Here we have the stunning cover art (created by the brilliant Matthew Revert) for Scott Dwyer’s forthcoming anthology, Pluto In Furs: Tales of Diseased Desires and Seductive Horrors. My story, “Behemoth,” is contained therein.
I’ve once before shared the table of contents, but will do so again to emphasize the chilling talent Dwyer’s assembled for his latest endeavor:
Introduction: “An Abysmal Masochism” by Scott Dwyer
“The Tangible Universe” by Jeffrey Thomas
“The Wolf At The Door Or The Music Of Antonio Soler” by Devora Gray
“Other Yseut And Romance Tristan” by Adam Golaski
“Dermatology, Eschatology” by Kurt Fawver
“Headsman’s Trust: A Murder Ballad” by Richard Gavin
“It’s Hard To Be Me” by John Claude Smith
“The Gutter At The Bottom Of The World” by David Peak
“Tender Is The Tether” by Rhys Hughes
“With Shining Gifts That Took All Eyes” by Mike Allen
“Stygian Chambers” by Orrin Grey
“Behemoth” by Clint Smith
“Worm Moon” by Gemma Files
“The Silvering” by Thana Niveau
“Walking In Ash” by Brendan Vidito
Dwyer has his sights set on an August, 2019 release — keep your eyes peeled for news and announcements here (and drop a “like” while you’re at it).
With the recent release of C.M. Muller‘s Twice-Told: A Collection of Doubles the estimable Des Lewis is conducting another venerable “real time” review dedicated to the anthology. Here’s a portion of what he has to say about my contribution, “Details That Would Otherwise Be Lost to Shadow”:
[B]oundaries here in a residential area explicitly akin to sovereignty of identity and today’s nationalism. Whatever I go on to say, this remains a totally compelling first-person narration by a woman, self-seeking as well as self-conscious, ruthless in her ambition and optimisation of her nuclear family, husband and daughter. […] Finds herself in the house opposite where she had not yet met whomsoever lived there – a house described by her in a wondrously hypnotic mannered way, a sort of House of Leaves blended with something completely unique, with fleeting shadows and angles […] She foolhardily leaves her signature as it were, some written boundary of statically unique self-identity, on ‘stationary’ as stationery inside this house, a house aptly named Motley House […] another Clint Smith work to cherish. If I tell you more, I would spoil it.
Snag a copy (Kindle, paperback) here: