In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents Aliya Whiteley's "The Tears of a Building Surveyor, and Other Stories."
In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents Helena Bell's “Rescuing Napoleon.”
In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents Chen Qiufan's "沙嘴之花 | The Flower of Shazui."
In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Anaea Lay presents Chen Qiufan's "The Flower of Shazui | 沙嘴之花."
The bikes whir and flap, playing cards clipped to their spokes with clothespins, / and as the youngest passes, she sees the seven of clubs fastened to one wheel
Nisi Shawl's letter comes from Australian publisher and champion of under-represented voices in fiction, Twelfth Planet Press, and is published in their upcoming collection of essays and letters dedicated to SFF pioneer Octavia Butler, Luminescent Threads: Connections to Octavia E. Butler.
Summers in Shenzhen Bay last ten months. Mangrove swamps surround the bay like congealed blood. Year after year, they shrink and rot, like the rust-colored night that hides many crimes.
In this episode of the Strange Horizons podcast, editor Ciro Faienza presents poetry from the 2017 Fund Drive Special issue of Strange Horizons.
yes, blood blossoms bright.
dadanak muli ang dugo, aking mahal.
out of its petals we'll raise the sun our ancestors lost
hahawiin ng sinag ang mapanlinlang na himpapawid
All women dream of rescuing Napoleon. For less ambitious girls, it is only a passing fancy. They imagine sailing across the Atlantic on a stolen ship, their hair flowing behind them like a flag. Napoleon will watch from a window in his tower as they stride upon the beach, swords drawn, thrusting and parrying their way through dozens of red-coated British soldiers and evading the horses’ hooves, the dogs’ teeth. There will be traps too, they think: quick sand and spring guns which only the cleverest of girls could survive.
My name is Violet. I’m married to Tom and I’m old and I’d like to say that’s how I introduce myself to people, but it would be a lie. I don’t introduce myself to anyone. I’m of no interest, not even to Tom, who has heard all my anecdotes so many times that he corrects me when I get the details wrong. Which I, quite deliberately, do.
Our stories bind us /
To the stars,
These spectral tendrils twine and snake / into confines of my most closely guarded secrets