it's a great life, if you don't weaken (matociquala) wrote,
it's a great life, if you don't weaken
matociquala

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writer/fangeek

Apropos of nothing, it was discovered last night at dinner that Steve (who is also a writer, as some of you will know, and--if such things are possible--even more of a ravening Man from UNCLE fan than I am--and who had arrived, houseguest in tow, to assist us in the eradication of the rather large wodge of roast beast which I had killed and dragged home [from Costco, but don't tell the dogs; they're impressed with me, for once]. Both his writerliness and his fannishness are significant to the story. Bear with.) was unfamiliar with the Edward Gorey book, The Unstrung Harp. Of Which All Writers Must Partake. *g* Or at least, all novelists.

It makes us feel better.

This intolerable state of affairs was quickly remedied, as I hauled my copy out and subjected the house to a dramatic reading. Complete with showing-and-describing the pictures.

Somehow, they did not lynch me.

Steve being Steve, he looked at me with a twinkle in his eye and said "You know, there's another book other than The Unstrung Harp  that begins "It had begun to snow," and ends "It was still snowing."

After tormenting us for a few short minutes by making us guess, he pointed out that it was The Vampire Affair, by David McDaniel. (Generally considered in fandom to be the best of the MfU tie-in novels.) and, after a quick check of publication dates, we came to the unsurprising conclusion that McDaniel must have been a Gorey fan. Which should be a surprise to no-one who's read The Vampire Affair, especially the werewolf necropsy scene, and as Forrie Ackerman has a rather large cameo role in the novel as well.

But it was one of those beautiful moments of synthesis, where, twenty goddamned years later, you suddenly get the joke. We were all quite unbearable smug with ourselves for figuring it out, too.

(And just to make it funnier, truepenny had pointed the homage out to me previously, but because I have a brain that is incapable of remembering such fiddly details as the names of people I've known for years, book titles, or the plots of movies, I had forgotten it.)
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