From the drunk genius who brought the world Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser (and many other amazing works) came the winner of the 1965 Hugo and my heart, 'The Wanderer'.
The Wanderer of the title is a mobile planet that suddenly appears in the orbit of Earth and begins siphoning the sea, wrecking the tides, kicking ass and generally NOT taking names.
Picture it, hanging there in the sky: a whole damn planet, yellow and purple and much, much too close.
It's a rollicking disaster movie of a book, as we leap omnipotently from group of struggling, shocked humans to group of struggling, terrfied humans, all trying to divine the purpose of the Wanderer in shattering their lives and cities.
And what sucks the most is finding out why.
It's the second novel by Fritz Leiber to win the Hugo, and I gave it 4 stars out of 5 on goodreads.com. I really want somebody to try to make it as a modern movie, but they'd probably find a way to ruin what I imagined.
Like the folks behind this cinematic series of turds undoubtedly did.
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