Dydeetown World. I bought the paperback edition of F. Paul Wilson’s SF mystery book back in 1989 or 1990. Although I’ve read my paperback copy at least two or three times, aside from some yellowing on the inside cover, my copy remains in pristine condition, because I care about my books.
I learned some years ago that there was an Easton Press hardcover edition of this book. Only in September, 2026 did I acquire a copy, for the reason price of $20, in a buy-at-this-price instance on eBay. This book is shorter in stature than I expected, but without any significant flaws. It’s signed by Wilson. How many copies were published, I initially had no idea (According to an online search, 2,000 copies were printed – although that qualifies as a limited edition, that’s a lot of signatures for Dr. Wilson!). Does the signature matter to me? Not really. Still, it’s nice to have a more solid and permanent copy of this book.
Published in 1989 (same year as the paperback — the BAEN edition states it was published in July, 1989), the book is illustrated by Toni L. Taylor, and includes and introduction from James Gunn. My copy is in near pristine condition, although the first and last pages show some slight bending. I found only three illustrations in this book. Gunn’s introduction did nothing to illuminate or distinguish this book from the paperback edition.
Still, for any die-hard FPW fan, owning a hardcover edition of this book is a must-have. One could always wish for something more, but for a book not really reprinted in decades, this is a treasure indeed.
Back in December, 2024 I bought the trade paperback editions of F. Paul Wilson’s last two books: The Upwelling and Lexie. In the following year Gauntlet Press issued these two books as hardcover limited editions, numbered and signed by FPW. The books were limited to 500 copies; one bore an introduction (first book) and the other an afterword (second book), by author and fan/friend Brian Keene.
By chance, I was able to pick up both copies of the Gauntlet Press books recently while in Boston, at Brattle Books, for far less than the cover price. I skipped another limited FPW book at that location, but there was no chance of me not buying those two books. Brattle Books is perhaps the best bookstore in Boston, and I wish I had more time to spend there, but I’m sure I’ll be back.
I’ve been a fan of Wilson since the mid 1980s, when I acquired a battered paperback copy of An Enemy of the State, as part of payment for the exterior painting of a three-story building while an innocent and ignorant teenager. Now, I own almost all of his books, save a few collaborations. F. Paul Wilson remains, and always will be, an author dear to my heart. Next to Jack Vance there is no other author of whom I own more books than FWP. Sadly , there will be no more after these two, at least in terms of new books. I now only look for a pair or hard-to-find collections, plus those collaborations, if I want to go there,
Bookended with an introduction and afterword from author (and fan and friend of FPW), Brian Keene, these two books join 28 other Gauntlet Press FPW books in my library. There’s now only a single pair of volumes of his limited short story collections that I lack, aside from a handful of collaborations with other authors. More than 70 of his books line my shelves (89 if I count duplicates), which makes him the second most collected author in my library, after the one and only Jack Vance. I only met FPW once, and I wish I spent more time talking about fiction with him. So many regrets, but that’s life.
It’s sad to know there will be no more FPW stories. He’s such a great spinner of tales. I recall all too many times spent reading his books beyond midnight trying to finish one of his stories, my wife wondering when I would call it a night. All my other Gauntlet Books have varying numbers, but these two are identical in terms of numbers. Both books are numbered as #65 of 500 signed and numbered copies. Does this matter? Probably not.
The covers of the Gauntlet editions are superb, and although I have read both books, I know I will read them again. Part of me weeps as I known that slice of life has ended. There’s so much there that could be explored.
Brian Keene, an author I’ve unfortunately never read, writes some powerful words about his association with Wilson, and life in general. At times I wonder why I try to collect some books, as one day, I too, will be dust. Still, I believe my children will take care of at least some of the books that I bequeath them, and those books will live on for at least one generation. Whether they will read FPW the way as I i’ve read his fiction, I don’t know. Then again, does anyone?
I’ve arrived relatively late to the party when it comes to the series of tiny hardcover books from Borderlands Press (BP). And so, I’ve missed out on a quintet of hard-to-find entries in this series. They’re now up to 69 (I think) books, ranging from modern writers to classic writers. The current series focuses on early twentieth century writers (yet, where is Clark Ashton Smith, I wonder?), and they just announced the next book, featuring W. W. Jacobs (!?).
Also, Borderlands Press recently announced plans to feature present writers of horror/dark fantasy at the same time as they reduced the number of copies from 500 to 350 for each book. Their past master series has featured some well-known and some relatively unknown writers, and this trend continues.
