A Soviet political prisoner is ordered to use her unique talents to explore a strange scientific phenomenon. It could be a trap…or a way out.
Dislocation Space
A Soviet political prisoner is ordered to use her unique talents to explore a strange scientific phenomenon. It could be a trap…or a way out.
The Devil made a mirror. A physicist broke it and shards fell through reality and changed everything forever.
A prequel to the magical novella Made Things, out now from Tor.com Publishing.
Salipa and Telo have perfect lives in the virtual reality world that humanity has retreated to after bacteria and viruses resistant to all medications take over the outside world. But when the robots that take care of their necessities in the dirty outside world start glitching, Salipa must figure out what it means to truly live if they can never return to the outside world.
Security through physicality. Security through redundancy. Security through obscurity.
How do immortal artificial intelligences defend themselves? With an air gap. With a security force that has no connection to anything that can harm them. With a young woman, trained to fight and to die who, along with her cohort must keep them safe. But In Xanadu things don’t always go as planned…
FOR the most wild, yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief. Mad indeed would I be to expect it, in a case where my very senses reject their own evidence. Yet, mad am I not—and very surely do I not dream. But to-morrow I die, and to-day I would unburthen my soul. My immediate purpose is to place before the world, plainly, succinctly, and without comment, a series of mere household events. In their consequences, these events have terrified—have tortured—have destroyed me. Yet I will not attempt to expound them. To me, they have presented little but Horror—to many they will seem less terrible than barroques. Hereafter, perhaps, some intellect may be found which will reduce my phantasm to the common-place—some intellect more calm, more logical, and far less excitable than my own, which will perceive, in the circumstances I detail with awe, nothing more than an ordinary succession of very natural causes and effects.
The fantasy world of The Witcher has taken decades to achieve its current level of popularity, propelled to cult status by three successful video games, loyal fans, and skillful promotion. Created by Polish author Andrzej Sapkowski, the Witcher series pays homage to a familiar fantasy settings and folklore but also subverts your every expectation, offering something few series manage to deliver: uniqueness. Ardent fans like myself are quick to point out the unmistakable Slavic elements that help to define the universe of The Witcher and play a major role in setting this carefully crafted fantasy world apart from other popular works of genre fiction. The question you may be asking is, “What exactly are those Slavic influences, and how do we recognize them in such a complicated, highly imaginative fantasy setting?”
When we think of a standard, conventional fantasy background, many readers will imagine a version of Medieval Europe with magical elements woven into the plot: dwarfs and elves undermine a dysfunctional feudal system, kings rule, knights fight, peasants plough the fields. Occasionally, a dragon shows up and sets the countryside on fire, causing an economic crisis. Depending on the degree of brutality and gritty realism, the world will either resemble a polished fairy tale or a gloomy hell pit—the kind where a sophisticated elf might become a drug-addicted (or magic-addicted) assassin for hire. Slavic fantasy also tends to rely on this time-tested recipe, borrowing tropes from various European legends, with one notable distinction—most of these fantasy elements are drawn from Eastern European traditions. In the case of The Witcher series, this regional flavor makes all the difference…
“Just get me to December 2019,” Mom told her oncologist on what would end up being her last appointment. She’d just finished a procedure to drain fluid from her chest that had caused her lung to partially collapse, and her doctor had asked if there was anything she could do for Mom.
At the answer, the doctor tilted her head, confused and unsure if Mom, whose sense of humor had not lessened over the course of eighteen months of mostly experimental treatments, was making a joke.
But I understood. Perched on the stool in the corner, with the cancer notebook on my lap for taking notes about medications or new drugs or treatment schedules, I stopped breathing. I lifted my eyes to see Mom’s bitter attempt at a cheerful smile. She didn’t have that long, and everybody in the room knew it.
“That’s when the next Star Wars movie comes out,” I explained, trying to sound lighthearted. The doctor laughed belatedly.
“I have to know what happens,” Mom said, laughing, too.
She died about two weeks later, on October 10th, 2018. And I didn’t think about Star Wars again for a while.
Well, my friends, it is winter here where I live and Christmas is well on its way. The trees are up (we have two, a tradition that started because my family fought over which one we should cut down), the lights are hung inside and outside the house, and for the first time ever we have a brightly lit reindeer on the roof. The kids are making plans to bake cookies with Grandma, and the radio is recycling seventy-five years of Christmas tunes.
