Book

[December 7, 1963] SF or Not SF?  That Is the Question (They came from mainstream, 1963 edition)

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by Victoria Silverwolf

A raft of non-SF SF

Readers of this column with long memories will recall that, at the end of 1962, we looked at major science fiction and fantasy novels and collections published as mainstream fiction.  The most important such work this year was Kurt Vonnegut's novel Cat's Cradle, already discussed in detail by our own Vicki Lucas. 

Another was The Man Who Fell to Earth by Walter Tevis, best known for his novel The Hustler, adapted into a major film a couple of years ago.  Once again, Ms. Lucas has provided a fine analysis of this book.


The novel is obviously about the game of pool.


The movie poster doesn't seem to have much to do with pool.

Here are two more books I think should be checked out by SF fans who might have missed them:

Planet of the Apes, by Pierre Boulle

A French import offers another example of the blurred lines between science fiction and the literary mainstream.  Pierre Boulle is famous for Le Pont de la Rivière Kwaï (translated into English as The Bridge over the River Kwai, and source of an award-winning movie, with a slight change in the title.)



Don't ask me how over turned into on

This year the author ventured into outer space, with his novel La Planète des singes, known in the United States as Planet of the Apes.

(My sources in the publishing world tell me that the book will be available in the United Kingdom next year, under the title Monkey Planet.)

Boulle's novel begins in the far future, with a couple traveling among the stars.  They discover an old manuscript.  This takes us into a flashback, set in the relatively near future.  Three men journey to an Earth-like planet orbiting the star Betelgeuse.  They discover that intelligent, civilized apes inhabit the world, along with naked, speechless human beings treated as lower animals.  Gorillas are police and military; orangutans are priests and politicians; chimpanzees are scientists and technicians.  The apes are at the same technological level as Twentieth Century Earth, with cities, automobiles, and firearms.  They even smoke tobacco.  The three astronauts meet different fates.  It all leads up to a twist ending.  The author's intent is satiric, showing the reader how little difference there is between people and other primates.  The story may not be very plausible, but it captures the reader's imagination.  Special notice should go to Xan Fielding, who translated both of Boulle's novels into very readable English. 

Three stars.

Glide Path, by Arthur C. Clarke

We've seen how mainstream authors venture into science fiction, sometimes successfully.  It doesn't often happen the other way around.  This year Arthur C. Clarke proved he is just as comfortable writing about the past as he is about the future, with his novel Glide Path.

The story takes place in England during the Second World War.  The protagonist is a young officer in the Royal Air Force.  He is a technician, working on a program known as Ground Controlled Descent.  GCD allows a pilot to land in heavy fog.  Using radar, a controller on the ground talks the pilot down.  The plot is episodic, involving both the new technology and daily life in the RAF.  The author creates a convincing portrait of the time and place, based on his own experiences.  Unlike most war novels, the book lacks scenes of battle.  This may disappoint readers looking for thrilling action.  The most dramatic sequence happens late in the story, when huge amounts of fuel fill the night sky with towering flames, in an attempt to burn off the fog. 

Three stars.

Boulle's science fiction novel is likely to be marketed to readers of mainstream fiction, just as Clarke's war story is likely to be promoted to science fiction fans.  Let us avoid relying solely on arbitrary divisions in literature, and instead keep our eyes open for good reading, no matter how it might be labelled.




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Fashion, music, politics, sports, TV

[December 5, 1963] A Composer After My Own Heart (A theme song for Dr. Who)

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by Victoria Lucas

Tracking down the Dr. Who theme

After reading Mark Yon's column mentioning the British telly program "Doctor Who," I distracted myself from (shudder!) the assassination by trying to find out anything I could about that program, particularly the unique theme music (new music is my bag, you see).

My usual sources are the libraries at the University of Arizona (UA) and in downtown Tucson.  When those turn up empty, I start in on my private network–folks I know.  Someone mentioned that the music was supplied by the BBC's Radiophonic Workshop, who do all BBC sound effects and theme music.  But how to find out more?  And if it’s the music I’m interested in, how can I hear it?  There appear to be no plans to broadcast "Doctor Who" in the US.

OK, now I’m right up against the wall and climbing as fast as I can, because I’m stubborn.  (If you knew my family you’d know I come by it honestly.) And besides, I promised to write this column.  Oh!  My tape network.  I’ve mentioned before, in connection with hearing a radio program I missed, that I’m part of a sort of round robin that sends reel-to-reel tape around for hearing, copying, etc.  (I do sound and other services for local little theater–it comes in handy if there’s some effect I can’t produce or some music I need.) So I phoned my contact, who phoned his contact–etc. 

A gift from London

To my utter surprise and relief, it turned out that there was a package waiting to be sent from England, and I am the ideal person to receive it and send it on.  You know how composers are–well, maybe you don’t. 

Music composition is not a lucrative profession, for the most part.  It’s sort of like the few sports stars who occupy everyone’s attention, and everyone else who isn’t on one’s hometown team is ignored.  This is the age of the 20th-Century Canon, in the sense that "classical" musicians put their faith in a slightly varying list (like a set of sacred books) of composers and music that symphonies play and national radio and television favor.  When you go to a concert, leaving "pop" or jazz alternatives aside, you know you’re usually going to hear at least one of the four B’s (Bach, Brahms, Berlioz, Beethoven).  And a few others, most 19th or early 20th century European "classical" music..  I’m tempted to add a fifth "B" for Borge, but he makes a living playing (not composing) "classical" music, with a few jokes on the side.


Victor Borge in concert 1957

If you don’t compose or play music that sounds like the items on that list, you will have to find some other way to make a living, or live very frugally, squeezing out a few dollars here or there from donations, commissions, or occasional gigs that pay actual money.  Just ask my friend Barney Childs at UA, who holds a PhD in music composition from Stanford.  He teaches English as an assistant professor and composes in his spare time.  His music is often highly dissonant and doesn’t appeal to your average concertgoer, who expects dominant, consonant melodies presented in classical formats by musicians who, in turn, usually expect the same and may be so offended if their sheet music does not conform to what they learned in the conservatory that they will walk out or otherwise disrupt a concert.  Finding performers who will play unusual music can be quite difficult, making electronic music, despite its complicated techniques, attractive, since often the only performer is the composer.


