New Collection/Fundraiser Update: An Excerpt from “The Night Hours”

Right now, my fundraiser is at $805 out of $1500, with a goal of publishing a collection of five stories (two reprints, and three originals). With every $300 reached, I officially add another work to the book, so right now, the two reprints are definitely going to be packaged together for everyone who contributed. At $900, I’ll add in a brand new story, “The Night Hours”.

The first two stories include my science fiction tendencies: a tale of robots fighting ghouls after the world has died, and another where the worst of Miskatonic’s dark knowledge finds new life online. “The Night Hours” is different: heavily influenced by pulp detective stories, it follows a Filipino man living in a creepy little coastal town, in Massachusetts, in the 1930s, whose girlfriend has gone missing. He’ll have to risk his life to save her… probably.

If he decides to. It sort of depends on the day.

It was about eleven o’clock at night, mid-October, and Epifanio was supposed to be washing dishes in the back of the steam-filled kitchen. He was wearing a dull (but mostly white) buttoned shirt, with his sleeves rolled up, and a stained apron that belonged to the joint. The shirt was his, along with the black pants and scuffed but comfortable black shoes, but resented that he was required to wear them, and grouched about it, often. He leaned against the doorway, not quite in the bar, and not quite in or out of the kitchen, either. It was a neutral space, that square foot of in-between, where he could claim to be doing other than what he was: watching Willie Green blow the roof off the place with his horn.

“Hey, Chinaman,” the bartender growled. “Stop ogling the skirts, and get back to work.”

Epifanio wasn’t Chinese, or ogling, but didn’t argue the point. Mickey, the barrel-shaped Irishman who ran the place, hired him because he couldn’t tell the “Orientals” apart. So there were some things Epifanio knew to be wrong but didn’t say. Truth is, there were a lot of things like that.

The kitchen was a square, squat, low-ceilinged room with no windows, but it had three entrances. The single maroon door, with the round porthole, Bob let swing shut behind him as he left the bar. The black double doors led into the restaurant, where round, red, lacquered tables and pretty girls in embroidered satin gave the impression that this was where traditional Chinese cuisine was happening. Except it was New England, and Epifanio had never seen that particular blend of tables, patterns, and ink-wash paintings in any kitchen he’d been in before. But he’d never been to China, so what did he know?

Mickey didn’t let colors mix in his dining room. Chances were pretty good that no one eating the roast duck and pan-fried rice knew it wasn’t authentic. Or maybe it was now, a new traditional, a true Innsmouth dining experience, the kind we’d all be getting used to soon enough.

That last door, a scratched steel slab, was all that stood between Epifanio and freedom at the end of the night. It was the service entrance, which Mickey like to call the “servants” entrance, because the staff wasn’t allowed in any other way. Oh, sometimes, one girl or another would get the privilege of walking in through the front door for a few weeks, but we knew the price they paid. All through the evening, the sound of loud voices and clanking silverware burst into the kitchen at regular intervals as the waitresses glided through to pick up their orders, and then back out into the fray. Later, the diners would fade away, and the bar would pick up their slack. On a good night the sound of jazz would leak through under the other door, making our last hour of clean up not quite so bad.

If we stayed late enough, sometimes old Chen dealt cards and we cooked dinner for ourselves, the way our mothers would have, then all of those other sounds faded away, and the only thing creeping in was the pernicious Innsmouth fog, that stuck its fat fingers under doors and slithered in on its belly. Not even the steel could keep it out.

I’m running out of time to pay off what I owe so I can register for Fall, so please, if you can contribute today. I can take contributions via PayPal here (Anything sent this way is still eligible for the same rewards, and I add it to the total at GoFundMe so everyone can see where we are). If you’d like, you can use the GoFundMe instead.

