Showing posts with label interview. Show all posts
Showing posts with label interview. Show all posts

Sunday, 14 January 2024

Interview with Sarah Day

We are delighted to host on our blog a conversation with Sarah Day, author of horror, sci-fi, fantasy, and many other flavors of speculative fiction. Her work is heavily influenced by festival culture, body modification, non-traditional relationships, and scary ghosts. Sarah has been published in PseudoPod, Underland Arcana, The Future Fire (see “The Heart of the Party”), and many other fine places. She lives in the SF Bay Area with her cat. Connect with her at sarahday.org. Her novella, Greyhowler, is released today by Underland Press.


Rhia is a Courier, a transient messenger who freely travels the land without calling any town or port home.

The job suits her, for in a land ruled by the Temple, it is difficult to find your own way, especially when you have a Talent. Rhia's is water, and when she arrives in distant Cerretour to deliver a message, she finds a village wracked with suffering.

The well is dry. It hasn't rained. The only person who can save these villagers is missing. At night, a strange creature prowls the prairie. The villagers have a name for it: greyhowler.


The Future Fire: Greyhowler is both a story about freedom (from being tied to a place, from oppression) and being trapped (by secrets, by the past); can you tell us a bit more about how the story navigates these two seemingly contradictory states? Do you find a happy medium?

Sarah Day: I think a big topic in Greyhowler is illusion, or self-deception. Some of the major characters are trapped by the lies they tell themselves. Being trapped by their secrets, or their circumstances, is a side effect of self-delusion. I think this is how a lot of people are, honestly—we make choices that we believe are only from a sense of agency or self-determination, but we’re often reacting to influences and experiences in our history that we can’t escape, and maybe aren’t even aware of. 

Connecting our present-day actions to the experiences buried in our past can be a rich vein for personal development–and, in fiction, for plot and character work. For example, Rhia would love to only be a Courier and not have to address her upbringing in the Temple at all… but she can’t help the people in Cerretour without the skills she learned in her past. That’s where her inner conflict comes from, and it’s really fun to write. Some of my favorite parts of Greyhowler are where the characters lean hard one way, either rejecting their self-delusions or embracing them.

TFF: Do you already know what is going to happen in the next book in the series?

SD: I’ve written a couple of other books in this universe already; one about Rhia and her past, and one about two characters who don’t feature in Greyhowler at all. This universe is a land I visit when I want to write fantasy. I hope more of these books get to see daylight with an ISBN attached to them someday, but even if they don’t, I love the characters and have learned a lot from the experience.

TFF: Do you think that writing (and reading) speculative fiction—in particular fantasy that has sometimes been seen as pure escapism—can actually be an act of resistance?

SD: Absolutely! I think reading for “escapism” gets a bad rap, and that when we say we’re reading for escapism, we’re actually recharging our emotional batteries in a way that can contribute to our resilience. Charging the batteries is important for long-term fights.

I spent a lot of 2022 taking care of someone close to me who was going through cancer treatment. For a couple of months during chemo, all he wanted to do was watch YouTube videos of old boxing matches. Neither of us have ever been boxers or done any kind of martial art, so it’s not like we were watching for our education… but he found it galvanizing and encouraging. There was strong symbolic resonance for him to watch smaller guys take on larger guys and win—it was a clear metaphor for his fight against cancer. Was that pure escapism? I don’t think so.

TFF: Your short story “The Heart of the Party” both celebrates the anarchic joy of the free use of transformative technologies, and warns of its potential to aid in our repression by those in power. How do you see this tension?


SD: Speculative fiction uses imagined technology or magic to explore different manifestations of power. Exploring or subverting hierarchical power structures is something I write about a lot. Systems of power constantly seek to shore themselves up, to reinforce themselves. The Temple in Greyhowler and the state police apparatus in “The Heart of the Party” both require compliance and punish deviation with disproportionate severity, because the ability to punish with impunity is part of how they reinforce their legitimacy.

You might notice that the protagonists in both works are people who have a lot of privilege assigned to them by the dominant power structures and are trying to divest from those structures, with varying degrees of success. The theme of privileged people wrestling with the things they have but have done nothing to deserve, or trying to reconcile their privilege with others’ circumstances, shows up a lot in my writing.

TFF: Have you ever killed a character that you loved?

SD: Would I be a terrible person if I said I loved all my characters, even the bad guys? Every time one dies, I’ve killed someone I love. I don’t think I can write a believable character unless I can find them relatable somehow. I have to be a chameleon this way; each character I write has to have the strength of their own convictions. They might make terrible decisions, or do things I personally find morally indefensible, but have relatable motivations. Everyone’s morality is internally consistent. We’re each the hero of our own story.

At the end of Greyhowler, two characters discuss a third who has done terrible things, and whether actions like that can ever be understood or forgiven… I guess I think everything can be understood, even if it can’t be forgiven. To write a character well, I have to understand them, and by understanding them, I come to love them.

TFF: Thank you for being our guest, Sarah, we look forward to falling in love with the characters of the Greyhowler! Best of luck, and happy writing.


Greyhowler is out today, and can be bought here.

Monday, 1 August 2022

Micro-interview with Sarah Salcedo

Interview with Sarah Salcedo, illustrator of “We Were Ghostless before Her” in TFF #62.

Illustration © 2022 Sarah Salcedo

TFF: How did you go about illustrating “We Were Ghostless before Her”?

Sarah Salcedo: I've been trying to develop a style when it comes to my The Future Fire pieces lately. I don't know how far it will extend, but the stories you've sent me have all felt resonant with each other. I want my drawings to compliment the work without pulling away or spoiling anything. I love beautiful genre art, but the really descriptive ones for me always take away a little bit of my enjoyment of the story. I don't want to be distracted wondering how the art correlates to the story, but I love suggestive art when it accompanies a story. Where it gives you little in terms of a spoiler, but makes sense after it's been read. Ioanna's piece, to be careful not to spoil it for anyone who still needs to read it, inspired me with this image.

TFF: What is the spookiest corner of the city you live in?

SS: I live out in the woods, and I don't know that I find much spooky these days. Whenever I feel that haunted feeling, it usually feels more sad or curious than anything.

TFF: To which famous wedding (in any period of history) would have you liked to be invited?

SS: Hmmm… I'd love to get to Anne Boleyn before Henry the VIII and tell her that I'll make a distraction while she escapes on some horses I've hidden out back…

TFF: Tell us about an artist whose work you're particularly enjoying at the moment?

SS: I am constantly returning to the work of Anselm Keifer. I was just working on a story inspired by his Brunhilde Sleeps that floors me to this day.

TFF: What else are you working on now?

SS: I am finishing up a short story collection, as well as a fantasy novel, and a rewrite of a literary novel I wrote about an autistic family of women in a small town. I am trying to finish these projects before the fall when I have to dive back into my documentary film projects.


Reminder: You can comment on any of the stories or illustrations in this issue at http://press.futurefire.net/2022/07/new-issue-202262.html

Friday, 29 July 2022

Mini-interview with Louise Hughes

Louise Hughes, author of “Unspoilt” in The Future Fire #62, joined us for a few questions.


