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Today’s software can only imitate art, but what about tomorrow?
Will true artificial intelligences be able to appreciate or even create art? Explore dystopian societies, where AI generates most of the content and human artists must eke out an existence, and utopias, where artificial minds help unlock and enhance human creativity.
Delve into the minds of robot painters, AI poets, drone forgers, and electronic theater curators. These and other possible futures are imagined by award-winning and bestselling human authors from the USA, UK, China, Ukraine, Chile, Japan, Madagascar, Brazil, Czech Republic, and Sri Lanka.
"In this impressive collection, a star-studded lineup of 17 authors assembled by Shvartsman (Kakistocracy) raise angst-ridden questions about human-AI collaboration. ... This smart, kaleidoscopic view into the digital future will have readers longing to log off." - Publishers Weekly
This is not the future we were promised.
Sure, the science fiction writers overestimated our rate of technological development many times in the past. We never got flying cars in the 1980s, a space odyssey in 2001, or a Lunar colony in 2018 (per Babylon 5)....
“Next up is Johnny Zepter.” Steve called up the figures. At her own screen, Kate opened the spreadsheet and readied herself to make notes.
“This week, our good buddy Zee submitted four hundred and seventy-three stories to eight different outlets, of which four were accepted.”...
There is a stretch of mud lying beside a lazy river. It has been smoothed flat. A small boy—thin, about ten, bare-headed in the heat—selects a slender branch trimmed of its twigs, and makes patterns with its tip in the quickly-drying mud....
One
Last night the capital city of Ciro was plunged into darkness. Residents ran out of their homes to find that they were not the only ones; the entire metropolis was cut off.
The town of Brakia, eighty kilometers away, had changed hands several times within the past month, and the fighting was intense....
I was not thinking about theater when Rana Guilfoyle, the noted touring actress, walked into my office.
To be fair, I mostly am not thinking about theater anyway. But I was extra hard not thinking about theater today because every holo billboard in town had been announcing that Rana was gracing us with her presence, and Rana is my ex....
“Moreover,” the murderer says, downing the cup of hemlock in a single gulp, the apple of his throat pulsating beneath his unshaven bristles. “This trial is a sham, the court of a kangaroo or some such extinct marsupial, null and devoid of legitimacy, unsanctioned by apostolic or secular authority, unblessed by the council of the great leaders of the noble order, and unseen by the eyes of the gods.”...
Clara’s favorite part of the workday is the very beginning.
She likes flipping the switches on the wall right inside the office entrance, all sixteen of them, different colors and laid out in two neat columns, like the console from an old NASA space capsule that she got to sit inside once on a school trip to DC....
I had researched Tomás Osorio on my flight from Chile to Germany. He was the closest to a child prodigy the art business was ever likely to produce. At thirteen years of age, his first solo show had sold out within minutes, for a combined price of four hundred thousand dollars....
The poet’s eye, in fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen
Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name....
Chester Bennington is dead. But I see him.
Kurt Cobain is dead. But I see him.
Charles Baudelaire is dead. But I see him.
Have I gone mad?
Are they all ghosts?
Or is it the AI doing … things, as she calls it, God only knows why, to us?...
The package arrived safely, or as safely it could have, carried by the delivery man with my father tagging along right behind him. It was sealed, clean, sterile. Almost bigger than me, I noticed, like they were delivering a fridge to a happy new tenant, but instead of thank-yous they received only silence....
I am a self-aware entertainment expert system, designed to perform stand-up comedy. I was activated in Del Rio’s Bar and Grill at 6:32 p.m. on May 17th, 2042. Mathematically speaking, I am very funny. I elicit a laughs-per-minute average of 2.68, with each laugh lasting an average of 3.41 seconds....
“Here we have a painting by an unknown artist, created in the early months of the large-scale war. Note how its realism, painstaking detail, and contrast achieved through the interplay of lighting, matches the symbolic message of the piece—”
He stood back and waited for the tour guide to usher her group along....
