Introduction: Not Afraid of the Dark

“You mustn’t be afraid of the dark.”

“I’m not,” said Shadow. “I’m afraid

of the people in the dark.”

—Neil Gaiman, American Gods

Like Shadow Moon, I am more afraid of people—reality—than the dark—imaginary things we perceive as sinister or frightening. But fictional “dark” can still affect me: with the primal fear of the unknown or by showing me what we are, what we were, what we may become.

I gave up trying to define what the terms “dark fantasy” or “horror” meant a long time ago. But, at the moment, I think horror is an emotion and that such tales tend to evoke that emotion—be it with monsters or science or an atmosphere of dread—or, at the very least, profoundly unsettle us. Dark fantasy does not, necessarily, have to have that effect. It offers an entrance to a dark world in which Supernatural Powers and Bad Things exist with plausibility. Its darkness has many shades and offers a wider range of emotional response.

I had an unusually long time this year between selecting the stories for this volume and making them into a book. That may be the reason I’ve thought about these stories quite a bit. Or maybe not.

In any case, although I cannot possibly enunciate my thoughts about all thirty-seven stories, I thought I’d provide a few random informal off-the-cuff reactions to a few of them.

And I do mean random. These are not specifically “favorites.” There’s no hidden agenda or deeper meaning in their selection. These are just thoughts that came to me as I was putting this volume together.

Warning! There are spoilers ahead. Don’t read the rest of this introduction until you’ve read the stories.

“Our Talons Can Crush Galaxies” by Brooke Bolander took my breath away. I think it is the shortest story I’ve ever chosen for this series, but its impact is massive. Since the reader has to bring a lot to this one, some might question if it is a “story.” My guess is that readers will either hate it or (like me) love it. I’m happy enough people loved it to get it on the Nebula Award ballot. That aside, it joins Elizabeth Bear’s “The Horrid Glory of Its Wings” as another iteration of the mythical harpy. Harpy fiction? Well, there’s Tim Pratt’s “Living with the Harpy” and, sort of, Robert E. Howard’s Solomon Kane story “Wings in the Night” and—although it is not about them—the “vinyl harpies” in John Shirley’s “ . . . And the Angel with Television Eyes” are memorable . . .

I love “historical horror/fantasy.” (As alluded to above, I feel humankind’s acts—and reality itself—are far more frightening than any fiction.) I also love stories blending different magical lore/traditions and consideration of the limitations of supernatural powers. “Red Dirt Witch” by N. K. Jemisin has those aspects. Emmaline, her family, the setting, and the magic powers involved are all so grounded and believable I felt an immediate connection. I easily accepted the supernatural aspects of Jemisin’s world.

I also like to journey through the dark to a positive outcome—in this case, valid historical progress. “Red Dirt Witch,” does all this and more. However, the real world these days makes me fear the White Folk that Pauline dreams of at the end of the story would no longer be so hungry. They’d be getting sleek and fat because, right now, “the hate of the world” seems alarmingly apparent and no longer dwindling.

Brian Hodge is one of those authors who often have several “bests” to choose from in a calendar year. In fact, in 2016 he had three different stories chosen for two different “year’s best” anthologies. (Ellen Datlow chose “It’s All the Same Road in the End,” which first appeared in my The Mammoth Book of Cthulhu: New Lovecraftian Fiction, and “On These Blackened Shores of Time” from her own Children of Cthulhu, from which I chose two other stories.) This story would be horrific enough if it dealt only with child abuse, but Hodge makes it even creepier with “things at work” that neither we nor the narrator can begin to figure out.

Like Hodge, but even more prolific, Stephen Graham Jones turns out a lot of great dark fiction every year. Maybe “Birdfather” struck me because I had three sons and the author totally nails what the familial situation can be for the third and youngest sibling. Plus guns in homes with children is, to me, scary. The “supernatural element” here may or may not be supernatural, but the boys’ understanding of the way such things work seems utterly natural.

