In memory of Clive Sinclair (1948–2018)
CONTENTS
Title Page
Dedication
NICHOLAS ROYLE
Introduction
LUKE BROWN
Beyond Criticism
IRENOSEN OKOJIE
Nudibranch
DAVID CONSTANTINE
The Phone Call
ZAKIA UDDIN
Vashti
RICHARD LAWRENCE BENNETT
Energy Thieves: Five Dialogues
NICOLA FREEMAN
Halloween
AMANTHI HARRIS
In The Mountains
ANDREW HOOK
The Girl With The Horizontal Walk
HANIF KUREISHI
She Said He Said
SARAH SCHOFIELD
Safely Gathered In
SONIA HOPE
Belly
JEFF NOON & BRIDGET PENNEY
The Further Dark
STEPHEN THOMPSON
Same Same But Different
KJ ORR
Backbone
DIANA POWELL
Whale Watching
DAVID ROSE
Greetings From The Fat Man In Postcards
NJ STALLARD
The White Cat
TIM ETCHELLS
Maxine
ADRIAN SLATCHER
Dreams Are Contagious
HELEN MORT
Weaning
ROBERT STONE
Purity
Contributors’ Biographies
Acknowledgements
About the Author
By the Same Author
Copyright
NICHOLAS ROYLE
INTRODUCTION
Imagine if we had a high-profile weekly newsstand magazine, in this country, publishing a new short story every week. Americans have the New Yorker. Obviously we can read the New Yorker, we may even subscribe, but how often will we find a British author featured? Every now and then, sure, but the magazine doesn’t tend to look very far beyond the upper echelons (British writers featured in the magazine last year included Hari Kunzru, Salman Rushdie, Hanif Kureishi, Pat Barker and Tessa Hadley). The New Yorker doesn’t appear to feel any need to encourage emerging British writers – and why should it? That would be the job of a prestigious British magazine, like, say the New Statesman. I suppose we should be grateful that the New Statesman continues to publish stories at Christmas and, somewhat unpredictably, in either or both of their spring and summer specials.
The trouble with the Christmas double issue is that it carries both dates – the old year and the new. Was Kate Atkinson’s story, in the 2018/19 Christmas special, published in 2018 or 2019? You might think it doesn’t matter, that I should be less obsessed by dates, but you’ve got to have rules. Without rules you have anarchy. The 2019/20 Christmas special had a story by Lucy Ellmann. Three other stories appeared in the magazine in 2019: Daisy Johnson’s Big Brother satire ‘How to Win’ in the spring special and Sarah Hall’s discomfiting ‘The Woman the Book Read’ in the summer special. In the autumn books special, William Boyd introduced a story by Olga Nekliudova. Knowing of William Boyd’s enthusiasm for metafictional trickery (remember Nat Tate?), I went online to find out a little bit more about Nekliudova and the very first link took me right back to the New Statesman and a section of the magazine’s website devoted to the fiction it publishes, which, when I scrolled down, appeared to solve the mystery of which year its Christmas stories are published in. The Lucy Ellmann was dated 11 December 2019 and the Kate Atkinson 5 December 2018. Mystery solved. Except that a little further down I find an Ian Rankin story dated 8 January 2016. My collection of back issues includes the 2015/16 Christmas special, dated 18 December 2015 – 7 January 2016; it contains the Ian Rankin story supposedly published on 8 January 2016, so, in fact, mystery not solved, after all.
Still, I think we’d all like it if the New Statesman would publish more stories. One a week would be nice, please. The 2020 summer special came out while I was writing this introduction and I flicked through it looking for the expected short story. There wasn’t one – or isn’t one. But perhaps this is a matter for next year’s introduction. Next year? Didn’t I announce last year that this year would be my last, as series editor? I did. Concerned, however, that the series might be discontinued, I changed my mind.
I had already made most of my selections, for the present volume, before the arrival in the UK of Covid-19, but, crucially, what I didn’t do was fetch a number of books and magazines from my office at Manchester Metropolitan University before the lockdown put them beyond reach. These were books and magazines that I would need to do as thorough a job of writing this introduction as I normally aim to do.
