Science / Space Race

[Apr. 29, 1963] When a malfunction isn't (the flight of Saturn I #4 and other space tidbits)

2 Comments


by Gideon Marcus

Baby's first step… Take Four

Out in Huntsville, Alabama, Von Braun's team is busy making the biggest rockets ever conceived.  The three-stage Saturn V, with five of the biggest engines ever made, will take people to the Moon before the decade is out.  But NASA's is justifiably leery of running before walking.  Moreover, there is use for a yet smaller (but still huge!) rocket for orbital Apollo testing and, also, practice building and launching Saturn rocket components.

Enter the two-stage Saturn I, whose first stage has eight engines, like the Nova, but they are much smaller.  Still, altogether, they produce 1.5 million pounds of thrust — that's six times more than the Atlas that will put Gordo Cooper's Mercury into orbit next month.  The Saturn I's second stage will likely also be the third stage on the Saturn V.

The Saturn I has had the most successful testing program of any rocket that I know of.  It's also one of the most maddeningly slow testing programs (I'm not really complaining — methodical is good, and it's not as if Apollo's ready to fly, anyway). 

The fourth in the series lifted off March 28, and they still aren't fueling the second stage.  They've essentially all been tests of stage #1.  This particular test was interesting because they shut off one of the engines on purpose during the flight to see if the other engines could compensate for the loss.  SA-4 continued to work perfectly, zooming to an altitude of 129 kilometers.

SA-4 was the last of the first-stage-only tests.  Henceforth, we'll get to see what the full stack can do. 

A breath of very thin fresh air

We tend to ignore most of the atmosphere.  After all, the air we breathe and most of the weather are confined to the first few kilometers above the Earth.  But the upper regions of the atmosphere contain the ozone layer, which shields us from deadly radiations; the ionosphere, which bounces radio waves back to Earth; beautiful and mysterious noctilucent clouds, only visible after sunset; and of course, spacecraft have to travel through it on their way up and down.  Knowing the makeup of our atmosphere gives us clues to understand climate, the history of the Earth, the interaction of our planet and the sun, and much more.

And yet, aside from the TIROS weather satellites, which only study the lowest level of the atmosphere, there has never been a dedicated atmospheric study satellite.  Sure, we've launched probes to detect radiation and charged particles and the Earth's magnetosphere.  Some have investigated the propagation of radio waves through the ionosphere.  But none have gone into space just to sample the thin air of the upper atmosphere and find out what's up there and how much.

Until now. 

Explorer 17 is a big, sputnik-looking ball loaded with a bunch of pressure gauges and other instruments.  Its sole purpose is to measure the the pressure and make-up of the upper atmosphere, from about 170 kilometers up. 

Launched on April 3rd, in its first few days of operation, the probe has more than tripled all previous measurements of neutral gases in Earth's upper atmosphere to date.  For instance, the satellite has discovered that the earth is surrounded by a belt of neutral helium at an altitude of from 250 to 1000 miles, a belt no one was sure it existed.  We suspected it, of course — helium, produced in the Earth's crust by the natural radioactive decay of heavy elements, is very light.  Just as helium balloons go up and up, free helium's normal fate is to eventually escape Earth's gravitational influence, leaving behind the heavier gasses. 

This is the first time this hypothesis had a chance to be proven, and by measuring the density of this helium, we should be able to get an idea of how much helium is generated by the Earth each year.  This, in turn, will tell us something about how much radioactive material is left on Earth.  Isn't that neat?  We send a probe far up into space to learn more about what's going on down here.  Your tax dollar hard at work.

The Cosmos opening up for Kosmos

Pop quiz — what did the Soviets accomplish last year in the Space Race?  Right.  The Soviets made big news with the flashy dual mission of Vostoks 3 and 4.  Anything else?  Can you recall a single space accomplishment for the Communists?  In 1962, the United States launched Telstar, the Orbiting Solar Observatory (OSO), three Explorer science probes, three Ranger moon probes, Mariner 2 to Venus, and a couple dozen military satellites, not to mention the orbital Mercury flights of John Glenn, Scott Carpenter, and Wally Schirra.

This year is a different story.  We Americans haven't slackened our pace, but the Russians have finally picked up theirs.  They've got a probe on its way to Mars, as well as a new series of satellites called Kosmos.  This month, they launched three, getting up to Kosmos 16.  They are touted as science satellites, but there has been precious little data from them made public or that's worked its way into scientific papers.  This suggests that the Kosmos program is really a civilian front for a military program.  That's the fundamental difference between the Western and Eastern space efforts.  While the American military takes up its share of the national space budget, we still make sure there's room for pure science.  The Soviets have chosen between guns and science in favor of the former (though, to be fair, if we could only afford one option, would we have made the same choice?)

So why did it take so long for the Soviets to get into the groove after having such a seemingly commanding lead in the Space Race?  And just what are the Kosmos satellites really doing up there? 

According to a NASA scientist, the lack of announced flights doesn't mean the Russians didn't try.  Our Communist friends are notorious for talking only about their successes.  In fact, the Soviets were trying a new four-stage version of the booster that launched Sputnik and Vostok, and the fourth stage kept failing.  There might have been a few failed moon missions in there, too, that we never heard about.  We probably only learned about Luna 4, launched April 2, because it took off just fine — it just missed its target (the Soviet reporting after lunar flyby was notably subdued). 

As for what Kosmos is, Aviation Weekly and Space Report suggests the series is really two types of satellites based on weight and orbital trajectory.  One is a small class of probe that stays up for months.  They could be akin to our Explorers, but again, they don't produce science (whereas ours have revolutionized our knowledge of near-Earth space).  More likely, they are engineering satellites designed to test various components for future missions: communications, cameras, navigation.

The other class is big — as big as the manned Vostoks.  They only fly a few days, too, and their orbits cover most of the globe.  These could be unmanned tests of the next generation of Soviet manned spacecraft.  But they also could be repurposed Vostoks designed to conduct spy missions.  Perhaps the Soviet Union is sending up cosmonauts with camera in hand (as we have done on the Mercury missions).  Sure, it's more expensive than our Discoverer spy sats, but everything's free in a command economy, right?

In any event, the world once again has two active space superpowers.  What happens next is anyone's guess…




2 Comments Leave A Comment
Magazine

[April 27, 1963] Built to Last?  (May 1963 Analog)

5 Comments


by Gideon Marcus

The modern world is wonderful.  There's so much luxury at our fingertips that it boggles the imagination of those of us who remember living even a few decades ago.  Back when then were things we just couldn't get our hands on, no matter how much time or money we had. 

These days, we can cross the world in half a day, thanks to jets.  Supermarkets are filled with aisles and aisles of national and local products.  Television lets us view events as they happen, from Mercury launches to Macy's Parades.

Most importantly, not only do our newsstands have all of the latest science fiction books and magazines, but now they've also got the classics of our childhood.  Yes, all of the Edgar Rice Burroughs books we grew up on are finally being reprinted.  Tarzan's Africa, John Cartner's Mars, Innes' Pellucidar, Billings' Caspak — such a bounty!  (You can bet that I'll be spending the next several weekends reliving the joys of my youth.)

If this trend continues, we can assume that our children and grandchildren will not only have Burroughs, Wells, Verne, Shelley, and Baum to read, but also reprinted copies of our present-day science fiction, as well as the SF of the future (their present).  Perhaps they'll all be available via some computerized library — tens of thousands of volumes in a breadbox-shaped device, for instance.

The question, then, is whether or not our children will remember our current era fondly enough to want reprints from it.  Well, if this month's Analog be a representative sample, the answer is a definitive…maybe.