Barney Childs and his ever present pipe

And in this case the composer who is to receive the package is more or less homeless, sleeping on other people’s couches or floors and traveling when and where he is paid to perform.  So I actually feel pretty good about inserting myself into this delivery process, quite aside from being able to listen to the very latest in (as it turns out) electronic music.  I’m responsible for finding out where he is from the local contacts I was given (too much long-distance calling for folks in England) and sending it on.  Best of all, the tape I just received and played has a sheet of (legible!) comments on the music and even some words about and a photograph of the performer, with her equipment. 

Meet the maker


Delia Darbyshire on tape machines

According to the comments, it seems that someone by the name of Ron Grainer composed music for the "Doctor Who" theme.  Another somebody–by the name of Delia Derbyshire (what a veddy British name that is!)–realized it as electronic music in the Workshop!

The anonymous writer also says that Derbyshire wasn't allowed to compose music on her job for the Workshop, but she was allowed to do "special sound by BBC Radiophonic Workshop," which apparently is anything she wants to do.  What a job!  But it sounds as it if was lot of trouble and some luck to get there, and some knocking around, because Derbyshire had a hard time finding anywhere she could use her degree in mathematics and music.  For instance, she was told that Decca Records wouldn't employ women, and … well, whoever heard of a woman composer?


Clara Schumann

I wanted to compose too after I learned to transpose while studying piano, but I didn't know anybody who had heard of a woman composer, and that includes my mother and aunt, harpists who had performed in the concert circuit.  My father was not supportive, although my mother always indulged me.  Without specific encouragement to realize my dream, however, I saw my future stretching before me, always playing other peoples' music that for the most part bored me, and I didn't like that future.  So I stopped studying music and started looking for some other way to make a living.  (Mind you, I was 12, as you might see in my previous column.)


Composer Luciano Berio

Derbyshire, on the other hand, had an opportunity to work with Luciano Berio last year when they attended the famous Dartington Summer School in Devon, England, so she was able to hobnob with at least one VIP of new music decidedly not in the Canon.  I wonder if this was the fulfillment of a dream for her.  It would be for me.

Behind every great man…


Ron Grainer

There is a brief note in the comments that made me laugh aloud: Derbyshire is so clever that when Grainer heard her music for "Doctor Who" and delightedly asked, "Did I really write this?", she answered "Most of it."

The same page in the package shows a small drawing of the composer’s music described as "swoops," and nothing more.  So there was a lot of room to improvise.  Come to think of it, the lack of a staff and apparent use of graphic notation remind me of John Cage, who used a transparency with lines to overlay dots and lines in his "Fontana Mix."  Talk about its being hard to find performers when your music is unusual, think of Cage’s predicament after the debut of his last year’s "4’ 33" after which many people consider him a joke!  On the other hand, put yourself in the position of a classically trained musician confronted with that composition’s page of sheet music indicating three parts, each declaring only "Tacet" (musicianese for "silence").  Was Grainer "avant garde," too?

I have to wonder whether what Derbyshire meant by her remark about his composition was that the rest of "most of it" was written by her, or by her assistant Dick Mills, a sound engineer who I understand is responsible for sound effects for a programme (note British spelling) called "The Goon Show."  Something tells me I would be surprised by the truth.


Dick Mills on the left

I can't imagine getting to England anytime soon–especially since I’m paying for the next leg of the journey for a piece of tape and its wrapping, a photo and a piece of paper, as well as some long distance charges.  But maybe I'll get to San Francisco again before long, where there's a place I keep hearing about called the Tape Music Center.  If I can’t make electronic music, maybe I can at least listen to it.  This little piece I received today, which I had to use a lot of leader to bind to a reel for enough time to play it, is a delight!




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TV

[Dec. 3, 1963] Dr. Who?  An Adventure In Space And Time

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By Jessica Holmes

A New Science Fiction Series Lands At The BBC

Hello, class! Some of you may remember me from last month's article on the Arecibo observatory. For those who don't: hello, my name is Jessica, and I am an artist who likes science.

A lot of people think of the arts and sciences as being at odds with one another, and although I lean towards the arts, I don't see why they have to be separated. The structure of a DNA helix is like a work of sculpture. The exquisite tile patterns found in buildings around the Islamic world are designed according to mathematical principles. Science can be art, and art can be science. So, why am I waffling on about this? Because I believe that the adventure we're about to embark on will prove my assertion.

Produced by Verity Lambert (the BBC's youngest and only woman producer), Doctor Who is the new science fiction series from the BBC, about the mysterious eponymous old man and his machine that allows him to travel through time and space. Along with him are his granddaughter, Susan, and two of her school teachers, Ian Chesterton and Barbara Wright. Together, they'll travel backwards and forwards through history, and upside down and sideways through the universe. According to the Radio Times, each adventure may bring them to the North Pole, distant worlds devastated by neutron bombs (well, THERE'S a relevant story for you!), and even the caravan of Marco Polo. I also hear this show is to have a bit of an educational element, so I'll be looking forward to seeing how that goes.

I wouldn't normally cover such a mundane thing as opening credits, but I think in this case it would be remiss of me not to draw attention to them. The theme music itself is exciting and memorable, and sounds truly from another world from the first few bars. Accompanying this is a novel visual effect (or at least, one I haven't seen before) of abstract swirls pulsating and contorting. I did a little research into how it was done, and it turns out this effect is actually quite simple: it's feedback. Much as placing a microphone close to its own output speaker produces an extremely unpleasant screech, pointing a camera at its own output monitor yields 'howlaround' feedback in the form of these abstract waves.

Enough technical talk. On with the episode.

Wandering the Fourth Dimension

We had a bit of an unusual situation in the release of this premier episode. It was shown, in fact, last week, but for obvious reasons not a lot of people watched it, not to mention the nationwide blackout we suffered that night.  It was shown again immediately before the second episode of the serial, which I shall be covering next time.

We fade in from the opening onto a dark, misty shot of a police officer on the beat, passing by a gate labelled with the words 'I.M. Foreman, Scrap Merchant, 76 Totters Lane'. The music gives its cue something is about to happen. The camera closes in on the gate, which swings open to reveal…a junkyard. Shocking, I know. We track forwards into the scrap merchant's yard, passing by a police box as we pan upwards, and then, just as the viewer starts to wonder what we're supposed to be looking at, back to the police box, from within which comes a low hum.

