In a culture where "speculative fiction" has become a pervasive force - Ellison never liked being called a science-fiction writer, and never fit within the genre's dominant conventions - his fingerprints are everywhere. Such oft-reprinted Ellison stories and novellas as "'Repent, Harlequin!' Said the Ticktockman," "I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream" and "A Boy and His Dog" have been prodigiously influential, but Ellison may be less well known today than many of the writers he inspired, from Neil Gaiman and Bruce Sterling to Stephen King and Dan Simmons (to name a few).Īlong with the frequently nightmarish, anti-utopian visions of his short stories, Ellison wrote extensively for television in the 1960s, including episodes of "The Outer Limits" ( "Demon With a Glass Hand") and the original "Star Trek" ( "The City on the Edge of Forever") that remain acknowledged classics of the medium. Seuss (among others), and that trifecta just about describes his universe. At the end of "Dreams With Sharp Teeth," Ellison extends his gratitude to Edgar Allan Poe, Franz Kafka and Dr. If you already know his work and reputation, I don't need to explain its importance to you if you don't, I probably can't explain it to you. Ellison went on signing her books, lifting his eyes from the page only to declare in a level voice, "I don't want to read your fucking story."Įllison occupies a peculiar place in modern literary history, and he's nearly as well known for his explosive temper and his confrontations with editors, TV and movie producers, fellow writers and fans as for his many collections of genre-defying short fiction. Along with the other people in line, I cringed and cowered, expecting a nuclear outburst. "You're an elf!"Īs Erik Nelson, director of "Dreams With Sharp Teeth," a film about Ellison that just premiered at the South by Southwest Film Festival, observed when I told him the story, that woman was enough of an Ellison fan to want to include him in her literary universe - but not enough of one to understand just how little he would be interested. Ellison, I wrote a story and you're in it," she said. When she got to the front of the line, she cleared her throat and thrust something toward Ellison. The college-age woman in front of me had just such a pile, but was carrying something else too. I had a couple of well-thumbed paperback collections for Ellison to sign, and was totally unprepared for the long line of fans, many of them bearing 10 or 15 pristinely preserved hardcover books. When I was about 18, I went to a science-fiction bookstore in Berkeley, Calif., to attend a book signing by Harlan Ellison.
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