"David G. Hartwell. - Years Best SF 4" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hartwell David G)

rich diversity of selection for this one. For mre information, including extensive monthly discussion of
many fine individual stories, you are refered to Mark Kelly's excellent short fiction review columns in
Locus.
Sadly, Tangents, the other main venue for short fiction reviews and commentary, was late and irregular
in 1998, though a new online site has recently been established for the magazine where reviews may
begin to be posted in a timely way.
I will make further observations on trends and themes in SF and remarks on the individual excellences of
the contents of this book in the notes to the stories, that follow immediately. So here we go, into the best
of the year. Follow me.
тАФDavid G. Hartwell
Market Report
ALEXANDER JABLOKOV
Alexander Jablokov published his first short story in 1985 and his first novel, Carve the Sky, in 1991.
He is one of the most interesting SF writers to come to prominence in the 1990s. He has published five
novels to date (his latest is Deepdrive, 1998), and occasional short stories. Some of his best work is
collected in The Breath of Suspension (1994). He is part of the Boston-area SF writers workshop
chaired by David Alexander Smith, the group that produced the collaborative original anthology, Future
Boston (1994). The Encyclopedia of Science Fiction calls his work тАЬboth rounded and exploratory,
andтАжgenerates the sense that an important SF career has gotten well underway.тАЭ This story appeared in
Asimov's and is the first of several in this book from that magazine, which seemed to me to publish a
slightly higher percentage of SF, as opposed to fantasy of various sorts, again this past year. It was a
particularly strong year for Asimov's. This was Jablokov's only short fiction this year.

Islid out of the rental car's AC, and the heat of the mid-western night wrapped itself around my face like
a wet iguana. Lightning bugs blinked in the unmown grass of my parents' lawn, and cicadas rasped
tenaciously at the subdivision's silence. Old Oak Orchard was so new it wasn't even on my most recent
DeLorme map CD-ROM, and it had taken me a while to find the place.

My father pulled the door open before I could ring the bell.

тАЬBert.тАЭ He peered past me. тАЬAh. And where isтАФтАЭ

тАЬStacy's not with me.тАЭ I'd practiced what to say on the drive from the airport, but still hadn't come up
with anything coherent. тАЬWeтАжwell, let's just say there have been problems.тАЭ

тАЬSo many marriages are ended in the passive voice.тАЭ His voice was carefully neutral. тАЬCome along back,
then. I'll set you up a tent.тАЭ

Dad wore a pair of once-fashionable pleated linen shorts and a floppy T-shirt with the name of an
Internet provider on it. His skin was all dark and leathery, the color of retirement. He looked like he'd
just woken up.

тАЬI told Mom when I was comingтАж.тАЭ
тАЬSure.тАЭ He grabbed my suitcase and wrestled it down the hall. тАЬShe must have nailed the note to a tree,
and I didn't see it.тАЭ

I didn't know why I always waited a moment for him to explain things. He never did. I was just supposed
to catch on. I had spent my whole life trying to catch on.

тАЬLulu!тАЭ he called out the back slider. тАЬBert's home.тАЭ