2026 read #45: New Edge Sword & Sorcery Magazine: Issue 4.

New Edge Sword & Sorcery Magazine: Issue 4

Edited by Oliver Brackenbury (1:4)

80 pages

Published 2024

Read from August 31 to September 3

Rating: 3.5 out of 5

It’s been a hell of a bad summer. Fixation on a new partner, followed by lingering heartbreak after the relationship abruptly ended. Not to mention our rapid decline as a nation to new depths of fascism, and the escalating natural disasters as our planet reaches the climate tipping point. The last issue of New Edge that I read was way back in May, and I’ve only read like fourteen books since then. It’s been a bad time.

I’ve been putting off this issue for a while, then. Don’t know why, other than sometimes my ADHD rebels and refuses to indulge my autism’s hyperfocuses. Demand avoidance gets so much worse when I feel stressed and overwhelmed. Regardless, I’m looking forward to new installments from Jonathan Olfert, Dariel R. A. Quiogue, and June Orchid Parker, and also I spy a byline from Harry Turtledove, so this should be a fun time.

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“Gaze Upon the Beating Dark” by Jeremy Pak Nelson. I found this one a bit slow paced (fans of classic MST3K will understand the perils of extended rock climbing scenes), but ultimately it proved to be weird and enjoyable. It was nice to see an older couple in a starring role.

“White in the Eye” by Jonathan Olfert. A vivid and absorbing tale of sorcery and exploitation that (pun intended) hits the ground running. Fluent and satisfying.

“The Concord of the Outhar” by Kirk A. Johnson. Solidly enjoyable Sword & Soul tale.

“A Portrait in Ivory” by Michael Moorcock. This might be my favorite of the (admittedly few) Elric of Melniboné stories I’ve read so far. It’s also the farthest from Sword & Sorcery of any I’ve read so far. Elric even leaves his sword behind as he sits for a possibly sacrilegious bust.

“Hunter” by Oliver Brackenbury. I can recycle my review of Brackenbury’s “Something Oath-Like,” his story in issue 3: “Included as a fundraising reward, this piece from the editor is a bit busy and breathless, penned in the voice of someone who’s read a lot but hasn’t necessarily written much fiction on a professional level.” I can assure you we don’t need onomatopoeia transcribing our heroine’s breathing.

“The Jesting Jann” by Harry Turtledove. Turtledove can feel like a well-meaning liberal uncle who perhaps doesn’t understand the expectations of sensitivity in our present era. I love this story’s setting, the seldom-talked-about period of Jewish and Christian strife in 6th century Arabia. It isn’t much of a Sword & Sorcery tale to my mind, but it’s mostly enjoyable until the historian’s groaner at the end.

“Battle of the Nine Waters” by Dariel R. A. Quiogue. Another rip-roaring Orhan adventure, as we’ve come to expect from Quiogue. This installment reminds me quite a bit of classic Conan, as pseudohistorical geopolitics and warfare intersect with necromancy and death worms. My favorite story so far this issue.

“A Serpent from the Ash” by June Orchid Parker. This story of Astartha is built around a particularly blunt allegory, but it works magnificently (and movingly). Plus we get a Big Snake, always a welcome addition to any S&S tale.

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Moving on to the nonfiction selections of this issue.

First, we get another biographical sketch from Cora Buhlert: “Tanith Lee: Mistress of the Weird.” I’ve loved every Lee story I’ve read, but I have yet to make any concerted effort to read her books, in large part because they’re so expensive nowadays. (I miss when they filled shelves at Half Price Books.) Interesting as always.

Next, an essay from Nathaniel Webb: “Axes at the End of History: Sword & Sorcery & Heavy Metal.” Webb’s central thesis is that both genres are working class outsider art.

The inevitable interview from editor Brackenbury follows: “Lofty Heights and Profound Depths: An Interview with Bryn Hammond.” This is the first interview that is original to the magazine and not a transcription from Brackenbury’s podcast. I would love to be this conversant with the history of my genres. Good interview. Hammond’s responses gave me a lot to think about while crafting my own upcoming S&S.

Lastly, a book review from Doris V. Sutherland: “Review: Swords in the Shadows, Edited by Cullen Bunn.” It’s an anthology of Sword & Sorcery horror, which is always a fun mix (and one true to the subgenre’s roots). 

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And that’s it! Kind of silly that I put this off for so long, but then, my behavior since April has been kind of silly. (NRE hits doubly hard when your lover has BPD, and the crash is three times worse than usual.) Glad I finally got around to reading it!

2026 read #44: The Adventures of Tom Bombadil by J. R. R. Tolkien.

The Adventures of Tom Bombadil and other Verses from the Red Book by J. R. R. Tolkien

Illustrated by Pauline Baynes

Editorial material by Christina Scull & Wayne G. Hammond

290 pages

Published 1962; expanded version with commentary published 2014

Read from August 25 to August 27

Rating: 3.5 out of 5

After reading The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, and The Silmarilion, this is my first foray into the dregs of Middle-earth material, the real cash-in type shit that fills whole shelves of the fantasy section to this day. The third and final Middle-earth book published in Tolkien’s lifetime, Adventures scrapes together the titular poem (originally published in 1934), some poems pulled from Lord of the Rings, and some more or less random material the Professor had lying around. This edition bundles the rather slim text with a much longer body of commentary to make it seem like a real book worth buying.

Tolkien studies are a big and profitable line — perhaps less so now than in their 1970s-2000s heyday, but they still drain so much oxygen from the contemporary fantasy scene and its innovative but impoverished authors. I almost hate to admit that it’s kinda interesting to read the commentary, which traces the origins of texts and cross-references the legendarium. No way in hell I’ll ever be famous enough that anyone would give a shit about my notes and scraps of manuscripts, but it’s fascinating to see the creative process from the outside like this.

I also enjoyed the poems more than I expected to. The way Tolkien plays with rhythm and assonance is like a polished, Oxfordian elevation of my own poetic aspirations. Tolkien’s signature tone of whimsy underlain with deep sadness is one that would suit the collection I’m supposed to be working on. I’m honestly glad I purchased a copy so that I’m able to highlight and dog-ear it (should I ever bring myself to do that to a book).

2026 read #36: The Travels of Marco Polo by Rustichello da Pisa and Marco Polo.*

The Travels of Marco Polo: A Modern Translation by Rustichello da Pisa and Marco Polo*

Translated by Teresa Waugh from the Italian translation by Maria Bellonci

Photographs by Sergio Strizzi

207 pages

Published ca. 1300 (English translation published 1984)

Read from July 1 to July 12

Rating: 2 out of 5

* Denotes a reread.

I call this a reread even though I never read this specific translation, which seems like a fair way to handle classics in translation. Whatever version I read as a kid was probably some standard midcentury edition. This one is a typically 1980s tie-in edition for an Italian docu-drama film, with color plates from the film’s production and extensive medieval and early modern illustrations, but no modern map, no glossary, and no endnotes. Context was not yet a priority, I guess.

I found this edition in the library a few months back, and was struck by two thoughts: I miss when nonfiction books were lavish, illustrated affairs, and also I want to read more weird old books wavering on the line between folklore and nonfiction to get more ideas for Sword & Sorcery stories. So that’s what we’re doing here.

Unfortunately for my purposes, Travels is more of a medieval gazetteer than an adventure story. It’s fascinating in historical context: what mattered more to their sensibilities was the information attributed to distant places rather than one person’s narrative of adventure (even if said information was extensively massaged and augmented to suit European expectations by romance writer Rustichello). When they get to itemizing every single province of Cathay, with the same three rudimentary bits of information, it becomes particularly tedious.

