotian too is strangely and densely compelling--qualities I haven't discerned in the Bacigalupi I've read until now (although, obviously, there are the themes consistent across his work: climate change, the underdeveloped world, and the moral logjams of capitalism). The boring genre questions are present here, as they ever are (i.e. is this SF), but that's overshadowed by his full-bore attempt at rendering a very particular type of immigrant inferiority. A shame, as well, that's it's attached really to a nothing of a story, other than one dependent on some rather obvious and clear moral arcs.
"Strood," by Neal Asher (2004): 8.25
- The opposite of the usual -- strong world-building, dense and confidently unspooled emplotment, but with a rather mundane major conceit, no matter the potential held within (meaning, here, the 'Medicin san Frontieres' but inter-galactic, i.e. how does it feel for the Brits to be medicalized? Lots of possibilities here, obviously, but they're not really played up. And, the problems with this preimse are a symptom rather than anomaly.
"The Tale of the Wicked," by John Scalzi (2009): 8.5
- It's actually quite reassuring to realize that the auteur theory works -- that themes, thrusts, and style are not only consistent, but often unintentionally transparent. And Scalzi, for all that I've read, maintains exactly what he maintains: light, wide-screen Unterhaltung that nonetheless often masks much more than one might assume on first glance. This was true with Old Man's War -- maybe less so with Redshirts, although I'm not nearly enough of a ST fan to recognize -- and this is true of this short story. That story is, on its face, a simple one, and far from original in its broad strokes, of a ship/AI that gains consciousness/free will, and decides to intervene, altruistically, in a human war, ultimately brokering a peace and laying the groundwork for some old fashioned consciousness raising amongst the universe's many AI ~ the story frames this quite explicitly as a religious conversion, and while that works as the larger metaphorical point of the story -- especially in its smart, and subtle, recognition of the ways in which 'getting religion' is messy and no one quite 'gets' it in exactly the same way ~ a point noted through the enemy's ship becoming conscious a bit more ruthlessly and not being quite as compassionate towards humanity -- it might be seen just as well through a materialist lens. That it manages to do stuff all of this allegory in the background of an otherwise by-numbers space adventure story is admirable. And, at the same time, like all of them, it never truly manages to rise above fluff -- and there are worse things than that.
"Bread and Bombs," by M. Rickert (2003): 8
- 98% of all art about, and made within two-three years of, 9/11 is cringe-inducingly bad. This is a pretty solid rule of thumb. I don't know if this is actually part of that positive 2%, although the turn pushes it a bit beyond the blandest of the libs-writing-allegories-about-tolerance bland. The piece: in a very-unsketched-out future dystopia, prejudice against some ill-defined Other has made small-town America more intolerant than usual, and a young girl and her group of friends befriend one of these Others, with disastrous consequences. Depending on one's perspective, the story's strength or weakness lies in the ambiguity of the background context here: who exactly are the 'others' here, and what is the exact nature of the 'war' we're currently in [especially confusing, as the analogy to 9/11 is crystal clear, and imagining the hypothetical 'war' that might happen as a result is far from far-fetched (in fact, you might even say it's reality). The bait and switch, therefore, is unwarranted (i.e. these are obviously Muslims, just say it). The structural reasons for this ambiguity, however, are understandable. We're operating in the realm of the Known here, and therefore understand exactly what type of response would follow from just such an attack. Through that lens, then, it seems delusional (although completely in line with post-9/11 liberal wishy-washiness) to imagine any 9/11-related war playing out like this. As if it would actually play out with massive, nation-state-like combat -- in which small-town middle America was actually in reach -- rather than the massively disproportionate and one-sided, if slogged and guerilla, reality we actually got. That said, this is nonetheless written with a prose confidence and fluidity above many others of this genre, and makes me interested to check out the rest of Rickert's (fairly lauded, I take it) ouevre.
"The Waters of Meribah," by Tony Ballantyne (2003): 9
- The foregrounded main "story" takes place in the context of some extremely strange world building and minute detailing: the universe has shrunk to only 300 miles across; life forms spontaneously, supported consciously by the universe; humans are doomed to never learn the secrets of the universe BECAUSE OF their curiosity. Filled with unexpected nice little observational nuggets (although I wish they wouldn’t have given our “convict” an out in terms of his assault) and a very effective sense of doom and foreboding in the description of the alien suit itself, and it’s malicious alienness.
"Tk'tk'tk," by David D. Levine (2006): 7.25
- The kind of tall tale folksiness I’d associate with work a half century older than what we have here. In its nostalgic sheen, it actually calls to mind the fiction of the period it’s evoking, and indeed, it’s hard not to see this as some sfnal peon to some peddling ancestry, with all alien contact a stand-in for the plight of the solitary Hausierer among a foreign people. STORY: traveling and down on his luck salesmen loses it all on a foreign planet before making the big sale and deciding nonetheless to stay on