From the Depths of Hellas

By Bruce Taylor

1000 stories written? Close to a third of those published? Yes. It's what happens when talent, joy and enthusiasm all combine: how can you not write? Paint? Be creative? In this new collection, Bruce Taylor (AKA _Mr. Magic Realism_), shows us the happy marriage he has enjoyed with his creativity as he sought to write what he loved to read, reading what he sought to write. Though many of these stories are longer than usual, they range from the more traditional ("The Gift Beyond Gifts") to the truly strange/_Twilight Zone_-quality of "Into Reading.". Bruce's work is at once, diverse, thoughtful and--fun.

But, no matter what Bruce writes, there is a theme that runs through much of his work: We don't see reality as bizarre, because we've all come to agree that the bizarre is "normal reality." Of course it isn't. What reality is--is _incomprehensible,_ never mind life itself. But let's not let _that_ get in the way of loving it, loving our fellow creatures who inhabit this world with us, loving the planet from whence we come and love being the mortal mammals that we are on this third planet--around a star.

"Works that are fascinating, insightful, and downright fun to read"

--Ben Bova

"As rich and poetic as Bradbury at his best."

--William F. Nolan, author of Logan's Run

"A very gifted short fiction writer."

--Jeff VanderMeer

• Language: English
• Publisher: ReAnimus Press
• Release date: Apr 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005744632

Bruce Taylor

Bruce Taylor, known as Mr. Magic Realism, was born in 1947 in Seattle, Washington, where he currently lives. He was a student at the Clarion West Science Fiction/Fantasy writing program at the University of Washington, where he studied under such writers as Avram Davidson, Robert Silverberg, Ursula LeGuin, and Frank Herbert. Bruce has been involved in the advancement of the genre of magic realism, founding the Magic Realism Writers International Network, and collaborating with Tamara Sellman on MARGIN (http://www.magical-realism.com). Recently, he co-edited, with Elton Elliott, former editor of Science Fiction Review, an anthology titled, Like Water for Quarks, which examines the blending of magic realism with science fiction, with work by Ray Bradbury, Ursula K. LeGuin, Brian Herbert, Connie Willis, Greg Bear, William F. Nolan, among others. Elton Elliott has said that "(Bruce) is the transformational figure for science fiction." His works have been published in such places as The Twilight Zone, Talebones, On Spec, and New Dimensions, and his first collection, The Final Trick of Funnyman and Other Stories (available from Fairwood Press) recently received high praise from William F. Nolan, who said that some of his stores were "as rich and poetic as Bradbury at his best." In 2007, borrowing and giving credit to author Karel Capek (War with the Newts), Bruce published EDWARD: Dancing on the Edge of Infinity, a tale told largely through footnotes about a young man discovering his purpose in life through his dreams. With Brian Herbert, son of Frank Herbert of Dune fame, he wrote Stormworld, a short novel about global warming. Two other books (Mountains of the Night, Magic of Wild places) have been published and are part of a "spiritual trilogy." (The third book, Majesty of the World, is presently being written.) A sequel to Kafka's Uncle (Kafka's Uncle: the Unfortunate Sequel and Other Insults to the Morally Perfect) should be published soon, as well as the prequel (Kafka's Uncle: the Ghastly Prequel and Other Tales of Love and Pathos from the World's Most Powerful, Third-World Banana Republic). Industrial Carpet Drag, a weird and funny look at global warming and environmental decay, was released in 2104. Other published titles are, Mr. Magic Realism and Metamorphosis Blues. Of course, he has already taken on several other projects which he hopes will see publication: My False Memories With Myshkin Dostoevski-Kat, and The Tales of Alleymanderous as well as going through some 800 unpublished stories to assemble more collections; over 40 years, Bruce has written about 1000 short stories, 200 of which have been published. Bruce was writer in residence at Shakespeare & Company, Paris. If not writing, Bruce is either hiking or can be found in the loft of his vast condo, awestruck at the smashing view of Mt. Rainier with his partner, artist Roberta Gregory and their "mews," Roo-Prrt. More books from Bruce Taylor are available at: http://ReAnimus.com/store/?author=Bruce Taylor

Book preview

FROM THE DEPTHS OF HELLAS

AND OTHER STRANGE REALITIES

by

BRUCE TAYLOR

Produced by ReAnimus Press

Other books by Bruce Taylor:

The Rockin' SkyHorse Blues

Of Sand Ships & Silent Silicate Seas

Off on a Dream and Other Magical Realities

The Infinite Tears of Pablo Azul

Kafka's Uncle and Other Strange Tales

Kafka's Uncle: The Unfortunate Sequel

Kafka's Uncle: The Ghastly Prequel

Tales from the Good Ship Kafkabury

Edward: Dancing on the Edge of Infinity

Alleymanderous and Other Magical Realities

Magic of Wild Places

Mountains of the Night

© 2022 by Bruce Taylor. All rights reserved.

https://ReAnimus.com/store?author=Bruce+Taylor

Cover by Dick Swift

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

~~~

For Roberta:  My partner and significant other, Roberta Gregory. Brilliant, funny, talented and brave.  I am so fortunate to have you in my life.