We zoom in on the familiar sign—well, familiar to those of us in my country, anyway. They're quite common, these big blue boxes, though they are sometimes found in other colours, dotted around Britain's streets. Inside each is a telephone connected directly to the local police station, allowing both the public and local police to quickly and easily call for assistance wherever they may be. They can even be used to hold detainees until reinforcements arrive, and I won't even get started on their other, less orthodox uses.

And now we see the title card: An Unearthly Child. This episode was written by Anthony Coburn.

Just when I think we're about to find out what's inside this police box, we cut away to the sound of a school bell, and find ourselves at Coal Hill School, where we meet two of our main characters for the first time: Ian Chesterton, science master, and Barbara Wright, history teacher. These attentive (or perhaps it'd be more accurate to call them nosy) teachers have a conundrum on their hands. It's not an academic matter that ails them, but one of their students, a strange girl named Susan, possesses knowledge far beyond either of them in some fields, while not even being able to say how many shillings are in a pound. It is indeed quite perplexing how such a common piece of knowledge could slip by an otherwise intelligent fifteen year-old (for those unfamiliar, there are twenty shillings in a pound, and twelve pennies in a shilling.) How this girl manages to buy anything without understanding how money works, I couldn't say. She certainly doesn't seem to be from outside Britain; her diction would make my grandmother weep with joy.


From left to right: Jacqueline Hill, Carole Ann Ford and William Russell as Barbara Wright, Susan Foreman, and Ian Chesterton respectively.

Perhaps more perplexing than Susan herself is her address: 76 Totters Lane — the junkyard we saw at the beginning of the episode. In an effort to talk to Susan's grandfather, her only guardian, Ian and Barbara travel to the junkyard one night and await his arrival.

And this, in my opinion, is where the episode starts to get good. It's all been fine up to this point, but there's nothing terribly exciting about watching teachers talk about a difficult student. With the return of the junkyard, the humming police box, and a haze of smog over everything, the mysterious atmosphere kicks back in in full force, and soon enough, my favourite part of the episode arrives.

Enter the Doctor, William Hartnell. There's a good chance you've already heard the name before; he's been in more films over the last decade than I care to mention. Not being the biggest fan of war films, I admit I haven't really seen him in action much, but this Doctor is a far cry from the military men Hartnell normally steps into the shoes of. From the moment he steps into frame, we see just why this programme is called Doctor Who. For all the mystery about Susan, the Doctor blows it out of the water.


William Hartnell as the Doctor.

The Doctor is strange. We get the impression we only hear perhaps a tenth of what he's really thinking, and that his is a mind that races far faster than theirs. It's also clear that this is a man with something to hide; every word out of his mouth is an attempt to deflect the teachers, to persuade them to leave well enough alone. But there's a mischievous twinkle in his eye; we almost get the impression he thinks of this all as a game, an amusement to pass his time. The teachers notice quickly that he's suspiciously keen on keeping them away from the police box. All comes to a head when Susan's voice calls out from inside the box, and fearing her to be in danger, the teachers burst in. At last we get the truth—or at least, our first slice of it.

The police box is bigger on the inside.


All aboard the TARDIS.

Gone is the gloomy junkyard where we had to squint to see; now we're in a bright, open room, lined with all manner of electrical equipment and control panels, and in the centre, a console. This is the TARDIS, short for Time And Relative Dimension In Space. It is both a space ship, and a time machine.

Susan and her grandfather are exiles from another time, another world, cast adrift in time and space, never able to settle in one place for too long, for fear of situations such as these. It's clear both long for home, or at the very least, stability.

"Have you ever thought what it's like to be wanderers in the Fourth Dimension? Have you? To be exiles? Susan and I are cut off from our own planet – without friends or protection. But one day we shall get back. Yes, one day."
The Doctor

The teachers may be people of learning, but this is quite beyond them, as the Doctor notes with a derisive comment. Believing the Doctor to be quite mad and his TARDIS to be an elaborate hoax, the teachers attempt to leave, but to no avail. The Doctor has locked the doors!

In a confrontation with her grandfather, Susan demands that he allow her and the teachers to leave. Seemingly the Doctor acquiesces, but as the rest of the crew make for the door, he begins to laugh in a way greatly reminiscent of the cheeky chuckle my grandfather makes whenever he's cheating at a board game.

With the flick of a switch, that mischievous gleam in the Doctor's eye betrays a hint of malice, or perhaps madness. Quick at work on the controls of his machine, the teachers' pleas to be released fall on deaf ears; his ship is launching, and they're along for the ride.

A wheezing, grinding cacophony rises, the swirling lights from the opening titles return, and all aboard have an expression of great discomfort. Clearly, travel through the extra dimensions is a little more uncomfortable than a ride on the London Underground (if such a thing is even possible). The wheezing noise fades away, and we cut to the outside of the box, but not to the junkyard. Outside the TARDIS is a barren landscape stretching as far as the eye can see, desolate and lifeless. Or is it?

Final Thoughts

So, that was an interesting start to what I hope will be an interesting series. The episode was perhaps a little slow to get going, but things really pick up at the halfway point, with some excellent decisions made by director Waris Hussein. In particular I want to praise the contrast between the dim junkyard and the bright interior of the TARDIS. The jarring transition leaves us as agape as the teachers. The mundane world of modern Britain falls away, and now we're in a place where anything can happen. Good performances all around, but especially from Hartnell, who has a real charm, even if I'm not quite sure as to the motivations of his Doctor character. Eccentric or plain mad? Mischievous or malicious? It's too early to say. The Doctor is an intriguing character, and I'm very excited to see more of his antics, and follow along on the adventure.




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Conventions/Performances, Magazine, Science / Space Race

December 1, 1963 Last stop (December 1963 Analog)

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by Gideon Marcus

LosCon in Los Angeles!

It's been an exciting November for the Journey.  After a sad interlude on the East Coast, which saw the untimely death of our President, we flew back to Los Angeles for a small science fiction convention put on by the Los Angeles Science Fiction Society.  It was great fun, a real class act.  Not only did we get to put on a show (in which the assassination, of course, featured prominently), but we also met Laura Freas, wife of Kelly Freas, the illustrator who painted Dr. Martha Dane.  As y'all know, Dr. Dane graced our masthead until very recently, and she remains the Journey's avatar.

And for those of you who missed the performance, we got it on video-tape.

