Review of Galactic Empiires ed. by Neil Clarke

On the west side of the Atlantic, science fiction and fantasy were built upon big, strong, cartoonish foundation stones—Buck Rogers, Barsoom, E.E. Doc Smith, Edmond Hamilton, Conan, and H.P. Lovcraft among them. Genre has iterated multiple times since, from Silver Age to New Wave to the wide-wide beyond. Technique has generally improved. Theme has more often found expression. And certainly some works have transcended genre. But the foundation stones remain. Laser pistols, space adventure, and the massive backdrop of the universe remain. A curated anthology, Neil Clarke's 2017 Galactic Empires looks to bring to the table a quality selection of what the early 21st century has to offer in the way of power structures across vast distances.

Galactic Empires kicks off with “Winning Peace” by Paul J. McAuley. An indentured scavenger is assigned the task of going to a remote location in space to find out what happened to a fellow scavenger who had been teaming up with an alien Cha!. He has a plan up his sleeve to escape indenture, a plan only accelerated by what he finds upon investigation of the location. Not everything is predictable, however, in this classic story rendered in contemporary voice. “Night's Slow Poison” by Ann Leckie is a mixed effort. It tells of a galactic voyage in which a guardsman is forced to confront an uneasy history through the eyes of his dead lover. Leckie has not shortage of imagination, but technique is a challenge, making this a rough read. Continuing with alternate perspectives, “All the Painted Stars” by Gwendolyn Clare is a human encounter told from the alien's view when its octopus-self gets stuck aboard a human ship. The ship is not of human origin, however, and the alien finds itself in a compromising situation. More classic sf in a modern voice.

Cardboard Corner: Review of Kira-ai: The Duel

Our board game collection consists of games big and small. On one end we have giant boxes like Tidal Blades: Rise of the Unfolders, the Ashes Reborn all-in box, and the mother of them all, old school Fireball Island. On the other end, we have Pax Transhumanity, Radlands, and Hannamikoji—games that fit snugly in a shoebox, together. But the smallest game of all, smaller than the size of a wallet, is Kira-ai: The Duel (2023). And here the adage is true: size doesn't matter.

If you enjoy games where you sit across from an opponent, trying to discern what's going through their mind as they do precisely the same to you, Kira-ai is one to check out. No fluff. No draw a card and see. No roll a die. It's mind games, only mind games, wrapped tightly around the theme of a samurai duel.

Review of The End of Everything by M. John Harrison

Over the past few years, my thoughts return with increasing frequency to the Camus-esque absurdity of normal life. Juxtapose the thousands of years of work, sleep, family, food, etc. with the fresh soil modern humanity is tilling (AI, screens, globalization, politicized media, etc.) and its mindblowing—in slippery yet sturdy, bizarre yet normal, out of touch yet 100% palpable, Camus-esque fashion. There are people following the love advice of chatgpt. That's a human doing what humans would do given such an opportunity, yes? But chatgpt?!?! Capturing this (seeming) juxtaposition pitch perfect artistically, narratively, and thematically, is M. John Harrison's The End of Everything (2026).

Boil away the skin and hair, muscles and organs, and in its bones The End of Everything is a near-future alien invasion of Britain. The iGhetti have appeared slowly and steadily in myriad forms on the island nation's shores, sometimes invasive of daily life and sometimes just hovering on the perimeter. In the wake of their arrival, government is degrading, a dense fog has descended on Europe, and all manner of the odd and uncanny is washing ashore. Two characters, Philip the beachcomber and Marnie the senior citizen artist, attempt to come to terms with their evolving world.

Review of The Rainseekers by Matthew Kressel

It's always an interesting question: what will the current generation go down as when all is said and done. It's an interesting question because, the youngest generation always faces the harshest criticism, yet seems to defy that criticism in interesting ways as time goes on. It's still too early to tell with Gen Z, but one thing for certain is that their youth will be youth, going off doing the wildest, logic-defying things that the youth of every prior generation did. Optimism is priceless, but only for a time, when a price must be paid. Matthew Kressel, in his 2026 novella The Rainseekers, features the lives of people reflecting on their youth.

The Rainseekers is a quasi-frame story. It is ostensibly about Sakunja, former holo star on Earth now journalist on Mars. She recounts for the reader this path, including her joining a group of people on an excursion to be the first to witness rain on the red planet. During the overland journey, she talks with her fellow travelers, and agrees to write the stories of two for her newspaper—an orphaned engineer and a reformed Muslim truck driver. That is, until a not-so-proverbial wrench is thrown into the works of the excursion.

Review of Rite of Passage by Alexei Panshin

Robert Heinlein is best known these days for a handful of novels—Starship Troopers, Stranger in a Strange Land, and The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress. But before these books were published, Heinlein had built a foundation on YA fiction featuring silver space ships, clunky computers, intergalactic aliens—he helped shaped the stereotypes. Almost two decades later, when science fiction was near the end of the generation which followed Heinlein's YA work, New Wave sf, Alexei Panshin decided to throwback with Rite of Passage (1968), and oddly enough, was rewarded for it.

Rite of Passage is as classic a YA bildungsroman as classic YA bildungsromans can be. It tells the story of Mia Havero, teenager living aboard a galactic ship that moves from planet to planet, trading knowledge for the goods its limited population need to stay alive. Eugenics are part of the reason the population is tight, but another is that every teen must go through a rite of passage. Each year the group of teens coming of age are dumped on a strange planet with basic supplies, and thirty days later the ship returns to pick up the survivors. Hotheaded, arrogant Mia has a lot of work to do to get ready for this trial.

