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They say not to judge a book by its cover. Well, you certainly shouldn’t let your judgment of the cover be your final judgment. Your assessment of a book should be based on a whole host of factors. Still, a cover is the first thing you see, and it makes a difference as to whether  you read the book or not.

I picked up this book because I saw the cover on Twitter, and it looked interesting. Simultaneously pulpy and punky isn’t a combination you often see.

As it turns out, it has only a tangential connection to the book itself, and I’m still not sure exactly who the characters depicted are supposed to be. There is a woman who wears gear not unlike that seen here, but she is described repeatedly as being dark-skinned. Also, this scene looks sort of urban or industrial, and most of the fighting takes place in open terrain.

The book is about a rebel insurgency trying to overthrow the monarchical government of the planet Sparta. In response, the Spartan kings hire a mercenary unit, Falkenberg’s legion, to assist them in putting down the rebellion.

I admit that the details of “who” and “where” and “why” were all rather unclear to me during the first quarter of the story or so. But this is not the first book in this series. Depending who you ask, it’s either the 2nd, 3rd, or 5th book in a series. But someone on Twitter claimed it could be read as a standalone, and if you can’t trust strangers on Twitter, well, who can you trust?

And in the end, they were kind of right, because after a while enough details became apparent that I could sort of follow who the characters were. Skida Thibodeau is the woman leading the rebellion, Prince Lysander is the acting ruler of Sparta, and Falkenberg is a mercenary leader. There were a bunch of other characters too, including a former prostitute turned mercenary and a corrupt Spartan senator. It wasn’t all clear, but the main players were vivid enough that I was interested in what they were doing. And I appreciated the multiple shout-outs to T.E. Lawrence and Seven Pillars of Wisdom.

The cyberpunk cover notwithstanding, this book is military sci-fi through and through. It’s actually more military than sci-fi, with legions (ha!) of analogies by the characters drawn from the history of Earth warfare. The final battle sequence feels like accounts of present-day warfare, in that it’s basically all frantic radio chatter among commanders of various units.

More than anything sci-fi, this book reminded me of a Tom Clancy novel. Actually, it’s better than most of the Clancy books that I’ve read, in that the characters felt real, as opposed to cardboard cut-outs. But the basic Clancian elements are there: the clean-cut elite anti-terror unit vs. the terrorists and their slimy politician supporters form the fundamental conflict of the story.

And of course, the plot is a thinly-veiled fictionalization that allows the author(s) to expound on real-world political issues. Pournelle, at least, seems to have had approximately the same political alignment as the aforementioned Clancy, and his Cold Warrior mentality comes through here, as the entire plot has strong echoes of many a U.S./Soviet proxy war.

All told, it was pretty good. Probably even better if you read it in sequence. But then again, there’s something to be said for just being dropped in media res. After all, the oldest work of military fiction still in existence starts out that way!

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Before we begin, I want to point out that this book, which is a science-fiction romance/adventure story, was published in 2014, a full five years before the Star Wars movie that started with the line “The dead speak!” In case you wanted further evidence that the indie book scene has fresher ideas than multi-billion dollar entertainment franchises.

But, as anyone who has read Lorinda Taylor’s The Man Who Found Birds Among the Stars series may be anticipating, this is far more Trek than Wars. It has a federation of intelligent life forms, all of whom work together in a peaceful spirit of friendly collaboration. At the center of the search for intelligent life is Asc. Kaitrin Oliva, a skilled linguistic anthropologist, or should I say, xeno-linguist.

When another exploration team brings back a huge, mortally wounded termite, Asc. Oliva attempts to communicate with it, and records the sounds it makes before it dies. From this, she is eventually able to work out the basics of the termite language, and so a return expedition is soon planned, led by the handsome but enigmatic Prof. Griffen Gwidian.

Prof. Gwidian has a good deal of the Byronic hero about him; cultured and aristocratic, moody and secretive about his past, he and Kaitrin embark upon a tumultuous relationship, to which much the expedition preparation is a backdrop. Interwoven with the romance of the human characters is a palace intrigue drama among the alien termites. These sections are handled almost like a play, complete with stage directions. I liked these parts best of all.

The book features plenty of world-building, including a detailed history of how Earth got to be in the shape it’s in by the 30th century. It’s an optimistic take, again very much in the vein of Roddenberry’s hopeful vision of the future. Of course, even in Taylor’s history of the intervening hundreds of years, humanity has to go through a few rough patches.