You Should Read: Seanan McGuire’s AN ARTIFICIAL NIGHT

Synopsis: Everyone in the Bay Area knows about Blind Michael, the unseen, dangerous figure whose Hunt sweeps the Berkeley hills on full moon nights. He’s a familiar hazard of life in the Kingdom of the Mists, and most people don’t waste time worrying about him. October “Toby” Daye certainly doesn’t. She has better things to worry about, like paying the electrical bill on time. So it’s understandable that she’d be upset when Blind Michael suddenly starts taking an interest in people that matter to her, like the youngest children of Mitch and Stacy Brown. (FromSeananMcGuire.com)

I make it a habit to avoid fairy stories because modern interpretations usually lack the pain and fear and loss of traditional fae tales. I don’t enjoy putting myself through misery, but the watered-down and sparklier versions kids read these day are too plastic, too PG, too Disney for me to take seriously. McGuire suffers from no such white-washing. Her fairies are dark, broken, and dangerous. They need humanity as much as they despise it. In the classic style, McGuire’s fairies take what they need when they need it, and few of them worry about how it affects us. They steal clothes, money, blood, and children …

This is where An Artificial Night begins: children are missing. Of course, it’s missing fairy children that get Toby’s attention, but to her credit she doesn’t back down when she discovers that human children are missing too. Chasing down the path of the lost kids takes Toby through one of Oberon’s children and into the realm of another. She endures a changed shape, altered perceptions … she’s hunted, enthralled, beaten, tortured, and abused. It’s a path that only heroes choose to walk, because only heroes are broken enough to throw themselves thoughtlessly into the face of danger over and over again.

Which, of course, is exactly what Toby does, no matter how close to death she comes – and did I mention May, her Fetch, who shows up on her doorstep to usher in that death? Yeah, that happens. By now we’re not so surprised at Toby’s self-destructive behavior, but sometime before the end of the book is the realization that she’s doing this to herself on purpose, and just possibly might want to stop.

McGuire’s third novel in the Toby Daye series makes me cry like a wounded child for the first seven chapters or so. She goes on to present a story much darker than what’s come before for Toby, and one that is arguably her best to date. It isn’t a happy story, even when Toby seems to have found her way back into the light. It is a good story, a complex story, and one I recommend you get your hands on.

I reviewed the first two books in this series as well;Rosemary and Rue is the first and A Local Habitation is the second.

Seanan McGuire, An Artificial Night, DAW Books, 2010. 368 pages. ISBN0756406269.

 

You Should Read: China Miéville’s THE CITY AND THE CITY

Summary: When a murdered woman is found in the city of Beszel, somewhere at the edge of Europe, it looks to be a routine case for Inspector Tyador Borlú of the Extreme Crime Squad. But as he investigates, the evidence points to conspiracies far stranger and more deadly than anything he could have imagined. (From Random House)

A very good book is one which, when it’s over, you can’t clearly define a place where you’d have written it differently. The City and The City is like that for me. I started the beginning of the book being intrigued by a noir-ish murder mystery, then being confused by the concept of the split towns, then fascinated by the controversial history of the place.

Imagine a detective story set in a non-US country that’s a little old-fashioned, maybe just getting used to the idea of 21st century commercialism. Set it in a place that used to have a bigger, grander, and ultimately impossible sort of economy, a place that has recently become exposed to the influence of the West, like Russia after the fall of the USSR. Now take the feel of the place, and set it somewhere geographically more Mediterranean, or move it West so that it’s still in Europe but closer to Spain. Give it a strange set of rules about who you can look at, which buildings you can acknowledge, which traffic accidents you’re allowed to notice. Into that story I want you to set an old-school detective, working in a strictly controlled environment with only barely-modern equipment and forensic science, who’s got to discover the identity of a dead girl that no one admits to knowing, and who might be from that part of the city that you’ve been raised since birth to ignore.

With all of that, you might have an idea of what Mieville’s book is capable of. This one geographically confined place morphs into three cities by the time the tale is done, due to overlapping and contested territories, but Mieville makes it work for him, until you’re nodding along with the story thinking, “Oh, well, yeah, that makes sense.” Of course, that’s not even half of the story, which also involves the people who patrol the borders of a city that is both two places and only one place at the same time, a few more murders, and one hell of a conspiracy theory.

The City and The City does make sense after all, and by the time you reach the end and the conclusion and the understanding washes over you and you finally see not just one city but all three of them at the same time, the book becomes so clear you wonder why you didn’t notice that in the first place.

