From Delhi to London, Baltimore to Singapore, we’ll probably never all sit down in the same room, but we’re united by a broad and consistently interrogated vision of SF.
For speculative fiction to become a truly inclusive and egalitarian space, every axis of exclusion must be interrogated, and every potential drawbridge turned into a gateway.
Another apocalyptic was out by Gert's truck, stuffing pamphlets under the wiper blades. "End's coming," he said as she approached, his voice a frail whinny.
That smirking girl staring back with her cigarette, that ugly short hair, the shapeless dress with its silly fringes and its shameless show of calf, frivolous before the great dark mass of Flamel Hall. Girls these days, says Edith. What they wear.
How long are these people going to keep the dead from the next life? I mean, no one can undo what was done, so what's the point in reliving it?
I learned how to use a knife on a hot, wet Thursday night.
Complaint about the Railway Association by non-members who are super done
mine was the mouth you drank from, a cup of pearls.
I wish I knew this earlier in life: each healing creates a debt.
In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Ciro Faienza presents the poetry of the 20th Anniversary Special Issue.
