Last Week's Apocalypse

by Douglas Lain

"It's legitimate SF, and it's 'mainstream, ' and it's metafiction: I don't know anyone else doing quite what Lain is doing; fascinating work, moving, strikingly honest, powerful."--Rich Horton, Locus Magazine

Gore Vidal meets Philip K. Dick in this collection of "lit-fabulist" stories.

Douglas Lain's work has been attracting high profile attention throughout the genre, and this collection features some of his finest and most controversial...

• Format: Paperback
• Language: English
• ISBN: 1597800341
• ISBN13: 9781597800341
• Release Date: January 2006
• Publisher: Night Shade Books
• Length: 256 Pages
• Weight: 0.70 lbs.
• Dimensions: 0.8" x 6.1" x 9.0"

Customer Reviews

Absolutely Stunning

This book absolutely rocked my world. A stunning debut by an up-and-coming writer who's work should not be missed. Any fan of literary fantasy... Of smart Science Fiction... of slip stream...Fans of Kelly Link, Small Bear press, etc... This collection is for you! Timeless and insightful social and political critiques, hidden beneath the framework of wonderfully entertaining stories.

Last Week's Migraine

Doug Lain's stories give me a serious headache, but in a relly good way. And damned if I don't learn something about living in our messed-up modern world every time I read a Doug Lain story. Good stuff. I'll be looking for more, soon as the Tylenol Extra Strength kicks in.

Solid debut collection

To be completely honest, I didn't know all that much about Douglas Lain's work before diving head first into his debut collection. I originally came across him via his LiveJournal and found him to be witty and articulate, not given to the sort of logorrhea that plagues some other writers who keep online journals. This piqued my interest in his fiction and I downloaded "Music Lessons" off his website (he has since replaced the full text with an excerpt). It was on the strength of this remarkable piece of prose that I requested a review copy of Last Week's Apocalypse. I must confess that I could not be called a fan of modern science-fiction. The kind I like went out of style in the 1950s, along with the demise of a little old-time radio program called X Minus One. (Coincidentally, Lain uses the body of an old radio to house a magic shredder is his hopefully apocalyptic "Shopping at the End of the World.") "These are stories of the future," Fred Collins announced weekly, "adventures where you'll live in a million could-be years on a thousand maybe worlds." Really, though, they were stories written for a general audience: character- and conflict-based tales that just happened to include a fantastic element. "Music Lessons" struck me in much the same way that those stories did (and still do): sure, there are aliens, but Lain's story mostly centers on a minimalist composer's struggle with his sanity. Lain's combination of interviews alongside first-person narrative shows us different sides, all of which are confusing and disconcerting and more than a little creepy. (When Mr. Rogers showed up, I just about lost it.) It's fiercely intellectual, but with bees and gorillas. If there is a "Douglas Lain" type of story, it probably involves the protagonist's descent into madness in some form. But just as often it's the world that's gone mad -- merely causing Our Hero to think he is the only one. I haven't read one yet where the reader goes crazy, but "The Suburbs of the Citadel of Thought" probably comes closest. In it, characters go about doing the bidding of the author -- normal enough behavior, only this author (who bears a significant resemblance to Lain himself, even mentioning his story "Instant Labor") keeps breaking through to explain his motives and insert related thoughts. It's a combination of fiction and reality I was not prepared for. (I wasn't aware of this before, but I guess I don't like my books to address me personally. I found it made me vaguely uncomfortable, and found myself wondering if the Douglas Lain ca. 1999 who wrote this could see me through the pages, if I had somehow dropped into a Douglas Lain story. By the time I reached the end of "Suburbs," I had a headache, but that could have been from the dry air of the commuter train. Whatever the cause, I had to put down Last Week's Apocalypse, and I didn't pick it up again for a week, choosing instead to read a couple of Westerns and watch a lot of Moonlighting, just to clear my