Yearly Archives: 2019

Book

[January 26, 1964] Sophomoric (Laurence M. Janifer's The Wonder War)

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by Gideon Marcus

About the Author

Laurence M. Janifer (born Larry M. Harris) is a youngish author from New York City.  He's distinguished himself as a science fiction writer of at least the second rank, having produced a number of pretty good short stories (including Sword of Flowers, which I awarded the Galactic Star).  Janifer also co-wrote the Queen Elizabeth serials with Randall Garrett, and those were decent reading.  Thus, his is a name I generally note as an encouraging sign when I see it listed in a magazine's table of contents.

Last year, Larry made the jump to the big time with the recent publication of his first novel, Slave Planet.  Fellow Traveler Erica Frank reviewed it in November and thought it a decent, if not unflawed read. 

Janifer must have been chained to the typewriter last year because his second book, The Wonder War came out just this month.  Given Janifer's track record, I was certain this next effort would be an improvement; thus, I invoked editorial privilege and insisted on being the one to review it.

Well, the joke's on me.

The Wonder War

The setup for Janifer's sophomore effort isn't bad: hundreds of years in the future, the Terran Confederation decides that competition is bad, and the surest way an extraterrestrial planet can develop the technology to become a competitor is through war.  After all, the fastest advances seem to come with the impetus of killing one's fellow.  So the Confederation places teams of spies on planets with the potential to become adversaries.  Their sole mission: to spike the warrior spirit by any means necessary.

The target in The Wonder War is the world of Wh'Gralb.  Not only are its inhabitants utterly humanoid (if a trifle shorter than average), but they are currently in a period like the Earth's 1930s.  Wh'Gralb's two continents are home to antagonistic nations, one a fascist dictatorship, the other a People's Republic.  War has broken out over an island rich in uranium.

Against this backdrop, we are introduced to our team: The sanguine beanpole of a team leader, Glone; the laconic Dempster; and the much put-upon viewpoint character, Plant.  Oh, and let's not forget the flattest, most obnoxious caricature — that of Raissa Renny, the girl.

You see, Raissa is the new Coordinator for Propaganda, an insufferable stuck-up know-it-all who is utterly incompetent, and annoying to boot.  Chicks, right?  The only thing she's got going for her is her knockout good looks.  If only she would keep her mouth shut, ya know?

Raissa is imprisoned about a third of the way through the book while checking up on one of the team's embedded agents, and she is not heard from again until the last few pages (when she is rescued, of course, since she can't do anything for herself).  Raissa still manages to be present, even in her absence, for Plant moons over her the entire time she's gone.  Since Janifer has given us nothing to find likable about the character, one can only assume its Raissa's appearance that has hooked Plant. 

Anyway, the rest of the book is a satire with two main points.  The first involves how easy it is to snarl up a bureaucracy in red-tape and shenanigans.  In fact, so successful are the team's efforts that not a single soldier on either side is killed despite both armies doing their damnedest at it.  The other deals with the futility of the team's mission — after all, no matter how long technology on the planet is suppressed, the Confederation will eventually establish trading relations, and Wh'Gralb will get The Bomb, hyperdrive, and whatever else it needs to be a competitor.  Per the epilogue (perhaps the best single page of the book), that's exactly what happens.

Again, these are interesting topics in theory.  The problem is, Janifer is writing for laughs and utterly failing at it.  I don't think I encountered a single lip-quirking quip in all of the book's short 128 pages.

Summing up

The Wonder War is an intriguing premise rendered stillborn by lousy execution; it's essentially an overlong Chris Anvil Analog story.  Worse, the tacked on love story and the offensive portrayal of Raissa just kills the thing.  It's not awful, exactly.  I mean, you can read it. 

You just won't ever get those hours back.

Two stars.

— — —

(Need something to cleanse your palate?  See all the neat things the Journey did last year!)




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TV

[January 24, 1964] In the Misty Regions of The Twilight Zone (Twilight Zone, Season 5, Episodes 13-16)

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by Natalie Devitt

This past month of The Twilight Zone has offered plenty of imaginative stories, including a ring that influences a young woman's actions, a car with a conscience, a couple grappling with the challenges of long term suspended animation, and a man suddenly discovering that he has the ability to trade circumstances with others. As you will see, the show’s tales of the fantastic still have substance and the ability to entertain.

Ring-a-Ding Girl, by Earl Hamner, Jr.

In Ring-a-Ding Girl, Oscar-nominated actress Maggie McNamara stars as Bunny Blake, a movie star who returns to her hometown of Howardsville after receiving an unusual ring. The piece of jewelry is a gift from the residents of Howardsville and was selected by her sister, Hildy. When Bunny gazes into the ring, she sees her sister begging her to "Come home." About to start filming a picture in Rome, but feeling compelled to see her sister, Bunny stops in Howardsville to pay a visit to Hildy and Hildy’s son, Bud.

Bunny plans to stay in town for just one day, but her visit falls on the same day as a city picnic, which most residents plan to attend. Bunny begins seeing images of the local family doctor inside the gemstone of her ring. Suddenly, Bunny starts to feel ill, so the family calls for the doctor to visit the house. While there, Bunny asks the doctor, who also helps organize the event, to postpone the picnic. He brushes off her request as presumptuous; "This isn’t Hollywood," he says. The doctor then encourages her to relax, because he thinks she is "under a strain."

Still receiving premonitions from her ring, she disobeys the doctor’s orders. Bunny continues to see familiar faces almost every time she stares into her new jewelry. Determined to visit everybody she sees in her ring, she asks her nephew to drive her around town. The actress even stops by the local television station to see an old friend, who is now employed there. Bunny goes on-air to make an announcement: she has plans to put on a performance that will occur at the same exact time as the picnic, forcing those in Howardsville to choose between the two and leaving her family puzzled by her behavior.

Ring-a-Ding Girl takes a while to really get going. It probably does not help that Bunny is not the easiest character to tolerate, exclaiming, “I’m a star,” and otherwise seeming insufferable. But Ring-a-Ding Girl is worth sticking it out for because things really come together nicely at the end. In addition to the strong conclusion, I enjoyed the musical score, which includes cues with a theremin that plays every time Bunny looks into her ring, accompanying the swirl of clouds that then part to reveal the image of someone from her past. The episode earns a pretty solid three stars.

You Drive, by Earl Hamner, Jr.

Oliver Pope is, as Rod Serling’s opening monologue states, a “businessman turned killer” in You Drive. After hitting a paperboy with his car, Oliver flees the scene. Not long after the incident, the headlights of his car start blinking on and off for no apparent reason. Then, his horn begins honking at random. But even after disabling the horn, it continues to honk. Oliver’s wife, Lillian, grows concerned, while he tries to convince her that the problems are just a sign that the car is getting old.

His wife takes it upon herself to take the car to the shop, but once she is behind the wheel, the car takes her to where the paperboy was struck, before suddenly breaking down and forcing Lillian to call for help. Once the car finally makes it to the repair shop, it mysteriously reappears in the Popes’ garage. When Oliver and Lillian contact the mechanic, they are told their car simply disappeared.

Shortly after, Oliver is visited by a co-worker by the name of Pete Radcliff, who after discussing work, informs them that the paperboy has succumbed to his injuries. Pete is later accused of being the driver in the deadly hit-and-run after an incorrect tip. But even with the police thinking they have their suspect, Oliver still has plenty to worry about.

I really enjoyed the plot of You Drive, but my biggest complaint about this episode is not the writing as much as the casting. While I like character actor Edward Andrews, he sometimes seems a bit awkward in the role of Pope. Then there is the supposedly 12 year old paperboy, who looks like he is probably closer to 20. Having said all of that, I did enjoy You Drive, which is why I feel it deserves three stars.

The Long Morrow, by Rod Serling

The Long Morrow is the story of Commander Douglass Stansfield, an astronaut. In the role of Douglass is Robert Lansing, the charismatic star of the previously reviewed 4-D Man. Douglass has been selected to go on an expedition to a star 141 light-years and 40 traveling years away. Unaware that his life would change dramatically before the expedition, he agrees to do it. But right before he is scheduled to depart, Douglass meets and falls hard for Mariette Hartley’s character, Sandra Horn. They go on a date that night, during which they confess their love for one another.

Douglass, who is currently 31, is told by his employer that when he returns from his voyage that “the Earth will have aged, but you will not.“ Sandra, at age 26, tells him that she is willing to wait for his return. The only problem is that she will grow older all through his journey. When he arrives from his expedition, she will be “the little old lady in the lace shawl. The one waving the welcome home sign.” It probably should come as no surprise that things do not go exactly as the couple plans.