The most disturbing thing about reading this mix of just-so stories and Islamophobic screeds is the realization that, over 700 years later, a substantial number of my compatriots still literally believe in this “wicked Saracen” shit. It’s a lot like understanding that modern antisemitism is rooted in medieval economic politics. People are just that gullible, eager to believe made-up bullshit from the men in charge, whether those men be kings who owe money or trillionaire failsons who have an apartheid axe to grind. (The medieval sexism and colorism is just as awful.)

The gazetteer format makes it all the more jarring when a stray biographical detail — “Marco Polo was totally made a baron of this city, and the elder brothers Polo totally helped the Khan take this other city” — appear without any context. It’s pretty funny, in a way.

There are nuggets of potential world-building material here and there, like the rolling porcupines of Ishkasham, the palace of gilded reeds (bamboo?) at Xanadu, the lodging-houses for travelers of every nationality (including Lombards and Germans) at Khan-balik, mounted couriers and their post-houses, unmounted couriers with belts of bells, magic anti-beheading stones in Japan, and so on. How accurate any of it might be as anthropology is, of course, debatable. But we’re here to find inspiration for Sword & Sorcery, not history.

I want to reiterate my frustration with this particular edition: no effort was made to link the names Polo reported to any kind of historic location. I had to search online every time I wanted to know what, say, Kinsai relates to on the map of today. It would’ve been so easy to add a glossary, or even some footnotes.

2026 read #33: Between Two Rivers by Moudhy Al-Rashid.

Between Two Rivers: Ancient Mesopotamia and the Birth of History by Moudhy Al-Rashid

262 pages

Published 2025

Read from June 15 to June 26

Rating: 2.5 out of 5

After being stuck for over a month reading my last book, I wanted to kickstart my reading again with a lightweight nonfiction piece. This book promised to be just that, a breezy look at Mesopotamian history told from the lens of artifacts associated with the supposed “museum” of Ennigaldi-Nanni in Ur. It aspires to be a history of how ancient people thought about history, but does it really do more than gesture in that direction?

Between Two Rivers is the platonic ideal of a 2020s nonfiction book: large type, cheaply printed, no illustrations, written by a specialist academic for, shall we say, a non-specialist audience. As so many contemporary writers do, Al-Rashid simplifies topics to the point of condescension. She repeatedly describes personal cylinder seals as ancient “Instagram bios” (as if making the comparison once wasn’t enough). She contextualizes pottery as “the Tupperware, [and] Amazon packaging… of the ancient world,” as if even a 2020s reader doesn’t know what pottery is.

It’s a shame, because the range of topics here is fascinating. Al-Rashid’s academic specialty is the history of ancient science; I would much rather have read a tome dedicated exclusively to that than baby’s first introduction to Mesopotamia. But that’s not what sells, apparently, so that isn’t what gets published, at least not in the sort of mainstream history you’re likely to find in a small library system.

But does Rivers manage to be something of a history of history? Well… maybe a little bit, in the opening and closing chapters. For the most part, though, Al-Rashid just goes through the usual pop history motions, and Rivers suffers as a result. It’s no Weavers, Scribes, and Kings.

2026 read #30: New Edge Sword & Sorcery Magazine, Summer 2024 issue.

New Edge Sword & Sorcery Magazine, Summer 2024 issue (1:3)

Edited by Oliver Brackenbury

80 pages

Published 2024

Read from May 8 to May 11

Rating: 4 out of 5

Out of this first batch of issues, this is the one I’ve been most excited to read. Not only do we get a new, officially-approved-by-the-estate Jirel of Joiry story by Molly Tanzer, we also get Sword & Sorcery tales from Premee Mohamed and Thomas Ha, two of my favorite contemporary authors. There’s also an array of flash fiction that sounds intriguing.

Saša Ðurðević’s cover painting of Jirel, cape billowing across a stark white background, is instantly iconic, so much so that it’s used in NESS’s promotional materials to this day.

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“Beating Stars, Dying Hearts” by Matt John. Crisply paced and evocative Dying Earth-adjacent tale, full of weird creatures, towering ruins, and inventive details. A solid story and a fun start to this issue.

“The Betrayal of the Rhinoceros” by Premee Mohamed. A fortress under siege faces a new peril: huge fucking ants with human faces climbing its walls. I’m honestly shocked I’ve never read an S&S story with giant ants before (though I’ll admit I haven’t read many of the pre-1970 classics). Of course, this being Mohamed, there’s some emotional depth to it, as well as themes of climate disruption and the corruption of authority. Loved it.

“St. Fario’s Feast” by Thomas Ha. This story is everything you’d expect from Ha: a sumptuously fucked up fairy tale of rabbit men, otherworldly abominations, and dark rivers of cosmic magic. It successfully expands what Sword & Sorcery can be, while never losing that S&S flavor. Superb.

“Gravediggers of Carsonne” by John R. Fultz. Serviceable tale of would-be grave robbers running afoul of an undead wizard, and one agreeing to do an errand for him to earn back their lives.

“Something Oath-Like” by Oliver Brackenbury. Included as a fundraising reward, this piece from the editor is a bit busy and breathless, penned in the voice of someone who’s read a lot but hasn’t necessarily written much fiction on a professional level. A sample: “Her scream had barely begun when, satisfied, Enmed pulled on the iron rod in his one-cubit-deep closet of stone.” I’m not sure whether the effect is meant to be comedic or not.

We begin a section of flash fiction pieces with Samantha Rich’s “The War-God’s Hound.” I was curious to see how Sword & Sorcery would be handled in a flash format; Rich packs ample atmosphere and hints of a wider world in this brief piece. Well done.

“Sister Soldier” by R. L. Summerling is another flash piece, well-written and evocative.

“Of Cabbages and Stone” by Timaeus Bloom brings fairy tale energy to a yarn about an aged ex-sorcerer who has no time to entertain disrespect.

“Against the Witch-Prince of Emdal” by W. O. Balmer also packs in a lot of atmosphere, suggestive of a bigger story beyond the vignette.

“High Water” by James Estes is another solid flash piece, an enjoyable anecdote of an undead saint visiting a delightfully Venetian city. Felt somewhat Riverside-esque.

“The Ferry-Man’s Price” by Melissa Burlock is another expertly done flash piece, a Sword & Soul number that sprinkles in references to past events to expand the story far beyond its word count. My favorite flash here.

“Jirel and the Mirror of Truth” by Molly Tanzer. One last fiction piece, an all-new Jirel of Joiry tale officially approved by C. L. Moore’s estate. Tanzer evokes Moore’s prose and storytelling pace while producing something fresh, the story’s more updated touches cleverly integrated into the plot. Loved it!

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That brings us to the nonfiction section of this issue. We begin with Jay Wolf’s essay “The Untrammeled Wilds,” which is about disability and the possibilities (and pitfalls) Sword & Sorcery offers in its portrayal. It’s a really good essay.

Next, Bryn Hammond brings us a biographical essay on “Jessica Amanda Salmonson: Amazon,” editor of the classic Amazons anthology series. A fascinating subject, and another solid essay.

The obligatory transcript from editor Brackenbury’s podcast is “Cock & Bull: An Interview with Kirk A. Johnson.” It’s always interesting to see how contemporary S&S authors got into the genre, and the ideological background they bring to their own writing.

