As short fiction lovers, anthologies hold a special place for us. Anthologies over the decades have been the battlegrounds of political movements, as well as markers for shifts in genre communities. We grew up reading them, and we still see them as wonderful places: they often contain amazing work, and interesting things are still happening by virtue of their publication. Nowadays, editors/publishers are creating spaces for a broader range of perspectives through anthologies—bringing out books with an awesome array of stories.
We invited editors from three recent, notable anthologies to do brief interviews. We hope you get as much out of these conversations as we did!
Infinite Constellations
edited by Khadijah Queen and K. Ibura
University of Alabama Press/FC2
What is important or special to you about the fantastic or the speculative? Why are they important in storytelling?
K + K: Speculation is imagination. We all speculate about possible lives, freedoms, pathways, and futures. Creating the fantastic and the speculative in any genre or form gives us—creators, editors, and readers/viewers—license to imagine new ways of being. It’s also important to use our imaginations in our everyday lives, to question what’s considered “normal” or ordinary, and respect our creativity as part of who we are as thinking beings. It can be inspiring to just see the different ways that people live and dream. Sometimes, when seeing people making different life choices, an epiphany hits you like, “Oh, that’s possible?” And it changes the game for you. Speculation is moving beyond limitations. Every day we make new choices that create new spaces for speculation and visioning. And for people whose existences and/or choices aren’t widely represented or respected, we have to speculate our very selves. In storytelling, we star in our own fantasies, far beyond the images imposed upon us externally. We originally subtitled the anthology “Speculating Us,” because we knew that the work we’d collected focused beautifully on the infinitude of our many existences—both extant and possible.
How did Infinite Constellations come about, how did it develop, and what were the biggest challenges to making this anthology happen?
K + K: The process began when Khadijah was approached by an editor at FC2 press to edit a speculative anthology, and immediately thought of K—her expertise in speculative fiction and beyond, her editorial and organizational skills, and similar mindset felt like a natural fit. We have known each other since MFA school at Antioch University, and got into the flow easily. Our busy schedules meant we needed to calibrate often according to our energy levels, and that helped us develop the project with patience and honestly a lot of love for the work.
What was beautiful was that we were able to support each other throughout the process. We each took turns stepping forward when we had more energy, time, and space than the other. We were able to avoid the trap of have-to and deadlines by empowering each other to TAKE OUR TIME. In our first conversation about the anthology, we discussed the fact that culturally-focused anthologies tend to talk about oppression and pain, highlighting vital discussions about the difficulty of our experiences. We wanted to do something different from what we usually see.
As far as the challenges, we didn’t confront many. We had a great collaboration and a clear vision. From the beginning, we envisioned an anthology that centered celebration, joy, imagination, connection, care, and our inherent power to center ourselves and our stories. We also were committed to hybridity and/or experimental pieces to highlight the range of written expression. Guided by this vision, we selected pieces that had strong voice and personal perspectives. We wanted to feel that we were in the journey of an individual’s authentic experience.
Are there one or two stories here that you feel are more daring in some ways, or that will challenge readers more?
K + K: One of the stories that we felt embodied hybrity (more in character than in form) was Cindy Juyoung Ok’s “Red Green Blue.” We loved the clash and combination of cultures that was displayed through this multi-ethnic, irreverent, contemporary group of friends traveling through Italy. We were surprised to find that more than one reviewer was challenged by one character’s nickname. In the story, Ok writes, “On the fourth day, we drove to Marsala to meet White Chris, which everyone began calling him the year we worked with Black Chris, even thought White Chris’s dad is Palestinian, because he is also white, down to his constant confidence that things might work out fairly.” More than one reviewer thought the nickname was dismissive or disrespectful, when actually the nickname is just functional and reflective of the way many communities of color will name someone based on their most apparent characteristic—which, in this group of children of immigrants, plus one Italian from New Jersey, was his whiteness. As editors, we wondered if some of the bristling was due to the infrequency with which whiteness is commented on as a distinguisher in such a casual fashion. The practice is frequent within certain cultural circles but possibly jarring in the context of a world that holds whiteness as the norm, rather than a deviation or distinguisher. This story definitely throws you into the world of these particular characters and, as a reader, you have to be willing to surrender to their worldview.