Observational Difficulties, by George W. Harper

This month's non-fiction article is as dry as lunar dust, but the subject matter is fascinating.  Harper talks about how difficult it is to tell much about a planet when all you've got to examine is some fuzzy telescope pictures, a few spectrographs, and the vivid imaginations of thousands of observers. 

From the evidence he's collected, Harper concludes that the Red Planet has an atmosphere about 10% as thick as Earth's, mostly made of nitrogen.  He conjectures that erosion and a lack of active geology has created a landscape of smooth plateaus and gentle valleys. 

Most interestingly, he is certain that Mars will be riddled with craters, like the Moon.  After all, Mars must have been subject to the same early bombardment as Earth and its satellite, and there's not a lot of weather to break down impact sites.  Harper goes on to say that it is these craters which we on Earth have mistaken for "cities" at the junctures of the Martian "canals" (which he thinks are probably ejected residue from ancient impacts).

I've never read this hypothesis advanced by any anyone else, but it makes a lot of sense.  I guess when the Soviet "Mars 1" reaches its destination next month, we'll finally get a definitive answer.  Three stars.

The Dueling Machine, by Ben Bova and Myron R. Lewis

In the far future, personal disputes are resolved by a telepathic dueling machine.  It recreates perfectly any setting, any agreed-upon weapons, and participants can battle until one suffers a simulated death, safe in the knowledge that no one actually dies in the process.  But when one unscrupulous government learns how to use the device to assassinate duelists, its up to the inventor to find out how it's being done and, more importantly, how to stop it.

This exciting premise is dragged down by an overlong and, frankly, boring presentation.  And the fact that Ellison did this idea much better in his The Silver Corridor, which came out in the September 1956 Infinity.  Two stars.

Oneness, by James H. Schmitz

It is the future.  Sixty years before, the scientists of the Martian penal colony had invented a stardrive, enabling the escape of nearly 20,000 exiles to a host of other worlds.  Now, one of them has returned to face the "Machine," Earth's autocratic government, and negotiate a peace treaty.  The proud leaders of Terra capture the emissary with the intention of torturing the secret of star travel out of him, but the star people have learned the secrets of "Oneness," the psychic bond, and the Machine soon learns that hurting the prisoner means hurting themselves.  Under such conditions, can a meeting of the minds occur?

It's an old-fashioned story, as one might expect from a pulp-master like Schmitz, but I liked its vividness and brisk pace.  Four stars.

Expediter, by Mack Reynolds

A young citizen of the Peoples Republic of the United Balkans is brought before the Supreme Leader for a special duty: he is to find out why, in an age when the factories report record output, and the farms produce vast surpluses of food, there are still shortages of commercial goods as well as surly discontent amongst the people.  To accomplish this task, the fellow is given a blank check and infinite power. 

It's a silly fairy tale of a story, and of course, it turns out that the problem is the short-sighted, self-interested politicians who simply don't have the technical knowledge to run a modern state.  "Technological society should be left to the engineers!" is the unconvincing moral of this tale. 

Still, as flat as the story's premise may fall, Reynolds still does his excellent job of rendering an alien society, particularly one behind the Iron Curtain.  Perhaps, instead of writing SF, he should become a travelogue writer.  Three stars.

The Ming Vase, by E. C. Tubb

A clairvoyant breaks out of a secret government facility to steal art of great beauty.  Has he turned criminal?  Flipped sides?  Or simply cracked?  And how do you catch someone who sees the future…unless he wants to be caught?

A perfectly decent potboiler, perfectly suited to Analog, the magazine about psychic science fiction.  Three stars.

The Last of the Romany, by Norman Spinrad

Spinrad hits it out of the park with his first tale, portraying a nomad bohemian's efforts to find (or make) more of his kind in a mechanized, homogenized, stultified world.

It's a beautiful piece that I'd expect to have been published in a more fanciful, literary venue like F&SF.  In the mag that Campbell built, it just stands out all the more starkly for its quality and lack of psionic silliness.  Five stars.

Analog thus garners a solid, if psi-tinged 3.2 stars this month.  Compare that to New Worlds and Worlds of Tomorrow, which beat Analog with 3.5 and 3.3 scores, respectively.  On the other hand, Analog beat F&SF (3 stars), Fantastic (2.9), IF and Amazing (both 2.4), and it had (arguably) the best story.

Women wrote just four of the fifty pieces that came out this month.  Four and five-star stories, if printed on their own, would fill two good-sized magazines (out of the seven that came out).

On the one hand, this record hardly suggests that our children and their children will regard May 1963 as a Golden Age of SF.  On the other hand, Sturgeon's Law says 90% of everything is crap, and this month, 28% of what was published was not-crap.  Maybe our grandchildren will rejoice at the reprints after all…




5 Comments Leave A Comment
Magazine

[April 25, 1963] A Brighter Future?  New Worlds, May 1963

5 Comments


by Mark Yon

Last month I decided I would try and NOT mention the English weather in future transmissions. But I’m a Brit, and it’s become a tradition! So, suffice it to say that the commute to work has been easier this month and, since we last spoke, the weather has been more typically Spring. 

As the weather has improved, so has my mood. Another cause for cheer has been the radios being full of Britain’s latest pop sensation, The Beatles. Some of our other Travellers have mentioned their continuous rise.  Their third single, From Me to You is something we can’t really avoid. 

Thankfully, I do like it a lot. It’s got a great beat and terrific harmonies. I can only see these boys from Liverpool continue to dominate the charts here if they keep this up.

Mind you, the cinema also seems to be determined to dispel the bleak Winter. Britain’s answer to Mr. Elvis Presley, Mr. Cliff Richard, has recently been filling our cinemas with a cheerily bright and colourful musical, Summer Holiday!

It’s very popular and might just chase those Winter Blues away. We may not be quite there yet, but at least we can see that brighter times are ahead, even when the news is somewhat bleaker. The newspapers here are full of stories about marches against nuclear weapons, which seem to be growing year on year:

Onto this month’s New Worlds.

Can you see a problem with that cover? No, not the bright daffodil-yellow colour, nor the lack of author photographs, although that is disappointing. Look at the title of the Mr. Aldiss novella. See it? Such mis-spellings are shoddy and frankly embarrassing. A big minus mark for Mr. John Carnell this month. Does he really care about this magazine?  It’s a shame, because there’s a lot to like in this issue. There’s even a common theme, as many of the stories this month seem to look at the conflict between order and chaos, between discipline and dissent. This also applies to the Editorial! 

From The Edge of the Pond, by Mr. Lee Markham

Australian Mr. Markham has been a regular contributor to the stories of late and here in the capacity of Guest Editor he brings a forthright summary of the ongoing debate on the state of s-f. He doesn’t mince words, though.

“I don’t think any of us were surprised when some of the opinions expressed turned out to be, in turn, introspective, belligerent, and, in the case of John Rackham and Brian Aldiss, personally prejudiced and blandly indifferent.”

Well, I guess that’s telling us! For all that, it’s an interesting summary to this (still) ongoing discussion, made impressive by the sheer number of other authors and works used to argue its case.

Speaking of Mr. Aldiss, it is his novella (with the mis-spelling!) that holds prime position on the cover this month, albeit back at the rear of the magazine again.  More later…

To the other stories.

Confession, by Mr. John Rackham

Like last month’s story from Mr. Rackham, another tale of ‘supermen,’ here called an ‘X-person,’ which even the story banner admits has “slan-like” similarities. Despite this unoriginal concept, Confession was more enjoyable than last month’s effort. It’s set on a nicely imagined thixotropic (ketchupy) world, but really examines the tension created between discipline and intelligence when in a military situation, which was nicely done. Three out of five.