~~~

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Author's Preface: From the Depths of Hellas

Blue Dinosaur II

Editor's Nightmare

Crayola I

They

Glovely Jack

Into Reading

George and the Alien

Close Cover Before Striking

Crayola II

The Gift Beyond Gifts

... and Now, the News

Oh, Sparkling, Sparkling Diamonds Black

Jack On This Rather Strange Day

A Problem of the Ages

Vengeance

Crayola III

From the Depths of Hellas

About the Author

Acknowledgements

It's been said that a good writer has always benefited from a good editor (or editors) and it's no different here. My work would not be as strong without the fine editing I've had along the way, for which I am most grateful.

A special thank you to my partner, Roberta Gregory, fine artist and writer, for going through these stories and doing a superb job not only in catching goofs but fine line editing as well. Very fine work I dare say, and greatly appreciated. Thank you! Also, thank you to Larry Lewis for taking on the task of re-typing stories from challenging printouts (either because the original files were lost or too corrupted/outdated to be used). That was most helpful and greatly appreciated!

And of course, thanks to the past members of my wonderful critique group who first saw these stories many years ago and whose feedback always made them better: Brian Herbert, Phyllis Hiefield, Linda Shepherd (and in memoriam, Marie Landis Edwards and Cal Clawson).

The artwork that graces this book is by Dick Swift. I am deeply grateful to have his skills for most of the covers of previous books. And now, to have his work on this book, wonderful!

Thanks to former agent (and fine friend), the late Ben Bova, and his unwavering support of my writing. I can't even begin to tell you what that has meant to me! I am and will always be deeply honored and grateful.

Many, many thanks to my editor/publisher Andrew Burt of ReAnimus Press who, with infinite patience at my chronic tribulations and angst with computers, must be the Buddha in disguise!

Author's Preface: From the Depths of Hellas

A thousand stories written? Yes—over the course of fifty years of writing, sometimes writing five stories a day—it may be that a thousand stories is a conservative figure. All I know is that I love to write and I guess the quantity, and hopefully the quality, take care of themselves, and in the end, perhaps little needs to be said about the results of passion and enthusiasm. In this collection of previously unpublished work, there are fewer titles but longer stories presented. And so continues the task of sorting through and editing work that was mostly written earlier in my writing career: from the late 70s through the early 80s (with the story, From the Depths of Hellas, the notable exception, written in early 2021). They represent a wide variety of style and content, but most of them I consider explorations of self-expression that fit the definition of surrealism, and later, magic realism, and then a blending of magic realist writing techniques and perspective with the three main branches of Imaginative Literature (IL), science fiction, horror and fantasy. That being said, not all the stories in this collection are of magic realist persuasion; some are science fiction (Vengeance, And Now the News), horror (George and the Alien) although some have commented that it is more of a horrific story than actual horror; I think it fair to say that the horror of Poe or King pales in comparison to the horror we can do to ourselves. And then the stories that are unclassifiable (Crayola I, II, III), unusual—placed in this collection to show that not only was I writing in a magic realist style but I was experimenting with a lot of other styles as well; some of these stories could be described as fanciful. As I go through this earlier work, I can see how my style changed and developed though the years. Often it is a delight to read my earlier writing, not only for that reason, but also because there were so many stories I had forgotten, tending to focus on ones that needed the least work, and those best for possible publication. But after all these years and with much more experience, I could go back and see what the stories now needed in order to be publishable because I did not have the skills (or time) back then to make them the best they could be. And of course, that said, there were the stories that simply did not work but had to be written to get to the ones that would. (Happily, these days I am able to write without having to go through all that.)

Many of these stories were again, primarily exploration—some, in which a character named Jack appeared in several stories—but not anywhere else. And the character, Jackie Hutton, later became Edward, who continues to be alive and well. I could experiment because I knew having to make a living by writing was a double-edged sword: at the same time I was absolutely free to go where my imagination led me. Concepts and ideas inspired by working on a locked inpatient psychiatric unit in Seattle gave me a wealth of information that was just profound; at times I felt like I was being paid to observe first-hand the human condition that would in some form end up in my writing—from issues of abuse, to the nature of sociopathy and schizophrenia to psychosis. After 25 years, taking an early retirement at age 55, I had inspiration and ideas to last a lifetime, and I could do with it as I pleased. The result? Work based solidly on psychological theory made real in life, and that information suffused into stories which—though respected by many an editor, were not exactly (as one delicately put it) entertaining.

So I made the decision to write work that I loved to read and that I loved to write.