A Little White Book of the Wild, by Jack London (2026). Edited by John DeChancie, signed and numbered, my copy is #54 of 350 copies. Five stories are collected here, including perhaps London’s most famous short story, “To Build a Fire.” London is well-known for his novels set in Alaska – White Fang and The Call of the Wild. His dystopian novel, The Iron Heel, has largely been forgotten. DeChancie writes a crisp introduction, covering London’s life and politics, with a powerful final paragraph that cries out for more research and illumination. Regardless, London’s fiction is memorable and important. He was a force in American literature in the early twentieth century, and well-worth reading to this day.
A Little Scarlet Book of the Surreal, by Franz Kafka (2026). Edited by Ben Keefe, signed and numbered, my copy is #65 of 350 copies. I was traveling when this book was released. It sold out quickly, and so I had to wait until it was listed by a dealer, in this case someone who had several copies for sale at a price just slightly above the original publisher’s price. Kafka is best-know for his cockroach story, “The Metamorphosis” (1915) as well as the novels The Trial (1924) and The Castle (1926). The term Kafkaesque is well-known, and I used it myself a few years ago in an essay or book review when I edited Prometheus, the Journal of the Libertarian Futurist Society. Kafka was a tortured person, and thankfully his works were not destroyed after his early death, as he wished. This collection gathers eight stories, including the memorable story he wrote shortly before his death, “The Hunger Artist.”
A Little Tan Book of Terror, by Oliver Onions (2026). Edited by Thomas F. Monteleone, signed and numbered, my copy of #33 of 350 copies. The cover’s ghost illustration is a near-duplicate of Rick Hatula’s book, A Little White Book of Ghost Stories, published in 2015, though the image is shrunk down from that book’s full-size image down to a modestly sized one that fits between the title and author. Only six of Onion’s stories appear here, and just one of his most famous one tales. Onions died in 1961, now largely forgotten. If recall, he’s mostly remembered for a handful of quiet ghost stories, such as “The Beckoning Fair One,” a tale of slow madness. Is “terror” the right word here? I’m not sure. “The Beckoning Fair One,” as an example doesn’t convey terror to me, but then I’ve read far darker horror than readers who first encountered Onion’s stories nearly a century ago.
As Borderlands Press wraps up it’s series on classic writers, it will be interesting to see who they feature from modern writers of horror. This would harken back to the days when they first started this series of Little Books, which featured writers such as Joe R. Lansdale, Peter Straub, F. Paul Wilson, and others. That was more than twenty years ago, and by then those writers were already famous. It’s a shame, though, that BP dropped the number of copies down from 500 to 350. For collectors and aficionados of horror and dark fantasy, one has to act quickly to get these books before they sell out. Maybe that’s the goal. Maybe there are other reasons. Anyway, as they say, “stay tuned.”
Many years ago the 2026 Prometheus Award ceremony took place in a tiny room at the Science Fiction Worldcon, or other SF conventions. In the modern age, online is place, which opens the award ceremony to presenters from all over the world, including the descendants of Aldous Huxley.
For a recap, see this blog entry, and for a history of this long-standing science fiction award, whose prize is an actual gold coin, see here. Consider joining the LFS to support this award.
The Libertarian Futurist Society just announced the winners of the 2026 Prometheus Award and the Hall of Fame Award. Founded way back in 1979, the Prometheus Award is meant to “honor libertarian science fiction.” This doesn’t meant libertarian authors, but fiction that embodies the spirit of liberty.
J. Kenton Pierce won the Best Novel for A Kiss for Damocles, and Aldous Huxley was entered into the Hall of Fame for Brave New World. The latter is way overdue, as it’s a powerful and important work of fiction. I have to confess, though, that at this time I have not read the former.
This is the 46th annual Prometheus Award, one of the longest running awards in science fiction. You can see the list of past winners here. The LFS has been involved in SF for nearly 50 years. It was founded in the early 1980s to keep the flame of the Prometheus Award burning, after this award first was created in 1979. There are so many great novels that have been nominated. Check out the LFS pages, if you care about liberty and read any works of science fiction.
When I was in high school in Norway, we had to write a long essay on some literary topic for our Norwegian class. My teacher suggested I write a paper on Gunnar Staalesen, who was a relatively new writer from Bergen (at that time only six of his books had appeared in print). I’d not heard of Staalesen then, and chose an entirely different topic. A decade later, I finally read my first Staalesen novel, and from that point made it a personal quest to read as many of his books as I could find. As I look back, I think it was the right choice, as I’ve enjoyed his books a lot more as a reader, rather than a critic.
