Approaching Oblivion: Road Signs on the Treadmill Toward Tomorrow
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Having read lots of Harlan Ellison's collections, I can honestly say that this one is not one of his best. You won't find any Hugo-award winners in here, folks. Of course, I've read LOTS of Harlan stories that DIDN'T win awards and were absolutely WONDERFUL. There is one such story in this collection that comes to mind--Erotophobia. Remember the opening scene of Austin Powers? Where he's being chased by all these women. That's the basic idea for that story. Absolutely hilarious. As for the rest of the stories in this book, I didn't find any that were Harlan at his worst. Even the story Catman, the longest and least enjoyable of the bunch had a little something to it. I wouldn't recommend that first time Harlan-readers start here, though. But for those of us that have read our Harlan, this is definitely worth getting.
either by yourself or I'll drag you by your wings, you know for a butterfly you're not even a nice looking butterfly? You're an ugly, is what you are. And as for being a Jew, only that by birth, such a disgrace to the entire blue Jews on Zsouchmuhn. As you can see, I'm getting angry. You've gotten me raped, crapped on, burned, maimed, crippled, blinded, insulted, run around, exposed to heathens, robbed, sunburned, covered with bug shmootz, altogether miserable and unhappy, and I'll tell you,
collection to contain stories available in my other collections. Approaching Oblivion was originally intended to gather together stories from out-of-print collections like A Touch of Infinity, Ellison Wonderland and Gentleman Junkie, with one or two stories available only in anthologies done by other editors. The contracts were signed in November of 1970 and the book-which should have been no trouble to assemble-was supposed to be in Helen D' Alessandro's hands no later than six months
boys that Breve's using some new steroid vexing agent and a stim-sensitive synthetic that lets him vibrate it like mad. Must be terrific for you...when he's not with twinkles." Joice pressed a fingertip against the room-call plate set into the surface of the starburst-shaped table. Near the reception area Max heard the tone on his console, noted it was Neil Leipzig's table, punched up an empty, and made a mental note to let Lady Effim know the thief was in a room, when she and her party arrived.
stay put. The rest of the colony had no part in the melee, and were, in fact, watching with some pleasure-if pleasure could be discerned on faces that were partially metal masks. A tall, limping, old woman with copper legs came across from the crowd. She hobbled to Neil as the Catman commanded, "Heel!" and the cheetahs left their chewed and semi-conscious prey. The Catman joined the copper-legged old woman. The falcon looked sleepy. It was an illusion. "Will you can stay be here with
throes. And how will I do that? By writing my stories. That's how I get my fix. You can OD on religion or dope or war or toadburgers, for all I care. I'm over here, watching you, and giggling, and saying, "This is what tomorrow looks like, dummy." And if you hear me sobbing once in a while, it's only because you've killed me, too, you fuckers. I'm stuck on this spinning place with you, and I don't want to go, and you've killed me, and I resent it, and the best I can do is tell my little