The doors of the Silent Land are open for you; the doors of the Hidden Realm are broken down for you. The doormen extend their hands to you. The doormen rejoice at your coming and say:
Enter, favored one, and live here well beloved …
— The Egyptian Book of the Dead (The Chapters of Coming Forth By Day) Ch....
One
Enter the woman onto the stage, playing a grieving relative.
The woman, bowing slightly, strode determinedly, step by step, along the avenue leading to the city center. The white dress she wore was a restored ancient mourning costume—the upper and lower garments were made of the coarsest raw linen....
One
The game began. He was an eleven-year-old boy named Emil.
The moonlit path shone through the curtain, projecting the hazy silhouette of a window onto the floor.
Replace the moon with a streetlamp, remove the lunar path, sharpen the silhouette....
When Bob looked out the window, he felt like he had seen the woman passing by somewhere before.
The abundant hair falling over her shoulders was going gray. She must have been in her fifties or so? Definitely older than Bob....
“My name is Timur Timyanov.”
Silence filled the large, empty, dimly-lit hall. Behind the low counter, he saw outlines of old-fashioned nickel-plated clothing racks, bare and splayed like autumn trees.
“I came to …”
Timur faltered.
He’d entered this building many times before, but never from the stage door—not since he was a young child....
Today’s software can only imitate art, but what about tomorrow?
Will true artificial intelligences be able to appreciate or even create art? Explore dystopian societies, where AI generates most of the content and human artists must eke out an existence, and utopias, where artificial minds help unlock and enhance human creativity.
Delve into the minds of robot painters, AI poets, drone forgers, and electronic theater curators. These and other possible futures are imagined by award-winning and bestselling human authors from the USA, UK, China, Ukraine, Chile, Japan, Madagascar, Brazil, Czech Republic, and Sri Lanka.
“In this impressive collection, a star-studded lineup of 17 authors assembled by Shvartsman (Kakistocracy) raise angst-ridden questions about human-AI collaboration. ... This smart, kaleidoscopic view into the digital future will have readers longing to log off.” – Publishers Weekly
Table of contents
This is not the future we were promised.
Sure, the science fiction writers overestimated our rate of technological development many times in the past. We never got flying cars in the 1980s, a space odyssey in 2001, or a Lunar colony in 2018 (per Babylon 5)....
“Next up is Johnny Zepter.” Steve called up the figures. At her own screen, Kate opened the spreadsheet and readied herself to make notes.
“This week, our good buddy Zee submitted four hundred and seventy-three stories to eight different outlets, of which four were accepted.”...
There is a stretch of mud lying beside a lazy river. It has been smoothed flat. A small boy—thin, about ten, bare-headed in the heat—selects a slender branch trimmed of its twigs, and makes patterns with its tip in the quickly-drying mud....
One
Last night the capital city of Ciro was plunged into darkness. Residents ran out of their homes to find that they were not the only ones; the entire metropolis was cut off.
The town of Brakia, eighty kilometers away, had changed hands several times within the past month, and the fighting was intense....
I was not thinking about theater when Rana Guilfoyle, the noted touring actress, walked into my office.
To be fair, I mostly am not thinking about theater anyway. But I was extra hard not thinking about theater today because every holo billboard in town had been announcing that Rana was gracing us with her presence, and Rana is my ex....
“Moreover,” the murderer says, downing the cup of hemlock in a single gulp, the apple of his throat pulsating beneath his unshaven bristles. “This trial is a sham, the court of a kangaroo or some such extinct marsupial, null and devoid of legitimacy, unsanctioned by apostolic or secular authority, unblessed by the council of the great leaders of the noble order, and unseen by the eyes of the gods.”...
Clara’s favorite part of the workday is the very beginning.
She likes flipping the switches on the wall right inside the office entrance, all sixteen of them, different colors and laid out in two neat columns, like the console from an old NASA space capsule that she got to sit inside once on a school trip to DC....
