I found this book at the Necronomicon 2017 conference, and it called out to me. I was in the mood for weird, dark lit, and am also an Aickman fan. (If you don't know Robert Aickman, and he has little traction outside the UK, he was a 20th-century writer and editor. As a writer, he described his tales as "strange stories". I view them as supernatural or weird fiction, touching on the Gothic, gently building up a sense of unease: far removed from gory horror. He reminds me of the great M.R. James, except with an acidic sense of social and psychological commentary. As an editor, he published a series of ghost story collections which were very influential.) Aickman's Heirs is a kind of Aickman tribute volume, a collection of stories aiming for the Aickman style and effect, often updated for modern times and situations. Overall, it's a treat. If you like well written stories, dive in. If you're a fan of fantasy or horror, please do read this; the stories are a syllabus on understatement. All but one story is short, circa 10-15 pages, and each offers a different perspective, so the reader can enjoy a great deal of creativity. Every story is a good short story, meaning (for me) focused and unpadded. The anthology offers an interesting mix of themes. There are several based on personal transformation, sometimes physical, as they increase their engagement with fantasy. Many turn on memories related or revised. As with the source material, nearly all are about romance or friendship. So many of the authors get Aickman's stinging prose down well. For example,The place was part of a gated community, a little triangle of buildings full of apartments, some of which had motorized metal shutters that could be brought down at night, sealing you in like a tin of preserved meat. (5) It was his upturned flare of the nose, his dirty blue eyes flecked with green like an algae-stained pond. (121) [O]ne thing my Cambridge years taught me - pleasant though they were in most respects - was that those of an academic mind are quick to judge; and, having judged, quicker still to slaughter. (147) There were and are obvious advantages to my relationship with Cara [the narrator's wife]. Companionship always puts one more at east with one's own eccentricities. Alone, one's compulsions can become forces of anguish and alienation. Betrothed, they twist into endearing quicks in the eye of one's lover. This of course i so much easier than the futile quest to entirely remake one's self to fit an ideal. (24-5) I ignored her, mostly, and I think she liked it. Most women do. (153)Yes, some of these are very unpleasant characters. To the stories: I'll try to avoid spoilers. “Neithernor” by Richard Gavin. One of my favorites. The curdled narrative voice is perfect. A fine eerie scene towards the end. “Vault of Heaven” by Helen Marshall: also gets the mean narrator down well, with a touch of what might be cosmic horror. “Seven Minutes in Heaven” by Nadia Bulkin. A reflection back on childhood that becomes something else. Also a nicely hinted alternate history. (I just met her at a reading; she's brilliant, and someone to watch.) “Infestations” by Michael Cisco. The act of mourning and the power of place. More of Cisco's striking, unsettling style. For example, a quiet use of "they" to great effect (you'll see). “Seaside Town” by Brian Evenson. Fine opener to the story, with a clueless point of view character who stumbles onto weirdness. “Least Light, Most Night” by John Howard. Very muted encounter with a sect, and a hint of something larger. “Camp” by David Nickle. An outdoor adventure that goes sideways. Always good to see gay characters in horror who aren't villains. (I'm still not sure about the title's pun.) “A Delicate Craft” by D.P. Watt. Interesting focus on gendered labor and different forms of craft. Always good to see working-class and immigrant characters in horror. “Drying Season” by Lynda E. Rucker. The portrayal of bad husband and wronged wife is too flat and programmatic. “A Discreet Music” by Michael Wehunt. Mourning and love. “Underground Economy” by John Langan. This felt like one of the most American stories, concerning strippers and the weird. “Two Brothers” by Malcolm Devlin. Childhood and aging. Grim. “The Lake” by Daniel Mills. Also about growing up, but more unsettling. One of the best in the book. (I'm a fan of this rising young writer) “Change of Scene” by Nina Allan. Unusually long for this collection, and well worth it. It's a tribute to "Ringing the Changes", and fits that story's mix of stasis and dread. The last line sends the reader back through the story, but not in a trick ending way. “The Book That Finds You” by Lisa Tuttle. One of my favorites, because it's about bibliophilia, and also very well done. Overall: recommended.