Starlight 3

Starlight 3

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by Patrick Nielsen Hayden

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Since its debut in 1996, Starlight has been recognized as the preeminent original anthology of science fiction and fantasy. Its stories have won the Nebula Award, the Sturgeon Award, and the Tiptree Award. Starlight 1 itself won the World Fantasy Award for Best Anthology. The series represents the best new short fiction in fantasy and SF.



Since its debut in 1996, Starlight has been recognized as the preeminent original anthology of science fiction and fantasy. Its stories have won the Nebula Award, the Sturgeon Award, and the Tiptree Award. Starlight 1 itself won the World Fantasy Award for Best Anthology. The series represents the best new short fiction in fantasy and SF.

Now, with Starlight 3, award-winning editor Patrick Nielsen Hayden offers a new serving of powerful, original stories. Some are playful, some rigorous, or exuberant, or melancholy; some are set in the world of today, and some amidst the farthest stars or in worlds that never were.

Stephen Baxter
Terry Bisson
Ted Chiang
Susanna Clarke
Brenda W. Clough
D. G. Compton
Cory Doctorow
Andy Duncan
Colin Greenland
Alex Irvine
Geoffrey A. Landis
Maureen F. McHugh
Susan Palwick
Madeleine E. Robins
Greg van Eekhout
Jane Yolen

Editorial Reviews

Editor Hayden once again brings together some highly literary SF in this most recent edition of his original anthology series. The stories are about evenly divided between fantasy and SF, and are of uniformly high quality. While this series doesn't have an overall theme, mythology and folklore are frequently mined for material, mythology both old (Homer in Brenda Clough's "Home is the Sailor," Norse in Greg van Eekhout's "Wolves Till The World Goes Down") and more recent (Andy Duncan's brilliantly satirical "Senator Bilbo"). Standouts in a consistently fine collection include the travails of a werewolf wife aging in dog years in Susan Palwick's "Gestella," Cory Doctorow's vicious satire of corporate warfare and its victim-soldiers in "Power Punctuation," and the heart-stopping black comedy of Terry Bisson's "The Old Rugged Cross," in which a death row inmate's religious conversion is capitalized on by virtually everyone who comes in contact with him. There are no space battles or killer robots in this collection, but fans of high-quality literary SF will be enthralled. For larger SF collections. Category: Science Fiction, Fantasy & Horror. KLIATT Codes: SA—Recommended for senior high school students, advanced students, and adults. 2001, Tor, 350p., , Middletown, OH
Library Journal
From Ted Chiang's wry meditation on life, death, and religion ("Hell Is the Absence of God") to Terry Bisson's caustic tale of cruel and unusual punishment ("The Old Rugged Cross"), the 16 tales in this collection of original short fiction cover a broad range of topics. Contributors include veteran sf and fantasy authors such as Steven Baxter, Jane Yolen, and Geoffrey A. Landis as well as newcomers such as Andy Duncan and Madeleine Robins. A good choice for most sf, fantasy, or short story collections. Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
Superior collection of 16 quirky, highly imaginative speculative short fictions, ranging from comic fantasy to hard science. Angels fly, fall, wound, kill, and mate with humans in many of the stories here, the strongest being Ted Chiang's brilliant "Hell is the Absence of God," which shows the perverse redemption fantasies of fundamentalist Christian sects being realized in all their grotesque cruelty. A group of aging Norse gods tweak their own mythology so they can get it right the next time in Greg van Eekhout's "Wolves Till The World Goes Down." Maureen F. McHugh's scathing "Interview: On Any Given Day" examines a teenaged girl who loses more than her innocence when she has sex with a medically rejuvenated 70-year-old baby boomer. "In Which Avu Giddy Tries to Stop Dancing" has septuagenarian grandmaster D.G. Compton arguing that society should let some people stop dancing: that is, die with dignity. Andy Duncan reimagines Tolkien's Bilbo Baggins as a blustering "Senator Bilbo." A convicted child-killer demands to be crucified, as Jesus was-with comic results-in Terry Bisson's cheerfully crass "The Old Rugged Cross." Only Stephen Baxter's alien adventure, "Sun-Cloud," might have played better in the pulp mags; when "a mass of corpora, sub-corpora and shoals of trained impeller-corpuscles rose from the Deep in a great ring," you want to call a plumber. Editor Hayden (Starlight 2, 1999, etc.) deserves a medal: there hasn't been an original anthology series so consistently satisfying since Damon Knight's Orbit.
From the Publisher
"It's hard to imagine that there will be a better original anthology published this year."