If you are willing to believe that the two characters fall in love as quickly as they do, this is a pretty enjoyable episode. The lead actors are quite good in their roles. Also, while it is not too hard to predict what becomes of the characters, it almost does not matter because the episode has an almost hypnotic quality to it, and it gives you the feeling that you will enjoy it no matter what happens. One big distraction to the story, though, is the special effects makeup, which is too heavy. The wrinkles used to convey age are incredibly dark and the product used to whiten hair is so thick that it appears to have the consistency of toothpaste. Overall, I give The Long Morrow three stars.

The Self-Improvement of Salvadore Ross, by Jerry McNeely

Don Gordon, who appeared in The Twilight Zone’s The Four of Us Are Dying, plays the abrasive title character in this adaptation of Henry Slesar's story [which I pegged as Zoney back then (Ed.)]. Don Siegel returns to the series as the episode's director. Salvadore is a man who has his eyes set on one woman, a social worker named Leah, played by television actress Gail Kobe. She’s already broken up with him, but Salvadore believes that he can win her back. “I ain’t always going to have dirt on my hands. I don’t need no books to show me which way is up. I got the map and I’ll get there,” he says.

Salvadore soon discovers that he has the ability to trade circumstances with others. He offers a wealthy older man his youth in exchange for the old man’s money. With that, he buys everything he wants, including his youth back. Now, young and rich he thinks he has a good shot at winning Leah back.

The Self-Improvement of Salvadore Ross is probably my least favorite entry this month. While I do not mind an episode that does not try to explain absolutely everything, I must admit that I am a little curious about how Salvadore ended up with his magical ability to switch situations with others. The acting is decent, but the script leaves more to be desired. One thing that this episode has going for it is that it has slightly better special effects makeup than The Long Morrow. Two and a half stars is about all that I can give to the month’s weakest offering.

Signing Off

The most recent episodes of The Twilight Zone have been mostly enjoyable. The only exception being The The Self-Improvement of Salvadore Ross. While the show is still capable of producing some creative and thought-provoking episodes, it failed to present anything truly outstanding. Perhaps The Twilight Zone, itself, has reached its twilight…

(Did you read about all the ways the Journey expanded last year? Catch up and see what you missed!)



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Book, Magazine

[January 22, 1964] The British Are Coming!  The Americans Are Here! (February 1964 Fantastic)

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by Victoria Silverwolf

Galactic Journeyers from the United Kingdom have often spoken about the strange phenomenon known as Beatlemania.  Not too long ago, CBS News offered a report on the craze.

This peculiar form of passionate devotion to four shaggy-haired musicians has made little impact here in the United States.  That may change soon.


released January 10


released January 20

With the nearly simultaneous release of Beatles albums by two rival record companies this month, Yanks have the opportunity to judge the British quartet for themselves.

For now, Americans seem to prefer ballads to upbeat rock 'n' roll.

Originally a hit for baritone Vaughn Monroe nearly twenty years ago, crooner Bobby Vinton reached the top of the charts for the third time with his sentimental remake.

Whether or not the USA welcomes the foursome from Britain remains to be seen.  It might be an omen that the latest issue of Fantastic features only American authors. 

Novelty Act, by Philip K. Dick

This prolific author specializes in quirky accounts of tomorrow's fads and follies.  His latest offering is no exception.

Most Americans live in gigantic communal apartment buildings.  The government still allows voting, but there's only one political party.  The President has no real power.  The most revered figure is the First Lady, who is still young and beautiful after a century.

(The description of the character, and the way in which the nation idolizes her, suggest that she is a parody of Jacqueline Kennedy.  The writer could not predict that the target of his gentle mocking would soon suffer a devastating tragedy.)

The protagonist dreams of winning the First Lady's favor by performing classical music with his brother on water jugs.  The brother works at a spaceship dealer, with the help of a robotic imitation of an extinct Martian creature.  The device, like the defunct Martians, can influence human minds.  Everything comes together when the brothers make their appearance before the First Lady, and discover her secret.

This is a mixture of comedy and serious political satire.  Imaginative details create a portrait of a neurotic future United States.  A hint at the end that the brothers may escape their subtle dystopia lighten the story's mood.  Although the plot is disjointed at times, it makes satisfying reading.

Four stars.

The Soft Woman, by Theodore L. Thomas

A man has a doll that looks like a naked woman with the head of a frog.  He meets a beautiful woman and brings her to his room.  A strange and frightening thing happens to him.

I can't say much more about this very brief story without giving away the ending.  It confused me.  I don't understand why the doll has a frog's head, or why it's named maMal [sic].  There seems no good reason for the man's unfortunate fate.  There's some beautiful writing, but what does it all mean?

Two stars.

The Orginorg Way, by Jack Sharkey

An unattractive fellow who grew up alone in a Brazilian jungle has a strange ability to crossbreed plants into organic versions of technological devices.  At first, he makes simple things like fishing rods.  Eventually he creates substitutes for telephones and lightbulbs.  He earns a vast fortune, enabling him to win the girl of his dreams.  Of course, there's an ironic ending.

The absurd misadventures of the protagonist provide mild amusement.  They way in which the plants imitate machines shows some imagination.  As a whole, however, the story is too silly.

Two stars.

The Lords of Quarmall (Part Two of Two), by Fritz Leiber and Harry Fischer

The conclusion of this short novel brings Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser together, along with the two rival brothers they serve, at the funeral pyre of the siblings' father.  The death of the ruler of the underground kingdom leads to open warfare between his heirs.  Sorcery and swordplay follow.

Disguise, deception, and skulking around keep the story moving at a rapid pace.  A major twist in the plot near the end is predictable.  Although there's plenty of colorful adventure, much of the hugger-mugger seems arbitrary.

Three stars.

They Never Come Back From Whoosh!, by David R. Bunch

In this surreal tale, people go inside a gigantic, soot-spewing building.  They do not return.  The narrator, like the others, feels a compulsion to enter the place, against his own will.  Within he meets one of the building's strange caretakers.

This is a bizarre allegory of life, death, nature, and technology.  The author's unique style is compelling, if not always lucid.

Three stars.

Return to Brobdingnag, by Adam Bradford, M.D.

A couple of months ago, the fictional Doctor Bradford journeyed to Lilliput, Jonathan Swift's land of tiny people.  Now he visits the realm of giants.  He finds out that they keep their population under control through death control instead of birth control.  Whenever a baby is born, an elderly person takes poison to ensure a quick and painless demise.  Their government is democratic, but the elite have more votes per person than the lower classes.  The author also describes the science-based sun worship of the inhabitants, as well as their unusual way of performing surgery.

As with the previous installment in this series, the story takes far too long to get the narrator to his destination.  The peculiar ways of the Brobdingnagians seem arbitrary, with no satiric point.

One star.

Death Before Dishonor, by Dobbin Thorpe

As we saw last month, Dobbin Thorpe is really Thomas M. Disch in disguise.  Like Thorpe's creation in the previous issue, this is a tale of horror.

A woman wakes up from an alcoholic blackout and finds a tattoo on her thigh.  She has no memory of how she got it.  It turns out she had a one-night affair with a tattoo artist while she was drunk.  The tattooist is a man of uncommon skill.  His creations have a life of their own.  The woman's romance with another man leads to terrifying consequences.

The story is gruesome, with a touch of very dark humor.  Some might see it as a cautionary tale about drunkenness and promiscuity.  I think the author just came up with a scary idea, and the plot grew out of it.  On that level, it works well enough.

Three stars.

Summing Up

With eight Americans offering seven works of imagination, there are certain to be some stories you like and some you don't.  I appreciate the wide range of fiction found here.  We have satire, pastiche, adventure, allegory, comedy, surrealism, and horror.  The only thing I'd like to stir into the mixture would be a few pieces from talented British writers.  A story by Aldiss, Ballard, or Clarke – to mention just the ABC's of the UK – would be refreshing.  Maybe the Beatles will add the same thing to American popular music.  At least it would mix things up a bit.

(Did you read about all the ways the Journey expanded last year?  Catch up and see what you missed!)




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Fashion, music, politics, sports

[January 20, 1964] André Courrèges: Moon Parties

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by Gwyn Conaway

The Space Age has seized the public consciousness, influencing design in everything from architecture to cereal. Fashion is no exception, and one fellow has made it his mission to ensure that tomorrow's fashion will be out of this world.