The Under-Privileged, by Mr. Brian W. Aldiss

The return of Mr. Aldiss to New Worlds is a welcome one, especially after his recent success with his Hothouse series in the United States. Mr. Aldiss himself celebrates this return with his usual sense of humour in an inside-cover Profile:

The Under-Privileged is a fine story of immigration and alien resettlement which, under its positive tone, left me with a certain degree of unease, as I suspect is its goal. As ever from Mr. Aldiss, it is a story of social s-f rather than the traditional, but the style and the underlying nuances of the plot suggest a superior piece of work. It’s not Hothouse, but I enjoyed it.  Four out of five.

The Jaywalkers, by Mr. Russ Markham

Mr. Markham’s tale is another reasonable effort in the Galactic Union Survey stories, this time on a planet which is not what it seems. It’s based around a nice idea, but it almost drowns in its scientific gobbledegook explanation towards the end. Three out of five points.

I, the Judge, by Mr. R. W. Mackelworth

I really liked Mr. Mackelworth’s debut in New Worlds in January, but this one is even better. I, the Judge is a story of future law and order, in a style very different from his first story. Shocking and revelatory, I, the Judge, in terms of its literary style and its complexity of concept, dazzled. I felt that it even put Mr. Aldiss’s effort in the shade. Rather made me think of the stories of Mr. Harlan Ellison, and echoes this month’s running theme of discipline and disorder , by highlighting the value of defiance against obedience. This may be the future of s-f. It is one of the most memorable plots I’ve read in recent months. Four out of five, my favourite story of the issue.

Window On The Moon, by Mr. E. C. Tubb

The second part of this serial moves things on-apace, as it should. Our hero, Felix Larsen, tries to get to the bottom of things, whilst others pick up a mysterious means of communication leaked from the British base, which leads to a visit from the Americans. There’s a rather unpleasant parochial part about how the Brits ‘see’ Americans and vice versa, but that aside, it was surprisingly exciting, to the point where I’m going to increase last month’s score from three-out-of-five to four this month. Really looking forward to the conclusion next time.

At the back of the issue there is the return of the Postmortem letters section, although there is only one, admittedly lengthy, letter, where Mr. John Baxter eviscerates Mr. Lan Wright for his Editorial in the December 1962 issue. It makes entertaining reading, if rather painful.

There’s also another The Book Review this month from Mr. John Carnell. There’s reviews of the “interesting revival” of Mr. Robert Heinlein’s Orphans of the Sky, Mr. William Tenn’s Time in Advance and the “thoroughly enjoyable, non-cerebral” entertainment of Mr. Mark Clifton’s “wonderfully witty” When They Come from Space. Mr. Eric Frank Russell’s collection of his early work, Dark Tides is rather less polished than his latest efforts, but still recommended.

In summary, the erroneous cover belies an issue that is much better than that typo would suggest. Whilst some stories seem to be marking time, some are great, making this one of the strongest issues I’ve reviewed so far. The future may be bright. However, I am beginning to question Mr. Carnell’s editorship, particularly after the efforts of Mr. Moorcock last month. I am starting to feel that his attention is elsewhere or, just as bad, that he is rather too stretched to focus on producing a quality magazine. This is a concern.




5 Comments Leave A Comment
Magazine

[April 23, 1963] Double, Double (May 1963 Fantastic)

7 Comments


by Victoria Silverwolf

It might be my imagination, but it seems that events came in pairs this month. 

On April Fools' Day, two new medical soap operas premiered on American television.  I'm not fond of that genre – give me Route 66 or Alfred Hitchcock Presents when I want something other than science fiction and fantasy – so I don't know if General Hospital or The Doctors will catch on.


Can you tell which one is which?

A pair of accidents involving nuclear submarines happened only two days apart.  On April 10, the United States vessel Thresher sank, with the loss of all aboard.

More fortunate was the Soviet submarine K-33, which collided with the Finnish merchant ship Finnclipper on April 12.  Although severely damaged, both vessels managed to reach port safely.

Remaining at the top of the American music charts for double the number of weeks of most hit songs, He's So Fine by the Chiffons filled the airwaves with its memorable background chant doo-lang doo-lang doo-lang.

Appropriately, the latest issue of Fantastic contains stories that fall into pairs, as well as a hidden doubling of two authors.

Devils in the Walls, by John Jakes

The magazine opens with a pair of sword-and-sorcery stories.  The first is the more traditional of the two.  A mighty barbarian, who will remind you of Conan, falls victim to slave traders.  A beautiful woman purchases him.  If he will venture into the haunted ruins of her father's castle to retrieve a great treasure, she will set him free.  He must overcame natural and unnatural menaces to win his freedom.  It moves briskly, and there are some good descriptions, but it is a typical fantasy adventure.  Three stars.

The Cloud of Hate, by Fritz Leiber

The creator of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser relates another tale of this pair.  A supernatural mist made out of hate possesses four of the worst murderers in the magical city of Lankhmar.  The two adventurers must use all their skill to defeat them.  Although this is not the most important incident in the lives of the daring duo, the author adds style, wit, and imagination to the genre.  Four stars.

The Message, by Edward Wellen

In ancient China, a naked man with green skin appears out of nowhere.  A woodcutter takes the man into his hut and educates him.  Eventually he becomes one of the most important persons in the land, and is responsible for some of the great events in Chinese history.  The reasons for his actions are unexpected.  This is mostly a work of historical fiction, with a touch of speculative content.  Although not without interest, I thought it was a bit too long.  Three stars.

Threshold of the Prophet, by Roger Zelazny

A man named Crane appears from nowhere (another doubled theme of this issue) in New York in the far future.  The Brooklyn Bridge is destroyed and falls into the Hudson River.  Crane, who seems to have god-like powers, retrieves it and tries to sell it to an old man in the country.  Without the story's literary allusions (clarified by the editorial introduction), it would be meaningless.  Two stars.

Anything for Laughs, by Ron Goulart

The first of a pair of comedies in this issue is about an unemployed man who is pressured by his girlfriend into entering a job lottery.  He winds up as a court jester on a planet ruled by a dictatorship.  Somebody uses his name on revolutionary pamphlets, and his troubles begin.  Some readers may find this more amusing than I did.  Two stars.

One False Step, by David R. Bunch

A specialist in dystopia offers a grim tale of a man who made one mistake.  His job was a gruesome one.  When he fails at it, his punishment involves tending metallic plants, one of the many unpleasant aspects of this bleak future world.  This story will not be to the taste of all readers, but I found it powerful.  Four stars.

The Screams of the Wergs, by Jay Scotland


John Jakes is the first of two repeated authors in this issue, both hiding under pseudonyms containing the names of nations.  Extraterrestrials experience extreme pain when tourists take flash photographs of them.  A human who tries to protect them goes to extreme lengths.  It turns out that things are not what they seem.  This science fiction story never grabbed me.  Two stars.

Monologue for Two, by Harrison Denmark

As readers of Cele Goldsmith's pair of magazines know by now, this author is really Roger Zelazny.  Only two pages long, this story offers one side of a conversation.  Through it we see a man who suffered at the hands of another obtain great power, and win his revenge.  It's an effective narrative gimmick.  Four stars.

Professor Jonkin's Cannibal Plant, by Howard R. Garis

The second comic story in the magazine is a reprint from the August 1905 issue of Argosy.  A scientist greatly increases the size of an insect-eating plant by feeding it large pieces of meat.  As you might imagine, this is a bad idea.  Nothing surprising happens, and it's not particularly funny.  Two stars.

