Harlan Ellison had (and still has) a wild imagination. Published over thirty years ago, this short story collection showcases how easily he brewed ideas. “Mom” is about the ghost of a Jewish mother nagging after her surviving son. “Croatoan” is about aborted babies and abandoned crocodiles residing in the sewers. “The New York Review of Bird” is about Ellison’s own invented pseudonym coming to life and harassing a bookstore clerk.
The collection left me grateful that we have the umbrella of Speculative Fiction. While many are brooding, few of these try to become Horror stories. Most of these aren’t really Science Fiction or Fantasy either; they’re simply outlandish. “Hitler Painted Roses” begins with an almost-comedic opening, but transitions into melodrama as the lone escapee from Hell finds her target. Ellison’s imagination obviously doesn’t belong to one Genre-genre, but rather under a wide umbrella of the strange.
What unites these stories is attitude. Many protagonists sound just like Ellison, sometimes bitter, often worn down on patience or will to live, fruitlessly struggling for something. Sometimes they make you laugh, but others they hit Noir levels of grit. The attitude of a life incomprehensibly conspiring to leave them tried or unhappy binds the collection. That would be insufferable if not for Ellision’s fantastic imagination for ways to do it.
Those ideas see varying degrees of success as proper stories. “Mom” is a fairly complete comedy. “The Diagnosis of Dr. D'arqueAngel” is a grim descent into fascination with immortality, and has a traditional flow of plot. Meanwhile “The New York Review of Bird” never really has a focus, being the vehicle for a rant; “Working With the Little People” is more of a cute idea than a story; and “Croatoan” veers from being mainstream malaise fiction to something surreal. Most are worth reading simply because of the ingenuity behind them. Even if it fails to establish an arc, it’ll probably hit you with something neat.
The titular story is actually the weakest in the collection. "Strange Wine" follows a man who believes he's actually an alien sent to earth to live in a human body for his crimes. He sees our planet as a kind of prison or Hell. It's a neat concept that Ellison does nothing with: the man is unhappy with his situation, sees a psychiatrist who makes him repeat his situation, then dies and is told earth isn't a punishment, but actually the nicest place in the universe and he should have enjoyed it. The message isn't just obvious; it's repeated over paragraphs. There's no actual execution on the novel premise. It's merely preaching a point (if a nice one) at you, without any art around it.
You can’t help coming away with an opinion of Ellison as a person. The collection opens with an essay ranting against television. Many of the stories have some central opinion or are in first person, and his first person voice sounds very similar every time – very similar, too, to his forewords. Every story is also accompanied by a foreword, typically about how he got the idea. Some of these real stories are as amusing as any of his fiction, like that a few were written in a glass department store window while the author was on public display. But others cross into Artist Statement territory, that awful space that robs readers of their own experience and force you to only see a point the writer was trying to make. In them he expresses disdain for the insane, browbeats anyone who has ever believed in any superstition or conspiracy theory, and relates at least three fights he had with people. He sells himself as a curmudgeon who really would like things to be better, and as in the foreword to “Strange Wine,” admits that his own jaded nature is always challenged by some great act of individual kindness or goodness. It’s the last angle on the attitude of his fiction, that thing that causes the protagonist of “Crotoan” to see the alligators and undead babies, and rather than call them monsters, decide to take care of them.