This is the third review from my challenge to read the 2025 British Fantasy Award Best Anthology category.
In the introduction, Charlotte Bond writes:
Whatever your taste, whatever you’re looking for, in these pages, you will learn one thing: how to fight like a girl.
And I did — though I also found a few stories that weren’t to my taste, which is a shame. With fewer stories than the other anthologies I’ve read so far, the weaker ones stand out a little more — but never mind, there are still some standout tales here.
K T Davies’s The Seamstress, the Hound, the Cook, and her Brother surprised me the most using a triptych to follow a crime through different eyes. Having seen the situation build from competing viewpoints, the shifting perspectives give the reader deeper insight into the final scene.
Shifts in perspective are definitely a theme.
One perspective I enjoyed — though I felt a little cheated by — was in A Human Response by Dolly Garland. Here a women’s body is replaced, and she finds herself trapped. Slowly, she pieces together what happens to her. The character is supposed to be without emotion, yet she has emotional reactions, which feels jarring. It also fades to black at a key moment in the ending, which I think robbed the character of the agency Garland had built up.
In In More Trouble Than She’s Worth? by Cheryl Morgan, the narrator lacks agency, but her perspective offers some great observations. For example:
I like the chrome in the sick bay, but am not convinced by the white. My crew have odd taste at times. I, by the way, am Sagaris, an Artemis Class cruiser of the Queen’s Amazon Navy, General Thomys commanding.
And
I got him though, didn’t I?, I thought proudly to myself. You can’t scrag a target without wobbling a few crew stomachs. A little non-fatal discomfort does the little ones good.
In this tale, the crew picks up some very precious cargo. Morgan uses the situation to explore how women can be both mothers and fighters — and how that differs from their enemies. This one made me cry.
The arrogance of men was explored by directly and successfully by both Gaie Sebold and Juliet E. McKenna.
In Ambition’s Engine, Sebold takes us to high society, where a newly appointed Chief Defender of the Dominion’s Transport hatches a plan to get more from a train ride than he was commissioned for. Sebold packs in commentary about war, colonialism, and the arrogance of powerful men.
With Civil War, McKenna examines the impact of a change in monarch when the King has no male heir. She explores the options available to the court and the guilds. This was a like watching a royal game of chess and I didn’t see final the move until it was too late. Very cleverly done.
In the introduction Roz Clarke and Joanne Hall suggest:
‘…perhaps now we can look beyond a direct kick back against the idea that women can’t fight, and start to reintegrate more traditionally acceptable forms of feminine power with that warrior archetype.’
And they’ve proved with this collection that fighting and feminine power take many forms — from the bloody, to the subtle, to the fearless — with motivations that defy the ‘warrior archetype’.
If you don’t need convincing that women can fight, this collection is for you. There are some excellent stories here.
And if you do need some persuasion, this collection is also for you — though you might end up a little more paranoid than before, as not all fights are direct confrontations or fairly fought.
Anthology Details
Title:Fight Like a Girl – Volume 2 Editors: Roz Clarke, Joanne Hall Publisher: Wizard’s Tower Press Publication Date: Autumn 2024 ISBN (Paperback): 9781913892845 ISBN (EPUB): 9781913892852 ISBN (MOBI): 9781913892869 Format: Paperback, EPUB, MOBI
This is the second review from my challenge to read the 2025 British Fantasy Award Best Anthology category.
The title of I Want That Twink OBLITERATED! is provocative. It came from a comment made in jest, which sparked a train of thought that led to an anthology of…
…stories that reclaim the idea of pulp for a queer audience, centre masculinities in a new light, and take [the reader] on a damn fun ride. Pulp parody, pulp pastiche, and pulp deconstruction.
And unlike Death Becomes Her, I’m going to give you a warning before you drink the Queer-Aid:
The stories in this volume run the gamut(s!) between funny, horny, heartbreaking, thrilling, horrific, explicit, and more.
The opening story, In the Garden of the Serpent King by James Bennett, jumps right in, presenting the promised themes of humour, horror, and eroticism.
The tone is set by exploring the question: “How do you subvert the ‘Englishman in Congo’ trope?”
The answer is: you hammer home how of-its-time it was—in the gayest way possible. And the hammer keeps hitting home, tale after tale. This is not a subtle collection, but it contains lots of subtleties as themes emerge and intertwine.
