Although I have quite a large collection of F. Paul Wilson books (over 50), I don’t have them all. The first Wilson book I read was An Enemy of the State, back in 1986. For many years I tried to buy every Wilson book that I could find, often staying up long into the night to finish a book the same day I bought it. In recent years some of his books appeared only via small press publishers; Wilson noted at some point that he’d been dropped by Tor Books, which had been publishing his Repairman Jack novels. As I wasn’t tapped into the releases from small press publishers where some of his recent books found a home, I missed a few books. Recently, I added a trio of Wilson novels to my library.
The first is Signalz, published in 2021, which I bought from publisher Gauntlet Press. This book is ostensibly part of his “secret history of world” collected tales. Most of these secret history books involve Repairman Jack, but this book does not. My copy is number 54 of 500 signed and numbered books. I sincerely hope the publisher sells/sends random numbers, as it would be a shame if only 53 people prior to me bought this novel.
Another Wilson book that I picked up is The Fifth Harmonic. I don’t think I’d ever heard of this book until recently. It’s a book that seems out of place for Wilson, a sort of debate between science and new age mysticism, involving chakras, Mayan mythology, and mind-over-matter in curing cancer. Still, it’s an engrossing thriller, and I it read in one day (or rather, evening). Even though I was bothered by some inconsistencies in the book, Wilson’s a compelling writer who makes you care about the characters. It was published by Hampton Roads in 2003, which now seems like such a long, long time ago. On a whim, I checked the publisher’s web site, and most of their books are of the non-fiction variety, so this books seemed like an anomaly. The book’s no longer listed in their web site, so it must be out of print. There’s no way of knowning how many copies were printed, which is a shame (to collectors).
Virgin is another anomaly by Wilson, a religious thriller. Original released under his wife’s maiden name, it vanished with no apparent audience. In 2007 Borderlands Press published a signed, limited edition (350 copies numbered and signed, of which mine is number 302), under Wilson’s own name. I pulled the trigger on buy this one by chance, after having finished reading The Fifth Harmonic. Wilson said he wanted to try new things, so I thought that I should try to read new things as well. Paperback copies are still available from Borderlands Press, but the hardcover is long out of print and available only on the secondary market.
By my current count, there are six individual novels by Wilson, and four collaborations with other writers, that I lack. I suppose I need to start looking for these as well.
Sunday, March 10th I participated in the Prickly Pear 15k, a trail run in San Antonio. This was my first real race in over six years, and only my second trail run since an 8k race in Government Canyon back in November, 2014. Had the race taken place in late December, or had I not been sidelined with a couple of injuries the past two months, the outcome might have been different.
The race was capped at 600 runners, split between three distances: 5k, 15k, and 50k. I signed up four days before the event, as participant #600. In other words: the last possible person to enter the event. The only available spot was for the 15K; had the 50K been the only spot I would have passed on that opportunity.
After the event, in scanning the results, I only found 496 finishers. If that was the case, then just over 100 runners didn’t show up, and more than 15% of the runners did not evenstart (DNS). Maybe the weather was to blame. The temperature at the start was a cool 48 degree Fahrenheit, though it warmed up quickly and turned out to be fantastic throughout the course. Perhaps some runners were delayed by the change to Daylight Saving time, which started that morning?
As for myself, I was guilty of a DNS once before. A few years ago, when I was in far better shape, I’d signed up for the same race. The week prior to the race, the rains were heavy in San Antonio. I showed up that morning, looked at the waterlogged trails, and turned around without toeing the starting line. I don’t mind running in wet weather, but I hate slogging through mud. I don’t think I would have enjoyed even 5K in knee deep water.
This time around I ended up as a last-minute entry. Overall, it wasn’t an ideal race. The prospects were not great: due to some injuries a few months prior, I was undertrained. Also, I’m not a trail runner. Lastly, I’m a few years older since my last race. My body doesn’t respond like it did back then. I thought I could handle the distance, but the lack of miles in my legs the past two months had a greater impact than I anticipated. I’d hoped to finish around one hour-twenty minutes, based on training runs. That goal seemed manageable, not too ambitious, and at a much slower pace than my last long runs back in December. A few months ago I regularly ran 10 plus miles, until sidelined by a couple of injuries in early January. After some rest and physio, I’d picked up my training again, but the long miles weren’t there yet. Not having raced in years, I also failed to properly fuel along the course. I ran with a water-bottle and some fuel, but hardly used the former and never touched the latter.