Another piece that might challenge readers a bit more is André O. Hoilette’s poem “Sealing the Room.” A long poem focusing on a Jamaican mythical figure called Cothilda or flame woman, the ghostly and sinister presence at first might not seem to fit the celebratory vision we articulated earlier. However, the epic quality of this spirit’s journey and backstory, told within the poem’s action—ritual practice of protection from her—provided great tension and even compassion within the contrast. We have humans and animals, babies and elders. We have life and death stakes, and we don’t get to escape the influence of the afterlife, either. There are so many parallels to discover in this poem, of time and of history and more, all framed by lush images and sensory details that ground you in the world Hoilette creates.
I truly enjoyed this book (my review is proof!) and I know you both loved the pieces you published. That said . . . ! If someone were going to read two pieces, for each of you, which entries would you tell them to read, and why?
K + K: We do truly love the work in this anthology. The range of sensations, perspectives, approaches, and experiences is delightful and invigorating. Reading the book, cover to cover, is a journey that we recommend.
In terms of pieces we’d tell people to engage with, definitely Lynn C. Pitts’ “The Swan.” As the first accepted story, it helped to set the tone for the anthology. And it was an immediate acceptance—the story is hilarious, surprising, fantastic and grounded at the same time, sensual and joyful, with elements of spirituality and nature that felt both relatable and impossible. The depiction of self-discovery, friendship, and the joys/perils of life choices melded spectacularly. Identity was front and center as the particular obsessions and interests of the character and her friends guided us through her escapades.
And also, “Reflection on Spices,” which is an excerpt from a three-part poem of the same name. We love the way Sarah Sophia Yanni plunges us headfirst into the sensory world of spices and its intense connection to her lineage. This poem causes you to time travel—into spaces that we may not have visited before, but that we recognize. It also celebrates her mother as a culture bearer, a woman who upholds her traditions, and protects them with a sly smile. She is emblematic of the ways that so many communities navigate the larger world. She chooses to continue her vibrant lineage, and does not engage the powers that be who may not support or understand its value. Such a beautiful reflection of the various spaces we inhabit and navigate.
What did you get or learn or find, if anything, from the process of putting this book together, which you might bring to other projects, or even to your own work?
K + K: One, we discovered that we work well together. And, I think we both discovered that editing an anthology is manageable. Collaboration is powerful and the shared labor and shared perspectives made Infinite Constellations a pleasure to work on. Working on this anthology also opened our eyes to power and ownership of spaces. When we made our call, we didn’t originally receive many submissions from indigenous authors. We wanted the anthology to reflect multiple perspectives, how could we create this multi-voiced space and not include the people who originated civilization in this country? We put in extra work, emailing colleagues and posting on boards for Native American writers to seek contributors for the anthology. We learned that with this opportunity came the power to give voice to others. Many of the authors in this anthology are emerging authors and we didn’t anticipate the joy and responsibility of bringing these voices to light. There are incredible writers who may not see themselves in the original call for publication. They may not raise their hand when an opportunity comes their way. We encouraged folks to contribute to the project. Determining how to include as many as voices as possible felt like part of the process and a requirement of editing the anthology.
Is there anything else you’d really like readers to know about Infinite Constellations?
K + K: We hope readers will take their time and savor the work we collected. The identities that the authors share on the end pages are just a sprinkling of the many combinations and expressions of human life. This anthology is an opportunity to experience the many shades of being human—one unique journey at a time.
• • • •
Khadijah Queen is the author of six books of innovative poetry and hybrid prose, most recently Anodyne (Tin House 2020), winner of the William Carlos Williams award from the Poetry Society of America. Her verse play Non-Sequitur (Litmus Press 2015) won the Leslie Scalapino Award for Innovative Women’s Performance Writing, and included a full staged production by The Relationship theater company in New York City. Individual poems and prose appear in American Poetry Review, Ploughshares, Poets & Writers Magazine, The Poetry Review (UK) and widely elsewhere. A zuihitsu about the pandemic, “False Dawn,” appeared in Harper’s Magazine in 2020. A Cave Canem fellow, she holds a PhD in English and Literary Arts from University of Denver and teaches creative writing, literature, and poetics at Virginia Tech. In 2022, she received a Disability Futures Fellowship from United States Artists, and she will be a Civitella Foundation Fellow in 2023. Her book of literary theory and criticism, Radical Poetics, is forthcoming in 2024 from University of Michigan Press.
K. Ibura is a writer, editor, and artist from New Orleans—the original home of the Chitimacha Tribe. She writes essays about identity and gender, and fantastical fiction about ancient histories and future imaginings. She is the author of two speculative fiction collections: Ancient, Ancient—winner of the James Tiptree Award, and When the World Wounds; and a novel for children When the World Turns Upside Down. She is the co-editor of the Infinite Constellations anthology and she has a series of ebooks examining the emotional underpinnings of the writing life. Learn more about her at kiburabooks.com and kibura.com.