But the bulk of the story centers on Gwidian and Oliva’s stormy romance, and in that regard it feels like a more old-fashioned book. Almost like something a Brontë might have written. In the context of the high-tech, spacefaring setting, it was nice to have something so familiar to keep things grounded.

In short, lovers of both sci-fi and romance will find something to enjoy in this book. Taylor’s obvious appreciation for language helps bring both the human and non-human characters together. The only caveat is that, like The Man Who Found Birds Among the Stars, this book ends on a cliffhanger that makes reading the next book in the series an absolute must to see how things play out. So, if you read this one, know that you’ll be wanting to pick up the second one as soon as you finish.

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I’ve long had a rule that I don’t review books for which I was a beta reader. But I’ve decided that’s a stupid rule, and so I’m not going to follow it anymore. I love deciding the state of exception!

Now then, Glencrow Summer is a wonderful little “what I did on Summer vacation” story, in the vein of Litka’s A Summer in Amber. Glencrow tells the story of Ryeth Darth-Ruen, a minor clerk assigned by his uncle and boss to spend the summer at the family’s remote summer retreat, for the purpose of preventing his formidable Aunt Adora from completing her scandalous memoirs.

Fans of Wodehouse will instantly recognize this setup, but Litka quickly makes the story his own, with his typical blend of light romance, a dash of a sci-fi mystery (if I may say so, one of his best), and above all, a wistful feeling of melancholy. Ryeth is haunted by the memory of a lost love. Not that she’s lost in the sense of being dead or even estranged–they are still on good terms. But Ryeth has been, if you’ll pardon the expression, “friend-zoned”, and he’s having a hard time coping with it.

This might be Mr. Litka’s most romantic book, and also his most poignant. Which is not to say that it burdens the reader with excess emotional weight. It’s still a light story about pleasant people. Even the intimidating Aunt Adora isn’t as harsh as she seems at first.

I could go on, but as usual, the author has described his own work better than I ever could:

Are you weary of long, dark, and grim fantasy epics? Tired of evil priests, ruthless kings, sinister queens, knaves, and scoundrels—intricate palace intrigues and endless wars? Are you jaded by blood-soaked tomes of battle after battle, death after death? Need a break from accounts of disembowelment, torture, rape, and murder? In short, are you looking for a different sort of fantasy? Look no further.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I’m sick of the grimdark. If the liberating force of the internet is good for anything, it is good for letting us find authors like this, unafraid to tell stories completely out of step with mainstream fashion. Go read Glencrow Summer, and lose yourself among the swaying trees and babbling streams of Litka’s world.

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You might remember the name Theodore Judson from my review of his incredible book Fitzpatrick’s War. It’s one of my favorite books, and I would call it a must-read for anyone who enjoys sci-fi, except that the book is insanely expensive. I thought I paid a lot when I bought it for 12 bucks; as it turns out, that was a steal.

Ever since, I’ve had my eye on The Martian General’s Daughter. (BTW, that sentence shows you why italics matter. Otherwise you might get the wrong idea…) The only thing that kept me from snapping it up right after finishing Fitzpatrick’s War was the fact that some of the reviews were… less than glowing.

But, once I got a few spare coins in my pocket, so to speak, I picked up a copy. After all, the critics just had to be wrong. The man who wrote an epic like Fitzpatrick’s War couldn’t let us down, right?

I’m sad to report that it’s an “honestly great call from the haters” situation.

The Martian General’s Daughter is supposedly set in the late 23rd century, at the height of the Pan-Polarian Empire. It is narrated by Justa, the illegitimate daughter of General Peter Black, an old soldier loyally serving the Emperor, Mathias the Glistening. Emperor Mathias is a wise philosopher-king, whose teachings of self-denial and stoic wisdom are totally ignored by his handsome son, Luke Anthony, who is a sadistic madman obsessed with violent gladiatorial games. So when Mathias dies, and Luke assumes the purple, things start going to hell in a hand-basket.

Okay, I know most of my readers are knowledgeable sorts, so you probably already see the issue here, but just in case you don’t think about the Roman Empire multiple times a day, let me give it to you straight:  “Mathias the Glistening” is a dead ringer for Marcus Aurelius. And Luke Anthony is a carbon copy of his son, Commodus. (You can remember them by the handy mnemonic, Marcus had an aura, but when his son took over, everything went in the commode.)

