The Best Weird Fiction of the Year Volume One
Michael Kelly, ed.
Paperback/Ebook
ISBN: 978-1988964522
Undertow Publications, October 2025, 330 pgs

Michael Kelly has curated a gorgeous set of stories for The Best Weird Fiction of the Year, Volume One.

I’m going to annoy a few people in the industry by sharing my opinion of “Best Of” and similar books. I used to read them voraciously when I was younger, assuming that this was a great way to get an overview of the field, as well as to not waste any time with mediocre stories, but to get right into high-quality fiction. As I met more people, learned more about the field, and looked much more closely at tables of contents, I realized that no two editors would pick the same set of stories if they were putting together a “Year’s Best” or a “Best Of.”

There’s this thing that happens, where we will, in one conversation, tell a friend, “Well, you know this one is good because it was in a Year’s Best;” in another conversation, we will disagree strongly with that same editor’s decision to publish something, declaring loudly that the story didn’t seem all that good (or some such). In other words, we will render objective the idea that appearing in a “Best Of” is a sign of quality, then often just one breath later, disprove that idea by demonstrating that at some point, our idea of “A Great Story” is different from that editor’s.

My opinion: “Year’s Best” or “Best Of” anthologies are all about that editor’s taste, which will be similar to some folks’, and vary greatly from other folks’. That divergence in taste can even appear among two editors or “experts in the field” with similar “credentials” and reputation.

It’s true that “Best Of” editors are usually reading more than the average bear, but it would be a mistake to think that any editor is reading everything available. It’s also true that you could agree with a given editor’s taste across a lot of selections, and then suddenly find something that they loved which you just . . . don’t get why they published it. This doesn’t make them “right” or you “wrong”; it just means this is where your taste diverges. (Although a difference in opinion can often come down to an individual’s ability to understand the story, which can apply to the editor, the reader, both, neither, and any others discovering the story.) In fact, even as this block of text will likely rub a few people I know the wrong way, it is not uncommon for one “Best Of/Year’s Best” editor to, at some point, look at the table of contents of another “Best Of/Year’s Best” editor, and shake their head a little. If you’re lucky, you might hear them mutter something like, “That story didn’t seem all that interesting to me,” or, even better, “Well, that’s not the decision I would have made.”

For me, dear reader, a “Best Of” or similar is really, “The Best Stories in this category, according to my tastes, from what I read (and . . . remember . . .), which anyone else may or may not agree with, with the understanding that there may be seriously amazing works that I didn’t even get to read.” Of course, that wordy title just wouldn’t grab the attention of readers the way an assertion of authority does, and a catchy, bold, “These are the best ones, PERIOD” kind of title. Ultimately, the best way to decide if you should buy a “Best Of” does not come down to an editor’s credentials or awards or anything else; it comes down to how much your taste aligns with the tastes of that editor. If you usually like what they like? Then go get the book. If you’ve picked up a few of their efforts at curation, and they just don’t do much for you, the good news is there are other editors out there doing all kinds of cool things, and you’ll probably find the right one for you.

Which is not to undermine how special it is to have a piece selected for a “Year’s Best” or some similar book. These projects usually have hundreds of stories vying for limited spots, and the editors are usually quite picky. If you are an author, definitely celebrate if your story gets selected; if you are a reader and one of your favorite works gets picked, raise a glass and toast the author.

That long-winded caveat aside, I’ll come back to this statement: Michael Kelly has curated a gorgeous set of stories for The Best Weird Fiction of the Year, Volume One. This is my opinion, and I’m sticking to it. I’ll go over a few stand-out stories (among a host of stand-out stories), just to give you an idea of what’s on offer, and I’ll leave the rest for your discovery.

“In the Palace of Science” by Chris Campbell begins with that classic adventure or horror story style, framing the tale as a note of warning left behind by someone who befell something terrible. The tone of the writing matches this classic adventure style: “manservant” and “far beyond the ken of man” and such; with protagonist Mr. Carruthers being a “man of science” who is set on an adventure by another mysterious (but genius) “man of science.” While the style is a throwback, which for some may tap in to nostalgia or evoke an era, the details of the note itself breathe a sense of newness to the approach, hinting at creativity and, in this way, promising that you probably haven’t read this exact story before. Which, for me, is a solid start. The tone isn’t only about capturing an earlier era science-fiction vibe: The setting is unspecified but probably late 1800s to early 1900s, hinted at by numerous details. Additionally, the protagonist is a Black man, which was not usually a protagonist in earlier-era adventure stories. Following the classic trajectory, Carruthers is invited to a strange place, but in place of an ominous gothic castle shrouded in shadows is an ominous mansion designed for scientific inquisitive living and filled with books and tools. Similar to the obnoxious kids in The Magicians, Carruthers is met with a stack of papers, like a test, but with science and math as the subjects. What follows could be described as being in the cosmic horror family but leaning more into actual science than usual. There are moments that follow traditional beats, but there are also some surprises, as well as a number of nuances that make the read even more interesting. The story never forgets that there are people involved, even as it explores ideas or spends time with descriptions, and this connection to people lends it a dimension that I think gives it a broader appeal for readers. In a sense, it could be seen as a story that bridges readerships, but all told, it’s just damn good storytelling.

