The garden is the resting place of your vulnerabilities; there’s a reason you’ve left them here instead of carrying them with you. Typically you enter hardened and hurried, beelining straight for the correct plot and quickly releasing whatever is clutched in your hand without a second thought—today, an attempted weaving of leather and lace, strength and suppleness that your body cannot figure out how to wear, nor your words to narrate.

If you say there are rats, I will believe you, though I don’t hear or see them.

A ruffling of branches as they resettle for the night. We dare not ask why they are here.

As part of a collective of African writers who have created an Afrocentric Sauútiverse of five planets, two suns and a spirit moon, a world of science and fantasy, where there is no written language, we play with technology and sound magic to scrutinise the world as we know it, and use speculative fiction as a response to our world. 

Roger “Rod” Jefferson died on April 8 at home, surrounded by his many dear friends. Rod was a fierce advocate for gay rights and served as the head of the Gay and Lesbian Liberation Coalition for seven years.

and we let loose our dragon by the sun of a thousand fireflies

In this episode of the Strange Horizons Fiction podcast, Michael Ireland presentsLio Abendan's 'I Wish You Died Laughing' read by Jenna Hanchey. Subscribe to the Strange Horizons podcast: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Spotify⁠⁠

Strange Horizons invites non-fiction submissions for our March 30 special issue on “Fungi in SFF.”

Once I’ve finished writing, I will fold this letter up and tuck it into the Tristram you kindly loaned me (may it be our Galeotto … ). I’ll knock on your door, at which point I will most likely encounter a puzzled maidservant, who will ask who in the world I am, and I will explain that I am returning a book you were kind enough to bestow on me (generous creature that you are and clearly down-on-their-luck weatherworn would-be poet that I am).

the trees were softening, their bark for the hungry to scrape and scrape and spread it on whatever bread they could beg or bake

i must warn you before all else / before you poke and prod

Paul Kincaid and Dawn Macdonald join Dan Hartland to discuss style.

Policies fell upon us, hard rain. Every headline a new lash of laughter

Adjust the color of the sky, my phone offers

Dex’s rewilding results from a recognition that humans are made up of separable and often fluid component parts, built without purpose or calling, embedded in an ecosystem of which we are not always fully cognizant but must always try to be mindful. We must continue anyway, and we must continue to marvel.

I thought the lady who was the corpse did a particularly good job and it is sweet that we got a happy ending here.

SFF authors are the front-line practitioners who put the fruits of history’s craft into daily practice, sharing it in doses the public can consume, combining, treating, administering, customizing, even inoculating against evils like propaganda and despair.

Water is life here, and it's evident in that if you stray too far off the beaten path and away from water, you will get lost and you’ll be lucky if anyone sees you again before sundown. My village is settled neatly between two gentle rolling mesas and along a thin river in a sparsely populated community lovingly called ‘the valley’.

It’s me not you, and the / Hole in the sky still weeps sticky tears.

In the beginning, the ocean was lonely / and so she created a fifteen-year-old girl / (or was it the other way around?)

“I’ve never actually visited the pā before,” she said out loud. “Is this where they gather lāʻī to make the pūʻolo?” she asked. “Yes,” Benny responded, glancing to see where Nanea was pointing. “Here and in other places as well. Many of these ti have been growing for decades now.” She paused for a moment. “I think about all the work you guys do, you know, up in those offices, and I think that all of that work actually starts from right here, in the ground, all covered in the earth and the pōhaku and the ti. Most people don’t even know it, but it all starts right here.

sometime in the night, we heard rocking and knocking and rapping and tapping, a million trillion tiny feet

The triangles bred and twisted, replicating themselves.

Inject direct / the petroleum of salvation

Don’t know why they bob? In blue death boxes?

Wendy knew it wouldn’t be long now before her daughter was taken. She had put the idea from her mind as long as she could, but now Jane was days away from turning thirteen.

Strange Horizons stands with immigrants in the US facing these conditions.

In this episode of the Strange Horizons Fiction podcast, Michael Ireland presents Natasha King's 'Aquarium for Lost Souls' read by Jenna Hanchey. Subscribe to the Strange Horizons podcast: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Spotify⁠⁠

We try to treat you at this time of year.

The ideal reader of the weird has to embrace a kind of wilful suspension of foreknowledge or generic expectation.

In a time when questions of choice are so volatile in reality, surfacing them in speculative fiction is vital for helping people grasp their own agency.

What I find interesting in the “politics” of these three books is that “preachiness” is not a function of political messaging, but one of aesthetic integrity.

What is SF? Idk, vibes.

There is a voyeuristic exoticism in fantasy, with a range of dehumanization throughout the genre.

A giant throbbing blob of eyeballs hovers at my front door, long wings flapping

Poet Seth Wade discusses his poem's connections to the novel So Long A Letter by Mariama Bâ, and to other works of philosophy, vaudeville, blues, and religion.

safety, solidarity, sympathy, strength, commodities closed out of the official economy—

Poet Marie Brennan explains the genesis of her ekphrastic poem and how it subverts the traditionally misogynist reading of the original artwork.