Review: I Hear a New World by Alan Moore

In 2022, Alan Moore signed a Bloomsbury deal to write a five-book series. At the time Moore was excited, saying he bubbled with fiction (I paraphrase). A difficult feeling to sustain, Moore nevertheless delivered a sparkling, exuberant effort two years later in The Great When. An irreverent mix of Dickens, Joyce, and Aleister Crowley, Moore deployed his singular style on an alternate, mid-20th century London indeed, in bubbly fashion. But could Moore maintain the groove in 2026's I Hear a New World, second book in the series?

It takes a fun, meandering road, but I Hear a New World eventually picks up on the happenings of our weak-chinned hero, Dennis Knuckleyard. Roughly ten years after the events of The Great When, Dennis is still possessor of the key brought back from Long London, and in the early going, he uses an opportunity at a socialite party to pass possession to Joe Meek, a music producer. Meek's never the same after, and Dennis finds himself caught between an occult rock and octogenarian hard place.

Review of Loss Protocol by Paul McAuley

Aldous Huxley may be most well known for his dystopian novel, Brave New World. But he wrote the counter point, also. No, not his novel Point, Counter Point, but the utopian Island, which tells of a near-perfect society created through the communal living, hallucinogens usage, ritual trances, contraception, and “uplifting propaganda” (dispersed by mynah birds, interestingly). Regardless intentional or not, Paul McAuley's 2026 novel Loss Protocol acts as a counter point to the counter point—the Jonestown-side of believing narcotics, living in dream-states, and homesteading are humanity's enlightenment.

It's 2070 and Marc Winters is the ranger/steward of a small British island, a nature reserve in the process of re-wilding. Despite the isolation, Winters is not a lonely man. The mainland is a short boat ride away and there is no shortage of scientists, researchers, and tourists who visit the island. It's on one such excursion that something odd happens: a break-in at his small houseboat. Nothing is stolen but an environmentalist slogan is spray painted on the wall—odd considering the island is a reserve and he the protector of it. But that is just the beginning of Winters' story. Rather than look for clues, the police come to Winters with suspicious questions, particularly about his sister, a woman who he thought dead years ago as part of an environmentalist mass suicide. When no answers are forthcoming from the constabulary, Winters decides to get them himself.

Review of The Faith of Beasts by James S.A. Corey

2024's The Mercy of Gods introduced readers to a new space opera series from James S.A. Corey, the pen name of writer duo Daniel Abraham and Ty Franck. Where their prior series The Expanse focused on a human war in the solar system, the new series, The Captives War, looked to the universe beyond and the myriad of alien life possible there. Humans just one of hundreds of sentient species, in The Mercy of Gods they were taken as slaves by an alpha lobster race called the Carryx. The second book in the series, The Faith of Beasts (2026), looks to tell the next chapter in humanity's attempt to escape captivity.

The Faith of Beasts picks up where The Mercy of Gods leaves off. It follows the surviving members of the team who have been tasked with scientific research in support of the Carryx's galactic war. At the start of the novel, the team are split into groups, sent to separate locations or planets, and given new research goals. They are also tasked with growing the human population, a task the group sets about doing, not through regular Friday-night orgies, rather embryos developed in artificial womb sacs. Power dynamics within the human moiety, let alone the universe at large, are put to strong test by the new research tasks, complicating the scientists' secret plans to overthrow the Carryx.

Cardboard Corner: Review of Etherstone

The Dark Crystal is a 1982 film for families and children. Jim Henson, creator of Sesame Street, brought his muppet-style to a dark fantasy world, spent a good chunk of money on puppetry and set pieces, and told a harrowing tale that will have even the most hardened adult squirming with emotion. One of the reasons for this is the film's baddies, the skeksis, anthropomorphized vultures who cackle and gloat while competing among themselves to suck the souls from the film's elfen heroes. The 2025 board game Etherstone gives me skeksis vibes. <cue cackling glee>

Both strategic and tactical, Etherstone is an engine building game for 2-4 players that is not multi-player solitaire. There is a small but important degree of interaction that forces players to pay attention to game-state as a whole. How it plays is, after a one-time card draft, players take turns drafting dice, collecting etherstones, playing cards to their engine, triggering card effects, and attacking NPCs, all in an effort to build the best points engine. The player with the most points when there are no more points in the pool, wins.

Review of Nonesuch by Francis Spufford

The horrors of WWI, while brought home to Britain in body bags, nevertheless occurred on continental ground. The country remained almost entirely intact, the artillery blasts and machine gun fire happening in France, Belgium, and other places. It was WWII that brought war home. In an effort to subdue the Brits, Hitler launched unending waves of attacks—rockets, bombs, and fighter jets. Those who survived were inevitably faced with soul searching possible only when mortality is at stake. In dynamic, colorful, dramatic, and comedic fashion, Francis Spufford's Nonesuch (2026) digs into the life of one such mortal.

Nonesuch is the story of Iris Hawkins, her romantic adventures as Britain emerges from the Great Depression, and the arrival of Hitler's bombers over London rooftops. She's a free-spirited young woman who enjoys a night out (or seven) with handsome young men, typing her way through a menial clerk's job at a stockbroker's by day. But her routine takes a turn when she has an encounter with the uncanny after a one-night stand. And then everyone's lives in London take a turn when the luftwaffe start dropping bombs.

