I just read Edgar Pangborn's Davy, which I've had built up for me as a stylistic masterpiece. It didn't even start to live up to my expectations. It was a mildly interesting read about a teenaged boy being awesome and having improbable amounts of sex in the far future hundreds of years after The Apockyclipse, or something. I liked the made-up slang
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I haven't re-read it since the mid-70s. Maybe it's time. Or not.
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I really wish I could recall the author and title of a short story I read as a kid, where the framework is that the narrator is recounting an adventure years before where he was sent to investigate a mysterious spate of mutations in an East African wildlife sanctuary, which turned out to be the result of radiation leaking from a mad scientist's experiment, and well, afterwards he realized he'd been exposed too, and that's why you're adopted, son.
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The original pub. date? 1939.
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I bet there's something sociological that could be said about when and why the zeitgeist produces heated SF settings and when and why it produces chilled ones. Ice planets and steamy planets. Hmmm. Maybe we need a humidity factor in there, because there's steamy, but then there's also desert.
The basic male costume is a shirt and a "loin-rag" and that's it.
Why a shirt, I wonder. I mean, why go to all that trouble to cover a not-very-vulnerable, not gonad-related part of your body? If your nether regions have just a loin rag, then I say, dispense with that troublesome shirt!
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--definitely. I can't see any permutation in which you'd want very-covered uppers and skimpy loincloth lowers.
I do like the idea of carrying a French horn everywhere.
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