The rain was pouring as game director Alex Dracott drove through the wilderness of the Pacific north-west. There wasn't anyone in the car with him, but nonetheless, Dracott didn't feel alone in his trusty station wagon – a dependable, durable vehicle he'd been driving ever since he was a teenager. As the game maker was bludgeoned by the elements, he describes feeling a "camaraderie with the car", sheltered by its windshield and the metal of its body. This experience inspired Pacific Drive, the game Dracott has been making for the past three years with his team at Ironwood Studios in Seattle, capital of the famously verdant region. He describes it as a "run-based driving survival game," played in first-person.

Something strange is happening in science fiction. Such are the flora and fauna of what's now being called, rather neatly, the New Weird, the genre's version of the grotesque--though it's only "new" in the sense that it's finally rupturing, like miraculous sidewalk weeds, up through the literary cracks. That's thanks, in very large part, to a very small book called Annihilation. When it came out in 2014, the first in a three-part series, many people professed to love it. Perhaps a few of them genuinely did.

In this day and age, under our current political conditions, you'd be forgiven for mistaking lightness for triteness, escape for escapism. There's a sense that our fictions should be of Earth-shattering import in the obvious ways, and this perhaps desensitizes us to other examples of subversion and narrative. It may also make us miss out on some great fiction about odd bread, an imaginary country and the processes behind making robot arms. All of which is to say that Robin Sloan's delightful new novel, "Sourdough," the follow-up to his runaway success "Mr. It is that rare thing: a satire that has a love of what it satirizes while also functioning as a modern fairy tale about, of all things, the magic of certain carbohydrates. For this to be a chemical rather than physical reaction, Sloan must display a sure and natural knowledge of high-tech culture and of bread culture (in both senses). His keen insight into both automatons and organic foods stems from his immersion in the San ...

During a book tour stop in Portland, Oregon earlier this year, author Jeff VanderMeer (Borne, the Southern Reach Trilogy) met up with two speculative-fiction contemporaries: Omar El Akkad and Lidia Yuknavitch. Like VanderMeer, both had recently published dystopian-ish novels set against a backdrop of climate change. El Akkad's American War chronicles a fossil-fuel civil war in the U.S.; in Yuknavitch's The Book of Joan, a new Joan of Arc for a global-warming era battles fascist forces. Given the obvious real-world resonances of the three books (the admittedly more fantastical Borne tackles out-of-control capitalism via a futuristic desert city terrorized by a giant flying psychotic bear), VanderMeer organized a three-way conversation to examine what he calls their "parallel evolution"--as well as dicuss how to take on a troubling present reality in an meaningful and productive way. They feel like boundaries that mean less and less, attempts at containment or to say "this couldn't possibly happen to anyone reading this now."