Culture Commentary: What You Wanted: The Mandalorian & Grogu

Let's do it. Let's fight the power. Let's break the modern media mold. Let's give a reasonable, balanced opinion. The Mandalorian & Grogu is a good Star Wars movie with caveats.

Depending which corners of the web you haunt, your algorithms will attempt to feed you media based on other media you've consumed prior (with a strong dose of sponsorship). If you're not careful, I mean really careful, this can quickly swing to one extreme or another. Love-love-love! Hate-hate-hate! Love-hate-love-hate.... And on and on spins the media monster we've built. Mandalorian is crap! It's great! Disney is doomed! Star Wars is back! The truth often lies in the middle, and the film is no exception.

Review of The Sheep Look Up by John Brunner

Cli-fi has slowly and unsteadily become a sub-genre of science fiction. Works have appeared here and there—Margaret Atwood's Oryx and Crake, Paolo Bacigalupi's The Water Knife, Kim Stanley Robinson's New York 2140, Matt Bell's Appleseed, Lily Brooks-Dalton's The Light Pirate, and Ned Beauman's Venomous Lumpsucker among them, all with varying visions of nature's power in relation to human life. Whether they know it or not, most of these visions owe a debt of gratitude to the granddaddy of all the environmental novels, The Sheep Look Up (1972) by John Brunner.

If something could go wrong for humanity in The Sheep Look Up, it has. A Greta Thunberg wet dream, pollution chokes cities, forcing people to wear masks in public. Epidemics of food poisoning, accidental and intentional, occur with the randomness of clouds. Potable water doesn't exist anymore save through treatment. Viruses and infections sweep through society like granny's Saturday morning broom. Oily sludge covers coastal and inland waters. Agricultural practices have denuded prairies, forming dustlands. It's bad.

Review of The Ends of the Earth by Lucius Shepard

What a world the West has woven. Technology, with its mantra of making life easier, has in fact made our lives more busy and inundated us with information, so much so that our lives are ever more consumed by the present. It hurts my heart clicking on links to 'Best SF of All Time”, or “Top 100 Fantasy Ever” and seeing that 75% of the books were published after 2000. The efforts of so many brilliant writers are invisibly crumbling in the public eye. Not quite vanished but on the verge is Lucius Shepard. Once one of the absolute titans of fantastika in (semi) short form, few if any of the younguns have even heard his name. The Ends of the Earth (1991) may just well be the best collection he produced, and if not, at least has several horses in the race. Beyond himself, the collection likewise contains some of the tip-top best short stories to come out of the late 20th century.

The collection kicks off with the title story “The Ends of the Earth”. A down-on-his-luck NY writer tries to get away from it all in Guatemala. He meets an alluring young French woman in a lonely tourist town, but has his advances blocked by a weed dealer who is trying to translate a native board game he found into English. The writer's advances eventually go too far, and the small town is turned on its fantastical head. Out of all the stories to choose to title the collection after, I'm lost why this is the one. It's a loosely developed, forced concept with random “fantasy” coming alive in a form that is intended to be horrific but doesn't go beyond cheap 80s slasher. If the idea was to ease readers in, one toe at a time, then fair enough. Because...

Review of No Man's Land by Richard Morgan

J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings famously tells the story of the end of one era and the beginning of another. The giant evil is defeated and the elves go to the Gray Havens, taking magic with them and leaving humans and halflings in a spring of mortal peace and prosperity. In jarring contrast to that pastoral idyll, Richard Morgan's new novel, No Man's Land (2026), shifts forward in time to the beginning of the next era: What if the horrors of WWI were the reintroduction of fae evil into Britain? No hobbits smoking pipes here...

No Man's Land is the story of Duncan Silver. Hired gun, woodsman, tracker, hunter—the WWI war veteran is highly experienced in the wilds of the Forest, dealing with the evil Fae who dwell there. In post-war Britain, the Forest is spreading its roots into farms and cities, giving Duncan a lot of work. The opening pages find him at a farmstead where a woman believes her daughter has been stolen by the fairy folk, the Huldu, leaving a lookalike in her stead. After performing a simple alchemical test, Duncan determines that indeed, the girl the woman thinks is her daughter is just a Fae. He agrees to go into the Forest and retrieve the woman's real daughter, and by doing so unwittingly begins a new chapter in his life that will rival WWI for horror and chaos.

Cardboard Corner: Ashes Reborn – Breakdown of all "Red Rains" expansions

This is a breakdown of all seven Ashes Reborn “Red Rains” expansions. It will focus primarily on the Chimera and their aspects, with secondary notes on the phoenixborn and player cards which come in each box. While every Chimera is unique, I didn't want to repeat myself seven times regarding the player cards, so I'll do it once now.

Every “Red Rains” expansion contains four phoenixborn. None are new. As of 2025 (prior to Ashes Ascendancy) all have been previously seen, either in the master set or in individual packs. But each does have new specialty cards, and the remaining nine cards (three copies each) included in the pack are likewise new, never before seen in Ashes. Other than the fact the cards are based around one of the dice types, there is no synergy. They are intended to expand the broader player card pool rather than work together as a precon deck. To be clear, they can be played as a legal deck by adding Phoenixborn specialty cards, just not a good one. If you enjoy a particular dice-type or phoenixborn (included in the notes below), check out the relative pack as there will be new options for play.

