It's one of those halcyon bits of anthropomorphic literature which, like
Frankenstein, genre fans have been clawing to claim as their own over the years. Steven R. Boyett's story of raccoon-based alternate evolution has turned many a young sci-fi reader to furry, and older wistful furries like to look back on it as part of our shared history. It was
published and everything (back in 1986) to good reviews and favorable reception, though today its fans are rather few outside of the furries. 22 years later, what does Boyett
have to say about the proposed two sequels to
The Architect of Sleep?
Where's the rest of THE ARCHITECT OF SLEEP?
In a box in my closet. For the longest time I've had every intention of finishing it, but thanks to the existence of (and the kind of mail I get from) furries, I've changed my mind.
That's a bit unexpected from the author of a novel long-beloved by the furry community. Via
this thead, currently in progress:
I'm more likely to make the world happy by engineering a furry-specific virus with a 99.99% mortality rate. Furries are the very reason the sumbitch ain't getting finished in any medium now known or hitherto developed. I hate them, Sam I Am.
--steve boyett
Nope, they're mismatched-plaid-wearing, hygienically challenged, dandruff-carpeted gulp-laughers who show up on your front porch unannounced or send you demanding emails.
So who can we blame for this one? Quozl? Quozl?