Perhaps it was because of this that magic realism caught my attention in the early 80s, especially after reading Eye of the Heart edited by Barbara Howes. This South American literary movement, new to me, provided an entirely new perspective on the works of Bradbury, Serling and Kafka. I then realized just how many works of these authors seemed to have that magical realist perspective. And once I saw that, I understood that's exactly what I was doing.

In short, writing magic realism is as if writing about one's dreams where the context may feel as though reality-based but suffused by the weird and the strange but, as in a dream, it's not seen that way. Rather, it's seen as normal consensual reality. And just as magic realism may be code for the literature of the dream state, then the dream state would be code for the true nature of consensual reality. Just because the sky is blue, and plants pop up out of the ground, and we have these creatures in our lives, cats, dogs, goldfish, doesn't mean it isn't strange—it is, in fact, truly bizarre. But—we don't see it that way because we've all come to agree that the bizarre is normal reality. Of course it isn't. What reality is—is incomprehensible and the dream state, I believe, is an absolute necessary function of coping with this weirdness of existence which absolutely has no answers except that somehow life just enjoys replicating itself in all these forms whose sole purpose is to have a good time in whatever shape life finds itself. Maybe magic realism is a great artistic form in which to remind us all how wonderfully bizarre everything truly is.

And maybe that's where all those stories came from and come from now: life may be incomprehensible but let's not let that get in the way of loving it, loving our fellow creatures who inhabit this world with us, loving the planet from whence we come and love being the mortal mammals that we are on this third planet—around a star.

Blue Dinosaur II*

v~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~v

*Publisher’s note: Blue Dinosaur I was published in Kafka’s Uncle and Other Strange Tales. You don’t need to read it first, but if you haven’t you’ll want to buy Kafka’s Uncle next of course. :)

^~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~^

(The dialogue in this story is true. Only the dinosaur has been added to protect the innocent.)

Now Edward knew all about blue dinosaurs. My lord, how many times has he seen them? Everywhere. Everywhere he looked, blue dinosaurs. Why, he just saw one the other night on a bus as he was riding home. Yes, indeed. He got on the bus and a woman sat there, right near the front, sitting on a long bench seat, and she turned to an older man just a ways away from her (she being very much older, what with—was that blue towel wrapped around her head as a sort of hat, or was she just through with a bath and drying her hair on the bus? And what about all those handbags nearby: a red one, a blue one, and a white one, too? Was this lady a flag?), she turned to the older man, a fellow with glasses and a sports coat of minute checkerboard design who looked rather distinguished actually, and so why he—ah, well, why he did as he did is open to conjecture, which Edward loved to do, and so when the lady turned to the man, what Edward heard was, What bus do you take to get to Everett from here? The bus driver sat right nearby and obviously could have answered her question, but she chose to not talk to him, and he volunteered no information. Most likely he knew better; such the intuitive grasp of those enrolled in the public sector.

The man responded, I don’t know. Ask the bus driver.

She appeared to hear, but then seemingly heard not, and said, I don’t know what it is with bus drivers. Some of them are so nice and others are so cruel. Some just look at you and drive on by.

(And Edward thought, Man, if I were that driver I’d feel like clobbering her so hard, but he knew he wouldn’t, although the impulse to do so told him something about the old lady that he knew that words, mere words, could not describe.)

And the man said, I’ve never had that happen to me; all the bus drivers have been real good to me!

That’s not what I’m saying, she said very fast. I mean, not all drivers are bad, but when I’ve stood on the curb at a quarter to two in the morning—now this was in San Diego, mind you, this bus. It came by and it did not stop—it just went right on by—just right on by—

For a minute the fellow said nothing and appeared to be thinking, and Edward knew that what the man was thinking was probably entirely the wrong thing. Edward watched all this, intrigued, as the driver started the bus and the lights dimmed and flickered for a second, and the man finally said, I don’t know; all I can say is that it never happened to me.

Well, part of it is due to the bad bus service here—

Bad bus service? In Seattle? This is the best service there is.

That’s not what I’m saying, the woman began. What I’m saying is that the bus service from Renton up to Everett has gotten so complicated—it used to be that I could pay a nickel, a dime, transfer downtown, be anywhere and be there exactly on time, but no more, no more—now it costs like you wouldn’t believe and how many times have I stood on a corner at two in the morning and watched the bus just roll on by—just pass me by—I’d wave and yell and they’d just pass right on by—

Well, said the man, sighing and moving a bit, I don’t know. All I know is that the bus service here has been really quite good.

That’s not what I’m saying, said the woman again, and she shifted position and folded her arms, and about this time Edward noticed strange movement in one of her bags and with fascination, he watched. What was in there? he wondered. What the hell?

And the woman said, That’s not what I’m saying, no, not at all. What I’m talking about is being passed by bus after bus at two in the morning down there in San Diego, and that was how I got my collar bone broken.

The man looked askance. "You got your collar bone broken waiting