On a recent visit to Norway, where I was able to buy his latest novel in hardcover, my brother made an offhand comment about my Gunnar Staalesen “obsession.” He wasn’t far off the mark; the first store I checked, F. Beyer, had three copies of the book (1899: Preludium, published in 2025), but they refused to sell me any of them. Apparently the book was now out in paperback, and they had to return any other copies. I hastened across the street and bought the last hardcover copy from Norli, another bookstore, and the only one that still carried the hardcover (and had no issues selling it to me). I think I was quite lucky, as all other bookstores that I checked while in Norway only carried the paperback edition, which would clash with my existing copies. To say I was disappointed in Beyer is an understatement. This was the bookstore where I met Staalesen in person in 2001, and spent several minutes talking to him, something that remains a highlight in my life. This was the bookstore I spent time and money in while I lived in Bergen. I may never go back to that place now.
In truth, I have many literary obsessions. In some cases, I am fanatical about acquiring and reading books by certain authors: Jack Vance, Tim Powers, F. Paul Wilson, James P. Blaylock, Charles de Lint, Gunnar Staalesen, Alan Furst, Agatha Christie. In other cases, my OCD nature leads me to look for specific publishers: Golden Gryphon, Arkham House, Dark Harvest, Subterranean Press, Soho Crime. I’m sure there are others.
Gunnar Staalesen is known as a crime writer. Most of his books feature the private detective, Varg Veum. Many of the 20 books featuring Veum have been translated to English. I have all of them (I think), in Norwegian. Staalesen’s detective ages almost on part with the author. In 1997, with Veum pretty much a retiree by then, Staalesen turned to a trilogy of novels set in Bergen covering the years 1900 through 1999. Veum does make an appearance toward the end of the third novel, assigned the crime that opens the first book. Staalesen published a sequel in 2021, covering the first two decades in the 21st century. When I visited Norway this year I had no idea he’d written another novel, a prequel, covering the last decade of the 19th century, now the fifth book in this series.
I should have know about this latest novel. For many years my mother, and then brother and sister-in-law, had kept me abreast with Staalesen’s books, as I’d moved to the US a few decades ago. They even were able to get Staalesen to sign some of his books when they bought them for me; some books were signed or even inscribed to me, that distant fan.
Staalsen’s books are set in Bergen, a city that has deep meaning to me. My family is from Bergen, although older generations are from areas outside Bergen. I spent a couple of years after high school living in Bergen. I was too cheap and too poor to pay for public transport, so I spent hours walking throughout the city, crossing from one side to another to visit my grandparents, or just exploring streets and hiking in the mountains surrounding Bergen. And yet, I know only a fraction of that city, unlike Staalesen, who seems to know everything about Bergen.
Why Varg Veum? He introduces himself as a private detective, perhaps the only one in Bergen, maybe in all of Norway. He gets himself into dangerous situations, and mostly escapes these situations without violence. He experiences great personal tragedies, yet never seems to quit. There’s a statue of Varg Veum in Bergen. He’s a national treasure, as is Staalesen. If it’s an obsession to read his books, then so be it.
Ah, nostalgia. Such a great concept. In my case, as a haphazard book collector, it means acquiring books from the 1980s and 1990s that I missed out on back in the day. Thanks to the internet (far more than specialty SF bookstores, or even used book stores) there are always opportunities out there that exceed both my time and budget. Sometimes, however, it’s hard to resist certain books. In this case, three books published by Mark V. Ziesing Books.
The first, a collection of short stories by A. A. Attanasio. Beastmarks was published in 1984, and collects seven stories of varying length. Years ago I read a couple of Attanasio’s books – Hunting the Ghost Dancer and Wyvern. I’d seen the Ziesing edition of Beastmarks somewhere back in the day, but never since, at least not in any physical location. But, there are online dealers who carry copies of these books, and this was one of the first ones I selected.
Next, Brian Stableford’s The Hunger and Ecstacy of Vampires. Another Ziesing book, this one from 1996. Set in 1985, this books incorporates real life people, such as Oscar Wilde, Bram Stoker, and others. I’ve never any of Stableford’s books, nor do I know much about him, but this novel does hook the reader almost from the first page. Stableford passed away in 2024 at the age of 75, with a hundred novels to his name, as well as a vast output of short stories. Woe to the collector who aims to gather all of his work, as he also translated many books from French, and his short stories appeared in nearly two dozen collections! Locus Magazine has a wonderful obituary of Stableford.
Lastly, Ray Garton’s Trade Secrets, published in 1990. Of these three, Garton’s name is the most familiar to me. I read a couple of his horror stories/novels decades ago, but that’s a tiny fraction of his output. Garton also died in 2024, at the young age of 61, and with almost 70 books to his name. Trade Secrets, to me, reads like a Dean Koontz thriller. He’s probably best known for Live Girls!, but his short stories also are superb. A few of these are collected in Borderlands Press “little book” series, under the title, A Little Gray Book of Grim Tales.