Never Whistle At Night
edited by Shane Hawk and Theodore C. Van Alst Jr.
Vintage
What is it about the fantastic or the speculative that is important or special to you? Why are they important in storytelling?
Shane: The fantastic and speculative realms hold a special place in Indigenous storytelling, allowing us to bridge the natural with the supernatural, the seen and the unseen. These narratives, rooted in our deep connection to the land and our ancestors, offer a way to explore the boundaries of reality, to question, to dream, and to understand our world beyond its surface. By weaving tales infused with wonder and elements of the unknown, we create stories that can resonate deeply, remaining etched in memory while fostering curiosity and introspection.
In the world of horror, the fantastic becomes a mirror, reflecting our fears, traumas, and collective anxieties. It’s an outlet to address these darker facets in a cathartic manner, shedding light on our own experiences and struggles–or bringing to light that of our Elders’ experiences and struggles. By welcoming more Indigenous voices into this genre, we’re not only sharing our unique perspectives and contemporary challenges but also enriching the tapestry of the fantastic with our age-old spirits and stories.
Ted: I think fantastic and speculative are relative terms. For instance, I love teaching Tracks by Louise Erdrich with my students and one of my favorite moments is when Pauline turns into an owl. Does she? Is it metaphorical? The Native students have always been like, “Well, yeah. She’s an owl.” The non-Native students take a bit to get there sometimes, but when they do, that class takes right off. So for me, those two concepts, however they are named, are invaluable in stories. You’ve already asked the reader/listener to enter into a world other than their own, so why shouldn’t it contain all of the necessary beings and encounters and relatives and times and spaces for the best possible tell?
How did Never Whistle at Night come about, how did it develop, and what were the biggest challenges to making this anthology happen?
Shane: This anthology came to fruition after Ted and I got nudged by a tweet asking for an Indigenous horror anthology. The person who tweeted that, Bear Lee, is a horror writer and book reviewer, and they helped us read submissions for NWAN in the end! Ted and I asked horror writer Gabino Iglesias if he could help us find a legitimate press or even a one-time literary agent willing to represent us based on this concept. We were even considering a crowdfunding platform to make it happen. Lo and behold, Cherie Dimaline’s agent, Rachel Letofsky, offered us representation once I explained the vision of the project. Rachel had me draft a proposal and we all edited it as a team with CookeMcDermid. We received numerous offers and chose Penguin Random House via Vintage Books, Random House Canada, and McClelland & Stewart. I’d say the most challenging aspect of making this anthology coalesce was the sheer organization required to make it happen and keeping communication alive between myself, Ted, our publishing team, and the twenty-six other Indigenous creatives involved.
Ted: Shane gave all the great details for us here. For myself, I’d had this idea for a long time to collect “those stories,” the stories we’d tell around the fire or in the hotel lobby at Native Lit conferences after everyone else had gone to bed. It floated around in folders as sketches in my laptop and then bam, one day it just came together when Shane put it out there. The response was more amazing than I hoped it would be, ‘cause we’ve all got “those stories,” yeah?
Are there one or two stories here that you feel are more daring in some ways, or that will challenge readers more?
Shane: I will try to tackle daring and challenging in two different ways. First, I’d say David Heska Wanbli Weiden’s “Sundays” requires all of the content warnings. It stands out as a potent and emotionally charged story, especially with its heavy themes and content. Weiden demands emotional resilience and awareness from his readers for this piece, e.g., it opens with the protagonist reliving the act of being r*ped at an Indian boarding school in a horrific nightmare. And another story that is challenging for readers in a different way would be Brandon Hobson’s “The Ones Who Killed Us.” With Hobson utilizing the first-person “we” to tell this story, he forces readers to be mindful of the past—particularly those who are not Native—and feel deep down how the wars, the betrayals, the kidnappings, and the endless death have impacted the protagonists’ people. In a way, he’s also under the assumption that the reader may not want to hear these hard truths because his narrators say atvdasdiha (“listen” in ᏣᎳᎩ) five times throughout the story.
Ted: That’s a tough question. Some of the more challenging things happening here for a broader readership I think are the sheer diversity of stories as well as the very contemporary settings for a lot of folks who are educated in systems that erase and elide rich Indigenous histories and art, let alone examine the issues that affect Native people today. With that, I’d have to say Nick Medina’s “Quantum,” and Amber Blaeser-Wardzala’s “Collections” are two stories that illuminate those contemporary issues in surprising and disturbing ways.
