Tachyon tidbits featuring Joe R. Lansdale, Michael Swanwick, Lavie Tidhar, Michael Moorcock, and Jaymee Goh

The latest reviews and mentions of Tachyon titles and authors from around the web.


Joe R. Lansdale (photo: Karen Lamnsdale), Michael Swanwick (Beth Gwynn), Lavie Tidhar, Micheal Moorcock (AV CLUB), and Jaymee Goh

Harry Chaskin shares his stop-motion proof of concept for a TV pitch based on Joe R. Lansdale’s FLAMING ZEPPELINS.

At B&N SCI-FI & FANTASY BLOG, Ross Johnson reveals 
Where to Read the Stories That Inspired Netflix’s Love, Death & Robots. While the series includes selections from Tachyon authors Joe R. Lansdale, Alastair Reynolds, and Michael Swanwick, only one of the tales appears in a Tachyon publication.

“Ice Age,” by Michael Swanwick in TALES OF OLD EARTH

Making a very good case for never defrosting the refrigerator, “Ice Age” is the story of a couple who discovers an entire thriving civilization in miniature inside an old refrigerator. Michael Swanwick’s story is whimsical, but also subtly epic in scope. It’s found in TALES OF OLD EARTH, a collection that varies widely in tone—but each entry offers a taste of the author’s sly wit and economical storytelling skill.


The French site QUOI DE NEUF SUR MA
praises Lavie Tidhar’s 

UNHOLY LAND is a fascinating novel both for its mistiness and scriptwriting inventiveness. It is also an intelligently militant novel that shows the correspondences and lets the reader take ownership of them. It evokes many other atmospheres, that we meet at Christopher Priest, Spinrad and K. Dick of course, the Zelazny of the Princes of Amber, or in the excellent Club of Yiddish policemen of Chabon which dealt with another Jewish settlement project in Alaska – not forgetting his own A man lies dreaming.

Full of culture and Jewish issues, he touches the universal by what he says about the propensity of humans to convince themselves that they are doing well, to be blind to the injustices they create, to resort to violence to maintain situations of domination considered pleasant. But it’s also a Jewish novel that speaks with a subtle severity of our Israel and a misguided Zionism.
It’s a Jewish novel that is also a fine novel – or the opposite.

Translated from French, courtesy of Google.


THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF JERRY CORNELIUS presents “The Fracking Factory,” an new Cornelius tale by Michael Moorcock.

Jerry’s hair had curled and turned auburn overnight. He looked like an overgrown Swinburne. Behind him stood a big Remington 60/40 guaranteed to shake the life out of anything he aimed it at. “So who has the potatoes?” This famine was now in its finality.

“You have the option,” Miss Brunner said. “Or rather they do. Nine times out of ten they take offence, fighting me east, west and sideways. As we used to find in Moldovskaya. Jerry, you can’t —”

“I can a bit.” He wondered if that big tin of Cornish clotted cream would last until teatime. He didn’t like the way Bishop Beesley was looking at it. That stuff had cost more than the wedding cake. “After all, it’s my big day.”it’s your bloody big day every six months or so.” She twisted her mouth. “Isn’t it?

“That’s just how you see it. If it was up to my mum it would be twice a week.”

“If —” But she stopped herself. For all she knew old Mrs C. was sneaking around behind the altar. There was no point in starting something she couldn’t finish. “How’s the baby?”

“Bigger than ever.” He lit a Sherman’s. He checked his watches. He turned up the collar of his black car coat. The prospectors approached the table. Miss B. Checked them out.

“Any luck, boys?”

Jaymee Goh’s story “The Tin Spirit” appears at CURIOUS FICTIONS.

The wagon trundled behind the buffalo, sedately wending its way along the bumpy road; the monsoon rains had turned the ground to mud, which then dried in the afternoon sun unevenly.

A brown-skinned adolescent sat at the front of the wagon, occasionally getting off to lead the buffalo along. In the back of the wagon, snoozing, was an old man, with a short white beard, and a songkok over his eyes. His shirt was smudged with mud and foodstains, his sarong even moreso.

“Tok, we’ve arrived.”

Tok Kadir sat up, yawning. In the distance was a tall building, its sides open with wide windows and white smoke belching out over the raintrees. “Doesn’t look like much.” He sniffed the air deeply. “Hrm.”

“What do you think?”

“Smells like businessmen.”

For more info on TALES OF OLD EARTH, visit the Tachyon page.

Cover by Michael Dashow

For more info on UNHOLY LAND, visit the Tachyon page.

Cover by Sarah Anne Langton