It's the testosterone, stupid!



It was with great interest that I read Matthew Gasda’s latest essay, on the state of men in 2025, “Masculinity at the End of History.”

Gasda has a lot of things to say that are germane to my new book, "The Last Men: Liberalism and the Death of Masculinity" (out December 16), not least of all whether America — and indeed the Western world as a whole — exhibits what could be called a “crisis of masculinity" in the first place.

We have reams of data showing what can only be described as a civilizational decline in testosterone levels, a decline that may have no parallel in history.

There are plenty of observers — writers, social scientists, journalists, politicians, celebrity psychologists — who think so.

A crisis in need of a crisis

Gasda disagrees. In fact, he believes the absence of a crisis is precisely what’s ailing America’s young men. Men need crises in order to be men. Without crises, their mettle isn’t tested, they have no higher aspirations to direct themselves toward, and so they fall into a listless state, an aimless state, a kind of suspended adolescence.

Porn. Pot. Video games. Social media. Processed food. Logging on and dropping out. We all know what it looks like.

“Masculinity is desperate for a crisis,” Gasda writes in the opening paragraphs of his essay.

It is docile, unsure, and formless. At most, it is at the germinal phase of crisis, lacking a catalytic agent to propel it to its full-blown state, which at least can be registered and reckoned with. After all, crisis implies that something is happening, that something is at stake. The uncatalyzed proto-crisis, or the noncrisis, of American masculinity is repressed, unexpressed, yet omnipresent.

It’s a typical literary switcheroo — Gasda is a playwright, after all — but he’s not wrong. Nor is he the first to say that what men really need is a crisis — read: something extraordinary — to give full form to their potential.

Declaring 'war'

Back in 1910, the pragmatist philosopher William James, brother of the novelist Henry, wrote an essay called “The Moral Equivalent of War.” A committed socialist and pacifist, James nevertheless regretted the march of progress and with it the (apparent) decline of war, because he recognized war’s power to form young men and inculcate in them the highest possible virtues. War teaches men to subordinate themselves and their needs to those of the collective, to pursue a higher goal, and, if need be, to give their lives for it. War teaches men courage, service, self-sacrifice, stoicism, and patriotism, and all of these things are necessary for a properly functioning nation in peace.

But war is also a terrible, terrible thing — and it was rapidly becoming much worse, though just how much worse James could not have foreseen. What we need, James argues, is a “moral equivalent” of war, a substitute that could teach men the same lessons without the enormous destructive cost.

James’ proposal is quite clever: Rather than a war against each other, we need a war with nature. Young men should be enlisted into a national struggle to conquer and tame nature and to revolutionize the means of production. Send boys off to build railroads and skyscrapers and ships, and they’ll return as men, ready to lead families and the nation.

Manufacturing manhood

This isn’t too different, actually, from what Gasda advocates in his new essay, when he says a national project in which all or many men could participate might be a great spur to masculine revival.

If the objective of America in the years ahead is to reclaim global leadership in industrial production, that is, in the making of things in the real-world economy, as opposed to just in the realm of bits and pixels, then new avenues for masculine exertion, discipline, creativity, and camaraderie may arise from such a project.

There’s much to like in Gasda’s essay and much to agree with. He’s right about how the breakdown of communities and the loss of tradition have hindered the transmission of masculine ideals across the generations. He’s right about the need for rites of passage to confer status on men. Countless anthropological studies have shown the crucial role, in virtually every kind of society except our own, of tests of courage and fortitude at key moments in life, and psychologists have demonstrated how pain and trauma bond people together and provide a sense of shared identity.

He’s also right to argue that Americans must “historicize” masculinity. That is, they must understand its peculiar focus on strenuous exertion and relentless self-making in its particular historical context: a masculine ideal developed in conflict with a frontier, both the physical frontier of western expansion and the social and moral frontiers of a new national identity.

And he’s right, obviously, that we live in an age that’s fundamentally hostile to expressions of masculinity and that we can’t simply return to the past and past ideals, as so many simple-minded critics of the modern world, especially on social media, seem to believe.

That’s all to the good. But there are also serious problems.

No country for men

For one thing, it’s not clear just how much American men really could get behind a drive to, in Gasda's words, “reclaim global leadership in industrial production.”

If America does return to industrial pre-eminence, most if not nearly all manufacturing is going to be high-tech and automated — hardly the kind of gigantic Soviet five-year plan that could simply swallow up millions of men and give them jobs in factories or even give them jobs at all.