My first hint of disaster came at mile four (out of nine!). Mentally I thought I already was at mile six, and did not believe my otherwise trusty GPS watch. Maybe the tree cover affected the GPS, I thought. The same doubt persisted throughout the remainder of the course, so at each subsequent mile I told myself, “Only two more miles.” I said this over and over again, to no avail.
The trail was mostly narrow single track, winding in a serpentine fashion through McAllister Park. At times the trail was smooth, before switching to a rocky river-bed surface, then smooth again, but always winding so I never really knew where I was in the park. The gradient was mostly flat, with a small rise along an earthen dam, then dipping down and up when crossing dry river beds. At times I hear someone on a speaker, but it could have been at some baseball fields, not necessarily the race announcer.
The last time I ran this trail was nearly ten years ago, and then I ran it as an easy jog with some friends. Racing is different, something I didn’t appreciate due to the length of time since my last race. There’s the pressure of people behind you, the thrill of passing someone, and the agony of getting passed. As far as my own race, the wheels came off just before mile six, and from then on it was a matter of survival. At the end, I finished more than 12 minutes off my goal, which was a bitter disappointment. There were many times that I considered quitting and walking somewhere else, anywhere else, as I became focused on my injury and lack of will to keep running instead of stepping to the side and walking. It was, overall, a humbling experience.
Yes, there were prickly pears on the course, some which I almost touched as I passed a runner. There also was prickly pear flavored beer from Shiner (the brewery) at the end. I barely tasted that beer, as I sat off to the side with my head between my knees wondering where it all went wrong.
Runners are rarely satisfied with their results. Like fishermen who focus on the one that got away, runners tend to think, “If only I ran a little faster, I could have shaved some seconds/minutes off my time!” On the positive side, I try to think of this as my first race in over six years. Six years in which I’d quit running because I thought my ankle no longer could handle the training. Six years in which I thought I’d done everything I wanted in terms of running, and no longer needed to prove anything. But I missed it. I missed the thrill of the race, the agony and despair that went with each step.
Still, I enjoy running.
I truly do enjoy running, even though there’s pain, doubt, and misery. I just don’t think I like trail runs. It’s too narrow, too winding. The rocks and surface require more patience and caution than I have.
Will I run that course again? I don’t know. Maybe, if I don’t have other plans I might try it again, but only if I’m not injured. Maybe, if the weather cooperates, and if the course is dry, I’ll lace up my trail shoes and give it one more shot. The 50K would be nice, in terms of a goal. Maybe…
Bradley Denton, One Day Closer to Death, St. Martin’s Press 1998. Collects eight stories, six of which I already have in the two-volume collection The Calvin Coolidge Home for Dead Comedians, and A Conflagration Artist from Wildside Press. Those two books, limited to 426 copies, won Denton the World Fantasy Award in 1995. One Day Closer to Death is signed, with an inlaid ticket from a Clarion West event in Seattle, WA in 2001. Those two books limited to 426 copies are among the rarest of limited editions that I own, which granted, is a low bar compared to some collectors. I haven’t see a new Denton book in 10 years or so, but then the genre publishing market is a brutal one, even for award-winning writers.
Bradley Denton, Wrack and Roll, Headline 1987. His first novel, a UK edition and signed by Denton. The pages are slightly faded, but otherwise the book’s in good shape. I’m a bit worried about reading this book, since it’s over 30 years old, and it doesn’t seem that to be made to last, but it appears to be in great shape. Along with One Day Closer to Death, this was the only Denton book I didn’t own, although I still need to get a hardcover edition of Blackburn.
Bruce Sterling, The Caryatids, Del Rey 2009. A hardcover edition of the last book he published before leaving for Europe. There are still a handful of gaps in my Sterling collection, though I do have a couple of early books signed by Sterling, back from when we both lived in Austin (not that I knew him…). I believe one of the books I managed to get signed was at a Capitol Macintosh meeting, a computer user group active in bygone days. Others were signed at Armadillocon, the same time I got several William Gibson books signed. It all seems like such a long time ago, now.