At last, success for NASA

I read an article in Aviation Weekly that noted that 1963 just hasn't been a great year for NASA space shots.  There have only been eight successful missions thus far.  Unlike in the old days (you know, five years ago), when satellites didn't fly because of balky rockets, now missions are more likely to be delayed for lack of funding on the ground or for thorny technical issues as mechanisms get more complicated.

But successes do happen, and on November 27, Explorer 18 soared into orbit.  Also known as the Interplanetary Monitoring Platform (IMP), it is essentially a deep space explorer.  At the closest point in its orbit, it zooms at an atmosphere-scraping 160 kilometers in altitude, but at its furthest, it flies up to a quarter million kilometers out — more than halfway to the moon.

IMP is the first of seven satellites that will monitor the sun's output over a long period of time, measuring its ups and downs over the course of its 11 year activity cycle.  It will also measure interplanetary magnetic fields, the speed and composition of the solar wind, and the strength of the cosmic rays that shower the solar system from intergalactic space.

In many ways, Explorer 18 continues the missions of Explorers 10 and 12, spacecraft that made incredible discoveries about our local space environment.  What makes IMP so special is its size and endurance: it will be in space much longer than its predecessors, and its more advanced instruments are capable of more refined measurements. 

It is also hoped that IMP will be for interplanetary space what TIROS is for Earth — a weather satellite providing up to date information on the environment "up there."  Thus, Explorer 18 will not only expand our knowledge of interplanetary physics, it will also be an early warning system, alerting astronauts as to upcoming solar flares and other potentially dangerous events. 

Pretty neat!

Last magazine of the year

Every month, the Journey does its level best to review every science fiction magazine that gets published.  As far as I can tell, we cover all the regular American ones plus the British New Worlds (only Science Fantasy, also British, escapes our coverage).  By tradition, Analog is the covered last, and thus, the December 1963 Analog is the last magazine of the year.  Once this one is reviewed, we can finally get down to the fun business of determining the stats: which mag had the best stories, the most consistent quality, the most women published, and so on.  Call it SFnal baseball.

So how was this last issue?  Read on!

The Nature of the Electric Field, by John W. Campbell

In addition to a nonsensical editorial, Editor Campbell wastes several oversized pages with the reprint of a century-old treatise on electricity.  I guess it's to show how times change, and therefore, we shouldn't be so quick to denounce things like Dianetics, reactionless drives, psionics, dowsing, and other pseudo-sciences.

One star.

Cracking the Code, by Carl A. Larson

Larson's article is on DNA and scientists' attempts to understand how a sequence of amino acids can be the blueprint for all of life's manifestations.  It's a subject that would have been better handled by Asimov…or really, anyone else.  On the other hand, some of Larson's poetical turns of phrase are cute, like analogizing cells to an alien race whose environment is so utterly foreign to our ken, and that's why it's taken so long to decipher their language.

Two stars, I guess.

Dune World (Part 1 of 3), by Frank Herbert

I was mistaken when I called this new serial Herbert's first novel.  He had a serial back in 1956 called Under Pressure that I must have read some seven years ago, but I couldn't tell you what it was about if you put a gun to my head.

Anyway, this new one seems to be generating a lot of buzz, and I can see why.  It features Paul, 15 year-old scion to House of Atreides, whose father, the Duke of Atreides, has been granted the fiefdom of Arrakis.  Arrakis — desert planet — Dune.  This barren wasteland, where water is worth its weight in platinum, offers but one export: Melange, the geriatric spice that affords immortality, cures ailments, and tastes really good, too.  As Arrakis is the only source of melange, control of the planet is a sought plum, indeed.

Except, the Duke knows it is a trap set by the planet's former masters, the Barony of Harkonnen.  In collusion with the Padishar Emperor, Harkonnen has hatched a complicated plan to humiliate and discredit (and probably kill) the Duke, a scheme which whose intricacy might even give Machiaveli pause.

There is a lot to admire in this new work.  It's a fresh universe, highly developed, with a lot of attention to detail and inclusion of many foreign cultural influences.  Women play a prominent role, with the genders being apparently somewhat segregated, each having their own spheres of power.  There are at least two important female characters, something I'm always delighted to find in my science fiction.

One of the aspects of Herbert's world is the conscious disdain for, and even ban on, the use of computers.  Instead, human "mentats" have been bred for the ability of calculation.  This not only creates an interesting new class of person, it neatly relieves the author of predicting the development of electronic brains.

Dune Planet is not, however, an unalloyed success.  In the hands of Cordwainer Smith or even Mack Reynolds, folks who have a deep grounding in other cultures as well as the writing chops to convey them, it would be a masterpiece.  Herbert, on the other hand, is a pretty raw writer.  His stuff can be creaky and dull, the viewpoint shifts from paragraph to paragraph, and his use of ellipses dots is…exuberant (they say we hate most in others what we dislike about ourselves; Herbert writes a bit like I did not long ago before certain editors whipped me into shape).

So, three stars so far, but I'm still reading and look forward to more.

Conversation in Arcady, by Poul Anderson

In George Pal's The Time Machine, Rod Taylor arrives at the far future and discovers humanity living under (seemingly) idyllic circumstances.  They no longer need toil for food, shelter, or clothing.  They do not fight each other nor feel the need to rule.  At first impressed, the time traveler is dismayed to find that the desire to advance, the struggle to improve has been lost.  In perhaps the most effective scene of the movie (at least, it was for me), Taylor finds shelves of books that crumble to dust at the slightest touch.

Poul Anderson's latest is a note for note copy of this scene with the exceptions that 1) Anderson's Eloi are not so simple and childlike, 2) there are no Morlocks fattening up people for supper, and 3) the time traveler can see nothing positive about the situation whatsoever.

I think Anderson is trying to say something poignant, that our race is nothing without the need to better itself.  Or perhaps he's striving for a subtler point — that those who only find meaning in struggle can never find peace, and maybe peace isn't a bad thing.  Or maybe he's saying both things at the same time.

I think he was going for just the first, though.  Three stars.

The Right Time, by Walter Bupp (John Berryman)

John Berryman's series is set in the current world but where psionics are common (but secret).  It's a perfect fit for Analog what with Editor Campbell's peculiar pseudo-scientific beliefs, yet somehow Berryman's stories manage to be good.  This one, about a telekinetic precog with the ability to predict and potentially heal a fellow's heart attack, is my favorite yet.  Four stars.

