Life Is A Freak. That’s Its Hope

That's Me," He Said, Motioning To The Robot. "that's All Of Us. We Prattle About Free Will, But We're Nothing But Response...mechanical Reaction In Prescribed Grooves.

Life Is A Freak. That’s Its Hope And Glory.

The Appeal Of Science Fiction Has Always Been Its Iconoclasm . . . But In Order To Be An Iconoclast, An Author Must Be More Than Merely Aware Of The Idol He Wishes To Destroy. He Must Be Intimate With It And Understand It In All Its Aspects. This Means That He Must Have Devoted Serious Thought To It, And Have Beliefs Of His Own Which Will Stand Up In The Place Of The Broken Idol. In Other Words, Any Child Can Complain, But It Takes An Adult To Clash With Accepted Beliefs . . . An Adult With Ideas.

It's Been Suggested That Most Women Fail To Write Significantly Because The Female Mind Is Viscerotonic, And Occupied Almost Exclusively With The Moment-to-moment Reality Of Emotions. If This Is True, Literature's Loss Is Science Fiction's Gain, For Out Of Bounds, Judith Merril's Collection Of Short Stories, Is A Warm And Colorful Rendering Of The Minutiae Of The Future.

It's Obvious We Can't All Be A Gully Foyle, But Most Of Us Energize At Such A Low Level, So Far Short Of Our Real Capabilities, We Could All Be More, Do More.