Emshwiller turned 90 earlier this year, and whilst being published in an SF magazine at that age is remarkable, she still has five years to go to match Jack Williamson. The story here shows little sign of having been written by someone in their tenth decade, a gentle and tender story of a middle-aged woman yearning to meet the man of her dreams, who finally does. Or maybe doesn’t. There’s somewhat of a dream-like quality to it, almost as if the story is the equivalent of an old sepia-tinted photograph in which it’s difficult to make out exactly what’s happening.