Thin Edge, by Johnathan Blake MacKenzie

Author Randy Garrett is back under the pseudonym he prefers when he writes about life in the asteroid belt.  This latest piece is about a Belter who is killed by Earthers for the secret of the super strong cording used for rock towing, and about the other Belter who comes to Earth looking for revenge.

It's written with some facility, but the Belters are always too clever and the Earthers too dumb.  A low three or a high two, depending on your mood.

All right!  It's time to tabulate the data for December!

Analog finished in the middle of the pack with 2.8 stars, above F&SF (2.1) and Fantastic (2.2), but below Galaxy (3.2), Amazing (3.2), and New Worlds (3.2), not to mention last month's issue of Gamma, which I didn't get to until this month (3.3).

There were 44 pieces of fiction between the seven magazines, four of which were written by women.  9% is fairly standard these days, sadly.  I'm not sure what's causing the decline, though the numbers were never that much better.

Next up, we'll be covering the UK's newest SF TV show, and beyond that, 1963's Galactic Stars!

Stay tuned.

[The party's still going on at Portal 55.  Come join us for real-time conversation!]

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TV

[November 29, 1963] An old doll's new tricks (Twilight Zone, Season 5, Episodes 5-8)

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by Natalie Devitt

The latest season of The Twilight Zone is back in full swing, complete with great storytelling and acting that still outshines most other shows on the air. For those of you who may not be staying up every Friday night to catch The Twlilight Zone, allow me to bring you up to speed.

The Last Night of a Jockey, by Rod Serling

In The Last Night of a Jockey, Mickey Rooney plays Michael Grady, a man who has based his self worth on his success as a jockey. When he is suspended from racing after being accused of race fixing, he isolates himself in his tiny apartment. All alone, he dwells on his fears that his career is over. After having devoted to his life to the race track, he worries that he will be left with few career opportunities, except perhaps as a driver to a horse-drawn carriage in Central Park.

Grady is small in stature, and this experience leaves Grady feeling even smaller, so he wishes one night to be taller. The next morning, he wakes up to find his feet hanging over his bed. He looks in the mirror and sees how he towers over everything in his studio apartment. Initially pleased with his sudden growth spurt, he declares, “I’m big, honey, you understand that? I’m b-i-g.” As the story progresses, he begins to realize that everything in life is a trade-off.

The Last Night of a Jockey feels like a bit like a chamber play. It all takes place in one room. Rooney is the only actor who is ever shown on screen, so Grady reveals information about himself and his feelings by either speaking to himself or through phone conversations, where the other characters are never present. The episode is only a half an hour, but even that felt a little too long because The Last Night of a Jockey does not have much going on visually. It could have used a little more emphasis on the lighting or maybe different camera angles to make it look less flat. The script relies almost too much on dialogue, which I hate to say because I like dialogue driven stories, but it can be difficult to do effectively when the other person’s reactions are never shown. In addition, The Last Night of a Jockey suffers from being one of the less effective The Twilight Zone entries with the message “be careful what you wish for.”

Having said that, Rooney really shows his dramatic range as Grady. His role in The Last Night of a Jockey stands in stark contrast to his breakout performance as Andy Hardy in all of MGM’s Hardy films. The Last Night of a Jockey receives two and a half stars from me, which is entirely for Mickey Rooney’s performance.

Living Doll, by Charles Beaumont

Living Doll tells the story of Talky Tina, a doll that, you guessed it, talks. Tina has recently found a new home with a little girl named Christie. Christie lives with her mother, played by Bye Bye Birdie’s Mary Laroche and stepfather, portrayed by Birdman of Alcatraz’s Telly Savalas. She and her stepfather, Erich, have struggled to build a relationship with one another. When Christie, played by little Tracy Stratford, first receives Tina, the doll seems like any wind-up toy, telling her, “I love you very much.” However, when Christie’s stepfather is alone with the doll, he soon realizes through a series of not so subtle hints that Tina is no ordinary doll. The first of which is her telling him, “My name is Talky Tina and I don’t think I like you.” Shortly after that, the doll winks at him. Testing the doll, he lights a match in its face and threatens to hurt to hurt her, only for Tina to react with, “Not really, but I could hurt you.”

Erich grows more and more suspicious each time he sees the doll. At one point, he theorizes that his wife has installed a walkie-talkie in the doll as some sort of prank, but he soon finds holes in that theory. Things continue to escalate. Fed up, Erich throws the doll in the trash. Thinking he is finally free from Tina, he receives a phone call with what sounds like Tina on the other end, now threatening, “My name is Talky Tina and I am going to kill you.” Startled by this, Erich checks on his stepdaughter in her bedroom, where he finds Tina next to Christie in bed. Things erupt into an all out war as he confronts Tina, but can he defeat a seemingly indestructible doll?

Living Doll is interesting because it can be looked from different angles. Is the doll’s behavior a reflection of Christie’s feelings towards her stepfather or rather or a reflection of Erich’s own insecurities? The story never really answers all of my questions, which I think makes the episode all the more frightening. Dolls, especially porcelain ones, can be scary, perhaps due to their incredibly life-like appearance. The episode certainly brings to mind Michael Redgrave’s living dummy in Dead of Night, and I would imagine that The Twilight Zone fans would probably be reminded of The Dummy.

The already strong story is topped off by very believable performances by all of the actors involved. Living Doll is easily one of the strongest episodes of the season, which is why I rate it at four stars.

The Old Man in the Cave, by Rod Serling

It is the year 1974, ten years since a nuclear war. One group of people who have survived it have had difficulty finding a reliable food source. When they finally do find some canned goods, conflict arises. Is it worth the risk to eat food that could have been exposed to radiation? To settle things, they look to the title character: the old man in the cave, a mysterious entity. The men and women in the group never see him, but he always gives reliable advice. His track record is so good that when word returns that the food is not safe, the people decide not to take a gamble on the possibly contaminated food.

Not long after, some soldiers, led by The Magnificent Seven’s James Coburn, arrive in town. Coburn plays the role of Major French. French and his men claim to know of other survivors, but he may not be completely trustworthy and could just be after the cans of food. Nevertheless, this sows the seeds of doubt and leads some folks in the town to question the old man’s words.

The Old Man in the Cave seems like it could be about anything — from religion to politics to technology. In addition, it could easily be about hardwired human behavior. In fact, the episode lends itself to so many different interpretations, which is what I think makes it an interesting watch. The work of actors like James Coburn and John Anderson do not hurt, either. While The Old Man in the Cave is not as strong as other The Twilight Zone tales that have taken place in a post-apocalyptic world, such as Time Enough at Last, it certainly is a worthy entry to the series. I happily give it three stars.