Illustration © 2022 Eric Asaris

TFF: What does “Unspoilt” mean to you?

Louise Hughes: Not everyone can go out there and join a mass protest, whether because they have a disability or some other circumstance prevents them. The world is complicated and it can be frustrating. Sometimes you're so busy focussed on your own thing that you don't even notice what is happening. “Unspoilt” is intended to show that there are other ways of taking part in a rebellion, even one you've only just learnt exists.

TFF: If you could choose only one book to take on a long space journey, which one would it be?

LH: Like the characters in my story, I’m going to pick an audiobook: Hild by Nicola Griffith, narrated by Pearl Hewitt.

TFF: Which natural or geographical feature do you feel most affinity for?

LH: Hills or mountains (definition variable depending on location). I like to be at the top, looking down on everything below. There’s a reassuring solitude about it when you can see all the paths up and know exactly who and what is around you, and all the sounds of the world are there but far away.


Extract:

The cockpit shutters slid upwards and the planet below us swept into view. Blue, for the most part. The kind of sapphire blue travel corps were so fond of using on holoboards. A series of archipelagos clung to the equator like dead ants.

There was nothing I couldn’t already see in the portfolio. Nothing the drones weren’t streaming up to us as they hovered merrily through their scan pattern. Nothing that wasn’t plotted on Karin’s maps.

Reminder: you can comment on any of the stories or illustrations in this issue at this post.

Wednesday, 27 July 2022

Micro-interview with Toeken

Micro-interview with Toeken, illustrator of “New Day Dawning” and cover artist in The Future Fire #62.


TFF: How did you go about illustrating “New Day Dawning”?

Toeken: Extraordinary tale by Francesca Forrest, truly remarkable. I began sketching several elements—for example the Cacicus cela, the “bloom” and the branches that fire off the choker. Then it was messing around with gouache washes in magnolia and various blues on water color paper before scanning them and arranging the roughs for the two illustrations digitally.

Illustration © 2022 Toeken

TFF: Is there a difference for you between creating artwork to order, and composing purely from your own imagination?

Toeken: I’ll be frank, when I got the chance to read this I initially thought “I can't do this,” and when that happens I usually just jump in and hope I don’t make a mess of it. With my own stuff, it’s actually a very similar reaction when an image starts to suggest itself. If it’s too easy? F**k it. What's the point of wasting your time doing that?

TFF: Who would you most like to meet, living or dead, for a drink tonight?

Toeken: Right now—Harlan Ellison. Mostly just for the incandescent rage convo.

TFF: Tell us about an artist whose work you’re particularly enjoying at the moment?

Toeken: As always, there's a bunch: Saelan Wangsa, Julie Dillon, Fan Ho, Leslie Ragan.

TFF: What else are you working on now?

Toeken: Paintings/illustrations for Shoreline of Infinity, Bag of Bones Press, Archive of the Odd and personal stuff, but the monster that’s chewing up the bulk of my creative time right now is the graphic novel for Android Press, written by the ridiculously talented Phil Emery—that’s Razor’s Edge and it is due out early 2023.


Reminder: you can comment on any of the stories or illustrations in this issue at http://press.futurefire.net/2022/07/new-issue-202262.html

Monday, 25 July 2022

Micro-interview with Tim Pratt

Tim Pratt, author of the novelette “A Door of My Own” in TFF #62, joins us for a short interview.


Illustration © 2022 Carmen Moran

TFF: What does “A Door of My Own” mean to you?

Tim Pratt: I often think of the importance of having a place of refuge, where you can relax and control your environment and truly let your guard down; a lot of people don't have a place like that, but once you do, it changes your life, and gives you the confidence to try new things and take risks, because you know there's a place you can retreat and regroup. But, of course, having a place of refuge means that place can be a point of vulnerability… Also, I just really love stories about magic doors, and thought it would be fun to make every door a magic door.

TFF: Tell us about one of your favourite underrated authors?

TP: My favorite modern fantasy novel is The Library at Mount Char by Scott Hawkins. It's the only novel he's published (so far) but I hope desperately for another. It's a glorious puzzle box of a book and I re-read it every year or two. Not enough people have read it, but when I mention it to someone else who has, their eyes invariably light up and we spend a little time raving about its wonders.

TFF: What are you working on next?

TP: I’m currently writing a novel called Conquest of Nigh-Space, which should be out late next year. It’s multiverse and space opera, romance and action, espionage and philosophy, jokes and terror. Basically everything I love in one book, set in the world of “A Champion of Nigh-Space” and “A Princess of Nigh-Space”—in fact, the novel is about the unavoidable conflict between the protagonists of those stories.


Extract:

I found my room when I was eight years old, running from my foster mother when she was drunk, screaming, and flicking cigarette ash at my temporary siblings. I ran to the closet, thinking I should hide, but mostly thinking I wish I could go somewhere safe. For some reason I reached out with my left hand, the one with the key-shaped birthmark on the palm. The door opened, but instead of hanging coats and a tumble of smelly shoes I found a bare room, the floor beautiful blonde hardwood, the walls paneled in oak. The room looked huge (I shared a smaller one with three other kids), and when I was older, I measured it: fifteen feet by twenty feet, three hundred square feet all my own. I looked behind me, down the dark hall, toward the screaming. I stepped through and shut the door.

Reminder: You can comment on any of the stories or illustrations in this issue at this post.

Friday, 22 July 2022

Mini-interview with Francesca Forrest

We are joined for a chat by Francesca Forrest, author of “New Day Dawning” in The Future Fire #62.


Illustration © 2022 Toeken

TFF: What does “New Day Dawning” mean to you?

Francesca Forrest: SF generally imagines collective consciousness either as a horrifying erasure of self (as with the Borg in the Star Trek franchise or ancillaries in Ann Leckie’s Imperial Radch books) or as some kind of groovy spiritual opt-in experience. I wanted to consider it from a more organic perspective, something more connected to collective organisms that exist already. And I didn’t want to push a viewpoint: I wanted there to be room for a variety of feelings about such a being. Unrelatedly, I also wanted to posit a highly successful non-Eurasian indigenous nation-state.

TFF: What posthuman augmentation would you like to receive?

FF: Not gonna lie: I’d be interested in having Winna’s experience.

TFF: What is the most rebellious thing that you did as a child?

FF: I’m a painfully compliant person, so my rebellions were more along the lines of “This isn’t expressly forbidden, so it must be permitted—right?” When I was seven, a friend and I climbed out a window onto the roof of our back porch in order to launch a flying carpet we’d created. (My parents had never thought to state that climbing onto the roof was forbidden.) Some kind of prudence got us to test the carpet sans riders first. We’d just thrown it off the roof when my mom got home and found us there.

TFF: What are you working on next?

FF: I’m making revisions to a story about a swarm of bees that impersonate a beekeeper’s wife, and I’m also working on a novel to follow on the two shorter-length Tales of the Polity I’ve written.


