Meet Me in the Moon Room: Stories
* Philip okay. Dick Award finalist
* Locus suggested Reading
Here are 33 bizarre, amazing tales touching on males, girls, teleportation, wind-up cats, and brown paper luggage. via turns whimsical and unsettling—frequently handling to be both—these brief fictions describe relations relationships, undesirable breakups, and shuttle to outer space.
Vukcevich's crazy, fun-house replicate tackle way of life belongs to an identical absurdist university of labor as that of George Saunders, David Sedaris, Ken Kalfus, and Victor Pelevin, even though there's no one particularly like him. try out this type of tales, it will not take you lengthy, however it will flip your head inside of out.
"What different author can make you begin giggling midway down the 1st web page of a narrative a few guy placing on a sweater? Thurber might be, decades in the past. purchase this book."
"These tales can't be in comparison to a person else's. there isn't any one within the similar category as Ray Vukcevich. The tales are uniquely, wonderfully, brilliantly unique, a shock in each one, and brimming with wit and laugh-out-loud humor. a gorgeous collection."
"The absurd and the profound are seamlessly joined via wonderful writing. Meet Me within the Moon Room is a prime collection.
"The 33 short tales in Meet Me within the Moon Room defy categorization style. a number of toy with the conventions of technological know-how fiction; others department off from trails blazed via Donald Barthelme. Moon Room will pride those that liked the hazards Don DeLillo took in Ratner's Star."
"Eccentric brief tales, which regularly provide way of life a crazy twist."
"Ray Vukcevich is a grasp of the final line. virtually each one of his tales has a zinger on the finish, yet now not the type of zinger that chocks the reader or motives annoyance. usually it is a excellent line of debate that opens up the complete story.... Vukcevich is inventive with the short-story shape. even supposing the tales learn as playful vignettes, Vukcevich covertly works in rules of self, id, future, and obsession. and sometimes, the hazards of outer space."
—Review of latest Fiction
"Vukcevich is a grasp of radical recombinations, drawing from (amongst others) the Brothers Grimm, Dickens, Lewis Carroll, Kafka, O. Henry, Dali, Asimov, pulpish area opera, and the newest in nanotech to supply works which are all his personal. occasionally in as low as 4 or 5 pages, he deftly juggles such a lot of rules, feelings, and views, it produces a apparently clean experience of vertigo—a excessive with out hangover to follow.... it is going to be...a nice mistake to disregard the intense expertise of Ray Vukcevich."
"Vukcevich is a really slick author, an actual sprinter in an period of milers and all-out stayers.... Vukcevich can do punchlines, yet he doesn't depend upon them. certainly, his terribly gentle contact in terms of narrative closure is his such a lot virtue. someone who considers weird and wonderful surrealism and informal absurdity—the major stocks-in-trade of the wonderful ultrashort tale writer—easy clay to mould into narrative shape has no longer given critical attention to the problem of finishing."
—New York overview of technology Fiction
"These tales niftily propel their characters down the blurred line among fable and psychosis, with results spanning the gamut from depression to goofy, from plaintive to outraged.... this is often Vukcevich's gloriously mad global, and we're fortunate to proportion it."
"The comparable antic spirit that imbued Vukcevich's secret novel The guy of probably Half-a-Dozen Faces strikes playfully via this primary number of great fiction, whose 33 helium-filled tales in achieving simply the suitable absurdist lifestyles to flee the gravity in their issues. "By the Time We Get to Uranus" deals a mainly affecting tackle terminal disorder: the develop buoyant spacesuits that strength them to go away family in the back of. The mysteries of parenthood show up amusingly in "Poop," a couple of couple who notice that their newborn's diaper fills variously with birds, mice, and symphonic tune. notwithstanding deceptively basic of their pared-down sort, the vignettes convey meticulous care within the crafting of oddball metaphors to precise the moods in their estranged spouses, exasperated enthusiasts, aggressive teenagers, and disgruntled staff. The willingness with which the author's characters settle for the incongruity in their occasions frequently yields profoundly relocating insights into the human situation. within the poignant identify story, for instance, a guy doesn't locate it in any respect unusual lover from a long time earlier has summoned him to a simulated moon panorama at a subject matter park, reflecting that the which means of existence fairly is "nothing greater than a number of humans huddling shut for convenience in a chilly universe." artistic and interesting, those tales yield extra emotional fact than even more relatively real looking fiction.
Forecast: With blurbs from Damon Knight, Kate Wilhelm and Jeffrey Ford, this assortment is a top quality merchandise that are supposed to reap the benefits of stable note of mouth."
