Life & Other Passing Moments. Victor J. Banis
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BORGO PRESS BOOKS BY VICTOR J. BANIS
The Astral: Till the Day I Die
Avalon: An Historical Novel
Charms, Spells, and Curses for the Millions
Color Him Gay: That Man from C.A.M.P.
The Curse of Bloodstone: A Gothic Novel of Terror
Darkwater: A Gothic Novel of Horror
The Daughters of Nightsong: An Historical Novel (Nightsong Saga #2)
The Devil’s Dance: A Novel of Terror
Drag Thing; or, The Strange Tale of Jackle and Hyde
The Earth and All It Holds: An Historical Novel
A Family Affair: A Novel of Terror
Fatal Flowers: A Novel of Horror
Fire on the Moon: A Novel of Terror
The Gay Dogs: That Man from C.A.M.P.
The Gay Haunt
The Glass House: A Novel of Terror
The Glass Painting: A Gothic Tale of Horror
Goodbye, My Lover
The Greek Boy
The Green Rolling Hills: Writings from West Virginia (editor)
Green Willows: A Novel of Terror
Kenny’s Back
Life & Other Passing Moments: A Collection of Short Writings
The Lion’s Gate: A Novel of Terror
Love’s Pawn: A Novel of Romance
Lucifer’s Daughter: A Novel of Horror
Moon Garden: A Novel of Terror
Nightsong: An Historical Novel (Nightsong Saga #1)
The Pot Thickens: Recipes from Writers and Editors (editor)
San Antone: An Historical Novel
The Scent of Heather: A Novel of Terror
The Second House: A Novel of Terror
The Second Tijuana Bible Reader (editor)
Spine Intact, Some Creases: Remembrances of a Paperback Writer
Stranger at the Door: A Novel of Suspense
Sweet Tormented Love: A Novel of Romance
The Sword and the Rose: An Historical Novel
This Splendid Earth: An Historical Novel
The Tijuana Bible Reader (editor)
The WATERCRESS File: That Man from C.A.M.P.
A Westward Love: An Historical Romance
White Jade: A Novel of Terror
The Why Not
The Wine of the Heart: A Novel of Romance
The Wolves of Craywood: A Novel of Terror
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
Copyright © 1972, 1978, 2005, 2007, 2012 by Victor J. Banis
Introduction Copyright © 2007 by Robert Reginald
Published by Wildside Press LLC
www.wildsidebooks.com
DEDICATION
Special thanks to Heather and Dave,
for all their efforts on my behalf;
And to John Betancourt, for bringing
so many of my books back to life.
INTRODUCTION
Thirty Years Among the Dead
I first heard the name “Victor Banis” some three decades ago, while I was working on the several volumes of a bibliography on Science Fiction and Fantasy Literature (Gale Research Co., 1979-92). He was apparently the real author behind “Jan Alexander” and “Lynn Benedict,” two pseudonymous writers of a series of supernatural horror paperbacks published from 1970 on. And he was also, or so it seemed to me, one “Victor Jay,” who’d penned a couple of raunchy, funny ghost stories in the late ’60s and early ’70s.
I hadn’t read any of his books, although I acquired most of them for my collection of historical pbs—but I wondered occasionally who he was and what he’d done, and whether he was an old-time pulpster or a child of the paperback era.
Thirty years are a very long time. Three decades ago I was a not-yet-thirty editor and publisher and writer with unlimited energy and an unlimited event-horizon ahead of me. A millennium later I’m a not-yet-sixty editor and writer with limited energy and a much shorter way to go on the road of life.
Most of the writers and editors that I met or knew in my youth are gone now: Robert Nathan, Leonard Wibberley, Malcolm “Mac” Hulke, Jerome Bixby, and so many others from the fantasy and science fiction and mystery communities. They helped shape my career—and greatly enriched my life.
Victor Banis was not among them, however.
My brief sojourn in L.A. during 1969-70 may well have overlapped his own, but our professional circles did not intersect, save peripherally through my compilations and acquaintances. I continued thereafter to write and edit and eventually publish from San Bernardino, driving into L.A. several times a month during the 1970s—but I just never encountered the man, which was entirely my loss. And so it goes—and so it went—for the both of us during the ensuing decades. Thirty-plus years are a very long time indeed.
And then, just over a year ago, I encountered the elusive Banissimus once more, and that, my dear friends, is a story in and of itself.
A while back I was asked by my friend Bill Contento to update my old SF biblio on CD-ROM, and I’d started checking and rechecking the author information and bib data, a long, tedious, and as yet unfinished business. Lo and behold, I found a few more tomes by Mr. Banis to add to my growing list—but nothing published past 1980. Either the man was dead, or he’d completely stopped writing fantasy and horror (false syllogisms both, as it turned out).
Then in March 2006, I was approached by Wildside Press to edit a line of reprints for them, to be partially derived from the old Borgo Press list that Mary and I had published for a quarter century. I missed editing, so I agreed to participate.
But I was still working on that blankety-blank update to SF&FL, and while checking authors’ names on the Internet, I was pulled to a website featuring the pseudonymous works of one William Maltese—including a number of SF titles already listed in my oversized reference tomes. I dropped him an e-note, and immediately got a response that helped clarify what he’d penned.
And in the course of our several conversations I began to wonder, oh yes I did, ladies and gents, whether or not I could expand my offerings at WP by reprinting fiction by Mr. Maltese—and possibly others. For it seemed to me that the market was ripe for such a revolution. And, wonder of wonders, my prescient publisher did agree.
And then William mentioned several friends of his—all longtime pros in the business—who might also be interested. There was Ms. X. There was Mr. Y. And there was Mr. Z—that damned name again: BANIS! Victor J. Banis!
After thirty years among the dead, the man had resurrected himself. He was living in the wilds of West Virginia (at which point I wondered if he was actually brain-dead, having encountered some of the rougher areas of that lovely state in my many meanderings!).
“No, no, no,” the Maltese falcon chirped back at me, “he’s living in a suburb of D.C. He’d be happy to hear from you. Just mention my name in Atlantis.”
So I did—write him, that is—and did—hear back from him—and did eventually publish him, and did finally