With a nod to Sir Arthur C. Clarke (1917-2008), Editor Eric M. Heideman opens issue #29 of Tales of the Unanticipated, describing the issue as a “[showcase of] fiction by TOTU veterans.” Associate Editor Rebecca Marjesdatter follows with a seemingly introductory social editorial, “The Ties That Bind.” This article does not focus so much on the themes of the issue or even details of the works themselves, as much as it focuses on the study of cons and the mayhem en masse that can ensue. In regards to issue #29, it is undeniable that the issue features “return talents,” ones that this reader has found enjoyable in past readings; however, it is questionable whether the works by the writers in this issue are truly their most talented ones.

“Dead Man Come A-Calling” by Mark Rich has a rather cliché premise—admittedly, clichés are difficult to avoid when writing a zombie tale. Don’t let that stop you from reading it, however. Rich twists the zombie trope into a style much like Kim Paffenroth’s sentient zombies who, despite communication difficulties, exhibit the self-efficacy necessary to actually engage the plot. The zombie characterizations are a posthumous sort of babbling, bumbling display of course, but what would a zombie tale be without bumbling corpses?

This story focuses more on the heart than the mind, so don’t look for brain-crazed connoisseurs here. There is no eating of brains as often happens with zombie tales. So you won’t find any George Romero cameos here. Instead, you’ll find love lost, spiteful exes, and second chances. This is a zombie romance, well, a zombie-human romance—yes, I’ll repeat that, zombie and human romance—with some heartfelt attempts at the life, death thematic drives so innate to zombie stories. In spite of the sometimes awkward attempts at colloquial dialogue and the trope setting that most zombie stories simply cannot escape, the story offers some enjoyable farce.

Social politics and academia set the stage for “Kindling” by Patricia S. Bowne. This novelette cameos classic monsters while offering a less common antagonist in the form of a banshee with a developed past. Browne does a decent job of engaging the reader with characterizations, both protagonist and antagonists, while providing a bit of tension along the way.

Academic angst permeates the setting, which is nicely set off with a few minor lighthearted characterizations. One cannot help but envision a Hogwart’s atmosphere while reading this novelette, though in this setting, there are no little wizards involved. This is a story with which academics might relate.

SF fans who like to antique on the weekends will enjoy “The VanBulyen Effect” by Lyda Morehouse. Mrs. VanBulyen contracts a specialist team of antique movers, only they don’t move antiques from location to location—they move antiques from year to year.

The premise of this story is a sexy one, offering internal and external conflicts; however, the edge stops there. Where the protagonist borders on several interesting, even naughty possibilities, not a single one comes to full edgy fruition. The reader is left with an anti-climactic Sunday school tea party that will be touching for some, but for the savvy contemporary reader will echo stories of the past.

“Mickey’s Diner is real. Google it.” This is the opening blurb to Eleanor Arnason’s “The Diner.” Quite a challenge for an opening. Unfortunately, this reader did not find anything to encourage me to “Google it.” This story, reminiscent of “Why I Left Harry’s All-Night Hamburgers” by Lawrence Watt-Evans, loses itself in an onslaught of characters from various worlds. Overloaded with peripheral descriptions that make little connection directly to the plot, but rather spiral into a descriptive no-man’s land, this story reads like an epic slice of life that needs significant tightening. Thematic ties are underdeveloped, and so this reader was left reaching for a resonance that would have bound the story together. Cliché riddled dialogue throughout adds further difficulty to this already cliché setting.

“Desiree” by Stephen Dedman opens with a common SF idea: the future of electronic sex. It isn’t long, however, until the plot focuses on Sebastian, a horny, academic 17-year-old who happens upon a program that allows him to build his perfect partner. Unfortunately, this partner, Desiree, comes with a few contingencies that test and spin Sebastian’s moral compass.

The characterizations in this short story are well sculpted. The setting, at times, belabors the details in a classic fictional private investigator’s “listen to me, and I’ll tell you about the world” tone, but Sebastian and Desiree develop an interesting bond, a believable link that made this reader accept the outcome to Sebastian’s ordeal. Addiction, sex, primal curiosities at many levels: they all do their job, although admittedly, the sexual cameos are at times a bit gratuitous. Still, in all fairness, the outcome of the story offers an honest dénouement to the story’s sexual focus, and so this can be forgiven on a thematic scale. Recommended.