Love Story, by Laurence M. Janifer

This is a satiric story that begins as light comedy, but turns into something quite different at the end.  A man who truly loves other people causes the Earth to rotate in only four hours.  A scientist, frustrated by his failure to find a rational explanation for this phenomenon, solves the problem in the most direct way possible.  The last two paragraphs makes the reader reconsider the author's intention.  Three stars.

Do all these pairs double your pleasure and double your fun?  More importantly, do they justify the magazine's new price of fifty cents?  Maybe you should enjoy a stick of gum while you consider these questions.

7 Comments Leave A Comment
Conventions/Performances

[April 21, 1963] Bully for Conventions (BullCon: The 1963 EasterCon)

6 Comments


By Ashley R. Pollard

BullCon, was the 14th British Eastercon held this year in Peterborough, and as usual a celebration of all things fannish.  British Eastercons are, as the name suggests, held over the Easter weekend (though in days gone by they were held over Whitsun holiday weekend).  And, despite being the national SF convention, they are independent events run by fans.

I was, for the usual reasons, unable to arrange travel to attend, but I was able to rely on my friend, Rob Hansen, who compiled the reports of those who attended.

This was a big convention, with over a 130 fans in attendance.  Not the biggest Eastercon on record, but up from last year's 94. All things considered, this seems to be an indicator of a healthy interest in science fiction and fantasy.  An added feature of this year's convention was the presence of a film crew, who were covering the event for local and national press, and recording interviews with the authors and artists for television and radio.

How glamorous!

BullCon was also the fifth anniversary of the BSFA: the British Science Fiction Association.  As you may remember, money was raised at last year's convention to create an award to honour Arthur Rose "Doc" Weir, who before his death had been the secretary of the BSFA.

The Doc Weir award will be given annually to recognize someone who has contributed to fandom, but who is otherwise unsung.  The quiet fan who goes about doing the necessary work that keeps things running, and this year I can happily report that the cup was awarded Peter Mabey.

Peter, is a member of both the Cheltenham Circle, the BSFA, and a founder member of the Order of St Fantony, which became known to fandom at large in 1957 at the British Worldcon.  Like all things fannish, the description of the group depends on who you talk to: secret Masters of Fandom; a group formed to greet Americans who came to over the pond; or a cringeworthy jape: a fannish practical joke.

Whatever position one takes I'm sure the Order of St Fantony will be around for a number of years.  Anyway, regardless of fannish sensibilities, well done Peter.  I hope you get to to many more conventions in the future.

Like all large fan run events, there were issues with the time the events were meant to start versus the actual time they did start.  Not unsurprising given the size of the hall used for the main events and the quality of the public address system.

So the good/bad news is that next year the convention is again being run in Peterborough because the hotel management liked the fans so much it invited them back.  The bad news is the cost of eating in the hotel.  For those who plan to attend next year, the best eateries are either the Minster Grill or fan favourite The Great Wall Chinese restaurant.

Moving on, Ken Slater opened the convention and introduced Brian Aldiss who then went on to interview some of the guests of honours before the BullCon program proper started.

With humour and charm, Brian introduced on Saturday morning the Guest of Honour, the incredibly handsome Edmund Crispin, which for those who don't know is a pseudonym of Robert Bruce Montgomery.  Our guest of honour also admitted to being a member of the BSFA, making him one of us.

His talk was titled, Science Fiction: Is it Significant?

The argument presented started by saying that SF genre certainly considers itself significant and or feels it's important to be seen as significant.  Especially in these times where mankind is taking its first steps into space and towards the stars.  However, he saw a danger in this because of the risk from being absorbed into mainstream literature.  He referenced crime fiction in the early thirties, to create a parallel for what happens when everybody starts writing in a genre they don't fully understand.

His second point led onto mainstream authors who have produced the occasional work of SF that were in his mind poor, for example, On the Beach by Nevil Shute.  His argument being that mainstream authors didn't understand the problems and conventions of the genre.  And this led to second-rate SF stories and the genre being labelled as bad.

His third point was the influence of television.

Here he was quite scathing saying, "there is little differentiation between merit and lack of merit."  In his opinion, the presence of aliens or spaceships is the only factor to differentiate TV SF from conventional moribund mundanity that is transmitted over the airwaves.

Mr. Crispin's fourth point was an observation that the idea of the cosmos had permeated the common culture, as evinced by the fact that even the Astronomer Royal had stopped saying traveling into space was foolish science fictional fantasy.  Which raised a chuckle at the inability of the British establishment to keep abreast of the times.

Finally, he drew his talk to a close by arguing that in SF, space travel is presupposed to be a fact or matter of course, not a theme in and unto itself.  He observed that SF authors crammed ideas into their short stories that would fill a novel in in other genres.  As an aside he said, "SF authors are generally underpaid," which raised a cheer of "Hear! Hear!" from author Harry Harrison.

He finished his interesting talk with a couple of observations.  The first that readers do not like to be told that people are unimportant, and that SF is a major revolution in the evolution of literature since the time of Shakespeare and Marlowe.

A question-and-answer session followed Mr. Crispin's talk, which touched upon the debasement of the SF genre in the eyes of the general public by mainstream writers.

The rest of the day was equally lively.  For example, one panel featuring a discussion about censorship, with an interesting number of anecdotes from the large number of SF authors in attendance.

Saturday evening was enlivened by the presence of a four piece band and the Fancy Dress Party.  The award for Best Monster went to Harry Nadler.  Janet Shorrock received a special prize for dressing up as a cat girl.  This year's convention theme was "After the End," so I shouldn't be surprised that Tony Walsh won first prize for dressing up as a sandwich-board-man with the slogans front and back, "Prepare to Meet Your Beginning" and "The Beginning is At Hand."  Some took their costumes out onto the streets to delight/scare the nonfans.

Another tradition at the Eastercon is the art competition.

This year the best colour work was won by Jack Wilson, runner up was Terry Jeeves.  Eddie Jones won the award for the best black and white artwork.  Terry Jeeves also garnered the award for best cartoon.  And, the backdrop used in the main hall, created by Marcus Ashby, was highly commended for contributing to the atmosphere that made the convention a success.

Parties.  There were a few.  One, run by Ella Parker and Ethel Lindsay attracted 53 people. All crammed into one small hotel room.  Allegedly, Harry Harrison caused a blast as he was forced to the floor but managed to keep hold of his drink.  Or so the story goes — the magnitude of the event is magnified in each retelling.

Sunday, besides the usual hangovers, the convention had a talk about the future of TAFF: The Transatlantic Fan Fund, presented by the current administrator Ethel Lindsay, with the support of Ron Bennet and Eric Bentcliffe.  A detailed discussion of the finances and cost were covered and whether reports were mandatory; it seems they're not.  But my feeling is that they are expected, and as we say over here, better late than never.

This was followed by the fifth anniversary AGM of the BSFA, where the chairman Terry Jeeves described the work and achievements of the organization over the last year.

There were two major crises. The first when the editor Ella Parker had to give up her post.  The second when the BSFA had to move the library to Liverpool.  Terry gave credit to all those whose hard work had carried the BSFA through this difficult time.

New members were being encouraged to join the BSFA.  When someone asked how, Brian Aldiss is reported to have quipped, "by thumbscrew," thereby cementing his reputation for being funny.

The Pro Panel was a special event this year due to the number of professional authors in attendance.  The first four speakers took a couple of questions from the audience, then tagged two other authors to come up and take their place.  The authorial equivalent of a relay teams.

First question: how do you write?

Harry Harrison makes notes when writing a short story, but novels involve long correspondences between him and his editor; Michael Moorcock said ideas often took up to two years going around in his mind before he wrote the story; Edmund Crispin reported that he tried to keep regular hours of 09.30 to 12.30, writing in long hand on lined paper.

