Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Amazing Stories was first published in Amazing Stories November 1930. Extensive typographical errors have been corrected without note. A Classic Reprint from AMAZING STORIES, November, 1930 Copyright 1931, by Experimenter Publications Inc. By JACK WILLIAMSON . They were uncovering new talent at such a great rate, (Harl Vincent, David H. Keller, E. E. Smith, Philip Francis Nowlan, Fletcher Pratt and Miles J. barely managed to become one of a distinguished group of discoveries which bore the words: by stealing the cover of the As they approached, a lean A disciple of A. Merritt, he attempted to imitate in style, mood and subject the magic of that late lamented master of fantasy. The imitation found great favor from the readership and almost instantly Jack Williamson became an important name on the . He followed his initial success with two short novels , The Gernsback publication. Both of these stories were close copies of A. Merritt, whose style and method Jack Williamson parlayed into popularity for eight years. Yet the strange thing about it was that Jack Williamson was one of the most versatile science fiction authors ever to sit down at the typewriter. When the vogue for science-fantasy altered to super science, he created the One Against the Legion. When grim realism was the order of the day, he produced Crucible of Power and when they disguise of Will Stewart and popularized the concept of contra is of special interest because it was written during Williamson's A. Merritt "kick," when he was writing little else but, and it gave the earliest indication of a more general capability. The lightness of the handling is especially modern, barely avoiding the farcical by the validity of the notion that granted, regardless of the quantity of wonders, and proceed with the story. With only a few thousand in existence at the time of the writing, the surmise that this media would be a natural for westerns was particularly astute. clothing shimmering with artificial gems, waddled pompously Jack Williamson was born in His father was a cattle man, but for young Jack, the ranch was anything but glamorous. "My days were filled," he remembers, "with monotonous rounds of what seemed an endless, heart-breaking war with drought and frost and dust-storms, poison-weeds and hail, for the sake of survival on the AMAZING STORIES was the escape he sought and his goal was to be a science fiction writer. He labored to this end and the first he knew that a story of his had been accepted was when he "For old time's sake, and for this—" The boy seemed dazed at sight . Since then, he has written millions of words of science fiction and has gone on record as follows: "I feel that science-fiction is the folklore of the new world of science, and the expression of man's reaction By which I mean that it is the most interesting and stimulating form of literature today." Mr. Eric Stokes-Harding tumbled out of the lay quiet beneath light silk covers. With a groan, he stood up and began a series of fantastic room, its walls covered with bookcases and also with scientific appliances that would have been strange to the man of four or five centuries before, when the Age of Aviation was beginning. intricate mass of machinery below it. him was a wide, park-like space, green with emerald lawns, and bright with flowering plants. Two hundred yards across it rose an immense pyramidal building—an artistic structure, gleaming with white marble and bright metal, striped with the verdure the park stretched away in illimitable vistas, broken with the graceful columned buildings that held up the great glass roof. With a distasteful grimace, he seated himself before a broad, paper-littered desk, sat a few minutes leaning back, with his hands clasped behind his head. At last he straightened reluctantly, slid a small typewriter out of its drawer, and began pecking at it impatiently. For Mr. Eric Stokes-Harding was an author. There was a whole shelf of his books on the wall, in bright jackets, red and blue and green, that brought a thrill of pleasure to the young novelist's heart when he looked up from his clattering machine. He wrote "thrilling action romances," as his enthusiastic publishers and television directors said, "of ages past, when men of feathery green foliage high against a somber sky of unbroken gloom. He was impartial as to the source of his thrills—provided they were distant enough from modern civilization. His hero was likely to be an ape-man roaring through the jungle, with "You're the perfect companion, Nada.... But now we must be practical. We must marooned with a lovely woman on a desert South Sea island. His heroes were invariably strong, fearless, resourceful fellows, who could handle a club on savage animals he had seen in the television. the terrors of a desolate wilderness. And a hundred million read Eric's novels, and watched the dramatization of them on the television screens. They thrilled at the simple, romantic lives his heroes led, paid him handsome royalties, and subconsciously shared his opinion that civilization had taken all the best from the life of man. Eric had settled down to the artistic satisfaction of describing the sensuous delight of his tripping into the study, gay and vivacious, and—as her husband of a few months most justly thought—altogether beautiful in a bright silk dressing gown. Recklessly, he slammed the resolved to forget that his next "red-blooded action thriller" was due in the publisher's office at the idea is better." an author. She wrote poems—"back to nature stuff"—simple lyrics of the sea, of sunsets, of bird songs, of bright flowers and warm winds, of thrilling communion with Nature, and growing things. Men read her poems and called her a genius. Even seemed scarce as the proverbial hen's teeth. though the whole world had were extinct, there were no wild flowers, and no one had time to bother about sunsets. grown up into a city, the birds the dark heavens in a steady, warm downpour. Dry wood when life was simple and natural, when men hunted and killed their meat, instead of drinking synthetic his own. They turned their attention to looking for banana trees, and coconut palms, but write about the West, Africa, South Sea Islands. But they branches to make a sloping shelter by a vast fallen tree-trunk. "This will keep out the rain—maybe—" and low, rainy forests. There's simple, elemental life there—like Earth had before civilization seemingly not inconvenienced in the least by the inclement elements, The young author's eyes were glowing. He skipped across the or something of the sort. This "A new invention. Just perfected a few weeks ago, I understand. "Don't you think—it might have been better— You know the old "I've quit bothering about science. It has ruined nature, filled the world with silly, artificial By Ludwig Von der Valls, the German physicist." life was not so bad, after all." against which they had erected the flimsy shelter was rolled carry more energy than long back, evidently by a chance blow "An analogy from television built up of an infinite series of plane layers, at the focus of the Mr. Eric Stokes-Harding, noted author of primitive life and love, ate a hearty meal with his pretty spouse, after they had washed little side table. They sat down opposite each other, and ate, getting as much satisfaction from At the end of the month he delivered his promised story to his publishers, a thrilling tale of contemplation of each other's they have scattered about the world. But I know his weak point—"

<question>:
Which statement best describes Williamson's writing style?

<options>:
A It reflects his disdain for humankind's obsession with technological advancement
B More authors have parlayed his method and style than any other science fiction author
C It evolved to be flexible despite how it initially imitated the style of a singular author
D It contains myriad farcical and parodic literary elements, which was uncommon during his time

<answer>:

C