Descendants

Lee Hana: Descendants (2026)

Mass hysteria overwhelms an Australian shopping mall. A Burmese monk recalls a strange path to enlightenment. An ancient professor serves as his tribe’s frontal cortex. A firebrand lawmaker discovers what’s left after her soul is stolen. And everywhere, in this wild panorama of the next five centuries, we find the spectral traces of ourselves. These are worlds, sometimes disturbing, where you may not recognise your descendants …

• A mindbending new story collection from the Pōneke writer, Lee Hana.
• Majestic postpunk sci-fi page turner, grounded in places throughout Asia Pacific.
• Perfect for readers of LeGuin, Ballard, Butler, Borges, Atwood, Frame, Chiang, Pip Adam.

It's difficult to know just how to approach the art of the blurb. If you take it too far, casual readers tend to dismiss it as hyperbole. But then, if you dial it back too much, nobody bothers to open the book - even after your carefully curated cover-image has encouraged them to pick it up in the first place!

I'm not sure if the word "majestic" is precisely the one I would have chosen: and that list of authors sounds a little scattershot, also, but that's not to say that I didn't enjoy reading Lee Hana's debut collection of stories, launched on the 9th of May this year at the PSY FI gig advertised below:

Under the Radar: PSY FI (2026)

I'll be honest. At first I wasn't too sure about these "literary speculative" stories - as their author describes them. The opening piece, "Matsuri" - an account of a series of disturbances at a suburban shopping mall - seemed a bit inconclusive to me. It read more like notes towards a story than the story itself: "Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction," as Wallace Stevens might have put it.

But there the book was, sitting on my bedside table, and I found myself picking it up from time to time to read further stories. Gradually I began to feel that odd sensation of learning how to read again. Sometimes things just click into place; other times you have to re-educate yourself in a more systematic way. John Ashbery, for me, was an example of the first experience; Lee Hana of the second.

I'm not sure if all these stories are of equal merit. It doesn't seem to me to be quite the right question. What I began to feel was that they added up to something: a certain way of perceiving things. Sure, I have my favourites. I empathise greatly with the hapless book collector in "Bushfire." I like "Queen," too - that fine last line: "This was an unimagined new century and the queen was not pleased with what she saw" seems, in a sense, to sum up the whole book.

Sunday Star-Times: Lee Hana (2026)

Descendants, though - the title he's chosen: descendants of what, of whom? There was an interesting appendix to an email I received from Lee Hana early in the process of writing this blogpost:

Science fiction = surrealism + plausibility
Crime = sociology + sociopathy
Romance = blowing on dying embers
Fantasy = the opposite of your life
Horror = what you fear you might deserve
Literary = the white page wants to be invisible

I don't know if this is original or not, but - in either case - I like it. I like it a lot. It's an intriguing set of definitions, and betrays an author who's been thinking hard about the parameters of genre fiction: presumably with the intention of breaking, or at the very least trespassing across them.

It also confirms my suspicion that this is a book which is more than the sum of its parts. What may seem tentative and under-written at first turns out to mask a subtlety of indirection: a philosophy of things not just as they are, but as they soon might be, compiled in deadly earnest.

So, rather than simply listing the 14 stories Lee Hana has included in his book, with a metaphorical tick or cross against each one, I thought it might be more interesting to contrast it with another collection I've been reading recently, also for the first time, although it was published almost half a century ago.

It's not that I think Lee Hana has read it too, but rather that he is, in a sense, its descendant - in whatever sense you like to take that:

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Edward Hamilton Waldo ["Theodore Sturgeon"] (1918-1985)

Back in the mid-1970s, SF maven Theodore Sturgeon edited a series called "The Best of Soviet Science Fiction". It included, inevitably, quite a few titles by the Strugatsky brothers, but there were a number of other authors involved as well.

I was fortunate enough to find a whole bunch of them on a remainders table some years ago. This was the result:

1. Igor Vsevolodovich Mozheyko ['Kirill Bulychev'] (1934-2003)

   Bulychev, Kirill. Half a Life and Other Stories. Trans. Helen Saltz Jacobson. Introduction by Theodore Sturgeon. Best of Soviet Science Fiction. New York: Macmillan Publishing Co., Inc. / London: Collier Macmillan Publishers, 1977.


