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How to summarize the psychedelic, witty, helter-skelter mind of Harlan Ellison? A mind that refused to be contained by something as rudimentary as genre, form, or even a particular label. A mind that created some of the most outrageous short stories and novellas of the science fiction, fantasy, and speculative genres – including “I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream,” with its unhinged artificial intelligence bent on torturing what is left of humanity, and “Jeffty Is Five,” featuring a young boy’s mysterious, time-bending powers. A mind that passionately identified with the underdog, sometimes with disastrous results. A mind incandescent with fury, that saw storytelling as “a holy chore.” Assembled by the Harlan and Susan Ellison Foundation, Greatest Hits is an overview of Ellison’s award-winning and highly acclaimed short stories – as well as the stories that Ellison himself most treasured. Featuring a preface by Ellison’s executor and friend J. Michael Straczynski, a foreword by award-winning and bestselling author Neil Gaiman, and an introduction by bestselling author Cassandra Khaw, this collection of short stories and novellas serves as a guide to a writer who left his mark on the twentieth century – and whose legacy is in your hands.

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Harlan Ellison
Ellison was born in Cleveland, Ohio on May 27, 1934. Ellison moved to New York City in 1955 to pursue a writing career, primarily in science fiction. Over the next two years, he published more than 100 short stories and articles. In the late 1950s, Ellison wrote a number of erotic stories, such as "God Bless the Ugly Virgin" and "Tramp", which were later reprinted in Los Angeles-based girlie magazines. That was the beginning of his pseudonym Cordwainer Bird. From his web page: Who is Harlan Ellison? Harlan Ellison does not surf the net. You won't find him out here in cyberspace, staring goggle-eyed at one of the many pages which were apparently designed by a team of color-blind dyslexics; or spending ten minutes downloading an MPEG movie that fills an eighth of his display for three seconds; or running a WebCrawler search on "Ernest Hemingway" which yields two Muriel Hemingway sites and a promo page for the movie Ernest Goes to Camp 2. Harlan Ellison does not surf the net. He doesn't frequent Usenet. You won't find an fan group with his name, and you won't see him crucifying someone in alt.flame or trolling in alt.hi.are.you.cute. He doesn't e-mail his story revisions to editors or modem a copy of a collaboration to a friend. There is not an hellison@anywhere. Harlan Ellison does not surf the net. He is an author who has won every significant award the Science Fiction genre has to offer (most of them in multiple), but he does not even write on a computer. Harlan types everything of his you'll ever read two-fingered into a manual typewriter - no power, no memory, no backspace. He is proud of this. He considers the foot-pounds of energy he invests in each piece part of his direct and visceral connection to his readers. Harlan Ellison does not surf the net. He's out there in real life, baby, and in a way few people ever equal. He chews up each day like a candy wax coke bottle filled with syrup, and when he's done with it you can still pick out his teethmarks in what little is left. He's charged through life like a runaway train for six decades, and left a vapor trail which should be an inspiration for all the Walter Mittys and Miniver Cheevys of the world.