All these books were published in both trade and limited editions. I bought the trade editions, as I wanted books that I could and would read. There’s maybe around 20 or so other Ziesing books that I lack, and around 20 or so that I have. So, I sit at the halfway point. Acquiring these three books has whetted my appetite for more, so we’ll see what happens. Mark. V. Ziesing Books is just one more small press that rose in the 1980s and faded into oblivion a couple fo decades later. Such a shame.
From CIA-led incursions in Central America to a massive dead dragon whose mental powers still permeate everything around it, Lucius Shepard wrote stories with style and vision. Despite significant critical acclaim, Shepard never achieved major success, even within the SF world of the 1990s.
Shepard (1943-2014), published around 10 novels and several short stories. Some of the these short stories were collected in a pair of volumes published by Arkham House, back when they published SF and not just horror/dark fantasy. His first novel, Green Eyes, appeared in 1984. Life During Wartime, one of the “Central America” tales (like Green Eyes, plus some of the stories in the Arkham House books — The Jaguar Hunter and The Ends of the Earth), appeared in 1987. In 1988, Grafton published a hardcover edition in the United Kingdom. I recently acquired a copy of this book, in quite nice condition despite the slightly yellowing pages. The book is signed by Shepard, a bonus, I suppose. It joins a dozen of Shepard books that I already own, including novellas, collections, and novels. As always, I wonder how this British edition made its way over to the US, and somehow ended up in a bookstore there (in this case, in Phoenix, Arizona).
Although he started out with tales set in Central America, he’s perhaps best known for his Dragon Griaule stories, which include “The Scalehunter’s Beautiful Daughter,” “The Father of Stones,” “Liar’s House” and others. He also wrote a vampire novel, The Golden (Mark V. Ziesing, 1993), plus some interesting horror/dark fantasy stories. He was briefly linked to the Cyberpunk movement in SF in the 1990s, but always seemed to chart his own way.
Since 1948 hardy folks in Bergen have arranged a seven-mountain hike spanning the seven mountains that flank Bergen. At first, this was a bi-annual event, which switched to an annual event in 1963. It started with 206 people, and today several thousand people, young and old, participate in what’s become the major outdoor event in Bergen on the last day in May. Over the years there have been on-going disputes as to which seven mountains qualify; at the start this included a mountain on Askøy, the large island just outside Bergen. Today, no ferry ride or bridge crossing is required, and the seven mountains remain on the mainland.
Covering more than 23 miles, with over 8,000 feet of elevation gain (more than Mount Whitney!), this mad adventure draws out thousands of people every year. The time to cover this distance is advertised as taking on average 10-12 hours. Hikers start on the west side of Bergen, crossing the three peaks there — Lyderhorn, Damsgaard, and Løvstaken. After descending the third peak, hikers walk across the southern part of the city and begin the big ascent up a trail that corkscrews around the souther side of Ulriken, the tallest of the mountains surrounding Bergen, at 643 meters (2,110 feet) above sea level. At this peak, you’re supposedly at the halfway point. If you’ve made it this far, your legs are burning, you’re exhausted, and probably wondering why you started this event in the first place.
The descent down Ulriken takes you down over 2,000 stone steps. These steps were laid just a few years ago by hired sherpas. On your way down you’ll encounter a few hardy people walking up the steps. At the bottom, your legs are shaking, your quads burning, and your knees shot. Four mountains have been completed, but more lies ahead. The walk from Ulriken to the next mountain in this series takes you through neighborhoods, past houses clinging to the mountainside. Although it takes place mostly on a paved or gravel surface, the ascent is steep and winding. There’s a brief respite near the top, and then a more gradual ascent through the forested, and by now well-populated with visitors, indicators of Bergen’s most famous and most visited mountain. What’s surprising is to come across an elk just a few feet off the path, indifferent to gawking children.
Once at the top of Fløyen, you’re greeted with volunteers (these are scattered throughout the hike) who hand you a cinnamon bun. Energized once more, you soldier onward. From here there are only two mountains left, Rundemannen and Sandviksfjellet. The last one doesn’t require much of an ascent. In fact, it’s almost all downhill. However, it makes up for that fact with it’s twisted and rocky route, which at times follows mountain streams. At last, back on gravel trails, you might think the worst if over. That’s not the case. For the second to last stretch you step off that gravel road and descend down Skredderdalen, a rocky and muddy path that alternates between brief pleasant moments and ankle-punishing rocks. When you emerge from this path at the bottom, you’re now on Fjellveien. There’s still two miles or so left to go, but most of this goes along gradual rises and falls until you get closer to downtown. Then, just when you think your knees could not handle more punishment, there are more stairs. These are far easier than the ones on Ulriken, and you can almost sense the end of the journey.
