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| Published in two volumes in US | ||
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New English Library 1981 (UK) ISBN 0 450 05343 1 |
Ace 1986 (US) ISBN 0-441-66232-3 |
Ace
1987 (US) ISBN 0-441-10602-1 |
| Funtopia review: | A far-future earth, striated with the scars of Man's large-scale technological ineptitude, peopled by aristocratic elites, backwoods tribesmen, religious fanatics, strange new forms of life, and the usual detritus of hustlers, thugs, criminals and madmen. Phaid is an itinerant gambler with one eye always on the main chance, wanting little more from life than fine clothes, loose women, and decent drugs and booze, but forced continually to run the gauntlet of psychotic renegades and Machiavellian powerbrokers. In many ways, a toned-down DNA Cowboys trilogy, introducing for the first time elements of Farren's long-range prognosis for humanity (Man has turned his own planet into a wasteland, the technological elite have departed for the stars, and the aliens are coming) which are more fully explored in later novels such as Exit Funtopia, Their Masters' War and Protectorate. |
| Other reviews: | |
| Author's comment | See Mick Farren's Collected Works. |
| Availability | The
two US volumes (Phaid The Gambler
and
Citizen Phaid) are
plentiful at online booksellers. The single UK volume (The Song
of Phaid The Gambler) is rarer but still available.
Find
Phaid the Gambler (Ace edition, Vol. 1) at Bookfinder.Com |
| Excerpt (by permission) |
Conversation faded as the
first tiny craft appeared in the sky, a red speck rising swiftly,
circling a tumbled stack of clouds in tight, neat spirals. At the top of
the cloud, when the flier was little more than a red dot, it executed a
wide loop and then, to the accompaniment of a citywide intake of breath,
it banked to the left and fell like a stone. A small fat man next to Phaid grabbed his arm. He was hoarse with excitement. 'Are you the gambler I've heard so much about?' 'Maybe.' 'A hundred tabs says he doesn't make it.' Phaid looked at the fat man in horrified surprise. 'Did I hear you right?' 'Two hundred?' Phaid's lip curled in disgust. 'Don't you know that nobody bets on the wind players, not with the players up there risking their lives? It wouldn't be decent.' The fat man bridled. 'I thought you fellows would bet on anything.' Phaid snarled. 'Why don't you just get the hell away from me.' The fat man looked as though he was about to protest. Then he noticed Phaid's expression and moved on, muttering disgruntedly. Still amazed at the man's behaviour, Phaid could only stand and watch him go. Even the cheapest hustler wouldn't attempt to bet on a wind game. It was considered the lowest act possible. Men who cheated, stole or killed would shy away from such a bet, particularly a bet on whether a player lived or died. The superstition was that it was such a terrible mark of disrespect that it could quite easily jinx the player involved. It seemed that courtiers couldn't conceive respect in the way that poor folks could. To them everything was simply a transient diversion to be used and then cast aside. Once again, Phaid had the thought that maybe he'd be better off on the street. |