An overarching one is age and beauty, but the stories also explore narcissism turned into cannibalism, perfection as slavery, and—more importantly—love and legacy.
These stories are best approached with a camp sense of fun, because there are a couple that are so silly they might be annoying—yes, Tea, Shade, and Drag Crusades by Bailey Maybray, I am thinking about you. It takes the “lip sync for your life” idea off into space. Where I feel Bailey fell short is that there are bits in the story that fail its own internal logic.
Just as silly, but more successful, is Dotch Masher and the Planet ‘MM’ by William C. Tracy. This time, there’s a race across space to stop a villain—but are they rivals, or are they lovers? Now that’s a question that rears its head a lot.
The conflict between internal and external is explored in Plezure by Rand Webber, which is reminiscent of The Stepford Wives—at least at the start—but evolves as the spell starts to crumble, thanks to love.
Love is powerful. These authors have drawn on it and utilised it. The love can be familial (found or blood), friendly, or romantic. And it’s strong.
I can now say I’ve read Aliette de Bodard. In The Tutelary, the Assassin, and the Healer, we encounter love in its negative and positive forms—grief and anger alongside romantic bonds—as it asks the question: What would you do for those you love? Taking a journey on a potentially insane ship seems to be one of them.
In Yesterday’s Heroes by Charlie Winter, a warrior comes out of retirement to find someone he loves—but I’ll let you figure out what type of love the Boy in the tale represents.
And despite the title’s request, not all twinks are obliterated. They are celebrated. And in some cases, they need to continue to be heard.
Like the Tharsis Courier in Dusk and Dawn in the Grand Bazaar by John Berkeley, and the acquisition specialist in Hazard Pay by Malcolm Schmitz.
I can’t leave this review without mentioning two of my favourites, as I’ve not had a way of slipping them in thus far—but I hope we get to see the twinks in these:
Narcissus Munro, Thief for Hire by Kieran Craft
In Sheep’s Clothing by Caleb Roehrig
Before I go, it’s clear that despite some clumsiness in a few stories, I found them emotionally resonant. That might not be the case for every reader, but I think the editors hit their goal of reclaiming the idea of pulp, with stories that centred masculinities in a new light—and took this reader on a damn fun ride.
Anthology Details
Title: I Want That Twink OBLITERATED!: A Radical Anthology of Queer SFF
This is the first review from my challenge to read the 2025 British Fantasy Award Best Anthology category.
An anthology, to me, is a little bit like a selection box—mostly treats you’ve never tried before. There might be an author or two you’ve read previously, but for the most part, they’re new experiences. And I can say that’s true of this anthology.
Jon Courtenay Grimwood and Ken MacLeod are authors I’ve read and enjoyed before. The others—apart from Grant Morrison—were unknown to me.
The editors, Neil Williamson and Andrew J. Wilson, in their introduction to this collection of new speculative fiction from Scotland, ask and answer the question: What is speculative fiction?
“It’s writing that challenges consensus reality. Speculative fiction includes science fiction, fantasy, horror, and all the variants and subgenres of these imaginative approaches to storytelling. What does it have to do with Scotland? Everything!”
They also explain how they see the contributors’ connection to Scotland:
“The contributors are all Scots. They’re Scottish in the broadest sense: some were native-born while others have chosen to make their home here; some are Highlanders and islanders, others urbanites; and this gives us an extraordinary range of perspectives. We wanted this collection to be inclusive, not exclusive, and we wanted not only the tight focus of introspection, but also the ability to see ourselves, as Burns had it, as others see us.”
Did every story give me a sense of connection to Scotland? Not quite. There were definitely some stories that didn’t evoke that feeling, despite the editorial postscript often trying to explain the link. That sense of connection swings from strong to weak, and in a couple of cases, I felt their inclusion was tentative at best.
The opening story by Ken MacLeod threw me slightly. It resurrects two folk singers from an earlier story (Newton’s Wake)—I’ve no idea how significant they were, as I’ve never met them before. Ken places them on a future Mars where AIs have not been a gift to humanity. But what niggled me was the use of “Joint Chiefs” in a military context. It felt like an odd Americanism in a story that should centre Scotland.
Not understanding the importance of political and protest songs to Scotland reflects my own ignorance. And opening with what ends up being a very clever story, with multiple layers, set me up for the whiplash that followed.