I had researched Tomás Osorio on my flight from Chile to Germany. He was the closest to a child prodigy the art business was ever likely to produce. At thirteen years of age, his first solo show had sold out within minutes, for a combined price of four hundred thousand dollars....
The poet’s eye, in fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen
Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name....
Chester Bennington is dead. But I see him.
Kurt Cobain is dead. But I see him.
Charles Baudelaire is dead. But I see him.
Have I gone mad?
Are they all ghosts?
Or is it the AI doing … things, as she calls it, God only knows why, to us?...
The package arrived safely, or as safely it could have, carried by the delivery man with my father tagging along right behind him. It was sealed, clean, sterile. Almost bigger than me, I noticed, like they were delivering a fridge to a happy new tenant, but instead of thank-yous they received only silence....
I am a self-aware entertainment expert system, designed to perform stand-up comedy. I was activated in Del Rio’s Bar and Grill at 6:32 p.m. on May 17th, 2042. Mathematically speaking, I am very funny. I elicit a laughs-per-minute average of 2.68, with each laugh lasting an average of 3.41 seconds....
“Here we have a painting by an unknown artist, created in the early months of the large-scale war. Note how its realism, painstaking detail, and contrast achieved through the interplay of lighting, matches the symbolic message of the piece—”
He stood back and waited for the tour guide to usher her group along....
The doors of the Silent Land are open for you; the doors of the Hidden Realm are broken down for you. The doormen extend their hands to you. The doormen rejoice at your coming and say:
Enter, favored one, and live here well beloved …
— The Egyptian Book of the Dead (The Chapters of Coming Forth By Day) Ch....
One
Enter the woman onto the stage, playing a grieving relative.
The woman, bowing slightly, strode determinedly, step by step, along the avenue leading to the city center. The white dress she wore was a restored ancient mourning costume—the upper and lower garments were made of the coarsest raw linen....
One
The game began. He was an eleven-year-old boy named Emil.
The moonlit path shone through the curtain, projecting the hazy silhouette of a window onto the floor.
Replace the moon with a streetlamp, remove the lunar path, sharpen the silhouette....
When Bob looked out the window, he felt like he had seen the woman passing by somewhere before.
The abundant hair falling over her shoulders was going gray. She must have been in her fifties or so? Definitely older than Bob....
“My name is Timur Timyanov.”
Silence filled the large, empty, dimly-lit hall. Behind the low counter, he saw outlines of old-fashioned nickel-plated clothing racks, bare and splayed like autumn trees.
“I came to …”
Timur faltered.
He’d entered this building many times before, but never from the stage door—not since he was a young child....
Purchase this issue
This issue features fiction from Argentina, Nigeria, China, Brazil, and Chile.
All good things must come to an end.
Now that our seventeenth issue has been published, I’m stepping down as editor-in-chief of Future SF, and the magazine will most likely go on hiatus unless another brave and foolhardy editor steps up to take over the considerable workload of running a magazine....
Red was the color of the land, but it was not the red they were used to, vibrant and iridescent, unraveling every shade of the spectrum: scarlet and crimson, carmine and vermilion, garnet, coral, maroon. It was magma, the blood of mammals, the fruits and the flowers, the crystals that formed in caves....
Item One: Glaciator.
This is one of my least favorite inventions, and that’s only because the device is so fickle. At first I thought it was pretty cool, being able to design the coolant, ignition and explosion mechanisms as interlinked chambers contained within a fist-sized steel sphere....
The day I turned ninety-eight, I booked a journey in one of those fancy Afterlife ships to leave Earth and life for good.
Fifteen days later, I was in a hangar decked out with orchids and a lilac fifteen-hundred-foot-long spaceship with drawings of lilies and smiling planets on its hull....
The New Year was coming, and my calendar was full of social engagements. A good number of friends, more than usual, had invited me out to dinner that year, many of them the county’s most celebrated fiction writers, essayists, and poets....