Who are some of the singular and eccentric authors within English-language speculative literature?

In this episode of Critical Friends , the Strange Horizons SFF criticism podcast, as part of our 2026 criticism special issue Tristan Beiter introduces us to his Ursula K. Le Guin book club.

The moon was not her destination. It was a sentence.

the black fairy in the village sold her a dime for a nickel

After visits from the Whale, when the Lifemaker retreats to his chambers, Lúcio swims to the aquarium by the window, where he and Olga watch the fish fly by.

Despite the barriers between different cetacean languages, our song crosses the vastness of the oceans, traveling in sync with the currents and even traversing great expanses of land. Our singing conveys the concept of “hope,” which is how we define the wait until our home feels safe again.

When you falter, recall that age is not your master

Do you swallow big blue whale eyes straight out of the jar?

When Le Guin talks about genre writers as “the realists of a larger reality” we surrender the power of that when we narrow our work to only depict one type of future. We have great power to restore alternate narratives, to re-broaden the range of imaginable futures.

This is poetry that matters. Period. Exclamation mark.

the porcelain white sparkles of lithium mounds like hives of glass ants

In this episode of Critical Friends, the Strange Horizons SFF criticism podcast, Dan Hartland is joined by Shannon Fay and Marisa Mercurio to discuss horror, and especially its cozy variety.

Every few years, my face erupts in a frenzy of eyes.

I did not ask for resurrection; I have no use for olam ha-bah.

what do you seek / in the ruin of light, what prayer stirs from the dust / of yourself?

Strange Horizons will open to general fiction submissions on January 19th, 2026, at 3 p.m. UTC! This window will remain open for 48 hours, closing at 3 p.m. UTC on January 21st 2026.

My obsidian shadows knifed the moon, drank moonblood until my wandering mouth filled to bursting

In this endless dark winter / he comes as furious as / a lion’s claw

Now that I am back in our homelands, I am haunted. I dream of faces hovering over me, taking my blood. They suck at my veins like infants at a bottle.

I am minding my own flight path

One of the most publicized elements of the project was its flagship’s all-female crew

In this episode of the Strange Horizons Fiction podcast, Michael Ireland reads Parker Peevyhouse's 'The Orchard Village Catalog'. Subscribe to the Strange Horizons podcast: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Spotify⁠⁠

I watch the salmon and the dog dance together, alive and dead and still kicking, kicking, kicking.

“My eyes are up here,” the centaur said. / We were negotiating / the terms of our trip to Canterbury

the way a human girl moves after smoking two bowls, all syrup and swirl of smoke.

For your consideration: a complete list of Strange Horizons works and staff eligible for various awards in 2026. Happy reading and listening!

Dan Hartland is joined by Cameron Miguel and Nick Hubble to discuss fantasy and its relationship to history and history-writing.

The Pot of Sleep has been opened, And it must claim one, alone, or everyone awake.

we all have them now—emotion regulators

Dragon fire on white bodies is sad. Dragon fire on not-Muslim bodies is cheered on the screen. We ache when the scimitar prows of not-Muslim ships cleave through a white human captain’s ship. But bombs sent by white admirals into not-Muslim countries are the only way to make these barbarians hear reason (and maybe also a chance to prove how nice we are, we of the civilized world). Don’t listen to the not-Muslim’s testimony of pain. He is probably lying.

The first time I watch Everything Everywhere All At Once in theaters, I am struck by the way Ke Huy Quan and Michelle Yeoh are presented—not as the generic smooth-faced Hollywood types but decidedly middle-aged, grey hairs and pores and all. He looks like my former piano teacher, I think. She could be my parents’ church friend. And yet: the fanny pack swung with stunning agility. The bullet stopped mid-flight, the daughter pulled back from the brink. This is how I fight. No shame in having survived, here—in being the star of many lives, each branched out from a decision made in childhood or as a young adult: to go or to stay; to sing or  chase scientific glory; to please the demanding parent, or break down, or break away.

Hallo friends, and welcome to Stories from the Radio, where we listen to old radio shows and laugh at them for being so old. Today, we are going to listen to something by the golden boy of old time radio, Arch Oboler. He is perhaps best known for his horror series ‘Lights Out’ but dude was pretty prolific in his time. He dabbled in radio, television, fiction, and all those other neat things. Today’s show is called Revolt of the Worms, which is an excellent name for anything. I’m hoping for some nice, golden-age-of-sci-fi-radio type story, but as we have

In the first part of episode 5 of Writing While Disabled, Kristy Anne Cox and Kate Johnston discuss some adjustments they'd like to see at science fiction conventions that would help create a more inclusive experience for all science fiction writers and fans.

We thought it was a miracle, though not a very useful one, and she got to be on TV

“Emptiness,” says the monster, “feels like a monster / is wearing / your face,”

In this episode of Strange Horizons at 25, Podcast Editor Kat Kourbeti sits down with long-time Strange Horizons contributor RB Lemberg to talk about everything from using poetry as a tool to refine short and long-form fiction, to writing about the diaspora experience, and the comfort one can find in stories from perspectives outside one's own. Oh, and Ursula K LeGuin, of course.

