• Everybody have fun at the San Francisco Writers Conference? Here’s Jacob at the Meet the Editors panel. Thanks to all who came out!
    #writersofinstagram #writingconference #sanfranciscowritersconference #sanfrancisco #sf #bayarea #publishing #tachyon #tachyonpublications #Jacobweisman #sfwc

  • In celebration for the release of THE VERY BEST OF CAITLÍN R. KIERNANTachyon presents glimpses from some of the volume’s strange and macabre tales by the “reigning queen of dark fantasy.”


    A Season of Broken Dolls

    by Caitlín R. Kiernan

    August 16, 2027 (later, 11:47 p.m.)

    Sabit came back with a bag full of Indian takeaway, when she’d gone out for sushi. I really couldn’t care less, one way or the other, these days food is only fucking food—curry or wasabi, but when I asked why she’d changed her mind, she just stared at me, eyes blank as a goddamn dead codfish, & shrugged. Then she was quiet all night long, & the last thing I need just now is Sabit Abbasi going all silent and creepy on me. She’s asleep, snoring bcause her sinuses are bad bcause she smokes too much. & I’m losing the momentum I needed to say anything more about what happened @ CeM on Sat. night. It’s all fading, like a dream. I’ve been reading one of Sabit’s books, The Breathing Composition (Welleran Smith, 2025), something from those long-ago days when the avant-garde abomination of stitch & snip was still hardly more than nervous rumor & theory & the wishful thinking of a handful of East Coast art pervs. I don’t know what I was looking for, if it was just research for the article, don’t know what I thought I might find—or what any of this has to do with Sat. nite. Am I afraid to write it down? That’s what Sabit would say. But I won’t ask Sabit. What do you dream, Sabit, my dear sadistic plaything? Do you dream in installations, muscles and tendons, gallery walls of sweating pig flesh, living bone exposed for all to see, vivisection as not-quite still life, portrait of the artist as a young atrocity? Are your sweet dreams the same things keeping me awake, making me afraid to sleep? There was so goddamn much @ CeM to turn my fucking stomach, but just this one thing has me jigged and sleepless and popping your blue Peruvian bonbons. Just this one thing. I’m not the squeamish sort, and everyone knows it. That’s one reason the agency tossed the Guro/Guro story at me. Gore & sex and mutilation? Give it to Schuler. She’s seen the worst and keeps coming back for more. Wasn’t she one of the first into Brooklyn after the bomb? & she did that crazy whick out on the Stuyvesant rat attacks. How many murders and suicides and serial killers does that make for Schuler now? 9? Fourteen? 38? That kid in the Bronx, the Puerto Rican bastard who sliced up his little sister & then fed her through a food processor, that was one of Schuler’s, yeah? Ad infinitum, ad nauseam, Hail Mary, full of beans. Cause they know I won’t be on my knees puking up lunch when I should be making notes & getting the vid or asking questions. But now, now Sabit, I’m dancing round this one thing. This one little thing. So, here there’s a big ol’ chink in these renowned nerves of steel. Maybe I’ve got a weak spot after fucking all. Rings of flesh, towers of iron—oh yeah, sure—fucking corpses heaped in dumpsters and rats eating fucking babies alive & winos & don’t forget the kid with the Cuisinart—sure, fine—but that one labeled #17, oh, now that’s another goddamn story. She saw something there, & ol’ Brass-Balls Schuler was never quite the same again, isn’t that the way it goes?

    Are you laughing in your dreams, Sabit? Is that why you’re smiling next to me in your goddamn sleep? I’ve dog-eared a page in your book, Sabit, a page with a poem written in a New Jersey loony bin by a woman, & Welleran Smith just calls her Jane Doe so I do not know her name. But Welleran Smith & that mangy bunch of stitch prophets called her a visionary, & I’m writing it down here, while I try to find the nerve to say whatever it is I’d wanted to say about #17:

    spines and bellies knitted & proud and all open

    all watching spines and bellies and the three;