Confession: When I first (quickly) read “Postcards from Natalie” by Carrie Laben, I wasn’t all that impressed. Felt using the “postcards” to move the story forward was somewhat contrived and, Another missing girl story? Bad me! Then I really read it and realized Laben had written a moving, effective, and indelible story. I am still torn between concern for Mandy and envy of the power of her memory and love.

“The Ballad of Black Tom” by Victor LaValle: Wow. Just wow. This novella is everything “new Lovecraftian fiction” should be. Heck, it’s everything a great story should be. LaValle’s novella is both an appreciation and reproof of Lovecraft. (The author’s dedication is: “For H. P. Lovecraft, with all my conflicted feelings.”) LaValle takes “The Horror of Red Hook”—a tale brimming with racism and xenophobia, and simply a poor story to boot—and subverts it beautifully. (“I’ll take Cthulhu over you devils any day.” Indeed!) LaValle has written a modern classic with many layers and levels to admire.

Tangent: the “conjure music” Tommy Tester sings a couple of lines of in the story—the one his father, Otis, teaches him—is “Grinning In Your Face.” Listen to Son House sing it (just google it), and (if you don’t already) you’ll understand why Otis chose that song.

Alison Littlewood’s “Meet Me at the Frostfair” is an elegant, old-fashioned, and literally chilling ghost story. Great to read on a hot day as it will cool you off. But be cautious on a cold one—you might get frostbite! And, yes, tangentially and factually, London experienced a long frost in 1788. It lasted from late November until early January. A “frost fair” was held on the frozen Thames. And, just as in the story, the next frost fair on the Thames was not held until 1814. It was also one of the snowiest winters in three centuries.

I love a good Baba Yaga story. “The Red Forest” by Angela Slatter is a very good Baba Yaga story. I’d love to do an entire Baba Yaga anthology. (Any takers?) She’s an ambiguous, complex character, and gives authors a lot to work with. (In fact, this is not Slatter’s first Baba Yaga tale, her “The Bone Mother” is a retelling of “Vasilissa the Fair,” the best-known folk story to feature the Slavic witch.) But, as Andreas Johns writes in Baba Yaga: The Ambitious Mother and Witch of Russian Folklore: “Baba Yaga defies any single or simple definition or interpretation, and no final definitive word can ever be said about her.”

“The Future Is Blue” by Catherynne M. Valente is one of the best science fiction stories of 2016. I was delighted my opinion was confirmed when it received the Theodore Sturgeon Memorial Award for the best short science fiction of the year. It is an outstanding example of what some folks call “cli-fi”—climate fiction—stories that deal with climate change and/or global warming. (An inevitably dark theme.) Some might consider it fantasy or a fable, claiming such floating islands of debris are impossible or a completely landless Earth is “scientifically” hard to posit. In any case, the anthology for which it was written—Jonathan Strahan’s Drowned Worlds—was inspired by J. G. Ballard’s novel The Drowned World. As Strahan notes in his introduction, Ballard’s post-apocalyptic world was seen through a “romantic haze that hangs over the flooded, inundated ruins of a world laid waste by raising oceans.” Valente fills that bill spectacularly well.

I am not a horror film geek. I don’t like 99% of anything that can be construed as a “horror movie.” I particularly don’t like the “found footage” genre of The Blair Witch Project that the fictional film in Michael Wehunt’s “October Film Haunt: Under the House” is a takes off on. There’s really no reason I should have not only kept reading this story let alone like it. But, obviously, I did. Wehunt got me.

Someone else has probably already called “Only Their Shining Beauty Was Left” by Fran Wilde a “treepocalypse” story, but I can’t resist calling it that myself. It is a strange way for the world to end, but considering the alternatives, it is better than most. It is also about transforming, and therein lies the creepiness of the tale. Dark, but also humorous in places. Most of all, I appreciate the connection to the myth of Philemon and Baucis, which may be about piety, but is also a love story. (What sort of tree would you choose to be?)

And isn’t it odd that two great (but very different) stories of the same title—“Grave Goods,” by Gemma Files and Priya Sharma?—were both published in the same year?

Enough. I hope you find plenty of your own reasons to appreciate the stories in this book.

Introduction: Not Afraid of the Dark

Paula Guran