Extract:

“There it is,” exclaimed Winna. “There’s the Santa Marta bloom!” Thirty-five thousand feet down, a pinkish-brown smear drifted on blue waters of the Caribbean: Trichodesmium terrens, the novel cyanobacterium poisoning oceans worldwide and bringing hunger and economic chaos in its wake. Next to Winna, Tomás looked up from his tablet and out the window. Across the aisle their boss, Dr. Sengupta, was pointing out the bloom to the half-dozen assistant and associate researchers on his team.

“So that’s Terrible T, the enemy bringing us all together,” Tomás said. “Little does it realize it’s about to meet its doom.” He punctuated his prediction with a half-smile.

Reminder: you can comment on any of the stories or illustrations in this issue at http://press.futurefire.net/2022/07/new-issue-202262.html

Wednesday, 20 July 2022

Micro-interview with Ioanna Papadopoulou

We had a chat with Ioanna Papadopoulou, author of “We Were Ghostless before Her” in The Future Fire #62, who kindly answers a few questions for us here.


Illustration ©2022 Sarah Salcedo

TFF: What does “We Were Ghostless before Her” mean to you?

Ioanna Papadopoulou: It is one of the most precious pieces I have written. It is a mixture of my family history (my paternal grandmother's parents were part of the people forced away from their homes in Pontus) but also my own personal history and experience as an immigrant.

TFF: If you were a ghost, what place or person would you like to haunt or visit?

IP: I think I would like to be a ghost in an art Gallery. I love art and would ideally like to work in museums and art galleries again, so I also love the idea of being a ghost curator as well.

TFF: Who is your favourite mythological heroine?

IP: Growing up it was Artemis but as an adult it is Demeter, because I see her as a female deity that is independent in a way no other one in the dodecatheon was. Neither married and tied to one man nor a virgin, who doesn't have a sexuality, and this allows her to be dangerous.

TFF: What are you working on next?

IP: I am currently working on a fairy story, inspired by Greek Folklore from Thrace. It’s about a young girl finding an ill fairy, who is slowly turning into a leech because of nitrogen pollution and how the two of them save the fairies from extinction.


Extract:

We told ourselves we were going home. The home of many, many generations ago. Our forever home. Nobody told us that the ones who never left would see us as foreigners, ostracising us from their communities. Nobody thought this land of never-ending sun, which burnt our flesh as we worked its fields, was also the ancestral home of another people, and when they left, their ghosts stayed here and hated us for coming to replace them. And we were defenceless as our own ghosts stayed in our old homeland, near the Black Sea. Maybe our ghosts, those poor lost souls without family and culture, tormented the ones who went there to replace us as theirs did to us.

Reminder: you can comment on any of the stories or illustrations in TFF issue #62 over at this post.

Wednesday, 16 February 2022

Cécile Matthey: Pop, Pastiche and Play

Cécile Matthey (portfolio) is the artist who has been with The Future Fire for the longest; her first illustration for us was in issue #6 (2006), and she has been featured as cover artist ten times. She is now also an assistant editor of the magazine, and was co-editor of the anthology TFF-X: Ten years of The Future Fire. So let's find out more about her work, her influences, and the woman behind those sometimes fiendish, sometimes playful, always delightful illustrations!


Cécile, can you show us and talk us through a few of your illustrations for TFF of the last few years?

All three illustrations I have chosen show the protagonists of the stories: a mermaid, Gennesee, and Shuuran/Kuroba Ren. They look very different, but in the end, all of them are strong, unusual, gifted or cursed, and often lonely. The first two are closely inspired by artworks of the 19th /early 20th century.

The Mermaid
The mermaid (Illustration for « Mermaid’s Comb » by Colleen Anderson TFF 2018.45)

This siren combing her hair is based on a famous painting by John William Waterhouse (1900). It is the archetype of the siren to me, so it was quite natural to take it as a reference here. To match the dark and evocative atmosphere of Colleen’s poem, I represented her as a sinister, vampire-like creature, surrounded by the bones of the sailors she lured. The whole atmosphere is grey and stormy, and we can see wrecked ships in the distance. The only colours are the glittering gold she has gathered and her bright red hair. Waterhouse, whom I discovered during a summer English course in Oxford, is one of my favourite artists, especially for his works depicting legends and classical myths. Funny enough, his painting was also inspired by a poem: “The Mermaid” by A.L. Tennyson.

Gennesee (Illustration for « A Subtle Fire Beneath the Skin » by Hayley Stone, TFF 2021.57)

The portrait of Gennesee comes from another archetype: the red-haired poetess illustrated by Eugène Grasset on an advertising for the ink brand Marquet (1894). It was fun reinterpreting this classic Art Nouveau figure as a black woman with piercings and long flowing braids, keeping the antique dress, the quill, and the ink bottle. Something in this lovely story by Hayley Stone reminded me of Edgar Poe, so I copied a few verses from The Raven on Gennesee’s arms, to show the deathly poetry literally flowing under her skin. But you must look very closely at the illustration to see it!

Shuuran/Kuroba Ren (illustration for « The Boy from the War » by Perrin Lu, TFF 2019.48)

“The Boy from the War” by Perrin Lu is an eventful, almost cinematic, story. Actually, it was difficult for me to decide which moment to illustrate. So, I chose to show something happening “between the lines”: Shuuran/Kuroba Ren in a moment of calm, meditating before her fight against Gohei. In the background, we can see the demon mask she will use to (once again) hide her identity. Preparing the illustration, I looked for visual references on the web and was surprised to find 19th century photos of real Japanese samurai women. They didn’t inspire me directly, but they probably influenced what I imagined the protagonist could look like.


Les trois brigands

Trois sœurcièresLet's talk about you for a bit, then. What is your favourite illustration from the last ten years?

I have a soft spot for the witches on the poster of the play Trois soeurcières (“Wyrd sisters”) by Terry Pratchett (Théâtre de la Cité, Fribourg/Switzerland, 2018). My inspiration came from a children’s book called Les trois brigands, illustrated by Tomi Ungerer. I loved it then but dreaded it too, because the cover was very impressive to me. I enjoyed reinterpreting it here, about 40 years later.

How has your work matured or evolved in the eight years since you last visited us here at the Press Blog?

It’s always difficult to analyze one’s own work. On the whole, I’d say the illustrations are a bit more elaborate. The colours are richer and stronger, I tend to use more mixed media, the themes and points of view are more varied. I always enjoy exploring my personal references (books, paintings, films…) and twisting them to produce something original. The woman illustrating the poem « Daughter » by Eva Papasoulioti (TFF 2019.51), for instance, is inspired by a 19th century brooch; the dark siren of “The mermaid’s comb” (discussed above) is a parody of the painting by J.W. Waterhouse, etc.

Is there a painting or illustration in which you have always dreamed to enter? What would it be like in there?

When I was a child, I used to spend the summer holidays in a chalet in the Swiss Alps. Above my bed there was a reproduction of “La route aux cyprès” by Van Gogh. I was fascinated by it, wondering if it was a kind of dream: there seemed to be a moon and a sun together, and the whole picture seemed to undulate and palpitate. I would have liked to go to the cypress to have a better look. Surely I would have felt dizzy in there, like after watching too much static on a TV screen… or drunk too much wine.

