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Dustjacket= VG to VG+
Inside flap is price-clipped.
This hardcover first American edition is rather hard to find - there was no SFBC edition. Code "7103" at bottom left of inside flap of DJ (which I believe is for "March 1971.")
Kronk, a novel by Edmund Cooper - first published in Britain as Son of Kronk (1970.) Here's the flap-copy from the first American hardcover, which gives a reasonable summary or set-up (although the extent of the details may be a bit of a "spoiler"):
Savage social satire; wildly funny black humor; science fiction with the sting of a thousand scorpions in its tale; a brilliant tour de force - take your pick. Any and all of these descriptions apply to KRONK. And more. For KRONK is unique, a wild card, demonstrating how sweet are the uses of eccentricity.
Gabriel Crome is a failed book sculptor, given to drunken fantasies of suicide on the steps of the Albert Memorial. After one such, he encounters Camilla Greylaw on Waterloo Bridge. Camilla is young, lovely, desperate - and nude. With the reluctant aid of two bored and cynical procs (short for proctors) Gabriel dissuades Camilla from her suicidal intentions, takes her home, and promptly beds her. Which has momentous results for mankind, as Camilla is suffering from a new and induced social disease - P 939, which has the property of abolishing aggression and is insanely infectious. With missionary zeal, the two set out to seduce first London and then the world. And in a society dominated by drugs, television, and the savagery of pre-pubes and students, this is a task doomed to success and fraught with pleasurable danger. But Fate, God, whatever sadistic Prankster it is who rules human destiny, has the last laugh. For Camilla's former lover, the eccentric professor who invented P 939 and first infected Camilla, had not concluded his experiments when he fell in front of a train while endeavoring to avoid a plastic carnation. P 939 is a time bomb, and when infected rabbits began to destroy the men and dogs which hunt them, the pattern of Man's doom, betrayed by do-gooders and his own lubriciousness, begins to become clear. It was time for Gabriel to return with his bottle to the steps of the Albert Memorial and the raven which was his friend and drinking companion. Quoth the raven, "Kronk."
With hilarious results, Edmund Cooper has unleashed his most powerful invective in a blanket condemnation of all the ages, races, and occupations of man. Nothing escapes his basilisk eye. To lash society to death would be too fair a fate. How much more appropriate to tickle it to death with the feather of ridicule.
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