I truly enjoyed this book (my review is proof!) and I know you both loved the pieces you published. That said . . . ! If someone were going to read two pieces, for each of you, which entries would you tell them to read, and why?
Shane: I think Ted and I are on the same page about Mathilda Zeller’s “Kushtuka.” There’s a reason it opens up the anthology, and hopefully readers will see why. There are so many stories to choose from; why must you make this so difficult?! I will have to go with Richard Van Camp’s “Scariest Story. Ever.” as my second go-to for new readers. Van Camp’s writing has always impressed me as it’s chock full of wisdom and heart. I love how his tale focuses on the importance of storytelling in itself, which makes it a little fun, meta-wise. And within his spooky tale, he also convinces readers that listening to our Elders is of the utmost importance, and I hope that speaks just as much to non-Native readers as it does to the rest of us.
Ted: Man, no fair! This is an even tougher question! To get the vibe, the what-we’re-trying-to-do here, I’d have to recommend “Kushtuka” from Mathilda Zeller along with D.H. Trujillo’s “Snakes are Born in the Dark.” Horror, dark and moody, broody and terrifying from north to south and everywhere in between. These two bookend that work in amazing ways.
What did you get or learn or find, if anything, from the process of putting this book together, which you might bring to other projects, or even to your own work?
Shane: Working alongside Ted to curate this anthology was a transformative experience. We delved deep into a reservoir of Indigenous stories that breathed life into the familiar horror tropes, yet offered fresh, nuanced perspectives rooted in rich cultural traditions and experiences. The most significant revelation was the universality of emotion—fear, hope, loss, and love—embedded in these stories. While the process was challenging, especially when choosing among such powerful submissions, it underscored the importance of getting it right because We haven’t had an opportunity like this before at the Big 5 level. Every tale, every voice, brought a world into focus, revealing layers of meaning, history, and shared experience. This journey has reinforced my belief in the importance of amplifying Native voices in the Horror landscape. As I move forward, whether in editing or my own writing, I’ll be reminded of the depth and breadth of stories waiting to be told and the responsibility I hold to help tell them.
Ted: It’s a big, diverse book, and having multiple eyes and ears on what’s happening in it, what it could be, where it can go from here was essential. And the process of having to choose what ultimately stayed in from all the entries was as painful as the editing process you do with your own work. The idea of what’s best for the book in the end was a driver that helps you understand how important it is to get it right, and to recognize that a book has its own life, one that you’re surely responsible for bringing into the world, even if afterward it lives independently.
Is there anything else you’d really like readers to know about Never Whistle at Night?
Shane: Readers, please don’t skip the introduction penned by Stephen Graham Jones as it really sets up the book nicely. The story order was constructed in a manner that respected flow, content, emotions, style, region, etc. but if you don’t like following rules, no one is stopping you from hopping and skipping around the anthology. With that said, I highly recommend not plowing through this book. Let our stories marinate in your mind, then let them simmer. We really hope you take something away from this book of twenty-six tales!
Ted: Please know that a lot of work from a lot of folks went into NWAN, and that we’re all so excited for you to read and hopefully enjoy what we’ve put together. This is the first collection of its kind from a major publisher, and we hope it won’t be the last.
Thanks for taking the time to let us share!
• • • •
Shane Hawk (enrolled Cheyenne-Arapaho, Hidatsa and Potawatomi descent) is a history teacher by day and a horror writer by night. Hawk is the author of Anoka: A Collection of Indigenous Horror and other short fiction featured in numerous anthologies. He lives in San Diego with his beautiful wife, Tori. Learn more by visiting shanehawk.com.
Theodore C. Van Alst Jr. (enrolled Mackinac Bands of Chippewa and Ottawa Indians) is the author of award-winning mosaic novels Sacred Smokes and Sacred City as well as the editor of The Faster Redder Road: The Best UnAmerican Stories of Stephen Graham Jones. He is an active Horror Writers Association member whose work has been published in Southwest Review, The Rumpus, Chicago Review, The Journal of Working-Class Studies, Apex Magazine, Red Earth Review, Electric Literature, Indian Country Today, and The Massachusetts Review, among others. Upcoming books include Sacred Folks from University of New Mexico Press and the Southern Gothic novella Pour One for the Devil from Lanternfish Press, both available in 2024. You can find him online at IG/FB/Twitter/Bluesky at @TVAyyyy.