Suzy McKee Charnas, Moonstone and Tiger-Eye. This was the 29th and last in Pulphouse Publishing’s Author’s Choice Monthly series. I have most of the Author’s Choice Monthly books in paperback, but found a hardback copy of this one at a decent price. Since I had recently (by accident) bought another hardback edition of another book in the series, I figured I might as well add this one. Whether this means I now try to replace 25 paperback copies with hardback editions remains to be seen. The Charnas book is in excellent shape.
There are still two books in the series that I lack, which I hope to remedy this year. At some point, possibly the 28th in the series, the covers changed from images of the author to more imaginative covers, although George Barr remained the illustrator. It’s too bad Pulphouse Publishing wasn’t able to continue this series, along with their hardback magazine, which folded around the same time (as did the entire publishing house). More relics of a bygone age.
All these books were bought from the same online seller, arrived in mylar protective covers, and were packaged in ziplock bags and bubblewrap. I was truly impressed by the care the seller took when sending these books. All four had been on my want-list a long time.
Recently I was in Austin for a conference. While there, I dropped by two Half Price Books (HPB), one of which I’ve not visited in close to a decade. I lived in Austin for 13 years, and learned my way around that city back in the day via bookstores. In the late 1980s/early 1990s the used bookstore scene was far different from what it is today. Back then there were quite a few smallish stores, as well as two (I think) Half Price Books, one located near the University of Texas, although that one moved to a different location at some point.
As a poor college student working a minimum wage part-time job, I occasionally bought cheap SF paperbacks at several of these bookstores when I had the odd extra buck or two. These days, there are mostly (only?) Half Price Books left; this is a chain selling used books mostly at half-off cover price.
Austin’s a far different place these days from when I lived there, although I still know my way around town (mostly). HPB makes exceptions to their “half off publishers prices” for so-called rare or collectible books, although I’ve found a gem or two that somehow slipped through their watchful gaze. Once I found Dan Simmons’ first edition The Song of Kali for $6 (at that location near UT). Another time (in San Antonio) I came across the horror anthology Dark Forces, with over half the contributors’ autographs, for under $9.
I’ve also found a few decently priced books published by Subterranean Press, including Blue World and The Border, both by Robert McCammon. Then again, a handful books out of hundreds of visits isn’t a huge success-rate. Plus, I know I’ve left behind a wanted book or two, think that I already had a copy, then to many a regret finding that was not the case (I’m looking at you, Ray Bradbury). HPB is mostly a place where I pick up random stuff, anyway, though I tend to be picky about what I buy.
This time, I picked up a few goodies:
George Turner’s Drowning Towers, a hardcover first edition from 1987. It’s somewhat rare to find books from that decade in decent condition and not in the “collectible” section. Turner’s a noted Australian author, but never seemed to make it big in the US. The premise seems quite prescient, given all the stories these days about climate change.
Thomas M. Disch’s The Businessman, a hardcover first edition from 1984. In both these cases I have the odd paperback or two by the author, so these are my first hardcover books. Both had protective mylar covers, so someone obviously cared about them; they might even have ended up in the store as part of an estate sale. I’m around a third of the way through the novel, and t’s a weird book, for sure.
Terry Bisson’s Greeting and Other Stories. This is my fifth Bisson book, although I think I’ve only read one of those books, and it was the shortest one. I keep meaning to read the other books, three of which are story collections, but somehow they remain on the TBR list. This one’s a first edition hardback from 2005, signed by the author. Listed at $40, then marked down to $20, I had to remind the salesperson of the sticker price since it rang up at the higher, previous price.
Bisson recently died, so he won’t be signing any more books, not that a signature matters too much to me, unless it happened in my presence. I bought this book not for the signature, but because I had some of his other books, and really do intend to read them some day. This copy may have passed through several hands, as the spine of the mylar cover bore two different stickers, likely indicating this was a signed book displayed in another bookstore; or, maybe the previous owner marked signed books in some visible way. Something that will remain a mystery.
Robert Silverberg’s The Conglomeroid Cocktail Party. Another 1980s book, this one from 1984. A first edition hardback and in quite a decent condition. I have a few Silverberg paperbacks, plus one expensive limited edition copy of Dying Inside from Centipede Press, although I can never find the one book that I’m looking for.