2. Viktor Dmitrievič Kolupaev (1936-2001)

   Kolupaev, Victor. Hermit’s Swing. Trans. Helen Saltz Jacobson. Introduction by Theodore Sturgeon. Best of Soviet Science Fiction. New York: Macmillan Publishing Co., Inc. / London: Collier Macmillan Publishers, 1980.


3. Vladimir Ivanovich Savchenko (1933-2005)

   Savchenko, Vladimir. Self-Discovery. Trans. Antonina W. Bouis. Introduction by Theodore Sturgeon. Best of Soviet Science Fiction. New York: Macmillan Publishing Co., Inc. / London: Collier Macmillan Publishers, 1979.


4. Vadim Sergeevich Shefner (1915-2002)

   Shefner, Vadim. The Unman / Kovrigin’s Chronicles. Trans. Alice Stone & Alexander Nakhimovsky, Antonina W. Bouis. Introduction by Theodore Sturgeon. Best of Soviet Science Fiction. New York: Macmillan Publishing Co., Inc. / London: Collier Macmillan Publishers, 1980.


5. Arkady Strugatsky (1925-1991) & Boris Strugatsky (1933-2012)

   Strugatsky, Boris & Arkady. Noon: 22nd Century. 1962. Trans. Patrick L. MacGuire. Introduction by Theodore Sturgeon. Best of Soviet Science Fiction. New York: Macmillan Publishing Co., Inc. / London: Collier Macmillan Publishers, 1978.
   
   

   

   Strugatsky, Boris & Arkady. Far Rainbow / The Second Invasion from Mars. 1963 & 1967. Trans. Antonina W. Bouis & Gary Kern. Introduction by Theodore Sturgeon. Best of Soviet Science Fiction. 1979. New York: Macmillan Publishing Co., Inc. / London: Collier Macmillan Publishers, 1980.
   
   

   

   Strugatsky, Boris & Arkady. Roadside Picnic / Tale of the Troika. 1972 & 1968. Trans. Antonina W. Bouis. Introduction by Theodore Sturgeon. Best of Soviet Science Fiction. New York: Macmillan Publishing Co., Inc. / London: Collier Macmillan Publishers, 1977.
   
   

   

   Strugatsky, Boris & Arkady. Definitely Maybe: A Manuscript Discovered Under Unusual Circumstances. 1977. Trans. Antonina W. Bouis. Introduction by Theodore Sturgeon. Best of Soviet Science Fiction. New York: Macmillan Publishing Co., Inc. / London: Collier Macmillan Publishers, 1978.

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Andrei Tarkovsky, dir.: Stalker (1979)

The most obvious manifestation of these books - for me, at least - was Tarkovsky's strange, late movie Stalker, the last film he directed in the Soviet Union before leaving for the West.

Despite the fact that the film's screenplay was written by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky, it bears little resemblance to their novel Roadside Picnic, one of the gems of the "Best of Soviet Science Fiction" series. The conceit of their original story is (as one of the characters describes it):

A picnic. Picture a forest, a country road, a meadow. Cars drive off the country road into the meadow, a group of young people get out carrying bottles, baskets of food, transistor radios, and cameras. They light fires, pitch tents, turn on the music. In the morning they leave. The animals, birds, and insects that watched in horror through the long night creep out from their hiding places. And what do they see? Old spark plugs and old filters strewn around ... Rags, burnt-out bulbs, and a monkey wrench left behind ... And of course, the usual mess — apple cores, candy wrappers, charred remains of the campfire, cans, bottles, somebody’s handkerchief, somebody’s penknife, torn newspapers, coins, faded flowers picked in another meadow.

The book is about the "stalkers" who visit the site - known as the Zone - of this alien picnic, looking for scraps to pick up, at constant risk of their lives if it turns out to be toxic or deadly in some other way.

Out of this Tarkovsky wove a complex parable about the moral cost of achieving your heart's desire. It's probably my favourite among all of his films - much though I love Andrei Rublev and his other SF masterpiece Solaris - but there's a certain hard SF grittiness about the original story that I like nearly as much.

