of the obscure jokes in unholy land i'm v. fond of the shout-out to the tsaddik of the seven wonders, and one piss take of amos oz and a hitler cameo

So a random observation as I wait for my pizza. I recently re-read what I consider one of the best fantasy novels of the 20th century, John Masefield's MIDNIGHT FOLK (1926) - also one of the best children's novels of the 20th century, when it comes to that. Anyway-- Modern sf/f narratives almost uniformly have at stake the fate of the world. Now admittedly this goes way before LoTR or what not - Arthur, the Fisher King, the Waste Land etc. maybe set up the template, which is then explored in commercial plot terms. Anyway--

In 5 volumes, we published 103 authors, from 54 countries #WorldSFStats China: 7
Cuba: 3
France: 3
India: 6
Kenya: 2
Malaysia: 4
Mexico: 3
Nigeria: 5
Philippines: 7
Singapore: 3

#WorldSFStats

I have regrets, like I never watched Pluto Nash Like, I don't know why but I always kind of wanted to watch it but not enough to actually, like, watch it

I went into a coin shop in London the other day. I think I impressed the guy with the obscurity of my request. He just told me to go somewhere else. I also went into a phone shop to see if they'll replace my battery and they were like, No. I don't think I'm doing consumerism right.

Sodor... shit. I'm only in Sodor. Every time, I think I'm gonna wake up back on the train tracks. I'm here a week now. Waiting for a mission. Getting softer. And every minute Thomas runs the rails he gets stronger. Everyone gets everything he wants. I wanted a mission. And for my sins, they gave me one.

Her name was Kanga and she was trouble. She came into my office as I was about to dip into a honeypot. I liked honey the way priests love God.
"You are Pooh? The detective?" she said.
"I live under the name of Sanders. What's it to you?"
"My boy," she said. "Roo. He's missing." "I can pay you," she said quickly. "All the honey you can eat."
"I can eat a lot of honey, Toots," I told her.
"Please. I'll give you all the honey pots I have."
I looked her up and down. I looked at my threadbare room. There was no honey anywhere anymore.

She came into my office and I knew she was trouble as soon as I laid eyes on her. She was cold - winter-cold.
"You are Snufkin, the detective?" she said.
"What's it to you?"
When she moved she left a trail of frost behind her. She said, 'I am the Groke.' The Groke's been running snow into Moominvalley for as long as I'd been alive. They said she had half the hattifatteners working for her and the other half were dead.