I just heard that Harlan Ellison died, in his sleep, at the age of 84. To my mind, he wasn’t one of the grand old ones (Asimov, Bradbury, Clarke, Heinlein), but he was of the very next generation, the very next tier.

In science fictional circles, he was known for writing kick-ass short fiction (such as “I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream” and “A Boy and His Dog”), as well as television episodes (Star Trek’s “City on the Edge of Forever”). He also worked in other genres, both in print and for television and film. And he was a ground-breaking editor, putting together the iconic anthology Dangerous Visions. But within the science fiction community, at least by the time I was working in the field, he was known more for his larger-than-life personality. He could be abrasive, obnoxious, and egotistical, but he was an incredible presence.

My relationship with him was atypical, because I never saw that harsh personality (although I was one of those at the magazine who proofread his “Xenogenesis”). With me, he was always polite, professional, and friendly. And I know that’s because of the way we met: I was the editorial assistant as Asimov’s Science Fiction magazine, and he was a writer who always showed great respect for my boss, Managing Editor Sheila Williams, and he was great friends with Isaac Asimov, for whom the magazine was named. So when Sheila introduced us, that set the tone for our relationship.

One encounter I always think of when I think of Harlan took place at I-Con (a science fiction convention at SUNY Stony Brook) soon after I met him. I was sitting with a friend in the loud, crowded Meet The Pros party, when my friend looked up and said, “It just got a lot more crowded: Harlan and his ego just walked in.” Moments later, Harlan walked up to me and said, “Hi, Ian. Are you having a good time?” We chatted for a moment, and then he moved off. I looked back at my friend, and said, “You thought Harlan’s ego filled the room? He just came over to say hello to me. How big do you think my ego is right now?”

I rarely attend panels at science fiction conventions if I’m not one of the panelists, for a variety of reasons. But those early years at I-Con, Harlan would do panels that I simply had to attend. And I never could figure out why they were set up as panels. A typical panel is three to six people, theoretically experts on the topic, who are gathered to discuss a specific topic for the amusement and edification of the audience. But the panels Harlan was on, though designed the same way, inevitably turned into hour-long Harlan monologues, frequently with references to his co-panelists and their shared histories. Harlan was a wonderful story-teller, and his co-panelists would usually sit there, mute, with bemused expressions on their faces, letting him run. He was an incredible showman.

And now he’s gone.

Recently, the Fantastic Books Kickstarter project to fund the anthology Release the Virgins was successfully completed. Now, editor Michael Ventrella has announced the guidelines for the few remaining open slots in the book. If you’re a writer and went to get in on the fun, check out his post at https://michaelaventrella.com/2018/06/25/release-the-virgins-open-for-submissions/.

When there’s a leak in the walls, you call a plumber. When the car breaks, you find a mechanic. But for some reason, when it’s words, everyone thinks “I know how to speak and write. I don’t need to pay a professional.” And then something like this happens, and I reiterate the need for professional editors, professional writers, who actually know the tools of their trade.

Atlantic City Hard Rock Casino Installed a Giant Guitar With a Misspelled Word

Don Sakers reviews Barry N. Malzberg’s The Bend at the End of the Road in the July/August issue of Analog Science Fiction and Fact. He says, in part, “Malzberg pulls no punches and bears no fools: even when you disagree with him, you have to admit that he knows his stuff.” and “If you care about science fiction or just want a peek behind the curtains, this is the book for you.”

I’m not sure how I feel about this: I’ve just stumbled across a Wikipedia page for which only one reference is listed: me (specifically, one of my books). On the one hand, I’m flattered to be a reference. On the other, I feel like if there’s only one reference, it’s not so much a reference as simply the page is copying me and acknowledging it. What do you think?

In an essay as long as those in the book, Russell Letson has reviewed Barry Malzberg’s The Bend at the End of the Road for the June issue of Locus. He says, in part:

“…it is very hard not to argue with Barry Malzberg’s The Bend at the End of the Road—and it was just as hard to stop reading it.

“The Bend at the End of the Road is no more cheerful, though, like the earlier books, it is often strikingly written and shot through with sharp observations of and confrontations with the marginal culture and economic status that has often constrained the field’s (and Malzberg’s) aspirations. It is this merging of the interesting and insightful with the depressive and depressing that makes the collection as exasperating as it is fascinating.

“So what kept me reading these thousand-word lacerations and laments? On the purely literary and historical side, Malzberg has a considerable knowledge of the history of American SF, much of it acquired at first hand from the late 1940s onward, and he has also paid attention to modern literature in general, from the great New York newspaper sports writers to Raymond Carver, Philip Roth, John Cheever, Reynolds Price, and George P. Elliott (his mentor at Syracuse University). Line by line, the writing is dense with allusions from all over the literary-cultural landscape, products of a mind that frantically connects everything to everything. A single page of one essay (“Misunderstanding Entropy”) contains a crescendo of references: nine writers, four composers, four books, two media franchises, plus Donald Trump, Tammany Hall, and ComicCon. Prose like this can be, despite the general atmosphere of futility and disappointing, exhilarating.”

The Release the Virgins Kickstarter project is $608 away from being fully funded, and with 11 days to get there, I’m getting excited about seeing this anthology actually be published! Today, I added a new pledge level, just to sweeten the pot a bit, the “Sweet Releaser” (check it out).