I did, however, have some of those books and magazines at home, among them Wall: Nine Stories From Edge Hill Writers (Edge Hill University) edited by Ailsa Cox & Billy Cowan. I loved this. The stories are good, it’s attractively designed and it’s short. Ultimately one story stood out. I liked how the absence of a conventional narrative in Sarah Schofield’s ‘Safely Gathered In’ made you want to create one, or more than one, only for one eventually to emerge that was different from any of the ones you’d dreamt up.
Two more volumes of Tales From the Shadow Booth appeared. The editor is Dan Coxon and there’s still no publisher named, but there’s a website. One has to assume it publishes itself. Stand-outs (in volume three) included Richard V Hirst’s ‘The School Project’ and Robert Shearman’s ‘I Say (I Say, I Say)’. Volume 4 boasts some great names, including Lucie McKnight Hardy, Gary Budden, Jane Roberts, Giselle Leeb … I could go on. In fact, I could just repeat the list of contents. The imprint page is dated 2018, which I assume is a mistake, unless in the world of the Shadow Booth time goes backwards. Citizens of Nowhere (Cinnamon Press) edited by Rowan B Fortune, an anthology of utopian stories, is distinguished by stories from Jez Noond and Diana Powell, who, in 2019, won the Chipping Norton Literary Festival short story competition with ‘Whale Watching’.
I enjoyed original stories by Alicia J Rouverol, Mark Lindsey and others in issue 15 of Route 57 Environs: Modern Natures edited by Dan Eltringham and Vera Fibisan, part of a collaboration between the University of Sheffield and The Hepworth Wakefield; new stories by Angela Readman and Regi Claire stood out in Unthology 11 (Unthank Books) edited by Ashley Stokes and Tom Vowler. Threads and paths through life offered a way of connecting up the stories in Somewhere This Way edited by Rob Redman, the thirteenth volume in an ongoing series from the Fiction Desk. Shallow Creek didn’t appear to have an editor credited, but it was a new venture from Storgy Books, in which the stories, by Tom Heaton, Daniel Carpenter, Aliya Whiteley, David Hartley and others, had to be set in the fictitious eponymous town.
Port, edited by MW Bewick and Ella Johnston, is a fascinating and cherishable addition to the editors’ own Wivenhoe-based Dunlin Press catalogue. It features, poets, place writers and short story writers responding to the theme suggested by the title. My favourite piece was Sarah-Clare Conlon’s ‘The General Synopsis at Midday’, about sailing to the Isle of Man. There were more boats, buoys and pontoons in Conlon’s ‘Warning Signs’, in a flash fiction special issue of the ever-wonderful Lighthouse journal from Gatehouse Press. At the darker end of the spectrum, Black Static, from TTA Press, continues to disturb and unsettle. My thanks to editor Andy Cox and some of his contributors during 2019, including Stephen Volk, Tim Lees, Steven Sheil and David Martin, for continuing to shine their flickering torches into the darkness of the worlds both around and within us.
Cōnfingō Magazine is super-reliable. Last year’s two issues included stories by David Rose, Stephen Hargadon, Justine Bothwick, Elizabeth Ba
ines, Tom Jenks and Vesna Main. I especially liked David Rose’s ‘Smoke’, but not quite as much as his ‘Greetings From the Fat Man in Postcards’ online at Litro. Highlight of Structo’s 2019, for me, was David Frankel’s story, ‘Shooting Season’, in issue 19. The regular arrival of Ambit remains a cause for celebration and the fact I selected only one story from their four issues last year – Richard Lawrence Bennett’s ‘Energy Thieves: 5 Dialogues’ from issue 235 – is a reflection of how many good new stories are being published in magazines, anthologies and collections, and online.
I very much enjoyed four debut collections: Jane Fraser’s The South Westerlies (Salt), Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi’s Manchester Happened (Oneworld), Nick Holdstock’s The False River (Unthanks Books) and The Map of Bihar and Other Stories (Circaidy Gregory Press) by Janet H Swinney, whose ‘Washing Machine Wars’ is a wryly observed tale of politely warring Turkish and Indian neighbours in suburban England and their years-long bouts of competitive cooking, gardening and household appliance acquisition. ‘“I don’t know why they’re called white people,” said Aslan, one of Mrs Çelik’s older boys, “because they’re grey.”’