Uncle Simon, by Rod Serling

How much can a person take? This question never left my mind while watching Uncle Simon, an episode directed by Don Siegel, director of 1956's Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Television actress Constance Ford stars as Barbara, a woman who has devoted her life to caring for her cruel elderly uncle Simon, perfectly cast as theater and film actor Cedric Hardwicke. Each day Barbara endures insult after insult from her uncle. It may one day pay off when Simon passes away and she inherits his fortune, but is it worth the days she spends dutifully by his side at every beck and call until that day comes? When Simon is not busy looking for any reason to put Barbara down, he spends his time in the basement, working on an invention that he goes to great lengths to keep secret from Barbara.

One day Barbara decides that she is going to find out exactly her uncle is working on down in the basement, but he catches her breaking into his lab, which results in an altercation. Simon falls and Barbara allows him to die as a result of his injuries. After he passes away, Barbara is not really free from her uncle after all. In fact, the terms of his will state that she must care for his secret invention, which Barbara comes to find out is a robot, in order to inherit his estate. Simon has figured out a way to keep her trapped, even in death.

Uncle Simon is pretty depressing and difficult to watch. It’s easy to say Barbara should leave, but I am willing to bet most of us have had situations in life that where we tolerate things for much longer than we should, which is part of what makes this story so depressing. Simon certainly has a lot of memorable one-liners, some of which are quite good while others are a tad silly.

On the bright side, Uncle Simon does have Robby the Robot. I must add that while I sometimes complain that The Twilight Zone reuses too many things from Forbidden Planet and I know I sometimes fail to take into account the budget for television, the robot designed by Robert Kinoshita was very welcome, and certainly made a dark episode a little brighter. While not bad, Uncle Simon is a bit draining emotionally. Maybe that shows its effectiveness. I could just be the tone of this entry that I find so off-putting. In any case, I am going to have to I give it two stars.

All in all, The Twilight Zone continues to move along, with stories that still intrigue and challenge its audience. Living Doll and The Old Man in the Cave are certainly great examples. I must say that I look forward to the episodes that are still forthcoming.




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Magazine

[November 27, 1963] … Death, Doctors and Mythology ( New Worlds, November 1963)

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by Mark Yon

Hello again.

It is difficult to write about things fictional after world events of the last few days. Whilst I look on with horror at some of the observations of fellow travelers, the assassination has been noted here in Britain with a surreal quiet. The news, and indeed political commentary generally, has been oddly muted and yet remarkably acute. If comments at work and on my daily commute are anything to go by, the man on the street here has reacted with both revulsion and sadness. The world is a different place since last we spoke. Whatever your political persuasion, the event is a sobering one for us all.

Our BBC correspondent Mr. Alastair Cook, who writes a Letter from America every week for our radio summed it up for us so well. I cannot say it better than this master of the English language, so I leave his radio broadcast as an effective response via the spoken word

The surreal events of November 22nd have managed to alter what I was hoping to spend more time talking about this month. The debut of the BBC television science fiction series Doctor Who was made the day after the assassination.

Despite the grim news preceding the programme, I really liked it. I think the series has potential, so much so that I think that it is one of the most exciting things I’ve seen on British television recently, despite being mainly for a family audience, which limits its depth. The actor portraying the Doctor, Mr. William Hartnell, is by turns wonderfully enigmatic and impressively grumpy. I look forward to seeing where this series goes.

To the magazine, then.

This month’s cover is a surprisingly lurid shade of purple, which undoubtedly stands out, even if it makes the title print difficult to read. 

s-f and mythology, by Ms. Roberta Rambelli

Another factual piece this month for the Editorial, in the form of a transcribed lecture given at the recent Trieste S-F Film Festival.  It’s undoubtedly informative and educational, one for those who want to know the difference between their teratomorphical, their theriomorphical and their anthropomorphical categories of s-f. But it does seem to be an easy way out to writing an editorial – there’s no argument, no debate, no attempt to generate discussion here. As interesting as the article is, it doesn’t feel like an editorial. 

To the still annoying lower-cased-titled stories!

relative genius, by Mr. Philip E. High

And here we have the return of Mr. High, last seen in May 1963 with the underwhelming point of no return. By comparison, this story of penal reform is better. The story begins with a bit of a “Prisoner of Zenda/Count of Monte Cristo” situation, with a man in a luxury prison with no memory of who he is and why he is there. Our man plots his escape and the tale turns into an entertaining jailbreak story. It’s not a patch on other similar stories, but it was entertaining, though the twist at the end didn’t really work for me.  3 out of 5.

when I come back, by Mr. Jonathan Burke

This is a creepy tale of people seemingly being possessed by things from somewhere else through their dreams, and the consequences of what happens as a result. On first reading I thought it was OK, but this is one I keep coming back to afterwards, because of its unyielding bleakness. It’s not particularly new – I’m reminded of Jack Finney’s American version of identity theft, The Body Snatchers , for example – but it does prey on the reader’s imagination rather well. Consequently my favourite story of the month.  4 out of 5.

the cliff-hangers, by Mr. R. W. Mackelworth

Mr. Mackelworth’s latest is a tale of future corporate shenanigans as one big business tries to outdo another. It’s a little like Mr. High’s story this month in that it reads as a tale of one group of people trying to get one up on another, though this story is rather on the side of the nasty people, at least at first. All get their come-uppance in the end. This is the latest of Mr Mackelworth’s rather bleak visions of the future, which rests easily alongside his previous stories of future justice and personal freedoms. I don’t think it is one of his strongest, however.  3 out of 5.

no brother of mine, by Mr. Robert Presslie

Another returning writer. Mr. Presslie’s story this month is about something youngster Davey finds in the family’s nuclear fallout shelter, a creature which, despite its strange alien appearance, may have more in common with humans than we, at first, believe. I think it is meant to be sad, but I was strangely unaffected by it.  3 out of 5.

Tee Vee Man, by R. A. Hargreaves.

In a month that seems appropriate with Doctor Who beginning and the death of a man widely regarded as the first President of ‘the television age,’ here’s a story that shows how pervasive the box in our front room may become. It reminded me of Mr. Robert Heinlein’s Future History stories, in that it’s a story of proficient people getting on with their jobs in a bright new future. Here our capable hero is in charge of maintaining a global network of television signals via satellite and the consequences of what happens when a developing African country loses their connection. The feel is a little less positive than Mr. Heinlein’s “can-do” version, but it reads well, and I could see more stories from this scenario in the future.  3 out of 5.

