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black flannel: The membership is small and very select. As you are aware, I am a kind of talent scout for the group. Qualifications for admission(he slips a second sheet of black bond from his briefcase) include a proven great skill in achieving and wielding power over men and women, an amoral zest for all of life, a seasoned blend of ruthlessness and reliability, plus wide knowledge and lightning wit. by Jack Finney The false theory of suicide had served to put an end to the mens eagerness for information about the shooting. Violence was common in the city and there was not enough spice in a self-dispatching, particularly one by an unpopular individual such as Sonderberg seemed to have been, to sustain the interest of jaded citizens. Some of the men were already movingaway when Maguire returned. Ive some news that will make you sit up, he said smugly. The American networks are soon going to have some real competition. And it will be done just the way you predicted; the people who sent a TV transmitter behind the Moon can put a much bigger one in orbit round the Earth.” Nowscience-fiction books byscience-fiction authors are simply not reviewed seriously in the major critical outlets. (These days, they are rarely reviewed at all.) But the canny jacketeers at Lippincott have gotten around this taboo several times now by the simple expedient of notlabeling their books as s-f. In this case they went a step further: the jacket flap biography explains that Mr. Miller“compromised between art and engineering by writing science-fiction,until this, his first novel.” (My italics—J.M.) It seemed to have to do with its gesture of repayment. But along this line of reasoning the Twerlik could not proceed without bafflement. It thought momentarily of removing the gift, and restoring things to what they had been, but then realized that it no longer possessed the necessary energies. And I had almost forgotten. Again she was going out, as she had done almost every night. With whom, she never explained; probably to the theater restaurants, to renew contacts with agents and managers. He would like to have gone with her, but he felt out of place on this plane of Madame Giocondas existence. Uh huh, answered the prince. Get the picture: I ride down to the field where this maiden is picking. She sees me on a green horse. Then she says, Heavens, Sire, your horse is green. And I say, ‘Yes, beautiful lady. I am the prince.’ In a week, I send her flowers. In two weeks, I send her jewels. In a month, I grant her daddy a fief. In six months, I take my pleasure.” Brock said,I dont remember how that was. No one does. During the next week or so, he was occupied pacifying the city of Washington, and trying to establish an emergency distribution system. This was his most benevolent phase; I believe he was completely in good faith when he offered free food and clothing to anyone who came to his distribution centers—it wouldnt have been any trick at all for him to produce unlimited quantities of merchandise. However, the population of the city didn’t know that, and it is hardly surprising that they suspected a trap, and left the city rather than take a chance on his generosity. This, I am sure, so infuriated him, that his already weakened mind broke down altogether. Naturally, we get thousands of applicants. We give each of them a tough screening test—physical, mental, and psychological. Most applicants are eliminated in the first test. Youd be surprised at some of the boys who apply. The ones who are left—just under two thousand for this year’s games—are put through an intensive six-month training course. During this training period we begin to get our first drop-outs, the men who somehow got past our screening system and who will crack up under pressure. "Sandy, get up." This was not my first starfish, though the largest, and I have come to know them intimately. I have learned to love them in a way that I have not loved any other creature. I have thought: What if I had this army for my own? If this were my hand? My little suckers all along the palm? I have thought I might button a button, blow my nose, answer a telephone, turn out the light. I have thought I might feel my way across the floor, this star on the end of some long radius and ulna. I might risk the stairs, letting myself down, reaching lower and letting myself down again. I could run away, and even if it took all night, moving at a starfish pace, to get as far as the next house, I might find a hiding place to spend the day and set out farther the next night, each day finding a hovel or a thicket to rest in, never discovered, ever onward by silver moonlight. ... The subjective reality of fiction depends, not on the spacio-temporal coordinates assigned to it, but on the authors direct or indirect experience of reality, on his frames of reference for the interpretation of reality, on his ability to abstract and synthesise fictional experiences, and on his selection of symbolic media capable of evoking these experiences completely for his readers..