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Tom Doherty Associates
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Starlight , #3
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Starlight 3

By Patrick Nielsen Hayden

Tom Doherty Associates

Copyright © 2001 Patrick Nielsen Hayden
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4299-7885-9




THIS IS THE STORY OF A MAN NAMED NEIL FISK, AND HOW he came to love God. The pivotal event in Neil's life was an occurrence both terrible and ordinary: the death of his wife Sarah. Neil was consumed with grief after she died, a grief that was excruciating not only because of its intrinsic magnitude, but because it also renewed and emphasized the previous pains of his life. Her death forced him to reexamine his relationship with God, and in doing so he began a journey that would change him forever.

Neil was born with a congenital abnormality that caused his left thigh to be externally rotated and several inches shorter than his right; the medical term for it was proximal femoral focus deficiency. Most people he met assumed God was responsible for this, but Neil's mother hadn't witnessed any visitations while carrying him; his condition was the result of improper limb development during the sixth week of gestation, nothing more. In fact, as far as Neil's mother was concerned, blame rested with his absent father, whose income might have made corrective surgery a possibility, although she never expressed this sentiment aloud.

As a child Neil had occasionally wondered if he were being punished by God, but most of the time he blamed his classmates in school for his unhappiness. Their nonchalant cruelty, their instinctive ability to locate the weaknesses in a victim's emotional armor, the way their own friendships were reinforced by their sadism: he recognized these as examples of human behavior, not divine. And although his classmates often used God's name in their taunts, Neil knew better than to blame Him for their actions.

But while Neil avoided the pitfall of blaming God, he never made the jump to loving Him; nothing in his upbringing or his personality led him to pray to God for strength or for relief. The assorted trials he faced growing up were accidental or human in origin, and he relied on strictly human resources to counter them. He became an adult who — like so many others — viewed God's actions in the abstract until they impinged upon his own life. Angelic visitations were events that befell other people, reaching him only via reports on the nightly news. His own life was entirely mundane; he worked as a superintendent for an upscale apartment building, collecting rent and performing repairs, and as far as he was concerned, circumstances were fully capable of unfolding, happily or not, without intervention from above.

This remained his experience until the death of his wife.

It was an unexceptional visitation, smaller in magnitude than most but no different in kind, bringing blessings to some and disaster to others. In this instance the angel was Nathanael, making an appearance in a downtown shopping district. Four miracle cures were effected: the elimination of carcinomas in two individuals, the regeneration of the spinal cord in a paraplegic, and the restoration of sight to a recently blinded person. There were also two miracles that were not cures: a delivery van, whose driver had fainted at the sight of the angel, was halted before it could overrun a busy sidewalk; another man was caught in a shaft of Heaven's light when the angel departed, erasing his eyes but ensuring his devotion.

Neil's wife Sarah Fisk had been one of the eight casualties. She was hit by flying glass when the angel's billowing curtain of flame shattered the storefront window of the café in which she was eating. She bled to death within minutes, and the other customers in the café — none of whom suffered even superficial injuries — could do nothing but listen to her cries of pain and fear, and eventually witness her soul's ascension toward Heaven.

Nathanael hadn't delivered any specific message; the angel's parting words, which had boomed out across the entire visitation site, were the typical Behold the power of the Lord. Of the eight casualties that day, three souls were accepted into heaven and five were not, a closer ratio than the average for deaths by all causes. Sixty-two people received medical treatment for injuries ranging from slight concussions to ruptured eardrums to burns requiring skin grafts. Total property damage was estimated at 8.1 million dollars, all of it excluded by private insurance companies due to the cause. Scores of people became devout worshippers in the wake of the visitation, either out of gratitude or terror.