Lastly, Robin Marx brings us a “Review: Shared World by Jonathan Ball, GMB Chomichuk, James Gillespie, and Chadwick Ginther.” Marx’s review is solid, but I gotta say, the book itself doesn’t sound like one I’ll seek out.

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And that’s it for this issue! Overall, it felt like a mighty leap forward in story quality and editorial panache. My favorite NESS issue so far.

2026 read #29: To Katahdin by George T. Sewall.

To Katahdin: The 1876 Adventures of Four Young Men and a Boat by George T. Sewall

Introduction by Neil Rolde 

Afterword by Irvin C. “Buzz” Caverly, Jr.

122 pages

Originally published as newspaper series in 1870s; book edition published 2000

Read from May 4 to May 7

Rating: 2.5 out of 5

Having lived in upstate New York for a couple years now, my partner R and I have developed a little tradition of visiting a local book barn each spring, soon after it opens for the season. This past weekend, R found this book in the regional history section. It’s a charmingly presented trip journal, complete with pen-and-ink illustrations that accompanied the original newspaper serial. Seemed like it would be a good use of $4.50!

The three well-to-do Sewall brothers, plus their cousin Ned Hunt, undertook a late summer lark with the goal of climbing Katahdin, by then familiar to tourists but still retaining the mystique of the North Woods frontier. Thanks to the reprint press’s subtitle, one is inevitably reminded of Three Men in a Boat, only without Jerome K. Jerome’s self-effacing irony and charm. At least the pencil drawings (done, presumably, by one of the Sewalls) add an occasional touch of immediacy.

The narrative itself is fine. It’s more descriptive than poetic, a travelogue of summer woods and waters, steamer wharfs and remote farms, blueberries and wilderness hotels, a dry but fascinating glimpse into a lost world. I want more books about the early development of American tourism, whether they be modern histories or contemporary accounts. This certainly checks that box.

Naturally, this being the 1870s, literally any time writer Sewall encounters a woman, he simply can’t resist adding some disparaging comment or other. Maybe Jerome K. Jerome did the same thing; it’s been long enough since I read Three Men that I truly don’t remember. But it certainly soured my enjoyment here. Likewise, the boys can’t catch a glimpse of a waterfowl without hastening to shoot at it. Absolutely no inkling of a conservation ethos here, just some college bros taking their turn on the frontier before it vanished.

2026 read #25: New Edge Sword & Sorcery Magazine, Winter 2023 issue.

New Edge Sword & Sorcery Magazine, Winter 2023 issue (1:2)

Edited by Oliver Brackenbury

80 pages

Published 2023

Read from April 21 to April 27

Rating: 3 out of 5

Back at it again with my read-through of New Edge’s back catalogue! As with the official “first issue,” the artwork remains absolutely next level here, with a fun pulpy cover and superb black-and-white pieces throughout the issue.

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“The Demon of Tashi Tzang” by Dariel Quiogue. A welcome return to Quiogue’s Central Asian pastiche, and his hero Orhan Timur. “Demon” isn’t quite the zippy pulp adventure we got with our first Orhan story (“The Curse of the Horsetail Banner” in NESS issue 0), but once it gets rolling, it’s still a fun time.

“Fang” by Jacquie Kawaja. Otherwise routine Nordic excursion given depth by its two disabled leads (as well as its late swerve into pronounced body horror). I ended up liking it quite a bit.

“Revelstoke” by Gemma Files. Where the previous story went all-in on body horror, this one cranks up the fantasy ultra-violence (and also body horror). It’s another pseudo-historical Viking piece, this time with a “my D&D party would make for a great story” vibe, not my favorite combination. Like “Fang,” it becomes more interesting as it goes, but first you have to get over the hump of too many characters getting thrown at you all at once in the opening.

“A Debt Forgotten, a Debt Unpaid” by Jeremy Pak Nelson. Pacing issues blunt this sanguinary number, in which a captive demigod, his blood tapped for magical weaponry, finally puts escape in motion. The narrative never seems to develop a sense of urgency. And while it falls under the general umbrella of weird fantasy, I personally wouldn’t consider it Sword & Sorcery.

“The Eyes of the Demon” by J.M. Clarke. Another Sword & Soul outing from the author of “Vapors of Zinai.” Clarke fully understood the assignment, giving us a pulpy, propulsive adventure of a larger than life swordsman facing an elemental threat. We even get “thews” thrown in. The most enjoyable story so far.

“Water, Which Laughs at All Things” by T. K. Rex & L. Ann Kenyon. Another beautiful, SoCal-flavored eco-fantasy from Rex, always a highlight in any magazine. My new favorite story in this issue.

“Atonement for a Resurrected God” by David C. Smith. The fourth author from the volunteer proof-of-concept issue zero to get a paid story slot in this issue. This one is an improvement over “Old Moon Over Irukad”; “Atonement” at least makes an effort to build atmosphere, even if it is your standard “hired swords protect an eldritch item aboard a ship” scenario.

“How Many Deaths Till Vengeance?” by June Orchid Parker. This is an assured outing, a pulpy masterpiece of personal and social justice that hits the perfect tone right from the title. “The axe is the tongue with which I’ll speak to him,” our heroine Astartha says, and Conan himself couldn’t deliver on it better. This might be my favorite piece in this issue, which is saying a lot in an issue with a T. K. Rex tale. And somehow this is Parker’s first published story!

All in all, while there wasn’t a story I disliked here, and there were a good number of solid pieces (including Parker’s “Vengeance,” which is a top two favorite story from NESS’s whole run so far), it seemed like there was a disproportionate number of outings that didn’t elicit much enthusiasm. Maybe that’s once again on me and my anhedonia, who knows?

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Now onward into the nonfiction pieces!

First, a brief essay by Jonathan Olfert: “Neurodivergence in Sword & Sorcery.” I enjoyed it, and added some stories and a book to my reading list as a result of it.

Milton J. Davis brings us “Sword & Soul Brothers,” a moving personal essay on Charles R. Saunders and the history of Sword & Soul.

Next, the de rigueur transcript from editor Brackenbury’s podcast: “Sword & Silk: An Interview with Dariel Quiogue.” I’m always skeptical going into these segments (isn’t transcribing your own podcast as page-filler a bit self-indulgent? couldn’t this be another story slot?), but I have to admit they always tend to be interesting, and this is no exception. This interview in particular was inspiring: Quiogue offers so many cool perspectives on Sword & Sorcery and its overlap with historical fantasy.

Lastly, Kris Vyas-Myall gives us a review of Sylvia Moreno-Garcia’s The Return of the Sorceress. They point out important themes of class consciousness that were missing from my review.

And that’s it! A solid batch of essays, all in all. And a solid issue of NESS. Onward to the next!

2026 read #22: The Far Edges of the Known World by Owen Rees.

The Far Edges of the Known World: Life Beyond the Borders of Ancient Civilizations by Owen Rees

314 pages

Published 2025

Read from April 1 to April 6

Rating: 3.5 out of 5

I began the reading year strong, but in the last few weeks, my attention span has petered out for one reason and another. (The shadow of a mad king with his thumbs on the nuclear buttons has a lot to do with it.) Whenever my reading falters, I find it helps to get my hands on an interesting but breezy non-fiction book, shaking up my typical diet of fantasy. That’s particularly apropos this year; this is the first work of non-fiction I’ve picked up in all of 2026.