“Anxiety Wave” by Martha A. Hood is 21st-century living at its best, complete with single mom and child, news reports of tragedy, and mounting pressures at work. Lori, the protagonist, contemplates the horror of “those people,” while falling into her own spiral of anxiety. The characterization is fine; however, I found the pacing a bit off, allowing my imagination to wander a bit too far from the immediate scene and plot at hand.

In “Der Erlkönig” by S. N. Arly, a fairy-tale king, King Erlkönig, takes an interest in children whose needs are not being met. The story begins with the makings of a morality tale; however, given the premise, children follow the king who is a stranger to them.

King Erlkönig has the ability to call children to his side, take them from their stations in life and give them a fey-folk life in the forest. This is all fine, except that it calls into question the lesson that it teaches, thereby having a flimsy moral base. Though seemingly written for a younger audience in tone and style, with a classic Brothers Grimm framework, this story is questionable in its thematic premise and conclusion, as any parent would be remiss in reading a story to children where they follow a stranger to a beneficial end. This premise then serves to undermine the morality aspect from a children’s tale perspective.

In retrospect, this story seems to be written more for parents than for children, saying, take care of your children’s needs or else. The biggest difficulty with this, though, is the clash between intended audience and tone and style. With an edgier, tighter execution, this story would read snappier and hold more interest for an adult audience. Given the outcome of the children’s choices, to target a children’s demographic would be irresponsible at best.

This story suffers from a removed POV that lost some of the connection to this reader that it might otherwise have had. Additionally, the story uses tropes a little too strongly, (i.e., children lose sight of the magic as they age and take on the responsibilities of the world.) “Der Erlkönig” has some lovely writing and promising dark imagery, but could benefit from more showing than telling, with better transition from one child’s story to the next..

In a child’s imagination, the world can be a supremely beautiful and terrifying place. In “Fort” by Stephen Couch, this imaginative world comes to life within the confines of a box, blankets, and a young boy’s fear. Patrick must navigate his home, now infiltrated with monsters—drooling, toothy beasts of the nightmarish kind. Where this tale begins with the makings of a dark children’s story, it quickly becomes a story of “tougher stuff.”

Though the pacing lags at times, and descriptions border on being too simplistic, “Fort” does a decent job of creating a believable setting, thereby anchoring the reader into the protagonist’s fear, his childhood perceptions, and concern for his sister. This story suggests the possibility of multiple layers. Who are these monsters, really? What might they represent? From this perspective, Couch offers a landscape for reflection; however, unfortunately, the surface details and conflicts do not make these connections strongly enough for full immersion as the text progresses. Still, it is an easy reflection to make once the story has been fully read.

As a children’s story in both tone and style, this tale offers a dark look into the youthful imagination, but as a more widely marketed story, it’s a bit too simplistic, lacking the true edge and brutal honesty that can take the veneer of innocence into the depths of imagination and experience.

“A Heart is the Size of a Clenched Fist” by Michael A. Pignatella frames several stories with a binding detail—a fist found in the ocean. With metal detector in hand, Charlie Voss finds a fist sticking straight out of the sand. The fist represents several things to Charlie and to different characters throughout the story. Each of the characters reacts to the fist in their own way, and the fist offers organic responses to each scenario.

The choice of a clenched fist has a powerful resonance within the structure of the story: stubbornness, protection, offerings. Though the fist changes little, the characters are widely divergent. This reader couldn’t help but ask, how would I react to the fist if I happened upon it? “A Heart is the Size of a Clenched Fist” offers opportunity for reflection on a basic metaphorical level.

“Verbal Knowledge” by Katherine Woodbury begins with a SF fantasy characterization that hints of established tropes, but quickly this story digs into social and corporate politics, emotions, and even love in a way that will engage the most jaded of lovers.

Woodbury has taken a future setting and given it present day resonance. Though the beginning is a bit rushed, introducing too much without enough anchor, once the protagonist, Roger, is fully developed, he is a complex character difficult to ignore. When he gets in over his head, the themes delve into everything from individualism versus community to male versus female to ethics versus “the greater good.” Roger and his targeted “victim” become vulnerable teammates who work together, even as they suspect and dislike each other. Together, they achieve an outcome that is truly satisfying in a realistic sense.

