All right, true confession time. Im not really a science-fiction kind of guy at all. Im all horror, and stuff. Yknow, Shelly and Poe and Stoker and the Marquis De Sade, and Universal Films, and Hammer and all the rest. Im all over these guys. Got them memorized. Giant slugs and Roger Corman and vampires before they were sparkly emos and all. But when it comes to Scientifiction, and science-fiction, and sci-fi, and sy-fy, and all that stuff, I do have to say, I am really pretty illiterate. Really. Everything I know about science fiction, I learned from the movies. And Teevee. Yknow, Planet of the Apes. Buck Rogers. That stuff. My range in sci-fi goes from Jules Verne to H.G. Wells and Edgar Rice Burroughs. Oh, the occasional, because obligated, Asimov, and, yeah, everybody has to read Vonnegut and Bradbury, but those guys dont count. Because, like that depressing Steinbeck guy, Vonnegut and Bradbury are writers that everybody has to read if they hope to graduate from high school. What I am saying is that, though I have written some science-fiction, I am a total ignoramus on the subject. Which is all by way of preface to saying that, on the recommendation of my good friend, Gavin Chappell of Schlock! webzine, I have started reading the works of Poul Anderson (Yeah, yeah, I know... a guy in his sixties who is only now discovering Poul Anderson. What a limp noodle). Anyway, yeah.. once youre done laughing at me, just hear me when I say, I havent felt this kind of enthusiasm for a writer, discovering new-to-me works by him, since I first stumbled across the brilliant Edgar Rice Burroughs in 1967. So, Im about to plunge into a hard-core Poul Anderson jag. For the next few months... Bear with this ancient child, as he learns more about this wondrous world of literature, which he has missed, not through neglect, but only on account of he was busy with other things.
Posted on: Thu, 01 Jan 2015 17:25:32 +0000
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