
Bimbos of the Death Sun, 1988, Sharyn McCrumb
The thing I find most chilling about this murder mystery set at a science-fiction convention is that, yep, the fandom traits and personalities it describes are still with us. In force.
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Actually, considering McCrumb is a serious murder mystery author, it’s a good read. I didn’t care much for the sequel, however.
Hole crap! I have this book! It is where I discovered the word “filk.”
*shudder*
//\Oo/\\
Without a doubt the best novel ever published by TSR.
All I can wonder is how the helmet got on without crushing the hair.
No, see, the helmet went on when the hair was flat. Then, using the two connection points on the top, a small electric charge was introduced to the special lining of the helmet, causing the hair to rise out towards the surface. That’s why the ‘do appears so perfectly spherical: each and every hair has been drawn out to the inner surface of the helmet!
Oh, what wonderful sciences humanity shall pioneer in the future…
:-)
During an inexplicable “Old-Time Radio” phase, I listened to a bunch of episodes of the sci-fi series “X Minus One.” One of them was a clear shot at sci-fi fans, mocking their behaviors, pretensions, entitlements, and delusions. It was pitch-perfect, even today. And it was broadcast in the late fifties.
Nerditry, it seems, is a hardy, long-lived thing.
Harvey, Fredric Brown (primarily a mystery novelist) wrote a whole novel lampooning fannish obsessions and pulp clichés in 1949: What Mad Universe.
I’m sure you can pick out any sort of large group of people devoted to a fringe thing and the same thing will be as true today as it was yesterday. They’re everywhere. The thing is to not let the existence of those people make you feel ashamed to be yourself, which sadly, too many people I know do.