Good thing the fantasy in THE MAMMOTH BOOK OF EXTREME FANTASY is indeed “extreme,” because the regular ol’ fantasy just doesn’t cut it these days. Anyone can take dragons and wizards and whatnot, and sling together some story about them, but it takes a higher caliber of writer to marry an idea to imagination, and come up with a fantasy tale that aims for something higher than mere adventure.
You’re not going to find the standard stuff here. Editor Mike Ashley even warns as much in his introduction when he writes about the contents, “much of which has nothing to do with elves or fairies.” And thank God for that.
Twenty-four stories are contained within the paperback volume, from writers as well-known as Orson Scott Card, Michael Moorcock, Ted Chiang, Michael Swanwick, Paul Di Filippo, Jeffrey Ford, Howard Waldrop and others.
Standing out among the highlights is David D. Levine’s “Charlie the Purple Giraffe Was Acting Strangely.” Why such behavior? Because, as he complains to his friend Jerry the orange squirrel, Charlie believes they are being … read, like they don’t exist other than as characters in a funny animal comic book. His pal and Dr. Nocerous think he’s insane. To say this one breaks the fourth wall is an understatement, and what begins as amusing grows sinister.
Lawrence Person plays to a love of Asian-style horror/kung-fu hybrid flicks like MR. VAMPIRE with the raucous “Master Lao and the Flying Horror,” in which roasted chickens come alive to attack would-be diners. More creatures come to be, as well, not to mention a keen sense of humor on Person’s part (any ladies up for a round of “Magic Sword Entering the Lotus”?).
Although not known as a fantasist, Jonathan Lethem more than proves his might with “Using It and Losing It,” in which his protagonist suddenly decides to divorce himself from the English language. He does this one word at a time, repeating them until they have no meaning, and cannot utter them anymore. What he doesn’t consider is how difficult communication then will be. The story is awfully short, but awfully sly.
Another favorite was Christopher Priest’s “I, Haruspex,” in which one Mr. Owsley eagerly awaits the delivery of a box of pellets. They’re not just ordinary pellets, but tiny balls of necrotic flesh and cancerous tumors which he consumes. As befitting of Priest’s work, this one’s a mind-warper.
And so is William Hope Hodgson’s “Eloi Eloi Lama Sabachthani,” the only really old piece in the collection. Its uneasy mix of the Crucifixion and the occult makes it utterly brave territory in any era, but especially so for 1912 — the year in which it was written. Its inclusion demonstrates that fantasists have been pushing boundaries for several generations back, and setting a pace with which many in this anthology are able to keep up. —Rod Lott
“I placed my hands on her shoulders, then ran my tongue down her face and body, pausing to nuzzle on her heavy breasts with their tiny but tempting lumps of hard fibre buried deep within. I pushed her down on the bed and quickly serviced her, thrusting with greedy passion at her ample body.”
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So…elves and fairies bad, purple giraffes and orange squirrels good.
total upsell.. like I don’t revifify the lost of imaginings of my grandmother’s half-decayed corpse every fortnight.
also the cover is gay