Could you imagine challenging yourself by illustrating something in a completely different medium from usual?

I like etching and its various techniques, that can create stunning visual effects. But it demands a lot of practice to achieve something good. Collage, combined (or not) with drawing or painting, could be another option. I discovered this technique last summer and loved it. It’s more spontaneous than “classic” illustration, and the graphic possibilities are numerous. I think I’ll give it a try in a future TFF assignment.

Who is the artist who has surprised you the most? (By using an unexpected technique or medium, for example, or by creating work outside of the style you associate with them.)

At secondary school, I gave a presentation about Pop Art. It was a small revolution to me: art was not just academic and “boring” but could be colourful, inventive and fun. I have vivid memories of an exhibition I saw in Geneva at the time, showing works by Andy Warhol, Roy Liechtenstein and Jeff Koons. His “inflatable” metal rabbit is still a favourite of mine today. And more recently, I discovered Christoph Niemann, who makes everyday objects (an ink bottle, a sock, a hammer…) part of his illustrations. It’s very inventive and fun too!

Is there a story you would always have liked to illustrate?

Illustrating Treasure island by R.L. Stevenson has always been a dream of mine. It’s a big and challenging task… I’ll get down to it when I’m retired, maybe ! In the meantime, I’d love to explore classical mythology, for instance, or illustrate a “Victorian” story, like The picture of Dorian Gray or a book by Jules Verne. It could also be interesting to work on something darker : a vampire story, for example.

Is there a painting or illustration (by another artist) that you think really represents you, or some aspects of your personality?

I like this illustration by W. Siudmak, showing a paper-winged angel seated on the edge of a rock floating in space, holding a small revolving planet. It could represent my constant search for balance and beauty in this unstable world, with a feeling of fragility, a kind of innocence, and a fertile, creative imagination, of course.



Finally, can you give us a taste of a few of your artworks that won’t be found in the pages of TFF? What sort of thing have you been illustrating elsewhere?

Lord of the bees

I made this portrait for Belinda Draper (author of “The Bright Hunters” – TFF 2015.33), who bought a custom illustration from me in the TFF-X fundraiser in 2015. She asked me to illustrate her story “The honey tree,” a lovely reinterpretation of the fairy tale “Bluebeard”. I was given “carte blanche,” so I chose to represent the protagonist Beebeard as a styled dandy, with a top hat. Drawing each bee individually demanded some patience! I was planning to take the illustration to Belinda in person in Australia, but this project had to be postponed because of the burns and then the Covid pandemic.

Hiding in the tree

This illustration was made for a friend of long standing, Gaëlle Vadi, who wrote a great fantasy epic called Le retour d’Achal Kaalum (“The return of Achal Kaalum”) in the early 2000s. I have been illustrating it since 2004, very irregularly. It’s a real long-term task! But we hope to publish it one day, somehow… Here, we can see Anders, one of the protagonists, hiding in a tree from dire assassins. Their arms are a mix of Viking, medieval and fantasy elements. This illustration is the frontispiece of the chapter, which explains its unusual oblong format.

The fish tree

Another collaboration, and… another mermaid! The photo was taken by my friend Rachel Rumo, a nature-lover and long-distance tripper. She asked me to let my imagination wander around it on the passe-partout. In 2007, we held a whole exhibition together with such “hybrid” works in Romont (Switzerland), which was an unexpected success. This one, a siren watching a naked tree growing fish, was made in 2018 to celebrate the 30th anniversary of the exhibition hall, located in a medieval tower called “la Tour du Sauvage.”


Thank you so much for stopping by, Cécile. See you again soon in the pages of the magazine!

Saturday, 31 July 2021

Interview with Alexandra Seidel / Alexa Piper

We’re very happy to welcome to the TFF Press blog author Alexandra Seidel, whose “The City, My Love” we published in TFF#57 earlier this year, and who also writes steamy, speculative romance as Alexa Piper. She joins us to answer a few questions about her work, and also share some snippets from her recent publications.


Alexa Piper writes steamy romance that ranges from light to dark, from straight to queer. She’s also a coffee addict. She loves writing series, and her Fairview Chronicles follow a ragtag gang of supernaturals who try to make their city safer. Mostly. Her second series, Dusk & Dawn, explores banter and the trappings of a world in which Vampires, Werewolves, and the Fae live alongside humans. Elvenswood Tales is a new series that expands the Fairview universe.

The Future Fire: Your story “The City, My Love” is both a love story from a city and a love letter to historical urbanism all in one. Is there a city in your life that you immediately felt a special connection to?

Alexandra Seidel: Oh, there are a lot of cities I adore! I’m lucky enough to live in a place where it’s easy to travel to some of the bigger ones in Europe, although the list of cities I still want to see is long. The city I may have visited the most is Prague, and it’s a strong inspiration for New Elvenswood, where one of the series I write as Alexa Piper is set. But perhaps the city that really charmed me with its difficult to love character is Beijing. To me, as a Westerner, it’s a place of contradiction, a reflection of the people and politics around it. Maybe because of that, its character is so strong and memorable. And yes, it made it into one of my books as well.

TFF: Cities can sometimes make people feel swallowed and invisible. Is there a piece of urban cultural heritage that you like, and that reminds inhabitants how they are part of the place’s history?

AS: Personally, I love architecture. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t know much about it, but buildings that have been there for a few hundred years and show it just have something about them that always draws my eye. It’s no wonder that the city in “The City, My Love” feels like it does about its buildings. In terms of connecting the people with their city, there is a so-called Schuttberg or rubble mountain in Munich, which is where the rubble, left behind by the bombs of WWII, was collected. It’s now part of a park, it’s green and from the looks of it, you wouldn’t know how many individual tragedies are connected to it. It certainly is a way to maintain a connection with the past for the inhabitants.

TFF: In The Hunting Mates you explore an unlikely genre crossing, between romance and noir. How did you manage to harmonise the feeling of bleakness that fills noir stories with the cozy promise of a HEA?

AS: That’s an interesting thought. See, it never occurred to me that you need to harmonize anything here. A HEA (happily ever after, for all those who are less familiar with the romance lingo) offers the promise of a happy relationship after the book is done. I feel like a strong, healthy relationship can thrive even if the outside circumstances are dire, even if characters have a dark past or demons that haunt them (which I don’t mean literally, but sure, I can see myself write someone literally being haunted by a demon. Let me know if you think that would be a good idea!) The one is the outside world, the other is the relationship between characters. Maybe it’s because I don’t think the former can ruin the latter that the romance works out as it does, even gets stronger as two characters go through life together.

TFF: Speculative erotica is a tricky genre, since to meet its potential the sexuality needs to be science-fictional, fantastic, or surreal, not just the background. How would you balance inventive erotic pairings or scenarios with relatable romantic or sexy scenes?

AS: Let me quickly clear up that erotica and romance are not the same thing, and what I write as Alexa Piper is steamy romance.

