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496 pages, Paperback
First published March 1, 1993
We have only one regret. In each of the first two volumes of this anthology, we published five writers who had never published fiction before. In Full Spectrum 3, there isn't a single story by a previously unpublished writer. We read some very good submissions, but none were at the level of the stories which are included here. I find this unfortunate, but I think it would have been more unfortunate to lower our standards in order to keep our record intact. Nevertheless, it is something we will seek to rectify in Full Spectrum 4.So... how did Lou (and his editing partners Amy Stout and Betsy Mitchell) do this time?
—Introduction, Full Spectrum 3, p.x
She knows he must have figured out he's found one of her most vulnerable spots.Duchamp, by the way, would go on to found Aqueduct Press in Seattle, publisher of (inter alia) Nisi Shawl's collection Filter House, the subject of one of my very first reviews on Goodreads, back in 2008.
—p.9
The Googleplex came to the business district, where it stomped flat a Baskin-Robbins ice cream shop, Alice Mason's Art and Framing Supply store, and the parking lot at Mr. Keplinger's funeral home, across the street from the Rexall drugstore. It stomped flat the people inside those places too.After that dramatic opening comes a touching tale about a young woman who was there when the Googleplex came, and her rather dim boyfriend, whose reaction to the inexplicable—the mini-theme that ties together these last three stories—is typically testosterone-fueled.
Nobody was watching when the Googleplex came. Some people say they were, but they're the liars.
—p.99
who, though they are not human, are still the most beautiful women in the human universe.
—p.112
She seemed to take his fear from him; he seemed to leach all calm and quiet out of her.
—p.211
I wonder why this story seems to define girls by what boys think of them.
—p.225
The Willamette Valley warmed to the rays of the newly risen sun. I'd lost sight of Portland as dawn had doused the lights of the city. Now it hid in the greens and browns of the continent, as if it didn't exist at all.
—p.256
No one could remain an idealistic, faithful, socially motivated flower child forever. If you did, the world stomped on you. Hard.Yoder was lucky, though... lucky as the Dickens. Heh.
—p.387