"A guy pulls the sweater his female friend made him over his head and approximately will get misplaced within it. Rescued from the arctic ice, the demise Victor (Frankenstein) tells a narrative that leaves no doubt that the monster is James Joyce or Stephen Dedalus or Finn (again). Tim saves the area from a comet by means of having his relations placed paper luggage over their heads. What? What?! What?!! settle down. this is often simply the realm in keeping with Ray Vukcevich, sf-ish sufficient to get him into The journal of myth & technology Fiction and Asimov's, but in addition corresponding to the glorious milieus of Gogol, Kafka, and Looney Toons. no matter if you cotton to it will depend on the way you believe approximately cartoons made from phrases and prisons made up of good judgment: are you frightened of amused? really, both response works for appreciating Vukcevich's outlandish virtuosity. Sf lovers with lengthy stories will observe Vukcevich's deadpan supply and jokey-creepy charisma, keep in mind the wonder-workings of Fredric Brown (see From those Ashes [BKL Ap 15 01] and smile."
"Ray Vukcevich could be as respected as Donald Barthelme or Salvador Dali within the pantheon of contemporary surrealists. Unjustly disadvantaged of such honors, he should still no less than be allowed a number of weeks in a time-share holiday condominium with Don Webb, Rick DeMarinis, Mark Leyner and James Blaylock, literary friends whose absurdist tackle lifestyles Vukcevich stocks. Did I point out that the house may occupy an deserted ICBM silo, as in Ray's creepily twisted ghost tale, "Pretending"? or even the posh seashore apartment may perch on a number of sq. inches of the scalp of the barbershop buyer who boasts a monkey-filled jungle in his hair, in "The Barber's Theme". The writers' relaxathon happen within the outer reaches of our sunlight procedure, as soon as the fortunate tourists develop their natural spacesuits, as ordinary fogeys do in "By the Time We Get to Uranus." Or as a final selection, the writers may perhaps congregate within the mysterious street median of "Fancy Pants", the place metamorphoses that will baffle Ovid occur.
Wherever the greats carry their seashore Blanket Oulipo, Vukcevich will probably be the lifetime of the social gathering. Alternately depression and boisterous, plaintive and assertive, delicate and outrageous, severe and goofy, Vukcevich's tales painting a universe not just stranger than the typical individual imagines, yet stranger than she or he can think! it is an unusual, even frightening mind and imaginative and prescient and ability which can make us think in knowledge out of a baby's butt ("Poop") o
working via it. Sam tossed the surface away and raised the nice and cozy flesh of her banana to his lips. He closed his eyes and bit and felt her scorching blood fill his mouth. reminiscence leaped up in the back of his head and banged his face into the tree. He fell into his early life, into the icy summer season flash flood waters roaring down Mad puppy Creek. Sammy, swept in addition to the pink manzanita branches and damaged bushes of the oak and pine woodland, washed ashore via the Witch’s cottage, the place it had by no means been.
Curtain went up. The band jumped right into a tune, lengthy and lazy before everything so the dancing males in black tie, tails, and most sensible hats might faucet in addition to their jogging sticks, deciding upon up the speed, placing at the Ritz, lining up alongside the level, after which within the center pulling again right into a colossal V so Maggie may seem in a thundering explosion of crimson smoke. Ta da! Nobody’s assistant now, she used to be the most occasion, a headliner. She did card methods. She made issues seem and disappear. She made.
Elizabeth, it's not peeing on you, and carry nonetheless, that one is going there certain, push, push! aid her Mucho. Our lad’s at the manner. carry this now. And this whereas I crank out a brand new tune for a brand new age and a brand new King of the Yeast. Oh, glance, Elizabeth, can’t you notice the physique changing into extra inwardly cellular? I cranked the crank, and the desktop chewed pages, and the physique moved like a fleshy sack of doggies. Sparks danced from each silvery floor within the lab and our hair stood on finish and Mucho.
appeared down at her fingers, then took a deep breath and stated, “If there have been folks the following, Lewis, they’d most probably be considering unkind ideas approximately you. And approximately me for having something to do with you.” “Screw ‘em,” Lewis stated, deep proletarian indignation rising after which exploding in his eyes eventually. “What made this state nice is the way in which we’re diversified, no longer the best way we’re alike.” “This isn’t a political query, Lewis.” “Everything is a political query, Tess,” he acknowledged.
They’d been lifeless and have been now attempting to come back into the swing of items. The subsequent morning I known as in ill. Judy, who took my name, wasn’t shocked. “You didn’t glance so sizzling yesterday,” she informed me. I popped open a lager and rewound the tape. Forward, pause, play. snigger, moan, honk, fart, shuffle, shift, yada yada yada. ahead, pause, play. “He’s paralyzed,” the lady whispered. “How are you able to tell?” the fellow requested. “Look at his eyes moving,” she stated. “There is.