Michael Swanwick is one of the most acclaimed and prolific science fiction and fantasy writers of his generation. He is the recipient of the Nebula, Theodore Sturgeon, and World Fantasy Awards as well as five Hugo Awards.
This year’s The Iron Dragon’s Mother, completes a trilogy begun twenty-five years before with The Iron Dragon’s Daughter. Out even more recently is City Under the Stars, a novel co-authored with the late Gardner Dozois.
He lives in Philadelphia with his wife, Marianne Porter.
Michael Swanwick has the following works available at Clarkesworld:
Through chaos and old night, the three brothers journeyed. Sometimes they rode and sometimes they strode. When they rode, their steeds snorted cold steam from their nostrils and obsidian hooves struck sparks from the rock. When they strode, their feet sank in the earth to their ankles. The sky was lit only by witch fires. […]
My first moment of consciousness pleased me so much that I wanted it to last forever. An insect hanging upon invisible wings, a dust mote jittering in a sunbeam, the flash of motion that was a vanished tetra in the fish tank, the smell of coffee from the break room . . . My brain was sparking. Everything […]
Ich am of Irlaunde, And of the holy londe Of Irlande. Gode sire, pray ich the, For of saynte chairité Come ant daunce with me In Irlaunde. (Anon.) The bullet scars were still visible on the pillars of the General Post Office in Dublin, almost two centuries after the 1916 uprising. That moved me more […]
“Planning to live forever, Tiktok?” The words cut through the bar’s chatter and gab and silenced them. The silence reached out to touch infinity and then, “I believe you’re talking to me?” a mech said. The drunk laughed. “Ain’t nobody else here sticking needles in his face, is there?” The old man saw it all. […]
Click. The radio came on. “Hell.” Martha kept her eyes forward, concentrated on walking. Jupiter to one shoulder, Daedalus’s plume to the other. Nothing to it. Just trudge, drag, trudge, drag. Piece of cake. “Oh.” She chinned the radio off. Click. “Hell. Oh. Kiv. El. Sen.” “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Martha gave the […]
The ambulance arrived sometime between three and four in the morning. The morgue was quiet then, cool and faintly damp. Hank savored this time of night and the faint shadow of contentment it allowed him, like a cup of bitter coffee, long grown cold, waiting for his occasional sip. He liked being alone and not […]
Imagine a cross between Byzantium and a termite mound. Imagine a jeweled mountain, slender as an icicle, rising out of the steam jungles and disappearing into the dazzling pearl-grey skies of Gehenna. Imagine that Gaudi—he of the Sagrada Familia and other biomorphic architectural whimsies—had been commissioned by a nightmare race of giant black millipedes to […]