André Courrèges, a French fashion designer with a young atelier in Paris, is rising quickly in the fashion world. Though he worked for ten years as an assistant to Cristóbal Balenciaga, his own fashion house opened only recently, in 1961.

Since his coming out, he has made considerable waves. Mark my words, 1964 will be a big year for this fresh designer. Let’s take a look at what his house has accomplished, and what his Spring 1964 collection will bring to the proverbial table. But before we jump into his plans for this year, let’s take a look at his philosophy.


Courrèges has become known for his flat, mid-calf-length moon boots and bubble hats. Note that the hats here are not made of soft felt, as we’d expect, but smooth, semi-gloss leather. This material choice makes the style feel more like a helmet.

It’s no surprise that Courrèges began his schooling as an engineering student. Many of his designs focus specifically on mobility for the modern woman. “You do not walk through life anymore. You run. You dance. You drive a car. You take a plane, not a train. Clothes must be able to move too.” He pays particular attention to the knees, usually leaving them bare in his designs to express this sentiment. He also minimizes the bust, ignores the waist, and lengthens the neck, as if to highlight adolescent curiosity rather than womanly charm. Note his iconic flat-soled leather boots as well – perfect for running.


Spring, 1964

In 1963, Courrèges shocked the world with his perspective on young, athletic, mobile women. He recently stated, “My problem is not rich embroidery, useless lavishness. It is to harmoniously resolve functional problems, just like the engineer who designs a plane.” With these principles in mind, he introduced the trapezoid shift and slim-legged trouser suit to mainstream ready-to-wear, thereby liberating women from the restrictive nylons, heels, and merry widows of the previous era.

So what are the designer’s big plans for 1964? A little birdie has told me that he is no longer looking to the engineers that design planes, but to the engineers that design rockets. That’s right! Courrèges has his sights set on the moon.


Moon Girl Collection, André Courrèges, Spring 1964: Moon Girls are ready for adventure and the dawning of a new age. Note the lack of nylons, heels, and excess fabric. This collection is aimed at women a la carte, and embraces our technological future.

In fact, his Spring collection is titled the Moon Girl Collection. This upcoming line is sure to shake the foundations of fashion with its shiny white palette, geometric cuts, and iconic white moon boots. Even the lace trouser suits he has debuted this spring are orderly, flat, and made of stiff wool to keep that geometric silhouette. In addition to wool lace, triple gabardine and PVC are Courrèges’ secret weapons this year. When in motion, these textiles maintain their industrial, geometric silhouette, reinforcing the the designer’s “uniform”. Even fashion photography seems to have changed, preferring weightless, jumping, twisting women. With stiff silhouettes and wry bodies, it’s almost as if Courrèges models are floating in space.


Boxy coats with uniform double-breasted buttons and slim trousers are a defining ensemble this spring, as is the designer’s signature wool daisy lace.

Thanks to Courrèges, we’ve seen a transformation from whimsical quaintness to industrious sophistication, where function and beauty are considered in equal measure. This major shift has happened almost entirely within the past year. Now Coco Chanel’s landmark little black dress is replaced with the white trapezoid shift. Stunning! If Courrèges has set the pace for this decade, what do you suppose is waiting for us come next spring?




(Gwyn's work is just one of the many efforts we're proud of here, at the Journey.  Come see why the Journey is a Hugo-worthy endeavor!)

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Magazine

[January 18, 1964] Pig's Lipstick (February 1964 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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by Gideon Marcus

President McKinley once famously observed around the Turn of the Century that everything that could be invented had been invented.  He was not entirely correct, as it turned out.  However, if one were to read the stultifying pages of F&SF these days, one might be convinced that all the SF that could be written had been written.  The February 1964 Fantasy and Science Fiction is a double-handful of cliches with a thin veneer of literary writing to make them "worthy."  It's no wonder editor Avram Davidson has moved to Mexico; he is probably fleeing his outraged readers — whomever's left of them, anyway.

The House by the Crab Apple Tree, by S. S. Johnson

The bad ship S. S. Johnson leads the issue with possibly the most offensive piece I've read since Garrett's Queen Bee.  It's an After The Bomb piece told from the point of view of one the world's last women, who is shacked up with her wretch of a husband and their fourteen year old daughter.  Barely sentient, our protagonist spends most of the story wondering which of the marauding male savages who terrorize her home would make the best husband for her kid.  After all, a woman needs a man.

Bad as it was, I read the whole story (for it it is passably well written) hoping to be pleasantly surprised.  I wasn't.  Mr. Johnson's protagonist shows no initiative at all (and, in fact, each of her episodes is characterized, even precipitated by her inaction), the daughter is violated in the end, and Davidson, in the height of tactlessness, chose to illustrate the gawdam cover of the magazine with a scene of the torture of said little girl.

One star and a new bottom for the magazine.  Shame, Mr. Davidson.  I hope the mail and telegrams stop service to your new home so you can do no more damage.

[And please see the letter sent in by Mr. Jonathan Edelstein, appended below.  It expresses what's fundamentally wrong with this story.  Thank you, Jonathan. (Ed.)]

The Shepherd of Esdon Pen, by P. M. Hubbard

Here's a stunner.  After spending half the vignette telling us about a Scottish shepherd of legend, a modern shepherd departs into a freak snowstorm, searching for his lost flock, and stumbles across the tomb of none other than the aforementioned herder. When he gets back, his sheep are safe.  WAS IT THE SHEPHERD OF EDSON PEN?!?

An ineptly told ghost story that earns two spectrally thin stars.

Ms Found in a Bottle Washed up on the Sands of Time, by Harry Harrison

A pointless bit of doggerel about a fellow intent on disproving the Grandfather's Paradox by doing away with his grandfather — only the old man has quicker draw.

Two stars.

Nobody Starves, by Ron Goulart

A satirical piece (or something) about a dystopian future for whose denizens everything is hunky dory until they stop being useful to society.  No one starves, in theory, but it's damned hard to get a bite to eat when you can't work for your supper.

There's probably a point or two buried under the glibness, but my eyes were too dizzy from rolling to find them.  Two stars.

One Hundred Days from Home, by Dean McLaughlin

The first ship to return from Mars is met halfway by a new ship zipping around at a good percentage of light speed.  The kid driving the speedster guffaws at the old men and their primitive junker, offering them a quick ride home.  Indignant, they refuse. 

Would NASA really send astronauts to Mars and back and not tell them about a huge breakthrough in space travel?  Do these fellows not even have radios?  Editor Davidson says he can't get any spaceship yarns these days, so he was happy to get this one.  With "science fiction" like this, who needs fantasy?

Two stars.

The Slowly Moving Finger, by Isaac Asimov

The Good Doctor has always done a decent job of making abstruse concepts accessible to the layperson.  But this non-fiction piece, about the maximum ages of various animals, is too simple and could have been paraphrased as one sentence: Every mammal but humans lives for one billion heart beats; people get four times that.

Three stars.

Little Gregory, by Evelyn E. Smith

An odd, vaguely SF tale about a woman employed as a governess by a robot for an alien child who turns out to be the vanguard of an extraterrestrial invasion.  It works insofar as it fulfills Smith's goal of telling a 21st Century story with 19th Century style, but I'm not sure why the thing was written at all.

Three stars, I guess.

Burning Spear, by Kit Denton

Pointless mood piece about a kid who can capture and wield sunlight, and the folks who die when they demand proof.

Two stars.

In the Bag, by Laurence M. Janifer

An obvious vignette probably inspired by a trip to the local laundry.  Blink and you'll miss it.  Three stars.  Maybe two.  Who cares?

The Fan: Myth and Reality, by Wilson Tucker

The first of a three-part series on fandom, this one is an historical essay (next month's by Robert Bloch will cover conventions).  I'm a big fan of Bob Tucker, as readers well know, but this is a superficial, perfunctory piece.  It's over quickly, though.  Three stars?  [Note: I forgot to cover this piece in the original printing — thanks to those who pointed out the omission! Ed.]

Come Where My Love Lies Dreaming, by Doris Pitkin Buck

Welcome to the overpopulated world of 2061, where the national parks on the Moon have a long waiting list, the domes open to let the air in only on rare occasion, and citizens take hallucinogenic pills to stay sane.  Still, despite the hoariness of the subject matter, it's not a bad read.  Welcome to the ranks of the prose writers, Ms. Buck.  Now go beyond the well-trodden path.