Histories of cultural exchange are one of my big hyperfocuses. I love histories that concern themselves less with kings and wars and more with actual humans. All our cultural myths of “peoples” and “races,” assembled in the early modern era of nation states, fall apart against the reality of how much people, and culture, have always mixed and intermingled. Modern day fash might love the Romans because of their martial misogyny and oppressive hierarchy; I love Roman history because of how people moved all over the empire, from Syria and Mauritania to Britain and Dacia. Despotic elites, not immigrants, caused Rome to fall. There are lessons to learn there.

The Far Edges is right up my alley, offering quick examinations of places at the edges of empire, from ancient cattle herders at Lake Turkana to the city of Co Loa in what is now Vietnam. Rees writes a popularly accessible history in competent, unremarkable prose. Each chapter offers an appetizer of a much vaster, richer story, leaving me wanting more. Honestly, I’d read a book-length examination of any of the sites Rees describes. And that, as always, is the takeaway from books like this: I wish there were more to it.

2026 read #20: New Edge Sword & Sorcery Magazine, Fall 2023 issue.

New Edge Sword & Sorcery Magazine, Fall 2023 issue (1:1)

Edited by Oliver Brackenbury

80 pages

Published 2023

Read from March 19 to March 26

Rating: 3 out of 5

The first thing I notice about this issue, the first “official” issue of NESS, is how much more polished the printing and presentation is compared to issue 0. We’ve upgraded from cut-rate print-on-demand quality to a much more professional printing, and the layout and artwork has gotten crisper to match.

That brings up the second thing I notice: the artwork. This issue is bursting with terrific black-and-white artwork, and the cover image is instantly iconic. I’m so excited for this issue!

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“Carnivora” by Kirk A. Johnson. This story sits at the intersection of Sword & Soul and Spear & Fang. It should check all my boxes for a good time. There’s grisly magic, towering demons, memorable depictions. There’s even a passing reference to the skull of a Styracosaurus. The story itself didn’t fully click for me, though. The prose was just kind of there, not bad but lacking a certain oomf. It was fine, but I had hoped for more from it. I will say it’s a lot better (and gnarlier) than my own Spear & Fang draft. I should get a lot weirder with it.

“Come Lay the Crone to Rest” by Margaret Killjoy. The proverbial “D&D campaign turned into a story,” starring a polyamorous trio of adventurers checking out the magical instability left by the death of the grandmother of one of their party. I loved the idea of it, and the art that accompanies it is killer, perfectly capturing that early 1980s AD&D aesthetic. You can tell the author did her research on medieval weaponry, or else had a preexisting hyperfocus on the subject, which gave the story a fun specificity that most pseudo-medieval fantasy lacks. I found the narrative itself a bit flat, though, once again without much oomf.

Perhaps it’s me that lacks the oomf. Trying to read to distract myself from the collapse of ~everything~ isn’t working that well, neither as distraction nor as motivation to read. I’m depressed as fuck, y’all. Don’t take any anhedonic reviews here to heart.

“Sister Chaos” by Bryn Hammond. Another solid Goatskin story, though this one feels more like a hangout episode, an anecdote really, as Angaj-Duzmut and Qi Miao lose their camel and encounter a rather odd saiga antelope. I do enjoy how weird this one gets by the end, and also its intimately affirming coda.

“Chak Muuch” by Jesús Montalvo (originally published 2015). This piece brings a Second Wave Sword & Sorcery vibe to historical Chichén Itzá. It’s moderately entertaining, though blunted a bit by the way the narration insists the titular character is a cool renegade badass, instead of giving him much opportunity to show that in action.

“Tears of Eb” by Sarah A. Macklin. The first story in this issue that I felt checked all the boxes: a solid Sword & Soul entry with professional prose, interesting characters, and brisk pacing. It culminates in a fun aquatic fight against trident-wielding spirits. My favorite so far!

“The Pillars of Silence” by Prashanth Stivatsa. Another solid, professional-grade entry, a classic Sword & Sorcery outing rendered in beautiful prose. I’m reminded of Phyllis Eisenstein’s “The Island in the Lake” (read and reviewed here). This story features the same understated courage and quiet determination as an Alaric tale, albeit with a blademaster as its hero instead of a bard. I suspect there’s a parallel with Shirley Jackson’s “The Lottery,” but somehow I’ve yet to actually read that one.

“The Folk of the Forest: An Elric Story” by Michael Moorcock. I haven’t been impressed by the Elric stories I read in the past, but I’m willing to concede that encountering only late-period Elric, without the context of the earlier stories and how they innovated what S&S could be, perhaps did me no favors. This is a new Elric story from Moorcock, commissioned specifically for NESS. It takes us back to a younger Elric, long before he went to the future and got mixed up with immortal aesthetes. Lacking the full irony of the Elric stories I read previously, “Folk” manages to capture that 1970s-does-1930s vibe that helped inspire D&D and launched a thousand painted vans. It’s a more-fleshed-out iteration on Clark Ashton Smith’s primordial weird. There are giant pirates and tiny firefly warriors. “Travel the moonroads on dream couches” is the most 1970s stoner thing I have ever read. My favorite Moorcock story by far—the first one to make me want to seek out more tales of Elric. (Though there is a portion in the middle that clearly got missed during editing; substantially overlapping dialogue repeats in a first draft sort of way.)

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We move on to the non-fiction essays and interviews portion of the issue.

First up, we have another general essay on the theme of “Why (New Edge) Sword & Sorcery?” by Brian Murphy. It raises the interesting proposition that Sword & Sorcery waves coincide with periods of social upheaval: the Great Depression, the 1960s and ’70s, and the present.

Next, we have a profile of “Cele Goldsmith Lalli—Midwife to the Second Sword & Sorcery Boom” by Cora Buhlert. This is the type of historical essay I want to read! Fascinating and educational.

Another interview transcript sourced from editor Brackenbury’s podcast: “Fresh Blood & New Thunder! Bringing New Readers to Sword & Sorcery, with Sof Magliano.” The gimmick here is that Brackenbury gave younger fantasy fan Magliano a list of six S&S stories—three classic, three newer—to get her thoughts on finding new readers for the subgenre. This interview is how I learned about Silvia Moreno-Garcia’s The Return of the Sorceress. I was ready to dismiss this feature as page-filler—you could fit a whole story or two in this space—but it’s a legitimately interesting conversation, if a bit long.

Lastly, a review by Robin Marx: Woman of the Woods by Milton J. Davis. It sounds interesting.

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And that’s it! This issue has been a slog, but I swear the problem was me this time, far more so than its contents. The last three stories absolutely clicked for me, and nothing was outright bad in my opinion. Plus, the art in this issue is amazing and bountiful. Perhaps the issue wasn’t everything I’d hoped it would be, but I’m willing to say NESS was still finding its footing at this stage.

2026 read #11: New Edge Sword & Sorcery Magazine, Fall 2022 issue.

New Edge Sword & Sorcery Magazine, Fall 2022 issue (0)

Edited by Oliver Brackenbury

79 pages

Published 2022

Read from February 22 to February 25

Rating: 3.5 out of 5

I’ve loved this magazine for a long time, without reading any of its issues. Not the first time I’ve done that; I was devoted to The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction for twenty years before I finally got around to reading a full issue. As so often happens, some combination of ADHD and demand avoidance kept me from sitting down with this issue and just starting. (Also, if I’m being honest, the magazine’s full size format and triple columns of small text are barriers to entry. I know it keeps costs down and deliberately evokes Weird Tales, but I don’t have to enjoy it.)

