The Holy Quail

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Title: The Holy Quail
Publisher: Beaker and Quill Productions, Poison Pen Press (publication #17, see Poison Pen Press/Numbered Zines)
Editor(s): Joyce Yasner
Date(s): September 1973
Medium: print
Size: pretty small
Genre: gen
Fandom: Star Trek: TOS
Language: English
External Links:
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The Holy Quail is a Star Trek: TOS 4-page zine by Joyce Yasner. The art was by Cara Sherman.

front page

While it was intended to be a series, there was only one issue.

The zine consists of a short editorial, several small illos, a long poem, and a You Are Receiving This Zine Because page.


From an ad in Masiform D #3: "HOLY QUAIL. A fanzine of satire and criticism. First issue contains an anti-Kraith poem, editorial, cartoons. Seeking contributions. 15 [cents], contributions, exchange or review."

Joyce Yasner writes: "A few years ago, some of you may remember, I published a tiny one shot called 'The Holy Quail,' the main purpose of which was to publish a horrid little poem I'd written and to get in a few swipes at the Kraith people." [1]

Editorial the Zine

Greetings, fellow Trekfen, and welcome to THE HOLY QUAIL. As I see it, QUAIL will provide a forum for the satirization and criticism of all things Trekish, both fan and pros cons, zines, fan fiction, Blish, TREK old and TREK new.

This ish of QUAIL is devoted to Jacqueline Lichtenberg's Kraith universe. Kraith has enjoyed great popularity among fans, primarily, I suspect, because it is original and well done. But Kraith has its faults, and I felt the time had come some of them be pointed out.

Hopefully QUAIL will not be a personalzine. My ego is as big as anyone else's and just as likely to get inflated. So I'd like some reactions to this ish and, needless to say, I'd love some contributions for the next time.

Excerpts of the Poem

Ours is a culture of sportive fictions.
Ladies teased with moral frictions.
None a proper place do find
Without some hope of grace assigned.
Where do they fit, what place allot.
Unto groupies and a novel-fop?
To girls who aid at football games,
Cheer on our souls and lay for fame.
Shake their pom-poms and their asses,
What's the fate of these fair lasses?
Whence do they vanish once they have dropt?
How are we to mourn their lot?

But what of our pernicious fabler?
Vulcan's savior; pray, what made her
Make horrid stories, and worser names.
Attribute to firepots wretched claims.
Call 'em Idyllumputts and other twisters?
Might some hex malign afflict her?
Idyllumputts, you might suppose,
Would call to mind idyllic coves
Of idling outboards, or happy golfers.
No Vulcan's nightlight for his quarters!
What words could urge a pot to fame:
"The Guiding Light" or "Privy Flame"?
Idyllumputt no doubt's a refuge
For skinny old Vulcans and, their nephews;
Elysian strands, a desert vast.
No games here cool the hot wind blast.
A hell is heaven where Vulcans go
Once Lichtenberg doth end their woe,
I must, at last, apologize
For these my poetaster's slies;
My limping verse, my worser rhyme, My catastrophic 'ambic line.
But Yasner never thought to see Vulcan victim to theocracy.

Sample Gallery


  1. ^ from the editorial of Eel-Bird Banders' Bulletin #1