When I found out yesterday that Arthur Clarke had died, I realized that the Holy Trinity had departed this earth. I mean, in the 60s, we always spoke of Asimov, Heinlein and Clarke as a sort of three-in-one and one-in-three. Clarke was the only one I didn't know personally, though I did correspond with him once. (Ray Bradbury was a quasi-member of the trinity, though a little suspect to many of us diehard fans because he could actually write, and because one had a strange suspicion that it wasn't really science fiction....)
Apart from the sudden realization that my autographed first edition of The Fountains of Paradise was now worth a lot more money, I can't say I'm too delighted at my childhood's end. I think it should just go on and on forever.
In a couple of days, my fiftieth book will officially be out. It's called OPUS FIFTY. Well, I did sort of get the idea from Isaac Asimov's OPUS 100, but I figured I would be dead before I could produce a book by that title.
If anyone happens to be in the Siam Paragon on Thursday, March 27 (the Paragon being, of course, the center of the universe) between 6 - 8 pm, drop into Asia Books ... I'll be there, and so will the book....
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