Three stars.

I'm sounding more and more like John Boston every day.  My wife likes it when I write snippy, but boy am I tired of having things to be snippy about.

Could we please get Tony Boucher or Robert Mills back in the editorial saddle again? 

— — —

(Need something to cleanse your palate?  See all the neat things the Journey did last year!)




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TV

[January 16, 1964] Man’s Dark and Troubled History (The Outer Limits, Season 1, Episodes 13-16)

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by Natalie Devitt

This past month on The Outer Limits has been a meditation on man’s past actions and his darker qualities. Over the course of the month, I watched men motivated by greed, aliens target Earth specifically because of their negative perception of people, scientists treat their fellow men like nothing more than laboratory animals, and Martians try to figure out what motivates human beings to kill one another.

Tourist Attraction, by Dean Riesner

While aboard his yacht in South America, millionaire and United States citizen John Dexter, portrayed by Kiss Me Deadly’s Ralph Meeker, captures a fish that is larger than your average fish. In addition to its massive size, one of the men aboard his yacht observes that it “has hands and feet.” Dexter soon finds out that the animal’s extremities are not the only thing special about the creature and that the locals have legends about it.

The fish is frozen and taken to a local university for research, where it thaws out and almost escapes. Hungry for fame, Dexter makes arrangements to bring the being with him when he returns to the states. The only thing that stands in his way is General Juan Mercurio, the dictator of the country. Mercurio is played by Ocean 11’s Henry Silva, and he plans to make the fish part of an exhibit at the World’s Fair, in hopes of boosting the country’s dwindling tourism industry.

One thing that sets Tourist Attraction apart from previous entries in the series is its frequent use of narration. The average episode of The Outer Limits only uses a narrator for the opening and closing monologue, but Tourist Attraction uses it off and on throughout the story, which is frustrating because it does not seem to add much. If anything, the narrator can be a bit distracting, especially since he disappears for a while, just to start again suddenly.

One other downside to the episode is that it is hard to watch Tourist Attraction and not think that it may be a little too heavily influenced by Creature from the Black Lagoon and the two sequels that followed. Even with all the things counting against this episode, for some reason I found myself entertained. It is not nearly as sophisticated or as artistically ambitious as something like last month's Nightmare, but it is enjoyable, and would probably not be out of place as the B movie in a double feature. Tourist Attraction earns three stars from me.

The Zanti Misfits, by Joseph Stefano

The Zanti Misfits takes place in a ghost town in California. Professor Steven Graves, a “historian of interplanetary events”, performed by television actor Michael Tolan, goes to observe a penal ship from the planet of Zanti land in what is supposed to be a “non-hostile sequence.”

The Zanti have an agreement with the United States government, where the government allows the aliens to land their spacecraft in the deserted town and use it as “a place of exile for their criminals and misfits.” If the government does not properly secure the area and maintain their privacy, the extraterrestrials vow “total destruction.”

As luck would have it, the aliens are in the process of landing their spaceship when the Zanti spot a couple, played by Bruce Dern and Olive Deering. The couple are fleeing the scene of a crime and have driven into the restricted area. Thinking their privacy was been invaded, the Zanti are determined to make sure there were no witnesses to their landing, and later reveal a surprising reason for picking Earth for their colony, which is that they view humans as “practiced executioners.”

This episode's creatures are certainly memorable, with their ant-like bodies and faces that look all too human. As interesting as the Zantis look, the episode’s greatest strength aside from the story, is probably its use of stop-motion animation, which is best captured in a sequence where the Zanti chase after Olive Deering’s character, Lisa. The entire thing is shot in broad daylight, but the stop motion combined with buzzing sounds of the Zanti make it enough to give anyone nightmares. All in all, this episode is the standout of the month, which is why it earns four stars.

The Mice, by Bill S. Ballinger and Joseph Stefano

Henry Silva returns for a second trip to The Outer Limits this month. In The Mice, he plays a convict named Chino Rivera, who volunteers to be a test subject in an experiment. In the experiment, Rivera will teleported to the planet of Chromo. In exchange, Chromo will send one of their beings. When Chromo transmits one of their inhabitants, the scientists encounter a being infinitely more dangerous than Rivera.

Tourist Attraction did not do much to showcase Silva’s talent as an actor, but The Mice certainly does. Silva makes a convicted murder the most likable character in the whole story, even when the other characters do not treat him with the respect he deserves and he has to remind them that he is person, just like them.

What would The Outer Limits be without the crazy monsters and aliens? The Mice certainly delivers one of the strangest monsters I have seen yet, one that resembles a glob of mucus. Also, like most episodes of the series, it does not hurt that the episode is beautifully filmed. The Mice receives three and a half stars from me.

Controlled Experiment, by Leslie Stevens

Carrol O'Connor and Barry Morse star as two Martians in Controlled Experiment. Barry Morse, who most Twilight Zone fans will recognize from A Piano in the House plays Phobos One, an alien who enlists the help of television actor Carrol O'Connor's character, Deimos, to understand the "process of Earth creatures destroying each other." Shortly before a murder in committed, their fellow Martians inform them of the time and location. Once they receive the information, Phobos One and Deimos bring a machine that helps them manipulate time and rush to a local hotel lobby, where they wait for the murder to take place.

As the Martians play with their devise and change time, a number of special effects are utilized. There are times that the images on screen resemble film negatives. Other times, images come into and out of focus. The men from Mars freeze time and replay events that have already occurred. When events are replayed, sometimes they are in slow motion, while other times things are sped up. Controlled Experiment is similar to the previous episode Borderlands, because it does not have the strongest story but it often looks fantastic.

The whole thing felt a bit long to stretch out for a full hour, especially since the Martians replay the same event over and over. It works for a while, but then starts to wear thin. One thing worth noting is that this episode marks the show’s first foray into comedy, even if it is making light of a serious issue. Due to its visual achievements, it is better than The Twilight Zone's attempts at humor, but it is far from the most memorable entry of The Outer Limits. I can only give Controlled Experiment two and a half stars, which are primarily for its special effects and cinematography.

As dark as The Outer Limits has been recently, it has been mostly rewarding to watch and it has expressed hope for a brighter future. To wit: the closing monologue to The Mice, which states, “Wouldn’t it seem that the misery known and understood by all men would lead Man not to deception and murder, but to faith, and hope and love?”

(Did you read about all the ways the Journey expanded last year? Catch up and see what you missed!)



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[January 15, 1964] That was the Year that Was (1963 at Galactic Journey)

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We've got High Hopes

First things first.  Thank you for being on the Journey with us.  We love you!

It's Hugo nomination season, and that means folks are going through their files, figuring out what stuff is worth their signature on the selecting ballot.  We at the Journey were so honored to have been a finalist for Best Fanzine last year, and we think our output has only improved since then.

Check out some of the nifty things that we did in 1963:

Expanded Foreign Coverage

Science fiction is hardly a monopoly of the United States.  To that end, we brought on a slew of new associates. 

For instance, Jessica Holmes is now covering Doctor Who and other things UK.

Cora Buhlert has provided a wealth of information on German (West and East!) science fiction, in print and on the screen.  She has also brought her keen insight to English-language SF.

Then there's Margarita Mospanova, who hails from Leningrad and covers Soviet science fiction!  We are pleased as punch to have added her unique perspective.

And let's not discount the sterling continued work of Ashley Pollard and Mark Yon, who have been covering British movies, television and magazines for several years now.

We Read Everything…so You Don't Have to Read the Bad Stuff

Despite the incessant predictions that SFF is a dying genre, there is more and more stuff to read every year.  Wading through all of that to find the gems (and there are plenty) can be a slog.  We feel for you.  That's why each year, the Journey awards the Galactic Stars, providing our readers a cream of the crop report:

Spotlighting the Unsung

We've said it before: Women write 10% of what gets published, but 25% of what's worth reading.  And now there is a cadre of other marginalized voices also finally making their way into print.  The Journey has made it a mission to feature those who might otherwise be overlooked, now and in the future. 

Behind the Digital Scene

Thanks to the arrival of Los Alamos staffer Ida Moya into our ranks, the Journey's science coverage grew to include the fascinating world of computers, as well as the often hidden role of women engineers and programmers. 

Wrapping up the First Lap of the Space Race

Project Mercury wrapped up this year with the impressive 24-hour flight of Gordo Cooper.  Of course, the Soviets then had to one-up us with the (likely) conclusion of their Vostok program — a stunning two-person flight involving the first woman astronaut, Valentina Tereshkova.  The Journey has kept you up to date on all the latest crewed and automatic space shots, distilling reams of scientific data into clear, accessible prose.