It's not just manufacturing that is on the verge of making human labor largely a thing of the past. Whole swaths of industry and even white-collar fields are undergoing the same revolutionary changes. Librarians and lawyers and proofreaders and doctors will be replaced by AI and large language models too.

The testosterone decline

A far graver problem, from my perspective, is that like the vast majority of the so-called “crisis of masculinity” literature that he derides, Gasda fails to take seriously, or even acknowledge, the biological changes that are throwing men’s masculinity into doubt — in particular, a headlong decline in testosterone, the master male hormone that’s responsible for making men men and not women.

Testosterone is not just responsible for sexual differentiation — for the physical characteristics that define boys, beginning in the womb and proceeding through infancy and the teenage years into adulthood — but it also governs male mood, motivation, libido, and even things like political attitudes.

Although we should be careful not to say testosterone determines political views, social psychology experiments reveal that a testosterone boost will make a man more likely to defend his position even when he’s outnumbered by people who disagree with him; it will make him more likely to continue fighting against a much stronger opponent; it will make him more accepting of hierarchy and inequality; it will make him more generous to his in-group — his own people — and more aggressive toward his out-group — potential enemies.

In short, testosterone and its effects are complex, but they work in ways that obviously tend toward behavior we associate with traditional masculinity. The less of it men have, the less masculine they become, as a basic rule.

Aggressively overlooked

Open a best-selling book like Richard Reeves’ "Of Boys and Men," head to the index, and look for “testosterone,” and you’ll find a poverty of references. Reeves talks about testosterone for just a few pages, but only to dispel the notion that boys “are their hormones,” meaning boys aren’t doomed to be aggressive because they have more testosterone (pop science’s “aggression hormone”) than girls. That’s it. Apparently, biology just isn’t important when we’re talking about the serious problems with men today.

It’s a strange oversight. We have reams of data showing what can only be described as a civilizational decline in testosterone levels, a decline that may have no parallel in history. We know what this decline entails, and if we don’t, we really should try to find out.

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Compelling evidence

The first real herald of a civilizational decline in testosterone levels was the Massachusetts Male Aging Study, a gold-standard double-blind controlled study of men in the Boston area. The study took place over a period of around 20 years, from the end of the 1980s to the early 2000s. Men of all ages were selected at random and given a battery of tests at regular intervals. When the testosterone data was finally analyzed in 2007, it showed testosterone levels were declining year over year at a rate of about 1%.

That might not sound like much, but over a period of 20 years, that’s 20%, or one-fifth. On a longer timeline, say 50 years, that’s half of all testosterone — gone.

Researchers in other countries, including Finland and Israel, wanted to see whether the same trend was happening in their countries. In Finland, where male reproductive parameters are generally better than in the U.S., the researchers believed the Boston trend would not be replicated. Guess what? The trend was actually worse, and the researchers showed it was taking place over a much longer period of time. The results of the MMAS were replicated in Israel, too, and in other American studies.

Quantifying maleness

It’s hard to quantify exactly how many men have low testosterone, in large part because nobody agrees on exactly how little testosterone counts as low. Ask one doctor and he’ll give you one figure; another will tell you it’s half or double that amount.

Symptomology is generally the best way to go looking for low testosterone, and what we see, everywhere we turn, is men who look and behave like they have low testosterone.

In Japan today, there are millions of hikikomori, or extreme social recluses — young men who simply refuse to participate in society. They hide themselves away at home, often with their parents, and play video games, eat junk food, and just “rot,” to use a current term.

At least one expert believes there may be as many as 10 million hikikomori, in a nation of 120 million people — that’s one in 12 people. Unsurprisingly — to me at least — research has shown young Japanese men are at significantly greater risk of becoming hikikomori if they have low testosterone.

America has its hikikomori too, although they aren’t called that. Maybe as many as 6 million, by some estimates.

Some of them congregate in special subforums on the website Reddit, like r/lowT, where they discuss what it’s like to be a man with low testosterone: how they have no motivation, no libido, can’t sleep, can’t get an erection, are developing gynecomastia — man boobs — and are overweight and anxious all the time.

Many of these men also describe the miraculous effects of increasing their testosterone, more often than not through a doctor’s prescription of testosterone in gel or injectable form.

Spermageddon?

What’s even more worrying about this decline is that it’s part and parcel of a broader decline in reproductive health parameters among men.

