Title: Alien Horizons
Author: William F. Nolan
Cover artist: Vincent DiFate
Yours for: $8
Best things about this cover:
- "Yo ... little help?"
- I'd like to humbly request a reverse-angle version of this painting, thank you.
- "This book will ram your brain like a runaway shopping cart"—Ray Bradbury
Best things about this back cover:
- "Where's the 'z' key on this thing? ... oh, well, I'll just use '2' ... looks fine."
- Rod Serling liked to SCREAM his blurbs.
- There are a suspicious number of ellipses in these blurbs ...
Page 123~
Fred Baxter stared at the cat, who stared back at him from the damp yard, its head raised, the yellow of the night moon now brimming in the creature's eyes. The cat's mouth opened.
"It's sucking up the moonlight," Fred whispered.
Fred's wife nodded slowly and turned toward the bed, despair filling her heart as she realized Fred would fail his veterinary board exam yet again.
~RP
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7 comments:
What's the purple tree equivalent of merpeople?
You know what sucks? Having a hot naked broad just 10 feet away, begging for it, and you're a treeperson with no legs, just a stump firmly affixed to the ground, and you can't move that 10 feet.
Nolan has stature in the literature of science fiction. The stature of the village idiot, laying in his own waste for days on end, staring in awe of those who at the very least can crap other in their own pants. Those who can communicate with one another, find food on their own, can figure out that bedrooms and bathrooms are different places are Gods. These people form a genre of beings which he can't comprehend, but holds in awe, and his work (drawing pictures in his own feces) shows a genuine love for this genre.
Theodore Sturgeon
The dude is trying to flag down an Ent. "Hey, yo, Treebeard! Can you give me a hand with my excessive treeishness here? Maybe help me unroot a little so... you know." [wink wink]
A permanent dent in your memory? I guess there's no way you'll remember anything about this book after you finish reading it.
Parentheses Abuse Alert: The last blurb should be credited to "The (London) Sunday Times." While London has a Times and a Sunday Times (which are, or were in the '70s, two separate papers), there's no such beast as The London Times.
Vincent Difate was to the 70s what Richard Powers was to the 50and early 60s. Only less so.
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