ISBN: 978-0-345-49751-2 (0-345-49751-1) Format: Hardcover, 336 pages (Though I read it as an eBook)

 

You Should Read: Seanan McGuire’s A LOCAL HABITATION

Synopsis: After spending fourteen years lost to both the fae and mortal worlds, only to be dragged back into Faerie by the murder of someone close to her, October “Toby” Daye really just wants to spend a little time getting her footing. She’s putting her life back together. Unfortunately, this means going back to work for Duke Sylvester Torquill of Shadowed Hills, doing her duty as a knight errant. That isn’t the sort of thing that exactly lends itself to a quiet existence, and before she knows it, Toby’s back on the road, heading for the County of Tamed Lightning in Fremont, California to check on Sylvester’s niece, January. (From Seanan McGuire‘s site)

NOTE: This is the second novel in the October Daye series. My review of the first novel, Rosemary and Rue, can be found HERE.

So, Toby isn’t dead yet. This is good both because there are a few more books in this series still to be published, and because she fills a niche that no one else in her world seems to want to take over. Given how much damage she takes in the process of solving her mysteries, that’s not really a surprise. October Daye (Toby, if you don’t want her to hit you) is still under oath to her liege, still living in her low-rent apartment in the City, and still oblivious to the fairly obvious feelings of the men around her. What’s new is the part where she’s sent off to solve a new crime, gets injured in new and interesting ways, and meets a few more of the less savory types of fae.

The basic story is that Toby is busy living her faux-human life in San Francisco, where she follows cheating spouses and finds missing kids for a living. After she spent 14 years as a fish, and then some more time as the anti-social store clerk we meet in Rosemary and Rue, it’s nice to see that Toby is trying to make friends again, and the book opens with her enjoying a girls night out with a few changeling ladies from her old life. Her life hasn’t changed too much though: same job, same cats, same rosegoblin, same giant case of the dumb where Tybalt is concerned.

What should have been a simple request by Duke Sylvester ends up putting Toby, and the pure-blood page, Quentin, in the middle of two warring Fairie counties. If that weren’t dicey enough, our detective has happened upon a murder that needs solving.

McGuire keeps to the strict first-person perspective that helps set this series apart from other books in the genre. Toby doesn’t know anything that she doesn’t have direct knowledge of, which means that there are times she gets it wrong. Even better, McGuire doesn’t “cheat” by giving Toby a dozen well-informed advisers to fill her in on everything under the sun. There were a few times that  I’d figured out a clue before Toby did, and that added to the feeling of anticipation. When you can see the monster just outside the window, the story isn’t so much about figuring out if the monster is really there as it is finding out what your heroine will do when it finally catches up to her. McGuire gives us monsters, and Toby is a hero, however reluctantly, because the harder it gets, the more she resigns herself to never giving up.

Lately it seems that everyone wants to write the perfect killer sex goddess, who breaks a thousand hearts while simultaneously defeating the undead/vampire/werewolf/mage/human horde. Toby might be attractive (some of the other characters seem to think so, though she appears to be too busy to look in a mirror most days) and she might be able to survive quite a few gunshots, but she also makes mistakes. I don’t like everything she does but these flaws make Toby real. Real isn’t cookie cutter. Real isn’t perfect. Real isn’t straightforward. You can cheer for her or be confused by her, outsmart her or be enlightened by her, want to be her or be glad you’re not, but one thing you won’t be able to do is predict what Toby will do next.

To find out, I suggest buying An Artificial Night, third book in the October Daye series, due out September 2010.

Seanan McGuire, A Local Habitation, DAW Books, 2010. ISBN 0756405963

* I read A Local Habitation as an ebook, a departure from my usual method of devouring paper-and-print texts. I bought the ebook version because my local bookstore didn’t have a copy in stock, and I didn’t want to wait a week for Amazon to ship me one. I didn’t love having to read it on my iPod (I see an ebook reader purchase in my future) but I didn’t have any problems with the formatting or readability of the book itself. I still plan to buy books the usual way, but it’s nice to know that with this series, digital is an option.