This isn’t a surprise: If men’s testes aren’t functioning properly and producing enough testosterone, they’re unlikely to be producing enough of other important things either. Sperm counts and sperm quality — a measure of sperm’s ability to swim properly and do their job — are declining so rapidly that one expert, Professor Shanna Swan, is predicting a “spermageddon” scenario, in which humans are unable to reproduce by natural means.

Swan made this the subject of a 2021 book, "Count Down." Simply by extrapolating the data for sperm-count decline, Swan has shown that by around 2050, the median man will have a sperm count of zero. One half of all men will produce no sperm at all, and the rest will produce so few that they might as well produce none, because they won’t be able to get a woman pregnant, try as they might.

What’s causing these changes? It’s lots of different things, a whole range of lifestyle factors — lack of exercise, smoking, bad diets, poor sleep, stress — but also widespread exposure to harmful chemicals known as “endocrine disruptors,” for their negative effects on the body’s hormonal (endocrine) system.

From low-T to trans

When I say endocrine disruptors are everywhere, I mean it: They’re in the food, the air, the water, the clothes we wear, our bedding and furniture, the deodorants and fragrances we put on our bodies, the little scented trees we put in our cars, anything that’s made from plastic.

A significant proportion of these harmful chemicals directly or indirectly mimic the effects of the hormone estrogen, interfering with the body’s crucial hormonal balance (more testosterone and less estrogen for men, the opposite for women). This is a nightmare for both sexes. As well as reducing testosterone and fertility in men, exposure to endocrine disruptors can lead to genital abnormalities, weight gain, and metabolic issues and even certain kinds of cancer.

New research has linked exposure to endocrine disruptors during gestation to transgenderism. French boys exposed to the chemical diethylstilbestrol, which used to be given to mothers at risk of miscarriage, had a massively increased risk — perhaps as much as a hundredfold — of undergoing gender transition later in life. On paper, it was always plausible that exposure to endocrine disruptors should be linked to gender dysphoria, but since transgenderism is such a toxic issue politically, there’s been little desire, until now, to pursue research into the link.

In a very real sense, then, not only have we created a society where masculinity is ridiculed, dragged through the mud, and denounced as retrograde, we’ve also created one where the biological constituents of masculinity, its very building blocks, are under direct attack at the same time. It’s a complicated problem, and it’s viciously circular. Biology and society exist in feedback loops, with negative effects reinforcing each other, deepening the spiraling decline.

While Gasda, like William James before him, may be right that men need a crisis to bring out the best in them, the very real danger today is that when one finally comes, men won’t have the energy or enthusiasm or desire to put down the controller, stand up, and answer its call. And if that really is the case, testosterone — the lack of it — will be to blame.

Why spanking a child is not cruel but Christian



I recently read a new book so steeped in self-righteousness that I contemplated watching a few Barack Obama speeches as a palate cleanser.

"The Myth of Good Christian Parenting," by Marissa Franks Burt and Kelsey Kramer McGinnis, is less a work of theology than a sermon for soft parents — a long sigh bound in paperback. Every page drips with condescension, assuring readers that discipline is outdated, obedience is oppressive, and spanking is somewhere between a sin and a war crime.

Children don’t need friends with car keys. They need moral architects. The parents who fear offending their children will soon be ruled by them.

Their thesis is that corporal punishment has no biblical or moral grounding. Modern parenting should replace the rod with reasoning, the command with conversation. It’s the kind of argument that sounds enlightened until you remember what actual children are like.

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Swat analysis

Children, bless them, are beautiful little anarchists. Left to their own devices, they’d eat cookies for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, go to bed once a month, and discover that the toilet doubles nicely as a Jacuzzi for Legos. They’re not wicked, but they are wild. Civilization begins at the moment a parent says no — and means it. A gentle talk about “boundaries” might work on a golden retriever, but toddlers are not guided missiles of rational thought. They’re tiny tyrants with juice boxes.

That’s why spanking, properly understood, isn’t cruelty but calibration. It reminds a child that choices have consequences, that freedom comes with form. Scripture puts it bluntly: He who spares the rod hates his son. That’s not an endorsement of violence but a defense of reality. Actions have outcomes. Cause meets effect. Love, in its purest form, isn’t permissive; it’s corrective.

Of course, the definition of "violence" has never been more expansive than it is today. Everything is violence now — words, glances, even silence. The modern parent can wound a child simply by saying “no.”