I’m a sucker for hardback SF/horror books from the 1980s (as long they are in good condition), and this collection of short stories looked quite tempting. It’s published by Arbor House, which brought out some great books in the 1980s, so that’s a bonus.
Dan Simmons’ The Fifth Heart. This is one of only two Simmons mass-market published books that I lacked. A few months ago I came close to owning the other one, but the person selling it had sold it right before I placed my order. Published in 2015, and thus Simmons’ (to date) last novel, The Fifth Heart is a book that I missed in book stores when it first was published. Well, maybe I avoided it, for I thought a book pairing the fictional Sherlock Holmes with the real Henry James sounded totally bonkers. I’d also been disappointed by his other “hidden” history book about Charles Dickers and Wilkie Collins, Drood. So far, I’m struggling to find my way through the book, but am still trying to finish reading it. Simmons wrote great SF, horror, and mystery books, but I’m torn about these hidden history stories. The Terror was so-so, and The Abominable had some great moments, but they pale in comparison to Hyperion and Carrion Comfort.
I’m not sure if the print run for The Fifth Heart was low on purpose, or whether many copies were pulped, but I hardly never see copies available for sale anywhere. Since this copy was in decent shape and at less than half cover price (sorry, Mr. Simmons), I thought, “why not?”
I keep looking for Omega Canyon, a novel he announced a few years ago, but still remains unpublished as well as the only other previously published book that I don’t own. Over the years I have I tried to buy all of Simmons other books. He’s a writer I met a long time ago at a book signing at Adventures in Crime and Space in Austin, TX, and, he’s a damn fine writer. It’s too bad he’s not published anything since 2015, but I understand (although I could be wrong) that there might be some health issues at play.
I came close to owning a hardback of Simmons’ Hyperion back in the day, but back then I so rarely could afford a hardcover book, and passed up the opportunity. These days you can’t get one for less than $500. It would go so well next to my hardcover copy of The Fall of Hyperion…
Along with the books mentioned above, I also picked up a pair of James Crumley novels, an early paperback in the Wild Cards series, a paperback copy of Seeklight, the first novel from K. W. Jeter, a trade paperback of Silverberg’s Tales of Majipoor, and three others that will remain nameless as they were more or less impulse buys of lesser note.
Maybe this isn’t the way to acquire books—after all, it seems quite random. But, I still prefer to see and touch books before I buy them, rather than take the chance on online purchases. So it goes, for the haphazard collector…
For many years I owned only three copies of this short-lived anthology series—issue #5—which I bought myself—plus issues #4 and #9, which were gifted to me one Christmas many years ago. When the books first came out, from 1988 through 1993, I was a poor college student and bought mostly cheap paperbacks, especially ones I found in the many used bookstores in Austin, Texas at that time (since then, most of those small stores are gone, leaving only the major used book store enterprises). A hardback collection like this series, generally available via mail, was out of my budget and knowledge. The one book I did buy I think I found at an SF convention in the mid-1990s.
While working on collecting another series from the same publisher, the 29 books in the Author’s Choice Monthly series, I came across a few of the hardback magazine books in online catalogs, and I slowly fleshed out my collection from three to 12. I bought the last two that I lacked (issue #1 and #3) at the very end of 2024.
In retrospect, this collection is one that should have worked, had the publishers in place succession plans and had the publishers not over-extended themselves and collapsed so spectacularly. Over the span of 12 issues, this hardback magazine published over 200 short stories (by over 140 individual writers) and slightly more than two dozen non-fiction essays. One writer—Nina Kiriki Hoffman—had a story in each issue, while two others almost shared the same honor—William F. Wu with 11 stories, and Charles de Lint with eight. A rough estimate shows that around half of the stories were by writers who had only one appearance. There’s a huge range of names, from the famous to ones who never quite made it to “the big time.” Short stories are a hard way on which to build your reputation as a writer. Only a few writers focus on the shorter form, and (I think) most readers also tend to read novels; hence anthologies and individual collections are rare and/or receive small print runs from most publishers (unless your name is Stephen King…).