    triptych & buckled, ragdoll fusion

    3 of you so conjoined, my eyes from yours,

    arterial hallways knitted red proud flesh

    Healing and straining for cartilage & epidermis

    Not taking, we cannot imagine

    So many wet lips, your sky Raggedy alchemy

    And all expecting Jerusalem

    And Welleran Smith, he proclaims Jane Doe a “hyperlucid transcendent schizo-oracle,” a “visionary calling into the maelstrom.” & turns out, here in the footnotes, they put the bitch away bcause she’d drugged her lover—she was a lesbian; of
course, she had to be a lesbian—she drugged her lover and used surgical thread to sew the woman’s lips & nostrils closed, after performing a crude tracheotomy so she wouldn’t suffocate. Jane Doe sewed her own vagina shut, and she removed her own nipples & then tried grafting them onto her gf’s belly. She kept the woman (not named, sorry, lost to anonymity) cuffed to a bed for almost 6 weeks before someone finally came poking around & jesus fucking christ, Sabit, this is the sort of sick bullshit set it all in motion. Jane Doe’s still locked away in her padded cell, I’m guessing—hyperlucid & worshipped by the snips—& maybe the woman she mutilated is alive somewhere, trying to forget. Maybe the doctors even patched her up (ha, ha fucking ha). Maybe even made her good as new again, but I doubt it. I need to sleep. I need to lie down & close my eyes & not see #17 and sweating walls and Sabit ready to fucking cum bcause she can never, ever get enough. It’s half an hour after midnight, & they expect copy from me tomorrow night, eight sharp, when I haven’t written a goddamn word about the phony stitchwork @ Guro/Guro. Fuck you, Sabit, and fuck Jane Doe & that jackoff Welleran Smith and the girl with peacock eyes that I should have screwed just to piss you off, Sabit. I should have brought her back here and fucked her in our bed, let her use your toothbrush, & maybe you’d have found some other snip tourist & even now I could be basking in the sanguine cherry glow of happily ever fucking after.

    For more info about THE VERY BEST OF CAITLÍN R. KIERNAN, visit the Tachyon page.

    Cover by Hannes Hummel
    Design by Elizabeth Story

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    Photo by Alexandra Renwick

    Born and raised in Montreal, writer and editor Claude Lalumière previously owned and managed the Montreal bookshops Nebula, danger!, and Nemo. In 1998, he left the world of bookselling and began writing reviews and criticism, most notably for January Magazine, The Montreal Gazette, The National Post, The New York Review Of Science Fiction, and Locus Online.


    Beginning in 2002, with Telling Stories: New English Stories From Quebec, Lalumière has produced 16 acclaimed anthologies including Open Space: New Canadian Fantastic Fiction (2003), Witpunk (2003 with Marty Halpern), Island Dreams: Montreal Writers of the Fantastic (2003), Lust For Life: Tales of Sex and Love (2005)SUPER STORIES OF HEROES & VILLAINS (2013), Masked Mosaic: Canadian Super Stories (2013 with Camille Alexa), The Exile Book of New Canadian Noir (2015 with David Nickle), and Superhero Universe (Tesseracts Nineteen 2016 with Mark Shainblum).


    Lalumière authored the mosaic novels The Door To Lost Pages (2011) and Venera Dreams: A Weird Entertainment (2017) and numerous acclaimed short stories, many of which have been collected in Objects Of Worship (2009), Nocturnes And Other Nocturnes (2013), and Altre Persone/Other Persons (2018). His story “The Cornucopia of Dionysus” was adapted into the short film La Biere Eternelle (Eternal Beer). Earlier this year, Nocturnes reading series (season 1), a regular, ongoing video series of Lalumière reading one of his short stories, premiered.

    All of us at Tachyon wish the multifaceted, fantastic Claude, a super birthday. Don’t forget your cape!

    For more information on SUPER STORIES OF HEROES & VILLAINS, visit the Tachyon page.

    Cover by Elizabeth Story

  • Attention writers! Our fearless leader Jacob Weisman will be at the San Francisco Writer’s Conference tomorrow! Weisman will be speaking on the Meet the Fiction Editors panel on Friday, February 15, 3:30-4:30. Jacob Weisman is the Big Boss here at Tachyon Publications, and recently won a World Fantasy Award for editing The New Voices of Fantasy alongside Peter S. Beagle

    #writersofinstagram #writingconference #sanfranciscowritersconference #sanfrancisco #sf #bayarea #thingstodoinsanfrancisco #publishing #tachyon #tachyonpublications #Jacobweisman #sfwc

  • PUBLISHERS WEEKLY praises the forthcoming Peter S. Beagle and Jacob Weisman’s THE UNICORN ANTHOLOGY.

