Carolyn Hill
Brown Rat, wandering & wondering
So, if you’re like me, sitting there feeling bitter and nostalgic about the fact that humans aren’t yet living on the moon or Mars or mining the asteroids, what do you do if you’re not a rocket scientist or wealthy enough to pay your way into space?
One thing I do is read (and reread) Fallen Angels by Larry Niven, Jerry Pournelle, and Michael Flynn.
In Fallen Angels, the United States has turned its back on technology, a new ice age is engulfing much of North America, and science fiction fans risk losing their jobs and undergoing brain-altering reeducation. When a scoop-ship from the exiled orbiting space habitat is shot out of the sky over North Dakota, the few remaining science fiction fans rescue the two fallen astronauts, hiding them from the government and plotting to send them back into space.
The characterizations of the fans make the book a true delight for anyone who’s attended a SF convention: all the fanac, filking, and fen fun are rended in loving detail. (In fact, some of the characters’ names belong to real people.) The constant persecution of the fans by the government gives the characters a chance to express the anger and sorrow I share about the current state of the U.S. space program—a cathartic venting of spleen at the officials who drained NASA of vigor. And the fans’ ingenious plans make me cheer.
If you’re blue about not being out in the black, pick up a copy of Fallen Angels. It might make you smile.
One thing I do is read (and reread) Fallen Angels by Larry Niven, Jerry Pournelle, and Michael Flynn.
In Fallen Angels, the United States has turned its back on technology, a new ice age is engulfing much of North America, and science fiction fans risk losing their jobs and undergoing brain-altering reeducation. When a scoop-ship from the exiled orbiting space habitat is shot out of the sky over North Dakota, the few remaining science fiction fans rescue the two fallen astronauts, hiding them from the government and plotting to send them back into space.
The characterizations of the fans make the book a true delight for anyone who’s attended a SF convention: all the fanac, filking, and fen fun are rended in loving detail. (In fact, some of the characters’ names belong to real people.) The constant persecution of the fans by the government gives the characters a chance to express the anger and sorrow I share about the current state of the U.S. space program—a cathartic venting of spleen at the officials who drained NASA of vigor. And the fans’ ingenious plans make me cheer.
If you’re blue about not being out in the black, pick up a copy of Fallen Angels. It might make you smile.