Roddenberry seems to have "drunk the Koolaid"...

Book 2: Gene Roddenberry: The Last Conversation. By Yvonne Fern. In the bag.

Only took me four days. Four of the longest days of my life. I had thought this would be a bit a light reading after The Italian. Boy was I wrong. It wasn't a tough slog because it was particularly challenging intellectually. It was a tough slog because it might just be the worst book I've ever had the pleasure of reading.

If I approached this book as a fan of Star Trek who was still not quite sure whether I completely admired its creator Gene Roddenberry or not, it only took me a couple of pages to realise that I completely despise the man. At least the version of the man portrayed in this pseudo-Socratic dialogue.

Fern's interpretation of her own conversations with the Star Trek creator has convinced me that, by the early 1990s, Roddenberry had drunk the Koolaid and had actually started to buy all the hero worship that was heaped on him by adoring but not particularly critical Trek fans. He seems, in the last years of his life, to have come to a place where he believed himself to be a superior being, outside of the human race, above it, looking down on it like some sympathetic, forgiving deity to whom humanity must eventually prove itself.

In Star Trek parlance, he seems to have convinced himself that he is an Organian or, worse, a member of the Q continuum.

In The Last Conversation, Roddenberry emerges as an egotistical, pseudo-intellectual in love with himself and his own ideas, completely incapable of giving credit to the multitude of people who made significant contributions to the franchise over the years and intensely jealous of anyone, the lead actors in particular, who have been regarded by the fans and the media as being important to the appeal of the various shows.

None of this would have particularly bothered me, of course, if there was even the specter of a possibility that Fern, the interviewer and writer, had intentionally designed and written the book to create this impression.

Not a chance.

If Roddenberry had "drunk the Koolaid", Fern seems delighted to have been able to lap up the urine that came of it from the great man himself.

The book is more about Fern than it is about Roddenberry and, if the Great Bird of the Galaxy comes across an insufferable ego-maniac, Fern appears to be a shameless sycophant intent on proving to the army of Star Trek fans who, like me, were guaranteed to buy the book that she is not only brilliant, well read and eloquent but also that she had become a personal favourite of the great man himself.

If she is not filling the pages of this book with her own take on every topic under the sun, Fern is throwing in yet another anecdote where Roddenberry tells her how brilliant she is or how much the same they are or how much he treasures the chance to get to know her.

The only thing positive that I can think of to write about my experience of this book is that I paid only twenty-five cents for it at a garage sale so I don't feel completely ripped off. Oh, and that I think the photo of Fern on the inside back cover is absolutely hilarious. Almost worth the price of admission by itself.

Oh well. Two down, 1121 to go. Thankfully, I'm moving on to The Romance of the Forest, another of Ann Radcliffe's 18th Century classics. I'll keep you posted on how it progresses.