X-Files (X-Files)

by Charles L Grant

[jamiereadthis]

There’s a folder on my hard drive— named “Apocrypha,” what else?— that, like maybe anyone who came of age on the internet at the same time, is full of X-Files fan fiction. Stories I’ve saved, stories I’ve written (like an ambitious/incomplete undertaking where I elaborated greatly on the canon of seasons 5, 6, 7, 8, and 9, episode by episode), so there’s the understatement for you: that I’ve read and written, and still write and read, my share of X-Files fanfic. I may be able to speak with some authority on the subject, is what I’m saying.

A few weeks ago, I was at the beach. One afternoon was nothing but storms, and I ended up spending all of it in this little used bookshop talking to the owner for hours. We covered so much ground, and got around to fanfic and the joys of it, and talked about our favorite shows, and before I left with my stack of books she tossed this one in for kicks. Not even ironically or nostalgically or self-consciously— but plenty self-indulgently— this was the first book I went for as soon as I was back in the room. I got a bucket of ice to eat like popcorn and, already channeling Mulder and Scully enough in my choice of shitty motels, curled up in the big bed to read all night about Mulder and Scully working a case in shitty motels.

Sometimes the place and time you read a book is all you need.

This? This was surprisingly a blast. Terse, crisp language. Not choked with adverbs. Very little that made me cringe. Mulder was written pretty spot on, and Scully a little less than spot on at first but then better later on— which I completely understand because of how hard Scully is to write. The secondary characters needed more development, and the word “goblins” could have been used half as much and still been plenty, but beyond that, my complaints are few and far between. It’s a serviceable little horror story with two familiar faces, that puts Waylon Jennings on the jukebox on page 2, that not once, not even once, describes Mulder as “lanky,” and that has plenty of fun getting where it’s going. There’s my criteria, right there.

It isn’t up there with some of the best fanfic I’ve read, but paid or not, published or not, there’s something special about enjoying a story so much you make it your own, and Grant holds his own. On the dark, dark day gossamer.org is gone forever (heaven forbid), at least I’ll have this book and my hard drive to keep me company.