Generally, he failed and by 11.30 he gave up and went to the pub. Clearly another "funny" guy.

Next a question was asked about sequels.

Harry Harrison responded that if a book is written "right" it doesn't need a sequel (of course that begs a definition of what is meant by "right"); Brian Aldiss' cryptic comment was, "for those in peril on the sequel;" and Edmund Crispin's opinion was that there are occasional exceptions to the rule about sequels (which, I infer, is don't).

Then the panel was asked a question about Russian SF.

Kingsley Amis stated that Russian SF lacked action driven by crisis because, "in a well-planned, well-run economy one does not find crises."  He told of Soviet stories in which aliens are intelligent and therefore socialist; Max Jakubowski, with, what I imagine, the benefit of having a Russian-British and Polish heritage, gave the pithy answer that Russian SF "is very heavy;" John Carnell drew parallels with early German SF; while Ken Bulmer and Mack Reynolds both spoke about about the importance of background in SF.

This was a very thought provoking panel, which ended because time had run out.  See my comments earlier on program problems.

Finally, the official programme was brought to a close with a film show.  This year two films were shown.

The first was Jean Cocteau's Orphee with English subtitles.  This was followed by Fritz Lang's Metropolis that was allegedly last shown at the Royal Hotel Festivention in 1951.  I say allegedly, because while it had been planned to be shown, the distributor instead sent a copy of the 1925 version of Lost World. Much hilarity ensued because Arthur C. Clarke ran the gramophone record player providing music to accompany the the dinosaur action.

So, watching Metropolis is considered a tradition, but in British SF fandom anything done more than once (even if the first time is a non-event) is considered a tradition.

It's also a British tradition for fans to provide sarcastic commentary on the acting of silent movies.  Depending on one's mood or level of inebriation, this can be tedious or exhilaratingly funny.  Funny things, traditions.

Lots of other stuff went on during the weekend, but the best thing that can be said about the event was the feeling that it could've gone on for longer, and let's do it all again next year.  I'm sure Ethel Lindsay will agree, as she was inveigled into running next years programme.

Anyway, next year I hope to attend the Eastercon.  We shall see if I manage the trip next time! 




6 Comments Leave A Comment
Book

[Apr. 19, 1963] One way Via (Wallace West's book, River of Time)

2 Comments


by Gideon Marcus

Time travel.  It's been a fixture of science fiction ever since H.G. Wells wrote the seminal work, The Time Machine.  And what could be a more seductive topic?  Instead of being confined to our plodding day-by-day, one-way march to the future, one could take great leaps in any direction — forward and back.

Wells' book dealt only with trips to the far future, a feat that is both more technologically feasibly and less fraught with challenges than journeys to the past.  After all, it would just take a sophisticated suspended animation system and a timer, and one could sleep one's way to a different time.  Going backwards requires a direct confrontation with a host of physical laws. 

Moreover, any trip you take to the past brings you face to face with your own history.  Your very presence inserts a variable that wasn't there before, one with endless possibilities for destroying your present.  Take the classic Grandfather Paradox: You go back in time and kill your grandfather. before he has children.  How do you still exist?  And if you don't exist, how do you kill your grandfather?

Some books take the premise seriously.  John Brunner's Times without Number, for instance, has all the time jaunts causing an increasingly unstable timeline, ending in the un-invention of time travel, itself!  Such would seem the inevitable fate of any universe in which time travel is possible.

Wallace West's new book, River of Time takes a different, more fanciful tack.  Instead of needing a machine to sail the time stream, instead, the past and present have something of a symbiotic relationship.  When times are troubled, a gateway to the past is formed to a similar crisis in the past.  Resolution of one fixes the other.

So it is that Ralph Graves, an overweight, under-achieving 23 year old with a Master's in Physics and a lowly news-writing gig, ends up driving his car into the Revolutionary War.  The 1964 he left was in the midst of a Cold War on the verge of heating up.  This dire situation is mirrored in 18th Century America, where the rebels are in dire straits. Returning to the present, Graves channels Paine, writing a stemwinder of a speech that gets picked up and rebroadcast across the country, raising national morale.  The result: supplies reach the ragged colonials in time for them to withstand the onslaught of the Redcoats, and the Revolution is saved.

This is just prelude to the novel's main story-line, one that teams Ralph with thin and nervous chemist, Larry Adams, all-American fighter jock and engineer, Hugh Woltman, and temperamentally stable psychologist, Mary Peale.  Just as tensions snap between East and West and the bombs begin to fall, the mother of all time rents appears sending Ralph and his group back to a crisis of similarly great proportion: just after the assassination of Julius Caesar.  Can this misplaced modern squad save the Roman Republic and, thereby, the 20th Century?

First things first: River of time is a fun book, and if its premise be fantastic, so much the better.  West has a deft, light style that paints complete pictures with enviable economy of words.  The book moves.  The first third of the book comprises two enjoyable self-contained bits that were published as short stories in 1950 and 1954.  They're a lot of fun, and the second piece is remarkable in that it conceives an effect of time travel I've not seen before or since.

As good as the earlier sections are, the book really shines when present meets past on the steps of the Senate.  Our heroes cleverly parlay their collection of parcels from 1965 into a better order for the Mediterranean in a rewarding romp.  I particularly loved the abundance of strong female characters: level-headed Mary; Publia, canny wife of Cicero; and Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile.  All are vital to the success of the enterprise. 

Alas, while I would love to give my highest rating to West's latest, I'm afraid there's a component that mars the package.  It is demonstrated early on that Mary Peale is highly susceptible to suggestion, and even though she does many important and vital things throughout the story, much of what she does, and her ultimate fate, are influenced by factors beyond her control.  I found her lack of agency disturbing.

To sum up, River of Time is a quick and enjoyable read, a worthy addition to the ever-growing library of time-travel related stories.  Four stars.

2 Comments Leave A Comment
Magazine

[Apr. 17, 1963] Would-be poetical (May 1963 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

16 Comments


by Gideon Marcus

Science fiction has risen from its much maligned, pulpish roots to general recognition and even acclaim.  Names like Heinlein, MacLean, Anderson, Asimov, and St. Clair are now commonly known.  They are the vanguard of the several hundred men and women actively writing in our genre.

One name that comes up again and again on the lips of the non-SF fan, when you query them about the SF they have read, is Ray Bradbury.  Thoroughly raised in and part of the "Golden Age" of science fiction, he has remained as he always was — a writer of fantastic tales.  And yet, he's popular with the masses, and the reputation of our genre is greater for it.  Thus, it's no surprise that Bradbury was chosen to have this month's F&SF devoted to him.

That said, I don't like Bradbury.  Or, at least, I don't like what he writes.

Maybe it's because he insists that he doesn't write science fiction, which is true.  His stuff has the trappings of SF, but it follows none of the rules of science.  That kind of scientific laziness always bugs me.  The only person I feel who can get away with enjoying the benefits of our genre while dislaiming association is Harlan Ellison, whose writing really is that good.

Or maybe it's because, as Kingsley Amis put it (and as William F. Nolan quotes in his mini-biography included in this issue), Bradbury writes with "that particular kind of sub-whimsical, would-be poetical badness that goes straight to the heart of the Sunday reviewer."  I've never read a Bradbury story that I didn't think could have been better rendered by, say, Ted Sturgeon. 

Or maybe it's just sour grapes.  After all, Bradbury is two years younger than me and much more famous.  Heck, I've barely gotten to the point of accomplishment he was at twenty-three years ago!  On the other hand, I don't feel that resentment for, say, Asimov (another lettered colleague of similar age).