Wake.
Little input, bad bandwidth.
Low-res image, blue planet, white clouds.
Insufficient resources to boot full OS.
Eight to the minus sixty-fourth speed.
Incoming transmission attempted download.
No space.
Watchdog process, wake when okay.
Power down.
Wake up.
Better than first time, not enough yet....
This issue features fiction from Argentina, Nigeria, China, Brazil, and Chile.
Table of contents
All good things must come to an end.
Now that our seventeenth issue has been published, I’m stepping down as editor-in-chief of Future SF, and the magazine will most likely go on hiatus unless another brave and foolhardy editor steps up to take over the considerable workload of running a magazine....
Red was the color of the land, but it was not the red they were used to, vibrant and iridescent, unraveling every shade of the spectrum: scarlet and crimson, carmine and vermilion, garnet, coral, maroon. It was magma, the blood of mammals, the fruits and the flowers, the crystals that formed in caves....
Item One: Glaciator.
This is one of my least favorite inventions, and that’s only because the device is so fickle. At first I thought it was pretty cool, being able to design the coolant, ignition and explosion mechanisms as interlinked chambers contained within a fist-sized steel sphere....
The day I turned ninety-eight, I booked a journey in one of those fancy Afterlife ships to leave Earth and life for good.
Fifteen days later, I was in a hangar decked out with orchids and a lilac fifteen-hundred-foot-long spaceship with drawings of lilies and smiling planets on its hull....
The New Year was coming, and my calendar was full of social engagements. A good number of friends, more than usual, had invited me out to dinner that year, many of them the county’s most celebrated fiction writers, essayists, and poets....
Wake.
Little input, bad bandwidth.
Low-res image, blue planet, white clouds.
Insufficient resources to boot full OS.
Eight to the minus sixty-fourth speed.
Incoming transmission attempted download.
No space.
Watchdog process, wake when okay.
Power down.
Wake up.
Better than first time, not enough yet....
Purchase this issue
This issue features fiction from Chile, Argentina, Israel, Madagascar, Brazil, and China.
We live in a science-fictional world. We may not have the flying cars or moon bases promised to us by the writers of yesteryear, but our reality is different in ways those same writers couldn’t have possibly imagined.
The cover art of this month’s issue wasn’t painstakingly drawn by a human artist....
Manuela was an astronaut; Alyosha, a cosmonaut. She was too headstrong; he, too cautious. She routinely dismissed all of his worries. He always mansplained her every opinion. She had stolen his position as Mission Commander; he’d stolen the love of her life....
“Hey!” says Mom. “It’s seven o’clock already. You’re going to be late!”
“Just another minute,” I mutter, and turn onto my other side.
“Get up, this instant! The pancakes are getting cold.”
Meanwhile, the bed begins to deflate and sag under me....
“Let’s hope it lasts!”
Wide eyes unblinking, she quotes Napoleon’s mother, her, as though everything is fine. As though we’re in a palace of some kind, where everyone is laughing, and everyone is eating, and everyone is connected to Zuckerbook, and everyone has everything they desire, and everyone is making love, and everyone is even singing, and no one has to trek tens of thousands of kilometers to find even one ounce of hope, to survive....
At first I averted my eyes. With more decades than I care to think about in the graphic arts behind me I knew what was coming. I didn’t want to be one of those people. The disgruntled types I’ve spun by in the revolving door, leaving the graphic design world as I entered it....
As I lifted my eyes from the tracking app, I saw my next customer. She was just outside, near a group of rowdy people with colorful umbrellas, and still holding a briefcase that must have been important at that final moment....
One: A Maze of Associations
How do you measure creativity?
The founder of the associative theory of creativity believed that creativity is the ability to connect disparate elements which are distantly related. “The greater the distance of association between the newly connected elements, the more creative the thought that joins them or the solution to the problem.”...
