"Dreamboat" by Robin Wyatt Dunn

It's hard to know what to say about this little sliver of incomprehensibility. Though it is nothing but itself, it should be spoken of in the same tones one uses to speak of Tiptree, or of Cordwainer Smith. I've read it six times now and though a sense of incident has emerged I'm not sure I begin to "understand" it — which is as it should be in this story of vastness and confusion (which also engages brilliantly with science fiction itself; then too there's that wonderfully startling moment where the narrator addresses himself by the writer's name). Easily one of the best sf stories I've read in this, or maybe any, year; if you must go around giving things awards, give one to this. (Those who appreciate a good set of parentheses — better than these — should be extra-sure to take a look; and, praise the lord, though Dunn makes much use of contemporary sf's pandemic one-line paragraphs, he actually uses them to create rhythm rather than to spoon-feed information.)