Unicorn Variations

Introduction

Here is another collection of things written by me, drawn from various points over the past two decades. Some I recall fondly; others I had all but forgotten.

In reviewing the stories included here, I was surprised by the number of tales written to order, i.e., to go behind a magazine's cover painting (of which more anon) or to qualify for inclusion in a theme anthology.

I pause to reflect upon the phenomenon of the theme anthology: In the Old Days (circa forties and fifties) collections of science fiction stories were just collections of science fiction stories, none of them necessarily resembling any of the others in major particulars. In recent years, however, collections of stories possessed of a common theme have become the rule in the science fiction anthology. I cannot look upon writing such stories as a bad thing. Some very good work has appeared in theme anthologies. But such volumes might fairly be viewed as something of a constraint upon writers.

And thinking back, I began writing for magazines in the days when they were considered family publications—meaning that one did not use profanity beyond occasional hells and damns, describe sexual acts, have one's characters discuss politics in any but the broadest terms or indulge in religious speculation.

Earlier this year I visited the Soviet Union in the company of some other people connected with science fiction. We met with a number of Russian and Ukrainian writers and editors. When we were told that they preferred to publish stories with happy endings, stories containing a minimum of violence, our first reaction was a knowing nod. Really.

There are always restrictions. I do not feel any imposed upon me now in the sense of editorial censorship. But there are restrictions in the form of my own limitations as a writer, and there are self-imposed restrictions having to do with story structure and matters of my temperament and taste. I am free to work within these limits. When I write the first sentence to any story, though, I surrender a lot more freedom. I have set a course. I have restricted myself even further. Freedom of expression must also bow to the necessity for clear communication, as many of science fiction's failed experiments of the sixties demonstrate.

Gore Vidal has suggested that a writer has a limited cast of characters—his own repertory company, so to speak—and that, with different makeup, they enact all of his tales. I feel he has a point there, and that this constitutes yet another limitation (though I like to feel that over the years one can pension off a few, and I do try to seek out new talent).

All of these things considered, it is not surprising that one can detect echoes, correspondences and even an eternal return or two within the work of a single author. The passage of time does bring changes, yea and alas; but still, I would recognize myself anywhere. In this sense, any writer's total output might be looked upon as a series of variations. . .

All of that to justify a title.

I want to thank all of those people who've offered me employment in hardware stores, but I'd really prefer to keep on writing.