Mithila Review publishes excellent science fiction, fantasy, poetry, reviews, excerpts, and articles from award-winning and emerging writers around the world.
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ISSUE 11: CONTRIBUTORS
Adele Gardner, Avra Margariti, David A. Hewitt, D.A. Xiaolin Spires, Elaine Vilar Madruga, M. Bennardo, Mary Soon Lee, Phoebe Low, Qurat Dar, Timothy Bastek, Toshiya Kamei, Uma Menon & Wren Wallis. Cover art by Edward Hicks (1848).
Water began to flood the room. ‘I told you it was a bad idea. The sea eats people.’
When you venture into the past, your clothes
must fit the time, so stick with linens, cottons, wool.
A churning tale of self-discovery, masquerading as a socio-political metaphor, The Wall becomes a story where inter-layered narrative arcs – and themes – fuse.
The keeper who took my voice promised to lock it into a wooden box until it has been properly reviewed. Still, if a good word comes back, I might not recognize it.
We walked there in the twilight and sang skysongs
Our bodies were translucent and full of darkness
How we carried our homeland in our bones
The executioners grill letters and sigils
into every corporal surface,
black butterflies on her nails,
a sponsor, fingers curling like locks of hair
on her head,
ink paintings on her eyes.
A new collection from Penguin attempts to rectify this oversight by restoring some long-overdue recognition to the work of Richard Matheson.
Trees are a way Nature found to connect the ground with the skies. That’s also what we are, the Itumian, we’re a bridge, a connection; we are in-between.
But the undertow was working against him. Matthew could feel it now, streaming out to open sea around and beneath him. Swimming against it was like trying to swim up-river. For every foot he pulled ahead, the water carried him back another two. The shore hovered like a mirage ahead of him, almost drowned out in all the lapping water.
Science, Science Fiction & South Asia: Muhammad Aurangzeb Ahmad in conversation with Sami Ahmad Khan
The more I read and think, the more I become wary of essentializing endeavours and labels, especially those which are transposed to a multidimensional singularity such as SF.
We bring to you this issue so we may confront what Shakespeare described as our “mountainish inhumanity” as we come face-to-face with aliens and strangers in the stories and poems that are to follow.
He knew only what he had been told, that vicious Godless races peopled the New World and none could be trusted.
I rub my eyes constantly until they become clear: ‘Habitation Project for The People Displaced by Climatic Contingencies: Site C’. The water now tastes salty.
You couldn’t let your light get too bright lest you lost your footing. A few patches now and then kept your light in check, and kept you grounded.
One day she herself ripened,
swelling with the demon’s child.
Twelve months she grew and grew,
rounder than a pumpkin.