The Dark Mind (Part 2 of 3), by Mr. Colin Kapp

The second part of Mr. Kapp’s serial continues in the same fast paced, relentless manner of the first. Our hero, Ivan Dalroi, was left last issue in a dilemma – that he was being put into transfinite space by Failway without any means of support. Unsurprisingly, the cliffhanger plot point is quickly resolved in a rather psychedelic manner and what should have been a disaster ends up as a triumph. Dalroi returns from transfinite space a different man to unleash vengeance on his enemies, as a weapon and not a victim. Trains derail, lorries crash and buildings explode as Dalroi travels between worlds and vanquishes his enemies. It all gets rather frantic as Dalroi’s power is described with increasingly purple prose worthy of 1930’s pulp fiction.  At one point his actions are shown by a series of words in bigger and bigger print, often with exclamation marks for emphasis, which seems a little unnecessary. Despite this, it’s still a fun read, even if some of the deathless dialogue is wince-inducing. 3 out of 5.

Lastly, we have the return of Mr. Leslie Flood’s Book Review page. This month Mr Flood comments on a number of novels and collections new to us but not to you: Mr. Walter M. Miller’s “very well observed” story collection Conditionally Human, Mr. James Gunn’s “brilliantly executed and conceived” The Joy Makers, Mr. Isaac Asimov’s story collection Nine Tomorrows (“Good stuff”) and two from Mr. Robert Heinlein: Methuselah’s Children (“Superlative science fiction of the grand scale”) and his juvenile Time for the Stars.

Of the books new to print here, Mr. Michael Moorcock’s fantasy hero Elric is given faint praise (Elric is “given an individual touch by deepening the purpleness of his prose and double-dyeing his mighty warrior with a dabbling of sorcery and insatiable blood-lust”), and even less positive is the review of Messer’s Greg and Geoffrey Hoyle’s The Fifth Planet, “a heavy-handed attempt to achieve topicality and neo-realism with a creaking plot.” Has Mr. Flood read any of the stories in New Worlds lately, I wonder?

In summary, this month’s New Worlds is a solid one, using the talents of a regular coterie of writers. The general feel is of standard work often well done but rarely outstanding, although this issue feels less erratic than some of the issues of late. The Editorial was an interesting one, even if it feels that something rushed out to fill a space. Nevertheless, in a time of uncertainty for sf magazines generally here, I guess that I should be glad that New Worlds has made it to the end of the year. There have been concerns over the year that, like some of its contemporaries, New Worlds may not do so.

And with that more positive note I will wish you a Merry Christmas from here in the UK.  Here’s hoping that 1964, despite the events of recent days, may turn out to be an optimistic one.  On a more positive note, The Beatles are doing a Christmas tour – 100 000 tickets over 30 shows, all sold out. Their pop dominance reigns supreme. Despite everything, some things still endure.

Until next month – and next year.




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[November 25, 1963] State of Shock (December 1963 Fantastic)

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[At time of publication, the state funeral for our late President, John F. Kennedy is underway.  Given the tumult of the last few days, we can only hope this article marks the resumption of some kind of normalcy, such as may yet be possible…]


by Victoria Silverwolf

My colleagues have already written eloquently about the horror and sorrow felt by people everywhere on Earth after the murder of President Kennedy.  There is very little I can add.  The killing of alleged assassin Lee Harvey Oswald by nightclub owner Jack Ruby, witnessed on live television by millions of viewers, only added to my feeling of shock, leaving me emotionally numb.

Even listening to Top Forty radio reminds me of the recent tragedy.  Holding the Number One position is I'm Leaving It Up to You by Dale & Grace.  The popular singing duo were among other entertainers who waved at the presidential motorcade shortly before the shooting began.

I hope that loyal readers of this column will forgive me, therefore, if I approach the task of reviewing the latest issue of Fantastic with little enthusiasm.  As much as I would like to escape from the nightmare of the last few days, I'm afraid that even the limitless imagination of writers of science fiction and fantasy cannot completely erase bad memories.

After a Judgement Day, by Edmond Hamilton

A devastating plague caused by mutated bacteria threatens to wipe out humanity.  Two men remain on the Moon, facing the possibility that they are the only survivors.  They are part of a project to send mechanical replicas of human beings to the planets of other solar systems, in order to see if people can survive there.  Because the original purpose of the project is now meaningless, they decide to make use of the devices to make one last gesture on behalf of the human race.  This is a simple story with no surprises in the plot, but the conclusion has strong emotional appeal.  Three stars.

Lilliput Revisited, by Adam Bradford, M.D.

The name of the main character in this story is the same as that of the author, so I suspect it's a pseudonym.  An American physician discovers the journal of Lemuel Gulliver and sets out for the island of tiny people described in Jonathan Swift's famous book.  There he discovers that the Lilliputians are no longer ruled by an Emperor, but instead live under communism.  He also learns about their system of medical care, which places more emphasis on treatment than diagnosis.  Most of this story consists of the narrator's actions before he reaches the fictional island, and is not very interesting.  The author's intention is satiric, but his target is unclear.  The narrator seems to deplore the Lilliputian form of government, but admire the health care system.  In any case, this is a weak sequel to a classic work.  One star.

The Soul Buyer, by Keith Laumer

A professional gambler and his manager are the main characters in this fast-paced tale.  A disreputable fellow forces the gambler to accept a lottery ticket.  From then on, he has nothing but good luck, winning every poker game and every horse race.  Unsatisfied with his fortunate condition, he investigates the man who gave him the ticket.  This leads to strange and deadly encounters with alien beings.  This story is written in the style of hard-boiled crime fiction, with elements of science fiction and horror.  The constant action and weird elements in the plot keep the reader's interest, but one can't help wondering if the author is just making things up as he goes along.  It's an enjoyable rollercoaster ride, but somehow hollow.  Three stars.

Witch of the Four Winds (Part 2 of 2), by John Jakes

The arcane adventures of Brak the Barbarian continue in the conclusion of this short novel.  Trapped in the lair of a gigantic worm, he survives only to fall into the clutches of an evil sorceress.  Bloody battles with men and monsters follow.  There is very little here that could not be found in the yellowing pages of a 1930's issue of Weird Tales.  The author creates a convincing pastiche of Robert E. Howard's tales of Conan, but adds nothing new.  Two stars.

