Fan fare, May 1953

In Short

This book is a digitized compilation of a 1953 amateur science fiction magazine. It features a mix of whimsical short stories, poetry, and reader correspondence, all bound together by the editor’s informal, self-deprecating commentary. Because the magazine functioned as a social hub for enthusiasts, it captures the raw, experimental energy of aspiring writers who were writing not for money, but for a community of like-minded peers. It remains a fascinating historical window into the collaborative, often messy, and deeply earnest world of mid-century genre fandom.

The Story

The "story" of this volume is essentially the story of its own production—a frantic, shoestring operation run by W. Paul Ganley. The narrative opens with the editor’s admission that this issue was assembled in a rush to coincide with a convention, resulting in self-confessed "sloppiness" in reproduction and a borrowed cover illustration. This sets the tone for the entire book: it is a collection of creative efforts that exist in a state of perpetual "almost."

Following the editorial, the fiction takes center stage. The longest piece, Harlan Ellison’s The Annals of Aardvark, follows a talking aardvark named Cassius who—after being frozen and revived by two Valkyries—becomes a man-about-town. With his elephant companion, Rubin, and a shady manager, he navigates the high-society nightclubs of New York, eventually tiring of "civilization" and returning to his roots. The tone is absurdist, frantic, and filled with a manic, youthful inventiveness.

Contrasting this is Loose Ends by Jean Reedy, a somber story about a woman named Ada Webster who, upon her death, observes her family from a disembodied perspective. She discovers that her long-estranged son, Howard, has been anonymously providing the care she received in her final days. The narrative arc moves from bitterness and pride to a quiet, melancholic acceptance of her son's love. Similarly, A Time to Love by Don Howard Donnell provides a post-apocalyptic vignette about two young survivors, Clark and Dianne, who find beauty and companionship in the ruins of the world. They grapple with the trauma of the "62 Blitz" while attempting to build a future in a deserted cave.

The book concludes with the "Assay Report," a section where the editor tallies reader votes on previous issues, and a series of letters from readers. These letters offer a meta-commentary, with contributors debating the merits of various stories and the "respectability" of science fiction as a genre. The entire arc finishes on a note of continuity—a promise of future stories and a plea for reader support, highlighting the cyclical, ongoing nature of a publication that lives month-to-month, fueled only by the dedication of its small, passionate circle of writers and readers.

How It Unfolds

The Editorial Confession The book begins by pulling back the curtain on its own imperfections, with the editor detailing the frantic, error-prone process of putting the issue together. This establishes a tone of transparency and community, where the flaws are treated as part of the shared experience.

The Absurdist Journey The narrative shifts into the wild adventures of Cassius Quagmire Aardvark, moving from a frozen Swiss village to the glitzy clubs of New York. The focus here is on rapid-fire, surreal humor that refuses to be constrained by logic.

The Human Reflection The tone pivots to more grounded, emotional territory with explorations of death, familial regret, and post-war loneliness. These stories move away from the whimsical and toward the introspective, grounding the book's speculative elements in human frailty.

The Meta-Dialogue The closing chapters consist of reader feedback and editorial assessments, turning the book into a conversation. Here, the readers act as critics and participants, debating the direction of the publication and the future of the genre.

The People

W. Paul Ganley is the editor and the book’s central curator. He is self-deprecating and overwhelmed, constantly apologizing for late stories and poor formatting while striving to keep his small magazine afloat.

Cassius Quagmire Aardvark is the protagonist of Ellison’s story. He starts as a literal animal but is transformed by "Valkyrie magic" into a sophisticated, suit-wearing man of the world. His journey is one of disillusionment; he enters society as a sensation and leaves it when he realizes that celebrity and "culture" are hollow.

Ada Webster is the heart of Loose Ends. A woman hardened by a life of poverty and domestic abuse, she is defined by her "stubborn pride." Through her post-death realization, she sheds this pride, finally acknowledging the love she denied herself during her lifetime.

Clark and Dianne are the young, traumatized lovers in A Time to Love. They are orphans of a catastrophic war who find solace in one another. They represent the resilience of the younger generation, attempting to find a sense of normalcy and romantic hope amidst the literal and figurative wreckage of their world.

In Its Own Voice

"The Valkyries, it seems, were delivering a package of lemon flavored Jell-O to the cook in Valhalla, and en route, had gotten frozen in the ice."

This introduction sets the surreal, non-sequitur tone for the adventures of Cassius the Aardvark.

"Ada looked at the body under the sheet. It was not as old as some, in years."

This moment marks the beginning of Ada’s disembodied observation of her own life and the family she left behind.

"The ever present, ever beautiful grass marched stolidly, like long rows of soldiers.... No. Grass does not kill, it must not be compared with soldiers, ever."

Clark’s internal monologue reflects his struggle to reconcile the beauty of the natural world with the violent memories of the war that destroyed his civilization.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book explores the dichotomy between the trivial and the profound. It juxtaposes the absurd, manic energy of youth—represented by the aardvark’s nightclub escapades—with the heavy, lingering trauma of the mid-century reality, including the looming fear of atomic war and the personal grief of lost family. The underlying argument is that science fiction serves as a necessary vessel for both escapism and genuine emotional processing. It asks whether humanity can hold onto its capacity for love and wonder in a world that is frequently broken, whether by the casual cruelty of a "drunken cockroach" nightclub or the systemic horror of global conflict.

Why Read It Today

You should read this if you are interested in the archaeology of genre fiction. It is not a polished work, but it possesses a raw, unvarnished charm that modern, hyper-professionalized magazines lack. There is a genuine, human warmth in the editor’s voice, and the fiction—while uneven—contains flashes of the brilliant, aggressive energy that would later define the careers of writers like Harlan Ellison.

Be prepared for the period-specific attitudes; the prose reflects the vernacular and the social norms of 1953, which can feel dated or jarring to a contemporary reader. The stories move quickly, often sacrificing plot cohesion for stylistic experimentation or emotional impact. However, there is something deeply moving about reading these voices from seven decades ago—they are so clearly writing for each other, eager to share a joke or a fear in the shadow of the atomic age. What stays with you is the sense of a community trying to make sense of a changing world through the power of the written word. It feels less like reading a book and more like finding a box of letters from a forgotten, but very much alive, moment in history.