The kids in my local bat-house breathe heavy metals, and their gelatinous bodies quiver nauseously during our counseling sessions, and for all that, they reacted just like I had when I told them I was going away for a while — with hurt and betrayal, and they aroused palpable guilt in me. It goes in circles. When I was sixteen, and The Amazing...More
Cory Efram Doctorow is a Canadian-British blogger, journalist, and science fiction author. He is an activist in favour of liberalising copyright laws and a proponent of the Creative Commons organization, using some of their licences for his books. Some common themes of his work include digital rights management, file sharing, and post-scarcity economics.
Doctorow served as Canadian Regional Director of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America in 1999.
His ‘Down and Out...’ was nominated for a Nebula Award, and won the Locus Award for Best First Novel in 2004. ‘0wnz0red’ was nominated for the 2004 Nebula Award for Best Novelette.
Cory Efram Doctorow is a Canadian-British blogger, journalist, and science fiction author. He is an activist in favour of liberalising copyright laws and a proponent of the Creative Commons organization, using some of their licences for his books. Some common themes of his work include digital rights management, file sharing, and post-scarcity economics.
Doctorow served as Canadian Regional Director of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America in 1999.
His ‘Down and Out...’ was nominated for a Nebula Award, and won the Locus Award for Best First Novel in 2004. ‘0wnz0red’ was nominated for the 2004 Nebula Award for Best Novelette.
Book Summary
The kids in my local bat-house breathe heavy metals, and their gelatinous bodies quiver nauseously during our counseling sessions, and for all that, they reacted just like I had when I told them I was going away for a while — with hurt and betrayal, and they aroused palpable guilt in me. It goes in circles. When I was sixteen, and The Amazing Robotron told me he needed to go away for a while, but he'd be back, I did everything I could to make him guilty. Now it's me, on a world far from home, and a pack of snot-nosed jellyfish kids have so twisted my psyche that they're all I can think of when I debark the shuttle at Aristide Interplanetary, just outside my dirty ole Toronto. The customs officer isn't even human, so it feels like just another R&R, another halting conversation carried on in ugly trade-speak, another bewilderment of queues and luggage carousels. Outside: another spaceport, surrounded by the variegated hostels for the variegated tourists, and bipeds are in bare majority. I can think of it like that. I can think of it as another spaceport. I can think of it like another trip. The thing he can't think of it is, is a homecoming. That's too hard for this weak vessel. He's very weak...