Mia Xuan’s “Mise En Abyme” is a short piece about a place called Droste, where the lone occupant, Miss Misset, replicates with every reflection. So the place is also actually occupied by a lot of Miss Missets. There is a charm and subtle wit to the writing, which makes the piece enjoyable. All the while, it also feels as if the narrative is holding up a mirror to myriad truths about what it is to be human, as well as truths many of us will recognize from social culture. It’s a very intellectual piece, but snippets of descriptions and things that otherwise evoke visualization also give it life and an underlying emotional tether. It’s interesting, abstract in a way that could be compared to an Escher drawing, and yet grounded in things that are very human. I’m guessing some may not call it a “story,” in that they may see it as more about presenting a situation than describing a journey. Yet when I come to the final line, it feels as if I’ve gone on a journey, and the final line is an utterly perfect ending to that journey. Really well done.

“Alabama Circus Punk” by Thomas Ha is a slowly terrifying story where what is probably a collectively conscious artificial intelligence family (or perhaps an artificial intelligence family created by an individual intelligence as an extension of itself) starts to have a technical problem and calls in someone for repairs. What begins as a seemingly quirky storytelling style where odd word choices appear in the text in the context of an intellectual curiosity over the idea of how family is defined, develops into something more insidious. In fact, Ha is brilliant at breathing strange tension into the story from the beginning, creating a sense that something is “off.” In my read, I believe this entry is about vulnerability and the dehumanizing habits of prejudice. Folks who have experienced those kinds of things will feel rattled at the end, an ending which is perfectly sardonic and makes the entire situation both more horrifying and frustrating. A really superb story.

Mushrooms seem to be having a moment. It’s a good moment, and “Better Me Is Fun at Parties” by F.E. Choe joins in, beginning, “Better Me grows like a mushroom. She fruits scalp first.” Soon, a doppelgänger (or more precisely, a mirrored individual) is standing there, existing and living in a similar but different way from the point-of-view character, something looking human but probably not quite human. I have seen similar stories (and may have published one or two . . .), but the beautiful writing here immediately makes this one feel distinctive, while the title simultaneously signals that I haven’t yet read this particular story, but that it will probably be quite interesting. In fact, I think the title and the idea of a double of some kind will immediately strike an emotional chord with many: A lot of people struggle to be “fun at parties,” and look upon folks who enjoy social gatherings with a mix of roiling emotions. Moments into the read, Choe effectively strikes a wonderfully dissonant chord through subtle differences between the double and the primary, as well as the sociocultural implications of those differences, which give the story the weight of emotions and important subtext in deft ways. Choe also humanizes both primary and double in sly, efficient ways, breathing life and yet more emotion into the piece. Meanwhile, as the story progresses and the relationship between the two develops, Choe never lets the reader feel comfortable, sprinkling perfectly unsettling touches throughout. Choe’s prose works almost like poetry, something about the construction of lines and the focal points feels elegant. The story is also thoughtful while being thought provoking, and gently heartbreaking, as Choe creates scenes and moments that make sense within the narrative and are all the more heart-piercing for it. For me, this one seems to interrogate or explore some of the things you’d expect from the title, and this exploration is brilliant, but it doesn’t stop there. Choe gives us lots of surprises, things that elevate the narrative even more, and lend yet more nuance to those explorations. I won’t give away the ending, but it is stunning and perfect, making the reader think through everything that led to that point and breathing even more life into an already excellent tale.

A lot of people who teach writing say, “Don’t start a story with a dream.” Dominique Dickey’s “The Last Lucid Day” is a great example of starting a story with a dream, and not just making it work, but making it striking, effective, and important to the narrative. In this story, Dickey tackles complicated family dynamics. Let’s face it: Many people’s childhoods look less like The Brady Bunch, Modern Family, One Day at a Time (either version), or, for that matter, The Upshaws, and lots of people grow up dealing with all kinds of trauma, often inflicted by their parents. So, what happens when the traumatized kid is an adult, and the trauma-inducing adult is in an assisted living facility? Y’all, this alone is a seriously compelling setup, and because this is Dickey, we know we are in excellent storytelling hands. Dickey gives us interesting details and situations that feel specific enough to be unique but still reflect the situations and emotions that many people will find incredibly resonant. Dickey’s choices with regard to the trauma also create room for thinking about trauma and its consequences in fresh ways, while still feeling grounded in the real and the terrible. When the speculative element comes up, it resembles ideas many readers have probably seen. Still, Dickey gives it a couple of new and quite remarkable twists, again rendering something kind of familiar into something fresh and engaging and, even better, startling. The speculative element isn’t just an exercise in theory; it adds weight to the thematic movements of the piece, making the story gripping and keeping it grounded in those complicated emotions. This entry is just . . . real and raw and brilliant. It will give some folks goose bumps, and it will have others in tears. If you read it and you aren’t moved, that’s okay; maybe it’s just not for you. But far too many people out there will see their lives reflected in this deeply affecting story.

Other contributors include Natalia Theodoridou, Kaaron Warren, Kristina Ten, Rachael K. Jones, Greg van Eekhout, Hiron Ennes, Kelly Robson, Uchechukwu Naka, and many others, a strong assemblage of capable and proven storytellers. I appreciate the range of styles and topics Kelly has included in this book. I also appreciate that while some of the entries are sourced from “the usual suspects” (in other words, the magazines and publications that are almost inevitably tapped for “Year’s Best” books), there are pieces that come from more surprising sources, lesser-known publications, and publications that you might not have read unless you paid to read them. For me, this lends the anthology even more value. There’s also a “Notable Stories” list, which is fun to look through and ponder (and again, if your work is on this list, you should definitely celebrate). Given the way the selections in this anthology shine, that list is probably a worthy “to read” list as well. I’ll definitely look forward to exploring more of Kelly’s projects. As far as I’m concerned, based on this book, he has fantastic taste.