When language is warped like that, meaning vanishes. A light swat becomes indistinguishable from abuse, and firmness becomes indistinguishable from fascism. The result is a generation of parents too frightened of headlines to raise human beings.

What we’ve bred instead are families where authority is on paternity leave and discipline forgot to clock in. Many parents seem desperate to be liked by their children, as if approval were the same as affection. But children don’t need friends with car keys. They need moral architects. The parents who fear offending their children will soon be ruled by them.

The discipline of faith

I was spanked as a boy — not beaten, but spanked. There’s a world of difference. I hated it at the time, naturally. But I can see now that it taught something far bigger than compliance. It taught that love sometimes hurts, that boundaries aren’t barriers but guardrails. My father didn’t enjoy it, but he did it because he believed my soul mattered more than my sulking. And years later, I thank him for it.

Contrast that with the new model — the “gentle parenting” gospel that treats structure as sadism and guidance as grievance. It produces parents negotiating with toddlers like diplomats in Geneva. “Would you like to stop screaming now, sweetheart, or in five minutes?” Meanwhile, the child is scaling the curtains, painting the dog, and testing Newton’s patience.

Spanking, done calmly and rarely, is not about pain but proportion. It communicates that wrong choices carry a cost and that the world won’t rearrange itself to spare your feelings. A child who learns that lesson young grows into an adult who doesn’t need therapy to survive a stern email.

Built on boundaries

The irony is that those now crusading against corporal discipline owe their manners to generations who believed in it. The men and women who built the schools, churches, and laws of the modern West were, without exception, raised in homes where clear boundaries existed. They understood that mercy means nothing without justice and love means little without limits.

None of this means children should live in fear. The Christian view of discipline is inseparable from affection. The same hand that corrects should comfort. The difference between abuse and authority lies in motive. The abuser strikes to dominate; the parent disciplines to direct. The point isn’t punishment but perspective, to shape the will without breaking the spirit.

But today, even perspective is suspect. To say a child is wrong is to commit ideological heresy. Every tantrum is “performance art,” every shriek “a statement.” The modern household has become a democracy of one, and its ruler is 4 years old.

When people hear “spanking,” they imagine red faces and raised voices. But in most Christian homes, it’s quieter — a moment of consequence followed by conversation and reconciliation. It’s the living metaphor of moral cause and effect. Pain passes; lessons remain.

Theology of the tap

A society that forgets that truth doesn’t raise children. If anything, it raises dependents. Kids who mistake correction for cruelty will grow into adults allergic to accountability. They won’t admire their parents’ wisdom; they’ll diagnose it.

There’s nothing barbaric about a well-timed swat on the backside. What’s barbaric is a generation raised without consequences, now stunned to learn that the world still has them.

So no, spanking isn’t the enemy of Christian parenting — it’s one of its oldest allies. It has absolutely nothing to do with humiliation and everything to do with humility.

I read "The Myth of Good Christian Parenting" and discovered the real myth: that you can raise grown-ups without ever acting like one. I hated being spanked when I was six. But watching parents haggle over chores like diplomats and negotiate bedtime like hostage situations, I now consider it an early rescue mission — and, in many ways, an act of mercy.

How to keep the faith (and the fun) this Halloween



Every October, some Christians wrestle with how to handle the season of ghosts and goblins. The evening before All Hallows’ Day — meant to honor the saints — has long since been hijacked by darker themes.

As the Babylon Bee recently joked, the parental mood this time of year can swing between cautious curiosity and comic dread. Its headline read: “Mom Can’t Decide Between Allowing Her Kids to Dress Up for Halloween or Having Them Get to Heaven.”

Plenty of kids and parents still favor clever over creepy — even if most Halloween events these days lean more toward horror-movie grotesque than good-natured fun.

Halloween may have gone off the rails since my childhood, but families can still enjoy the “scary stuff” without getting cozy with the occult.

Between church services that mark the feast of All Saints and wholesome fall festivities, there’s room for fun without flirting with the demonic. I’ve seen it firsthand.

A nod to more innocent times

When I was growing up in Pittsburgh, my siblings and I spent many happy hours at the Sarah Heinz House, a youth club sponsored by the H.J. Heinz Company. Think of it as a hometown version of the YMCA — a place where kids could swim, play, and learn, without a screen in sight. Sadly, the complex was turned into apartment loft space in the early 2000s after more than a century of serving the community.