Each issue also had a theme, from horror to science fiction, fantasy to speculative fiction. The issues were also deliberately aimed at the collector’s market, limited to 1,000 copies for the hardback, and a much smaller number for a leather bound edition. Would the series have survived longer without this format? Probably not. From what I’ve read, the publishers went on to try a variety of formats and ventures, from single-short story books, to the Author’s Choice Monthly collections (also in varied formats aimed at collectors), to a magazine. Would it have survived longer if the focus from the publisher was just on the one series, or maybe two? Perhaps. The publisher and editor (and some helpers) have since gone on to stellar careers in the genre, but had they a succession plan in place this might not have prevented the abrupt end.
A contrast to these sort of ventures might be the Little Book series from Borderlands Press. This series chugs along, with an output of maybe 4-6 books a year, each limited to around 500 copies (with a few small exceptions). The price is reasonable upon publication, though in a few cases it climbs quickly after the books are out of print. Other series, and other small press publishers, also have started out with great ambition, then fallen flat. Heck, even major publishers abandon projects. So, 12 is not a bad number.
That all being said, the dozen books in Pulphouse: The Hardback Magazine are a vital part of the history of the small press and genre fiction. I don’t know if it launched careers, but my goal now is to read each and every story in the 12 books this year. It might not happen sequentially within a volume, but I have already started with Volume I, and even averaging a story every day, I should be able to spread it out throughout most of the year. It’s a strange feeling, though, thumbing through the books and looking at the bylines and titles. Many of the authors are now gone, moved onto different worlds, or well-aged and either established writers or former writers. I don’t know if there will be the excitement of discovery in the act of reading these stories. I hope there’ll be some good ones in there, but with more than 30 years having passed since their appearance, it’s a bit like digging through the past, not looking ahead.
Here I go again, trying to fill in some gaps in my collection decades after I stopped collecting certain books…
Back in the 1990s I picked up several books published by Dark Harvest. This was a small press that started with some great original collections, new horror novels, and reprints. Then the small press/collector’s market, suffered major contractions. Dark Harvest as a publisher ceased to exist. This is the story of many small press publishers; they forget their primary market, or the people in charge change or leave, and then they cease to exist. The same seemed to happen with Arkham House, Golden Gryphon, Carcosa, and many more.
Although there’s one elusive Dark Harvest book that I keep trying to track down, without much success, I had picked up a few others recently.
I read Chet Williamson’s novel, Dreamthorp, recently. Not having read anything by Williamson, I probably missed this book and Reign, both published by Dark Harvest. I bought Reign in a limited, signed edition from a dealer who also listed some Dean Koontz editions.
All three of the Koontz book are unsigned trade editions. To me they form a sort of trilogy, at least in the titles—The House of Thunder, The Key to Midnight, and The Eyes of Darkness. Although they arrived as unopened shrink-wrapped books, possibly due to the age of the books or how they were stored two of the books had some minor spotting on the end papers. I had a copy of another Koontz book from Dark Harvest—Shadowfires—but at some point moving books around, or double-stacking them due to lack of space, the dust jacket developed a tear. Still, it will be interesting to read these books, as it’s been many a year since I last read anything by Dean Koontz. I believe there’s still one more Dark Harvestbook by Koontz out there, so maybe one day I will stumble across it.
Arkham House is another interesting publishing house. I own many of their books published after 1975; older books fetch a premium on the collector’s market, and I’m not quite willing to go there yet. Arkham House published two Lucius Shepard books, The Jaguar Hunter and The Ends of the Earth. Again, a case of buying one book years ago, and then finally coming across the other one, and now The Ends of the Earth joins its partner on my shelves.
All these books were ordered online, sight somewhat unseen. That’s not always ideal, especially with the light spotting on two of the books. Still, these are not books you find in your local used book store, given that they are published by small presses and all originally appeared around thirty years ago (or more).
I’ve been buying a handful of books recently, mostly older ones that I missed the first time around, but occasionally new ones. A few arrived recently, all valued additions to my small library.
The first of these is a hardback edition of Lewis Shiner’s novel, Glimpses. I already own the paperback, which I read years ago, but the hardback is one that I missed when it first came out. I think that I’ve read most of Shiner’s novels (aside from one), as well as most of his short stories (at least those that have been collected). I look forward to re-reading this novel, since it’s been many years since I last read it.
Along with Glimpses, I picked up Say Goodbye, which is the only Shiner novel that I haven’t read. I missed the book when it came out in 1999, and then it either vanished or I had stopped reading SF for a while. I kept looking for it in book stores (used and non), but finally bit the bullet and looked online for a copy.