C.S. Lewis built the perfect kid-friendly metaphor to describe the horrors of the White Witch’s winter rule: It’s always winter, but never Christmas. While we adults might get caught up in the everyday concerns (How will the Narnians grow food? Will they get enough Vitamin D? Do they have to shovel their driveways every day?), children are faced with the real horror: Santa will never arrive with their gifts. The celebration never comes.
The Doctor and fam are finally back with a spin on one of Britain’s favorite genres—it’s time to gather the gadgets and infiltrate in style as Doctor Who goes all in for spy craft.
Image: "The One Ring" by VincentXyooj
In September 1963, Tolkien drafted yet another of a number of letters responding to questions about Frodo’s “failure” at the Cracks of Doom. It’s easy to imagine that he was rather exasperated. Few, it seemed, had really understood the impossibility of Frodo’s situation in those last, crucial moments: “the pressure of the Ring would reach its maximum,” Tolkien explained; it was “impossible, I should have said, for any one to resist, certainly after long possession, months of increasing torment, and when starved and exhausted” (Letters 326). Even had someone of unmatched power, like Gandalf, claimed the Ring, there would have been no real victory, for “the Ring and all its works would have endured. It would have been the master in the end” (332).
It would have been the master.
“Build a man a fire and he’s warm for a day,” I say. “But set a man on fire and he’s warm for the rest of his life. Tao of Pratchett. I live by it.” —Jim Butcher, Cold Days (2012)
That’s “Sir Terry” to you, Dresden… but other than that, the only wizard listed in the yellow pages is right on the money.
Terry Pratchett is best known for his incompetent wizards, dragon-wielding policemen, and anthropomorphic personifications who SPEAK LIKE THIS. And we love him for it. Once we’re done chuckling at Nanny Ogg’s not-so-subtle innuendos and the song about the knob on the end of the wizard’s staff, however, there’s so much more going on beneath the surface of a Pratchett novel. The real reason Pratchett’s work resonates so deeply with so many people around the world—and will continue to do so for decades to come—is that every one of his stories tugs at a deep, philosophical thread that sneaks up under the cover of action and punny dialogue to mug you faster than a denizen of the Shades.
Disney announced what films and TV shows are coming to its streaming service in the coming year, and it included one surprise: we get to see its upcoming Marvel live-action series WandaVision a bit earlier than expected: sometime in 2020, rather than 2021 as previously announced.
You know how sometimes you’ll read a particular author and find that their cadences and word choices are creeping into your own head-voice? Or sometimes into your writing? I ask because I have spent these last few days reading a lot of Chuck Tingle, and my brain is currently a CAPSLOCK wonderland filled with buckaroos and sentient jet-skis.
The purpose, you ask? Well, aside from the sheer joy of proving love, I thought it might be a fun quest: is it possible that such an eccentric body of work could yield practical writing advice?
Is Living Corn handsome?
Do Space Raptors like to invade butts?
The answer, dear readers, is yes.
Trot down below the break, buckaroos, to find some classic Writing Ways.
Every so often, I find it entertaining to muse about and lament the ill effects of missing or erroneous documentation. Or the ill effects of failing to read the manual… or, having read it, ignoring its wise advice.
Unsurprisingly, SFF authors have arrived at a consensus as far as technical documentation is concerned: For the most part, they’re against it, at least as part of the setting of the story. There is nothing more encouraging to thrills and spills, exciting disasters and pulse-quickening cliffhangers, than protagonists doing ill-advised things…that is, things that would have been ill-advised if anyone had bothered to write down useful advice. Or if the protagonists had bothered to read such advice.
“The Story of Kao Yu” is a new fantasy short story by the legendary Peter S. Beagle which tells of an aging judge traveling through rural China and of a criminal he encounters. Of the story, Beagle says it “comes out of a lifelong fascination with Asian legendry — Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Indian, Indonesian — all drawn from cultures where storytelling, in one form of another, remains a living art. As a young writer I loved everything from Robert van Gulik’s Judge Dee mysteries to Lafcadio Hearn’s translations of Japanese fairytales and many lesser-known fantasies. Like my story ‘The Tale of Junko and Sayuri,’ ‘The Story of Kao Yu’ is a respectful imitation of an ancient style, and never pretends to be anything else. But I wrote it with great care and love, and I’m still proud of it.”
A Locus Awards Finalist, this short story was originally published on Tor.com in December 2016.
It is up to you now, only you are in control of your future. You have never had to fight this hard before, you don’t know what you’re capable of. All you can do is gather all the power you’ve got. This month’s science fiction titles are all about accepting both the good and the bad. Find hope after the apocalypse in Mike Chen’s A Beginning at the End; embrace your gifts in Vanished Birds by Simon Jimenez; and find power in anger in the new book from Tochi Onyebuchi, Riot Baby.
