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Ron McFarland




I was reading some sort of futuristic fantasy, or allegory, or maybe it was a parable about a New Israel and a New Jerusalem replete with simulacra and set on some distant planet, when I found my mind rambling backwards into the past, nearly fifty years ago, and the fact that it was quite content to find itself back in Urbana, Illinois, in July or August 1968, probably explains as well as anything does why it is that I’ve never been a fan of sci-fi or premise fiction. It’s outrageous, when you think of it, for a . . . 
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