Once More With Footnotes

space certainly has a lot to answer for.
     
                  "Was that sarcasm?"
     
                  ACTUALLY, NO. I AM IMPRESSED AND INTRIGUED, said Death. THE CONCEPT YOU PUT BEFORE ME PROVES THE EXISTENCE OF TWO HITHERTO MYTHICAL PLACES. SOMEWHERE, THERE IS A WORLD WHERE EVERYO NE MADE THE RIGHT CHOICE, THE MORAL CHOICE, THE CHOICE THAT MAXIMISED THE HAPPINESS OF THEIR FELLOW CREATURES. OF COURSE, THAT ALSO MEANS THAT SOMEWHERE ELSE IS THE SMOKING REMNANT OF THE WORLD WHERE THEY DID NOT ...
     
                  "Oh, come on! I know what you're impl ying, and I've never believed in any of that Heaven and Hell nonsense!"
     
                  The room was growing darker. The blue gleam along the edge of the Reaper's scythe was becoming more obvious.
     
                  ASTONISHING, said Death. REALLY ASTONISHING. LET ME PUT FORWARD ANOTHER SUGGESTION: THAT YOU ARE NOTHING MORE THAN A LUCKY SPECIES OF APE THAT IS TRYING TO UNDERSTAND THE COMPLEXITIES OF CREATION VIA A LANGUAGE THAT EVOLVED IN ORDER TO TELL ONE ANOTHER WHERE THE RIPE FRUIT WAS?
     
                  Fighting for breath, the philosopher managed t o say, "Don't be silly."
     
                  THE REMARK WAS NOT INTENDED AS DEROGATORY, said Death. UNDER THE CIRCUMSTANCES, YOU HAVE ACHIEVED A GREAT DEAL.
     
                  "We've certainly escaped from outmoded superstitions!"
     
                  WELL DONE, said Death. THAT'S THE SPIRIT. I JUST WANTED TO CHECK.
     
                  He leaned forward.
     
                  AND ARE YOU AWARE OF THE THEORY THAT THE STATE OF SOME TINY PARTICLES IS INDETERMINATE UNTIL THE MOMENT THEY ARE OBSERVED? A CAT IN A BOX IS OFTEN MENTIONED.
     
                  "Oh, yes," said the philosopher.
     
                  GOOD, said Death. He got to hi s feet as the last of the light died, and smiled.
     
                  I SEE YOU ...
     

For the Boskone 39 Program Book, February 2002.
     
     
     
     
     
N eil G aiman: A mazing M aster C onjurer
     
                  What can I say about Neil Gaiman that has not already been said in The Morbid Imagination: Fi ve Case Studies?
     
                  Well, he's no genius. He's better than that.
     
                  He's not a wizard, in other words, but a conjurer.
     
                  Wizards don't have to work. They wave their hands, and the magic happens. But conjurers, now ... conjurers work very hard. They spend a l ot of time in their youth watching, very carefully, the best conjurers of their day. They seek out old books of trickery and, being natural conjurers, read everything else as well, because history itself is just a magic show. They observe the way people t h ink, and the many ways in which they don't. They learn the subtle use of springs, and how to open mighty temple doors at a touch, and how to make the trumpets sound.
     
                  And they take centre stage and amaze you with flags of all nations and smoke and mirrors , and you cry: "Amazing! How does he do it? What happened to the elephant? Where's the rabbit? Did he really smash my watch?"
     
                  And in the back row we, the other conjurers, say quietly: "Well done. Isn't that a variant of the Prague Levitating Sock? Wasn't that Pasqual's Spirit Mirror, where the girl isn't really there? But where the hell did that flaming sword come from?"
     
                  And we wonder if there may be such a thing as wizardry, after all ...
     
                  I met Neil in 1985, when The Colour of Magic had just come out . It was my first ever interview as an author. Neil was making a living as a freelance journalist and had the pale features of someone who had sat through the review showings of altogether too many bad movies in order to live off the freebie cold chicken l egs they served at the receptions afterwards (and to build up his contacts book, which is now the size of the Bible and contains rather more interesting people). He was doing journalism in order to eat, which is a very good way of learning journalism. Pro b ably the only real way, come to think of it.
     
                  He also had a very bad hat. It was a grey homburg. He was not a hat person. There was no natural unity between hat and man. That was the first and last time