This issue was the original proof-of-concept for NESS, put together by volunteer writers and distributed cheaply as an entry point for curious readers. Hence, “issue zero.” I’ve had it since sometime in 2023, which makes it even more embarrassing that I haven’t read it.

Incidentally, I’m actually going to read the interviews and essays that accompany the fiction (matters I habitually ignore in other magazines). I want to become more versed in the history, criticism, and analysis of my chosen genre. I might even read critical essays now whenever I find them in Asimov’s or F&SF. But this seems like a good place to begin.

—

“The Curse of the Horsetail Banner” by Dariel R. A. Quiogue. A rip-roaring steppe adventure which sees Orhan Timur, once the khan of khans before he was betrayed by his sworn brother, on the trail of those who violated the barrow of the first Khan of Khans and filched the legendary horsetail banner of Toktengri. It’s everything you could want from a modern update of the sword & sorcery formula, crafted by a terrific pulp storyteller.

“The Ember Inside” by Remco van Straten & Angeline B. Adams. The previous story gave me an optimistic idea of the level of polish I could expect in this issue (which, again, was a volunteer effort to produce a proof of concept for NESS). There are hints of greatness buried in this piece, but it’s uneven and unfocused. It has a metafictional element of “scribes” writing stories, reminiscent of Jeffrey Ford’s “The Fantasy Writer’s Assistant” (reviewed here). Revisiting that vibe with shakier prose didn’t do it for me, though to its credit, “Ember” has different things to say.

“Old Moon Over Irukad” by David C. Smith. Swords fighting sorcery. Serviceable, though rather stripped down to the chassis. Didn’t hold my interest.

“The Beast of the Shadow Gum Trees” by T. K. Rex. I’m a fan of T. K. Rex, and I had high expectations for this piece. Those expectations were met, and exceeded, by this weird and lovely fantasy. Rex literalizes concepts of ecology and invasive species, and puts together one of the most completely up-my-alley stories I’ve ever read. There’s even a toothed bird with four wings, which technically makes this a dinosaur story. An instant classic.

“Vapors of Zinai” by J.M. Clarke. This is another elemental S&S tale: a larger than life warrior, magical enemies, a determined priestess, a demon to slay. But “Zinai” bursts with imagery and flavor. At one point our hero rides a foe skateboard-style down a rocky slope. A delight.

“The Grief-Note of Vultures” by Bryn Hammond. Finishing the fiction section strong with another flavorful, well-written Central Asian pastiche. This story is also blessed with weird birds, always a welcome touch. Quite good.

—

The editorial and critical matters form the back third of this issue. Reading them feels a bit like eating my vegetables, but I want to become more informed!

We get musings from the late Howard Andrew Jones on the origin of the term “New Edge” (which, despite being in the NESS Discord for over a year, I’m just now learning is a genre label dating back two decades, analogous to sci-fi’s New Wave, and not merely the name of the magazine).

Next, there’s a solid essay from Cora Buhlert on C. L. Moore and Jirel of Joiry.

The longest editorial matter is an interview editor Brackenbury did with Milton Davis (whom I’ve only encountered in The Long Walk). It’s interesting.

A brief essay by Brian Murphy mostly serves to provide examples of its title: “The Outsider in Sword & Sorcery.”

Nicole Emmelhainz’s essay “Gender Performativity in Howard’s ‘Sword Woman’” is fascinating, and makes me miss the social sciences. I do wish I’d read the REH story in question beforehand.

Robin Marx reviews a self-published story collection, The Obanaax by Kirk A. Johnson. I’m intrigued.

Lastly, editor Brackenbury gives a statement of intent in “What is New Edge Sword & Sorcery?” It’s actually rather inspiring.

—

And that’s it for Issue 0! Surprisingly solid overall, for a volunteer effort. So much love and reverence went into putting it together. I’m excited to speed ahead into the “official” NESS run!

2026 read #5: Queens of the Abyss, edited by Mike Ashley.

Queens of the Abyss: Lost Stories from the Women of the Weird, edited by Mike Ashley

350 pages

Published 2020

Read from January 25 to January 29

Rating: 2 out of 5

I collect old magazines. I have a lot of them. I want to make a point of reading some of them this year, especially as I make progress on my current novel project and hope to focus my energies back on short story writing later this year. So I plan to read short stories, ideally in the form of old magazines I own, for at least 20% of the reviews I write this year—the collapse of my nation, of course, permitting.

Naturally, I’m beginning this pattern with an anthology instead of a magazine.

This is another entry in the British Library Tales of the Weird series, featuring a selection of women authors from the heyday of pulp short fiction. I’ve read just one of these stories before, which is unusual after all the anthologies I’ve encountered in recent years. My partner R got it for me for the holidays, and I’ve been looking forward to it. Or as much as one can look forward to anything days, I suppose.

—

“A Revelation” by Mary E. Braddon (1888). The author’s life is more interesting than this story, which is a rote gothic ghost number featuring clumsy descriptions, amateurish exposition, racist caricatures, and a see-through plot. It ends with an absurdly convenient twist and a middle aged man marrying his dead friend’s teenage child. It’s very much 1880s magazine fare. Not a promising start. F

“The Sculptor’s Angel” by Marie Corelli (1913). This medieval tale of an artistic monk who takes advantage of a poor young woman, only to be visited with dramatic irony after her death, is at least a step up from the previous story. We get some ever-relevant commentary on “the pitiless egotism of men,” though I think the narrative lets the sculptor off too easily. Perhaps a solid D

“From the Dead” by Edith Nesbit (1892). After his new wife confesses a past deception to him, our narrator, against his own conscience, gives her the cold shoulder. She disappears, only to summon him to her deathbed some months later. This being the type of story it is, he arrives too late. Macabre melodrama though it may be, it serves as an empowerment fantasy: maybe, somehow, even if by paranormal means, men might be made to suffer the consequences of their actions. I think we all can vibe with that right now. C-

“The Christmas in the Fog” by Frances Hodgson Burnett (1914). This quasi-autobiographical anecdote begins with about seven pages of justification (almost a third of the essay) for why a quasi-autobiographical anecdote is worth writing down and being read. The incident itself sees the author, referring to herself in the third person as the Romantick Lady, stuck for three days in an unusually Londonish smog on the Mersey. She decides to scrape together some kind of Christmas gift for each of the 150 immigrant children down in steerage. It ends with her musing whether her self-appointed charity might have “planted the seeds of pauperism” in the poor children. Horrors! All in all, you couldn’t get more pre-war 1910s than this.

“The Haunted Flat” by Marie Belloc Lowndes (1920). Banal self-improvement-aided-by-a-spirit yarn. I liked the small domestic details of a young working woman setting herself up in a rental flat. The identity of the helpful spirit is an absurd coincidental twist of the sort beloved by religious revivalists (including, in this instance, Spiritualists). D?