Michael Shea’s one of my favorite writers. Centipede Press recently released the second book by Shea (well, third, as they put out the massive collection, The Autopsy and Others, years ago—now listed at $1,400 on the collector’s market). The Mines of Behemoth came out in paperback a few years ago, and also fetches a decent sum on the second-hand market. I didn’t spring for the signed edition, but I bought the regular edition, which still is priced fairly high at $85. Then again, almost all the Centipede Press books skyrocket in cost/value once out of print. If you want any of their books, you’d better buy while they’re hot. Otherwise you’ll pay a premium.
Robert McCammon’s ten-book project featuring Matthew Corbett as he navigates the New World and beyond has seen multiple publishers—River City, Subterranean Press, Cemetery Dance, and now Lividian Publications. I read McCammon’s novels several decades ago (heck, his vampire novel, They Thirst, was one of the big three late 20th century vampire novels at some point, the other two being Stephen King’s Salem’s Lot and Anne Rice’s Interview with a Vampire). A few years ago I found a copy of Speaks the Nightbird, the first Matthew Corbett novel, almost by chance. Set in 1699 in America (long before it became the republic we know today), it’s a massive novel, and maybe the best in the series. McCammon since has followed up with one novel after another, and now only one final chapter remains. Seven Shades of Evil, the most recently published Corbett book (and the second from Lividian Publications), is a collection of stories. My copy arrived today, and I’m greatly looking forward to reading these stories.
I’m five books away from completing a collection of a 29-book series. Five books! Those last ones are proving tough to find at decent prices, and these are paperbacks! Two of them I can’t even find as paperbacks, only hardcover or leather-bound editions. One of the books I’ve found in the paperback edition is at the (I think) insane price of $44 (plus shipping).
It’s a strange thing, as for decades I owned two of the books in this series. Then, this year I looked at “filling in the gaps” in my collection and looked at what it would take to get the other books in this series. In this case the gap was huge. The series was published in three states in the late 1980s, early 1990s—paperback, hardcover, and leather-bound. I went with paperbacks since I owned two books in that state; if I chose the hardcover route I’d need to get copies of those same books in that state. Plus, there’s the added expense, given the second-hand collector’s market and prices thereof. Although, as one of the paperbacks fell apart as I read it, perhaps this wasn’t the best investment. Glue is far from permanent.
There’s a strange sense of irony in trying to collect this series, as the publisher behind the series probably could have kept it going longer, but for the fact they flooded the market with a bunch of other series. That spate of different series flooded the market and led to the demise of said publisher, and probably affected the overall small press market in the early 1990s. It’s a case of too much of a good thing.
Nonetheless, I’m now on a hunt to try to locate those last five books in somewhat decent shape and also at somewhat palatable prices. Also, it’s strange to think that a third of the writers in this series have since passed, many while quite young. Thirty years many of them were in their prime. But then, that’s time for you.
I’m currently reading through all the books in order, although I’m a little peeved to have to skip a volume or two. I guess some writers are more collectible than others, right?
Over the years I’ve acquired several SF, fantasy, and horror books from a variety of major publishers as well as small press publishers. Many of the small press publishers rise and fall, while some persist. Some have major cachet within the genres, like Arkham House, while others are notable but ephemeral, like Golden Gryphon; the latter was founded Gary Turner, someone who edited several Arkham House books. After he passed away, Golden Gryphon briefly continued before shutting down, and still managed to publish 63 hardcover books, mostly collections. Dark Harvest published mainly in the horror genre, starting in the early 1980s, and then vanished a decade later. Their Night Visions series ran to nine volumes, was briefly picked up by Subterranean Press (three books), then faded into oblivion.
I see books as both a means to read stories, and works of art in and of themselves. Appearance matters, and it’s far more often the case to see great art and great design in small press books than in ones published by Tor, BAEN, or William Morrow, to name some examples. I don’t know if the artists are paid better in small press, or the publishers just care more. Maybe it’s the fact that small press publishers charge more for their books, and can afford (to some degree) to produce elegant works. Although I still don’t get the attraction of signed/limited vs. trade hardcover editions (maybe it’s the signature?), or even the desire to own books in slipcases (although I have a handful of these, none were acquired for the sake of the slipcase), I remain amazed that writers will sit down and sign 500 pages in one go (or however many signature pages the publisher sends them), and that someone will write in the numbers on those pages.