Alas, Neil Fisk was not one of them.

After a visitation, it's common for all the witnesses to meet as a group and discuss how their common experience has affected their lives. The witnesses of Nathanael's latest visitation arranged such group meetings, and family members of those who had died were welcome, so Neil began attending. The meetings were held once a month in a basement room of a large church downtown; there were metal folding chairs arranged in rows, and in the back of the room was a table holding coffee and doughnuts. Everyone wore adhesive name tags made out in felt-tip pen.

While waiting for the meetings to start, people would stand around, drinking coffee, talking casually. Most people Neil spoke to assumed his leg was a result of the visitation, and he had to explain that he wasn't a witness, but rather the husband of one of the casualties. This didn't bother him particularly; he was used to explaining about his leg. What did bother him was the tone of the meetings themselves, when participants spoke about their reaction to the visitation: most of them talked about their newfound devotion to God, and they tried to persuade the bereaved that they should feel the same.

Neil's reaction to such attempts at persuasion depended on who was making it. When it was an ordinary witness, he found it merely irritating. When someone who'd received a miracle cure told him to love God, he had to restrain an impulse to strangle the person. But what he found most disquieting of all was hearing the same suggestion from a man named Tony Crane; Tony's wife had died in the visitation too, and he now projected an air of groveling with his every movement. In hushed, tearful tones he explained how he had accepted his role as one of God's subjects, and he advised Neil to do likewise.

Neil didn't stop attending the meetings — he felt that he somehow owed it to Sarah to stick with them — but he found another group to go to as well, one more compatible with his own feelings: a support group devoted to those who'd lost a loved one during a visitation, and were angry at God because of it. They met every other week in a room at the local community center, and talked about the grief and rage that boiled inside of them.

All the attendees were generally sympathetic to one another, despite differences in their various attitudes toward God. Of those who'd been devout before their loss, some struggled with the task of remaining so, while others gave up their devotion without a second glance. Of those who'd never been devout, some felt their position had been validated, while others were faced with the near-impossible task of becoming devout now. Neil found himself, to his consternation, in this last category.

Like every other nondevout person, Neil had never expended much energy on where his soul would end up; he'd always assumed his destination was Hell, and he accepted that. That was the way of things, and Hell, after all, was not physically worse than the mortal plane.

It meant permanent exile from God, no more and no less; the truth of this was plain for anyone to see on those occasions when Hell manifested itself. These happened on a regular basis; the ground seemed to become transparent, and you could see Hell as if you were looking through a hole in the floor. The lost souls looked no different from the living, their eternal bodies resembling mortal ones. You couldn't communicate with them — their exile from God meant that they couldn't apprehend the mortal plane where His actions were still felt — but as long as the manifestation lasted you could hear them talk, laugh, or cry, just as they had when they were alive.

People varied widely in their reactions to these manifestations. Most devout people were galvanized, not by the sight of anything frightening, but at being reminded that eternity outside paradise was a possibility. Neil, by contrast, was one of those who were unmoved; as far as he could tell, the lost souls as a group were no unhappier than he was, their existence no worse than his in the mortal plane, and in some ways better: his eternal body would be unhampered by congenital abnormalities.

Of course, everyone knew that Heaven was incomparably superior, but to Neil it had always seemed too remote to consider, like wealth or fame or glamour. For people like him, Hell was where you went when you died, and he saw no point in restructuring his life in hopes of avoiding that. And since God hadn't previously played a role in Neil's life, he wasn't afraid of being exiled from God. The prospect of living withoutinterference, living in a world where windfalls and misfortunes were never by design, held no terror for him.

Now that Sarah was in Heaven, his situation had changed. Neil wanted more than anything to be reunited with her, and the only way to get to Heaven was to love God with all his heart.

This is Neil's story, but telling it properly requires telling the stories of two other individuals whose paths became entwined with his. The first of these is Janice Reilly.