 

You Should Read: Seanan McGuire’s ROSEMARY AND RUE

Synopsis: The world of Faerie never disappeared: it merely went into hiding, continuing to exist parallel to our own. Secrecy is the key to Faerie’s survival—but no secret can be kept forever, and when the fae and mortal worlds collide, changelings are born. Half-human, half-fae, outsiders from birth, these second-class children of Faerie spend their lives fighting for the respect of their immortal relations. Or, in the case of October “Toby” Daye, rejecting it completely. After getting burned by both sides of her heritage, Toby has denied the fae world, retreating into a “normal” life. Unfortunately for her, Faerie has other ideas.

The murder of Countess Evening Winterrose, one of the secret regents of the San Francisco Bay Area, pulls Toby back into the fae world. Unable to resist Evening’s dying curse, which binds her to investigate, Toby is forced to resume her old position as knight errant to the Duke of Shadowed Hills and begin renewing old alliances that may prove her only hope of solving the mystery…before the curse catches up with her. (From SeananMcGuire.com)

Seanan McGuire skips the backstory and drops you straight into the action with Rosemary and Rue, starting her debut novel with a crime already in progress. October Daye, who would prefer to be called Toby just the same way that you would prefer no one punched you in the face, is tracking down the kidnapped wife and daughter of her pure-blooded liege, Duke Sylvester. To complicate matters, it’s a crime committed by the Duke’s own brother, and tracking a fugitive fae through the human world means a lot of being subtle and trying to blend in. Have I mentioned that Toby isn’t very good at subtle? Instead of saving the day, she falls victim to the bad guy’s superior magic, is trapped in the body of an ornamental koi fish for over a decade, and loses her self-esteem and her family in one fell swoop.

The fish thing wears off, eventually, though too late for Toby to be able to explain it to the daughter she seemingly abandoned. This is the woman we get properly introduced to: a dejected, failed detective, living alone in a bad part of town with no friends, no family, no future, and a dead-end supermarket job that barely pays the rent. She lives in a dark place, to be sure, but much of that is of her own making, since Toby’s worked very hard to keep away anyone that might have made her feel better. Duke Sylvester? She doesn’t return his phone calls. Her old changeling friends? She makes excuses so she doesn’t have to see the happy families that they have, and she doesn’t. Her job? Her PI license lapsed while she was nibbling tourists’ bread in a cold pool, and she doesn’t have the confidence in herself to want to get it back. She has exactly one friend in the world, the Countess Winterrose, but of course Toby can’t see the woman’s helping her out of anything more than obligation. It’s a pity party, table for one, and only Toby Daye is invited.

This is where McGuire’s story really starts.

What do you do with a half-breed fairie woman who’s lost, literally, everything she held dear? You kill off her one remaining supporter, of course, and that’s exactly what happens when Winterrose is brutally murdered. Without any idea of what’s happening around her, Toby has to return to the only skill she has: finding the answers.

To be honest, I don’t read many fantasy novels. I prefer my fiction to be desolate, apocalyptic, and dangerous. Fairies, to me, are a lot like sparkly vampires: they’re based on creatures which were, originally, something much worse, but they’ve been prettied up to fit in with the buying habits of tween girls and unmarried aunts. Fairies now mean fluttery and flowery and beautiful, but I know better than to believe that. Fairies are supposed to be nasty, bitey little creatures, and impossibly beautiful ice queens, and confusing things made of mixed together bits of tree branches and stolen shoes. They’re not creatures of light and happiness, no matter how much glitter you slap on them. Too few people want to write about the dark side of fairies.

Seanan McGuire understands the dark.

She blends together Shakespeare, Irish legends, Japanese myth, medieval ballads, and Victorian Flower Fairies to tell a tale so familiar it doesn’t occur to you to look for where she’s gotten it wrong because it’s all unbelievably right. Toby lives in a world that makes sense, in a sad and disturbing way, because it’s our world, if you could see just a little more of it.

I started reading Rosemary and Rue, expecting to put it back down again, but I ended up hiding in the bedroom and telling my husband to make his own dinner so I didn’t have to quit until it was done. I loved this story, and can’t wait to read the next in what I hope is a very long series.

Seanan McGuire, Rosemary and Rue, DAW Books, 2009. 368 pages. ISBN 0756405718.

The second book in the series, A Local Habitation, is out as of March 2010, and I review it HERE.