“A Modern Circe” by Alicia Ramsey (1919). Ramsey lays it on a bit thick with Italian stereotypes, up to and including labeling Italians a “primitive race,” but otherwise her writing is quick and modern, her descriptions evocative, and the titular “Mad Virgin” is positively delightful after a slog through generic ghost tales. Possibly C-

“The Nature of the Evidence” by May Sinclair (1923). Another piece inclined to Spiritualism, this time an account of well-to-do heterosexual unhappiness involving the man’s late first wife. Well-written, and interesting for hinting at ghost-fucking at such an early date, but otherwise forgettable. D+

“The Bishop of Hell” by Marjorie Bowen (1925). This story begins with more promise and unique vibes than anything else in this anthology so far. A defrocked priest in the late 18th century, so dissipated that his intimates give him the nickname in the title, hatches a desire to corrupt the bride of his generous cousin and benefactor. The story is twenty shades of purple, but enjoyably so. C

“The Antimacassar” by Greye La Spina (1949). I read and reviewed this story in Women of Weird Tales. There, I said, “I enjoyed the element of loom-weaving; the hidden message in the antimacassar was an interesting touch that deserved a better story.”

“White Lady” by Sophie Wenzel Ellis (1933). Brought down by clumsy prose and absurd dialogue (“Now, as always, you prefer your unnatural flowers to me”), this story of a woman competing with an anthropomorphic flower for the affections of her fiancée gets points for embracing its own pulpy ridiculousness. C

“The Laughing Thing” by G. G. Pendraves (1929). The prose and atmosphere of this Hudson Valley-set haunting were fine. Pendraves’ dialogue was another matter, hammering obvious plot points into the ground; it takes the better part of two pages for an old man, fleeced on a land deal, to fully articulate just how hard he’s going to haunt the place once he’s dead. (“Wha-a-a-at?” responds the swindler.) Still, a solid example of its type. C-

“Candlelight” by Lady Eleanor Smith (1931). I believe this tale of middle class philandering is meant to be humorous, or at least ironic. An awkward dinner party is interrupted by the arrival of a Romani girl from the woods, who gets goaded into telling their fortunes (and spilling all their tawdry secrets). Altogether on the wrong side of 1930s pulp, and felt interminable to boot. D-

“The Wonderful Tune” by Jessie Douglas Kerruish (1931). Snowed in at a Swiss inn, the narrator and his companions find themselves in the company of a master violinist, who plays elf music that compels all things to dance—including the avalanche-crushed corpses stashed in the other room. Somewhat ridiculous in the way all the “OooOooh, watch out, a corpse!” stories were, but not painfully bad. D+?

“Island of the Hands” by Margaret St. Clair (1952). Out of every story on the TOC, I’d been looking forward to this one the most. Immediately, we find ourselves in the hands (hehe) of a storytelling professional. Garth is a watery planet that feels remarkably like a midcentury floatplane-and-cabana getaway. That’s just set-dressing for a standard (but well-written) Weird Island story. Aside from the inevitable skeeviness of midcentury heterosexuality, I enjoyed this one quite a bit. If only more of the anthology had been like this! B-

“The Unwanted” by Mary Elizabeth Counselman (1951). Our narrator is climbing Alabama hills for the census when she happens upon a broad Appalachian stereotype (because boy howdy did midcentury writers love Appalachian stereotypes). The mountain man points a gun at her and tells her to leave. But the woman of the house invites her up to chat, and we quickly find ourselves in a gentle, sad, unclassifiable tale of motherhood and lost children. Just as quickly, this story went from forgettable page-filler to a minor wonder (however dated and iffy it might be for modern readers). B-

“The Seventh Horse” by Leonora Carrington (1943). A surreal little fable about a horse (or a woman?) in a garden. One of the best (and weirdest) stories I’ve ever read from the 1940s. B+

—

And that’s it! After slogging through so many forgettable ghost stories, the last few entries were an unexpected delight.

2025 read #93: Strata by Laura Poppick.

Strata: Stories from Deep Time by Laura Poppick

Illustrations by Sarah Gilman

244 pages

Published 2025

Read from December 4 to December 6

Rating: 3 out of 5

My perennial wish: more pop science books intended for people who are well-versed in the basics and want something more.

Strata is not that book. In her prologue, Poppick writes that she intends this book for folks who maybe haven’t thought about rocks before — an introduction to Deep Time to get more people to engage with the geology, and the world, around them. Noble, especially in our dismal age of anti-intellectualism. But it’s a bummer that this is the majority of what popular science has to offer as a genre.

Poppick does the science journalist thing of interviewing colorful experts, spending a significant chunk of the text sketching personalities via anecdotes of fieldwork or risky bush piloting. I get why human interest stories are so prominent, given the tastes of the audience. It’s also good to contextualize scientists as human beings, especially when we consider the history of white men excluding everyone else from science for so long (and pressuring other demographics out of the field to this day). I want more than that, though.

Clearly, what I want is something closer to a college textbook. Which isn’t the fault of this book in particular, but rather the nonfiction publishing market at large.

Poppick unpacks four broad “stories”: the oxygenation of the atmosphere; the Cryogenian; the rise of terrestrial plants and, with them, mud; and the thermal maxima of the Mesozoic. Each of these is investigated with an eye toward a better understanding of our current moment of global catastrophe. If it helps even a handful of people understand the perils of the present through an appreciation of the past, I’ll count this book as a success.

As one scientist she interviews says, “[P]eople could be more happy if they spent more time looking at rocks.” I can’t argue with that.

2025 read #86: The Roads to Rome by Catherine Fletcher.

The Roads to Rome: A History of Imperial Expansion by Catherine Fletcher

311 pages

Published 2024

Read from November 10 to November 17

Rating: 3.5 out of 5

We always have to step carefully around histories of Rome. As with histories of war, the topic tends to attract cryptofascists and bootlickers, glassy-eyed in their praise of power and empire and masculine control. Which is a shame; Rome lay at the center of a fascinating era, a period of cultural interchange and population movement. But no, so many histories want to grovel at the feet of the caesars.

This book is a history of Roman roads, utilizing them as a means of examining imperialism and structures of power throughout Europe and the Mediterranean. Fletcher breezes through the Classical Roman section of her history within 60 pages. The bulk of Roads is about how successive cultural moments engaged with (and mythologized) the memory and infrastructure of Rome. We wend through the medieval age of pilgrimage, the early modern Grand Tour, the encroachment of railroads, the imperialist myth-making of Fascism, and the romanticizing sheen of Hollywood and all-inclusive continental vacations.

Along the way, we sometimes get bogged down in recitations of politicians and authors who traveled a road, or who purposefully avoided a road. Fletcher interweaves her sources with her own post-lockdown travels across Europe and Asia Minor. Her contemporary journeys are enjoyably written, seasoned with an academic’s wariness of our decade’s resurgent national populism. Both the historic and modern narratives would have been enhanced with more maps, but publishers are cheap about illustrations these days.

One thing from Roads that will forever stick with me: the understanding that the “Great Man” style of history was “part of a wider European trend of history in service of the modern nation state,” crafting a narrative of national heroes and their patriotic deeds. It’s one of those observations that’s blatant in hindsight, but that our culture doesn’t tend to acknowledge.

2025 read #84: Kindred by Rebecca Wragg Sykes.

Kindred: Neanderthal Life, Love, Death and Art by Rebecca Wragg Sykes

Illustrated by Alison Atkin and Marc Dando

390 pages

Published 2020

Read from November 5 to November 10

Rating: 3.5 out of 5

When I got my BA in Anthropology, way back in the late ’00s, the consensus on Neanderthals was that they were an over-specialized branch of hominin evolution, hyper-carnivores eking a meager living on the edge of the habitable world, oddly stagnant in culture across deep reaches of time, dead without descendants. They may have buried their dead, took care of their disabled cohorts, and utilized mineral pigments, but otherwise seemed to demonstrate no conception of art. It was deemed unlikely that they could make complex and varied vocal sounds. Neanderthals were depicted as a tragic curiosity, offering insight into adaptation and extinction—fellow travelers crowded out by our own species or starved by the loss of habitat.

