Forty years ago, it was considered science fiction.
Forty years ago, it was read as science fiction. Stretching and expanding the boundaries of the genre, greedily absorbing every new trend, putting a human face on it, boldly ignoring Cain’s seal of the “genre ghetto.”
Now it’s perceived as one of the most human works of the newest era: a novel of piercing psychological power, a refined development of the theme of love and responsibility.
No wonder that Kiz’s book of memoirs, published already in the 1990s, was titled “Elgernon, Charlie, and Me.”