The New Weird
Edgy, urban fiction with a visceral immediacy, the New Weird has descended from classic fantasy and dime-store pulp novels, from horror and detective comics, from thrillers and noir. All grown-up, it emerges from the chrysalis of nostalgia as newly literate, shocking, and utterly innovative.
Here is the very best of the New Weird from some of its greatest practitioners. This canonic anthology collects the original online debates first defining the New Weird and critical writings from international editors, culminating in a ground-breaking round-robin piece, “Festival Lives,” which features some of the hottest new names in New Weird fiction.
how she died, boy. Do you know how?" "Brained by a pot." "Have you any idea how tough old Lamprey was?" "That...occurred to me, too. It must have been a damn large pot." "You tell me. Neighbours saw the thing fall, that's all. Can't say after it hit that they gave it much thought." Some reflex made Ashura glance up into the sky. He did a double-take. The clouds there were pink-edged. He was late. "Mother Runnell, I must go now." "Your good master requiring more favours of your good will?"
those places is like. And I knew that there was no way he'd have done something like that without it being a screw you. He was making a point, and my good bloody gods but I admired that. It was then, in that pub, when I realised what he'd done, how he must have made that night-raid work, how he must have climbed and crept and fought his way in, with his new body, how he must have been able to vanish, weighed down with specie, that I realised he was something. That was when I knew that Jack
jacket. Both of them wore gloves, and Jones still had on his ski hat and a scarf wound around his neck against the hellish cold he could never get used to. A lift took them to the sixth floor. Then, side by side, they made their way down the hall to the door at its very end. Quite easily, Parr knocked, and then beamed at his companion. Jones pulled off his ski hat at last, and pushed it into his pocket. In the dim light, his hairless pate gleamed softly, the fiery halo pricked into his skin
gloaming. "The college prospers and grows, feeding on the Dark Towns the way our towns feed on the Cities of the Map. But their painted eyes have never before turned towards Ooze." "A strange look it is they cast upon us, if they favor us with that little whiner by way of introduction." "Perhaps it is an accident." He smiled at me, the leather laces of his lips creaking. "Perhaps there is more to our little friend. We will take the little fisheater to see the Lizard. Let it decide. Are you
first in my chest. Words would have failed to convince me of the fact, but that desperate scream told me plainly she was dead. Josette had been an orphan left at the palace gates by a troupe ofwan-dering actors. She arrived at a point in her life between childhood and maturity, wondrously lithe and athletic with green eyes and her dark hair cut like a boy's. I suspect she had been abandoned in hopes that her beauty and intelligence might work to make her a better life than one found on the road.