I just read Margo Lanagan's Fifth Star of the Southern Cross, and wow. Margo has written some absolutely brilliant stories, and like the best of them this just grabbed me, held my head down in its slop bucket of imagery, and didn't let go until it was done. It's dense, brief (though it contains a whole world within that brevity) and visceral. It may well be the best short story I read this year. It's certainly one of the bleakest. I often think of Margo as a fantasist, but this story has reminded me that she can write damn fine unflinching and utterly unsentimental science fiction.
Now I'm even more nervous about my novella!
Ah, to be writing short fiction in a country that already has Terry Dowling, Geoff Maloney, Greg Egan, and Margo Lanagan (not to mention those Williams, Battersbys, Dugans, Peeks, Sussexs and Sparks and a dozen others). It's unsettling I tells ya. Drop the ball a little, eh, I dare you...
*I am very much looking forward to reading Tender Morsels and The Goosle.