    This slender but rich anthology compiled by Beagle and Weisman (THE NEW VOICES OF FANTASY) centers on the mythical beast for which Beagle is best known, thanks to his classic novel The Last Unicorn. The 15 stories and one poem reinterpret the unicorn myth across genre and style.

    Themes of innocence lost, first love, and yearning for transcendence pervade all of the stories in this collection, giving it a haunting and melancholy feel. Readers who love the mystery and elegance of unicorns will find this a lovely homage. 

    NONSTOP READER enjoys the anthology to the tune of five stars.

    THE UNICORN ANTHOLOGY is a collection of 16 pieces of short fiction by some literal titans of speculative fiction. Every single story in this collection is top-shelf, there are no weak stories.  All of these have been published previously and date from 1975-2017. Many of the older stories are quite difficult to find and several were new to me in any form.

    One reason I prefer collections and anthologies is that short fiction is really challenging.  It’s spare and the author doesn’t have a wealth of wordage to develop characters or the plotting.  Well written short fiction is a delight. I also love collections because if one story doesn’t really grab me, there’s another story just a few pages away.  I can only recall a few times where I’ve read a collection (or anthology) straight through from cover to cover.  This one I did. I even re-read the stories which I had read before.

    Just a really super collection of short stories.

    Five stars

    To the surprise of almost no one, THE UNICORN PAGES includes the anthology (with no comment) in a list of forthcoming books that excited them.

    At TOR.COM, Jaclyn Adomeit confesses “Peter S. Beagle’s The Last Unicorn Taught Me How To Love.”

    The Last Unicorn was the book that taught me how to love.

    And it didn’t have anything to do with the doomed Prince Lír and the titular unicorn—although an immortal creature learning about regret certainly taught me other lessons. I first learned what true love was from Molly Grue and Schmendrick the magician.

    Fantasy taught me that love is not a first look, nor a grand gesture. Love is built from a hundred tiny sacrifices toward a common goal. Love is reaching the end of a trial or adventure and celebrating not just one’s own achievements, but what two were able to accomplish together.

    This is an old lesson, but one that deserves to be revisited and reiterated, and deserves to be mirrored in the stories of our own lives. In life, as in The Last Unicorn, “there are no happy endings because nothing ends”—but in fantasy stories, readers can uncover a path to joy in our numbered days. In the continuous river of a life, it is the moments we share with our loved ones, the ones we partake in as equals, and the things we conquer together that build true love.

    Sandra Baltazar Martínez for UC RIVERSIDE NEWS reports on the celebration around the 50th anniversary of the Easton Collection of Science Fiction and Fantasy.

    This year, the Eaton Collection of Science Fiction and Fantasy, a world-renowned science fiction archive, celebrates its 50thanniversary. The collection currently has more than 300,000 pieces of science fiction, fantasy, horror, and utopian literature, making it one of the largest collections of its kind in the world. When it was acquired in 1969, the collection included 7,500 hardback publications.

    To commemorate its half century, the fourth floor of the Tomás Rivera Library will showcase an exhibit titled “50 Books for 50 Years,” along with a wall-mounted timeline highlighting award-winning publications or books that are representative of a particular genre. The exhibit, located in Special Collections, opens Jan. 22 and runs through May 31; throughout those weeks, a selection of the 50 books will be rotated until all 50 have been showcased. The exhibit is free and open to the public.  

    In the exhibit visitors will see items such as:

    • 1596 copy of “The Faerie Queene” by Edmund Spenser
    • 1955 copy of “The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction” by Theodore Sturgeon
    • 1961 copy of “The Ship Who Sang” by Anne McCaffrey
    • 1964 copy of “Labyrinths: Selected Stories and Other Writings” by Jorge Luis Borges
    • 1969 copy of “The Last Unicorn” by Peter S. Beagle
    • 1975 copy of “The Female Man” by Joanna Russ
    • 1988 copy of “Adulthood Rites” by Octavia Butler

    The 50-book list also has more recent titles, including Ted Chiang’s “Stories of your Life and Others,” Nnedi Okorafor’s “Binti,” and “The Salt Roads” by Nalo Hopkinson, a professor of creative writing at UCR.

    For more info about THE UNICORN ANTHOLOGY, visit the Tachyon page.

    Cover by Thomas Canty
    Design by Elizabeth Story

    For more info about THE LAST UNICORN: THE LOST JOURNEY , visit the Tachyon page .

    Cover by Thorsten Erdt
    Design by Elizabeth Story

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