The beautiful thing about science is that we’re always learning more, and adapting what we think we know to adjust to new information. Thanks to genetic sequencing, we know H. sapiens interbred with Neanderthals (and other related populations). We’ve found evidence of rudimentary sculpture and even construction. Neanderthals lived in and adapted to a broad diversity of environments. They also seem to have engaged in some measure of cannibalism as mortuary ritual. It’s a more nuanced picture by far.

Of course, the very dynamism of science means that this book, a mere five years out of date, might not be worth reading for all I know. Still, Kindred is one of the few science books in my library, and five years out of date is better than my education, which is approaching twenty years old.

Sykes, like so many scientists turned pop-sci writers before her, produces a readable but often uninspired text that feels like she tried too hard to keep her wording casual. It’s a style choice that strikes me as condescending. Each chapter begins with a sensory immersion sequence in italics, which can sometimes still be fun, but here just feels awkward. She also tries to slip in the occasional poetic flourish, which falls flat more often than not.

That said, I love science, I miss studying human evolution and prehistory, and this book is a perfectly adequate refresher. Once it gets past the de rigueur background information, Kindred offers fascinating and detailed looks at everything from Neanderthals’ health and injuries, to granular examinations of the climates and environments they experienced, to extensive inventories of their varied foodways. From there, it sketches more speculative pictures of Neanderthal aesthetics and emotions. It’s a solid pop primer, so far as I can tell with my outdated background. It also offers a gratifying amount of depth that these treatments rarely provide.

2025 read #73: The Forest Primeval by Leo J. Hickey.

The Forest Primeval: The Geologic History of Wood and Petrified Forests by Leo J. Hickey

62 pages

Published 2003

Read September 29

Rating: 3 out of 5

Earlier this month, my partner R and I visited the Yale Peabody Museum. (It’s free!) I’m currently hyperfocusing on fossil plants and ancient ecosystems, partly because of the novels I’m writing, partly because it’s a dang cool topic. When I found this slim volume in the gift shop, I couldn’t pass it up.

It’s a scientist’s idea of a primer for non-specialists, which means we get thrown into a welter of terminology with only the barest effort to define it. I’m still shaky on the distinction between a wood section’s radial face and its transverse face. One shoddy diagram is considered sufficient explanation; the terms aren’t defined in the glossary. And because the book is over twenty years old, I can only surmise how much of it has been superseded by more recent lines of evidence.

Still, I love paleobotany, and this is a neat appetizer for the more technical books I’ve been pricing in recent weeks. If you ever happen to read my forthcoming paleo-fiction and find a reference to Cretaceous highland meadows of Ephedra plants, you can credit this book.

2025 read #66: Into the London Fog: Eerie Tales from the Weird City, edited by Elizabeth Dearnley.

Into the London Fog: Eerie Tales from the Weird City, edited by Elizabeth Dearnley

319 pages

Published 2020

Read from September 13 to September 17

Rating: 3 out of 5

Another installment of the British Library Tales of the Weird anthology series, this one naturally centers stories set in London. Dearnley’s introduction is especially interesting, evoking the danger and weirdness of befogged London, a shifting terrain of social anxieties amid tumultuous change. Her story introductions also provide vital context to the authors and the topics they addressed.

—

“The Telegram” by Violet Hunt (1911). This story was a bit of a speed bump right at the start of the anthology. I went into it expecting a specific vibe from these Tales of the Weird collections, which this literary character study of a woman who just wants to enjoy her own life and flirt with men without settling for any of them did not meet. It’s a good story, a fascinating document from a leading writer of the New Woman era, and its eventual ghostly turn plays well with the story’s examination of women’s autonomy. But I had to get into the right headspace for it, and the story itself sure takes its time. B-

“In the Séance Room” by Lettice Galbraith (1893). Sociopathic men and patriarchy are the horrors of this piece, which portrays both with a frankness all too rare even today. More so now than ever, I understand the fantasy of supernatural justice depicted here. Heavy-handed and melodramatic as fiction of this era often was, it still works. Kinda. C+

“The Demon Lover” by Elizabeth Bowen (1941). Wartime retelling of the namesake ballad, brief but atmospheric. C+

“The Truth, the Whole Truth, and Nothing but the Truth” by Rhoda Broughton (1868). Suspiciously cheap apartments in Mayfair lead to supernatural death. Mildly entertaining, ends rather abruptly. C+

“War,” an extract from London in My Time by Thomas Burke (1934). Fascinating essay on London’s attitudes during the Great War. It’s an eccentric choice for an anthology of London Weird, with the surreality of zeppelin raids and dimmed streetlights supplying the weird, but it’s not entirely misplaced.

“Street Haunting” by Virginia Woolf (1927). Another creative non-fiction piece, a sensorium of walking and daydreaming through interwar streets, rather reminiscent of Hope Mirrlees’ Paris: A Poem. Dreamlike and mostly enjoyable. Like Mirrlees, however, Woolf can’t resist throwing in some riff on marginalized populations, here making a spectacle of the disabled segment of society for several paragraphs. 

“Pugilist vs. Poet,” an extract from A Long Way from Home by Claude McKay (1937). My first exposure to McKay’s writing, a too-brief extract on his experiences in London in 1919. Scintillating. I want more!

“N” by Arthur Machen (1936). I read and reviewed this story in the British Library’s Weird Woods anthology. There I wrote: “Machen’s primary interest here appears to be the art of reproducing rambly conversations between older men. All of which is a roundabout path to not much in particular. Only the last page hints at the story this could have been, had Machen been inclined to tell it instead of what we got.”

“The Lodger” by Marie Belloc Lowndes (1911). An early novelette treatment of what, a couple years later, this author would turn into the very first novel about Jack the Ripper. Working-class protagonist Mrs. Bunting, onetime foundling and former maid, wants to avoid the obvious conclusions after her lucrative new lodger proves suspicious. The story is less of a murder mystery and more of a complex psychological study in how financial insecurity leads to complicity. B

“My Girl and the City” by Sam Selvon (1957). An absolutely stunning mood piece about the fluctuating city. Again, not sure why it’s in a Tales of the Weird collection, but it’s lovely. A

“The Mystery of the Semi-Detached” by Edith Nesbit (1893?). Quite brief but well-written mood piece of suburban unease. B-?

“The Old House in Vauxhall Walk” by Charlotte Riddell (1882). A disinherited young gentleman, kicked out by his father that morning, shelters for the night in the antique grandeur of a Vauxhall house lately turned into a rental. The hauntings of the house pervade his dreams, and he decides to stay and find the late miser’s treasure. Interesting mainly as a document of how useless the upper classes are without working folk to take care of them. C+

“The Chippendale Mirror” by E. F. Benson (1915). A more conventional eerie tale, in which a secondhand mirror discloses glimpses of the murder it witnessed. Perfectly adequate. C

“Spring-Heeled Jack” by Anonymous (1884). Straightforward write-up of the titular urban legend, detailing alleged exploits then fifty years in the past.

—

And that’s it for London Fog! A major departure from other Tales of the Weird volumes, which all tended to feature tales of the, well, weird. Not much eeriness to speak of, but a good collection all the same, if you ignore its title and the vibe of the rest of the series.

2025 read #61: In the Presence of Dinosaurs by John Colagrande and Larry Felder.