I’m not exactly sure how to answer this question! I mean, as far as logistics are concerned, we have the basic male and the basic female configuration to work with. Yes, Loved by a Kraken offers additional appendages, but that’s why it’s fun. And yes, I sometimes have multiple pairings (two sexy guys and one sexy gal in Bonfire Bright, the latest in the Elvenswood Tales series,) and the line editor mentioned she was tempted to break out dolls to follow the blocking, but for the most part, I’m not reinventing the wheel there. One thing I use to strengthen a character’s viewpoint is how they see the world; my snake demons are sensitive to temperature, my siren understands the world around him by sound as much as sight, and the kraken demon mentioned earlier gets a lot of sensory input from his suckers.

TFF: Your Fairview Chronicles series combines fantasy, crime and comedy. There is a famous saying: “It’s easy to make people cry, it’s making them laugh that is difficult.” Would you agree?

AS: I’m going to say yes. And I’m going to tell you a secret. I don’t really try to make anyone laugh. I mean, have you been keeping track of the body count in my books? I’m worse than Shakespeare trying to write a teenage love story when it comes to the body count, I assure you. It’s the voice of the characters and the kind of narrative that makes the humor happen (I once wrote a joke into a book and I didn’t even notice I did that until a proofer pointed it out.) I mean, in A Naughty Creation, I have a reanimated corpse who is very committed to cleanliness and cutting the heroine’s heart out. That should not be funny, right? I didn’t try to put any jokes in there, and I swear I don’t know where those flying eyeballs came from. These things just happen, much like demonic possession and projectile vomiting. It’s life.

TFF: Speculative fiction is often seen as a convenient medium for discussion of social justice issues, because it purports not to be about the real world (while of course it is). Is this something that works for you? Are there other stories about the real world that SF allows you to tell?

AS: I think fiction is an outlet that allows any kind of story to be told. That being said, I’d like to point out that writers don’t always try to do that. I don’t set out with an agenda in my head, and I don’t aim to write manifestos. Yet, our personal experiences will inform the way we think about any given situation, real or imagined. In my case, that is not always conscious or intentional, but I can certainly see it in my own work once I’m done writing.

TFF: How do you go about attributing personalities to inanimate objects or places? Are you led by their material qualities and physical details, or by the overall narrative?

AS: This question really wants to be answered with an easy to follow, step-by-step process. Except I don’t have that. For “City,” it just happened. I sat down, and the story wanted to be told like this, in that particular voice. I have a scene in Arrow Struck that is told by flowers in a garden (it’s a fight scene,) and that just happened without me planning it like that. Stories, like cities, are things that grow, and not always like you expect them to.


Thanks for joining us, Alexa! And good luck with the latest novels.

Tuesday, 29 June 2021

Tech Noir special: in conversation with Zoë Blade

Way back in 2013 we published a story that could have been a paradigm for the speculative, progressive Noir crossgenre, in the form of Zoë Blade’s “Terminal City.” Fittingly, as we prepare for the Spec-Noir themed issue of TFF at the end of the year, we have invited Zoë over to talk about Cyberpunk and Noir aesthetic, social justice and speculative fiction, and transhumanism, among other things.


Zoë in the studioWhen she's not writing cyberpunk fiction, Zoë Blade can be found in her studio, making music for the leftwing side of YouTube.


The Future Fire: Would you like to talk a little bit about Terminal City to start out? We enjoyed this story not only because of the social-justice and dystopian themes, the alternative-history cyberpunk setting and classic Noir aesthetic, but also because of its unapologetically geeky and subculture references. It's also a powerful story in its own right, and it lets a little more hope creep in at the end than some Noir allows itself, but it by no means overturns the dystopian setting or guarantees a happy ending or improved circumstances for the protagonists. To what degree did you think about genre and aesthetic writing this story, as opposed to letting the plot and characters dictate elements like settings and environmental details?

Zoë Blade: Thank you! I think I started with an image in my head of someone using a public terminal in the rain. I'd read about the Esper machines in Blade Runner, how they were networked and performed all these other tasks besides zooming into photos. You can see a few in the film, but they're never mentioned. This was as interesting to me as anything in the film.

Companies, universities, and libraries used to have these big mainframes, that people would access remotely with dumb terminals instead of having their own computers. As a teenager, I was amazed when I first installed a Unix clone covermounted on a magazine. I got to play around with a tiny mainframe all of my own! It felt very empowering, the same way it felt getting my first home computer.

Another big part of the hacker community is phone phreaking, another large network you can only access in small glimpses. I'd also become fascinated by Kowloon Walled City, perhaps the most cyberpunk-looking place on Earth, a maze of rooms where everyone would steal everyone else's electricity and sublet wherever someone might conceivably fit, even in the middle of a diner or factory. So I kind of connected all these threads together.

At its heart, I think “Terminal City” is about a corporation trying to control a piece of technology, computing power, versus a flourishing community of street-level hackers trying to turn it into something everyone can use independently. It made sense to me to set it in an alternate history, where a phone company leased out accounts on their mainframe, that you could access via public terminals strewn throughout the city, and no-one had their very own computer, only leased terminals they could plug into their network and log onto their paid account. I think the main difference is that in real life, no corporation ever tried to suppress microchips, thankfully.

Perhaps it was mostly written out of frustration at what I saw as people ripping off the least interesting aspects of The Matrix. Behind the Bullet-Time effect and the violence was a tale of diverse hackers standing up against authoritarian white men in suits telling them who they couldn't be and what they couldn't do. In a BDSM club, naturally. Who doesn't want to visit that world?

TFF: What did cyberpunk mean to you? Is the character of the hacker an essential prototype, like the P.I. in Noir?

ZB: As a Brit who grew up in the eighties and nineties, it’s somewhat inevitable that I’d be immersed in the dominant popular culture of the time, hailing from the exotic lands of Japan and America. As a loner who enjoyed programming home computers like my trusty Commodore 64, my taste naturally skewed towards the usual suspects favoured by hackers: Blade Runner, Neuromancer, Ghost in the Shell, Snow Crash, Pi, and The Matrix. They feature hackers as heroes, an escapist fantasy for technically-minded shut-ins. And as a transgender woman, I naturally gravitated towards stories of people who modified or outright abandoned their own bodies, and questioned who they really were in spite of how others treated them.

It was only years later, as an adult, that I learned Brits and Americans had feared Japanese businessmen taking over their corporations, something they projected onto everything from Brazil to Die Hard. As a child, that fear completely went over my head. Of course the future was Asian. Watching Dominion: Tank Police, with its female protagonist, I’d associated more with that imagined world than any of the American ones.

As for the hacker: I try to avoid using the generic archetype characters I've seen mentioned in writing guides (“hackers are tricksters like the mythological Loki”) in favour of what I know: hackers tend to be technically knowledgeable yet socially naïve people who wield a lot of power with reckless abandon, for better or worse. I think that covers everyone from Aaron Swartz to Zuckerberg.

TFF: We’d like to ask you more about the relationship between body and identity, which is a popular trope in Cyberpunk, from machines that gain consciousness (or become more human than humans), to people trying to replicate or download their memories and feelings. How do you feel this concept resonates with those who have made the decision to modify or otherwise redefine their bodies?