Not to mention mini-biographies of the woman engineers and scientists who have made space travel possible.

To the Outer Limits

Also added to our team was the inimitable Natalie Devitt, a film expert whose reviews of Twilight Zone and The Outer Limits are often even better than the episodes themselves.

Comprehensive Coverage

And let's not forget the work of our veterans:

Gideon Marcus, the Journey's founder, who reviews Analog, Galaxy, IF, Fantasy and Science Fiction, and much more,

Victoria Silverwolf, who lyrically covers Fantastic, Worlds of Tomorrow, and the news of the day,

John Boston, covering Amazing in his delightfully candid fashion,

Rosemary Benton, our first associate and expert on the Cold War and movies,

Erica Frank, the Journey's Curator and reporter on the Weird,

Gwyn Conaway, whose fashion articles are as lovely as the clothes and models they discuss,

Vicki Lucas, our resident highbrow (who would be quite at home as one of the faces on the back of F&SF),

Jason Sacks, whose preference for DC is mitigated by his unparalleled knowledge of the comics field,

and of course, the Young Traveler, who despite her age, writes better pieces than those of many adults.

A Balanced View

Science fiction has generally been seen as the province of the white and the male since its inception.  The Journey has striven to maintain a staff representative of the genre's future rather than its past.  To that end, we (including the non-writing but essential Janice L. Newman, our Editor, and Tammy Bozich, our Archivist) are a diverse bunch in terms of age, background, and circumstance.  We feel this is one of the main reasons the quality of our work has been so consistently high.

The Request

Galactic Journey is a labor of love.  Lord knows we don't do it for the money (What money?  The Journey doesn't charge or ask for donations, and we certainly don't carry ads.)

But we do love recognition.  A lot of people have said really nice things about us over the years.  When Rod Serling's foundation gave us the Serling, we were blown away.  And when y'all made us finalists for the Best Fanzine Hugo, well, you made it all worthwhile.

You out there with World Con memberships, if you liked us enough to nominate us last year, we'd love it if you could do it again.  And if you're new to the Journey and/or to World Con, welcome, and please consider helping us get on the ballot!

From the bottom of our hearts, thank you, and here's looking forward to a bright 1964!




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TV

[January 14, 1964] Out Of The Frying Pan (Dr. Who: The Daleks | Episodes 1-4)

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By Jessica Holmes

Hello, hello, hello, ladies and gents. We've got a lot of serial to cover today, and we'll still have some left over. Shall we get started?

We last left the Doctor and his companions as they set out to explore an alien world, unsuspecting of the danger they're in, as the radiation meter creeps towards the danger zone.

Here begins the first part of writer Terry Nation's serial. Here is…

THE DEAD PLANET

The first we see, after the requisite replay of the last moments of the previous serial, is a panning shot across the forest outside the T.A.R.D.I.S. There's quite an interesting visual effect applied to the image that gives it a surreal, eerie quality.


Or it could just be that my television set needs adjusting.

The ever-analytically-minded Doctor stoops to examine the dirt at their feet, and notices it to be ash. Yet they're surrounded by dense forest. Or are they? The woods are utterly still. Too still.

In fact, the trees have turned to stone. It's a petrified jungle.

The Doctor and Susan are fascinated by the discovery, and rightly so. Petrified wood is a rare thing to come across, given that organic tissue usually decomposes long before it can be fossilised. To my knowledge, fossilised wood tends to be found in volcanic areas, where trees were buried long ago in a deluge of volcanic ash, and completely deprived of oxygen. The process of minerals seeping in to replace the organic remains takes millions of years, but the end result is rather stunning.

The teachers don’t appreciate the geological wonder around them, and only wish to go home. After all, the Doctor did promise a return to their own time. It's impossible to say if he managed that, but the right point in space? I think we can assume he missed a bit.

Barbara reveals a little bit of spite when she wishes the Doctor would have something bad happen to him as some sort of cosmic punishment for repeatedly landing them in danger. I can't say I blame her.

Meanwhile Susan is off picking flowers, finding joy in the smallest of things. It's very sweet. The moment is short-lived, and the flower even shorter, when the group spots this hideous thing:


Looks almost as good as me in the mornings.

Who doesn't like a bug-eyed monster? And it's made of metal, no less! It's long, long dead, sadly, but the Doctor speculates that its metal outer skin was held together and manipulated by a magnetic field. It sounds unlikely to me, but it's such a wonderfully creative concept of life that I don't care.

Riding high, the Doctor and Susan continue to explore, while Ian and Barbara continue to whine about wanting to go home. Yes, fair enough, you're so far away from home you don't even know where you are, and yes you might be in a teensy bit of mortal peril, but come on, it's exciting, isn't it? Then again that's very easy for me to say, sitting on my comfortable couch and making notes while a guinea pig attempts to abscond with my notebook.

Here we find out why the teachers haven't made it back home. It's perfectly possible to return the T.A.R.D.I.S. to a previous location, but the Doctor has a tendency to forget the various functions of his ship. If there's such a thing as a T.A.R.D.I.S. licence, I think he ought to go and re-take the test.

As they continue exploring, they notice something peculiar. Other than the one flower Susan picked earlier, the planet is devoid of life. Whatever happened here, it doesn't seem that there were any survivors.

The companions reach the edge of the forest and find a glimmer of hope. In the distance, there's a massive city. The Doctor of course wishes to investigate further, but reluctantly agrees at the behest of his companions to start heading back.

As Susan stops to pick another of the incredibly rare flowers in the forest (really, there's a reason every nature guide I've ever read tells you not to do that precise thing!), something makes a grab at her, frightening her out of her wits. Everyone hurries back to the T.A.R.D.I.S., where the Doctor asks Barbara to talk to his granddaughter. He wants to comfort her, but is aware that there's a vast gulf of maturity between them, and doesn't know how to approach the problem. Bless.

Sadly, Susan has trouble convincing the men of the group, who have made up their minds that there can't be anything out there in the forest, that someone touched her shoulder. I think a lot of young viewers out there will relate to her genuine fear being dismissed as being silly or paranoid. I know I do.

Getting rather hungry, the companions try out the T.A.R.D.I.S.' 'kitchen'. Rather, a machine that makes what appear to be cereal bars which taste like full meals. I think I'd rather have a plate of real bacon and eggs, but the bars do look better than the little tubes of paste our real space-travellers have to put up with.

The Doctor finally agrees to take the T.A.R.D.I.S. home, but as the familiar wheezing of the engines starts up, he bends down, and sneakily removes something from the central console. He straightens up again, and the T.A.R.D.I.S. grinds to a halt. Oh, Doctor, you cheeky man. Of course, the fluid link is 'missing', so of course the only thing for it is to go to the city. Just as he wanted to.

As the companions make ready to leave, the Doctor gives his mischievous little chuckle, and I can't even be cross at him for being so conniving. He may be a lousy guide, selfish, and have a superiority complex bigger than Big Ben (by which I of course mean the bell), but he's so fun to watch.

Outside the T.A.R.D.I.S., the companions find a box on the floor. Ian investigates it with the foolproof method of covering his face while he pokes it with a stick. When it doesn't blow up, he picks it up to discover a number of vials of unidentified liquid. Suspicious of the package, the companions leave it behind and head to the city, where the Doctor takes ill shortly after arriving.

The group splits up to explore, and we follow Barbara through tightly winding corridors, and past a few walls which are rather unconvincingly painted to look like corridors.


Whatever happened to the perspective, here? Did M.C. Escher design this building?

The soundtrack turns eerie as Barbara moves through identical doorway after identical doorway, soon becoming completely lost. The scene is very tense and claustrophobic, and we know something's coming. Something that most likely doesn't appreciate her intrusion.

Something that apparently has a toilet plunger stuck to it.


Attack of the plumbers!

I'm teasing a little, as the scare chord and non-revelation of what's stalking Barbara is an effective scare, but as a threatening appendage, a toilet plunger is perhaps not the scariest choice. Still, from Barbara's horrified screams, we can guess one thing: whatever's advancing on her, it's not human.

I thoroughly enjoyed this one, and was on tenterhooks all week waiting to see how the story would continue. Some very ambitious world design was on display here, and though at some moments the lack of budget did get in the way, for the most part the production team succeeded in creating a very eerie, otherworldly atmosphere.

