Archive for November, 2011

November 5., 2011: World Fantasy Award for Nnedi Okarafor

. .

InterNova author Nnedi Okarafor has won the World Fantasy Award 2011 in the novel categoryfor Who Fears Death (DAW Books). For further information see the World Fantasy Award homepage and Nnedi’s homepage at http://nnedi.com/ Congratulation, Nnedi!

 

November 5., 2011: Ronald M. Hahn leaves Nova

. .

This week the 18th issue of the German sf magazine Nova that spawned InterNova goes into print. This is the last issue co-edited by Ronald M. Hahn, co-founder of both magazines and so far fiction editor of Nova, who leaves the team after nine years of hard work with little more reward than the honour and a beer now and then. Ronald, as writer, editor, translator and critic one of the most important personalities in German science fiction of recent decades, is slowly closing his writing carreer and instead has picked up his music carreer where he has left it fourty years ago. If you’re ever in Germany don’t miss a chance to witness a gig of his magnificient band Wupperkrampen.

Rons, Socketers and Knots

. .

by Michael Haulica

They call me Yumo. I can’t figure out the reason why, `cause my name is Sylvester. I hear them all the time: don’t forget, Yumo, Monday at 7. Or: tomorrow at 6, Yumo.

I’m a stalker. That’s the slang statement for a sort of a guide. Actually, they’d be lost without me. None of those who entered the 14th Knot alone ever came back. Continue Reading »

Memories

. .

by Frank Hebben

The voice of an old film

Muted mono sound, two beat music

Rain light at the window

“I’ll buy it,” said the girl with the butterfly eyes. “How many fragments is it?”

The broker bent over the transmitter, a gadget like a cube, wires left and right ending with golden connections for the forehead. Continue Reading »

Semiotics for Wolves

. .

by Vladimir Hernández

It is midnight and Onyx is on the streets once more.

She has cemented her position with sperm and blood; a beautiful Afro girl with fiery hair, living at the edge of her own humanity, diving nightly into an endless déjà vu which leads into the dark recesses of her soul. Continue Reading »

The Dope Machine

. .

by Sven Klöpping

Cinescape … what a feeling!

I’m opposed, you know.

While I sit on my buzzing seat in the CineBowl arena, watching the three-dimensional, nevertheless boring movie, my reasonable mind gets opposed to all kinds of modern Hollywood thrillers. I mean, how idiotic must those producers believe us to be that they should publish something like that? “Leave the place!” my mind screams. But I don’t stand up. I’m just sittin’, watchin’, sittin’, watchin’. Continue Reading »

Rentals

. .

by Zoran Krušvar

I’m ten years old.

Mom’s crying.

Dad’s sitting under the shower, water spraying on him, sliding off his skin in tiny streams. He’s shaking and sobbing like my little brother Marko when he’s ill. The shower curtain’s torn. Everywhere I look there’s rust, and the ceiling is covered by those dark damp stains. Some of the tiles are cracked, but it’s not my fault, they were already like that when we moved in. Continue Reading »

Lost in Recollection

. .

by Richard Kunzmann

>> A strobe slashes through the darkness, illuminating an arc of blood as it glitters in the air. In that brief flash sound seems to fade out. <<

That glistening arc is his only memory. The blood came from a woman – he feels this rather than remembers it. Feet stumble across a wet, desolate street, deep in the industrial hinterland of London’s East End. The darkness just before dawn is illuminated by a pallid glow cast by tired streetlights in a thin rain. Continue Reading »