This is one of those books I bought because the title caught my eye. I chuckled a little, took it down from the shelf, saw the subtitle “True adventures in cult fandom” and added it immediately to the pile I already had in my arms without even reading the blurb. I assumed that it probably had something to do with Buffy -- unless advocates for Forever Knight or Vampire: The Masquerade had suddenly kicked their cult fandoms into some weirdly populist overdrive -- and of course I’d want to read about that. It did briefly cross my mind that maybe it was a Twilight thing, but this I dismissed almost instantly, since the cover of the book was not black and did not feature anything remotely resembling a non sequitur.

But I didn’t look at it all that closely. Which meant that it wasn’t till I picked it up to read it that I noted the quote from David Fury on the cover, and realized that it was indeed about Buffy fandom. (Fury wrote and produced on Buffy and Angel, and sang a joyous song about dry cleaning in “Once More With Feeling”.) I was a few pages in when it dawned on me that not only was this book about Buffy fandom, it was about The Bronze.

I could hardly believe it.

The Bronze, for those unaware, was the official online forum -- or posting board, as we often called them back then -- of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. It was a fabled realm at which fans of the show could meet and mingle with each other, with the writers and crew, and even with creator Joss Whedon himself. It was a whole new evolution in the power of the internet -- which, then, still had a deal of evolving to do -- a place where fans not only discussed their favorite show with vim and vigor, but also forged a tight-knit bond that became a byword for true fandom community.

And this was a book filled with essays about that. Oh, I was so glad I decided to buy it. The Bronze was one of those internet phenomena that only happen very occasionally, and it was one in which I’ve always been interested; when The Bronze was discontinued in 2001, after Buffy left the WB for the mixed joys of UPN, the dissolving of this virtual haven upset me no end, and I wasn’t even a part of it. As much as I adored Buffy and Angel, as impassioned as I often got about such things as Doyle’s untimely demise, the lack of respect given to Xander, and the underrated genius of writer Tracey Forbes, I was never a Bronzer. Oh, I dropped by from time to time, lurked occasionally, posted once or twice, but it was never part of my life. I had my own little corner of the internet in which I infrequently reveled (hi there, BABoards people!), and I have gained quite a few lifelong friends from my time on various forums -- several of whom work here these days, bless them -- but my cyber life was never as... dedicated as that of this book’s author.

I was several essays in when I realized that the author in question was someone I actually kind of knew.

Well, no, I didn’t -- and don’t -- know her. But I knew of her. I had even received e-mail from her, lo these many years ago, when I was putting together a piece on posting board communities for the late great 11th Hour Web Magazine back at the start of the millennium, and she provided me with some kick-ass quotes. Her posting name was Allyson (which, oddly, is actually her name), and I well recall this:

“So much is written about the unhealthy aspects of cyber-life, that I think it is important to stress that otherwise socially healthy people can enhance their circle of friends if they are smart and careful. I have great friends, date pretty often, I think I'm pretty, and while I hate people, I can fake being personable enough to function as a regular person in the world. I make decent money, have sex when I want it, get drunk when I need to, and shower daily. I guess the point of all that info is to dispel the notion that only Rocky Dennis-looking, socially maladjusted freaks take part in a message board community."¹

I should’ve realized it was her earlier, because that same sensibility imbues the essays in this collection. There is a certain defensiveness about Beatrice, a kind of endearing lack of confidence that this virtual life of hers is, y’know, okay. Unthinkable as it would be to youngsters today -- them with their Facebook and their Blogger and their rock music -- there was a time when a life virtually lived was considered deviant, desperate and somehow indicative of social awkwardness. How quickly things have changed.

Beatrice is funny and unflinchingly honest, and reading her book, taking in her stories of fundraising and fan organizing and party planning and show saving, the last thing one would take away is that she is at all socially awkward. Despite being a self-confessed misanthrope, she carved out a niche for herself, both on and off-line, with fellow TV aficionados, in addition to her “minor celebrity” friends among the show’s staff. She speaks so lovingly of her online family, and about her enthusiastic participation in all aspects of the fandom, that it kind of makes me wish I had been more of a joiner and less of an observer way back when.

And it also makes me feel kind of ashamed.

I mean, I worshiped Buffy, but did I ever think to take up a collection in order to put an ad in Variety campaigning for an Emmy that would never come? No. I adored Firefly, but did I do even one thing that might have saved it from its ignominious fate? Again, no. Allyson Beatrice didn’t even like Firefly, yet she committed her time and energy and considerable zeal to try and keep it on the air. How humbling.

In this sprightly collection of tales, Beatrice shares a memoir of her life before, during and after Buffy. She details how the show changed her life just by existing; she says she hasn’t given it much thought since it ended in 2003, but the echoes of its influence clearly live on in the people she met through their shared love of “the little blond girl with the big stake.” Through her snarky sentimentality and charming self-deprecation while recounting her true adventures, I have at last come to appreciate what being a Bronzer truly meant to those who claimed that mantle.

Although there’s one thing I still find puzzling.

She didn’t like Firefly?

  -- Rachel Hyland

¹ “The Bronze Age,” The 11th Hour Web Magazine, July, 2000.