We deposit the hip shards in the tin can my mother reserves for these incidents. It is a recycled red bean paste can. If you lean in and sniff, you can still smell the red bean paste. There is a larger tomato sauce can for larger bones. That can has been around longer and the tomato sauce smell has washed out. I have considered buying my mother a special bone bag, a medical-grade one lined with regrowth powder to speed up the regeneration process, but I know it would likely sit, unused, in the bottom drawer of her nightstand where she keeps all the gifts she receives and promptly forgets.

A cat prancing across the solar system / re-arranging

I reach out and feel the matte plastic clasp. I unlatch it, push open the lid and sit up, looking around.

In this episode of the Strange Horizons Fiction podcast, Podcast Editor Michael Ireland presents B Pladek's 'The Spindle of Necessity' read by Arden Fitzroy.

After my mother died, Dr. Rostrow called to ask me if I wanted anything out of her brain.

the town has its own vision. / its eyesight is perfect / for destruction.

what season is space?

Dan Hartland is joined by Paul March-Russell and Jacqueline Nyathi to discuss speculative fiction’s approach to hope and optimism. Where has it gone? How do writers express it? And what are its pitfalls?

the gate gapes, always hungry— its teeth are CCTV lenses, rusted wide.

This time of year, the church is hollow...like a rotting pumpkin with a flickering candle.

Leah is queer community. Leah is expanding and expansive. Leah wants to fall in love with everyone still alive in this room and beyond and be their bottom for a night, just one night, though she wouldn’t say no to more than one. Leah wants to love the queers she’s never going to fall in love with because they’re not her type. Leah wants to love and bottom. Leah just wants America to leave her the fuck alone.

In this episode of Strange Horizons at 25, Tim Melody Pratt walks us through their extensive oeuvre in the SH archives, recounts meeting their life partner through the magazine, and explains how it all intertwined together into a life and career bursting with magic.

In this special episode of Writing While Disabled's second season, hosts Kristy Anne Cox and Kate Johnston speculate about the impact of a space army made up of various species of dinosaurs, and make connections to disability and accommodations as they relate to the real life of disabled people.

When I started at Optionality, they put me in a cramped condo with three other newish employees, one of whom insisted on assigning each roommate a different burner on the stove. I was the last to move in, so I got the smallest burner, which means I no longer make pasta.

We are not all built to be beautiful, we are not all built to rampage.

By moving into Morbid Tower West, and being human (which we’ve verified), you’ve been approved for membership.

In this episode of the Strange Horizons Fiction podcast, Michael Ireland presents Diana Dima's 'City Grown From Seed' read by Emmie Christie. Subscribe to the Strange Horizons podcast: ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Spotify⁠⁠

they found his crown in her slop trough, crusted with violets. his tongue was nailed to the fence like a pink ribbon.

In the rue holler I find her, folded careless in the belly of that Model T

We are very happy to welcome a new Fiction Editor, We are very happy to welcome a new Fiction Editor, Joyce Chng, to the team!

Dan Hartland is joined by Redfern Jon Barrett and Nileena Sunil to discuss those novels that feel too short or not long enough: what's behind that feeling we have that a text is lacking something, or that it's overstretched?

Going through the archives of Strange Horizons for this special column has been a bit like exploring a treasure chamber. I’ve picked fifty stories. I could have picked hundreds. Meaning: I left a lot of wonderful fiction off the list. But the good thing is that the archives are easy to access for anyone. Just enter the year you want to look at, hit GO and there you are: twenty-five years of outstanding short fiction, as well as poetry and non-fiction, at your fingertips.

Identity: the certainty that I could sing, that I / With song could claim space against shackles and shadows.

Spacetime pitfalls don’t restrict themselves to mass.

Call-and-response currents. Proseships drift on the tide.

In this special episode of Strange Horizons at 25, Senior Podcast Editor Kat Kourbeti and Editor Michael Ireland welcome current members of the Strange Horizons Editorial Collective for a series of interviews to give you a glimpse behind the curtain of each department and to celebrate 25 years of this pioneering speculative fiction magazine.

As paths always are, mine has begun to twist as I face my 50s. But I do not see it as a door closing: another door is opening. And for Strange Horizons, my same wish too: May more doors open and may more join us, because collectives shift, change and expand.

This / young man has bombs for / hands—

Winged Quetzalcōātl, sister to wind—I found a version etched in stone

Ultimately, while Classic is beloved in German science fiction for being long-running and well-established in its tradition of science fiction, it suffers from being a product of both its time and environment. It is not the first work that reads poorly in light of the world of today, and most certainly not the first in pulp fiction. Even its intent and ideology is sound, if misguided and colored by the environment and upbringing of its authors. What we see in NEO is a manifestation of Perry’s written intention but updated to a modern sensibility, an alignment that sees it running parallel to the current run of Classic. Perry Rhodan’s universes ask us to believe in one astronaut and his allies as they strive to make the galaxy a better, kinder place, while also grappling with the difficulties of doing so.

Weaving through the branches, childishly ignorant of the power lines above,

our purple clouds of delight rise above your tear gas