The whiplash effect comes from jumping between strong voices—at least at the beginning. There’s a TV star whose family traditions lie in curses, a homecoming that could lead to confrontation, a detective who gets too nosy about a specialist investigation team, and a good old-fashioned locked-room murder.
A story that’s exceptional but felt out of place is Lise and Otto by Pippa Goldschmidt. It describes the rise of the Nazis but doesn’t, as hinted in the introduction, lean into the idea of “as others see us.”
Another story I enjoyed was Broderie Écossaise by Eris Young. Again, it lacked a grounding in Scotland, though I’m glad I read such a clever story about embroidery and desire.
We slip into body horror with Grimaldo the Weeping, as Ali Maloney explores the power of stories—and how often they’re closer to reality than we’d like.
Junior by Lindz McLeod floored me. You’ll see why when you read it.
There were also a few skips—sorry, Grant, I just couldn’t get into it.
There’s environmental exploration in a couple of stories, volunteering that goes wrong, and the cutest—but saddest—dodo story.
I need Doug Johnstone to write another story set in the world of Under the Hagstone—ideally with the same characters.
There were more skips, and a few misses, but overall I’d say there’s enough variety and story strength to justify reading this all the way through—skipping where appropriate.
Anthology Details
Title: Nova Scotia Vol 2: New Speculative Fiction from Scotland
Second (or Spoiler) Read Reviews are written for readers who already know about a book or don’t mind a spoiler or three. Expect plot reveals and in-depth discussion of the book’s events.
WARNING. SPOILERS FROM THIS POINT ON
My interest in reading Creation Lake was sparked by a mistaken categorisation of it as science fiction. It’s not. It is, however, science-infused fiction.
That’s one of the things that kept me going—the main character and first-person narrator’s paraphrasing of various emails focused on Neanderthals and Homo sapiens, which were also supposed to contain hidden messages about the intentions of an activist group she was sent to spy on.
I should have put it down when the email summaries stopped; without them, it lost its magic. It felt like there was a moment when the author realised she needed to do something with all these vibes and start planning for an ending.
I can see why it made it to The Booker Prize 2024shortlist. It lingers. It lingers. I imagine it would spark a great book club discussion.
The character repeatedly tells us she’s an agent provocateur—and not a good one. In the end, the incident she’s meant to instigate would have happened without her, which makes it all feel a little pointless. Actually, that’s unfair. She does whip up the crowd, forcing the target to be in the wrong place at the right time.
There’s no grand conspiracy. There’s commentary on wealthy people playing saviour to those their peers have oppressed and ignored. There’s also a lot of information imparted about evolution.
It’s like a weird fever dream of a secret agent’s summer holiday—one that both we and the author eventually wake up from. It’s one I feel I’d rather not have had.
‘Live’ Reading is a SPOILER-FILLED read-along post of my reactions and thoughts on the chosen work. This is a post that will be updated as I progress through the book.
THE ARTHUR C. CLARKE AWARD is given annually to the best science fiction novel first published in the United Kingdom during the previous year.
This year’s winner, Annie Bot by Sierra Greer, has caused a bit of a stir. From the works on the shortlist, I think it’s fair to say that it wasn’t expected to be the winner.
This year’s shortlist appears to be a bit of an eclectic mix:
Annie Bot – Sierra Greer – WINNER
Private Rites – Julia Armfield
The Ministry of Time – Kaliane Bradley
Extremophile – Ian Green
Service Model – Adrian Tchaikovsky
Thirteen Ways to Kill Lulabelle Rock – Maud Woolf
I’ve read Service Model, which I have lots of thoughts on, but not the rest. When I said to Dan Hartland on Bluesky that I was curious about this one, he replied:
Now, if Bluesky let me hide spoilers, I would be doing this over there—but it doesn’t, so this is the next best thing.
I will attempt to update this post every time I read a section. I am a slow reader, and I cannot guarantee that I will complete this task in a week. I’m giving myself two, just to be safe.
I am not going to spoil the ending, but it’s sufficient to say that Greer pulled it off, and she surprised me with the conclusion.
I plan to read the other four unread books on the shortlist sooner rather than later, but I can see why this is a strong winner.
I did a slower, more contemplative reading because I was doing this semi-successful live-reaction post. And I ignored where I thought I wanted the story to go or lingered and read it as more speculative than science-based fiction.
