01/03/2022
Few fiction anthologies boast as irresistible a hook as Shadow Atlas. A series of ersatz letters, memos, and other (occasionally redacted) intelligence agency documents establishes the premise: for centuries, the field agents of the secret society Umbra Arca have traveled the globe to “bear witness and record the ‘shocking truths’ behind various myths and legends,” truths assembled at scriptoriums into “shadow atlas”es, secret tomes that resist giving up their knowledge even if you somehow happen to come across one. With bursts of poetry, ace illustrations, and the feeling throughout of paging through a forbidden government dossier, Shadow Atlas compiles stories and visions of indigenous folklore from across the Americas.
Blending horror, secret history, and a spirit of adventure, this delicious collection showcases creatures of American myth like the xtabay, a Mayan demon from the Yucatán Peninsula in a standout story from Julia Rios, but also digs deep into character and the present, as in Christa Wojciechowski’s piercing “Blood Sisters,” a Colombian misadventure in which tourists, lit up on aguardiente, brush up against something ancient. The playful, engaging framing device of a Pathfinder-like ancient society is at productive odds with the searching, sometimes pained feeling of the stories themselves, many of which—like Juliana Spink Mills’s “Moon Under Mangroves,” which centers on a “crab prince” in a Brazilian national park—find tourists adrift in our contemporary existence and then either shaken further or curiously emboldened by an encounter with the uncanny.
Others take the perspective of their cryptozoological subjects: “Patriarchy held my head beneath swirling silt-rich waters / demanding submission,” opens Kathryn Reilly’s poem “Iara,” about a Brazilian mermaid siren whose song lures sailors to their death. “Scenting males, I sing, luring lust to the river’s edge.” Dead serious in its horror, yet delightful and inviting in its design and conceit, Shadow Atlas is a rare, beguiling treat, a collective fantasy with teeth, vision, and grounded in urgent, ancient truths.
Takeaway: This dazzling anthology finds fresh horror, adventure, and mystery in the indigenous folklore of the Americas.
Great for fans of: David T. Neal and Christine M. Scott The Fiends in the Furrows, Shane Hawk’s Anoka.
Production grades Cover: A Design and typography: A Illustrations: A Editing: A Marketing copy: A
2021-11-22
This dark anthology explores sinister legends and harrowing mythological creatures spanning the Western Hemisphere.
According to documents that open this book, the enigmatic and decades-old Umbra Arca Society has long compiled myths and legends. Though some question the organization’s very existence, it has allegedly archived a book “for each corner of the world.” This anthology, however, focuses on the Americas with a series of moody poetry and short fiction. Most of the entries follow a traditional format—a hero confronts an otherworldly, typically vengeful being or something equally heinous. But the spotlight shines brightest on the myths and legends themselves, originating from various locales. These include monstrous dogmen in Ohio (Tim Waggoner’s “God Spelled Backward”), the bogeymanlike Sack Man in São Paulo (Josh Malerman’s “Door to Door”), and a heart-eating female demon in the Yucatán Peninsula (Julia Rios’ “Xtabay”). Recognizable characters crop up, such as sea and lake monsters or the tooth fairy in Annie Neugebauer’s spine-chilling “You Ought Not Smile as You Walk These Woods.” Other less-familiar tales prove just as fascinating, from raining fish in Honduras to the colossal “devil whale” in Jeanne C. Stein’s Colombia-set “Diablo Ballena.” An array of talented authors elevates this collection with indelible prose. Christina Sng, for example, delivers a series of creature-laden poems based in Mesoamerica and South America. In “The Massacooramaan,” she writes, “We reached Georgetown by morning. / It was empty / But for the dead bodies / Crisp under our Guyanan sun.” Editors Bissett, Dodge, and Viola stylize the book like an archive and include email correspondence, handwritten notes, photos, and sketches. Bissett and Dodge also contributed several Umbra Arca “case files,” detailing phenomena like mermaids in Mississippi and unexplained ghost lights in Saskatchewan, Canada. Meanwhile, Lovett’s complementary artwork, whether of grotesque, menacing creatures or dreamlike imagery, simply astounds.
A host of sublime writers and settings create an entertainingly macabre collection.
