Left Left Behind

by Terry Bisson

Genres: Historical Fiction; Humor & Satire; Science Fiction; Biographical

Synopsis

Hugo and Nebula award-winner Terry Bisson is best known for his short stories, which range from the southern sweetness of “Bears Discover Fire” to the alienated aliens of “They’re Made Out of Meat.” He is also a 1960’s New Left vet with a history of activism and an intact (if battered) radical ideology.

The Left Behind novels (about the so-called “Rapture” in which all the born-agains ascend straight to heaven) are among the bestselling Christian books in the United States, describing in lurid detail the adventures of those “left behind” to battle the Anti-Christ. Put Bisson and the born-agains together, and what do you get? The Left Left Behind—a sardonic, merciless, tasteless, take-no-prisoners satire of the entire apocalyptic enterprise that spares no one—predatory preachers, goth lingerie, Pacifica Radio, Indian casinos, gangsta rap, and even “art cars” at Burning Man.

Plus: “Special Relativity,” a one-act drama that answers the question: When Albert Einstein, Paul Robeson, and J. Edgar Hoover are raised from the dead at an anti-Bush rally, which one wears the dress? As with all Outspoken Author books, there is a deep interview and autobiography: at length, in-depth, no-holds-barred and all-bets off: an extended tour through the mind and work, the history and politics of our Outspoken Author. Surprises are promised.

Release date: October 1, 2009

Publisher: PM Press

Print pages: 129

Sample

THE LEFT LEFT BEHIND “LET THEIR PEOPLE GO!”

“The Holy Land,” said Vince. “This is where it all began.” He felt a thrill as he looked around at the arid rocky hills that had given birth to so many great religions. Although as a skeptical TV newsman he didn’t believe in any of them, he respected them all.

“And where it’s all still going on,” said the Israeli general, Blitz Kreig, who was Vince’s guide and host. “Don’t forget we’re in a security zone. This is not quite Israel—yet.”

A stone bounced off his helmet.

“Understood,” said Vince. While his worshipful (and cute) young camera-girl videotaped him, he began the broadcast he had come ten thousand miles to make.

“This is Vince Kirkorian,” he said, “reporting for IHS News, and I’m here near the Israeli settlement of Itz-Al-Aurz to interview Dr Kramer Kramer, the Nobel Prize winning biologist who—”

RACKETY-RACKETY-RACK! Vince’s intro was suddenly interrupted by a loud grinding noise, followed by high-pitched screams. AAAIYEEE!

Annoyed, Vince signaled cut. “What’s all the racket?” he asked the general.

“Land reform,” General Kreig said proudly, pointing behind him to an armored bulldozer, which was demolishing a two-story house while wailing women in Arab headdresses looked on. “We’re making the desert bloom.”

Another rock bounced off his helmet.

“By bulldozing houses?” Like most TV newsmen, Vince had a highly developed appreciation of property values. “Where will these people live?”

“They’re Palestinians,” explained General Kreig, firing a short burst from his Uzi into a crowd of unruly kids. “They can hop on their camels and find another place to pitch their tents. This is the land God promised us. It’s in the Bible.”

Another rock bounced off his helmet. It didn’t seem to bother him.

“Oh, yes, the Promised Land,” said Vince, remembering. It didn’t seem quite fair, but he knew better than to question other people’s sincerely-held religious beliefs. “Can you ask them to hold off on the land reform till my interview with Dr. Kramer is over?”

“Done,” said the general, signaling the dozer driver, who shut down the huge machine. “And here comes the good doctor now!”

Vince couldn’t hide his smile as the old man approached, walking down the path from the attractive concrete battlements of the settlement perched on top of a nearby hill.

In his ragged cardigan and baggy pants, he looked exactly like Einstein, even to the kindly twinkle in his eye.

“I always watch your news show,” Dr. Kramer said as he shook Vince’s hand. “The world needs more honest, enterprising young journalists like yourself. And so cute!”

Vince all but blushed. “Thank you, Dr. Kramer. Now please, tell us about your new discovery.”

“My new bio-gen seed grows fish from soil,” said the aged humanitarian. A rock barely missed his head, and he ducked politely. “Gefilte fish, lox, whitefish, pickled herring. You name it. No one will ever go hungry again.”

“No Jew, anyway,” said the general, scattering a clump of children with a short burst of fire.

“That’s wonderful news for a hungry world,” said Vince. “And how do

 you intend to market this new discovery?”

“Market?” Dr. Kramer looked confused.

“Aren’t you going to patent and license this revolutionary new bio-gen? It’s worth millions.”

“I am an old man,” said Dr. Kramer, laughing. “What do I want with money? All I ask in return for my discovery is that the world allow Israel to live in peace.”

Just then, as if in answer, there was a distant roar.

It grew louder and louder.

“Hit the dirt!” cried General Kreig, pulling Vince and Dr. Kramer to the ground with him. Vince looked up and saw swarms of funky-looking fighter-bombers streaking in low across the barren hills. ...