Almost everything that happens in the story is just thinly-disguised episodes from the history of Rome. Occasionally stuff about rockets or guns or various other high-tech stuff gets thrown in, but it is immaterial. Almost literally, because there is also some sort of vaguely-described plague of metal-eating nano-machines that obligingly reduces nearly everything to Ancient Roman levels of technology.

I mean, seriously, beat for beat, the story is straight outta Gibbon. I’m not an expert on the period, but even I could see the really obvious parallels. The only time this becomes even slightly amusing is when an actor recites a heroic saga based on the deeds of the mythological hero, Elvis.

In his defense, Judson isn’t the first sci-fi author to do this. Isaac Asimov flat-out admitted to it with his Foundation series. But even he at least took some effort to change names and put some kind of novel spin on the whole thing. This  one is pretty much at the level of “this is Mr. Hilter” in terms of an effective disguise. I am not even kidding. Commodus’ favorite mistress was named Marcia. Luke Anthony’s mistress is named… wait for it now… Marcie.

Now, I suppose if you somehow don’t know anything at all about the Roman Empire, you might enjoy this book. Because no one can deny it’s a good story; the husk of a great nation, collapsing with the rot engendered by its own prosperity. The once-virtuous populace now amusing itself to death with festivals, cults, and gambling on sporting events; the leadership of the formerly august institutions handed to depraved criminals and perverts. A story full of debauchery, sex, and violence, underpinned by a longing felt in the heart of the few remaining noble souls for the memory of a better time. Perhaps Judson’s point in writing all this was that these are unending cycles which humanity is doomed to repeat forever. That’s the theme of Fitzpatrick’s War, too. Only in that book, it’s conveyed with subtlety, wit, and above all, originality.

It gives me no pleasure to write these words, and indeed, I debated whether to even post this review at all. I never post negative reviews of indie writers, and typically reserve my harshest critiques for well-known and successful authors. Judson is in a murky middle ground between the two–he’s not a household name, but Fitzpatrick’s War was published by a fairly large publisher, and over the years has acquired something of a cult following. As well it should.

What ultimately made me decide to write this was the reviews on Amazon. Particularly the ones that make the same points as I made above and then say that reading this made them reluctant to try another Judson book. That’s a mistake. Fitzpatrick’s War is fantastic, and I hate to think of anyone passing it up just because they were unimpressed by The Martian General’s Daughter. To make matters worse, this one is available on Kindle, but Fitzpatrick is not. Which raises the possibility that modern readers will base their opinions of Judson on this book, and that would be a shame.

If you really want a good story of intrigue and political machinations in a collapsing empire, check out something by Patrick Prescott or Eileen Stephenson. If you absolutely love their books, then you can read this one too. Despite everything I’ve said, it’s not actually bad, and if Judson had just made it straight-up historical fiction about Rome, I would have said it was an enjoyable enough read. But as it is, it’s very disappointing, especially from a writer who is obviously capable of great work.

Oh well. As Marcus Aurelius himself might well have said, “omnes vincere non potes.“

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Ah, US Presidential elections! An opportunity for citizens to civilly debate their differences and then settle on a candidate who best reflects the values of the nation, all in the spirit of good fellowship and totally without inflaming irreconcilable ideological and cultural divisions.

So, if you’re sad that the fun of a presidential election has just passed, and won’t come round again for another four years, have I got good news for you! The book we are reviewing today is about the 2036 election. The premise: one of the candidates for the Democratic nomination is an MIT-designed Artificial Intelligence named AIDAN.

AIDAN, the creation of one Dr. Isaac Shipley, has already established itself as a competent CEO, now aims to unseat the favorite for the nomination, the temperamental Senator Quinn Albrecht, and position itself as the top challenger to incumbent president Sarah Mincetti.

Naturally, while AIDAN is a bit awkward at first, it quickly gains ground due to the fact that it is a distributed intelligence network that can literally start raising money to address a problem within minutes of being told it exists. Typical politicians’ “I feel your pain”-style bromides can hardly compete with that.

But the world of politics isn’t so straightforward as that. There are all sorts of behind-the-scenes plots, conspiracies, blackmail threats and double-crosses going on that make the campaign far more difficult. And the vulnerabilities of human and machine alike come into play: where exactly is the machine drawing its data from? And as for the human candidates; why are they continuing to fight never-ending political battles when all they really want to do is go home to their loved ones?