Terminal City, illustrated by MonosílaboZB: I suspect I'm far from the only transgender woman who felt Major Motoko Kusanagi from Ghost in the Shell resonated with her. Though in a way it's reversed, as she wasn't convinced she had a human brain, and felt that how other people treated her was what granted her humanity; whereas transgender people generally spend a lot of time and anguish working out exactly what and who their brain is, in spite of other people's disbelief.

What always seems absurd to me is how many cisgender people consider themselves to be transhumanists, imagining themselves to have escaped the rigid bonds of being overly attached to an unmodded body... and then proceed to be transphobic without missing a beat. If you're against people overriding their own endocrinological system, then what exactly do you want to allow people to do? I think for most transgender people who overly think things through, it's a natural extension to be very much in favour of everyone's bodily autonomy. A lot of us have firsthand experience of its necessity for happiness or even any kind of normal life.

It's also obviously a nice fantasy that you could transplant your brain into a body that hasn't been damaged from being on the wrong hormones, but allowing young people to block the wrong ones before they can take effect has presumably diminished the need for such escapist wishful thinking.

TFF: Cyberpunk literature and popular culture have probably made us imagine artificial intelligences as an expression of rigid objectivity. But now that we can actually see AIs at work, we see that they simply replicate the same biases that appear in the data that were fed to them. Do you think that this changes the way we look at AIs in cyberpunk, not as superior ethical and objective beings, but bearing the baggage of all our worst prejudices, power imbalances, and other ugliness?

ZB: I think there are two quite different concepts of AI here, leading many people to talk at cross-purposes. Cyberpunk imagines a general-purpose AI that's roughly analogous to a human brain: simple parts, replicated billions of times, interconnected. Like a human child, this new kind of lifeform would need to be carefully nurtured and loved in order to grow into a responsible adult. The main issue there being that only corporations and perhaps governments could afford such technology, at least at first, and they are far from loving parents. Raising a human child in such an environment would be unconscionable, and the scenario isn't improved with that child having thought processes that are utterly unfamiliar to us, and eventually far smarter than us.

What we instead currently have in real life are small, specific bits of computer code that were rapidly evolved in an automatic training process. You tell a computer “here's somebody doing a thing. Please write some random code and tinker with it until it does more or less the same thing as them.” All we've managed to do there is automate the biases of the person whose work is being replicated. All this technology, and we've simply automated racism. It's bias laundering, so managers can say “see? This machine's doing the same thing, and it can't be prejudiced, it's a machine.”

A third option I'm hopeful for is some kind of artificial intelligence that can look at the big picture and point out our biases. That can sift through all the data out there and work out various things we've misinterpreted, or that are statistically suspicious. Something too smart to say “Bob's giving more jobs to people named Greg than Lakisha, so I'll do that too, as presumably Gregs must be better at the jobs.” Instead, it might say “Bob's giving more jobs to people named Greg than Lakisha, so let's work out why this correlation exists,” then it would go off and look at all the worldly data it can find, and finally show how racism and sexism have tarnished all our knowledge and actions. But then, we don't need a machine to tell us that the system's rigged. We need to listen to all the minorities who have already been telling us for a very long time.

TFF: Is cyberpunk basically “tech noir” then?

ZB: Cyberpunk’s aesthetic is solid Noir. Hidden beneath the glamorous façade portrayed elsewhere, the seedy underbelly is populated by far more relatable characters, denied a place in mainstream society. Forced into black markets just to survive, their lyrical street slang obfuscates the illicit work demanded from them, at once publicly punished and privately required by polite society, from the sex work that exploits their perceived exoticism through to the corporate espionage that requires their unique skills.

The aesthetic is an easy sell, a cluttered mess of smoke, rain, neon, cables, litter, and the violence that inevitably engulfs black markets. The harder pill to swallow is that these seemingly superficial trappings are inexorably intertwined with the all too real poverty and discrimination endured by people denied legitimate jobs. It’s a genre of underdogs, relatable realism for some, poverty tourism for others. Because even your suffering is a commodity to be packaged and sold.

At the heart of the genre are clones, robotic replicas, and wholly new AI, all trying to break free of their bonds, placed on them by the all-too-human heads of megacorps and zaibatsu, who fully expect them to be as oppressive as themselves. While the fear of being literally inhuman is a modern one, being treated as such is all too real for many people.

Blade Runner is the epitome of this future noir, showing someone mercilessly hunting freed synthetic slaves only to have his own humanity in turn questioned. The aesthetics, themes, and plots are inseparable. Cyberpunk expresses our fight to have our humanity recognised, and our freedom granted.

TFF: Is there something else you’ve worked on recently that you’d like to tell us about?

ZB: Let’s go with Inhuman, a comic about a Japanese hitwoman who wakes up to discover she’s a synthetic replica of her former self, who her client is trying to kill. Which corporation would you want to have full autonomy of your body?

When an assassin regrets killing her latest target, she discovers how hard it is to quit her job and go freelance.

At its core, Inhuman is a story about a woman who has a phobia of electronic recreations of people, only to wake up one day to discover she's been made into such a recreation herself. She has to team up with her original human self in order to work out why the corporation she was working for robbed her of her body, and expose their secrets.

I originally wrote it as a screenplay, but as it's an original property and would need the kind of ridiculously high budget reserved for established franchises, I'm currently working with my regular artist Monosílabo to turn it into an online comic book. We’ll hopefully be sharing it soon on our online media, including https://twitter.com/zoeblade and https://twitter.com/monosilabo_art.

TFF: Thank you for joining us, Zoë!


If you fancy your hand at some speculative or progressive Noir short fiction or poetry, please consider sending something in for the TFF-Noir themed issue this year.

Monday, 14 June 2021

Noir special: Conversation with Curtis C. Chen

Six years ago we published an urban fantasy/political thriller novelette by Curtis C. Chen, titled “Godwin’s Law,” that we now look back on as one the great instances of speculative noir that we can point to as an example. As we’re currently reading for the Noir-themed issue of The Future Fire due at the end of this year (see Call for Submissions here), we invited Curtis to come and chat with our guest editor Valeria about the genre, setting, and progressive values in fiction.


Once a Silicon Valley software engineer, Curtis C. Chen (陳致宇) now writes stories and runs puzzle games near Portland, Oregon. He's the author of the Kangaroo series of funny science fiction spy thrillers and the showrunner for Echo Park 2060 on Realm.

Valeria Vitale: “Godwin’s Law” stood out for us at TFF for its fairly uncommon genres-crossing that involved noir and magic. Even though it sounds like a less likely literary avenue to explore, we think it is actually a very interesting blend. How did you come up with this idea, and what do you think the crossing adds to both genres?

Curtis C. Chen: A lot of my favorite stories involving magic are about keeping secrets, usually magicians hiding their powers from the mundane world. And noir, as a genre, is also deeply concerned about people's secrets and how they try to protect themselves from exposure. I thought it would be interesting to explore that overlap.