Now we move on to…

THE SURVIVORS

The rest of the group don't take long to notice Barbara is missing, and they immediately set out to look for her. As they search, they hear a quiet ticking noise. I thought it sounded like a Geiger counter, and was rather pleased with myself when I turned out to be correct. It was indeed a Geiger counter, which the group discovers in a room filled with all sorts of advanced scientific equipment. Whoever built this city, they were highly technologically capable.

However, all that technology couldn't save them. The group realises that the entire planet is soaked in radiation, likely the fallout from some sort of atomic weapon…and they've just been walking around, unprotected. Now we know why they don't feel well. Acute radiation sickness is setting in.

Uh-oh.

Realising how much danger he's put everyone in, the Doctor has the decency to admit to his deception. Ian, furious, takes the fluid link from the Doctor and refuses to hand it back until they've rescued Barbara. Either they all go back to the T.A.R.D.I.S. together, or none of them do.

I really like Ian. He might look like an ordinary teacher, but he's got the spirit of a hero.

Before they can make any progress, however, the things with the plungers arrive.

And they're rather more menacing than a bit of bathroom equipment.

These, as we'll learn before long, are the Daleks. Every word from their… I would say mouths, but they don't seem to have any. None that I can see, anyway. Every word from whatever it is that they use to talk is a clipped, distorted scream. No emotion, just constant yelling. These are possibly the strangest thing I've seen yet. At least the bug-eyed monster was recognisable as an animal. These Daleks, however, are a bit of a mystery, for now at least. Are they robots? Miniature tanks? A bio-mechanical creature? We'll have to be patient if we want to find out.

Whatever they are, the Daleks aren't friendly. As Ian attempts to make a break for it, I give a horrified gasp as the Daleks gun him down. Mercifully, he isn't killed, but the dastardly Daleks have completely paralysed his legs.

With Ian incapacitated, the Daleks herd the group into a cell, where the companions are at last all together again, but trapped.

Want to hear the really good news?

The radiation poisoning is getting worse. If they don't get treatment soon, they're all going to die, and it's not going to be a pleasant end. For now, the group are experiencing a feeling of wooziness, the Doctor the most severely affected. The Daleks haul him off to be interrogated anyway.

The Daleks think that the companions are part of a group of people called the 'Thals', who can apparently resist the radiation through their drugs. This accusation leads the Doctor to realise that the phials left outside the T.A.R.D.I.S. in the night may be the anti-radiation drug in question. He makes a deal for one of the group to go fetch it while the others stay behind as collateral.

Time for a little explanation, at long last. I've been dying to know what's going on here.

The Daleks explain to the Doctor that 500 years ago there were two people on this world: themselves, and another race called the Thals. They went to war, an atomic war, that devastated the planet. As the ashes settled, the Dalek forefathers retreated into the city, protected by their machines, and the Thals were almost driven to extinction, left to wander the wilderness. The Daleks think it likely that centuries of exposure to radiation has left the Thals disgustingly mutated.

Still, even if they are mutants, we can gather one thing: they probably left the drugs for them. A gift, perhaps? Maybe there are some friendly people on this planet.

I’m going to nitpick for a moment now. If, as the Daleks say, the war was 500 years ago, and assuming that the petrified forest was buried as a result of this war, not nearly enough time has passed for the trees to become fossilised.

Ian, beginning to recover the use of his legs, immediately volunteers for the mission. Susan decides to go with him, as the Doctor is now too sick to do anything at all, leaving her as the only person who can unlock the T.A.R.D.I.S.. However, when it comes time to go, Ian's strength fails him, leaving Susan with no choice but to venture out alone. She's absolutely terrified, but she goes anyway; that's what I call bravery.

However, it seems Susan's bravery may all be for naught. The Daleks are spying on our heroes in secret. They have no intention whatsoever of allowing the companions to use the life-saving drug. They just want Susan to bring it back so that they can analyse and replicate it for their own use.

Tensions rise in the cell as Ian vents his frustration at the Doctor, and tension climbs in the forest as Susan runs through the densely clustered trees. She's petrified, but keeps on running, and the guinea pig and I are cheering her on.

It would be a more effective scene if not for the fact that I'm almost certain Susan traverses the exact same patch of forest at least three times.

Susan finally arrives at the T.A.R.D.I.S. as the adults begin to suffer from the next stage of radiation poisoning: a high fever. If Susan tarries, it'll be too late, and the Daleks certainly won't lift a finger, or rather, plunger, to help.

A very exciting episode. Terry Nation is doing a good job so far. Let's hope he keeps it up!

THE ESCAPE

For Susan, braving the forest to reach the safety of the T.A.R.D.I.S. was one thing. Leaving the ship and going right back into the lion's den? That's even harder, but she plucks up the courage and steps outside, where she finds a stranger awaiting her. This is Alydon, the man who left the drugs for the group, and he is one of the Thal race.


A hideous mutant, indeed.

Alydon is surprised to learn that the Daleks still live in the city, and is suspicious of their motives in allowing Susan to retrieve the drugs. To be safe, he gives her a second box, and sends her on her way with his cloak to keep warm.

It's growing increasingly likely that there are people inside the pepper-pot shells. Now we have a big question. If the Daleks think of the Thals as horrific mutations, what must they be like, inside their metal shells?

Susan safely makes it back to the city, where the Daleks confiscate one box of the drugs, but thankfully allow her to keep the other box. Within a few minutes of administering the treatment, the Doctor regains consciousness, and the group start to feel well enough to attempt to get back to the T.A.R.D.I.S.. However, Susan isn't ready to leave. The Thals helped them; they should help the Thals in return.

It turns out that after the atomic war, the Thals were able to cultivate small plots of land, but to do so they rely on a rainfall that only comes every few years. Said rainfall is two years overdue, the crops have failed, and the people are starving. They've had no choice but to leave their land in search of food, but now they're encroaching onto the Daleks' territory. If they're going to survive, they need to arrange some sort of treaty with the Daleks, and Susan wants to help.

In a twist which will come as a surprise to absolutely nobody, the Daleks are listening in on the conversation and hatch a plot to double cross the Thals. They offer the prisoners food and sustenance, leading to the slightly amusing image of a Dalek carrying a tea-tray.

How do Daleks even prepare food? They don't have hands. They seem to use the toilet plunger to interact with their environment, but I don't see how a rubber cup can provide the manual dexterity to make as much as a coronation chicken sandwich. With the companions fed and rested, the Daleks say that they will help the Thals, in truth planning to use Susan to lure the Thals to the city, where they'll be at the mercy of the Daleks. What will happen then isn't certain, but knowing the Daleks, it probably won't be good.

"SHE WILL BE RETURNED. WE ARE GOING TO HELP THE THALS WHICH IS WHAT YOU WANT US TO DO."
Not at all suspicious. Nope. Not one bit.

We now cut to a group of the Thals as they wait by the T.A.R.D.I.S., and learn a little more about them, and about the Daleks. The Thals apparently were once a warrior race, and the Daleks teachers and philosophers. Now the Thals have turned to a simple life of farming, shunning violence in favour of diplomacy, whereas the Daleks have directed their intelligence away from academic pursuits and towards war, violence, and survival.


I just wish I were better at telling them apart.

The Thals are excited to make friends with the Daleks. Bless.

Oh, and they're bizarrely sexist. One of the group berates Alydon for giving the drugs to a girl, instead of a man. I don't see how it makes the slightest bit of difference, but there you go. The only possible reason for her resenting his interaction with Susan is simple jealousy. Jealousy. Of a fifteen year old girl. Okay, then.

Meanwhile, this incredibly threatening fifteen year-old is helping the Daleks to draft a treaty based on mutual aid, which seems all well and good but I wouldn't trust the Daleks as far as I could throw them.


Peace in our time?

While Susan is with the Daleks, she learns that they've been listening in on the group's conversations, and so on her return to the cell, Ian and the Doctor stage a mock fight. In the 'tussle', the device the Daleks were using to spy on them is broken, buying them a few minutes of privacy. However, the Daleks immediately realise what they've done, so they don't have long.

The gang gets to brainstorming. They need to get out before they outlive their usefulness. They hatch a plan based on their observations of the Daleks, and when a Dalek comes to give them food, Barbara blinds it with a bit of mud scraped from her shoes, and the Doctor and Ian manage to wrangle it onto Alydon's cloak, which insulates it from the floor, disabling the creature.

Time to see what's inside!