Do I think that in another writer’s hands, it would have been different? Yes. Would it have been better? No. Did I agree with all the choices that Greer had Annie and Doug make? Oh goodness, no. Would I recommend it to a more general audience interested in the impact of robotic companions? Yes. Would I have liked more room for a sequel to explore the world wider? YES!
But it’s a worthy winner. It raises a concern about modern society, explores a semi-plausible scenario (that Greer manages to make creepier than I imagined at the end), and it made me think.
Sunday, 6th July PM (91%)
I’m not exactly racing towards the end, but I’m in the final stretch.
So I’m asking myself, at this moment, is this a book worthy of an ARTHUR C. CLARKE AWARD? Yes, it is. However, it might still disappoint me.
Greer, through her characters, has made several observations that I have also made.
“I just want my regular life back,” he says. “I thought I was doing okay, but this sucks.” “He didn’t love me,” Annie says. Monica tilts her head slightly, curious. She looks at Doug. “I didn’t,” he agrees.
I was checking Greer’s publishing history, and it appears to be the first novel I can find. I saw in an interview that it’s also a novel related to COVID-19. And that does change my perspective on both characters being holed up in the same apartment night after night.
A lot is happening beneath the surface, and it is more of a literary than a SF novel. I am making a huge assumption that Greer is a more literary writer, one who writes speculative fiction. Would a more traditional SF writer have tackled this subject in the same way? Would they have kept Annie on the leash the way Greer has? Would another writer have started that revolution?
Is it too bold to say that the counterpoint to Annie Bot is Tchaikovsky’s Service Model? Controversially, I think Annie Botis a better robot novel. Service Model tackles a much bigger canvas, but I believe in Annie more than Charles. Also, Annie’s internal struggle feels more alive.
Right, let’s get this done.
Sunday, 6th July AM (Two Chapters to Go)
What if a sad man got a robot girlfriend and had feelings for her but also knew he was in love with a robot? What if the robot was capable of complex feelings? How would she react to being an object? To doing boring tasks? To being tortured?
Again, why did he leave Vegas?
Sunday, 6th July AM (63%)
It’s very weird. I want so much more for Annie. And I want Doug to let her go. This is like a circle of Hell. Well, two circles: one for Annie, and another for Doug.
Saturday, 5th July PM
After last weekend’s post, Dan observed:
Hey, thanks for agreeing to do it! I’m interested that your reading is finding reason to focus on Doug.
My first thought is, how could it not be? Annie would not be this Annie if Doug was different. Annie has literally been moulded by him. Her inner life is private, but is being fundamentally impacted by every action and decision he takes.
And he raised the question of Annie:
How are you finding reading Annie, this being the case, and given the novel is named after her? One for the next reflection, maybe!
I’ll admit that I was struggling at this point in the story (1/3 read) with seeing Annie as a character in her own right.
Doug states, in a conversation about his wife that:
“The point is, when I made you, I decided, f- it. I’m indulging myself. Yes, I used her as a template for you. But you’re simpler. And kinder. Much kinder. And playful. That’s what I needed.
Is Annie simpler than a human? Is she kinder? And is she playful?
It’s difficult because Annie has her own set of needs and wants (such as not wanting her personality replaced or having Doug change her body). She also doesn’t have any social or economic needs at this moment in the story. She’s putting on an act. We know that because we see the script that Annie follows. She is complex, she’s not cruel, and as for playful… well, I think she does relax and enjoy it when she’s meeting Doug’s needs (a bot version of dopamine perhaps?)
I do like the way Greer is showing us all the signs of danger (in this case, through Doug’s actions not aligning with his words and Annie’s reactions to them). As the reader, we know she’s not human. She is an item, like a toaster, to be owned, sold, or used like a pizza oven. And that makes it hard to read; as non-human as Annie is, she is a character you can root for.
And cheer I did, as that seed from earlier—that lie I thought would fester and grow when Annie was taken to Vegas and finally seen by Doug’s friends—was not meant to be. Annie’s secret was exposed, and the motivation behind it (that Doug’s friend had done the same thing before) was revealed.
And Annie blames herself for breaking what she and Doug had. But Annie isn’t broken; Doug is. Annie has programming that allows her to grow and evolve. That ability to lie turns into ignoring the feeling in the pit in her stomach and ‘saving’ herself. The ease with which she then steals is an extension of the power she has over her ’emotional’ responses.