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Kirill Bulychev: Half a Life (1977)

But it wasn't the Strugatsky brothers I was reading at the same time as Descendants. No, it was the collection above, by the less-well known Kirill (or "Kir") Bulychev, a Russian Orientalist who doubled as an immensely prolific science fiction writer. His work is not as philosophically testing as that of Stanislaw Lem or the Strugatskys - the most successful of the many SF writers behind the Iron Curtain - but it, too, has its appeal.

There are time-slip stories, alien abduction stories, and various other manifestations of "the whole threadbare lot of telepaths, cosmic wars, parallel worlds, and time travel" (as Lem once characterised the commercial SF of his time). It is, however, the quotidian background of Soviet life - phones that don't work, compulsory group picnics by the river, shoddy city apartments - that lend Bulychev's work a curious patina of difference: for a Western reader, at any rate.

The alien backgrounds may be similar, but the everyday foreground was divergent enough to dislocate me significantly in time as well as space as I read. The sixties and seventies seem increasingly strange to us, in any case - even for those of us who lived through them. Recasting that strangeness to a threatening universe of (alleged) ideological constraint beyond the Iron Curtain can have the result of pushing you quite off balance.

It's not so much that life there does sound all that different. It's just that it is, still, unknown and unpredictable: far more so, paradoxically, than the stereotyped backdrops of the SF environments we've grown so used to over the years.

Borges, Ocampo, Bioy Casares, Le Guin, et al.: The Book of Fantasy (1990)

I imagine you can see the point I'm making. It's hard to "make it new" in so well-trodden a field as Fantasy/SF, but that doesn't mean that the effort's not worth it. I was a bit taken aback when I read that list of authors Lee Hana's work was, implicitly, being compared to:

Ursula K. Le Guin, J. G. Ballard, Octavia Butler, Jorge Luis Borges, Margaret Atwood, Janet Frame, Ted Chiang, Pip Adam

These are some pretty awe-inspiring names to invoke! But I think I can now see the point he was making. It's not so much the eminence as the divergence of these names that's significant. Some could be said to be writing New Wave Sci fi; others Metafictional puzzles of various kinds, but all of them inhabit the disturbing far ranges of the Fantastic: "Psy Fi" as the conference organisers call it. J. G. Ballard would have referred to it as exploration of inner space.

Having now read his book, I'm inclined to agree that this is the territory Lee Hana, too, is traversing. And I'm very impressed with this, his first concerted venture into unknown lands. I'd like to read more, and I'm confident that we'll be hearing more, much more from him in the future - whatever eldritch Lovecraftian future that might turn out to be ...

Lee Hana: Descendants Launch (2026)

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SF Luminaries: Stanislaw Lem

Wojciech Druszcz: Stanisław Lem

What is it about Stanislaw Lem that sets him apart from other SF writers? Because there is something that puts him in a category of his own, somewhere between J. G. Ballard and Philip K. Dick, though with powers of pure intellect quite different from their more sensitive, aesthetic approach to what Lem himself once called (in his essay "Philip K. Dick: A Visionary Among the Charlatans"):

the whole threadbare lot of telepaths, cosmic wars, parallel worlds, and time travel ...

Stanisław Lem: Solaris (1961)

Ever since I first chanced on a copy of Solaris in the local second-hand shop in Mairangi Bay, I've been trying to come to terms with his work. I wasn't even aware then that there was a film - let alone one as beguiling and magical as Tarkovsky's - so the book made its impact on me without any other visual aids.

The long account of the science of "Solaristics" in the middle chapters of Lem's story functions as a satire on Academia in general: its tendency to lurch from one one-sided theory to another, but it also shows a faith in the basic seriousness of his readers which transcended any of the more conventional slam-bang American or British Sci-fi I'd grown up on.

Stanislaw Lem: The Invincible (1964)

The other book of his I read at this time was The Invincible. Wow, what a contrast! This grim story of a thwarted attempt at planetary colonisation would have been almost unimaginable in English-language SF at the time. No boosterism - no Campbell-era "man plus" thinking. Lem was a serious dude, and his books clearly repaid study rather than providing instant gratification.

The Mind's Eye, ed. Douglas R. Hofstadter & Daniel C. Dennett (1981)

It's a little difficult now to account for the excitement surrounding Douglas R. Hofstadter's book Gödel, Escher, Bach in the late 1970s. Everyone I knew - in my own little circle of secondary school 'intellectuals,' that is - made some attempt to read it. I got about halfway through. Perhaps some of the others, cleverer at Maths, were actually able to get to the end. This anthology of pieces, co-edited by him and Daniel C. Dennett, appeared a couple of years later, and introduced me to a whole species of thinking about Artificial Intelligence and other cool subjects I knew virtually (pun intended) nothing about.

