Asking the Wrong Questions

Every year, when Hugo nominations open, I put together a preliminary ballot. I jot down the titles of the things that blew me away in the previous year, and the perennial nominees like Strange Horizons (and more recently, the Ancillary Review of Books ). I look over the Hugo Spreadsheet of Doom for titles I might have forgotten or good ideas, and I send that ballot in. Then I put together another list, of books to read, movies to watch, and other things to look into between now and the nominating deadline. With weeks to go, I tell myself every year, I could easily get through all of these potential nominees and compile a diverse and informed ballot. This is not, to be clear, a plan that ever survives contact with real life, but this year has been a special case. It might explain something about my mental state as I prepare to finalize my 2026 Hugo nominations if I say that in the hours since I sat down to write this post, I was disturbed by an alert warning of Iranian missile launche...

"The Prancing Pony" by Tomás Hijo There were also many families of hobbits in the Bree-land, and they claimed to be the oldest settlement of Hobbits in the world, one that was founded long before even the Brandywine was crossed and the Shire colonized. They lived mostly in Staddle though there were some in Bree itself, especially on the higher slopes of the hill, above the houses of the Men. The Big Folk and the Little Folk (as they called one another) were on friendly terms, minding their own affairs in their own ways, but both rightly regarding themselves as necessary parts of the Bree-folk. Nowhere else in the world was this peculiar (but excellent) arrangement to be found. After several chapters spent in the wilderness, the hobbits return to civilization with their arrival at the village of Bree. Which is a rare example in this book of a location that is the home of ordinary people, not royalty or high elves, and which is both familiar and not. On the one hand, it is a pl...

Some Recent Reading Roundups have a theme or a common thread. Some are just grab-bags. This one—the first in quite some time—is definitely the latter. It includes two historical novels that both gesture at the Gothic, but in very different ways and to very different ends. A science fiction novel whose attempts to "solve" the problem of crackdowns on reproductive health through technocratic means is weirdly unexamined. Another science fiction novel with less lofty political aims, but whose mind-bending McGuffin is explored with delectable precision. And finally, a superhero romantasy novella whose real interest is in the dizzying complexity of history (and also, in how to open up your relationship with a hunky superman). There are books here I loved, books I had reservations about, and at least one I was rather unimpressed by. Read on to learn which is which. The Original by Nell Stevens - "The lost heir returns! But is it really them?" has long been a staple of Got...

It's been a long time since I read a novel by Ian McEwan. Some combination of his dwindling reputation among readers in my general vicinity, and plot descriptions that I found unappetizing kept me away from an author who was once one of my gateways to literary fiction. What We Can Know , the 2025 novel through which I've chosen to become reacquainted with McEwan, is a potent reminder of the skill and artistry that once made him a must-read. It is also extremely strange. Its first half is one of the most exciting pieces of writing I've read in months, but the novel only works with its second half, which completely changes what it is and what it's about. The first half of What We Can Know is narrated by Tom, an academic in the early 22nd century. Tom's specialty is literature published between 1990 and 2030, a period known as The Derangement, when runaway technological innovation overshadowed looming climate catastrophe. In the novel's opening chapters, we follow...

Readers of this blog will know how much I admire the writing the of Aliya Whiteley, not least because of how varied it is. She has written fungal horror ( The Beauty ), satire ( Greensmith ), planetary romance ( Skyward Inn ) and much else. And even within those genres, her writing is often hard to pin down, taking strange and unexpected turns and refusing an easy summation. I reviewed Whiteley's latest novel, The Misheard World , in last month's issue of Locus, which also gave me an opportunity to tease out a common thread that is becoming apparent in much of her writing. It's common, in the genres of science fiction and fantasy, to say that a certain work is about the power of storytelling. Often what's meant by this is something rather misty-eyed: the power of stories to inspire, to give meaning, to imbue the world with magic and wonder. In a career that has spanned some ten novels and novellas in a range of genres and styles, Aliya Whiteley has returned often to th...

"The Barrow Wight" by Michael Herring, 1981 'No!' said Frodo; but he did not run away. His knees gave, and he fell on the ground. Nothing happened, and there was no sound. Trembling he looked up, in time to see a tall dark figure like a shadow against the stars. It leaned over him. He thought there were two eyes, very cold though lit with a pale light that seemed to come from some remote distance. Then a grip stronger and colder than iron seized him. The icy touch froze his bones, and he remembered no more. Having had their fill of songs, folksy rhymes, and the charms of Goldberry , the hobbits continue on their journey in this chapter. And basically instantly run into more mortal peril. This time, what should (again) have been a straight shot to the East Road instead finds them trapped by a barrow-wight, a creature who has infested one of the many burial mounds scattered across this part of the countryside, and who ropes them into its plans for ritualized murder. The...