Augustin. He was a small, thickset man with dark features and an Eskimo’s eyes. He claimed to be a Canadian and spoke a form of French that I had to translate mentally into the purity of my own tongue. His story essentially involved three people—himself, a man called McArthur, and McArthur’s niec...
We shared a hedge with him, and we could see the fruit-tree tops in his orchard above the hedge from our orchard. Bluebeard lived well. All his horses were strong and elegant, his carriages beautifully appointed and maintained. His gardens flourished. Even from a distance, his house sparkled. Yet...
YOU WANT TO KNOW WHO I AM AND HOW I GOT HERE? Reality Girl is the name my mother gave me but Real’s what I’m called. I’m fourteen and until one day, a week or so back, my ambition was making it to fifteen. What I want to tell starts that day. Me and...
KIERNAN A gun shot. A pirouetting shadow. Steel wheels rolling on steel rails, rushing not quite smoothly, not silently, over gravel ballast and softwood crossties hewn long ago, then soaked in creosote to form this magic ladder stretching all the w...
You can remember the man with the yellow eyes, but not why he chased you. You can remember the hawk-footed woman on your roof, but not what she whispered. That is my fault. I could not help it. I tromped through you in the night, and ate up your dreams, a moth through wool. I didn’t want them all...
His books, short fiction, and an anthology of original SF by Canadians have won fourteen awards. The Child Garden won the Arthur C. Clarke Award and the John W. Campbell Memorial Award. Air won the Arthur C. Clarke Award, the James Tiptree, Jr. Award, the Sunburst Award, and the British Science F...