From Valley Press came a science fiction anthology, the winner of last year’s longest title award: Science Fiction For Survival: An Archive For Mars, Terra Two Anthology: Volume One edited by Liesl King and Robert Edgar. Terra Two, it turns out, is an online magazine hosted by York St John University. Down the A19 and right a bit, Catherine Taylor edited The Book of Sheffield for Comma Press’s ongoing ‘A City in Short Fiction’ series. At least, I hope it’s ongoing. There wasn’t a bad story in this anthology. Leaving aside Philip Hensher’s ‘Visiting the Radicals’, a novel extract, stories by Margaret Drabble, Geoff Nicholson, Gregory Norminton, Naomi Frisby and Tim Etchells were all strong, but there was something somehow more mysterious about Helen Mort’s ‘Weaning’ that appealed to me. Etchells’ Endland (And Other Stories) took me back to his 1999 collection Endland Stories from Pulp Books, an imprint of Elaine Palmer’s seminal small press Pulp Faction. The new volume combined reprints from the previous work with new stories.
Etchells’ stories fizz with the kind of disruptive energy that animates the contents of I Transgress, an anthology of mostly previously unpublished work edited by Chris Kelso for Salò Press, which has also been publishing original short stories in chapbook format, which it calls, rather wonderfully, ‘Flirtations’. Andrew Hook’s ‘The Girl With the Horizontal Walk’ was one of these. Another chapbook, NJ Stallard’s The White Cat, a beautifully crafted artefact, arrived from The Aleph, which ‘designs and publishes rare and limited editions’; these are definitely worth investigating.
One of the highlights of volume 12 of Bristol Short Story Prize Anthology (Tangent Books) was Cherise Saywell’s yearning tale of satellites, human beings and a dog, ‘Fellow Travellers’, while issue number 16 of The Mechanics Institute Review was, I think, the biggest and most handsome volume yet in that publication’s history. Billing itself ‘The Climate Issue’, it features stories (and poems and essays) by established and emerging writers alongside MA/MFA students from Birkbeck. The project director is Julia Bell and the managing editor is Sue Tyley, who has a sizeable editorial team working with her. In this volume the editors have saved, in my opinion and talking only about the short stories, the best till last, with two very strong pieces at the back of the book, ‘Gold’ by Lorraine Wilson and ‘This Place is No Vegas’ by KM Elkes. Wilson writes beautifully about birds, and Elkes about life, death and ponds. Wilson writes about life and death as well, and bird baths, if not ponds.
Issue 11 of The Lonely Crowd was packed with good stories from Iain Robinson, Jo Mazelis, Jaki McKarrick, Susanna Crossman, Niall Griffiths, Gary Budden and many others. I had not previously come across Mal, ‘a journal of sexuality and erotics’. Edited by Maria Dimitrova, its fourth issue, ‘Real Girls’, focuses on ‘girlhood and agency’. Luke Brown’s story, ‘Beyond Criticism’, appears alongside pieces by Natasha Stagg and Chris Kraus as well as poetry and illustrations. Simply yet beautifully designed, it is a sharp, intelligent publication. I hadn’t come across The New Issue either, but that is because it is a brand-new publication, a subscription-only magazine from the Big Issue, edited by Kevin Gopal. Issue 1 featured a new story by Sarah Hall taken from her new collection Sudden Traveller. Another new magazine, which I discovered too late to think about picking either or both of the excellent stories by Martin MacInnes and Janice Galloway, is Extra Teeth, put together in Scotland by Heather Parry, Jules Danskin and Esther Clayton.
I enjoyed Michael Holloway’s story, ‘The Devil and My Dad’, in issue 23 of Open Pen, edited by Sean Preston. The same writer pops up in Still Worlds Turning: New Short Fiction, edited by Emma Warnock for Belfast-based No Alibis Press, with an entertaining account purporting to be ‘From Andy Warhol’s Assistant, 1964’. It was one of the highlights for me, along with stories by Joanna Walsh, Eley Williams, Lucy Caldwell and Sam Thompson (I think I’ve stayed in his ‘Seafront Gothic’ hotel).
