EDWARD GAUVIN

is when an author, editor, or rightsperson, getting a shrewd look in his or her eye, asks almost rhetorically, “So… you like the fantastic?”

At this point it’s clear they’re about to thrust some book on me, and when inevitably they do, it’s always with the reassurance, “There’s something of the fantastic in this,” but whom, really, are they reassuring? For of course, I am usually being sold a bill of goods. Not to patrol the borders of my chosen field—I’m all for cross-fertilization—perhaps it’s only that I hate, have always hated, having reading foisted on me. Or having my preferences falsely appealed to. I’d rather be told, “Read this because it’s good,” than be lied to about any potential fantastic content.