I’m reading the Edgeworks edition of The Harlan Ellison Hornbook.
It probably has more front matter (introductions, dedications, author’s notes, copyright declarations, etc.) than any book I’ve ever seen. That’s if we don’t consider Tristram Shandy to be an entire novel of front matter or indeed The Book of Prefaces to be, well, a book of prefaces.
Anyway, after a page of gorgeous five-inch-long, hoary old URLs to Ellison-related websites, there’s this:
Was he right? My gut says “yes” but my head cranks out a ticker tape of hyper-rational excuses and exceptions.
I’m enjoying the book, by the way; it was in the batch I borrowed from Unclef. I’m forming an opinion that Ellison was more “alive” than anyone currently living can claim to be alive, “all this electronic crap” likely being part of the reason for this clear and sudden loss of gross global consciousness.