I'd already read Borges, but meeting him in this new company made me see that his work was the beginning rather than the end of a particular train of thought. And there were pieces in there by Stanislaw Lem, too: strange, non-naturalistic tales of computer derring-do which called all conventional genre-categories into question. I began to realise that the basically realistic settings of Solaris and The Invincible were only a small part of his work. I started to wonder, in fact, if they were simply intended as cynical strategies to lure the unwary into the seamless web of his "deeper" works.

And so my quest began: to explore the strange galaxies of Stanislaw Lem, to attempt to understand just why he was the "most widely read SF writer in the world" (as all his blurbs proclaimed). Was it simply because he had a virtual monopoly on the field in the entire Eastern bloc, or was there more to it than that? Did he offer something better than those "threadbare" themes, mentioned above?

Stanislaw Lem: Solaris / The Chain of Chance / A Perfect Vacuum (1961, 1975 & 1971)

As so often in those days, Penguin books came to the rescue. These two wonderful King Penguins from 1981 reprinted the two novels I'd already read alongside a series of strange mock-reviews of imaginary books (A Perfect Vacuum); a bizarrely circumstantial account of a particular 'coincidental' set of events (The Chain of Chance); a completely convincing - because almost completely incomprehensible - account of the future world encountered by a returning astronaut (Return from the Stars); as well as some strangely subversive tales of space-travel by the eponymous Pirx the Pilot.

Stanislaw Lem: Tales of Pirx the Pilot / Return from the Stars / The Invincible (1973, 1961 & 1964)

It was, in retrospect, a pretty good sample of Lem's wares: the faux-essays, the off-narratives, the weird attempts at surreal humour - his basic preoccupation with the functional impossibility of human-to-human, let alone human-to-alien, communication.

Stanislaw Lem: His Master's Voice (1968)

This latter theme comes to a head in His Master's Voice, a book which reads (in part) like a bitter parody of the sunnier visions provided by Carl Sagan's Contact or even the slightly more hardheaded The Black Cloud, by Astronomer Royal Fred Hoyle.

[Warning: plot spoilers ahead]: A book of random numbers is returned to its publishers by various disgruntled users, who point out that it starts to repeat on a certain page. The numbers, it turns out, were generated from the random static produced by a particular frequency band in a radio telescope. They must, therefore (it is reasoned) constitute some kind of message from the stars, given that they do repeat after a certain interval.

The rest of the book is largely consumed by philosophical discussions around the implications of all this. The complete failure of the scientists to decode the message beyond a few basic steps is, finally, reasoned to be proof of the validity of the message. It could only be decoded by civilisations fit to receive it, which ours (manifestly) is not. Our failure constitutes the message's success.

As you can imagine, such austerity of narrative discipline can lead to a certain reduction in one's potential fan base. Luckily, his new books continued to attract enough interest in America to be translated into English there. They became harder and harder to locate in these parts, however.

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Agnieszka Gajewska: Zagłada i Gwiazdy (2016)

There is, however, another aspect to the life (and works) of Stanislaw Lem. Philip K. Dick famously proclaimed him to be not so much a man as a communist committee (mainly, it appears, out of pique at not being able to collect royalties on Lem's Polish translation of Ubik - a situation completely beyond Lem's control).

For a long time I was hesitant to learn too much about his background, in fact, lest it have the unfortunate effect of souring me on his work. He did, after all, prosper greatly under the communist regime in Poland. Just what compromises might that fact conceal?

The truth, it appears, is stranger, much stranger than that. A recent article entitled "Stanisław Lem: Did the Holocaust Shape His Sci-Fi World? by Polish critic Mikołaj Gliński reveals a whole hidden world under the slick, space-age surface of Lem's most disturbing fictions:

Perhaps the most direct case of encrypting personal experiences in Lem’s sci-fi work comes in his 1968 novel His Master’s Voice. In it, Hogarth the protagonist ... relates a wartime story of his friend Professor Rappaport ...

