The June/July 2009 issue of The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction leans towards the latter end of the combination with only two of the nine stories which could really be called ‘fantasy’. However, this is not to say that there isn’t a wealth of good material for the eager reader. All of the stories were above average in quality this issue, and the classic reprints, in particular, were a delight. We’ll start off with the solitary novella of the issue:

Albert E. Cowdrey’s “Paradiso Lost” is, at its heart, a whodunit in space. A locked room murder mystery onboard a warship bound for the planet of the title. But like all good mysteries, “Paradiso Lost” has more scope than is first evident, as events percolate and spread, bringing in unsuspected angles and an unhappy, if satisfying resolution. The mystery itself isn’t hard to solve, but the best ones never are. It’s how they’re presented that’s important, and Cowdrey gives us plenty of suspects and plenty of red herrings and when the solution comes it is plenty satisfactory, if, as mentioned above, not entirely happy in nature. Too, politics and espionage abound in “Paradiso Lost” within the Byzantine maze of shipboard conspiracy, but these elements are not overdone, instead providing a tense undercurrent to the plot. Cowdrey also throws in the usual complement of background characters that seem to cling like barnacles to ship-based science-fiction stories, but pokes fun at the practice with a tongue in cheek glibness, and the main characters are impressively well-rounded in a way one does not often find in shorter works (even novella length).

“Firehorn” by Robert Reed explores the evolution of the eponymous urban legend from a childhood game into a more enigmatic and wholly dangerous form of existence. But the reasons for the transmogrification of the titular creature from a child’s campfire story into a murderous entity capable of committing real murder is secondary to the examination of why people, be they artificial or otherwise, cling to the often flimsy reality of their myths despite all evidence to the contrary. Flipping between the past and the present to establish motivation is an effective stylistic trick and Reed never lets it get away from him, much to his credit. Just enough time is spent in the narrator’s childhood and adolescence to establish his personality and the reasons for his actions, save one. Unfortunately this one is the driving reason behind a great deal of later interaction, and it could have done with more explanation. All in all, “Firehorn” travels at a steady pace only faltering at the climax, which is a fraction too pat, mainly due to the aforementioned point. The resolution comes too quickly to be entirely believable within the context of the story, and bit more explanation at certain points would have improved things immensely.

Wayne Wightman gives us an interesting take on the end of the world (well, the human world) with “Adaptogenia”. The story is told in monthly bursts, detailing the end of human life is brief, sharp chunks that, despite the subject matter, retain some smidgen of humor. Wightman’s writing is, as always, frenetic without seeming agitated. The piece hops forward in great leaps without missing a beat and without losing the overall tone. “Adaptogenia” isn’t simply about the adaptations that bring about man’s downfall, but about the adaptations that man himself/herself goes through as the final curtain descends. Wightman’s humor and gentle writing elevates what should be a grim finale into something more prosaic. The climax leaves the reader feeling not as if they’re witnessing the end of something, but a new beginning.

A short, epistolary take on the magic of money, Carolyn Ives Gilman’s “Economancer” is amusing in a too-plausible sort of way. Concerning the behind the scenes magical duels that make for the economic prosperity of the modern world, Gilman’s story is an interesting idea with a flawed presentation. Told through a series of e-mails, the reader is given a look into an intriguing world, but the look is, unfortunately, altogether too brief and too swift to make much of an impression. Essentially, this reads like an excerpt. It should be part of a larger whole. Gilman’s writing is superb, but there’s simply not enough of it to carry the weight of the magnificent concept she’s pitching to us.

“The Spaceman” by Mike O’Driscoll is a story of youth and regrets and an American spaceman from a mission to the moon that never happened. Alternate realities mingle with the fraying of childhood bonds in O’Driscoll’s prose, and through the eyes of the narrator we witness first-hand the strength childish belief can have, and what adult assumptions can cost. “The Spaceman”, thematically, is little different from other stories of its type. The faith of children is rewarded where the questioning nature of the adult is punished, all the more so if the adult in question happens to actually be a child on the cusp of maturity. Luckily, O’Driscoll’s plot saves “The Spaceman” from being a stale repetition of the theme, with the titular spaceman being an altogether more enigmatic figure than one normally finds in this type of piece. O’Driscoll never answers the questions he poses in regards to the spaceman’s actual identity, and it adds a just-short-of-sinister undercurrent to the whole affair. The climax isn’t unexpected, but the ambiguous fashion in which it occurs-as well as the nature of the spaceman-makes it memorable.

There’s something magical about “The Motorman’s Coat” by John Kessel. Not in the sense of plot, but in the rhythm of it, as Kessel gives us the story of a failing antique shop and the deal made for the eponymous item. There’s a gentle, literary flair to it that seems to be lacking in a lot of fantastic offerings of late. Nothing overt, just a sense of reality being askew by just a few inches, just enough to inspire oddity. It’s not necessarily magical realism, but it might be close. Kessel effectively imparts a sense of grayness to the reader, of dimming hopes and dashed dreams and it makes the story all that much more effective for its relative brevity.

Terry Bisson’s “Corona Centurion FAQ” is proof that a good concept is a good concept, regardless of presentation. As the title implies, Bisson’s take on aortic biological augmentation in the near future is examined through a short list of Frequently Asked Questions. It is to Bisson’s credit that he manages to fully explore the concept in this fashion, giving the reader just enough information to see the outline of things. It’s an experiment in fiction, forcing cooperation from its reader in order to unravel the thread of things, and that is no bad thing.

John Varley’s “Retrograde Summer” is an introduction to a future that, despite being quite unlike how many might envision it, is still familiar in its concept of family and relationships. At its heart, “Retrograde Summer” is about family secrets, and how people react to them, and Varley does not so much hammer the point home as he does skillfully insert it amidst a blanket of good, old fashioned ‘the way it is’ science-fiction techno babble. The talk of clones, gender manipulation and the geological dangers of Mercury are all simply window dressing for a softer, more emotional work concerning the relationships between siblings and parents. In fact, Varley’s use of harder science-fiction elements only enhances the poignancy of the character interactions in “Retrograde Summer”, creating a powerful and oh-so slightly moving piece of literature.

“Sooner or Later or Never Never” by Gary Jennings is the second of this issue’s two classic reprints and it is, by far, the most humorous piece in the issue. A bumbling missionary with more zeal than sense attempts to bring religion, beads and water to the outback in this hilarious take on a fantastic adventure. Told through the eyes of the aforementioned missionary, Jennings’ story skillfully punctures organized religion, missionary work and the ‘white man’s burden’ in equal measure. While initially the style seemed a bit archaic, it has a classical rhythm to it that carries the narrator’s voice directly into the reader’s head, and carries the story to a foregone, if no less enjoyable for that, conclusion.