Organized in release order, the following is a breakdown of the seven “Red Rains” packs:

Review of The Book of Fallen Leaves by A.S. Tamaki

It is an unfortunate reality of fiction in 2026 that the reader must do research prior to purchase. There is such an extreme diversity being published that it's more important than ever to know what you're (likely) getting into. Gone are the days of blind jumps leading to a reasonable amount of fun. I am reading a minimum of three reviews and checking if sample pages are available for anything by an author I have not encountered before—which is probably 60-70% of the titles scrolling on my screen. I did my research on The Book of Fallen Leaves by A.S. Tamaki (2026), and it still wasn't enough.

A piece of epic Oriental fantasy, The Book of Fallen Leaves is set twenty years after the Gensei rebellion. The rebelling clan was crushed, it's leader was executed, and its survivors were scattered to the winds. But pride, fate, and honor still burn. The Gensei work in the shadows to re-establish order, their holdings, and their army. Their continued goal: destruction of the emperor, his Ten'in clan and those loyal to him. At the start of the novel, the Gensei's plight again seems headed to defeat, but a handful of cackling gods and demons start to meddle, ensuring no result is certain.

Review of Darwin's Blade by Dan Simmons

For whatever the reason, despite not having any sort of personal relationship, we readers feel a touch of sadness when a writer we enjoy, passes. Dan Simmons took his pie to the sky in early 2026 and in tribute, I decided to dust off a novel of his I've had on the shelf for more than a decade, Darwin's Blade (2000).

Simmons has written—sorry, I must adjust my grammar going forward. Simmons wrote in a wide variety of genres, including space opera, fantasy, historical fiction, science fiction, horror, and neo noir. Darwin's Blade is yet another: straight-forward action/thriller.

Front and center is Darwin Minor, a Vietnam vet who, after the war, has made a name for himself as the best accident reconstructionist in southern California. Running a private business, he uses knowledge of physics and the latest computing tools to help the police and victims identify what really happened at accident scenes. It's business as usual until somebody tries to kill Darwin as he drives home from an accident scene. Next thing he knows, a statewide investigation is underway for fraudsters staging accidents for insurance claims. That proves to be just the tip of the criminal iceberg.

Review of The Promise of Space and Other Stories by James Patrick Kelly

Science fiction, like so many cultural mediums, has exploded in content the past couple of decades. Gone are the days when a fan can read, or at least be aware of, the key writers in the genre. James Patrick Kelly was once one such writer. Most sf readers knew of his stories and style, and many were reading him. With the swamp—ahem, milieu—of genre fiction rolling in the mud today, JPK has been pushed to the reedy fringes, unfortunately. Unfortunate because, he only continues to improve and mature. Living proof is the 2018 collection The Promise of Space and Other Stories.

The collection starts off with the title story and features a relationship as only the near future can hold. A science fiction writer talks with the AI memories of her dead astronaut boyfriend who died on a Mars mission. The story is entirely dialogue, and Kelly paints their relationship with a gray brush, making for rereadable content. The next story, “The Chimp of the Popes” is an homage to Robert Silverberg. Humans have transcended to the Cognisphere, leaving bots and uplifted chimps to rule Earth. A handful of humans remain in stasis, however, and at the beginning of the story one is unthawed who claims to be the pope. The chimps put him with the other unthawed popes. But this new pope has a little extra kick, eventually forcing the chimps to discover the reality of the cognisphere.

Review of The Compelled by Adam Roberts

For those paying attention, this site does not review graphic novels. The reason is simple. I don't read them. I'm dimly aware that graphic novels have evolved beyond their comic book roots the past several decades, and if I did the research, would likely find material the adult mind can grapple with. But one can only have so much on their plate. I did notice, however, Adam Roberts' pairing with artist Francois Schuiten in 2020 for the “graphic novel” The Compelled (more on the quotation marks later), and decided to have a gander.

The Compelled is a novella featuring multiple point-of-view characters that has a definitive artsy nature to its premise and mode. It's set in the present day after a small percentage of the population suddenly becomes 'compelled', that is, they pick up random objects, bring them to different places, and hodge-podge them into improvised structures and compositions. There is no explanation. Feeling compelled is a subconscious thing. A person just gets the feeling they need to go to their neighbor's house, take a lawn chair, and bring it to the town square where a giant sphere of objects is slowly taking shape. As a result, the urban landscape is evolving. New constructions and artifacts are taking shape while existing buildings, homes, and places are being slowly cannibalized.

Review of Brooklyn Crime Novel by Jonathen Lethem

Motherless Brooklyn and Fortress of Solitude are often cited as Jonathan Lethem's best novels. And reasonably so. Motherless is subtle neo-noir with a main character that leaves an impression beyond quirks of personality. Also set in NYC, Fortress is a coming-of-age tale that slips in and out of super-hero fantasy in nostalgic yet socially relevant terms. One might assume a Lethem novel titled Brooklyn Crime Novel (2023) would be in an similar vein. It is, and yet it definitively isn't.