What gets you about the enormous Space Station is the design. It’s built by and for the thousands of different alien species—yes, I know, we’re not supposed to call them aliens, we’re the real aliens, blah, blah—that shamble, flit, and ooze all around you....
This issue features fiction from Chile, Argentina, Israel, Madagascar, Brazil, and China.
Table of contents
We live in a science-fictional world. We may not have the flying cars or moon bases promised to us by the writers of yesteryear, but our reality is different in ways those same writers couldn’t have possibly imagined.
The cover art of this month’s issue wasn’t painstakingly drawn by a human artist....
Manuela was an astronaut; Alyosha, a cosmonaut. She was too headstrong; he, too cautious. She routinely dismissed all of his worries. He always mansplained her every opinion. She had stolen his position as Mission Commander; he’d stolen the love of her life....
“Hey!” says Mom. “It’s seven o’clock already. You’re going to be late!”
“Just another minute,” I mutter, and turn onto my other side.
“Get up, this instant! The pancakes are getting cold.”
Meanwhile, the bed begins to deflate and sag under me....
“Let’s hope it lasts!”
Wide eyes unblinking, she quotes Napoleon’s mother, her, as though everything is fine. As though we’re in a palace of some kind, where everyone is laughing, and everyone is eating, and everyone is connected to Zuckerbook, and everyone has everything they desire, and everyone is making love, and everyone is even singing, and no one has to trek tens of thousands of kilometers to find even one ounce of hope, to survive....
At first I averted my eyes. With more decades than I care to think about in the graphic arts behind me I knew what was coming. I didn’t want to be one of those people. The disgruntled types I’ve spun by in the revolving door, leaving the graphic design world as I entered it....
As I lifted my eyes from the tracking app, I saw my next customer. She was just outside, near a group of rowdy people with colorful umbrellas, and still holding a briefcase that must have been important at that final moment....
One: A Maze of Associations
How do you measure creativity?
The founder of the associative theory of creativity believed that creativity is the ability to connect disparate elements which are distantly related. “The greater the distance of association between the newly connected elements, the more creative the thought that joins them or the solution to the problem.”...
What gets you about the enormous Space Station is the design. It’s built by and for the thousands of different alien species—yes, I know, we’re not supposed to call them aliens, we’re the real aliens, blah, blah—that shamble, flit, and ooze all around you....
Purchase this issue
This issue features stories from Ukraine, China, and Greece.
Nearly four months since Russia’s initial invasion, the war in Ukraine rages on. It looks like it may continue for quite some time. There’s a real danger that people around the world who are not directly involved in the conflict will become gradually numb to the tragedy of this war....
And Simurgh, the Bird King, the benevolent soul,
felt pity for the gray-haired child…
Ferdowsi, Shaknameh
We’re going to save the world today. By “we” I mean Lenka, Zhorik, Vas-Vas (his real name is Alpamys, but “Vas-Vas” suits him better), and me, Dum-Dum....
I hate cats. If I ever made a list of things I despise, cats would win second place. Immediately below them would be the croupiers who carry themselves like the Pope. And when such a croupier is wearing a shirt embroidered with tiny black cats, then there’s only one thing to do on a sixteen....
He had a lot of work to do, a hell of a lot of work. Arthur barely managed to get the time off—in the end he simply backed his boss into a corner—either I get my twenty-four hours of leave or I submit my resignation—yeah, that’s right....
Atop the immaculate tower of ivory,
Pale souls revolve like constellations.
They eulogize their own eternal and glorious passing.
They shed crystalline tears that leave no path on any face.
Their long and lonely journey will birth their own destruction.
On the immaculate tower of ivory,
There exists no impurity, no sin....
This issue features stories from Ukraine, China, and Greece.
Table of contents
Nearly four months since Russia’s initial invasion, the war in Ukraine rages on. It looks like it may continue for quite some time. There’s a real danger that people around the world who are not directly involved in the conflict will become gradually numb to the tragedy of this war....
