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"You did?" Ratlit had lengths of gut that astounded me about once a day. For a highly competent science writer, Joe has an odd liking for the bizarre and the improbable. Perhaps its a form of escapism; I happen to know that he also writes science fiction pseudonymously, though this is a secret well kept from his employers. He has a sneaking fondness for poltergeists and ESP and flying saucers, but lost continents are his real specialty. "Why?" What does a detective look like? And would man, someday, too, submit willingly to a new, arrogant, brash young life-form—in the knowledge that it really didnt matter? But what was the end result of knowing nothing mattered except static survival? Yes, but how do you know it when you see it? Or, rather, how do you know it when you see it? Is there any objective means of identifying it? Or isdecadence one of those things which only afflict other people with different values and standards? Whatta ya know? said the first Sailor. Come on, hurry up. Move along,” he shouted all at once. He gave J. G. a shove. Likewise, Im sure, she said, looking quickly over her shoulder toward a small door at the rear of the store. I got a date tonight with a rich, handsome feller,” she said, “who has a Big Car. He wants to take me to Loew’s Uptown to see Shoot ‘em in the Stomach and They Take Longer to Die.’ “ J. G. ate some bananas and nodded again. The combination of newsman-science-fiction-writer has a tradition that goes back to Cleve Cartmill, and includes Clifford Simak, Cyril Kornbluth, and Richard Wilson, a tradition of excellence, and also of rarity. It is not surprising that recent trends in SF have attracted more newsmen to the field—but it did startle me to realize that there are more newsmen represented in this Annual than any other single occupation. Hagan came into the yard carrying an oblong, plastic-covered frame. I held the cheque out to him, but he was staring at Selinas face. He seemed to know immediately that our uncomprehending fingers had rummaged through his soul. Selina avoided his gaze. She was old and ill-looking, and her eyes stared determinedly towards the nearing horizon. Something bright … I said. John Quincannon. Which packet will he be on tonight? Graeme armed? inquired the police sensor technician at Tyburns right. Tyburn jerked his head around momentarily to stare at the technician. I say,migrate, and I do mean like a flock of birds. Thing now is to figure out whether Solo Sturgeon stayed behind on this one—or went way out, reconnoitering the next flight.* * * * If this is true, says Clyde Tombaugh, Venus is not only a hidden planet. It may be a forbidden planet for manned exploration.” Hed shot himself in the heart. In Popland, its camp comics; for Sontag, horror films; UFO people claim it as kissing kin; news-media editorialists equate it generally with disquieting technological prediction. On TV its space-geared Western or Tropic Isle adventure— or Spy Thrillers with aliens, robots or a mad scientist as The Enemy. Paperback buyers grab up two books a week of the TV type, and probably half again as much E. R. Burroughs-derived 'sword and sorcery' and 'Heroic fantasy'. Some paperbacks, and a few hardcovers, have made it into the 'underground' (campus and hippie trade), a very mixed bag where the Hobbits and Uburub elbows with Witzend, Nova Express,and Stranger in a Strange Land—and with two-dollar soft-covers of Hawthorne, Lovecraft, and Mary Shelley for the Lit Profs who have decided (with the help of H. Bruce Franklin's Future Perfect,Oxford, 1966)that science fiction is reallyNeo-Victorian-Gothic. The first boy cried out and ran after it. You get along all right with Mrs. Klevity? asked Mom as she checked her shopping bag for her work shoes..
