by Eric Frank Russell
I’ve been compelled to take a break from the dark comedy of Chekhov inticed away by the ingenious irony of Russell. We borrowed this book via inter-library loan because the forward was called “The Symbiote of Hooton, Alan Dean Foster.” I still don’t know why. But the si-fi is delightful and the irony satisfying.
I just read “Metamorphosite” and found the ending a feast for my longing soul. It echoed my feelings as I wrote the end to Anaximander’s Goggles Ah the Boundless! Ah eternity!