And Simurgh, the Bird King, the benevolent soul,
felt pity for the gray-haired child…
Ferdowsi, Shaknameh
We’re going to save the world today. By “we” I mean Lenka, Zhorik, Vas-Vas (his real name is Alpamys, but “Vas-Vas” suits him better), and me, Dum-Dum....
I hate cats. If I ever made a list of things I despise, cats would win second place. Immediately below them would be the croupiers who carry themselves like the Pope. And when such a croupier is wearing a shirt embroidered with tiny black cats, then there’s only one thing to do on a sixteen....
He had a lot of work to do, a hell of a lot of work. Arthur barely managed to get the time off—in the end he simply backed his boss into a corner—either I get my twenty-four hours of leave or I submit my resignation—yeah, that’s right....
Atop the immaculate tower of ivory,
Pale souls revolve like constellations.
They eulogize their own eternal and glorious passing.
They shed crystalline tears that leave no path on any face.
Their long and lonely journey will birth their own destruction.
On the immaculate tower of ivory,
There exists no impurity, no sin....
Purchase this issue
This issue features stories from the United States, the United Kingdom, Sweden, China, and Cuba.
It’s been difficult to focus on finalizing this issue.
As I type these words, my home town of Odessa, Ukraine is bracing for an invasion by Russian forces. The familiar streets and landmarks where I spent my childhood are filled with sandbags and Czech hedgehog anti-tank obstacles....
Yonkers sprawled out below me, rotting in places, shiny in others. Vehicles the size of toys tooled along, too far away for me to hear their engines. In the parking lot directly below me, two kids who’d been trying to sneak a smoke were being marched back into the building by a gray-haired security guard....
Happiness is a choice. That phrase is etched in my mind. Not because it’s true, but because it was the calibration clinics’ slogan.
I’m talking about forty years ago. After the practice was legalized, but before the first home care kits....
It is said to be the most exquisite delicacy in the world—why else would the Emperor himself demand it while lying on his deathbed?
As the shuttle whistled and slowed while entering the thick atmosphere of planet Yan, Ding Jie instinctively shrank his neck backward....
When he docked in the airlock the lights flickered for just a second or two before they came back alive. The station’s soothing mechanical voice said, “Increased sunspot activity affecting shipping routes until—”
Nugget didn’t bother listening to the rest of it....
Unavailable. Unavailable. All the ingredients Shoshana had special-ordered were unavailable.
“But I placed that order weeks ago!”
“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do,” the station quartermaster said. “The war in the Celosian System has messed up our supply lines....
“Where are we going?” I asked, sprawling out in one of the departure lounge’s couches.
The couch was analog, solid, covered with animal leather. Maybe it was supposed to impress visiting principals, or accustom us to stiff, non-ergonomic steel springs. It even smelled like curing oil....
This issue features stories from the United States, the United Kingdom, Sweden, China, and Cuba.
Table of contents
It’s been difficult to focus on finalizing this issue.
As I type these words, my home town of Odessa, Ukraine is bracing for an invasion by Russian forces. The familiar streets and landmarks where I spent my childhood are filled with sandbags and Czech hedgehog anti-tank obstacles....
Yonkers sprawled out below me, rotting in places, shiny in others. Vehicles the size of toys tooled along, too far away for me to hear their engines. In the parking lot directly below me, two kids who’d been trying to sneak a smoke were being marched back into the building by a gray-haired security guard....
Happiness is a choice. That phrase is etched in my mind. Not because it’s true, but because it was the calibration clinics’ slogan.
I’m talking about forty years ago. After the practice was legalized, but before the first home care kits....
It is said to be the most exquisite delicacy in the world—why else would the Emperor himself demand it while lying on his deathbed?
As the shuttle whistled and slowed while entering the thick atmosphere of planet Yan, Ding Jie instinctively shrank his neck backward....