Every Halloween, the club hosted a costume party. Back in the mid-1960s, devil horns and fake blood were still frowned upon, so creativity mattered. One year, I cut arm and neck holes in a 13-gallon black trash bag, slipped it on, and topped it with a bamboo rice hat.

I went as a “Chinese Garbage Bag.” Somehow, I won “Most Original Costume.” (No, the prize wasn’t a bottle of Heinz ketchup.) Today, that outfit would probably get me thrown out before I reached the door for “cultural appropriation.”

Even so, the spirit of ingenuity survives. Plenty of kids and parents still favor clever over creepy — even if most Halloween events these days lean more toward horror-movie grotesque than good-natured fun.

Some families simply skip the whole thing. They hand out candy at the door and call it a night. That’s fine too.

New York’s Halloween capital

Here in my current corner of the world — Tarrytown, New York — avoiding Halloween takes real effort. The town goes all in. It’s bigger than Christmas.

Washington Irving, America’s first literary celebrity, rests behind the Old Dutch Church in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, made famous by “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.” The story comes alive every October with parades, tours, and re-enactments.

At the end of the annual parade, the Headless Horseman rides through town, pumpkin in hand, to the crowd’s delight. The celebration owes more to folklore than witchcraft — this isn’t Salem, after all — and it gives locals a fun, spooky way to honor a beloved American story.

Not everything hits the right note, though. Some newer attractions in the nearby Rockefeller Preserve have turned too gruesome, especially in 2023, when organizers displayed gore-soaked scenes just weeks after the October 7 terrorist attacks in Israel. Even Halloween should have limits.

Scary, but silly

For families who prefer their frights with a laugh, I recommend a few old-school classics. Start with Disney’s 1949 animated “Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” narrated by Bing Crosby. It’s a perfect mix of charm and chills.

My personal favorite — any time of year — is “The Ghost and Mr. Chicken” (1966), starring Don Knotts. It’s delightfully corny and just spooky enough. “Atta boy, Luther!

And if you’re in the mood for something truly obscure but delightful, you can find my own 1992 amateur film “The Chartreuse Goose” in two parts on YouTube. Think of it as my humble homage to Don Knotts, made with more enthusiasm than budget.

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Books for the brave

For those who like their autumn reading with a hint of the supernatural, Jonathan Cahn’s “The Avatar” fits the season. It builds on his earlier book “The Return of the Gods” and offers a sobering look at modern spiritual forces disguised as politics.

For little ones wrestling with nighttime fears, my children’s book “Hamster Holmes: Afraid of the Dark?” might be a gentler companion — no ghosts required.

The light beyond the lanterns

Whatever your family’s approach, October doesn’t have to be a tug-of-war between faith and fun. You can honor the saints, roast a few marshmallows, and maybe laugh at Don Knotts along the way.

Then, as Halloween fades and November begins, we move toward the true seasons of joy — Thanksgiving and Christmas — where the light always wins out.

Editor’s note: A version of this article appeared originally at American Thinker.

Science fiction must return to the three Rs: Rockets, robots, and ray guns



Once upon a time, science fiction was a brand-new, chrome-shiny phenomenon rocketing across the sky of the American pulp fiction scene.

As the borderlines of the Industrial Age were just beginning to blur against those of the incoming Information Age, early sci-fi envisioned societies, worlds, and even whole universes filled with possibilities. Action and adventure, intrigue and mystery, horror, romance, humor … you could get it all within the pages of the latest edition of your favorite science fiction magazine.

The science fiction I read today — and I do read a ton of it — is mostly bleak and drab and too often just really sad.

Rockets, robots, ray guns

The magazine titles themselves – Amazing Stories, Fantastic Mysteries, Astounding Stories, If: Worlds of Science Fiction — were a good clue. And if ever there was a time to judge a book by its cover, you could feast your eyes on plenty of rockets, ray-gun-wielding cheesecake girls, and delightfully clunky robots (pronounced ROW-BUTTS, for you science fiction radio neophytes out there).

Fantastical machines driven by atomics and imagination whirred and ground within the frameworks of massive Earth-built spaceships — said ships filled with men bent on surviving each harrowing encounter with alien monsters so as to be there for the next one. Often as not, there’d be one woman aboard, as well, to be the love interest for the main character (she was usually the captain’s daughter, too, and thus forbidden fruit).