Or not.

But the look the Doctor and Ian exchange as they look inside says everything. They scoop out the creature with the cloak. It's small, whatever it is. Sometimes what you don't see is more interesting than what you do see.

With the organic component of the Dalek removed, Ian climbs into the shell. Can the Daleks even survive out of their shells? Have Ian and the Doctor effectively murdered this creature? That's a bit of a grim thought. Horrid as the Daleks are, they’re still people. At least I think they are.

Still, I did laugh when Ian spoke from within the shell with the voice of a Dalek. The guinea pig was less amused. She doesn't like strange noises.

The companions depart, but hold on, what's this? Beneath the crumpled cloak, something stirs.

A clawed hand reaches out to the light.

And that's all we see.

THE AMBUSH

Now the companions make their escape, with Ian disguised as a Dalek, which comes in handy when they encounter another Dalek, whose help they enlist when Susan puts her talent for screaming to good use. The Dalek helps them along, and soon realises its mistake when they seal the door behind them.

The Dalek summons reinforcements, who begin cutting their way through the door.

Unfortunately, on the other side of the door, the companions are having trouble getting Ian out of his shell. To make matters even worse, the Daleks have magnetised the floor, so Ian can't even carry on pretending to be a Dalek. He tells the rest of the group to go on without him.

We cut back and forth between the escaping group, Ian trapped in the Dalek, and the Daleks cutting through the door. The rest of the group manage to take the lift to the top level of the building, but it doesn't look like Ian's making any progress. It seems for a moment that Ian has come to a sudden and violent end when the Daleks make it through the door and obliterate Ian's Dalek shell, but moments later, it's revealed that the shell is empty! Ian Chesterton: teacher, action hero, modern day Houdini.

The group reunite and are free to make a break for it. However, the Thals have arrived, and little do they know, they're walking into a trap.

The Daleks finally drop all pretence of decency and issue the order to 'exterminate' any companions they come across. I think we can guess what they're planning to do to the Thals.

While the Doctor gets the door to freedom unlocked, the rest of the group hurl a statue made of 'stone' down the lift shaft, where it wrecks the ascending lift, buying time for the companions. I have to put 'stone' in quotes because it is very, very obvious that it's polystyrene and probably weighs less than my teacup.

Here come the Thals, who bring with them an interesting debate. Our friend Alydon is deeply suspicious of the Daleks and their motives. After all, they did once go to nuclear war. The leader of the Thals, however, is willing to trust them, and eager to offer an olive branch. We of course know that Alydon is right to be suspicious, but let's look at it from the perspective of the Thals for a moment. The war was 500 years ago. It would be rather like me holding a grudge against the French for the Hundred Years' War.

The leader does raise a good point about the possible motivations of the Daleks, however. Perhaps the Daleks, hidden away in their metal shells in their metal city, have become so detached from the outside world that anything that isn't like them is frightening to them. They're like children lashing out in fright. The fact is, that fear has long since crystallised into pure hatred. The Thals have a choice: to pay heed to their misgivings about the Daleks, or to reject fear and take a chance of breaking the cycle. Now, if I knew nothing about the Daleks, I'd be inclined to agree with the leader, but I do know better, so of course I can't. It does rather undermine the point.

Susan wants to warn the Thals of the Daleks' treachery, but the Doctor wants to escape. Barbara takes Susan's side, but Ian agrees with the Doctor for once, deciding that there's little sense in jeopardising their own safety, and tells the others to make a break for it while he warns the Thals. Best of both worlds.

I wish my school teachers had been this cool.

Unfortunately for the Thal leader, Ian is too late to save him from 'extermination', but the rest manage to make their escape, and as they do, Ian meets up with Alydon, who is wounded.

Back at the T.A.R.D.I.S., the companions have made it back in one piece, and the Doctor is taking the opportunity to learn all that he can from the Thals. Through examining their records, he's able to glean more information about this dead planet: Skaro.

The people of Skaro were excellent astronomers who had not only mapped their own system, but planets of other star systems. Exoplanets are indeed theorised to exist beyond the realms of science fiction. These maps of the stars are a testament to the advancement of pre-war society on Skaro.

Ian urges the Thals to stand up to the Daleks, because although pacifism is a noble cause, some things are worth fighting against. All the same, the Thals refuse. It's not that they're afraid of the Daleks. It's deeper than that. They don't just hold pacifism up as an ideal; it's a compulsion.

We also learn that the Daleks used to be called Dals, and it seems that they once were much like the Thals. They weren't entirely wrong however, when they said that the Thals were mutants. The Thals did indeed mutate after the war, then adapted and stabilised to what they are now.

It seems there's nothing to do now but leave, and hope that the Thals can sort things out for themselves.

Of course we're only four episodes into a seven episode serial.

Did you really think it was going to be that easy?

Remember the fluid link?

It's still with the Daleks in the city.

Wrapping Up

This serial has been a lot more plot-dense than The Firemakers, which I imagine you can tell from the sheer length of this article. I have to say that I am thoroughly enjoying it so far, and must congratulate the writer of this serial, Terry Nation, on the exciting plot and interesting world and history he's created for this story. The production staff also deserve a round of applause for delivering a truly alien and eerie atmosphere despite what must have been a limited budget. I poked fun at a few points where the limitations showed, but they really did do a good job.

I'll be back soon to finish off the serial, so until next time, I bid you adieu.




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Magazine

[January 12, 1964] SINKING OUT OF SIGHT (the February 1964 Amazing)

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by John Boston

Uh-oh.

The blurb for the lead story in the February 1964 Amazing says: “Once every few years a science fiction story comes along which poses—and probes—philosophical questions: for instance: What is life that Man must live it?  In a novel rich in incident, fascinating of character, John Brunner questions the essential meaning of life and death and purpose.”

That’s the pitch for Brunner’s 74-page “complete novel” The Bridge to Azrael.  The last time we saw such an editorial panegyric, the mountain labored and brought forth—well, not a mouse.  A capybara, maybe.  Anyway, a modestly capable pulp-inflected novella, Daniel F. Galouye’s Recovery Area, not exactly the promised philosophical masterpiece for the ages.  Sort of the same here, but worse: the mountain has labored and brought forth a mess.

But let’s back up.  John Brunner has for years been a mainstay of the British SF magazines, with occasional appearances in the US magazines, growing more frequent in the past couple of years.  His most notable contribution has been a series of solid and unpretentious novellas in the UK’s Science Fantasy, some of which have made their way across the Atlantic to become better-than-usual Ace Doubles, like The 100th Millennium and (my favorite) Echo in the Skull—the top of the line at the bottom of the market.  So news that Brunner had a novella appearing in Amazing was cause for optimism. 

The Bridge to Azrael, by John Brunner

Unfortunately it trips over its pretenses and falls flat.  It is proposed that Earthfolk have gone out to the stars in ships and colonized dozens of planets, with which Earth has since lost touch and which have developed over centuries in wildly varying ways.  Now, however, Earth has FTL travel via a technology called the Bridge, upon which, if the equipment is properly aligned, one can walk across the light-years.  Earth is reopening contact with the the scattered fragments of humanity and trying to bring everyone together by connecting them to the Bridge system.  They’re up to 40 worlds.

This process is presided over by Director Jorgen Thorkild, and we are given to understand that he works very hard at his big and (it says here) “fantastically responsible” job.  However, when he meets with representatives of one of the next two candidates for Bridging, he realizes that one of them isn’t buying it at all, and he starts to go to pieces.  Doesn’t stop, either, and checks into the hospital, overwhelmed with the futility of it all.

Meanwhile, we are introduced to the “programmers.” These are the people charged with scouting and assessing the cultures of the planets to be Bridged, and they are impossibly superior intellectual supermen (if there are women in this clubhouse, they aren’t mentioned).  So completely absorbed in their work are they that they can’t stay interested in anything else, like comely members of the opposite sex who adore them, as we learn from the viewpoint of one of the latter.  But these hyper-competent intellectual powerhouses are ridden with a paralyzing fear of being wrong.  Exactly what will happen if they are wrong is not explained—do they lose their minds?  Commit suicide?  But the very prospect can impair their judgment and lead them into danger (for one of them, a knife in the chest).  Some supermen!

There are plots and subplots here, some of which might be interesting in another context, though the resolution of the reluctant planet problem is irredeemably facile all on its own.  But the two whopping implausibilities just recounted make it difficult to take anything here seriously, and undermine any attempt at grand philosophical argument, if there were one of any coherence.  So Brunner, whose more modest work sometimes transcends its lack of pretense, has tried something pretentious and fallen on his face.  One hopes he takes the lesson.  Two stars, generously.