Anyway, I suspected an issue about Bradbury would be a bad one, and in fact, it's not a great one.  Still, there is stuff worth reading.  And if you're a fan of Ray's, well, this will be a treat:

Bradbury: Prose Poet in the Age of Space, William F. Nolan

Bradbury's Boswell is a minor SF writer, fairly recent to the scene.  Nolan became pals with Ray in his fandom days in the early '50s, and he is sufficiently versed with Bradbury's career to write a perfectly fine biography.  Worth reading.  Four stars.

Bright Phoenix, by Ray Bradbury

F&SF editor Davidson has apparently persuaded Ray to part with a couple of pieces of "desk fiction" — stuff that didn't sell, but which now has value since the author is famous.  Phoenix is the original version of The Fireman, set at the beginning of the government campaign to burn seditious (i.e. all) books.  The Grand Censor's efforts are thwarted by the grassroots project whereby library patrons take it upon themselves to memorize the contents of the books, thus preserving the knowledge.

It's a mawkish, overdone story, but at the same time, it accomplishes in less than ten pages what it took Bradbury more than a hundred to do in his later book.  Had I not known of The Fireman, and had I read this in 1948 (when it was originally written), I might well have given it four stars.  As it is, it's redundant and a bit smug.  Three stars.

To the Chicago Abyss, Ray Bradbury

This longer piece is a variation on the same theme.  An old man, one of the few who remembers a pre-apocalyptic past, continually runs afoul of the authorities by recounting fond memories to those who would vicariously remember a better yesterday.  It's another story that pretends to mean more than it says, but doesn't.  Three stars.

An Index to Works of Ray Bradbury, William F. Nolan

As it says on the tin — an impressive litany of Bradbury's 200+ works of fiction.  Look on his works, ye Mighty, and despair. 

Mrs. Pigafetta Swims Well, Reginald Bretnor

From the writers of the increasingly desperate Ferdinand Feghoot puns comes an amusing tale of an opera-singer bewitched by a jealous Mediterranean mermaid.  Told in a charming Italian accent, it is an inoffensive trifle.  Three stars.

Newton Said, Jack Thomas Leahy

New authors are the vigor and the bane of our genre.  We need them to carry on the legacy and to keep things fresh.  At the same time, one never knows if they'll be any good, and first stories are often the worst stories (with the notable exception of Daniel Keyes' superlative Flowers for Algernon). 

So it is with Jack Thomas Leahy's meandering piece, built on affected whimsy and not much else, of the face-off between a doddering transmogrifying elf and his alchemically inclined son.  One star.

Underfollow, John Jakes

This one's even worse.  A citizen of Earth, for a century under the thumb of alien conquerors, decides he's tired of the bad portrayal of humans on alien-produced television shows.  He tries to do something about it.  His attempts backfire.  I read it twice, and I still don't get it.  I didn't enjoy it either time.  One star.

Atomic Reaction, Ron Webb

Deserves a razzberry as long as the poem.  Two seconds should suffice.  One star.

Now Wakes the Sea, J. G. Ballard

British author Ballard has a thing for the sea (viz. his recent, highly acclaimed The Drowned World).  This particular story starts out well, with a man, every night, dreaming of an ever-encroaching sea that threatens to engulf his inland town.  It's atmospheric and genuinely engaging, but the pay-off is disappointing.  Colour in search of a plot.  Three stars.

Watch the Bug-Eyed Monster, Don White

Don White has a taste for the satirical.  Here, he takes on stories that start like, "Zlat was the best novaship pilot in the 81 galaxies," by starting his story with, "Zlat was the best novaship pilot in the 81 galaxies."  The problem is, a satire needs to say something new, not just repeat the same badness.  One star.

Treaty in Tartessos, Karen Anderson

Now things are getting better.  In Ancient Greece, the age-old rivalry between humans and centaurs has reached an unsustainable point, and an innovative solution is required.  A beautifully written metaphor for the conflict between the civilized and the pastoral whose only flaw is a gimmicky ending.  Four stars.

Just Mooning Around, Isaac Asimov

The Good Doctor presents a most interesting piece on the tug of war over moons between the sun and its planets.  The conclusion, in which the status of our "moon" is discussed, is an astonishing one.  Five stars.

No Trading Voyage, Doris Pitkin Buck

A lovely piece on the troubled trampings of a dispossed starfaring race called humanity.  Four stars.

Niña Sol, Felix Marti-Ibanez

The Brazilian author who so impressed me a few months back has returned with an even better tale.  Writing in that poetic, slightly foreign style that one only gets from a perfectly fluent non-native speaker, Mr. Ibanez presents us a love story set in Peru between an artist and a Sun Elemental.  Beautiful stuff.  Maybe Bradbury should go to Rio for a few years.  Four stars verging on five.

If you're a Bradbury fan, then the emotional and fantastic character of this month's issue will greatly appeal to you.  And even if you're not, there's enough good stuff at the ends to justify the expenditure of 40 cents. 




16 Comments Leave A Comment
Magazine

[April 15, 1963] Second Time Around (June 1963 Worlds of Tomorrow)

1 Comment


by Victoria Silverwolf

It's déjà vu all over again. — attributed to Yogi Berra

A couple of months ago the first issue of Worlds of Tomorrow offered half of an enjoyable, if juvenile, novel by Arthur C. Clarke, half a dozen poor-to-fair stories as filler, and one excellent work of literature.  The second issue is almost exactly the same, except for the fact that one of the six mediocre stories has been replaced by a mediocre article.

The Star-Sent Knaves, by Keith Laumer

We begin with a madcap farce from the creator of the popular Retief stories.  Great works of art disappear from locked rooms, without any signs of tampering.  The hero hides inside a vault full of valuable paintings and waits for the thieves to show up.  They appear from nowhere, inside a strange device.  The protagonist assumes it's a time machine.  Thus begins a wild chase, involving criminals, aliens, and humanoids from other dimensions.  The pace never lets up, and the story provides moderate amusement.  Three stars.

The End of the Search, by Damon Knight

This is a very brief story.  In the far future, a man searches for the final specimen of the last species that humanity has wiped out.  The plot is somewhat opaque and requires careful reading.  Many will be able to predict the story's twist ending, and some will not care for its mannered style.  I found it troubling and haunting.  Three stars.

Spaceman on a Spree, by Mack Reynolds

A future world government brings peace and prosperity to the planet.  A minimum guaranteed income for everyone means that nobody has to work to survive.  A system resembling the military draft selects people at random for various jobs, depending on their skills.  In return for their labor, they earn a higher income.  The protagonist is the only qualified astronaut.  (The implication is that the universal welfare system has made humanity less interested in dangerous exploration of the solar system.) When he completes his last mandatory mission, he plans to retire on his savings.  In order to keep the space program from dying out, two officials scheme to make him lose all his wealth, so he will have to return to service.  They way in which they do this offers no surprises.  The ending is something of an unpleasant shock.  The author's portrait of a semi-utopian future is interesting.  Three stars.

The Prospect of Immortality, by R. C. W. Ettinger

This is an excerpt from a privately printed book.  It discusses the possibility of freezing people at the time of death, in the hope that future medical technology will be able to revive them.  The concept is a familiar one to readers of science fiction, and the author offers few new insights.  Two stars.

A Guest of Ganymede, by C. C. MacApp

Aliens establish a station on Ganymede.  In exchange for large amounts of a metal that they require, they will inject a human being with a virus that cures all ailments.  They absolutely forbid anyone to take this cure-all outside the station.  A criminal takes a blind man to the aliens.  While they restore his sight, the crook plots to smuggle the virus to Earth.  Things don't work out well.  This is a fairly effective, if rather grim, science fiction story.  Three stars.

