Archive for September, 2010

September 21. 2010: Achmed Khammas on Arabic Science Fiction

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In an interview with Zenith online Achmed Khammas – sf writer and experienced Arabic-to-German translator from Berlin with German and Syrian roots – gives insightful explanations why there has been little to no science fiction in Arabic countries and why the future is a dubious concept for Arabic and Islamic culture.

The interview is in German and can also be accessed at Youtube.

September 17. 2010: InterNova Forum Opened

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Thanks to the generous support of the admins of an online forum for readers and contributors of InterNova has just been set up as a subforum of Nova. It can be accessed here:

The InterNova forum has to meet several conditions in order to be hosted by If you are interested to use the forum please read my initial posting which contains closer information.


Science Fiction, Globalization, and the People’s Republic of China

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by Lavie Tidhar

Science fiction, as Thomas M. Disch argues, is “one of the few American industries that has never been transplanted abroad with any success”1. Yet, as Kurt Vonnegut gently points out in Slaughterhouse Five, “practically nobody on Earth is an American”2. In order to understand the emergence of sf as a global social movement, therefore, and the interplay between the world of science fiction and globalisation, we may do well to study China as a case in point. Continue Reading »

The Eclipse of a Genre and the Birth of a Nova

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by Richard Kunzmann

It doesn’t matter whether I’m sitting in a pub in London nursing a beer at a British Science Fiction Association meet, or whether I’m surfing the net pretending to be a console cowboy, the rumour mill rumbles and it’s not a pleasant sound. The grapevine is rotten with sour news: the short story is seeing its last day; science fiction is on its last legs; and the apocalypse might as well be on its way, they say. Continue Reading »

The People in the Painting

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by Renato Pestriniero

A sound pushed through muggy air. Alberto climbed out of a deep well, rested his elbows on the rim, and leaned out on a new morning.

With the sirens second wail he woke up completely. The siren meant this morning would be different. It happened maybe once a year, and it was a pain. But it was also a change, a new element in the composition. Continue Reading »

Red Rhombuses

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by Lino Aldani

It all happened last year in Cascina Torti toward the end of summer. Cascina Torti is the only spot not shown at all on local maps. Maybe land-office records mention it or military maps, which are meticulous and detailed to the point of being ridiculous, those voluminous sheets folded thirty-two times that also indicate the names of ditches, elevations, wells, and small crumbling hill forts. Cascina Torti has sixty-five inhabitants, a handful of houses at the foot of a barren hill, similar to Calvary, one of the many located almost on a ridge between the Pavian and Ligurian Appennines. Continue Reading »

Let’s Talk About Death, Baby

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by Sven Klöpping

Doors slide behind me.

I grab Cassandra’s arm, to pull her out of the sub-subway station. It’s been too bright in the underground; too much flickering strip-lighting, brain scanners and technology. We de-materialise ourselves, up to the ground floor, hoping for backwardness. Continue Reading »

Thursday’s Child

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by Eric Brown

I crested the hill, pulled the Range Rover into the side of the lane and stared through the windscreen. There was something about the freezing February landscape, with the westering sun laying a gold leaf patina over the snow-covered farmland in the valley bottom, that struck me as even more beautiful than the same scene in summer. Continue Reading »

What Colour Is the Wind?

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by Aleksandar Žiljak

„I’ll pay you well.“

„I told you, I’m not into that any more. Take Cannhauser.“

„I want you, not Cannhauser.“

„What’s wrong with him? His guests return in one piece and loaded with trophies.“

„Nevertheless, you’re the best.“ Continue Reading »

The Fabulous Yesterdays

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by Arthur Goldstuck

Welcome to Hell, Gloria Mundi thought at the man in the fourpiece as he stepped wide-eyed from the Gotel doorway in the alley.

It had to be his first time in the city. She flashed a mild tot of sympathy for he and his – country kids with ambitions of making it big in the big town. It always amazed her how the legend of Johannesburg’s Hillbrow lived on for the smalltowners who grew up on tales of technological paradise and easy wealth. Continue Reading »

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