"Sibilance" by E.G. Condé (Interzone #299)

Planetary ecologist Dr Ahim Hodei is brought to Jupiter to find the cause between the quickly diminishing levels of a Helium isotope vital to the continued function of Earth’s nuclear reactors. But soon after his arrival, and with the help of his partner, he realizes that something uncanny is happening with the planet—something that has affected every other human there. Rich with stellar prose and sharp criticism on all the ways the greed of corporations wouldn’t hesitate to extend beyond the stars, Sibilance delivers a powerful crescendo of humanity’s hubris juxtaposed with hope, and powered by a love “as hellish as the furnace of the stars.

"Safe Passage" by Elia Karra (Fractured Lit)

“Grief is to the body as silt is to water.” Fractured Lit’s 2024 Anthology Prize Winner is a short and briny meditation on loss and transformation, as the narrator’s ailing father is being returned to the ocean’s embrace. Karra’s Safe Passage is subtle yet heart-rending; delivering a slice of life (and death) where the mundane and the remembered is superimposed with the speculative and the mythical, much like the alternating, never-ending waves of the sea in question.

"Once There Was Water" by Katie McIvor (The Dark #111)

Keeping up with the aquatic theme, McIvor’s Once There Was Water tells the tale of a pond that used to be part of something much bigger, ancient and terrifying—and all the children it still claims as its own. With eerie imagery that turns almost Lovecraftian at times, and an unflinching gaze at all the structures and conceits we’ve historically used in order to dominate Nature (and one another), this story is one of ambitious scope but at its heart carries a simple yet impactful message. A warning, really, echoing through the ages: water is, indeed, the oldest killer.

"The Angel’s Share" by Martin Cahill (Reactor)

Two things I didn’t know before reading Cahill’s latest: first, that the collective noun for angels is called “radiance.” Second, that a story which starts with an admittedly hilarious line could turn me into a slobbering mess. The struggles of Mrs Mead, whose house and body is infested by a, well, radiance of angels for reasons that will become heartbreakingly clear later on, is ultimately the struggle of surviving abuse and trauma and reclaiming one’s life and future, even if sometimes asking for help is the hardest thing to do. I’m going to be rereading this one a lot.

© 2024 Danai Christopoulou