The Totally Rich , by John Brunner

A prolific British author offers a story about immense wealth and its limitations.  The narrator is a scientist and inventor who works on a project in a quiet Spanish village.  He soon finds out that a woman with virtually limitless resources carefully manipulated him into accepting this position for her own reasons.  Even the village is an artificial one, created only to give him a place where he could work without distractions.  Richly characterized and elegantly written, this is a compelling tale of love, death, and obsession. It reminds me a bit of the work of J. G. Ballard, although the author's voice is wholly his own.  As a bonus, the story features striking illustrations by the great Virgil Finlay.  Five stars.

Cakewalk to Gloryanna, by L. J. Stecher, Jr.

A spaceman delivers valuable plants from one planet to another.  Multiple complications ensue.  I didn't find this comedy very amusing.  The detailed ecology of the plants is mildly interesting.  Two stars.

People of the Sea (Part 2 of 2), by Arthur C. Clarke

The adventures of our boy hero on a small island near the Great Barrier Reef continue in the conclusion of this short novel.  In this installment, his scientist mentor begins experiments to see if killer whales can be convinced to stop eating dolphins.  A hurricane strikes the island, destroying its medical supplies and radio equipment.  The boy must make a long and dangerous journey across the sea, with the help of two dolphins, in order to save the life of the scientist, who is dying of pneumonia.  Although episodic, and with some major themes brought up and never resolved, this is an enjoyable adventure story.  Young readers in particular will appreciate the author's clear, readable style.  Four stars.

Unlike love, as Bing Crosby reminds us, Worlds of Tomorrow may not be better the second time around, but it's at least as good.

1 Comment Leave A Comment
Magazine

[April 13, 1963] SCRAPING BY (the May 1963 Amazing)

3 Comments


by John Boston

Another month, another Amazing, and the persistent question: is this magazine worth reading?  Let’s check this May issue against the hopeful benchmark I announced last time: at least something unusually good, and nothing unusually stupid.

It flunks the second criterion right off the bat.  Robert F. Young is back and Biblical again.  His short story The Deep Space Scrolls is the supposed transcript of a Senate hearing involving astronauts who happened upon “Spaceship X,” which contains ancient documentation showing that it is actually Noah’s Ark (apparently the Flood was on another planet and Ararat is us).  What next?  Characters who turn out to be Adam and Eve?  The best that can be said is that Young does capture the bombast and logorrhea of some politicians—meaning the story is fairly tedious as well as dumb.  One star.

The lead novelet, Jobo , by Henry Slesar, seems promising at first.  In backwoods Tennessee, there’s this big strong guy Jobo with a funny face that everybody but his Ma makes fun of.  On the other side of the world, a professor and his sidekick are approaching Easter Island seeking the provenance of a small statue that looks just like the giant Easter Island monoliths but is made of some super-hard material unknown on Earth and impervious to metallurgists’ tricks.  The prof wonders if extraterrestrials could be involved.  His beautiful and brilliant daughter gets into the act on Jobo’s behalf, and the two stories continue in parallel, meeting considerably short of infinity and indeed short of any resolution not obvious and predictable.  Slesar is an experienced and facile writer, so it’s perfectly readable, but progressively less interesting.  Two stars.

Albert Teichner’s story Cerebrum in the January Amazing, I said, “takes a well worn plot device and fails to revitalize it.” Here we go again with The Right Side of the Tracks, which takes perhaps the most-worn plot device in SF—space travelers approach a planet to find out what’s going on there—and doesn’t do much better, though he tries hard.  The investigators are from the Galactic Glia, whose member planets are supposed to be in touch with all the others no less often than once an hour, and this planet Nodar has fallen entirely silent.  Arriving, the investigators are largely ignored and are told that the inhabitants are working on something that will “widen the scope of everyone everywhere” and the investigators are displaying bad manners; indeed, the locals spank them and send them away.  By that time, they have observed the Nodarans are not keeping their robots, machines, and facilities in very good repair, and have seen them frequently making seemingly pointless hand gestures, listening to music over earphones while they converse, and watching visual displays consisting of “blobs rapidly sinking toward the floor and similar patches reappearing near the ceiling while words, mathematical symbols, three-dimensional color patterns and other disconnected symbols streamed in and out of the confusion to add the final touch of chaos.” Anyone who has read Katherine MacLean’s 1950 novella Incommunicado —and many who haven’t—will recognize immediately that the Nodarans have developed new and superior means of thinking and perceiving, as the one sensible member of the ship’s party realizes on the way back home. 

The clumsily derivative premise is matched by Teichner’s incidental and slightly shaky invocation of standard SF notions, e.g.: “Then they were landing, the anti-gravity jets letting the Probe sink slowly into the waiting cradle. . . .” (Why would anti-gravity employ jets?) “They had spent a grueling three months at speeds far beyond that of light and were impatient to be finished with the assignment.” (Does he think travelling faster than light would be any more grueling than travelling at any other speed?) Is this guy paying any attention to what he’s writing, or just cutting and pasting?  This whole low-resolution mess, compared, say, to its distinguished antecedent by MacLean, recalls Mark Twain’s wisecrack about the lightning and the lightning-bug.  Or maybe I should invoke that old Thelonious Monk tune: Well, You Needn’t.” Two stars, mostly for effort.  Thanks for trying, fella, but . . . don’t bother on our account.

It is with palpable relief that I turn to The Road to Sinharat, a novelet by Leigh Brackett, who is definitely paying attention to what she’s writing.  Brackett is a distinguished practitioner of what might be called Chamber Pulp: standard-brand adventure fiction rendered with unusual clarity, precision, intelligence, and feeling.  This story is a pleasure to read at the word-and-sentence level, and would probably be an even greater pleasure to hear read aloud.  “Sinharat was a city without people, but it was not dead.  It had a memory and a voice.  The wind gave it breath, and it sang, from the countless tiny organ-pipes of the coral, from the hollow mouths of marble doorways and the narrow throats of streets.  The slender towers were like tall flutes, and the wind was never still.  Sometimes the voice of Sinharat was soft and gentle, murmuring about everlasting youth and the pleasures thereof.  Again it was strong and fierce with pride, crying You die, but I do not!.  Sometimes it was mad, laughing, and hateful.  But always the song was evil.”

That said, the story is, ultimately, relatively minor.  It’s set in Brackett’s now-obsolete slowly dying Mars of dry sea-beds, canals, and colorful factions of essentially human Martians.  The Earth-dominated government has a Rehabilitation Project to impound the planet’s remaining water and move the population to where the water will be; the ungrateful Martians are having none of it, believing that they know better how to manage the resources of their dying planet.  War looms, which the Martians will lose, and they will be slaughtered by the Earthers’ higher-tech weapons.  Renegade bureaucrat Carey, of Earth, with his Martian compatriots, must reach Sinharat, the forbidden city of the ancient Rama, who achieved near-immortality by taking the bodies of others.  The Rama archives will contain records that will show all the bureaucrats who won’t listen how survival on Mars really works.  So off they go, pursued by a Javert-ish cop, on a perilous (even grueling) journey across Mars, for a rendezvous with a rather perfunctory ending that wastes much of the dramatic tension Brackett has built up.  But still, it’s a luxury getting there.  Four stars.

The usual non-fiction suspect this month is Ben Bova, with Where Is Everybody?: if the galaxy is full of intelligent aliens, why haven’t we heard from them?  After reviewing the state of scientific thought, Bova proposes a variation on Charles Fort: we are not property, but are the subjects of research and surveillance.  Like all Bova’s articles, this one is perfectly readable, but a bit livelier than most.  Three stars.