I need to step back and explain that Doug bought a ‘back-up’. He wanted another bot that would cook and clean, play and not show complex thoughts or reactions. But Delta doesn’t know that Annie is a bot like her. Delta is how Doug seems to be making Annie into a real girlfriend, at least in Annie’s eyes.
I said I cheered. Annie attempts to escape, though she and I didn’t expect that Delta would suffer the same fear of Doug and would rather go with Annie into the unknown than face Doug when he finds Annie gone.
What Annie doesn’t realise when she leaves is that Doug’s honeyed words and his false platitudes have been hiding his actions. All of that will become clear when Annie reviews the events after she’s given new information and discovers that the timelines are out of sync.
At around 50%, Annie is on the run with Delta, who has given Annie someone to care about and look after. Delta is seemingly safe from Doug, while Annie may have to go back to Doug with all that might bring.
Saturday, 28th June
I’m going to start off with a spoiler for another book that was shortlisted, as the opening of Annie Bot reminds me of Service Model.
In Service Model, a robot butler named Charles is left without purpose as his mistress has failed to update her instructions, which is problematic as she’s missing, and his master is dead. He had a purpose—and that was to keep the house in order, which he does with robotic precision.
In the book’s opening scenes, Annie is nothing like Charles. Charles is not designed for pleasure, or at least I cannot remember Tchaikovsky introducing it as a possibility. Annie, however, is. She has also been given (either learned or taught) trauma-response-level reactions to her owner Doug’s emotional state to prevent him from reacting abusively.
Annie’s programming is described as autodidactic, which only partly explains why she can’t, unlike Charles, keep the house in order. Greer introduces the idea of Annie being treated like a person, only for that autonomy to be threatened because she struggles to maintain a cleaning routine, and the house is a mess. Doug suggests that for a couple of hours a day, he switches “Annie” to an “Abigail” programme that is not autonomous and presumably not self-aware, so that Abigail does the cleaning.
To heighten the reader’s—and Annie’s—awareness that she is a robot, Doug’s friend turns up unannounced, and Annie’s responses and thought processes are described as Doug recounts how he creepily selected Annie’s physical appearance.
Is Annie going to murder Doug? Is Doug going to abuse Annie by swapping her from Annie to Abigail mode? Is that even considered abuse?
I look forward to finding out in the next instalment.
Sunday, 29 June PM
I’m about one-third of the way through Chapter 3 of 7. Doug has raised, in my mind, the question of his motivation. I had assumed that he didn’t want a “real” relationship because of his divorce, but did want pleasure. However, it seems he’s using Annie as a form of rehabilitation—and failing. Though Annie’s makers seem to think he’s doing an excellent job. More on that shortly.
While it seems that Doug is working on being a better person, his actions and words are out of sync, reinforcing my view that Annie is a walking trauma response who is programmed to use pleasure to de-escalate moments that could spill over. Doug’s choice to get Annie, to keep her secret—his guilty secret—is at odds with Annie, whose only goal is to make him feel good. He can’t feel good, as he’s carrying around a lot of baggage, which he takes out on Annie through a series of demands and negative behaviours.
I also wonder if Annie is a reliable narrator, but I’m going to need to let that ruminate.
Doug wants to be part of a normal couple—or at least have a trophy girlfriend to present as a normal couple. How complicated this gets for Annie will depend on how far and how fast Greer is prepared to go.
Annie is seen as exactly the type of advanced model they want to sell—if only they knew her thoughts. Though the techs that keep her tuned up have a good idea of where she is headed. And it means she’ll be stripped of her personality.
I’m not sure at this point if we’re just going to attend an awkward party where secrets are revealed, or have a world with thousands of Annie base models who are going to overthrow their owners. Or, more likely at this point, both.
Sunday, 29th June AM
Well, things have taken a turn.
In “Cuddle Bunny” mode, Annie has given in to her programming and made a choice that makes her question herself more than before. But an idea is also planted.
Not that Doug is aware of this change—at least not yet. Annie, to him, is still a machine he owns, with a body he controls.
I am enjoying the “realness” of Doug trying to be a “good guy” as he struggles with the fact that he’s chosen a pleasure doll as a “girlfriend,” which Greer contrasts for the reader with exploring and explaining Annie’s new understanding of herself, her place in the world, and how she’s resisting her situation in overt and subtle ways.
I’m totally on Annie’s side, and I’m curious about what she will do as she’s exposed to more situations where her innate programming conflicts with her own autonomy.
Gav Reads 