Brooklyn Crime Novel, while not entirely plotless, operates in a mode that feels more like a series of historical vignettes. If it weren't for Lethem's singular diction, the emotion-less presentation of events could have had a textbook feel. By shifting points of view, the book relates the lives of a handful of children, of all shapes, sizes, and colors, growing up in the late 60s and 70s during the gentrification of Brooklyn. None of the children are given names. Instead, they are given identifiers—screamer, millionaire's son, board game boy, slipper, etc., which adds to the distance between reader and character. Their individual stories have arcs, but they are flat, short, and focused on the quotidian details of their lives as they link to Lethem's theme.

Review of Livesuit by James S.A. Corey

Ty Franck and Daniel Abraham (James S.A. Corey) frequently took side trips writing the nine-volume Expanse series. They released bits of short fiction every year or two to fill holes and complete the tableaux of the series' storyline. Enough short stories produced, in fact, a tenth and final volume was eventually released, a collection. While I don't expect the planned three volumes The Captive's War trilogy to generate the same amount of short fiction, the duo nevertheless continue the practice, releasing the intriguingly incongruous tie-in novella Livesuit in 2024.

Livesuit is the story of Kieran, leader of a team of soldiers battling against the galaxy-dominating Carryx. The team is a specially selected squad, each of which wears an expensive, difficult-to-manufacture skinsuit that keeps them alive in battle and maintains their bodily functions in normal life. In the early going, Kieran's leg is crushed in a trap, but the suit keeps his leg intact and his body upright throughout the remaining fight. And resilience is needed as the team have a difficult mission: to infiltrate a prison and rescue the humans held captive.

Cardboard Corner: Review of Hive

Do you like Chess or Go but don’t like the commitment—the weight of tackling brain burning hours of iterating if/then scenarios? Do you think the idea of kings and queens, soldiers and knights on a battlefield is a hoary, outdated notion? Or maybe, you think the idea of a grid is too limiting? <cue salesman voice> Well then, do we have a game for you! Hive (2000)!!

A tight-tight package, Hive is an abstract strategy game for two players that plays out in half the time of chess, and in significantly less time than go. Combining elements of both those games and simplifying them, players take turns laying hexagonal pieces in hive formation in attempt to surround their opponent’s queen. The game is insect-themed, meaning it is in fact a queen bee.

Like chess and go, Hive features black and white sides, with each side having the same pieces and starting conditions. Like chess specifically, each type of piece in Hive has its own unique move set (more in a moment), but unlike chess they do not start on the board in ready position. More like go, Hive’s “board” begins empty. I put “board” in quotes given Hive has no board. Any small, flat space will do—even airplane trays. The board creates itself as players lay pieces, making for an open, evolving experience.

Review of The Alteration by Kingsley Amis

Kingsley Amis is not a known author in households where science fiction or fantasy rule. A staunch Brit with Oxford pedigree and steady hand in politics, he doesn't spring to mind as such a writer. And to be fair, I assume neither would Amis himself associate with the common understanding of said genres. The vagaries of time being what they are, however, means Amis has a toe across the line whether he likes it or not. That appendage is the alternate history The Alteration (1976). It's (ironically) such a relevant work today that perhaps it should even have an additional appendage over the line?

Ten-year old Hubert Anvil possesses the voice of an angel. His singing touches the heavens, and the Catholic church of Amis' alternate history Europe intends on keeping it that way. They propose castrating Hubert, preserving his pristine voice, rendering him a eunuch in the cause of the church til the end of his days. Hubert's father, an aristocrat dependent on his relationship with the church, reluctantly agrees, while his brother advises him not to—“Sex is good.” being his standby argument. But things are more complicated than just pleasure, forcing young Hubert into dire straits that he will eventually emerge from, just in what form?

Review of Zeppelin City by Eileen Gunn and Michael Swanwick

Different readers have different reactions to stereotypes and cliches. Some forgive, ignore, or even embrace the overt depiction of communal cultural phenomenon. Not this blog. It's difficult, painful to read “the thing” laid bare exactly as the lowest possible common denominator would have it. Ready the tylenol with Michael Swanwick and Eileen Gunn's novella Zeppelin City (2011).

Zeppelin City is the story of Radio Jones, Amelia Spindizzy, and Rudy (no catchy last name; he's the commie). Jones is a plucky electronics wiz who has an idea how radio signals can be overheard, an idea she hopes to bring to reality so she can make a dime off listening to the autogyro operators and their crews during the big races. Spindizzy is an autogyro pilot, and a damn good one. But she has her rival—her “Red Baron” in the skies—who may or may not have her number. And there's Rudy, a single-minded lad if ever there were. He spouts commie logic all the way to the halls of the brains in jars who rule Zeppelin City. Yes, brains in jars...

Culture Corner Morocco: Part II – Erg Chebbi, Meknes, and Essaouira

 This is Part II of our Morocco photos.  Part I is here.

We spent three days at Erg Chebbi, including this obligatory camel photo.

Culture Corner: Morocco Part I - Marrakesh and Atlas Mountains

No other way to start this post than: what a pleasant surprise Morocco was! Due to past experience visiting certain Middle Eastern countries, I went in with certain preconceived notions. I was wrong. WRONG. Our two weeks in Morocco were fantastic. The people we met were amazing and everything went off splendid on the 2,200 km journey. From markets to deserts to hospitality to palaces to camels to madrasas to riads to tajines to oranges to snow-capped mountains to flocks of sheep to the genuine smiles and openness of Moroccans, it was an amazing trip.

This post will be the first of two showing various scenes from our trip. No AI, filters, or any of the stuff the kids these days use to spice up photos was used. Just a boomer with a mobile phone.

