ebooks     ebooks
ebooks ebooks ebooks
ebooks
new titles Top Stories Home support
ebooks
 
Advanced Search
ebooks ebooks
Fiction
 Alternate History
 Children
 Classic Literature
 Dark Fantasy
 Erotica
 Fantasy
 Historical Fiction
 Horror
 Humor
 Mainstream
 Mystery/Crime
 Romance
 Science Fiction
 Suspense/Thriller
 Young Adult
ebooks
Nonfiction
 Business
 Children
 Education
 Family/Relationships
 General
 Health/Fitness
 History
 People
 Personal Finance
 Politics/Government
 Reference
 Self Improvement
 Spiritual/Religion
 Sports/Entertainm't
 Technology/Science
 Travel
 True Crime
ebooks
Formats
 MultiFormat
 Secure eReaderebooks
Browse
 Authors
 Award-Winners
 Bestsellers
 eMagazines
 New eBooks 
 Publishers
 Recommendations
 Series List
 Short Stories
ebooks
Miscellany
 About Us
 Author Info
 Help/FAQs
 Publisher Info
  ebooks

HACKER SAFE certified sites prevent over 99% of hacker crime.

Click on image to enlarge.

Ellison Wonderland [MultiFormat]
eBook by Harlan Ellison

eBook Category: Fantasy
eBook Description: Originally published in 1962 and re-issued in 1974 and in 1983, Ellison Wonderland contains sixteen stories with copyrights ranging from 1956 to 1961. This edition contains an Introduction written for the 1974 edition and updated for the 1983 edition. This collection was among Ellison's first and it shows a writer with a wide-ranging imagination, ferocious creative energy, devastating wit and an eye for the wonderful and terrifying and tragic. Among the gems are "All The Sounds of Fear", "The Sky is Burning", "The Very Last Day of a Good Woman" and "In Lonely Lands". Though they stand tall on their own merits they also point the way to the sublime stories that followed soon after and continue to come even now, more than forty years later.

eBook Publisher: E-Reads/E-Reads, Published: 1962
Fictionwise Release Date: June 2008


3 Reader Ratings:
Great Good OK Poor


INTRODUCTION

THE MAN ON THE MUSHROOM

The arrival in Hollywood was something less than auspicious. It was February, 1962, and I had broken free of the human monster for whom I'd been editing in Chicago. It was one of the worst times in my life. The one time I'd ever felt the need to go to a psychiatrist, that time in Chicago. I had remarried in haste after the four-year anguish of Charlotte and the Army and the hand-to-mouth days in Greenwich Village; now I was living to repent in agonizing leisure.

I had been crazed for two years and hadn't realized it. Now I was responsible for one of the nicest women in the world, and her son, a winner by any standards, and I found I had messed their lives by entwining them with mine. There was need for me to run, but I could not. Nice Jewish boys from Ohio don't cut and abandon. So I began doing berserk things. I committed personal acts of a demeaning and reprehensible nature, involved myself in liaisons that were doomed and purposeless, went steadily more insane as the days wound tighter than a mainspring.

Part of it was money. Not really, but I thought it was the major part of the solution to the situation. And I'd banked on selling a book of stories to the very man for whom I was working. He took considerable pleasure in waiting till we were at a business lunch, with several other people, to announce he was not buying the book. (The depth of his sadism is obvious when one learns he subsequently did buy and publish the book.)

But at that moment, it was as though someone had split the earth under me and left me hanging by the ragged edge, by my fingertips. I went back to the tiny, empty office he had set up in a downtown Evanston office building, and I sat at my desk staring at the wall. There was a clock on the wall in front of me. When I sat down after that terrible lunch, it was 1:00...

When I looked at the clock a moment later, it was 3:15...?

The next time I looked, a moment later, it was 4:45...?

Then 5:45...?

Then 6:15...?

7:00 ... 8:30...?

Somehow, I don't know how, even today, I laid my head on the desk, and when I opened my eyes again I had taken the phone off the hook. It was lying beside my mouth. A long time later, and again I don't remember doing it, I dialed a friend, Frank M. Robinson, a dear writer friend of many years.

I heard Frank's voice saying, "Hello ... hello ... is someone there...?"

"Frank ... help me..."

And when my head was lifted off the desk, it was an hour later, the phone was whistling with a disconnect tone, and Frank had made it all the way across from Chicago to Evanston to find me. He held me like a child, and I cried.

Soon after, I left Evanston and Chicago and the human monster, and with my wife and her son began the long trek to the West Coast. We had agreed to divorce, but she had said to me, with a very special wisdom that I never perceived till much later, when I was whole again, "As long as you're going to leave me, at least take me to where it's warm."

But we had no money. So we had to go to Los Angeles by way of New York from Chicago. If I could sell a book, I would have the means to go West, young man, go West. (And that was the core of the problem, not money: I was a young man. I was twenty-eight, but I had never become an adult.)

In a broken-down 1957 Ford we limped across to New York during the worst snowstorms in thirty years. My wife and her son stayed with a friend I'd known in the Village, and I slept on the sofa at the home of Leo & Diane Dillon, the two finest artists I know. Leo & Diane slept on the floor. They are more than merely friends.

It was December of 1961, and amid the tensions and horrors of that eight-week stay in New York, two things happened that brought momentary light, and helped me keep hold:

The first was a review by Dorothy Parker in Esquire of a small-printing paperback collection of my stories. How she had obtained it I do not know. (When I met her, later, in Hollywood, she was unable to remember where the book had come from.) But she raved about it, and said I had talent, and it was the first really substantial affirmative notice from a major critic. It altered the course of my writing career, and provided my ego--which had been nourishing itself cannibalistically on itself--with reason for feeling I could write.


Icon explanations:
Discounted eBook; added within the last 7 days.
eBook was added within the last 30 days.
eBook is in our best seller list.
eBook is in our highest rated list.

All pages of this site are Copyright © 2000- Fictionwise LLC.
Fictionwise (TM) is the trademark of Fictionwise LLC.
A Barnes & Noble Company

Bookshelf | For Authors | Privacy | Support | Terms of Use

eBook Resources at Barnes & Noble
eReader · eBooks · Free eBooks · Cheap eBooks · Romance eBooks · Fiction eBooks · Fantasy eBooks · Top eBooks · eTextbooks