In Gerard Houarner’s “On the Wind That Blows Hard From Below,” his beginning focuses so inwardly on the narrator/protagonist that even the setting, Summit, which apparently is a festival of some type, is difficult to grasp because it is told in such a removed POV.

“Well, there you go. You see the effect I have. No, no, I saw you stifle the yawn.” True. With little action, dialogue, or even edginess to anchor into, the introduction is a long soliloquy so distant that even the first person POV has limited accessibility. Eventually, the narrator addresses the reader directly, “you,” which might have been a successful engagement until the narrator gives too much detailed description, whereby the “you” distanced this reader from the story before I could even engage it.

With too much telling and not enough showing, there is little in terms of conflict, which was disappointing, as this writer shows a depth of skill with wordsmithing, but not so much with the storytelling itself.

The wind motif suggests something of interest, yet without any true payoff. Tourists, thievery, sacrifice—all these things have glints of interest, but none of them are developed sufficiently. While the story’s voice shows potential, it is so inwardly focused that it becomes lost in the words and choice of POV.

Naomi Kritzer’s “When Shlemiel Went to the Stars” has the simplicity of a morality tale with the description and voice to match. One can almost hear a combination of Douglas Adams and Mel Brooks narrating the story along the way. Though the language is scaled down, this is exactly what sets up the overall tone that in the end works quite well. The mythos is an interesting mix.

Brazenly satirical of cerebral placards, the narrator introduces Mayor Jacob Macher, who holds “an Award for Leadership Excellence, a Certificate of Appreciation, and a Ph.D.” Macher has his real estate agent buy a planet that ends up being something less than what Macher had hoped for. For readers who like a lighthearted read with satirical depth, this story is recommended.

In “The Jaculi,” Patricia Russo borrows an interesting mythos, the Jaculi, who are believed to be airborne snakes or dragons. The Jaculi move into a community where the inhabitants start feeding them as though they are stray cats. The study of the community and how they interact with the Jaculi is telling and interesting; however, it is told in such a removed POV that it lacks a depth so as to deeply engage the reader. Second-hand descriptions further add to this effect.

In Tony Pi’s “Come Frost, Sun, and Vine,” three brothers bury their mother and set off on a journey where they happen across the swan maidens. Given powers that both bless and curse them, the brothers must set out on their own in order to fulfill their destinies, or should it be discover their free-will?

Pi’s writing of mythos has a smooth and engaging appeal. While not this reader’s favorite story of Pi’s; this story may appeal to readers who enjoy a classic magical setting.. The choices that these three brother’s make along the way provide a backdrop for reader reflection and resonance.

In “The Mead Cup” by Hank Quense, Arthurian setting, knights, and football combine for a farcical tale, and the combination doesn’t quite work, which was disappointing as this reader is a die-hard Monty Python and the Holy Grail fan with an appetite for medieval wit. For readers with a background in medieval studies, the historical cameos are familiar and well-placed; however, that is the extent of the experience. Unfortunately, the descriptions, history, and contemporary juxtapositions, seemingly meant for wit and fun, fall short on thematic rigor.

The relationships between the characters are rather shallow, and the historic cameos are so obvious that readers with a freshman understanding of Humanities 101 would quickly lose interest. Admittedly, the premise is an interesting one, worthy of further exploration, but the voice lacks the satirical depth to truly pull it off. Still, some readers who like farce and slapstick will likely find interest in this story.

In Sue Isle’s “Heartsblood,” “sex transition programs,” prostitutes, murder, and mayhem provide an interesting premise and related characterizations that combine for an exercise in social study. Ash/Ashley must navigate an aftermath setting and the consequences that ensue, which is made more complicated by her burgeoning sexual transitioning.

The story explores diversity in a less than perfect future. At times, this exploration is a touching study of gender and transgender concerns. Relationships are explored in an honest and revealing way. One drawback is the first-person narrative, as this limits the story’s perspective to the protagonist and limits the reader’s ability to truly get inside the perspectives of the other characters. Perspectives that would certainly have provided telling juxtapositions to Ash/Ashley’s viewpoints. Additionally, the plot could have benefited from further tightening as the progression lags a bit too much, too often.

All in all, TOTU #29, offers an eclectic collection of stories, themes, and settings to interest many different readers. With a few truly engaging stories, the others may have fallen short of full fruition, but there is no doubt that the writers overall show talent.