I read one story last year by a highly regarded author in a very prestigious magazine. In many ways it was masterful, but one thing bothered me. Point of view is handed around like cups of Earl Grey. Not a flicker of emotion was there, either, in this story of mortality. It’s the sort of carefully written story that I have to force myself to finish reading. I find myself wondering what must such stories be like to write? What motivates the authors of such stories to keep going? They’re very fine, but rather dull. And what about point of view? Is it all right to let it float around so much – or at all? If you write in the first person, you restrict yourself to that point of view, so why not restrict yourself in third-person narratives as well? At least within paragraphs, or sections. And yet, in at least one of the stories included in the present volume, point of view is all over the place. Maybe it bothered me, fleetingly, but there was something exciting about the story that seduced me, that made me think maybe I get too worked up about point of view.
Here’s a point of view to end on. It’s about the Paris Review’s announcement of a ‘call for applications to our volunteer reader program’. The Paris Review went on: ‘This is in anticipation of an expansion to online submissions after sixty-six years of accepting unsolicited submissions only in hardcopy manuscripts. (We will continue to receive and consider manuscripts submitted by mail to our New York office.) In this new iteration of our submission process, we hope to grow a far-reaching network of readers who will be responsible for assessing unsolicited submissions of both prose and poetry.’
Hang on there un petit moment. The Paris Review is recruiting volunteer readers to assess submissions?
It goes on: ‘One of our goals is to equip readers with technical language and critical acumen (such as the composition of reader’s reports) necessary for assessment of contemporary literary work. We hope that they will be able to bring these skills with them after their time as readers with The Paris Review, particularly those who wish to pursue a career in publishing. Therefore, applicants at a stage where they feel they would benefit from such coaching, whether in a graduate program, recently post-grad, or interested in gaining a foothold in publishing, are strongly encouraged to apply. However, we will consider candidates at any point in their lives, in any location, so long as they are excited about the project of assessing new writing on The Review’s behalf.’
Alors, an exciting democratisation of the gatekeeper role at the Paris Review? Or they want you to go and work for them, virtually as editors, but without paying you un sou?
It goes on (it does go on): ‘This is a volunteer position requiring at least 5 hours of reading time a week, which can be done remotely, with a commitment of at least six months. Hours can be completed at any time during the day and week. Interested candidates should provide a resume, cover letter, and a half-to-one-page reader’s report on a piece of fiction or poetry published in a magazine or journal (not in The Paris Review) in the past year.’
I have
probably allowed my point of view to be inferred, but I would be very interested to hear from anyone who applied, successfully or not. Lots of editors spend a lot of time ‘assessing new writing’ without getting paid for it, those of us who run small presses and certain little magazines. Is that the same or is it different? Is it, like the title of Stephen Thompson’s story in this volume, same same different?
Nicholas Royle
Manchester
May 2020
LUKE BROWN
BEYOND CRITICISM
1
The man across the aisle from Claire was no longer reading poetry. He had put down the book and picked up his phone, inserted one ear bud and turned to lean against the window, hiding his screen from passers-by on the way to the buffet car, but he had not thought of the way it would reflect on to the window behind him, the girl who was sitting on a low sofa and moving her hand between her legs in a room that gleamed with the green light of California.
Claire had seen this sort of pornography before. In her last days with David, when he avoided having sex with her, she had asked him to show her what he watched when he was alone, what it was that got him off.
But David said he didn’t watch porn. Well, only very rarely. Sometimes, obviously, but mostly out of anthropological interest. Honestly? Did she really want to see?
There would be no judgment, she insisted. This was the id. Desire was beyond criticism.
Real girls was what David liked, women about the age of the undergraduates she taught, when they were persuaded to take their clothes off and masturbate on a sofa as part of a screen audition which they hoped might win them work as a ‘calendar model’. He liked to see their suspicion supplanted by arousal but never fully allayed, to watch the way the women surrendered to their own corruption, the dawning truth of their ambition, like it was, in the end, a relief.
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