VV: The setting of “Godwin’s Law” is not a very classically noir one. Not only for the presence of the magical and futuristic elements, but also for the absence of many of the recognisable noir tropes (the rainy city, the PI in a raincoat, the femme/homme fatale and so on). But what we have tried to define as a sort of “noir feeling” definitely comes up, in our opinion, in the nuanced morals of some of the characters, and, ultimately, in the lack of resolution for the protagonist. Did you conceive this story as a noir?

CCC: This story started out focused on the idea of wartime espionage, but as I worked on it I decided that making everything intensely personal for the characters was ultimately more interesting. I think that's what leads to the "noir feeling," especially when people are forced into situations where they have no good choices. For me, the moral ambiguity of noir really grows out of exploring individuals' wants and desires, especially when they don't line up with what others want.

VV: One thing that we especially liked in this story was your use of an explicitly unrealistic plot (with magic, portals and shapeshifters) to bring attention to less acknowledged historical atrocities, like the Japanese internment camps in the US during WWII. Do you think that fantasy and other speculative genres are an effective means to talk about tragic historical events?

CCC: I certainly hope so. One encouraging recent example is how the 1921 Tulsa Race Massacre was featured in two different HBO series, Watchmen (inspired by the comics) and Lovecraft Country (based on Matt Ruff's novel). I know people who had never heard of that real-life atrocity, and were moved to go learn more about it afterward. The other side of the coin with respect to secrets is knowledge being suppressed by those in power, and that's also important to explore in fiction. (Look up "Chinese massacre of 1871" if you want another depressing dose of reality.)

VV: As much as we love Noir, it is undeniable that it has very often been plagued with very misogynistic, racist, and homophobic stereotypes. One of them is the use of East Asian characters (and elements of their culture like the language or food) as means to give “colour” or “atmosphere” especially in very grim and dystopian settings. Do you have any thoughts about the exoticisisation of East Asian cultures in the noir genre?

CCC: It's definitely still a problem, but there has been progress. We've come a long way from the 1974 film Chinatown, which used an entire community as a mere punchline, to Henry Chang's and Ed Lin's novels exploring the complexities of immigrant identity. My small contribution to that conversation will be Echo Park 2060, a collaboratively written noir serial involving human clones in a future Los Angeles, forthcoming from Realm Media. Our writing team also includes Sloane Leong, Millie Ho, Monte Lin, and Jenn Reese. Look for that this fall on your favorite podcast platform!

Coming soon: ECHO PARK 2060 season 1 on Realm podcasts

If you write Noir short fiction that you think we might like, please see our Call for Submissions and give us a try.

Thursday, 27 May 2021

Speculative Noir retrospective: Damien Krsteski’s “Siv Delfin”

In anticipation of the Noir-themed issue of TFF due later this year, we’re thinking about some of the stories we have published in the past that fit the bill. First up, we have invited Damien Krsteski to come and talk to us about his 2016 story, “Siv Delfin”—if you don’t remember it, please read the story before the rest of this post, to avoid spoilers…


Illustration by Miguel Santos © 2016
TFF: This was a dark and almost nihilistic story that struck us from the moment we first read it, with its underworld grit and the existential dread of the premise, with the permanently consciousness-altering drug and the powers-that-be (both official and otherwise) pretty much impotent to do anything about it. Although the protagonist was a cop, the Noir aesthetic comes through in her powerlessness, her (ultimately fruitless) alliance with the crime lord, her grief and desperation. There is no resolution to the crime investigation: (some) understanding, perhaps, but no justice. And it is also, as the best Noir—and the kind we’re looking for in our forthcoming themed issue—consciously both philosophical and political: What does it mean to have no fear of death? What does it mean to be a counter-culture with no central organisation or leaders? What society are you trying to protect if all you’re doing is preserving the status quo? It doesn’t answer any of these questions, but it knocks the cop protagonist’s certainty apart on all fronts…

Damien: Thanks for the great words on the story; I think you’ve perfectly expressed the thoughts that were swirling in my head around the time of the writing of the story. To add to that, a bit more context:

There was a point in my life where I became obsessed with the fear of my own death. What probably started as sophomoric musings on the nature of our existence (nudged by some unfortunate events from real life) quickly turned into a gripping anxiety, into a fear of falling asleep, into an obsession with remaining alive. And I started to think, and I realized how much our actions, both as individuals and as a society, are driven by this fear of our own mortality. Our biological imperative to stay alive has fashioned and shaped scientific, sociological, artistic processes, to the point where I wondered: what would happen if we remove it? If we forget about Death, would we care about science? Would we care about resources, territory, cures for diseases? Would we be moved by art? And what’s more, would some completely different set of societal processes emerge, orthogonal to the ones that we currently take for granted?

I wanted to explore these questions in “Siv Delfin.” I wanted to see what would happen on a macro level, to see what “progress” would look like, what kind of new world the characters would build. And, on the individual level, Claire is the perfect character through which to look at this new world; I needed somebody tragic, broken. Someone straddling these two societies, and tempted to hop over to the other side. That period in my life slowly passed and I no longer obsess over Death. I like to think that writing “Siv Delfin” was one of my ways of draining the pus and letting the wound heal slightly.

TFF: We’ve always found it interesting that people find speculative fiction (of whatever flavour) a useful medium for exploring political, philosophical or ethical questions—perhaps because the distance from “realist” work gives us permission to focus more on universal truths without worrying about exposing ourselves or others in the stories to too raw a self-representation. Do you think the Noir genre or aesthetic also serves this sort of function?

Illustration by Miguel Santos © 2016
Damien: Writing SF is a very liberating way of exploring philosophical questions. My favorite SF reads like a natural extension of philosophical and scientific thought experiments—and vice versa, from Plato’s Cave to Maxwell’s Demon—and I believe that’s because you need an element of the strange in order to imagine and understand Truth, to expand your mind a tiny bit in a particular direction and make space for reality. If you stick to so called “realism” (which sometimes can be shorthand for “mundane”), and extrapolate only from your “real” experience in the “real” world that you see and feel with your eyes and hands, can you imagine that spacetime is curved, that time is relative, that biology changes and evolves and that we grew arms and legs when we crawled out of the seas?

Noir SF is capable of the same, except this strangeness is a background to characters that are powerless against it, or consumed by it, or sometimes, unwillingly, its perpetrators.

TFF: Building on what you said before about Claire being a “broken character,” I was wondering if you would like to share some thoughts on the tension between the lack of resolution and the feeling of defeat that are so characteristic of noir fiction on one side, and the desire to explore the genre to tell progressive stories that invite to resist and fight back on the other. In brief: do you see progressive noir as an oxymoron or as an exciting opportunity?

Damien: A progressive message can be conveyed even in a story steeped in despair and depravity. If a broken protagonist gives up the fight, that shouldn’t always be taken as an example to follow. Alternatively, it shouldn’t always be taken as a lesson, either; sometimes authors like to be sadistic, plain and simple, and write horrible characters and put them through misery as a way to vent and to exorcise their own demons. I personally find value in both approaches, and in a way, I consider both progressive—in the sense of pushing boundaries, whether personal and emotional or societal. Noir SF seems to exist at an interesting intersection, and the genre can take different shapes in different hands.