First stop was Marrakesh, perhaps Morocco's most famous city. And it's for a reason. Just ask the mule.

Review of North Sun, or the Voyage of the Whaleship Esther by Ethan Rutherford

The thimbleful of faithful Speculiction readers will be aware we love and hate taxonomizing fiction. It's a fun exercise and can be helpful for a certain type of reader, but overall fiction is fiction, and when you get down to brass tacks, there is a lot of subjectivity what is what (Derrida, cough, cough). Ethan Rutherford's North Sun, or the Voyage of the Whaleship Esther (2024) is a bucket of brass tacks.

North Sun is split in two parts. (Technically it's split in three, but the third acts more as an epilogue.) The first part will have readers breaking out comparisons to Moby Dick. A wealthy magnate, in the twilight of New England's whaling industry, equips the Esther with captain and crew, and sends them out to the seas to reap whales. Day to day life aboard the ship, from crewmen to first mate, captain to steerer, deckhands to cook, are portrayed in brief scene after brief scene, giving readers a glimpse into life aboard such a ship. (Astute readers will note the extreme brevity compared to Melville.)

Review of The Book of Lamps and Banners by Elizabeth Hand

She survived a serial killer on a lonely island in Maine. She escaped the cold wilds of Iceland. Britain chewed her up and spit her out. But Cass Neary lives on, on to what may be her final, unintended adventure: The Books of Lamps and Banners (2020).

As with all Cass Neary novels, The Book of Lamps and Banners picks up precisely where the prior novel left off. Neary is back and London after her escapades on the sandy, pagan shores of Cornwall. She tries to find out what happened to her former lover Quinn, still hoping to get back to the US. After a spot of convenient pickpocketing, she runs into an old acquaintance at an antiquarian book store. He has a lead on an esoteric volume sought by the most avid of collectors, and invites Neary along for the appointment. Shit hits the fan in the wake of that visit, and Neary finds herself with a torn manuscript page and a handful of neo-nazis a little too close on her heels.

Review of Reaper Man by Terry Pratchett

In 1987, Terry Pratchett published Mort, and by doing so introduced Discworld readers to what would become one of the series' most iconic characters: DEATH. Looking to build on the success and throw in an alien invasion (as one does), Pratchett returned to the character in 1991's Reaper Man.

Before going off the rails, Reaper Man tells two parallel stories, the first of which is of Windle Poons. Unseen University's oldest member, the wizards gather one evening to celebrate what is to be his last day alive. But things don't go as planned, and Windle finds himself with newfound life and the strength of the undead—which will be needed when aliens invade (as they do). The second is of Death. Where he normally attends to the hourglasses of ordinary mortals, at the story's outset he finds himself attendant to his own. His days are numbered, and Death decides to get the most of his final days. He abandons the robe and scythe and becomes an ordinary farmhand living on an ordinary farm on the ordinary outskirts of Ankh-Morpork. Windle lives on borrowed time and Death on finite time, the rest is Pratchett.

Review of Pagans by James Alastair Henry

It is the case, unfortunately, that identity has become a point of hyper focus the past decade. Much ado about nothing... Nevertheless, for some people ethnicity, nationality, gender, religion, and self-perception of those ideas have taken over a large chunk of cultural discourse. Wallowing like a pig in identity mud is James Alastair Henry's Pagans (2026).

The twist? It's an alternate modern world where the tribes of the British Isles never united. Celts, Saxons, Picts, Scots, and Norse abound, each with their own distinct culture, religion, behavior, fashion, etc., as well as territory they claim as their own. The heart pumping blood through this fictional setting is a murder mystery. A man is found nailed to a tree in a Celtic forest, exsanguinated, and due to the fact he is of Saxon blood, a Saxon investigator is called in for assistance. What follows is a dark journey into the shadows of fundamentalist religion and cultural identity.

Review of The Melancholy of Mechagirl by Catherynne M. Valente

Is there anything she can't do? Catherynne Valente's oeuvre not only covers a swathe of genres and sub-genres, but does so in a variety of styles and approaches that make putting her fiction in a box impossible. Ensuring that task is truly out of reach is the Japan, Japan-adjacent, Japan-inspired, and Japan touched short story collection: The Melancholy of Mechagirl (2013).

The Melancholy of Mechagirl kicks off with the eponymous poem. The zig-zag of the title becomes inherent as Valente takes the reader on a mini-journey through the soul of a Japanese teen girl. “Ink, Water, Milk” is a 3x3 grid, columns and rows the same names, or as Valente describes it, like three cells from a film roll, one laid on top of the other on a light box. More stories than story, it is a short but brilliant interplay of color, history, emotion, myth, procreation, all bleeding one into the other, separate yet part of the same whole. One of the best of the collection.

TCG Resource Systems (aka, How I Met Your Mother)

Captain Obvious says, economy is one of the three pillars supporting every TCG. Lieutenant Apparent adds, economy must be considered in every decision made and every card played. And Private Plain squeaks, economy is to blame for not being able to splash all my hardest hitting cards in one turn! (Umm, Private, that game is Yu-Gi-Oh...) Invisible yet influential, economies make some TCGs stand tall and others hang noodle limp. At the risk of hyperbole, it is the spine of every TCG.