What people assumed about Neil had in fact happened to Janice. When Janice's mother was eight months pregnant with her, she lost control of the car she was driving and collided with a telephone pole during a sudden hailstorm, fists of ice dropping out of a clear blue sky and littering the road like a spill of giant ball bearings. She was sitting in her car, shaken but unhurt, when she saw a knot of silver flames — later identified as the angel Bardiel — float across the sky. The sight petrified her, but not so much that she didn't notice the peculiar settling sensation in her womb. A subsequent ultrasound revealed that the unborn Janice Reilly no longer had legs; flipperlike feet grew directly from her hip sockets.

Janice's life might have gone the way of Neil's, if not for what happened two days after the ultrasound. Janice's parents were sitting at their kitchen table, crying and asking what they had done to deserve this, when they received a vision: the saved souls of four deceased relatives appeared before them, suffusing the kitchen with a golden glow. The saved never spoke, but their beatific smiles induced a feeling of serenity in whoever saw them. From that moment on, the Reillys were certain that their daughter's condition was not a punishment.

As a result, Janice grew up thinking of her legless condition as a gift; her parents explained that God had given her a special assignment because He considered her equal to the task, and she vowed that she would not let Him down. Without pride or defiance, she saw it as her responsibility to show others that her condition did not indicate weakness, but rather strength.

As a child, she was fully accepted by her schoolmates; when you're as pretty, confident, and charismatic as she was, children don't even notice that you're in a wheelchair. It was when she was a teenager that she realized that the able-bodied people in her school were not the ones who most needed convincing. It was more important for her to set an example for other handicapped individuals, whether they had been touched by God or not, no matter where they lived. Janice began speaking before audiences, telling those with disabilities that they had the strength God required of them.

Over time she developed a reputation, and a following. She made a living writing and speaking, and established a nonprofit organization dedicated to promoting her message. People sent her letters thanking her for changing their lives, and receiving those gave her a sense of fulfillment of a sort that Neil had never experienced.

This was Janice's life up until she herself witnessed a visitation by the angel Rashiel. She was letting herself into her house when the tremors began; at first she thought they were of natural origin, although she didn't live in a geologically active area, and waited in the doorway for them to subside. Several seconds later she caught a glimpse of silver in the sky and realized it was an angel, just before she lost consciousness.

Janice awoke to the biggest surprise of her life: the sight of her two new legs, long, muscular, and fully functional.

She was startled the first time she stood up: she was taller than she expected. Balancing at such a height without the use of her arms was unnerving, and simultaneously feeling the texture of the ground through the soles of her feet made it positively bizarre. Rescue workers, finding her wandering down the street dazedly, thought she was in shock until she — marveling at her ability to face them at eye level — explained to them what had happened.

When statistics were gathered for the visitation, the restoration of Janice's legs was recorded as a blessing, and she was humbly grateful for her good fortune. It was at the first of the support group meetings that a feeling of guilt began to creep in. There Janice met two individuals with cancer who'd witnessed Rashiel's visitation, thought their cure was at hand, and been bitterly disappointed when they realized they'd been passed over. Janice found herself wondering, why had she received a blessing when they had not?

Janice's family and friends considered the restoration of her legs a reward for excelling at the task God had set for her, but for Janice, this interpretation raised another question. Did He intend for her to stop? Surely not; evangelism provided the central direction of her life, and there was no limit to the number of people who needed to hear her message. Her continuing to preach was the best action she could take, both for herself and for others.

Her reservations grew during her first speaking engagement after the visitation, before an audience of people recently paralyzed and now wheelchair-bound. Janice delivered her usual words of inspiration, assuring them that they had the strength needed for the challenges ahead; it was during the Q&A that she was asked if the restoration of her legs meant she had passed her test. Janice didn't know what to say; she could hardly promise them that one day their marks would be erased. In fact, she realized, any implication that she'd been rewarded could be interpreted as criticism of others who remained afflicted, and she didn't want that. All she could tell them was that she didn't know why she'd been cured, but it was obvious they found that an unsatisfying answer.

Janice returned home disquieted. She still believed in her message, but as far as her audiences were concerned, she'd lost her greatest source of credibility. How could she inspire others who were touched by God to see their condition as a badge of strength, when she no longer shared their condition?

