This book has the best picture of a Pineapple on it. It took me countless hours to find this pineapple...because what it depicts must not be represented in what looks like an advertisement for the produce section of a supermarket nor a somewhat less serious cartoon. Truth be told, there are very amusing stories in the collection, as well as more thoughtful and provocative, philosophical, pieces. There are also some of the best science fiction pieces you may ever read (I gave this last sentence much thought). There is something for everyone in this volume, years in the making, and I stand behind every story.... They include:
PINEAPPLE GROVE, P.S. 173, RICHARD FEARE, ENRIQUE, SPORTSMAN'S, SUGAR DADDY, BARRY, MORT OF MAGIC, EMBRACEABLE YOU, SANTIAGO, KIRBY FELTON'S FINAL NOTE, THE GIFT, THE PARTY, VISIT TO VALHALLA, MIRROR, MIRROR ON THE WALL, SHIPWRECK, A LITTLE UNFINISHED MONKEY BUSINESS, DEJA VU, DÉJÀ VU, STENTOR, The text (unillustrated) of CONSTELLATION STATION, and assorted snippets.
He looked into the new mirror he had purchased for his experiments. His gaunt reflection stared back. The mirror was too new. It would do for part of the project but he would eventually need something larger…older. He lifted his gaze toward the sound system’s speakers; sensitive enough, but not an integral part of what he had in mind. Not yet. For now, it was the mirrors that concerned him. Harold sealed the cracks around the door and pulled the black shade over the little dusty basement window which led into nothing better lit than a subterranean closet. Then he doused the light. Blackness. Harold stood quietly for a moment, then tried to see his own hand. He could not.
They wouldn’t believe him, but Harold knew that if one could achieve total darkness but still get the surface of a mirror to emit light…but never mind. They wouldn’t listen. No one had ever done it before. The secret lay in the use of two reflective surfaces, exactly positioned. They hadn’t used two mirrors. It was a reverberation principle. Each of the facing mirrors would reflect the image off the other, intensifying what little light there was; magnifying it! It would be old light. Trapped light! The key, Harold thought to himself, was that not all the light off old images was reflected. Some of the image’s light was seized, trapped in the mirror. The light, now, would be coming from within the mirror; from its depths. And there was no telling what that would reveal. Foolish people, thought Harold. They don’t understand. They cannot fathom the significance of my work.
When Isaiah returned the next day there was a musty odor about the small room. And it was dark.
"Harold? Are you here, Harold?" There was no answer.