In 2023 I hiked this seven-mountain trail with my son. It took us 14 hours, and for several days after the hike my quads were so stiff and sore that I could only walk sideways down stairs. It was a humbling experience, at least for someone who’d hiked these mountains as a teenager and in my early twenties. Still, back then I only hiked one to three at a time, not seven. And, for many years I’d been living in a place with no mountains like this, and thus no means to train for such a hike.
In May 2026 I was back in Norway, signed up for the hike once more. This time, however, due to a back injury earlier in the year, I went for the four-mountain hike, skipping the first three. My son, who is determined to complete the hike 14 times, headed to the start of the full seven via bus, as I rode the light rail to the start of the last four. The weather was far from ideal, somewhat damp and chilly. However, as I started the steep ascent up Uliken, I had to remove a layer. Even with the rain, I was sweating through my base layer even before I reached the winding path upward. I took frequent breaks to look back the way I came. The city of Bergen was shrouded in clouds. Various hikers passed me, but I was in no hurry, at least at this point. The trail became muddy and slick. As I reached the top I saw familiar landmarks just below the main mast and cable-car building. Descending the steps seemed to take forever, but unlike the last time, my legs could actually handle the descent, although I was quite happy when I reached the main road once more.
At the top of Rundemannen, after walking past countless people on the trails from Fløyen, there was some refreshing juice provided by volunteers. Then it was into the clouds once more, before the confusing and convoluted trail across Sandviksfjellet. Getting down this last part to the final checkpoint was challenging, as I had to pass many hikers, while also trying to let multiple trail runners get around me. From the final checkpoint there’s one final tricky path to navigate, though at some point after 2023 much of this section had been improved. I completed the four-mountain hike in just over six hours, despite having to backtrack after three wrong turns due to poor signage on the course. Compared to the full seven back in 2023, it’s amazing to think that it took more than twice the time to cover the full seven then, than it did to just cover four. I do think those first three are tougher than they appear, and by the time you make it over them you’re already humbled and fatigued well before you cross the city. My son did shave an hour from our last time, despite the bad weather. The rain certainly made things tough, as the trail was wet, muddy, and tricky on certain descents.
Would I do it again? Yes, but probably I’ll just stick to the last four. I don’t plan on 14 hikes, or even seven, but I’ll admit that even as tough as it was, going up Ulriken or down Sandviksfjellet are the best parts, as those parts are (mostly) on actual trails. So, if you’re in Bergen on the last weekend in May, and if you like hiking, give it a go.
In the 1980s Charles L. Grant wrote three books set in the same fictional location. The first one dealt with vampires, the second with werewolves, and the third with mummies. All are tropes of horror fiction going back to the beginning of the genre, although stories featuring mummies are in much shorter supply than vampires or werewolves. These books were all published by the Donald. M. Grant, who published many horror writers in the 1980s and 1990s, ranging from Charles L. Grant (no relation, I think) to Stephen King, as well as a slew of other writers.
Charles L. Grant was a noted writer and editor from the 1970s through the 1990s (he died on September 15, 2006 at the all-too-young age of 64). My introduction to Grant’s fiction came in the form of Borderlands Press’s Little Books series — A Little Black Book of Quiet Horror (2019). For many years I’d owned the second edition on Dark Harvest’s Night Visions #2, which Grant edited (he also edited the long-running horror anthology, Shadows, but I never read any of those books). The Borderlands Press book opened my eyes to Grant’s own fiction. I then bought a copy of The Soft Whisper of the Dead (1982), the first book in his trilogy of books set in Oxnard Station. It dealt with vampires. This year I bought both The Dark Cry of the Moon (1985), set in the same location and centered around werewolves and The Long Night of the Grave (1986), the last of the trio, which incorporated mummies to that same location.
The publisher, Donald M. Grant, issued both trade and limited editions, and I went for the trade editions. According to online sources, Grant wrote several other novels, and his Shadows anthology appeared in multiple years, and yet I don’t have a single copy of those books. In the 1980s and 1990s I was more into science fiction. Now I’m more into the mystery genre, although I also try to pick up and read books published by various small press houses from the 1980s and early 1990s. There’s an overlap, somehow, and Grant slots right into that overlap. I wish I’d known more about him earlier, rather than twenty years after he died. But, that’s how it goes these days, as I start to discover fiction from a quarter century ago.