The story ... includes terrifying scenes of a street execution taking place in the yard of the prison, in his hometown, in 1942. Rapaport spent a couple of hours lined up against the wall waiting his turn before the unexpected arrival of a film crew saved his life. During this time he witnesses a grotesque scene where a Jewish man tries to persuade Germans that he too is German, only he is saying this in Yiddish, a scene which to Rappaport, in his current state of mind, appears to be infinitely funny. Then awaiting his turn in front of the firing squad, he decides to turn his thoughts to reincarnation.

Only many years later, in a private letter to his American translator Michael Kandel from 1972, did Lem for the first time admit that Rappaport’s story ... is in fact his own.

Lem's Jewish heritage was something he seldom discussed, and in fact claimed to have only discovered during the war as a result of the Nazi Nuremberg laws. In her 2016 book Zagłada i Gwiazdy [Holocaust and Stars] Lem scholar Agnieszka Gajewska argues otherwise.

The "happy, almost idyllic, childhood, surrounded by loving parents and a whole entourage of cousins, aunts and uncles" Lem describes in his memoir Highcastle (1975) is a characteristically selective account of his past:

Lem's native city Lviv between the wars

Almost all the members of his extended family – the anonymous uncles and aunts from Highcastle – died in the Holocaust, murdered in Lviv and Bełżec. The last of Lem’s relatives were killed after the war in the Kielce pogrom.

Far from a communist hireling or a state-sanctioned apologist, then, Lem was a Holocaust survivor, with - as Gliński and Gajewska's analysis of his published work reveals - possibly more than his fair share of survivor's guilt. Like other Jewish writers such as Paul Celan and Georges Perec, Lem shied away from direct representations of the events themselves, instead preferring to code them into the aporia of his increasingly strange stories.

As in the case of Celan's "Todesfuge" [Death Fugue], though, this came after earlier attempts at a more direct approach:

Wartime reality appears quite directly in Lem’s first novel. The Hospital of the Transfiguration is a realist novel set during a war in an unidentified mental institution where doctors prepare for the Nazis' imminent appearance. Lem’s protagonist, Polish doctor Stefan Trzyniecki, is the same age as Lem at the time of writing the novel. One of the recurring themes is that whenever he doesn’t shave, he starts to look Jewish.

... Gajewska argues that in this encrypted way, Lem’s novel becomes not only a depiction of the wartime tragedy of the patients of a mental institution but also a tale of the Jewish inhabitants of Lviv. At the same time, as Gajewska points out, this was also part of the complicated game with the communist-imposed censorship in postwar Poland.

Celan grew to hate "Todesfuge" after he learned that it was being taught in the Secondary School curriculum in Postwar Germany as an exemplar of "forgiveness" for the brutal realities of the Final Solution. His later, more austere work was harder to adapt to such phony, lying ends (or so he hoped).

Lem's battles with censorship may have been more directly influential on the content of his books: Highcastle, for instance, may have taken its present form for reasons quite outside its author's control.

Whether deliberate or unconscious, it seems impossible to deny the presence of these unassimilated memories in the midst of Lem's most cerebral and otherwordly offerings. The result, I would hope, should be to give him a new currency as one of the twentieth century's greatest and most influential writers.

This is my own (partial) list of his works - those available in English translation, that is:

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Stanislaw Lem

Stanisław Herman Lem
(1921-2006)

1. Hospital of the Transfiguration. [‘Czas nieutracony: Szpital przemienienia’, 1955]. Trans. William Brand. A Helen and Kurt Wolff Book. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Inc., 1988.


2. The Star Diaries: From the Memoirs of Ijon Tichy (1). [‘Dzienniki gwiazdowe’, 1957-71]. Trans. Michael Kandel. Illustrated by the Author. 1976. An Orbit Book. London: Futura, 1978.


3. Memoirs of a Space Traveller: Further Reminiscences of Ijon Tichy. [‘Dzienniki gwiazdowe’, 1957-71]. Trans. Joel Stern & Maria Swiecicka-Ziemianek. Illustrated by the Author. 1982. A Helen and Kurt Wolff Book. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1982.