As such, I thought it would be fun to look at some of the economies—resource systems—that have developed since Magic: the Gathering appeared 35+ years ago (and cursed us with the shittiest resource system known this universe—and all the universes beyond).

And there have been a number of different systems. From simple to complex, static to dynamic, inherent to abstract—the ability to pay and play those sweet-sweet cards has appeared in many iterations in TCG and TCG-esque games. (If you consider yourself a purist of the definition of “TCG”, run the other way. I will discuss TCGs, CCGs, LCGs, ECGS, UCGs, etc., etc. without a fig given to taxonomy.)  A variety will be discussed here, and in the closing paragraph I will draw some conclusions—objective conclusions, naturally.

Review of Colossus by D.F. Jones

It's an understatement to say AI has undergone significant shifts in perspective. Undoubtedly cavemen would have furrowed their foreheads at the idea, industrialists of the 19th century, also. But when machines entered everyday life in the mid 20th, it was allowed as a possibility. And when computers appeared, it became an inevitability. The interesting perspective to that perspective is: the context was always 'the future'. AI is in the future. Guess what, it's 2026 and the future is here. AI, or something resembling AI, is in our homes and in our pockets. Beyond inevitable, how could we not have seen it come when it did? Why was it a far future thing? That's what people ask in hindsight. Looking back to the era between 'possibility' and 'inevitability' is a novel portraying a Cold War AI, Colossus by D.F. Jones (1966).

Charles Forbin is the US government project head, leading the team of people designing and building the world's first artificial intelligence. In the opening pages, Forbin has put the finishing touches on the massive project and enters the president's office to inform him of the green light. A gregarious, determined man, the president praises the project and the next day holds a press conference to announce to the world that the US would be downsizing its military by 70% and turning over control of the armed forces to Colossus, the AI. Almost simultaneously, the Soviet Union announces its own AI, an entity they call Guardian. What happens next turns the world upside down and puts humanity on the back foot for the first time in history.

Cardboard Corner: Review of Endeavor: Deep Sea

Surprise, there are critical views of the modern liberal education system. It doesn't push students. It doesn't set realistic expectations. It doesn't prepare them for the real world. It doesn't recognize differences. It's not like school when I was a kid... I will let reality speak for the legitimacy of those concerns. What I want to do here is demonstrate how the system has appeared in board games—at least one board game: Endeavor Deep Sea (2024).

Endeavor: Deep Sea is an action-selection game for 1-4 players. Each player is the leader of a team of marine biologists, technicians, engineers, etc. exploring the sea. Anything the player does—gets another submersible, discovers a new place, explores a new location, conserves a species, collects journals, fills a board with tokens (ahem)—will get them victory points. The player with the most victory points after six rounds, wins.

Review of The Wilding by Ian McDonald

Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child's 1995 novel The Relic tells of an Amazonian creature accidentally transported to NYC's Museum of Natural History. It proceeds to wreak havoc on the museum, brutally killing staff and visitors. The story is brainless escapism of the purist variety. Ian McDonald's 2024 The Wilding is an Irish peat bog take on the same.

Lisa Donnan is a tour guide working at Ireland's largest environmental reclamation project—a 400 sq. km. bog that was nearly wiped out by peat extraction and is now being allowed to regrow. She and her coworkers oversee the re-wilding of what is now a nature park by tracking wildlife, monitoring biosystems, and leading tours and hikes. Trouble starts when one of the farmers allowed to use the land discovers an eviscerated cow. The discovery coincides with the first day of hiking for a group of middle-schoolers, and Lisa soon finds her hands full with more than just teen angst.

Review of Beluthahatchie and Other Stories by Andy Duncan

Ahhh, Andy Duncan. What to say? The definition of quality over quantity, the man writes only a couple short stories per year. Each is hand-crafted, polished to chrome shine, and will certainly feature an organic premise speaking to some measure of humanity at large. And authorial voice, amazing. Each story drips with flavor yet is told in a way that fits the story being told. But I gush. Duncan’s first collection, Beluthahatchie and Other Stories (2000), is well worth seeking out by connoisseurs of speculative fiction in short form.

A Robert Johnson crossroads story with an agenda, the title story “Beluthahatchie” tells of a vice-ridden blues musician from the early 20th century who meets an untimely end and finds himself on the train to hell. But it's when encountering the devil and learning about his new living conditions that the reader really gets to thinking. Written in fabulous prose, Duncan sets the tone for the collection by drawing the reader in with rich character and dialogue, and leaves them pondering over the substance.

Cardboard Corner: Ranking Arkham Horror: The Card Game Opening Scenarios

Arkham Horror: The Card Game campaigns have a definitive arc. They ebb and flow through six, eight, nine scenarios, giving players a variety of ways to test decks and test skill, and culminating in a boss battle. That boss should be, and most often is, the ultimate test. Knowledge of the campaign's mechanisms and upgraded decks go a long way toward success. Opening scenarios are the opposite, and the focus of this post.

In some ways, the opening scenario is the best point of any campaign. The mystery of what is happening, the excitement of what is to come, and the simple joy of getting into another campaign combine to give them a little extra zest. They are also a challenge. Players have the weakest decks they will have all campaign and no knowledge of the new mechanisms. First impressions, as they say, mean everything. In previous posts, Speculiction has ranked the Arkham Horror releases and bosses. As such, I thought it would be fun to rank all the opening scenarios, as well.

From worst to first, here they are. Enjoy!

