Barbara Krasnoff divides her time between writing short speculative fiction and editing tech as Reviews Editor for The Verge. Her book The History of Soul 2065 is a "mosaic novel" made up of interconnection short stories about two uncanny families through several generations.

Her short fiction has appeared in a variety of publications, including Fantasy & Science Fiction, Space & Time Magazine, Apex Magazine, Weird Tales, Lady Churchill's Rosebud Wristlet, Amazing Stories, and the anthologies Fat Girl in a Strange Land, Subversion: Science Fiction & Fantasy tales of challenging the norm, Clockwork Phoenix 2, Clockwork Phoenix 5, Such A Pretty Face: Tales of Power & Abundance, and Memories and Visions: Women's Fantasy and Science Fiction.

The History of Soul 2065 by Barbara Krasnoff

Contains "Sabbath Wine," Nebula Award finalist for Best Short Story

Months before World War I breaks out, two young Jewish girls just on the edge of adolescence—one from a bustling Russian city, the other from a German estate—meet in an eerie, magical forest glade. They are immediately drawn to one another and swear an oath to meet again. Though war and an ocean will separate the two for the rest of their lives, the promise that they made to each other continues through the intertwined lives of their descendants.

This epic tale of the supernatural follows their families from the turn of the 20th Century through the terrors of the Holocaust and ultimately to the wonders of a future they never could have imagined. The History of Soul 2065 encompasses accounts of sorcery, ghosts, time travel, virtual reality, alien contact, and elemental confrontations between good and evil. Understated and epic, cathartic and bittersweet, the twenty connected stories in Nebula Award finalist Barbara Krasnoff's debut form a mosaic narrative even greater than its finely crafted parts.

Jane Yolen, Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America Grand Master, says in her introduction: "If you, like me, love quirky and original fantasy stories, I advise you to dive right in. If you, like me, admire tough writing that's not afraid of the grit, dive right in. If you, like me, want to hang out a while with characters rich in their own traditions, dive right in. This is storytelling at the top of the heap."

CURATOR'S NOTE

Barbara Krasnoff's stunning debut The History of Soul 2065 will take your breath away. Simultaneously a story collection and a mosaic novel, Jewish folklore powers this book's chronicle of two intertwined families as they move from tragic past to astonishing future, with episodes full of magic, ghosts, demons, time travel, and more. I'm so proud to be the publisher who brought Barbara's unique, astonishing vision to the world. – Mike Allen

 

REVIEWS

  • "This remarkable mosaic of interconnected stories, many of which were previously published, spans generations to relay the strange, somber, and deeply entwined histories of two Jewish families … Powerful and dreamlike, this intergenerational meditation on family, mortality, and hope is far more than the sum of its parts."

    – Publishers Weekly, starred review

  • "In story after story, the author reminds us that while we are all the main characters in our own stories, we are also characters in the stories of others, and that we are always influenced by those who have gone before just as we will influence those who will come after … the book's central thesis that the past and future, the living and the dead, are inextricably intertwined—that even the brief presence of someone in our lives can alter our course and sometimes alter the course of the world."

    – Strange Horizons

  • "Intriguing stories from the world of Humperdink and Sholem Aleichem, that return us to a time when a world that is achingly familiar and wonderfully strange is coming into being among the Jewish children, beginning the imaginary journey of marvels forth and back between then and today."

    – Samuel R. Delany, Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America Grandmaster

  • "Like all good mosaic novels, The History of Soul 2065 rewards its readers with both a beguiling narrative arc and a succession of individually riveting stories—in this case, twenty cannily uncanny tales involving ghosts, gods, demons, dybbuks, magic jewels, and time-bending birds. With its echoes of Tony Kushner's Angels in America and Jonathan Lethem's Dissident Gardens, Barbara Krasnoff's multigenerational, phantasmagoric saga kept me turning the pages at a rapid pace."

    – James Morrow, World Fantasy and Nebula Award–winning author of Towing Jehovah
 

BOOK PREVIEW

Excerpt

Excerpt from

"Sabbath Wine"

"My name's Malka Hirsch," the girl said. "I'm nine."

"I'm David Richards," the boy said. "I'm almost thirteen."

The two kids were sitting on the bottom step of a run-down brownstone at the edge of the Brooklyn neighborhood of Brownsville. It was late on a hot summer afternoon, and people were just starting to drift home from work, lingering on stoops and fire escapes to catch any hint of a breeze before going up to their stifling flats.

Malka and David had been sitting there companionably for a while, listening to a chorus of gospel singers practicing in the first floor front apartment at the top of the stairs. Occasionally, the music paused as a male voice offered instructions and encouragement; it was during one of those pauses that the kids introduced themselves to each other.

Malka looked up at her new friend doubtfully. "You don't mind talking to me?" she asked. "Most big boys don't like talking to girls my age. My cousin Shlomo, he only wanted to talk to the older girl who lived down the street and who wore short skirts and a scarf around her neck."

"I don't mind," said David. "I like kids. And anyway, I'm dead, so I guess that makes a difference."

Above them, the enthusiastic chorus started again. As a soprano wailed a high lament, she shivered in delight. "I wish I could sing like that."

"It's called 'Ride Up in the Chariot,'" said David. "When I was little, my mama used to sing it when she washed the white folks' laundry. She told me my great-grandma sang it when she stole away from slavery."

"It's nice," Malka said. She had short, dark brown hair that just reached her shoulders and straight bangs that touched her eyebrows. She had pulled her rather dirty knees up and was resting her chin on them, her arms wrapped around her legs. "I've heard that one before, but I didn't know what it was called. They practice every Thursday, and I come here to listen."

"Why don't you go in?" asked David. He was just at that stage of adolescence where the body seemed to be growing too fast; his long legs stretched out in front of him while he leaned back on his elbows. He had a thin, cheerful face set off by bright, intelligent eyes and hair cropped so close to his skull that it looked almost painted on. "I'm sure they wouldn't mind, and you could hear better."

Malka grinned and pointed to the sign just above the front-door bell that read Cornerstone Baptist Church. "My papa would mind," she said. "He'd mind plenty. He'd think I was going to get converted or something."

"No wonder I never seen you before," said the boy. "I usually just come on Sundays. Other days, I …" He paused. "Well, I usually just come on Sundays."

The music continued against a background of voices from the people around them. A couple of floors above, a baby cried, and two men argued in sharp, dangerous tones; down on the ground, a gang of boys ran past, laughing, ignoring the two kids sitting outside the brownstone. A man sat on a cart laden with what looked like a family's possessions. Obviously in no hurry, he let the horse take its time as it proceeded down the cobblestone street.

The song ended, and a sudden clatter of chairs and conversation indicated that the rehearsal was over. The two kids stood and moved to a nearby streetlamp so they wouldn't get in the way of the congregation leaving the brownstone in twos and threes.

Malka looked at David. "Wait a minute," she said. "Did you say you were dead?"

"Uh-huh," he said. "Well, at least, that's what my daddy told me."

She frowned. "You ain't," she said and then, when he didn't say anything, "Really?"

He nodded affably. She reached out and poked him in the arm. "You ain't," she repeated. "If you were a ghost or something, I couldn't touch you."

He shrugged and stared down at the street. Unwilling to lose her new friend, Malka quickly added, "It don't matter. If you wanna be dead, that's okay with me."

"I don't want to be dead," said David. "I don't even know if I really am. It's just what Daddy told me."

"Okay," Malka said.

She swung slowly around the pole, holding on with one hand, while David stood patiently, his hands in the pockets of his worn pants.

* * *