Science fiction used to be the home of dangerous ideas.
Growing up in the 1960’s and 1970’s, I needed that. I was a strange child, with few friends and no close connections. I didn’t fit in anywhere, not at home, not at school, not in the suburban residential neighborhood that I wandered through, lonely as a cloud.
Pretty much the only place that I could feel I belonged was the library. I read voraciously, and I discovered an entire class of books that dealt with the strange, the things that didn’t fit. The things like me.
From science fiction I learned that I was not alone, not sui generis. Other people had the same kind of oddball corkscrew mind I had. Because science fiction (and fantasy, although my hometown library didn’t make that distinction and put everything that was set someplace else in one section) wasn’t supposed to be
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