Review of Hard Light by Elizabeth Hand

Elizabeth Hand's Cass Neary series, at the structural level, doesn't poke its nose above ordinary. It's slow burn murder mystery through and through, a saturated genre if ever there were. Where the series gouges its mark is in Neary. Like boiling a frog, the reader slowly realizes they are bound to her vices almost as much as her virtues, and by default bound to the dubious circumstances spiraling around her. Not an archetype, she lives and breathes inner demons, her antagonism serving character and plot. It's that level of credibility which makes the series worthwhile and worth mention whenever the best neo-noir books are discussed. Let's see how third book in the series, Hard Light (2016), continues digging into Neary.

Generation Loss was set on the coast of Maine and Available Dark in Iceland. In the direct aftermath, Hard Light takes readers to London Penniless, Neary finds herself in a dive bar, looking for a means get home to the US. She runs into a goth singer, who takes her to a coke house, which gets her into an art party, which puts her in contact with strange prehistoric artifacts, which... takes the reader on yet another subtly evolving murder mystery that has both feet in a dark, personal reality. No spoiler, the manner in which Hand integrates the physics and chemistry of photography into murder mystery continues to astound.

Review of Moon Dogs by Michael Swanwick

Whether you know it or not, Michael Swanwick has been producing some of the best off-center fantasy fiction since 1980; he plays in the sandbox but uses his toes. What some people also may not know is that Swanwick has also been one of the best voices in non-fiction over that time. He has produced 100+ published essays, and likely just as much content if not more on his blog, in interviews, etc. Swanwick's 2000 collection Moon Dogs features the best of his short fiction between 1991 and 2000 as well as the most relevant of his non-fiction during the same time frame.

Moon Dogs kicks off with the title story. It tells of a young man who goes to a near-drowning clinic in the hopes of purging his thoughts of mortality. After, he rests in the woods and meets a strange woman with a pack of mechanical dogs. Her backstory relevant, the man's sense of mortality takes a dramatic swing in the aftermath of their meeting. This story is the lone, previously unpublished piece in the collection and is an oddly successful combination of gothic and science fiction. It delivers on mood, and, if anything else, is a well written bit of cheap revenge.

A True Phoenixborn: Breaking Down the Ashes: Rise of the Phoenixborn Product Line

In a way, this is a spurious post. Like baby spiders emerging from the egg sac, it's inevitable Ashes: Rise of the Phoenixborn will find its own way in the world, the words below unnecessary. But the game has evolved a couple of times the past ten years, and therefore for people interested, here is a quick and dirty breakdown of Ashes products. Skip to the summary if you just want to know where to start.

Ashes: Rise of the Phoenixborn

The first Ashes product release was the 2015 master set Ashes: Rise of the Phoenixborn. It was popular and spawned expansions: nineteen standard hero packs, three deluxe hero packs (new dice types), tournament play, deckbuilding websites, forum chatter, and all the jazz one associates with a popular collectible card game. Anti-Magic: the Gathering in several ways, the master set offered players a complete, out-of-the-box TCG-esque play experience without the need to chase cards, worry about rarity, etc. The game's design is better for it. All the cover art for the products released during this cycle has a white background.

Review of Angel Down by Daniel Kraus

Every once and a while, out of the blue, brushing your teeth for example, lightning strikes. Every once and a while you're going to work, same path you always take, and an elephant falls from the sky. And every once and a while, traveling the well-trodden highways and byways of contemporary fiction, a truly exceptional book plops in front of your eyeballs. This review is lightning; Daniel Kraus' Angel Down (2025) is the blue.

Angel Down is the story of Bagger, a gravedigger deployed to an American company of soldiers at the front-lines of Bois de Caures in World War I, France. The front-lines provide Bagger no shortage of work, and a cynical view of his fellow soldiers to boot. No use getting close to people when you'll bury them the next day. Bagger hopes to survive the war in order to return to his Iowa farm. But a chance encounter with an angel one battle changes his fate.

But that is just the story of Angel Down. Just.

Article: Phase Three: Z-Factor TCGs

Maybe it's just me, but cultural movements seem to be divided into three phases. You have Phase 1, the Indiscernable Phase (official name, natch). Disparate pieces appear in the ether of culture but are not yet discernable as a "thing". Take cyberpunk, for example. In the mid-20th century, books appeared with techno-dystopias, datanet heists, body-embedded technology, evil corporations, information wars, etc. scattered among them. But it wasn't until the late 70s and early 80s that writers like William Gibson, Bruce Sterling, Pat Cadigan et al. pulled these ideas together into a phenomenon we call cyberpunk. Yes, you're reading correctly: cyberpunk as an identifiable concept does not emerge until Phase 2, the Coalescing Phase. One other important point about Phase 2 is that it sits on the edge of popularity but is not yet popular. Neuromancer was a niche hit upon release, not a mass market hit. The hucksters need time to catch on, which leads us to Phase 3: the Commodification Phase. The "thing" is now an ordinary thing, a known entity that companies can market, produce, and sell en masse. They can put the 'cyberpunk' label on the cover and most people will know what it is. Rinse, repeat, until ubiquity is achieved.

Of course, the transitions between the three phases are nebulous. What precisely is the line between Coalescing and Commodification? Hard to know. But the phases undoubtedly exist. Cyberpunk, jazz, romantasy, or any other cultural phenomenon have gone through them. Which brings us to TCGs.