She considered whether this might be a challenge, a test of her ability to spread His word. Clearly God had made her task more difficult than it was before; perhaps the restoration of her legs was an obstacle for her to overcome, just as their earlier removal had been.

This interpretation failed her at her next scheduled engagement. The audience was a group of witnesses to a visitation by Nathanael; she was often invited to speak to such groups in the hopes that those who suffered might draw encouragement from her. Rather than sidestep the issue, she began with an account of the visitation she herself had recently experienced. She explained that while it might appear she was a beneficiary, she was in fact facing her own challenge: like them, she was being forced to draw on resources previously untapped.

She realized, too late, that she had said the wrong thing. A man in the audience with a misshapen leg stood up and challenged her: was she seriously suggesting that the restoration of her legs was comparable to the loss of his wife? Could she really be equating her trials with his own?

Janice immediately assured him that she wasn't, and that she couldn't imagine the pain he was experiencing. But, she said, it wasn't God's intention that everyone be subjected to the same kind of trial, but only that each person face his or her own trial, whatever it might be. The difficulty of any trial was subjective, and there was no way to compare two individuals' experiences. And just as those whose suffering seemed greater than his should have compassion for him, so should he have compassion for those whose suffering seemed less.

The man was having none of it. She had received what anyone else would have considered a fantastic blessing, and she was complaining about it. He stormed out of the meeting while Janice was still trying to explain.

That man, of course, was Neil Fisk. Neil had had Janice Reilly's name mentioned to him for much of his life, most often by people who were convinced his misshapen leg was a sign from God. These people cited her as an example he should follow, telling him that her attitude was the proper response to a physical handicap. Neil couldn't deny that her leglessness was a far worse condition than his distorted femur. Unfortunately, he found her attitude so foreign that, even in the best of times, he'd never been able to learn anything from her. Now, in the depths of his grief and mystified as to why she had received a gift she didn't need, Neil found her words offensive.


Excerpted from Starlight 3 by Patrick Nielsen Hayden. Copyright © 2001 Patrick Nielsen Hayden. Excerpted by permission of Tom Doherty Associates.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author

Patrick Nielsen Hayden is Senior Editor, Manager of Science Fiction, at Tor Books. He has worked in the science fiction field as an editor, reviewer, publisher, and in other capacities, since the mid-1970s. The Washington Post has called him "one of the most literate and historically aware editors in science fiction."

His original anthology series Starlight has won the World Fantasy Award, while individual stories from it have won the Hugo, Nebula, and other awards. His other anthologies include the YA reprint collections New Skies and New Magics and Up. A frequent speaker at science fiction conventions and writing workshops, he also plays guitar with a variety of ensembles and maintains a popular weblog about politics and culture. He lives with his wife and collaborator, Teresa Nielsen Hayden, in Brooklyn, New York.

Patrick Nielsen Hayden, called by the Washington Post "one of the most literate and historically aware editors in science fiction," is the winner of three Hugo Awards and the World Fantasy Award for his editorial work?. He is the editor or co-editor of several original and reprint anthologies, including the Starlight series and the young adult anthologies New Magics and New Skies.?
?As an editor at Tor Books for over 25 years, he is responsible for publishing the debut novels of many of the field's best writers, including Maureen F. McHugh, Susan Palwick, Cory Doctorow, Jo Walton, and John Scalzi.

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Starlight 3 5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 1 reviews.
harstan More than 1 year ago
STARLIGHT 1 and 2 were some of the best short story collections assembled in any genre. The probability of 3 holding the bar at the level of its predecessors seemed remote because quality rarely reaches that stratosphere. Yet STARLIGHT 3 accomplishes the impossible and more as readers receive sixteen weird yet extremely creative tales that run the speculative fiction gamut with angels behaving more like Ancient Greek Gods in many of the contributions. All of the stories are quite powerful and no one should be surprised when individual authors and editor Hayden add a trophy or two to their mantelpiece. Two words sum up the absurd greatness of this fabulous collection: Senator Bilbo.

Harriet Klausner