When he docked in the airlock the lights flickered for just a second or two before they came back alive. The station’s soothing mechanical voice said, “Increased sunspot activity affecting shipping routes until—”
Nugget didn’t bother listening to the rest of it....
Unavailable. Unavailable. All the ingredients Shoshana had special-ordered were unavailable.
“But I placed that order weeks ago!”
“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do,” the station quartermaster said. “The war in the Celosian System has messed up our supply lines....
“Where are we going?” I asked, sprawling out in one of the departure lounge’s couches.
The couch was analog, solid, covered with animal leather. Maybe it was supposed to impress visiting principals, or accustom us to stiff, non-ergonomic steel springs. It even smelled like curing oil....
Purchase this issue
Featuring fiction from China, Greece, and USA
We are celebrating our fourth year of publication with fiction from China, Greece, and the United States. Over the course of the past three years we’ve been privileged to share dozens of translations and original fiction from every continent. At a time when international relationships in so many parts of the world are as strained as the nerves of ordinary citizens after two years of the pandemic, it is more important than ever to help people across the globe understand each other better....
In the beginning, dust motes drift gently in the light. Later, they seem to feel their own way, scattering to the four winds. Word by word, sentence by sentence, the words that form the worlds settle into their forms, turning into sounds which are in turn heard as stories....
A warm sense of accomplishment coils inside Kallie’s gut when she enters Madame Leutho’s Pawn Shop. She’s made it. Her daughter will be provided for, for another week. She takes small steps inside the cramped, low-ceilinged shop, clutching the bundle of this week’s loot to her chest....
An Analysis of the Brazilian experience in English-Speaking SFF Spaces
After some years of following authors attempting to break into international speculative markets, I decided to catalog every story I could find written by a Brazilian author and published in English....
As grandiose as the public memorial was, with all its speeches and pomp, the burial was just me, my two remaining aunts on my mom’s side, and a few friends. And when that was done, I went back to his house—back home—by myself....
Josh Pearce Reviews Dune: Part One
Alejandro Jodorowsky in the ’70s, David Lynch in 1984, the Sci Fi channel in 2000 (and again in 2003)—until now, attempts to bring Frank Herbert’s 1965 novel to the screen have failed to encompass its scope and grandeur (or, in some cases, spectacularly failed to bring anything to screen)....
Featuring fiction from China, Greece, and USA
Table of contents
We are celebrating our fourth year of publication with fiction from China, Greece, and the United States. Over the course of the past three years we’ve been privileged to share dozens of translations and original fiction from every continent. At a time when international relationships in so many parts of the world are as strained as the nerves of ordinary citizens after two years of the pandemic, it is more important than ever to help people across the globe understand each other better....
In the beginning, dust motes drift gently in the light. Later, they seem to feel their own way, scattering to the four winds. Word by word, sentence by sentence, the words that form the worlds settle into their forms, turning into sounds which are in turn heard as stories....
A warm sense of accomplishment coils inside Kallie’s gut when she enters Madame Leutho’s Pawn Shop. She’s made it. Her daughter will be provided for, for another week. She takes small steps inside the cramped, low-ceilinged shop, clutching the bundle of this week’s loot to her chest....
An Analysis of the Brazilian experience in English-Speaking SFF Spaces
After some years of following authors attempting to break into international speculative markets, I decided to catalog every story I could find written by a Brazilian author and published in English....
As grandiose as the public memorial was, with all its speeches and pomp, the burial was just me, my two remaining aunts on my mom’s side, and a few friends. And when that was done, I went back to his house—back home—by myself....
Josh Pearce Reviews Dune: Part One
Alejandro Jodorowsky in the ’70s, David Lynch in 1984, the Sci Fi channel in 2000 (and again in 2003)—until now, attempts to bring Frank Herbert’s 1965 novel to the screen have failed to encompass its scope and grandeur (or, in some cases, spectacularly failed to bring anything to screen)....
Purchase this issue
Discover the annual anthology series of humorous science fiction and fantasy!
