by John Boston
Regression to the Mean
The June Amazing is . . . middling — a relief compared to some past performances—with nothing outstanding, nothing appalling, and much of it at least mildly interesting.
by Alex Schomburg
Tin Lizzie, by Randall Garrett
Like the previous issue, this one starts off with a hardware opera, but a much more agreeable one than last month’s. Randall Garrett’s Tin Lizzie is a conscious throwback to older SF, say the late ‘30s just after John Campbell took over at Astounding but before any great transformation took hold, with the writers soberly exploring the engineering challenges of space travel to the inner planets. No doubt it was too old hat for present-day Campbell, accounting for its appearance here at the bottom of the market rather than in Analog, Garrett’s most regular abode. Nowadays you’re more likely to find this sort of thing in Boy’s Life than in the SF magazines, or by revisiting the older Winston juveniles you took out of the library years ago.
by Virgil Finlay
Our heroes are piloting a tugship back from Jupiter towing a big bag of a nitrogen compound, mined from Jupiter’s atmosphere and destined for the factories of Luna, when they get a Mayday call from Mars. Turns out there’s a scientific expedition stranded on the surface in a damaged spaceship and needing help fast. But the tugship can’t land there because it has no landing gear and its cupro-aluminum hull won’t stand up to an atmosphere anyway, especially the dinitrogen trioxide of the Martian atmosphere. (Read that aloud in front of a mirror and practice looking authoritative.)
But! On Phobos are a couple of abandoned “space taxis,” 80-year-old rocket-powered vehicles made for nothing but landing and taking off. Only problem is that in this day of gravito-inertial engines, nobody knows how to fly a rocket any more . . . except for the centenarian General Challenger, about the only surviving rocket pilot, who is pleased to instruct the boys long-distance from the Moon so they can rescue the stranded scientists. There’s an added fillip at the end about the primitive Martian life forms.
The story is very capably done, full of technical lectures which I am not competent to assess but which are slickly rendered for the lay person. This sort of thing would get tiresome quickly if the magazines were full of it, but they aren’t, so it makes for a refreshing change from the usual more sophisticated (or pseudo-) fare. It’s a moldy fig, but reasonably tasty. Three stars.
Condition of Survival, by Barry P. Miller
by George Schelling
Garrett's is followed by a considerably longer novelet by Barry P. Miller. Who? A Barry P. Miller had a couple of stories in Ray Palmer’s Other Worlds Science Stories in 1956-57, just before the end—not an auspicious sign, if it’s the same guy.
He certainly knows the drill; the story begins: “For a Greenwich Month, the BuGalEx ship, Wotan’s Beard, had maintained an observation orbit three hundred kilometers above the fourth planet of a G2 class sun near the base of the galactic limb of which Sol was a part.” And, on further exploration, it’s a pretty ambitious story, if ham-handedly rendered.
The BuGalEx folks have landed now and discovered small humanoids, whom they call the Elves. Their attempts to establish communication with the Elves aren’t going well, so it’s time for Hillier, the Transferman, to do his stuff. He has his consciousness projected into that of an Elf to figure out what’s going on, and meets a sort of demigod of the Elves’ consciousness, which transforms itself into his heart’s desire and tries to recruit him to help it (or, as he perceives, her) fend off the grasping Terrestrials.
Meanwhile, Hillier’s girlfriend, Linguist Betty Lee, has been fending off her ex, who tries to lure her back with a means of converting aural sensation to tactile sensation, i.e., to have sex somehow melded with or choreographed by Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, because on Earth these days, sexual prowess, born or made, is apparently all anybody cares about. But Betty is really an old-fashioned girl looking for Mr. Right, whom she sees in Hillier, the naive guy from a colony planet, who seems to want more or less what she does, though it takes a while for them to figure it out.
Miller tries to integrate these two plots, with less success than one would like, partly because he is a glib but clumsy writer whose scenes of interpersonal interaction are nothing short of soap-operatic. One longs to shout “Rewrite!” and get somebody in who could handle this material more coherently and with more plausible affect. Theodore Sturgeon? Sorry, he’s busy. Anyway, three stars for a nice try and an interesting one, even if the author can’t quite bring it off.
