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A small, red seed lay camouflaged in the silt by the lake/puddle. One evening as white Sigma-prime left the sky violet, it broke open into a brown larva as long and of the same colour as the first joint of Antonis thumb. It flipped and swirled in the mud a couple of days, then crawled to the first branch of the nearest crystal plant to hang exhausted, head down from the tip. The brown flesh hardened, thickened, grew black, shiny. Then one morning the children saw the onyx chrysalis crack, and by second dawn there was an emerald-eyed flying lizard buzzing at the plastic panels. For instance, there should have been a spot somewhere to chuckle over Giles Goat-Boy,or to mention John Barths thoughtful and effective article The Literature of Exhaustion', in Atlantic.And I wanted to find space to discuss at least briefly the flood of critical volumes on s-f over the past two years: H. Bruce Franklin's Future Perfect,I.F. Clarke's Voices Prophesying War,and Mark Hillegas' The Future as Nightmare,all from Oxford University Press; Advent's reissue of an expanded version of Damon Knight's In Search of Wonder; C.S. Lewis' posthumous collection of papers. Of Other Worlds(Harcourt); and a whole range of books of varying merit on Cabell, E. R. Burroughs, E. E. Smith, and others— right down to Sam Moskowitz's Six-Foot Shelf of Plodding Prose in Praise of 1950. BLUES AND BALLAD Sabina looked at the small figure huddled abjectly in Amitys embrace, her almond-shaped eyes now wet with tears. Yes, she said, “I believe her.” One thing I? like about, Dear Miss Kinnian: (thats the way it goes in a business letter if I ever go into business) is she, always gives me a reason when—I ask. She’s a gen’ius! I wish! I cou’d be smart” like, her; She ventured one more question:Why did they have the tree switch covered up? Would it be afaux pas to go looking for her? Yes, I decided. Harvey Jayne grunted. He was not cheerful. Oh, smooth as oil. Disconcerting for a while—like having an itch I couldnt scratch—but that passed in about two or three months and then he just blended in and there it was. To comprehend the passion which developed between us it is necessary to understand Miss Luptik, a superb storyteller, a marvelous creator of mood, a lovely builder of climaxes, a born inciter to riot. Had Miss Luptik come along in the 1870s there would be only red faces on the North American continent. General Custer would never have got past Jersey. The piece appeared in the October 1945 issue ofWireless World; not expecting that celestial mechanics would be commercialized in my lifetime, I made no attempt to patent the idea, and doubt if I could have done so anyway. (If Im wrong, I’d prefer not to know.) But I kept plugging it in my books, and today the idea of communication satellites is so commonplace that no one knows its origin. ...You would? When? But we were missing the first few bars and so we shut up and listened, and after "When a Widow" was over we sat quietly for a moment, her resigned, me weeping, and then Ramona threw another switch and the Sound filtered into the room, and it was almost like being plugged in. You were, huh? Muller growled. He shrugged. They mustve been talking about the tame ones that do our muscle work for us. Theyare dumb. So are a lot of the wild ones, but there’s been some smart ones, too. There’s even been a few so smart none of these tests showed their limits. And thatis smart. I get scared when I think aboutem.” Fritz Leiber is the original S-F man. By which I mean any number of things, beginning with his beginning in the field a good thirty years ago (which would make him Senior Writer for the volume if it were not for Alfred Jarry antedatingeverybody.) Nor is it simply seniority, but also scope. Leiber began as a Lovecraft disciple, went from fantasy forUnknown, to s-f forAstounding, and then to popular-science writing and editing. In Leibers case, S is not just for Science, or Satire, or Speculation, though they are all there, but for Snakes as well as Spiders (the Time-Change stories), and for Shakespeare (Four Ghosts in Hamlet in last year’s FSSF), and Sword-and-Sorcery. (F, of course, is for Fafhrd and the Mouser.) And this year he has expanded hisrange a bit more, by writing the first authorized post-Burroughs Tarzan book(Tarzan and the Valley of Gold, Ballantine, 1966). "We beg pardon," was my limp answer. Oh, its all very laughable, once one has the language of any Elsewhere as completely as you will have noted yours is now mine; how I can skip flealy from uppercase to lower, in the pronoundest sense of any occasion. But memory still pains. Those first tingles of the singular! He decided that, for the time being, he would not collect any more pennies. The picnic was simple enough. She gathered it together in five minutes, a precious can of tuna fish and hard, homemade biscuits baked the evening before when the electricity had come on for a while, and shriveled, worm-eaten apples, picked from neighboring trees and hoarded all winter in another house that had a cellar. He loaded up again and pushed open what was left of that door. Right away his mouth fell open, because out there on the ground in big red clear block-type letters wasIM HUNGRY! There were even a block-type exclamation point and a block-type underline. Hell, Rhodes, dont you think I’d like to know? Those logs are so old they’re petrified. The whole bunch of us couldn’t lift one. It would take superhuman energy to move one of those things..