As far as other small press publishers, I own a few books from a variety of them. I’ll admit that I like that fact that I treasure something from one of these publishers somewhat more than any book from say, Tor Books, or BAEN, or Ace, to name som major publishers. I wish many of these small press publishers still existed. I wish they’d planned better, not rushed themselves into misadventures and bad decisions, or suffered through death or acrimonious splits. Far more than anything in my haphazard book collection, I treasure my Jack Vance Underwood-Miller books. I look at my paperback copy of The Gray Prince, and wonder why they never produced an edition of this book.
Another example: Pulphouse Publishing, which started out with ambitious designs in the late 1980s and then vanished a few years later, had so much promise. They tried a hardback magazine, short collections issues every month, a magazine, and other ideas. I’ve read that they over-extended themselves with too many items too quickly, which is a shame. One would think there’d be a market for smaller press runs of trade paperbacks, each maybe 100-120 words, and published at regular intervals. For some of their output, they published books in various states, such as unsigned paperback, signed/limited edition hardbacks, and even a rarer state. The latter two options seem unnecessary to me, probably only aimed at a refined and narrow collector’s market. The late 1980s/early 1990s mean a great deal to me in terms of authors that I like, and Pulphouse gave a voice to many of them in their various editions. I look at the supposed leading lights of genre fiction today, and rarely is it the case that I would pick up anything by these writers. A different time, different market, I suppose.
The list goes on: Silver Salamander, Axolotl Press, Underwood-Miller, Cemetery Dance, Gauntlet Press, Borderlands Press, Mark V. Ziesing Books, Ursus, Fedogan & Bremer, Donald M. Grant, NESFA Press, Morrigan, PS Publishing, Night Shade, Subterranean Press, White Wolf, Small Beer Press, Centipede Press, and many more. A few of these publishers still exist today. Subterranean Press might be the best in terms of success, while Centipede Press produces the best looking books (and its certainly up there in terms of cost). Charnel House produces quite expensive editions, but none that I’ve never bought, so I can’t say anything about their books. Before 1980 there were no doubt many others, long since shuttered. These days, the numbers have somewhat diminished. Major genre publishers, like BAEN or Tor, continue even after the primary mover has gone, but in terms of the small press, it seems like a labor of love more than anything else. Many of them exist through the labor of love from one person, maybe two, and once the fire is gone, or the reality of cost and profit sets in, all that remains are a few books on the collector’s market.
Over the years, countless genre magazines have died, countless editorials and comments have been written about the death of the short fiction market. Anthologies and collections still sell only a few copies, and it’s too bad that many of these small press publishers, where collections and anthologies make up a large set of titles, exist only for a short moment in time. Then again, I look back at some of the so-called major publishers of the 1980s and earlier, and most of these imprints have since shut down, or been bought out and subsumed into other publishers. Regardless, I’m happy these small press publishers exist. Now, if only they would release their books on their promised schedule…
Lately I’ve been able to buy some books from the 1980s and 1990s that I missed when they first appeared. The first of these is Dreamthorp, by Chet Williamson, published by Dark Harvest, which I acquired in a signed/limited edition format. After I read a few Williamson stories from his Borderlands Press little books series, the name stuck. When I came across someone selling a copy I bought it. I haven’t read it yet, but it’s on the to be read stack at the moment, which admittedly is fairly tall.
I also picked up a short novel from Lucius Shepard, The Scalehunter’s Beautiful Daughter, published by Mark V. Ziesing. Shepard’s written some great short stories, so I look forward to reading this one.
Lastly, I bought a copy of Pat Cadigan’s SF novel, Mindplayers, for under $10. The book is signed, which doesn’t mean as much to me, but having read several or her stories, I look forward to visiting the past and reading this novel.
At the same time I also picked up a bunch of books in a short-lived series that I’m still putting together. Only 29 books were published in this series, which ran from October 1989 to June 1992. I firmly believe that I’ll run into the issue of the last few being out of my price range, but I’ll do what I can, as once I have the bug I’ll put it to my self-defined limit as much as possible.
There are many other books from those two decades that I wish I had, and maybe I’ll start filling in those gaps more, as I rarely read any of the current stuff these days.