Beside the Golden Door, by Henry Slesar

There is little succor to be found in the short stories.  The best of them is Henry Slesar’s Beside the Golden Door, a slightly rambling but reasonably agreeable story about extraterrestrials finding a far-future Earth on which humans have gone extinct, leaving artifacts like the one depicted on the cover (one suspects the story was written around the cover) and records that the aliens are able to decipher quickly.  These reveal another story about an earlier wave of aliens who had arrived on Earth seeking refuge after a disaster and were ultimately treated the way humans frequently treat those different from themselves, and there’s an unsurprising revelation at the end that pulls the stories together.  Fine conventional sentiments, adequate if slightly hackneyed execution, three stars.

I Bring Fresh Flowers, by Robert F. Young

From here, it’s downhill.  Next is I Bring Fresh Flowers, marking the return of Robert F. Young, like a recurring influenza epidemic, though this outbreak is at least milder than some.  It’s short, and less of Young is always more.  Rosemary Brooks, a beautiful young woman firmly dedicated to God and the United States, becomes an astronaut (or, as Young of course has it, Astronette), and she accomplishes her mission to orientate (sic!) the satellite that will bring genuine weather control to Earth. 

But something happens during re-entry.  “All that is known is that Rosemary became a falling star.” But not in vain—the weather becomes really fine, all because of her work.  “She is the sun coming up in the morning and the sun going down at night.  She is the gentle rain against your face in spring.” Et cetera, at some length.  In other words, Rosemary has been reincarnated as the pathetic fallacy.  Could be worse.  Has been, in fact.  Two stars.

Heavy, Heavy, by F.A. Javor

Bringing up the rear, or letting it down, is F.A. Javor’s Heavy, Heavy, the tale of a tough guy down on his luck, not as badly written as you might expect, but ending with the revelation of a supposed scientific gimmick so ridiculous as to erase any prior glimmer of merit.  One star.

SF Profile: L. Sprague de Camp: Sword and Sorcery, by Sam Moskowitz

Sam Moskowitz coasts through another SF Profile, L. Sprague de Camp: Sword and Sorcery, as usual with better coverage of his pre-World War II material than his later work, omitting to mention his last several SF novels: The Tower of Zanid (1958), its predecessor The Hand of Zei (1950), and The Glory That Was (1960, magazine 1952), plus two out of three of his major 1950s short stories, A Gun for Dinosaur and Aristotle and the Gun.  (He does mention the other one, Judgment Day.) The commentary is generally superficial and obvious.  Two stars.

Coroner's Report

The cover of this issue, which portrays a deteriorated and morose-looking Statue of Liberty buried up to its armpits, cogently sums up the issue, and, it appears, the state of the magazine generally: sinking out of sight.

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Book

[January 10, 1964] Journey to the Stars, Journey into the Self (Starswarm, by Brian Aldiss)

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by Jason Sacks

From many, one

Few things are more of a mixed blessing to a science fiction fan than a themed collection.

In the right hands – as with the epochal Foundation, The City and Martian Chronicles – the single-author themed collection tells a fascinating story in three dimensions, providing heft to an impact that even a full novel can’t always attain. Brian Aldiss’s new offering Starswarm doesn’t quite reach the levels of Asimov, Simak, or Bradbury but it is nevertheless an intriguing collection well worth reading.

With Starswarm, Aldiss delivers a different type of anthology than the above authors delivered. He explores inner landscapes as much as he does the alien worlds his characters inhabit. While each of these stories seems widely diverse in terms of exploring the complexity of the Starswarm, they nevertheless explore common themes of the dream of freedom, the need to break away from family, and the joy of exploration. In doing so, he makes the alien familiar. No matter how odd these characters may seem on the outside, Aldiss seems to be saying, they nevertheless share very human characteristics. This book helps bolster the assertion that Aldiss has grown into one of the foremost science fiction authors of ideas.

In Aldiss’s imagining, the Starswarm is a confederation of “two hundred and fifteen thousand planets” (as he says) and has lasted for eternities — long enough, in fact, for societies to have evolved in unique and unpredictable ways. This imaginative back-story promises a myriad of intriguing setups for readers, such as the complexities of managing such a diverse collection of planets and the unique biological imperatives of each one.

A look inside

“A Kind of Artistry” is written in a dense, ornate style which aims to approximate its alien argot. I often found the tale tough wading due to the large number of obscure words, but I responded to its powerful themes. This story tells the tale of Derek Ende, who hopes to stay with his Mistress (later shown to also be his mother) in his ancestral home but who is forced to explore the sentient planet the Cliff. In one key moment, the Cliff metaphorically takes Derek into its womb. In his emergence, Derek experiences a metaphorical rebirth made manifest in the story’s haunting final lines. The story can thus be read as a parable about the breakaway to adulthood as much as a tale of space exploration.

“Hearts and Engines” is a story of military conquering, as a brutal invading military force gives its soldiers drugs which turn them into a kind of berserker force abe to fight until their hearts burst. The other twist to this tale is that, as Aldiss writes, “they allow no weapon that cannot be carried by one man.” These warriors transform into other beings, but in doing so they brutalize their planet, their enemy and themselves. This is a thrilling tale which kept me on the edge of my seat as it went along, straight to its tragic ending.

“The Underprivileged” seemed the most clichéd story in the collection to me, a tale whose twist I figured out long before Aldiss turned the metaphorical tiger’s tale. Yet despite that, I found this story powerful. Tinged with disappointment yet with an odd level of sweetness and naïveté, this tale had an oddly intriguing resonance in light of our current post-colonial era in Africa.

“The Game of God” inverts the classic story of an explorer who has gone native with the story of “Daddy” Dangerfield, a man whose rocket ship crashes onto a primitive planet and who has been portrayed in popular fiction of the era as a kind of Tarzan-style adventurer. But Dangerfield is far from the hero people want him to be. This interesting story adroitly contrasts the myths of the heroic adventurer with the reality of a scared, scrawny man who refuses to learn anything about the planet he chooses to inhabit. A reader has to wonder if Aldiss is playing with the cliché of the great explorer, attempting to show that Western man is not fated to be the savior of every culture which seems inferior — a powerful and subtle statement. Aldiss also does an excellent job in this tale of creating a complex alien culture which feels very different from anything most readers can imagine — exactly what science fiction is great at.

“Shards” is easily the most dissonant and difficult story in this collection, a deliberately obscure and off-putting tale with a tiger’s tale ending that aims to redeem it. Though the story didn’t work for me, I admired Aldiss’s commitment to his narrative and the experimental way he explores the nature of human freedom in a world where genetic engineering transforms people into beings God could never have created.

“Legends of Smith’s Burst” is an odyssey of sorts, almost heroic fantasy, encompassing hidden castles, dogged heroes and endless wandering. Interestingly there is no female character at the center of this tale begging to be saved from the arch-villain, but the hero’s drive to succeed permeates everything. There are echoes of Tolkien and Lieber in this tale, though with an interesting science fiction twist.

“A Moon of my Delight” also highlights the selfishness of its protagonists, a ragged band of landholders and traders on a barren moon who are much more concerned with their sexual fulfillment than more spiritual ends. Though not at all sexually explicit, this is a story about adults — how they use and discard each other, how they ignore the things that don’t help them, and how they reluctantly find themselves forced into unwanted heroism. There’s a shocking death near the end of this story which took my breath away with its casual unfeeling style — a powerful moment in a subtly powerful story.

This collection wraps up with “Old Hundredth”, a meditative tale of mentors and mentees, end of lives and the power of music. It’s metaphorical and oddly powerful despite its sometimes obscure style.

Greater than the sum of its parts?

Several years ago my fellow writer Gideon Marcus wrote on this site about Brian Aldiss’s prior themed collection, Galaxies like Grains of Sand. He declared that “the style is inconsistent” and the book “[not] a complete success.” Several GJ commentators wrote in response to Mr. Marcus’s review, “there’s just something missing for me” and “I want to like this collection, and Brian Aldiss as a writer, more than I actually do.”

Perhaps this slim new volume, weak in physical coherence but strong in thematic power, will change the minds of some of my companions on this Galactic Journey. Aldiss takes us on a different journey than Simak, Asimov or Bradbury followed. I found my trip to the Starswarm to be fascinating.

4 stars.




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