In the Presence of Dinosaurs by John Colagrande and Larry Felder

Illustrated by Larry Felder

Foreword by Jack Horner

189 pages

Published 2000

Read from August 30 to September 3

Rating: 2.5 out of 5

One tiny blessing of being born when I was: my teenage years coincided with history’s biggest boom of dinosaur books. There were novels, most of them bad. Short stories in magazines, some of them good. And then there were the big, glossy, full-color illustrated books for adults. I spent substantial portions of the late 1990s reading through some outsize coffee-table book or other (Hunting Dinosaurs, Dinosaurs:A Global View, The Ultimate Dinosaur). Those were glorious times.

One of the very last tomes of that particular wave (that I’m aware of) was this one, which came out during my painful transition into adulthood. I picked up a copy at some point in the early 2000s, possibly back when my then-spouse and I would hang out at Borders every weekend, blowing untold amounts of money on stacks of books we would scarcely look afterward. I got rid of that copy in a subsequent move. It wasn’t until this summer that I found a cheap (if slightly battered) replacement.

Presence is organized into chapters by specific environments: rain forest, plains, coastline, and so on. Grounding dinosaurs into ecological context is something I’m interested in, both as a would-be scientist and as a novelist. So some twenty-ish years later, I’m finally taking the time to read it.

Felder’s artwork is outstanding. Finely detailed, almost photographically sharp, with the occasional startling chiaroscuro. In addition, this might be one of the earliest glossy art books to normalize feathered dinosaurs, which gives it some historical interest.

The written portions of the book are considerably less edifying. The text lacks flow, and is frequently repetitive, resulting in a dull read — even though not all that much information is presented. Clearly the art was expected to be the main draw.

Presence puts into perspective how much dinosaur paleontology has changed in the last quarter century. When I read a confident declaration that “Dinosaurs descended from partially aquatic ancestors,” it’s a reminder of just how long ago Y2K was, and also a prompt to take everything else here with a grain of salt. Perhaps not the most useful research I could be doing for my own books.

Also inspiring caution: fundamental errors, like dating the Morrison Formation to 220-200 million years ago, instead of its actual range of 156-146 million years ago. What do you mean that got through editors and typesetters without getting caught?

Still, the book’s focus on climate and cohesive ecosystems (rather than charismatic megafauna roving through a greenscreen void) is welcome, and perhaps a bit ahead of its time. And I can’t deny that it’s a little bit inspiring. Do I now want to write stories set in Late Triassic Arizona, Early Jurassic Connecticut, and Late Cretaceous Interior Seaway barrier islands? Absolutely!

2025 read #54: When the Earth Was Green by Riley Black.

When the Earth Was Green: Plants, Animals, and Evolution’s Greatest Romance by Riley Black

Illustrated by Kory Bing

281 pages

Published 2025

Read from August 2 to August 19

Rating: 3.5 out of 5

We need more paleobotany and paleoecology books. I’m in the process of writing a novel set partially in the Cretaceous, and there are so few avenues for learning what ancient environments would have been like. A particular textbook sells for $500 on eBay. Wikipedia has a couple useful pages, but even a ubiquitous Upper Cretaceous tree like Dryophyllum lacks its own entry. In fact, the most thorough online source of information about Dryophyllum that I can find appears to be a fandom wiki for a video game.

Heading into this book, I’d hoped for more in the vein of the closing chapters of Riley Black’s The Last Days of the Dinosaurs, which linked the Earth’s past with our own contemporary fights for personal autonomy and queer liberation. There are bits of that here and there; the introduction, in particular, can be quite lovely in its musings on life’s interconnectedness and interdependence. Certain chapters, such as the one on fall color in the Pliocene, are beautiful and evocative. The conclusion is, once again, especially impactful, a much-needed reflection of human diversity and possibility.

For the most part, though, Green offers more of the Raptor Red-adjacent pop science that characterized most of Last Days. It’s enjoyable, and Black covers many topics not often seen by the public at large, which is always welcome. This book is a nice first step for introducing the reading public to the plants of the past, but it’s only that — a first step. Let’s hope it starts a paleobotanical revival and leads to more in-depth books gaining publication.

2025 read #53: Uncovering Dinosaur Behavior by David Hone.

Uncovering Dinosaur Behavior: What They Did and How We Know by David Hone

Illustrated by Gabriel Ugueto

176 pages

Published 2024

Read from July 28 to August 2

Rating: 4 out of 5

Circa 1998, I was as up to date on dinosaur science as it was possible for a semi-homeless teenager with no formal education to be. There were comprehensive popular overviews and specialist encyclopedias in every library. Those were good times for amateur dinosaur aficionados.

In 2025, we’re in the midst of a much smaller dinosaur renaissance. There are quite lovely new books that do innovative, edifying, expressive things with the topic. But none are the lavish, comprehensive pop-science tomes you used to get in the ’90s. So I’m not scientifically “up to date” the same way, and it’s unlikely I ever will be.

This book is a step toward catching up at least a little bit, though. In particular, Behavior provides a solid foundation for considering non-avian dinosaurs as once-living animals with complex behaviors and interactions with their environment. A lot of recent work in dinosaur science has been, shall we say, excessively optimistic about what behaviors can be recovered from the fossil record. Hone’s approach lays out the diverse possibilities of dinosaur behavior, while cautioning against conclusions drawn from sparse fossil data: “[M]uch of the scientific literature tends toward a confidence in interpreting dinosaur behaviors that probably should not be there….”

I would love a greatly expanded version of this book. Its main weakness, to my taste, is its summary nature. Fascinating glimpses of dinosaur behavior are reduced to a single sentence plus a reference to a paper that I lack access to. I’d prefer a book two or three times longer, giving proper paragraphs (if not subheadings) to more case studies. But even as it stands, Behavior helps break down the movie myths of dinosaurs we all absorbed in the 1990s. A useful starting point for anyone who might want to write more realistic dino fic in the near future.

2025 read #11: The Green Ages by Annette Kehnel.

The Green Ages: Medieval Innovations in Sustainability by Annette Kehnel

Translated by Gesche Ipsen

281 pages

Published 2021 (English translation published 2024)

Read from January 29 to January 31

Rating: 2.5 out of 5

I expected this to be a book about social ecology and its evolution through the centuries. The lovely cover, the title, and even the jacket flap copy certainly suggest an examination of crop rotation, coppicing, and common land, and how those traditional lifeways might be integrated with renewable energy for a wholesome solarpunk future. The book touches on some of that, but it isn’t Kehnel’s main focus.

Instead, Green Ages is mostly concerned with economics: communal abbeys, beguinages, microfinance, circular economies, and so on. Important things to think about, just not what I anticipated. And Kehnel does little more than introduce some ideas; she rarely digs deeper. A typical topic line: “Diogenes and the origins of the ‘tiny house’ movement.”

Like other academics with competent but uninspired prose, Kehnel writes in a faintly patronizing, “let’s learn about this together” voice directly out of a freshman textbook. (Or perhaps that’s just the style common to translations from German; I recall that Forest Walking had a remarkably similar vibe.) A typical sentence: “They were medieval influencers with a high impact factor.”

Overall, Green Ages was worthwhile, but didn’t quite deliver on the vibe of its packaging. I’m really not an economics girlie, so I can’t say for certain, but I feel like this book doesn’t offer much there beyond broad generalizations. Perhaps I’m merely disgruntled. Now, though, I want a book that actually documents the ecology of medieval lifeways.