4. Eden. [‘Eden’, 1959]. Trans. Marc E. Heine. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1989.


5. The Investigation. ['Śledztwo', 1959]. Trans. Adele Milch. New York: The Seabury Press, 1974.


6. Mortal Engines. [‘Bajki robotów’, 1961]. Trans. Michael Kandel. 1977. A Bard Book. New York: Avon Books, 1982.


7. Return from the Stars. [‘Powrót z gwiazd’, 1961]. Trans. Barbara Marszal & Frank Simpson. 1980. King Penguin. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1981.


8. Solaris. [‘Solaris’, 1961]. Trans. Joanna Kilmartin & Steve Cox. 1971. London: Arrow Books, 1973.


9. Memoirs Found in a Bathtub: From the Memoirs of Ijon Tichy (2). [‘Pamiętnik znaleziony w wannie’, 1961]. Trans. Michael Kandel & Christine Rose. 1973. A Harvest / HBJ Book. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1986.


10. The Invincible. [‘Niezwyciężony’, 1964]. Trans. Wendayne Ackerman. 1973. Penguin Science Fiction. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1976.


11. Summa Technologiae (Electronic Mediations). [‘Summa Technologiae’, 1964]. Trans. Joanna Zylinska. Minneapolis: University Of Minnesota Press, 2013.


12. The Cyberiad: Fables for the Cybernetic Age. [‘Cyberiada’, 1967]. Trans. Michael Kandel. Illustrated by Daniel Mroz. 1974. An Orbit Book. London: Futura, 1977.


13. His Master's Voice. [‘Głos pana’, 1968]. Trans. Michael Kandel. 1983. London: Mandarin, 1990.


14. Microworlds: Writings on Science Fiction and Fantasy. [‘Fantastyka i futurologia’, 1970]. Ed. Franz Rottensteiner. 1984. London: Secker & Warburg, 1985.


15. A Perfect Vacuum. [‘Doskonała próżnia’, 1971]. Trans. Michael Kandel. 1979. King Penguin. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1981.


16. The Futurological Congress: From the Memoirs of Ijon Tichy (3). [‘Ze wspomnień Ijona Tichego; Kongres futurologiczny’, 1971]. Trans. Michael Kandel. 1974. An Orbit Book. London: Futura, 1977.


17. Tales of Pirx the Pilot. [‘Opowieści o pilocie Pirxie’, 1973]. Trans. Louis Iribarne. 1979. King Penguin. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1981.


18. More Tales of Pirx the Pilot. [‘Opowieści o pilocie Pirxie’, 1973]. Trans. Louis Iribarne with Magdalena Majcherczyk & Michael Kandel. 1982. London: Mandarin, 1990.


19. Imaginary Magnitude. [‘Wielkość urojona’, 1973]. Trans. Marc E. Heine. 1984. London: Mandarin, 1991.


20. The Chain of Chance. [‘Katar’, 1975]. Trans. Louis Iribarne. 1978. King Penguin. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1981.


21. Highcastle: A Remembrance. ['Wysoki zamek', 1975]. Trans. Michael Kandel. New York: Harcourt Brace, 1995.


22. The Cosmic Carnival of Stanisław Lem: An Anthology of Entertaining Stories by the Modern Master of Science Fiction. Ed. Michael Kandel. New York: Continuum, 1981.


23. One Human Minute. ['Biblioteka XXI wieku', 1986]. Trans. Catherine S. Leach. 1986. London: Mandarin, 1991.


24. Fiasco. [‘Fiasko’, 1986]. Trans. Michael Kandel. 1987. London: Futura, 1989.


25. Peace on Earth: From the Memoirs of Ijon Tichy (4). ['Pokój na Ziemi', 1987]. Trans. Michael Kandel & Elinor Ford. New York: Harcourt Brace, 1994.


26. A Stanislaw Lem Reader (Rethinking Theory). Ed. Peter Swirsky. Evanston, Illinois: Northwestern University Press, 1997.


27. Lemistry: A Celebration of the Work of Stanisław Lem. Ed. Magda Raczynska & Ra Page. Manchester: Comma Press, 2011.


28. The Truth and Other Stories. 1956-1993. Trans. Antonia Lloyd-Jones. Foreword by Kim Stanley Robinson. Cambridge, MA & London: The MIT Press, 2021.


29. Dialogues. ['Dialogi', 1957 / 1971]. Trans. Frank Prengel. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2021.

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Stanisław Lem: A Bibod