The book reminded me of some of the better Hitchcock films, in that it’s a fast-paced thriller, yet also seems to have a certain wink-to-the-audience quality that gives it a lighthearted tone. I mean, virtually every dialogue between the Republican president and her wife is laden with cheesy sexual innuendos. Maybe you disagree, but I can’t help feeling like that’s supposed to be funny.

That said, the book raises some very profound and interesting questions politics and AI, and while this might be controversial, I think it is quite probable that something like this will happen in the future. (“God help us, in the future.”) I doubt they’ll bother to actually give the AI a body, though. The debates will just look like when Watson was on Jeopardy! Why, the very fact this book exists tells you that the idea is in the air. Science fiction is so often the precursor of science fact…

It’s an entertaining, thought-provoking, mildly disturbing, and often campy take on politics. Rather like The McLaughlin Group.

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This novella combines Celtic folklore with a sci-fi twist. “The Otherworld” of the ancient tales, whose power is said to wax with coming of the dark half of the year, is here portrayed in the form of aliens rather than fairies or ghosts.

The book follows a pair of researchers, Dr. Siobhan Ryan and Dr. Michael Sullivan. There’s a Mulder/Scully-esque Believer vs. Skeptic vibe between them, which emerges as they witness increasingly strange phenomena. It begins with crop circles and other extraterrestrial appearances in the quiet village of Clooncara, followed by visions experienced by the town’s children, and soon escalating to even more bizarre, and more terrifying, events.

The story reminded me a little of Arrival, a little of Childhood’s End, and maybe just a dash of Lovecraft thrown in when describing the alien world. That is all to the good. On the other hand, some of the decisions made by the scientists reminded me a little of Prometheus. They might have been a bit more careful when dealing with world-threatening aliens.

But then again, we would have precious few good scary stories if characters behaved intelligently or cautiously. Let’s face it, practical thinking is antithetical to good horror, as is perhaps best illustrated by this Far Side cartoon that I was thinking about recently. So I could live with some poor decision making by our protagonists.

I liked the idea of the energy in the air as Samhain approaches, and indeed, I think this is a real phenomenon which careful students of Halloween can observe. Obviously, there was something about the changing of the seasons that has caused this part of the year to be celebrated since ancient times, and I like the notion that the old rituals were only other forms of what modernity dubs “space aliens.” The line between archaic superstition and modern scientific speculation can be a mighty fine one.

All in all, this is a good mix of sci-fi and folkish fantasy, and perfect reading for this most eerie time of year.

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This book has an ideal premise for a military sci-fi adventure: a hotheaded and impulsive cyber racer named Ryan Fall runs afoul of the law. But, his talent for high-speed maneuvering leads the government to offer him a choice: serve in an advanced combat mech program, to fight against an alien invasion force.

With little choice, and his own adrenaline addiction and competitive nature driving him, Ryan accepts, and is soon mustered into military training. Naturally, his “rebel without a clue” attitude leads him into plenty of clashes with the authorities. But then, that’s partially why they wanted him: as an outsider, he’s willing to think outside the box, and challenge their assumptions. And that is something desperately needed against the inscrutable alien enemy that is threatening to attack.

I imagine any MilSciFi fan will need no further convincing to pick this up. But, just in case…

There are plenty of exciting action sequences in this book, from the early racing scenes to the huge mech battle in the final sequence. On that basis alone, the book certainly earns its military sci-fi name. But what really makes the book are its characters, especially the supporting cast. I confess that Ryan himself was not my favorite; I tend not to like characters who are reflexively disobedient. But, Ryan has his reasons. More on that shortly.

The characters I really did like were Ryan’s immediate superior, the distant Captain Eleanor Ryder, whose icy demeanor masks a past trauma and a desire for revenge. I also loved General Matthews, the stern but fair officer who takes the burden of leadership seriously, but never loses a fundamental affection for those under his command. Both of these characters were great, and I enjoyed all of their scenes. Especially when Matthews is holding forth on the burden of responsibility and being accountable for one’s actions.

Which brings me back to Ryan’s devil-may-care behavior. There’s a reason he acts like he does, and it’s so he can learn and grow over the course of the story. Since military sci-fi adventures are likely to be read by the same demographic as Ryan is in–thrill-seeking young people–there is a message in this story that’s important for folks in that group to learn. Not that most of them will, any more than does Ryan, who, no matter how many times he is told something, doesn’t learn it until he has to experience it for himself. Still, it’s commendable of the author to try.

This is exactly the kind of thing I like in military science-fiction: well-crafted action scenes with deeper themes woven into the story. Highly recommended to fans of the genre.