There’s an unusual suspect here, too: A Soviet View of American SF by Alexander Kazantsev, a writer of SF himself, who has elsewhere proposed that the Tunguska detonation of 1908 was an extraterrestrial spaceship blowing up.  This is an edited translation of his introduction to a Soviet anthology of American SF containing Heinlein, Leinster, and Bradbury, among others.  It’s less ridiculous than some I’ve seen of this type; the author actually knows something about English-language SF; but it is still turgid and ritualistic in places.  E.g., he says of Heinlein’s story The Long Watch: “The story reflects a change for the better in American public opinion which was subsequently so strikingly manifested at the time of the visit by N.S. Khrushchev in America.  Heinlein, like many Americans who yesterday were still deluded, today believes, wants to believe, that crime may be prevented.” Dialectical, comrade!  Two stars, bright red of course.

So Amazing scrapes by another month on the strength of Brackett’s fine writing, Bova’s competence, and Comrade Kazantsev’s amusement value.  Hangman, slack your rope for a while.

3 Comments Leave A Comment
Fashion, music, politics, sports

[April 11, 1963] A Myriad of Musicks (the state of popular music in 1963)

12 Comments


by Gideon Marcus

Humans like to categorize things.  Types of people, varieties of animals, kinds of music, boundaries of epochs.  As an historian, I find the latter particularly interesting.  The transition between ages is often insensible to those living in them.  After the fact, we tend to compact them into tidily bounded intervals.  The Gay '90s.  The Roaring Twenties.  The Depression.  The War Years. 

Decades from now, historians will debate when the "'50s" truly began and ended.  Did they start with the armistice in Korea?  Did they end with the election of Kennedy?  Looking around, it's hard to draw a sharp line between Ike's decade and the current one.  Things are changing, no doubt, but it's much of a muchness.  The battle for Civil Rights continues.  The Cold War endures. 

If anything, this year feels like an interlude, that time of uncertain winds before the clouds march confidently in a new direction.  You hear it in the political rhetoric.  You see it in the fashion, with the flared skirts of last decade still living (though decreasingly) alongside the pencil-cut of the '60s. 

And you particularly notice it in the musical trends.  For instance, many of the genres of '50s are still with us.  There are lots of new ones, however, competing for time on the airwaves.  The last time this happened, it was 1955.  For a brief time, swing, schmaltz, rock, and calypso competed for our ears' attentions.  Once more, we have an unprecedented level of sonic diversity:

Pop

Pop, as a genre, has been around for several years.  Ricky Nelson, Neil Sedaka, Bobby Darin were all big in the late '50s, and they're still tops today.  A couple of big changes have occurred over the last few years.  In 1960, we saw women entering the field more frequently.  Ingenues like Rosie Hamlin (who recorded Angel Baby just a few miles from my house, Linda Scott, Brenda Lee (straddling the country line), and Kathy Young.  Not to mention Little Peggy March (I will Follow Him) and Eydie Gorme…singing about the one Latin music form still popular in the States:


Blame it on the Bossanova, by Eydie Gorme

Individual girl singers seem to have peaked in popularity last year, though, giving way to Black girl-groups like the Chiffons, the Crystals, the Shirelles, and the Ronettes, which also began hitting the charts around 1960.


He's so Fine, by the Chiffons

Producer Phil Spector is a big force behind these groups, introducing a new concept in music called "The Wall of Sound" that loops in huge numbers of strings and layered vocals to weave a rich tapestry of music.  You can hear his work in hits like…


He's sure the boy I love, by the Crystals

And on the other side of the Pond, we have British artists that sometimes get airplay over here.  Occasionally, I hear an import from Cliff Richards, the crooner front-man for The Shadows.  His latest soundtrack topped the charts in the UK for a while, though it's since been knocked off by a newcomer band that is still virtually unknown in the States:


Please Please Me, by the Beatles

Motown

Both a style and a label, Motown is a Detroit-based record company producing a slick evolution of DooWop, Soul, and R&B feauturing hits like:


Let me go the Right Way, by The Supremes


Laughing Boy, by Mary Wells


Come and Get these Memories, by Martha and the Vandellas

I have a feeling this may be the next big thing…if it can break out of the Steel belt and the Negro stations.

Surf

Out of the prototypical instrumental music days of the late '50s, typified by folks like Duane Eddy and Link Wray, the genre has come full flower.  It started in 1960 with the Ventures and The Shadows, with their intricate renditions of standards like Ghostriders in the Sky and Apache.  Then someone figured out how to send strummy vibrato into a speaker (probably Dick Dale, the self-crowned "King of the Surf Guitar), and now the airwaves are filled with that fluttery, tubular, sound that's straight out of the ocean.  Numbers like:


Miserlou, by Dick Dale


Pipeline, by The Chantays


Surf Rider, by The Lively Ones

Country

With the recent death of the Queen of the Grand Ole Opry, Patsy Cline, it's worth taking stock of who our luminaries in the Country genre.  This is a genre I've been a fan of ever since The Sons of the Pioneers and Hank Williams were twanging Western and Honky Tonk. 


Patsy Cline's Crazy, written by Willie Nelson

Another country star who came out of the 50s and is still going strong is (my favorite), Wanda Jackson:


Whirlpool (sounds like a modern redo of Funnel of Love)

And you've probably heard Skeeter Davis' latest country-pop crossover hit:


The End of the World, by Skeeter Davis

Folk

Out of the culturally meaningful, commentary-laden folk songs of the 1950s, two main movements have formed.  The first, exemplified by new star, Bob Dylan, hews closely to its roots.  Dylan's voice is as friendly as a buzzsaw, and his guitar is unadorned.  But what he sings sounds like the truth.


Song to Woody by Bob Dylan

The second is the harmonious, still simple, but beautifully polished works by earnest bands like The Kingston Trio and Peter, Paul, and Mary, as well as more playful stuff, for instance by The Rooftop Singers. 


The New Frontier by The Kingston Trio


Puff the Magic Dragon by Peter, Paul, and Mary


Walk Right In by The Rooftop Singers

It's difficult to tell which school will in out in the end, but as the 1960s promise to be a turbulent decade, with the fight for Civil Rights and the wars in Indochina heating up, one can bet Folk will be with us throughout.

Jazz

Once king in the 30s and 40s, Jazz has become more of an aesthete's bag.  There are dedicated stations and a semi-regular TV show, Jazz Casual, and plenty of records, but Jazz is definitely not found on the popular airwaves.

Plenty of older artists, like Count Basie, Dexter Gordon, and Duke Ellington remain active, along with mid-rangers like John Coltrane, Earl Bostic, and Dave Brubeck. 


Cheesecake, by Dexter Gordon

The new big thing (though it's been around since the '50s) is "Free Jazz" or "avante-garde" which cares not for fixed chord progressions and time signatures.  At its free-est, it's almost incomprehensible, but tamed, it's exotic and vibrant.


Congo Call, by Prince Lasha

Straddling the jazz and Latin line is Cal Tjader, a '50s vibraphone phenomenon who continues to be popular (you should see my nephew, David, cut a rug to this stuff…)


Cuban Fantasy, by Cal Tjader

—

Of course, this is just a thumbnail sketch of what's out there, and I haven't even touched foreign movements like Jamaican Ska or Brasilian Bossanova.  With so many different genres struggling to catch the public's ear, it's hard to place bets on which ones will be ascendant in the years to come.  For now, sit back, relax, and enjoy the unrivalled musical diversity while it lasts. 

What's YOUR favorite genre/artist?

(If you want to hear these hits and more, tune in to KGJ — Galactic Journey radio plays the newest and the mostest!)
–

12 Comments Leave A Comment

55 years ago: Science Fact and Fiction