Head below for the full list of science fiction titles heading your way in January!
What if you knew how and when you will die?
Csorwe does—she will climb the mountain, enter the Shrine of the Unspoken, and gain the most honored title: sacrifice.
But on the day of her foretold death, a powerful mage offers her a new fate. Leave with him, and live. Turn away from her destiny and her god to become a thief, a spy, an assassin—the wizard’s loyal sword. Topple an empire, and help him reclaim his seat of power.
But Csorwe will soon learn—gods remember, and if you live long enough, all debts come due.
A.K. Larkwood’s debut fantasy, The Unspoken Name, is available February 11, 2020 from Tor Books. Read chapter three below, or head back to the beginning with chapter one. Check back here for additional excerpts up until the book’s release.
If you were a kid growing up in the U.S. during the ’80s and ’90s, entertainment had a certain shape. It was full of suburban lawns, the excitement of excess, gated communities, and nostalgia for the soda-fountained, saddle-shoed “simplicity” of post-WWII values. Flashy blockbusters were the rule of the day. In the face of reasserted homogeny, a specific set of subcultures flourished, grown out of punk movements and other anti-establishment groups. Which is a roundabout way of saying, if the mainstream didn’t float your boat (or only did part of the time), chances are, you were a Tim Burton kid.
Burton sidestepped his way into cinema juggernaut status, getting his start in Disney’s animation division before being fired and sweeping into feature films. He quickly made a name for himself by being “too dark” and “too creepy” for children (plenty of actual children who grew up on his films would dispute this claim), and for a distinct visual vernacular born of gothic sensibilities intertwined with a deep understanding of old monster movies, low-budget sci-fi films, and German Expressionism. But there is something even more fascinating about Tim Burton films, especially when looking back on the director’s career: They often seem to center male protagonists when they are plainly about women.
2019 has been an amazing year of book releases in the genres of science fiction, fantasy, young adult, and beyond. The following highlights from the book reviewers on Tor.com take place in tomorrows both near and far, and in time wars both personal and catastrophic. Necromancers clawed for our attention in imaginative new ways and the number 9 came up a lot. Space opera nearly ran the table!
Below, Tor.com’s regular book reviewers talk about notable titles they read in 2019.
Hello and welcome back after our little one week hiatus from Reading the Wheel of Time. I hope everyone had a wonderful week, and I have brought you a belated holiday gift of finally getting to the chapters I’ve been promising for two weeks now, “Into the Heart” (21) and “Out of the Stone” (22).
When it comes to book covers, sales departments have often had more clout than the poor beleaguered author. Covers are designed to catch the eye and spur sales; any resemblance to what is actually in the book may be coincidental. I think the publishing world (well, the reputable publishing world) has been getting somewhat better at producing covers that are handsome rather than garish and that do justice to the contents of the book. But in decades past… publishers plastered some really, really deceptive covers on their output. They had a notion of what would attract a stereotypical SF reader and that’s what they told the artist to paint. If old-time covers are any guide, SF fans were perceived as liking space ships, grim-faced men with guns, and naked women (as documented in the song “There’s a Bimbo on the Cover of My Book,” sung to the tune of “She’ll Be Coming ‘Round the Mountain”). With the exception of the readers of Berkley SF, who, judging by all the Richard Powers covers, were seen as attracted mainly by blobs and lava lamps.
It would be easy (like shooting fish in a barrel) to offer examples of hilariously inappropriate cover art from the days of my youth. I could eke a compelling essay out of the covers that forced me to explain (yet again) to my teachers that no, I had not brought pornography to school.
I’ve decided to take the high road: Here are five covers that delivered exactly what they promised (even if that might seem unlikely…).
The door creaks slowly open. You can feel warmth on the other side, you can hear the soft whisper of voices. But just how hot is the fire on the other side, and why are they calling for you? This month’s fantasy titles are all about open doors and the magic inside: swear loyalty to the Lady Knights in Lady Hotspur by Tessa Gratton; stop the onslaught of coming empire in Song of the Risen God by R.A. Salvatore; and read the next installment of the Wayward Children series with Come Tumbling Down by Seanan McGuire.
Head below for the full list of fantasy titles heading your way in January!
It’s been over eighteen months (in realtime) since we last saw the Robinsons and their unintentionally adopted new crew members. Now they’re back, and in addition to family bonding time, we’re getting a whole new perspective on the world they’ve left behind and the future humanity is trying to build.
(Some spoilers for Lost in Space season 2.)