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As I write these words, my Twitter feed is abuzz with talk of Dune Part 2. I have not seen this film, and it may be a good while before I do, as Dune Part 1 left me underwhelmed. Besides, I’ve never liked it when they split one book into multiple movies. And we all know what started that practice…

What does it say that the best idea the film industry can think to use for a blockbuster science fiction film is a nearly 60-year-old book that has already been adapted for the screen multiple times?

Are no new stories being told? Has the creative fire simply gone out of civilization, leaving us only with the ability to make increasingly shoddy copies of old masterpieces? Has the modern entertainment industry gradually supplanted our ability to innovate with a constant remixing of familiar stories that generate predictable cash flows for the massive corporations that churn out this material, while simultaneously siphoning the dynamism and vitality from them, in much the same way that over time, sports and games evolve into predictably boring affairs, as continual refinement of technique bleeds the spontaneity out of them? Was that last sentence entirely too long?

The answer to all these questions may well be “yes.” And yet, on the other hand, it may also be “no,” which brings me at last to the actual subject of today’s post, which is an original tale of adventure on a distant world.

The Last Ancestor is a science-fiction novel, telling the story of 17-year-old Garrett Nestor, a human settler of the planet Yxakh, to which his people have fled from persecution on Earth. Garrett along with his mother and little sister, live in the human colony of Canaan, which is currently at peace.

I say “currently” because previously they had fought a war against the inhabitants of Yxakh, a species of bipedal dog-like creatures which humans refer to as “Growlers.” You’ll notice I didn’t mention Garrett’s father in the description above; that’s because he died heroically fighting the Growlers.

However, now an uneasy truce exists between the human settlers and the warlike native inhabitants. Indeed, Garrett has even made friends with a young Growler named Ghryxa. Garrett and Ghryxa enjoy hanging out and exploring the nearby caves, while teaching one another about each others’ cultures and traditions.

So far, so good. What could go wrong, eh? Well, since the essence of drama is conflict, naturally, Garrett and Ghryxa soon find themselves caught in the crossfire between the humans and the Growlers, as well as an inter-Growler religious conflict! Not a pretty place to be in, especially given the Growlers’ tendency to settle things violently.

Speaking of violence, there are plenty of good action scenes in this book. Just look at the cover, and you’ll get a sense of the thing. It reminded me quite a bit of the works of Edgar Rice Burroughs, and his modern day stylistic heir, Henry Vogel. It has that same pulpish sense of fast-paced adventure.

But there are deeper themes here as well. The book has strong religious overtones, but not in the heavy-handed way that is commonly associated with religious fiction. No, here it is woven deftly into the story, and seems like a natural part of the characters’ personalities. (The book’s subtitle is a sort of clue here, but I’ll say no more than that.)

It’s quite well done and clever. The author goes to some lengths to build the world, including inventing a rather large vocabulary for the Growlers. There is a helpful appendix that explains many of these terms; always useful in books like this. Garrett and Ghryxa are both quite likable characters, and the device of using messages from Garrett’s late father as epigrams for many of the chapters was an inspired idea.

My only complaint about the book was that the ending felt abrupt. Of course it’s part one of a series, so clearly the idea is to get you to read the sequel, which I will probably do. So, in that sense, maybe this is a feature, not a bug.

All told, this is a fun adventure yarn; the sort of story that hasn’t been fashionable for a while, and yet people inevitably enjoy whenever they stumble across. Anyone who likes Sword and Planet adventure stories ought to check it out. And, let me add, it would make for a fine movie.

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Over on Twitter, I asked for recommendations of little-known books that deserve more attention. Richard Pastore answered the call by recommending this one, a post-apocalyptic tale from the 1950s.

While reading it, I thought to myself that there is an easy way to summarize this book: “Catholic Fallout.” This describes it remarkably well, in my opinion, but since I’m guessing few of my readers have played any of those classic RPGs, more elaboration will be necessary.

The story begins with a young monk, Francis, holding a vigil in the desert. When a mysterious wanderer passes by his outpost, Francis uncovers a fallout shelter from the past nuclear war, which holds artifacts which appear to belong to “the Blessed Leibowitz”–an engineer from the pre-war era who, after surviving the nuclear holocaust, joined the church and strove to preserve knowledge during a Dark Age called “The Simplification.”

Francis’s discovery of the relics paves the way for the beatification of Leibowitz, and ultimately, after many years, the young monk makes his way to New Rome for an audience with the Pope himself.