But hey, maybe early military sci-fi wasn’t your thing. That was okay, because you could flip through a few pages, pass an ad telling you why your doctor probably recommended Camel cigarettes above all others, and step into some post-atomic-war scenario where the mutants are on our hero’s tail. Or perhaps you’d seek out the story where a band of intrepid big-game hunters time-travel back to go on a dinosaur safari.

This was the golden age of science fiction, and depending on who you ask, it lasted until maybe the 1980s, when it began to be subsumed in popular media by new forms such as the techno thriller (con grazie, Michael Crichton) and when most of the remaining energy from this multimedia juggernaut filtered upward into giant television and movie vehicles — most notably "Star Trek: The Next Generation" and "Star Wars."

Stardate: 1966

Now, if you’ve read this far, you’re clearly just fine with a gross amount of oversimplification. That’s good — I like you. So let’s keep it going as we round the third corner into my actual point.

Somewhere along the line, things in science fiction started getting sociopolitical. And at first, that wasn’t so bad. "Star Trek: The Original Series" (the 60s-era "Trek" upon which later installments of the franchise was based) tackled issues like racism, sexism, and the futility of war. By the time its successor show came around, writers and producers were tackling sticky issues of the day like racism, sexism, the futility of war, and (kind of) the then-nascent sociopolitical honey trap of transsexualism.

Meet the future

Centuries changed.

In the wake of Y2K’s sputtering burp of a soliloquy on mankind’s technological Tower of Babel not coming down after all — and, of course, a couple of real towers coming down in horrifying and history-altering fashion — Americans moved into a new age without really realizing it. It was (and still is) an age of realized technology, where internet reached far more functional speeds, supercomputers began fitting in our pockets, electric cars became a real thing, rockets started going into space for fun again, and social media introduced a whole new way for humanity to wage war against itself.

In short, we finally had almost everything the golden age of science fiction dared us to dream about.

Planet Pronoun

And then, along came wokeness.

Far be it from me to lay before you here a comprehensive history of what that has meant for society so far. I am unqualified to do so, and my guess is you’re aware of most of it. But perhaps one of the lesser-known zones of infection for the aptly named woke mind virus is almost the entire world of science fiction.

Woke got "Star Wars." Woke got "Star Trek." Woke got other movies and television series. And hey, remember all those words ago when we were talking about science fiction magazines? Many of them are still around … and woke got them too. If you check out Asimov’s, or Clarkesworld, or Escape Pod, or any of the dozens of sci-fi magazines still extant out in the pulp literary world, I’m going to give you about an 85%-90% chance of primarily encountering tales tied directly to identity politics. It has very nearly completely captured the industry.

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And let me be clear: It’s not my intention to suggest that the pronoun folk shouldn’t have a seat at the sci-fi table — if anything, many of the things they have to say in their stories probably belong in that genre more than just about any other.

But I also think that — particularly on the conservative end of the sociopolitical spectrum and increasingly on the liberal end — we have to face the fact that "intersectional" thinking at large and wokeism in particular are breeding grounds for many of the darker things humanity is capable of creating. The science fiction I read today — and I do read a ton of it — is mostly bleak and drab and too often just really sad. This is not to say there aren’t some phenomenal woke writers — I encounter them frequently. But you can be a great writer and still depress your reader to no end. Just ask John Steinbeck.

Author Josh Jennings and his book, 'Space Tractor." Getty Images/Josh Jennings

'Tractor' beam

A few years ago I found — at random — a science fiction masterpiece called "The Lost Sci-Fi Podcast." It’s a professional recapturing of the golden age of science fiction, and it’s been delighting me ever since by taking me back to when science fiction wasn’t just well written; it was well intentioned, in most cases. As a reader and listener, I can feel it feeding the fertile ground of my imagination, while also often inspiring me to have hope for the future of humanity … and spurring me to do my part in creating that future.

As a writer, I am inspired to make sure that we Americans can experience a new golden age of science fiction. To that end, I’ve made a modest contribution in the form of my new book: "Space Tractor and Other Science Fiction Short Stories." It came out October 16, on my birthday. If you’re like me and you miss that bygone era — but you’d also like something with modern flavor to it — well … I would humbly submit that my book might be just what you’re looking for.

From space battles to alien abductions, from blasted post-apocalyptic wastelands to colonized asteroids with farmers running drugs (as in the title story), from alien villagers’ concept of the afterlife coming true to planets that can fit inside your pocket … this book truly has something for everyone.

Except maybe the pronoun people — although I hope you can find something you like, too.

Read an excerpt of "Space Tractor" here.

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