There's a lot worth covering under this here cover, so top off the old coffee mug- I'll wait.
Every year, Mystery Writers of America hosts an anthology contest among its membership. The new editor and theme are announced, and ten or so story slots go to open-call members who've made blind submissions for panel judging. That inevitably results in big-print debuts, and this year's collection, published by Berkley Prime Crime, boasts a very fine one. Edited by Charlaine Harris, CRIMES BY MOONLIGHT is available at all of your favorite booksellers. We haven't been shy about telling you it features one fabulous story in particular, "The Awareness" by Women of Mystery's own Terrie Farley Moran!
As a writer of the fantastic and horrible, "woo-woo" as the term is often applied, I was excited that MWA's thematic umbrella was extending into genre-crossover territory. But membership in MWA means identifying as a crime writer, not solely, but importantly. There was a possibility, I thought, that the stories would read more like paste-ups of fantastic fiction, rather than tales where a supernatural or unreal element was intrinsic. Which is to say, merely making Colonel Mustard's dead body ectoplasmic and the candlestick-wielding butler a were-raccoon doesn't cut it. I'm pleased to report the vast majority didn't read like pre-existing closet-shelf crime stories doctored to meet the submission guidelines. (I'm also delighted to have 5 copies to give away to lucky commenters!) The solutions to the crimes within are basically fair play, but if you're not sure about the woo-woo wrapping, let me give you a rough primer on the three types as I see them.
1) THE EXCEPTION, with or without LEXICON: Unreal elements are exceptions to an otherwise recognizable or familiar context, whether urban or naturalistic. Reads like the Rocky Mountains, except for dragons overhead. It's New York City with a revenant mayor. [hmm, wait a minute...--ed.] Readers are provided the world's operating rules in prose (even glossaries), including ranks, factions, and naming as needed. These hierarchies may be as bureaucratic and petty as your local zoning board, and readers need to internalize these definitions for on-the-fly decoding. "A puny Grade 4 Sprite went flame-drunk on a Demon Elf in Grand Central Terminal? Summon the Elders' Coven!" Often this type is frankly heroic, detailing the arduous, costly fight against bad guys and injustice.
2) THE RIFF: Unreal elements aren't necessarily defined, but use a reader's previous knowledge of fiction or myth as a springboard, departing or clinging as suits the story. Charlaine Harris's Sookie Stackhouse novels, to me, are riffing on the existing vampire canon to tell her flavor of funny, sexy, suspenseful stories. Given vampires' huge popularity over the past decades, it's tough for today's author to do anything but re-interpret. A writer can't be published inventing a breed of drain-dwelling spit-drinkers and calling them vampires, for example. There are expectations, and it just won't do. While this type relies on rearranging familiar fantasies, the space is creatively fertile, yielding products as distinctive as those produced by musicians using the same instruments and chords, or by chefs with the same pantry of ingredients. It's all about the execution, no pun intended.
3) THE EVERYTHING BAGEL: All the story's ingredients, real or un-, are juxtaposed, receiving equal attention and specificity. In a character's POV, the heinously rising price of noodle soup may occupy more mental space than the thing with leathery antennae serving it up. The weirdness may never be categorized, and the whole has an immersive quality, as readers have to figure out the rules for themselves. This type lends itself to complexity and ambivalence. When done well, readers become invested as imaginative co-builders of the story. When done poorly, it's as fuzzy and brain-damaging for readers as visiting Poland for two weeks armed with only the phrase "Zimne Piwo!" [cold beer-- ed.]
Most of the stories in this collection are of the Exception variety. I'll mention when otherwise, and off we go with the short-forms:
Charlaine Harris's "Dahlia Underground" extends the riff of Sookie Stackhouse's world to follow the revenge plans of a nest of Indiana vamps under attack. William Kent Krueger's atmospheric, rural-mythic riff "Hixton" is one tasty little sugar cookie. Margaret Maron's "Small Change" shows a girl's moxy and adaptability amid adolescence's suckiness. Brendan DuBois' "The Trespassers" depicts a small-town lawman's surprising investigation of a dead ghost hunter. While her toddling twin boys are preoccupied with a purple-haired witch and her husband seems consumed by his workplace, a pregnant woman teeters perilously between imagination and hard truths in "Madeeda" by Harley Jane Kozak.
In "House of Horrors" by S.W. Hubbard, a boardwalk excursion forces a man to confront uncomfortable questions about his love and loyalty toward his foster daughter. "Sift, Almost Invisible, Through" by Jeffrey Somers is a bit of everything-bagel weirdness launched by a twerp and his odd vacation photo. "The Bedroom Door" by Elaine Viets focuses an unusual architectural legacy onto family tragedies. "The Conqueror Worm" by Barbara D'Amato addresses an eerie computer virus that infects real lives. Lou Kemp's "In Memory of the Sibylline" is a refreshingly briny, high-seas historical about the lasting bonds among fellow travelers. "The Bloodflower" by Martin Meyers is a myth-riff-ic slide along the underbelly of modern television, reality-style.
I can't say fairer for Terrie Farley Moran's story "The Awareness" than our blogpal Leigh did, but I concur with him absolutely on her lightness of touch. Knowing it's about a banshee in NYC, I think you'll be delighted at how lyrically economical the words are, and how those rhythms themselves hearken back to the Emerald Isle. "Tadesville" by Jack Fredrickson is a heartland of surreality that pulls a band of Korean war vets back to it with all five fingers. Steve Brewer's "Limbo" offers a hard man more time to do bad. "The Insider" by Mike Wiecek offers a dead-cynical view of the recent financial meltdown and turns it, entertainingly, to profit.
Dana Cameron's "Swing Shift" explores panic in wartime America regarding government secrets, Nazi infiltrators, and a few things no one even knew they should be fearing. "Riding High" by Carolyn Hart is a classic ghostly Exception with complete Lexicon, courtesy of Oklahoma's departed Bailey Ruth Raeburn and the Department of Good Intentions. "Grave Matter" by Max Allan Collins and Mickey Spillane is a crisp, 1950's-era adventure pulp based on comic book ideas. Hammer, bad liquor, worse women, and corpses. You need nothing more. "Death of A Vampire" by Parnell Hall has a funny, high-mileage P.I., hired by a college girl to investigate whether her boyfriend is the less-frequent type of New York bloodsucker. The collection bookends vampire societies with Toni L.P. Kelner's "Taking the Long View," a story of lust, jealousy, greed, and murder (?) among the undead's wealthy and wicked.
To win your own copy, add a (witty, scary, kind) comment including your e-mail address, or make sure your profile links to one. We won't chase you down for contact info, so, if you want to be sure you're entered, re-check the comment thread for an acknowledgement from me. Even if we know your name already, making sure there's a valid link in the thread makes it much easier for us! We're accepting entries through Sunday at midnight, with winners announced Monday evening.
Our pride is fairly busting the buttons on our funeral suits. Best of Luck!
Charlotte Brontë, who held positions as a governess to several Yorkshire families, not only minding the children, but also sewing and mending. She earned $1,838 for her trouble from which her employers deducted the expense of washing her clothes.
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