Damien’s latest story “Slow Eshtyca” appeared in GigaNotoSaurus in March 2021. You can also follow him on Twitter @monochromewish where updates on his publications are posted.



If you would like to try your hand at some speculative Noir, why not hit up our Call for Submissions, which is open now.

Saturday, 13 February 2021

Interview with Margrét Helgadottír

Margrét Helgadottír, editor of the Books of Monsters series, is an old friend of TFF: we have reviewed several of the previous volumes (European, African, Asian, Pacific), and interviewed many of the individual authors and contributors (Michael Lujan Bevacqua, Tihema Baker, Brian Kamaoli Kuwada, Raymond Gates, Iona Winter, Isabel Yap, Yukimi Ogawa, Eve Shi, and Margrét herself), and she wrote about the series for our Making Monsters anthology. The seventh and final volume in the award-winning series, Eurasian Monsters, appeared in December 2020, featuring 17 authors and including seven translated works.

Margrét joins us today to talk a bit about this new anthology, and the series, and monsters.


TFF: Could you tell us a bit about the thinking behind editing a volume of Eurasian Monsters specifically, since it’s a slightly different concept from the other six volumes in the series? Were there gaps in the European and Asian volumes that you designed it to fill?

Margrét Helgadottír: The book embraces the vast region stretching from the Chinese border (but not including China) to eastern parts of Europe. The profile of the book is the same as for the first six volumes, it’s just the geographical area that is different. It’s been challenging since it is actually covering two continents. This is the book in the series I have spent most time on preparing. I was forced to make decisions, and I chose not to include stories from the Asian parts covered in Asian Monsters. I also chose not to include stories from the Baltic, or from the western parts of Balkan, mostly because that would mean including 5-10 more stories, if done properly. There seems to be different definitions of what is Eurasia, but I hope I am forgiven to have included a few stories from eastern Europe, a part neglected in the first monster volume covering Europe. I struggled most with locating authors from Central Eurasia, but I managed to get stories from Georgia and Kazakhstan. I am also proud to have stories from Russian authors from several parts of the huge country, not just Moscow. So all in all, I hope the readers feel they get some glimpses of some of the cultures within this vast region.

TFF: Can you describe the process of commissioning and editing Eurasian Monsters? For instance, did you have a call for submissions, or was everything commissioned or reprints? Did you have to deal with translators, or did you only look at work that was already in English?

MH: I worked with tracking down authors and artists to Eurasian Monsters the same way as for the other monster volumes. These books have been invitation-only anthologies. I had a number of available slots, I wanted a balanced representation—mostly covering as many countries in the region as possible, but also gender, sexuality, indigenous backgrounds etc. So what I did was carefully send out the invitations, only one at the time, building up the table of contents slowly, to make sure the representation became good. For some books I have used 4-5 months before being able to finish the contributor list. Some times I had a story I wanted to publish before contacting the author, but mostly I’ve invited the authors to write a new story within a set of guidelines.

We have had translations in several of the volumes. I have had no other choice than using the translator tools available, just to get a feeling about the author’s voice, and to be able to consider if the story fits the anthology. In Eurasian Monsters I had seven translations by four translators, six stories exclusively for the book. Of these a few reprints but also newly written stories. So that has been challenging because I have not been able to start the editing work until the translation work is done. I have learned a lot, and I do hope the translators feel happy about how the stories turned out.

TFF: Now that you’ve been around the world in eighty monsters, are there any patterns that you have noticed in stories and beliefs about the mythological creatures, or does each region have its own unique kinds of monsters and relationships to them?

MH: It is a difficult question. In general, humans of all times have created stories and myths about beasts, dark creatures, and monsters. You can find traces of them in old texts, architecture, art, in legends and myths, and even in old sea maps. Monster folklore is passed down from generation to generation, and these stories are not just for fun, but often teach a lesson as well, or make sure that curious people stay away from specific areas (like haunted houses). No matter where you are in the world, monsters have been there to take the blame when bad things happen—like shipwrecks or sudden deaths, or they can be a way to explain frightening phenomena like thunder and lightning.

Some monsters are universal. You will always find the shapeshifters, the flesh-eating walking dead and the great monsters of the lakes and sea. But just like the everyday lives of humans are influenced by whether their home is at the coastline, in the desert, in the jungle, or in the mountains—the monsters attracted to these different geographical conditional possibilities are also different. A vampire avoiding the sun might not find it pleasant to stay in the Sahara desert, nor would the hyena shapeshifter thrive in the Arctic either.

It might be a coincidence but I do believe I’ve spotted some regional differences, while editing the monster volumes. To name a few observations: Magic is for instance a strong theme in monster narratives from Africa and South America, though it manifests in slightly different ways. The volume focused on North America has many human-made monsters, or monsters with human-like attributes. The Africa and the Pacific volumes have more beasts, when compared to the other volumes in the series. These two volumes and Eurasia also have a multitude of dark creatures from the wilderness or oceans, or with a connection to natural forces such as thunder storms. In both the Eurasia and Africa volumes several of the stories are concerned with place and origin, about immigration and going home. But Eurasian Monsters feels closer to the feeling of home created in the Asia volume, where it is not so much about the place but more about the family itself and the strong relationships between loved ones—dead, living or absent. The spirits, ghosts and demons create an almost floating atmosphere.

TFF: What about the oral tradition of sharing scary tales? Do you think that an anthology is its natural descendant, or that we are missing out on something?

MH: That is an interesting thought. An themed anthology like this could indeed fill some of the need to share the scary tale by the camp fire, both because short stories are shorter snippets with different author voices, and here you would have voices from different geographical places telling you tales about frightening creatures you’ve never heard about. What you would miss out is the sharing: People like to get scared together. And an anthology is (usually) about the relationship between only the author and the sole reader.

TFF: Could you invent and briefly describe a totally made-up monster that somehow clearly belongs in the Eurasian as opposed to any other volume in the Books of Monsters series?

MH: I was surprised there weren’t that many classical shapeshifters in Eurasian Monsters since so much of this region is vast wilderness, and the winters are cold and long. So I would nominate shapeshifter monsters with jaws, like the big brown bear or the giant grey wolf. But of course all these would also be able to exist in many parts of the Northern world. But if you combined it with the many beliefs in ghosts and spirits, especially house spirits, it could be a quite scary monster who lurked between your kitchen and other dimensions, and between a manlike form and an animalform.

Or even a cranky and bloodthirsty version of the prehistoric gigantic mammoth, maybe trampling people to death or piercing them with its long teeth. This latter is actually an intriguing idea, if you picture it in tunnels and not on the Siberian tundra. According to the great interwebs, there existed a belief among indigenous peoples of Siberia, that the mammoth was a creature that lived underground, burrowing tunnels as it went, and would die if reaching the surface.

TFF: Thanks for joining us, Margrét!

MH: Thanks for having me!


Margrét Helgadottír’s Eurasian Monsters, and the other six volumes in the series, can be found at Fox Spirit Books, links at Margrét’s website, and many other online bookstores and libraries.