Publication Year: 1995
Winner of both the Hugo and Nebula awards, and Guest of Honor at the 1995 World Science Fiction Convention in Glasgow, Delany was won a broad audience among fans of postmodern fiction with his theoretically sophisticated science fiction and fantasy. The stories of Atlantis: three tales are not SF, yet Locus, the trade publication of the science fiction field, notes that the title story "has an odd, unsettling power not usually associated with mainstream fiction."
A writer whose audience extends across and beyond science fiction, black, gay, postmodern, and academic constituencies, Delany is finally beginning to achieve the broader recognition he deserves.
Published by: Wesleyan University Press
Atlantis: Model 1924
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I. Skyscrapers —that's what he was most eager to see. But before entering the city the train dropped between earthen walls tangled with winter trees, the dirt sometimes becoming out the window, for hundreds of feet, concrete. ...
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On the top (third) floor, Hubert's was around the corner from Mount Morris Park.
"I got to wash up." Sam put the suitcase on the rug's foot-faded red, looking around the first of the two small rooms. ...
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The intricate interpenetration of the senses, woven into that protohistoric textile—the tapestry of day—sleep and forgetfulness unravel, as effectively as any Penelope, largely before the next day's panel is begun. (Forget a city in which you've once lived, and it might as well have fallen into the sea.) But it would be as naive to think that all forgettings are...
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Sam turned on the bench, to see, standing behind him, the man he'd bumped when he'd been staring through the planks.
"Yes," Sam said. "That's right. I am." ...
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Sam got to Elsie and Corey's after five.
Elsie's school books—she was studying for her Master's in Education—had been moved to the windowsill. The table had been carried from the kitchen into the living room and the wings attached. ...
Eric, Gwen, and D.H. Lawrence's Esthetic of Unrectified Feeling
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I remember standing beside my father's knee, while, in his blue-black suit, he sat at the mahogany kitchen table and taught me to sing, "Mairzy doats and dozy doats an little lambsy divey. A kidledy divey too — wouldn't you?" It came out, when you actually sang it, "Mares eat oats and does eat oats and little lambs eat ivy..." ...
Citre et Trans
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"All Greek men are barbarians!" Heidi jerked the leash.
Pharaoh's claws dragged the concrete.
I laughed, and Pharaoh looked around and up, eyes like little phonograph records. ...
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"I may be bringing someone home with me," [Turkish] John said. "A man, I mean." John had a long nose. "You won't mind, will you? We'll use the bed in the kitchen; I promise we won't bother you. But..." John's blond hair was half gray; his skin was faintly wrinkled and very...
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At five-thirty, since neither of us was asleep, John got up to make coffee.The sun came sideways through the shutters. Birds chirped. John kept touching a bruise on his cheek with three fingers pressed together. "Now they were not nice boys at all!" In his light blue robe with the navy piping, he shook out yellow papers of grounds, of sugar, into the...
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I got my ticket for London that morning. When the man behind the brass bars said I'd be taking the Orient Express, it was kind of exciting. There'd be no problem, he explained, my stopping off in Munich. ...
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A good number of people were on the platform when I got there. I had my guitar case — and a shopping bag. At the bottom of the bag was Heidi's Vian. Then my underwear and my balled-up suit. On the top were my novels. Two had actually been published while I was here —though I'd written them before. My wife had sent me a single copy of...
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In London one night beside a neon-striped eating place, I'd stood outside plate glass, a triangle of blue sliding down at my eye, listening to a record on the jukebox inside, by a group that sang, in the most astonishing antiphony, about "Monday, Monday..."—as rich with pop possibilities as new music could be. ...
Page Count: 224
Publication Year: 1995