The Man Who Lost the Sea: Volume X: The Complete Stories of Theodore Sturgeon
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
By the winner of the Hugo, the Nebula, and the World Fantasy Life Achievement Awards, this latest volume finds Theodore Sturgeon in fine form as he gains recognition for the first time as a literary short story writer. Written between 1957 and 1960, when Sturgeon and his family lived in both America and Grenada, finally settling in Woodstock, New York, these stories reflect his increasing preference for psychology over ray guns. Stories such as "The Man Who Told Lies," "A Touch of Strange," and "It Opens the Sky" show influences as diverse as William Faulkner and John Dos Passos. Always in touch with the zeitgeist, Sturgeon takes on the Russian Sputnik launches of 1957 with "The Man Who Lost the Sea," switching the scene to Mars and injecting his trademark mordancy and vivid wordplay into the proceedings. These mature stories also don't stint on the scares, as "The Graveyard Reader"—one of Boris Karloff's favorite stories—shows. Acclaimed novelist Jonathan Lethem's foreword neatly summarizes Sturgeon's considerable achievement here.
hyperspace on the way there by the outer-limit warning field, and had heeded the warning, then he hadn’t landed on Revelo, hadn’t broken an Angel dictate, and wasn’t in trouble. Deeming said so. Slowly Rockhard shook his head. “He’s on Revelo right now, and alive. Far as I know,” he added. “Not possible,” said Deeming flatly. “You just don’t penetrate the field around a Proscribed planet and live.” “Very well,” said the old man, “nevertheless he’s there. Look, I’ll tell you something that only
footprints into aching relief. That would be the buddy, the sick man knows, gone for help. He cannot at the moment recall who the buddy is, but in time he will, and meanwhile the footprints make him less alone. The sun’s upper rim thrusts itself above the horizon with a flash of green, instantly gone. There is no dawn, just the green flash and then a clear white blast of unequivocal sunup. The sea could not be whiter, more still, if it were frozen and snow-blanketed. In the west, stars still
a change of expression. And sometimes they would look out across the valley and see figures moving; if the figures happened to be Conlin and Henry Little Hawk, things seemed to get said that could come out at no other time; but if the bookkeeper and his little shadow were out of sight, it was sensible to assume that one or the other was within hearing. It was at one of these times, while Scott was peering down the valley to be sure the group of men he saw breaking a horse included Conlin and the
make y’all go pitty-pat!” Romeo drawled. “Just a mention of her, and he gets all warm.” Paul Cahill was out of his seat and down the aisle before the coach knew he was gone. He stalked up to Charley Romeo, sitting on the arm of his seat in the center of the bus, and looked him in the eye. “Who’s this ‘her’ you’re talking about?” Paul Cahill demanded. “Your wife I’m talking about. Jenny, I’m talking about. Why?” Paul Cahill started his swing with the first spoken syllable of his wife’s name.
size and massiveness that bespoke a history of angle-bracketship aboard a hay wagon. On the white wood a whiter line appeared, and a blizzard of fragrant dust appeared over Noat’s heavy wrists. He carried the tool along the rest, and the whiter-upon-white became a band, a sheet. When he had taken it from end to end, he stopped the machine. The wood was still square, but with all its corners rounded. Smith tore his fascinated eyes away from it and asked, wondering if Noat would still know what he