The Pirokin Effect, by Larry Eisenberg
From the attempted sublime to the accomplished vaudevillesque: Larry Eisenberg, who perhaps has been reading too much Robert F. Young, proposes in The Pirokin Effect that the Lost Tribes of Israel ended up on Mars and are communicating by impulses detectable in restaurant kitchens in New York and Philadelphia. It’s amusing enough and has the virtue of brevity, and is told with a strong ethnic flavor. Three stars, or maybe the author would prefer three bagels with a schmear.
The Sphinx, by Robert F. Young
by George Schelling
And here is Robert F. Young himself with another silly Robert F. Young story, The Sphinx, which the editor introduces: “Continuing his series of up-dating Terran mythology and folklore. . . .” No brevity here—it’s almost 30 pages. Protagonist Hall is scouting the area before a big space battle between the Earth and Uvelian space fleets, loses control to something unknown and crashes on a planet. He reconnoiters and finds a Sphinx and several pyramids. This Sphinx is alive and explains that she contrived the creation of the Sphinx and pyramids of Earth thousands of years ago, and her sister did the same for the Uvelians, and because this is Young there’s also an Egyptian girl (sic) whom the protagonist decides is (of course) the most beautiful he has ever seen.
The space battle, which threatens to destroy the planet, starts, but then stops—that’s the Sphinxes’ contrivance too. Etc., etc. The best that can be said for this . . . well, contrivance really is the word . . . is that it is less annoying than Young’s usual, told straightforwardly and not in the overtly arch, coy, cloying, or precious manner that we have come to expect from him. He is a competent writer at the word-and-sentence level whatever one thinks of what he does with his competence. I guess that’s why he is published so prolifically; can’t think of any other reason. Two stars, barely.
SF Profile: John Wyndham, by Sam Moskowitz
Sam Moskowitz is back with another SF Profile, this one of John Wyndham, which as usual presents implausible praise and detailed plot summaries of his pulp stories of the 1930s. It does give more attention than usual to his more sophisticated work of the 1950s, then reverts to form with two sentences about his most recent novel, Trouble with Lichen. This one is lighter on interesting biographical detail than many of its predecessors. Two stars.
Statistical analysis
So: the issue is a good enough time-passer for those who have time they need to pass. For anyone else, its attraction may be limited…
[Come join us at Portal 55, Galactic Journey's real-time lounge! Talk about your favorite SFF, chat with the Traveler and co., relax, sit a spell…]
A decent issue… for Amazing. There are a couple of decent stories, though.
The Garrett wasn't a bad story. Except for one thing. I'm not aware of any theory that Mars has an atmosphere of nitrous compounds. This might have been better set somewhere else. Otherwise, not bad.
John sums up the Miller pretty well. I saw the explanation for the odd intelligence of the Elves several pages before the characters did. Still, there's the bones of a decent story here. Too bad they weren't properly fleshed out.
The Eisenberg was an amusing little piece. Fluff, but at least not a complete was of ink.
"The Sphinx" was terrible. Young can write, but his retellings of various myths over the last couple of years have really not been very good. I spent most of the time grumbling that several pyramids had been built well before the Great Pyramid of Cheops. A little more research next time, Mr. Young.
The biography was considerably less hagiographic than most of Moskowitz's pieces. That was to the good. Maybe it's because Wyndham is British, rather than the Americans Sam usually writes about. I even learned something. I had no idea he was the same person as John B. Harris. I vaguely remember some of those stories from 30 years ago.
So, the mag clears the low bar of being better than usual. Better than this month's Galaxy? It's close, possibly a tie. Hey, there's nowhere to go but up for the rest of the month (although Analog looms there at the end to test that proposition).
Now that we know that Venus is not a primeval jungle world and Mars hasn't much atmosphere (final determination to come when Mariner 3 sails past early next year), I wave my hands and pretend that stories set on them really take place elsewhere.
Oh, I do the same thing. But has it ever been posited that Mars is red because of a nitrous atmosphere? I'd think there would have been some other stories that used the concept if so, and I don't know of any.
"Tin Lizzie" was unremarkable tech fiction. The blurb told you exactly what would happen, and it did.
"Condition of Survival" was tedious to read, with all the exposition, until it got to the second part, when the "woman of wonder" added some mystery and lyricism.
"The Sphinx" kept adding on one improbable happening after another to support the author's vision.
"The Pirokin Effect" was an amusing bagatelle.
It says something about the magazine that the most enjoyable story was a minor joke!