I’m also thrilled that 170 people have pledged to be a part of it. That’s a really good turn-out. So now I’m asking all my friends to help spread the word: just copy and paste the post, or copy the url to your social media account. Something simple. It would be really great to see, and I know everyone involved in the project (the editor, artist, authors, and even me) would really appreciate it. Thanks!

I’ve been putting this off, but Gardner Dozois died Sunday. I heard about it while I was at Balticon: both the best and worst place to be to learn such news. Best because I was surrounded by people who knew who Gardner was, and what he meant. And worst because sf conventions are work for me, and after hearing, I wasn’t much good at selling books.

There have already been many people writing about Gardner, who he was, what he did, his awards and honors, his importance to the field of speculative fiction, and its importance to him. I don’t need to rehash that. Instead, I want to write about the Gardner I knew.

I first met him at my second interview for the editorial assistant position at what was then called Isaac Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine (and Analog Science Fiction and Fact: the two magazines shared me). During that interview, he remarked that he had a story from me on his desk, and wondered what my career goal was. I told him honestly that I wanted either his job or Stan’s (Stanley Schmidt, the editor of Analog, also had one of my stories under consideration). Neither one of them bought those stories; it took me three more years to write something worthy of Analog, and I never was able to sell a story to Gardner.

I remember attending science fiction conventions with my bosses: Gardner and Stan and Sheila Williams and Tina Lee (the managing editors of the two magazines). Stan was very quiet: much more comfortable in small groups, the early-to-bed sort. Gardner, on the other hand, was loud, gregarious, the center of attention in crowds (the larger the better). And something in me said that, in addition to his remarkable editing work, it was this connection with the fans that kept him winning Hugo Awards. I watched Gardner (actually, I remember sitting at his feet in more than one room party, listening with a crowd to his stories), and I thought “if only Stan could be this close to his fans, perhaps he might win the awards, too.” I tried to emulate Gardner on Stan’s behalf, though of course that was impossible, and it wasn’t the reason. But Saturday night at Balticon, I was up late in a room party, sitting on a bed surrounded by people, telling stories of the past, and I flashed back to my early conventions with Gardner, except that now I was in his position, telling the stories. Actually, I had a similar memory/feeling at the World Fantasy Convention in 2010. After a late night telling war stories to younger fans, I ran into Gardner at breakfast, and told him of that feeling of doing what he’d done. He laughed at me and said “you’re getting older.” Then Rusty Hevelin walked up and said, “Don’t worry about it, kid. I’m still telling stories of the 1950s.”

Early in 1992, Isaac Asimov came into the office, as he had done every Tuesday for probably ever. I looked forward to his visits, but we hadn’t seen him in several weeks. This particular Tuesday, the receptionist called to tell me Isaac was in the lobby, and I ought to come to him (he usually just came back to the office). He was weak, had snuck out of his apartment over his wife’s objection. Gardner came out front as well, looked at Isaac, and told me to take him home. So I was the last of us to see Isaac alive: he died a few weeks later.

After six years working at the magazines, I left to start my own magazine. I still saw Gardner at conventions, and made sure he got copies of my magazine to consider for his Year’s Best anthologies, but we weren’t really in close contact.

Then, last year, when Susan died, Gardner posted a note wondering what he had left to live for. Darrell Schweitzer and I convinced him that a collection of Susan’s fiction would be a fitting tribute, and that he ought to put it together. We published it last July, and Gardner made the trek to Readercon in Massachusetts to be present at the book’s debut. He spent a lot of the weekend sitting at my Fantastic Books table in the dealers’ room, talking about and signing the book for customers. In between, we got to spend time together, chatting and reminiscing, and I really enjoyed re-connecting with him, this time almost as equals (well, not of equal stature, but now I was publishing a book he had produced). A few months later, Gardner came to Philcon for Saturday, and again spent several hours with me at the table.

After the collection was published, Gardner found the manuscript to Susan’s unpublished novel, The Red Carnival, and asked if I’d be interested in publishing it. Sight unseen, I said of course. For him, and for Susan, I would have published it even if the book wasn’t worth publishing, but it totally is (I still don’t know why Susan didn’t put in the effort to get it into print). Gardner worked with Christopher, his son, to get me an electronic copy of the manuscript, and as I was editing it, I discovered there was a missing page. It was a fairly important page, since it contained the end of one scene, a scene break, and the beginning of the next, but that original page was lost. Eventually, I was able to convince Gardner that he had to write the missing page, so in some small degree, The Red Carnival is a collaboration between Gardner and Susan. I’m pleased that Gardner got to see finished copies of the book in circulation, since we were able to publish it in March (on the first anniversary of Susan’s death).

But now Gardner’s gone, and I miss him.

Publishers Weekly reviewed Barry N. Malzberg’s The Bend at the End of the Road. They said “The impressions and insights that abound in these columns make this book indispensable for any fan of science fiction.” See the full review at https://www.publishersweekly.com/9781515410386

The second issue of exceedingly irregular Fantastic Books newsletter is now available at http://www.fantasticbooks.biz/fantasticbooks/press/newsletter002.html . Feel free to share it far and wide!