Time–measured in centuries–passes. Technological progress begins, and with it comes a kind of renaissance, as well as feuding tribes and political machinations and scientific progress. All the while the Order of Saint Leibowitz carries on.

More time passes, until society has developed computers and off-world colonies. And, most significantly, nuclear weapons have returned, and the Order is once again faced with preserving their traditions and teachings in the face of horrific devastation.

The book, in short, is not really a feel-good tale. But it does include two of the hallmarks of 1950s and ’60s zeitgeist: space travel and nuclear war. In that sense, it’s very much a work of its time, and that, of course, is one of the great things about Vintage Sci-Fi Month: the opportunity to look back on what people of the past thought were the burning issues of the day.

Ah… perhaps that was an unfortunate choice of words. But, never mind! The techno-optimists of the era were enthralled by space travel, the techno-pessimists obsessed with nuclear armageddon. It’s clear enough that Miller, in addition to being a Catholic, was definitely in the pessimist category. And this is rather understandable when you learn he fought in World War II, and was present at the destruction of a Benedictine Abbey at Monte Cassino. It haunted him, and that comes through clearly in the text, as the cyclical destruction of all efforts to build civilization is perhaps the central theme of the book.

Usually, I don’t like generational epics. Stories that span huge swaths of time tend to leave me feeling distanced from the characters. Call me simple if you like, but I generally prefer my stories to follow one character, or group of characters.

However, while this book spans centuries, it definitely worked for me. Each set of characters was so carefully-drawn that I could relate to all of them, and get involved in their struggles. Which in turn made it all the more poignant when their time came, as it always does.

All right, I’ve tap-danced around the issue long enough; I can’t put it off any longer. This book involves some very weighty moral and religious ideas, and does not shy away from taking a stance on certain issues. How one feels about this may color one’s perception of the entire story.

I, however, am in no position to pontificate about such matters. I have my opinions, as everyone does, but in the grand scheme of things, I am just a thirty-something blogger who has probably consoomed more Content than is really healthy. It is not for me to sit in judgment of the philosophy of a man who led the life that Miller did, and saw the things he saw, as though I am somehow “above” him. Nothing is more obnoxious than to judge the past without at least being willing to ask how the past would judge the present.

So, yes; the last third especially might be off-putting to some readers. Nevertheless, I encourage approaching it with an open mind and an understanding of the author’s experiences. Seen in that light, it is an especially haunting and gloomy story, but one which I recommend to all sci-fi fans.

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This is a collection of Christmas-themed science-fiction/fantasy short stories. You may be asking, “Why are you reviewing a Christmas book in early January?” Well, I could try to be clever and point out that Eastern Orthodox Christmas is on January 7. But, the actual truth of the matter is that I started reading it December 25, so I couldn’t very well review it before then, now could I?

The book includes five stories by five different authors. I’ll give very brief reviews of each, though the nature of short stories is such that I can’t say too much without spoiling them.

“Workshop Rebellion” by T.J. Marquis, which is a sort of dark fantasy re-imagining of Santa Claus as some one who does battle with ancient demons after they cast a spell over his elves. Very Robert E. Howard-esque.

“Grandpa Got Run Over by a Bane Deer” by Kaylena Radcliff. Also a dark fantasy with some unsettling monsters and hints of parallel universes, all uncovered by a very tired man on Christmas Eve. The image of the Bane Deer really stuck with me.

“Julinesse Pays A Visit: A Reversed Black Maria Story” by Jeff Stoner. This is a sci-fi tale, about Christmas on another planet where the controlled climate suddenly goes haywire and brings snow for the first time. Cozier and more light-hearted than the first two.

“The Fairy Tree” by William Jeffrey Rankin. This is a dream-like magical realism story about (what else?) Christmas fairies. Very ethereal, a bit like one of Lovecraft’s more mystical Randolph Carter stories in a way.

“Christmas Spirits” by Alexander Hellene. A fun adventure about a roguish Han Solo-type on a quest to get a bottle of wine for his grandmother as a Christmas gift. Sci-Fi action and banter; probably my personal favorite story in this collection.

The foreword by Katie Roome, who edited the collection, explains that it is intended to “provide you with a little holiday escape,” and indeed that’s exactly what it did for me. Obviously, it’s too late for you to read it at Christmas (unless you are Eastern Orthodox) but I’d say if you’re into speculative seasonal fiction at all, it’s a good one to bookmark for next year.