After reading Cthulhurotica, the first editorial work by Carrie Cuinn I had encountered, I knew I had found an editor I’d follow into any and every project she would involve herself in. Why? It’s fairly simple. Cuinn doesn’t edit, but rather throws herself with such abandon in her vision as to how her anthologies ought to look, feel and be, the finished product has its own gravitational pull and it won’t let go until you’ve read the last page.
In my Goodread mini-comment, I describe Fish as effortless, dream-like, diverse and exquisite, which certainly holds true as I consider the anthology to be a revelation, because it’s just fish. No restrictions upon genre, no neatly defined prompt to cater to specific tastes. It’s just you and the stories and the fish. Simple and yet so risky. As you read Fish, you step further into a dark and undisturbed ocean where you see reflected light dance across scales and experience ink-black beauty with sharp teeth.
As genius as the anthology is, it’s a tough cookie to review, specifically because the stories have no unifier to hold them together as they dart in different direction not unlike a school of fish, which breaks formation to avoid an attack. I can go ahead and write quasi-deep comparisons to ocean life, but I when I review anthologies I want to mention at least two thirds of the stories. My approach will be to explore the themes in the anthology, so here goes.
It comes as no surprise to see the theme of transformation in anthology dedicated to an animal as the opener story by Polenth Blake (“Thwarting the Fiends”) testifies. A small child goes on a mission to explore the tall grass and finds a floating fish that leads him on an adventure. What seems an innocent adventure grows into a bizarre tale of transformation with an ending that has me thinking the pond with talking fish might have claimed more children than one. Continue reading
