The Enchanter Reborn

Начало книги

I grew up reading a bit of everything, as most of us do—a few biographies, a few mysteries, the occasional Western, some historical novels, the usual run of juvenile books, and, now and then, a science fiction book. SF was only part of my literary diet then. You see, I would finish my current book, but I wouldn't be able to get to the library until Monday night, and there were science fiction books and magazines here and there around the house. My father had been a steady reader of SF since before Hugo Gernsback—the only reason he didn't qualify for First Fandom was because they hadn't invented fandom yet. Mind you, he never read SF exclusively—he insisted on taking time out to read James Joyce, or James Michener, or Henry James, or ...

No, now, wait a minute. It is not true that Dad only read books by people whose names were "James." In fact, he and Mom had both been English teachers officially, and remained so unofficially all their lives—still are, in fact; he can't help himself, has to read my manuscripts with a red pencil—so there were great works of literature in the bookcase downstairs, in the bookcase upstairs, on the end table ... I think my mother began her weekly trips to the library just to cut down on the clutter. Anyway, a bored boy could always find a book to read, but there was just as good a chance of finding a Heinlein as a Costain. So I read my merry way through childhood and adolescence. For a while there, I celebrated Christmas every year by rereading Jules Verne's Journey to the Center of the Earth. But I was scarcely an avid science fiction fan.

Читать дальше →