Queer Little Nightmares
edited by David Ly & Daniel Zomparelli
Arsenal Pulp
What is it about the fantastic or the speculative that is important or special to you? Why are they important in storytelling?
David: I think for me, I read (and try to) write fantastic or speculative stories and poems as a way to explore sometimes dark(er) subjects and themes. There’s something I find special about immersing myself in this kind of writing where the world I’m in falls quiet and I can exist and be an observer to stories quite different from ones I’m living, but can still find threads that are relatable.
Daniel: Much like David, I enjoy it for the way it lets me be an outsider to a world. In that way, I can understand and grapple with emotions and the psychology of human nature from a bit of a distance. Like the way a ghost can be a symbol of grief or a monster can be a way to show someone who is unable to fit in.
How did Queer Little Nightmares come about, how did it develop, and what were the biggest challenges to making this anthology happen?
David: Daniel and I just always shared a love for monsters and horror movies so I think it was just a matter of time we came up with this idea of collecting pieces from queer writers who also shared our love. The biggest challenge was selecting which pieces to include! We had to strike a balance between the diversity of monsters being explored, while also including an array of voices and tones that spoke to them.
Daniel: David and I knew we wanted to do something to this effect and we just felt the moment was right to get an anthology going and the publisher was on board right away. The other challenge was having to make selections when there were so many great stories and poems. Our submissions pile was way more than we expected.
Are there one or two stories here that you feel are more daring in some ways, or that will challenge readers more?
David: Hiromi Goto’s story is something I didn’t expect to jump out. I think it cleverly speaks to the ideas of monstrosity and the way Hiromi explores that is beautiful, weird, and funny.
Daniel: I agree, Hiromi’s stands out in this respect, and I would say Eddy Boudel Tan’s “Strange Case” challenged me as to who or what can make a monster.
I truly enjoyed this book (my review is proof!) and I know you both loved the pieces you published. That said . . . ! If someone were going to read two pieces, for each of you, which entries would you tell them to read, and why?
David: Victoria Mbabazi’s two poems are ones I highly recommend. Their poetry is stellar and I think they are good representations of the kinds of narratives you can expect in this book, that approach monsters in a way seldom seen.
Daniel: Two of the stories that I think will hopefully draw in a reader to read all of the stories (I’m biased, but they’re all great!) is Levi Cain’s “Gruesome My Love” and Anuja Varghese’s “The Vetala’s Song.” They both are these beautifully lyrically written stories that get at the darker themes of monsters while being also about love.
What did you get or learn or find, if anything, from the process of putting this book together, which you might bring to other projects, or even to your own work?
David: Anthologies are a lot of work! In terms of my own work, I think I have learned to slow down a bit. It was a bit of a marathon putting together Queer Little Nightmares (though I enjoyed every step of it), but I think it’s time to slow down! That said, if another anthology is down the road, I’d work with Daniel again 100%.
Daniel: Haha yes! It was a lot of work. The thing I learned most from this project and the writing itself is that if anything, I can get weirder, more fantastical, and more ambitious in my writing and that there is an audience for that.
Is there anything else you’d really like readers to know about Queer Little Nightmares?
David: It’s a fun and delicious read that showcases monsters in unexpected ways; a wonderful and heartfelt homage to the queerness of canonically feared monsters.
Daniel: And that there’s plenty of humor in there, along with horror there are wonderfully comical works. Monsters, after all, can be very funny as well.
• • • •
David Ly is the author of Mythical Man (2020), which was shortlisted for the 2021 ReLit Poetry Award, and Dream of Me as Water (2022), both published under the Anstruther Books imprint of Palimpsest Press. He is also co-editor (with Daniel Zomparelli) of Queer Little Nightmares: An Anthology of Monstrous Fiction and Poetry (Arsenal Pulp Press, 2022). David’s poems have appeared in publications such as Arc Poetry Magazine, Best Canadian Poetry, PRISM International, and The Ex-Puritan, where he won the inaugural Austin Clarke Prize in Literary Excellence. David is the Poetry Editor at This Magazine.
Daniel Zomparelli is the author of Davie Street Translations, and Rom Com co-written with Dina Del Bucchia. His collection Everything Is Awful and You’re a Terrible Person was nominated for the Ethel Wilson Fiction Prize and won the ReLit Short Fiction Award. He co-edited Queer Little Nightmares with David Ly (Arsenal, 2022).