I cannot be certain if my negative review of this issue reflects its contents accurately, or if my mood distorts my taste in literature.  I can only wait for time to dull the pain of recent events, and hope that next year begins in a less depressing way than this year is ending.

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Fashion, music, politics, sports

[November 24, 1963 cont.] Kennedy: Making sense of it all

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CBS News anchor Walter Cronkite reports that President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas on Nov. 22, 1963.

[You have likely gotten much of your news from one source during this crisis — the television.  Once a junior partner in the new business, TV has come full flower in its coverage of the Kennedy assassination. 

Part of it is propitious timing.  This season, news broadcasts expanded from 15 to 30 minutes.  Steps had already been undertaken to provide live coverage of events, as was demonstrated so shockingly with Jack Ruby's murder of Lee Harvey Oswald just a few hours ago. 

And so, television news has transformed from sideshow to centerpiece.  May we never have to be glued to it for such a spectacle again…]


by John Boston

I learned of the assassination in high school geometry class, after returning to school from lunch. Then I understood why one of the right-wing S.O.B.s among the students had been standing outside the school door as I came in, clasping his hands over his head in the manner of a victorious prize fighter.

Tragedy, drama, outrage, grief.  Yeah, we’re all together, we all agree, at least the reasonable ones among us.  But what next?  What does this mean?

We’ve all heard that this is the American Century, and at least since the end of World War II, the US of A has been riding high internationally, both in public prestige and power and in less obvious ways, exercising its will in more covert fashion in countries all around the world, getting its way with little meaningful challenge.

We are told that the accused assassin lived for several years in the Soviet Union, and that he is involved with something called the Fair Play for Cuba Committee—Cuba, one of the countries the United States tried to dominate, in that case with disastrous results publicly exposed.  Is the murder of our President a response to our government’s covert activity in Cuba, or in the world generally?

We do not know and we may never know.  But this terrible event is America’s first significant reminder since Pearl Harbor that it does not look down on the world from a protected height and is not immune either to the sweep of history or to its caprice.  Will our government and people take the lesson and conduct themselves circumspectly in the world, for example in Vietnam, where there seems to be developing an open-ended American commitment to prop up a government as incompetent as it is undemocratic, regardless of cost or consequences?

We will all know soon enough.

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Fashion, music, politics, sports

[November 24, 1963 cont.] Oswald dead, shot by Jack Ruby

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Just two hours ago, at 11:21 CST, Presidential assassin Lee Harvey Oswald was shot by Jack Ruby, a local nightclub owner.  Oswald was being transferred from the Dallas police department, where he had been charged for the murder of the President and a local law enforcement officer, to a nearby county jail when the attack occurred.

Ruby was immediately subdued and arrested.  Oswald died just a few minutes ago.

It is hard to imagine the drama of this national crisis rising any higher. Our new UK correspondent, Jessica Holmes, is having similar trouble…]


By Jessica Holmes

I'm having a lot of difficulty putting my thoughts into words today. I'm not even an American, but the recent news knocked the wind out of me. It'd be silly to say, what with the world being the way it is, that I could never have imagined something like this. However, there's a difference between being able to imagine a horrible thing happening and actually believing that it may. We take normality for granted, that we go to sleep in a world unchanged from the world we woke up in.

Sadly, that's not how the world works. A horrible thing happened the other day.

I don't know what more I can say that hasn't already been said by people far more eloquent and knowledgeable than myself. I'll keep it simple: I liked President Kennedy, and to have him be gone so soon is a horrible thing. My thoughts are with his family and with the American people.


President Kennedy with UK Prime Minister Harold Macmillan in June 1963

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[November 24, 1963] Mourning on two continents

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[President Kennedy's body has been transported to the Capitol where it will remain in state pending his funeral tomorrow.  Meanwhile, across the Atlantic, West Germans have offered an outpouring of sorrow for their fallen fellow Berliner…]


by Cora Buhlert

Like most West Germans, news of the terrible events in Dallas reached me at home, just settling onto the sofa for an evening of TV. Like some ninety percent of West German television owners, I had my set tuned to the eight o'clock evening news tagesschau. But instead of the familiar tagesschau fanfare, the screen remained dark for a minute or two, something which has never happened before in the eleven years the program has been on the air. When the image finally returned, the visibly shaken news anchor Karl-Heinz Köpcke reported that John F. Kennedy had been shot in Dallas, Texas, and was rushed to hospital. By the end of the program, we knew that Kennedy had not survived.

John F. Kennedy was extremely popular in West Germany, not least because of his memorable visit to our country earlier this year. And so many West Germans spontaneously burst into tears. People called friends and family, rang their neighbours' doorbells and shouted the news from windows to random passers-by on the street. Theatres and cinemas interrupted their programming, dancehalls closed down (on a Friday evening, i.e. prime business time) and in less an hour, the entire country was in shock.

The shock and grief was nowhere greater than in West Berlin, where Kennedy had won the hearts of the population, when he proclaimed "Ich bin ein Berliner" earlier this year. The people of Berlin took him by his word and mourned him as one of their own.

The students of the two big West Berlin universities heard the news during a student dance at the Hilton Hotel and spontaneously took to the streets, joined by many other Berliners. Several thousand – overwhelmingly young – people marched to the Rathaus Schöneberg, West Berlin's city hall, bearing torches, flowers and placards. 

"Berlin has lost its best friend", West Berlin's mayor Willy Brandt proclaimed last night on the very spot in front of the Rathaus Schöneberg where John F. Kennedy held his now historic speech only five months ago, while the gathered mourners provisionally renamed the square in front of the city hall "John-F.-Kennedy Platz". By now, Willy Brandt has announced that the square will be named in honour of Kennedy for real on Monday. I'm sure it won't be the last John F. Kennedy street or square in West Germany.

By today, the soon to be John-F.-Kennedy Platz was drowning in flowers and thousands of mourning West Germans had signed one of the condolence books laid out around the country. In West Berlin and elsewhere, people placed candles in their windows in memory of John F. Kennedy. Reportedly, flickering candles have also spotted on the far side of the Berlin Wall.

For John F. Kennedy was not just a friend of Berlin, he was a friend of all of Germany. 




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55 years ago: Science Fact and Fiction