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Magazine

[July 6, 1963] A new star…  (Gamma — a new science fiction magazine)

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by Gideon Marcus

The history of our genre, like that of all things, contains several ups and downs.  From its beginnings in the pulp explosion, to its near-extinction during the second world war, to the resurgence during the digest age starting in the late '40s, and finally, to its decline at the end of the last decade.  At its most recent nadir, the number of science fiction periodicals had dropped to six from a high of forty.  Many predicted the imminent death of the genre, and not without justification.

1963 may well be remembered as the year things turned around.  In February, Worlds of Tomorrow was introduced as a sibling to sister magazines, Galaxy and IF.  To all accounts, it is a successful venture.  And last month, another digest joined the throng.

Back in 1949, the digest boom was kicked off by the birth of The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction.  It was, in many ways, a repudiation of the pulp genre, or perhaps a sign of its maturation.  F&SF set its literary standards bar very high, filling its pages with some of the most articulate works and authors our field has seen (and, with some hiccoughs, continues that tradition to this day).  For fourteen years, it stood unique in SFF.  This is not to say that other magazines did not approach or even surpass it in quality, but the combination of breadth of subject matter and eloquence of presentation made it a creature unto itself.

Until now.

The newest SFF mag is called Gamma, and here's how its editor, Charles E. Fritch, introduces it:

The Dictionary defines GAMMA for us: "…to designate some bright star."  One look at our cover and at the stunning lineup of stellar names for our next issue will confirm that definition.  Indeed, GAMMA is the bright new star of the science fiction/fantasy field, and we intend to see that it continues to light up the heavens.  The dictionary goes on to mention the gamma function — and we'll assure you that the GAMMA function, in our case, is to give our readers the best fiction, by the finest talents in and out of the sf field — fiction of yesterday, today, and tomorrow.  GAMMA will unearth classic fantasy from obscure, out-of-print markets, while creating its own classics and memorable stories in each issue.

Ambitious, to be sure.  For those of us who remember the arrival of F&SF, we cannot help note the similarities of the two magazines.  The style and composition of the sole piece of art (and the fact there is just one throughout the whole book) is highly reminiscent of the older digest.  Inside, too, there are sixteen pieces, none longer than twenty pages.  The majority of the listed authors have had work published in F&SF, too.

Just as F&SF has "theme" issues, this "FIRST BIG ISSUE" of Gamma has a clear The Twilight Zone angle.  All five of the anthology show's main authors have a piece in the mag, and Rod Serling gets top (or, I suppose it can be argued, bottom) billing. 

But does this F&SF doppleganger live up to the standards of its predecessors?  You'll have to read it and find out (hint: You won't be disappointed):

Mourning Song, by Charles Beaumont

Beaumont is one of the "Zone's" most prolific guest writers, and his pieces are generally marked with authorial expertise.  He is, in many ways, what Bradbury should be: Emotional without being mawkish; literate without self-indulgence.  Mourning Song, about a sightless old bard who claims to know when death is coming, and the young man who dares to disbelieve, is one of the most poignant things I've seen Beaumont produce.  Five stars.

Crimes Against Passion, by Fritz Leiber

The damned in hell get a chance to re-plead their cases, with the help of a psychiatric public defender and the burgeoning field of Analysis.  It's meant to be a funny piece, but largely fails at comedy (save for one genuinely funny line, when Macbeth shouts irritably at his former adversary, "Lay off, MacDuff!") Lieber's been hit or miss lately, and this is a definite miss.  Two stars.

Time in Thy Flight, by Ray Bradbury

A reprint from the July 1953 Fantastic Universe, this tale of young time travelers from an antiseptic future, and the girl who decides to stay in 1928, is played for every sentimental note.  Brush your teeth afterwards.  Three stars.

The Vengeance of Nitocris, by Tennessee Williams

Now here's an interesting one, the very first sale of arguably the world's greatest living playwright.  This tale of a vengeful Egyptian Empress of the Old Kingdom first appeared in the August 1928 Weird Tales.  It's nothing if not lurid, and the story it tells is a true one (or, at least, attested back to ancient times — I checked the sources cited).  Three stars.

Itself, by A. E. van Vogt

A robotic anti-sub is the star in Van Vogt's aquatic answer to Laumer's sentient tank story, Combat Unit.  Just not as good.  Two stars.

Venus Plus Three, by Charles E. Fritch

A disenchanted wife brings his husband to savage Venus so that man-eating plants can preclude the need for a messy divorce.  An outdated, pulpish tale, but still entertaining.  Three stars.

A Message from Morj, by Ray Russell

The pulsing from the distant world could be none other than a communication — but just what was it trying to say?  This vignette manages to be, by turns, both surprising and predictable.  Three stars.

To Serve the Ship, by William F. Nolan

When your occupation has been to be sole pilot of a starship for eight decades, it can be pretty hard to adapt to retirement.  Author Nolan takes on a subject that both James White (Fast Trip) and Anne McCaffrey (The Ship Who Sang) have handled better.  Three stars.

(And now, you may be thinking, "With the exception of the Beaumont, this doesn't sound like a great magazine."  Fear not.  It's all gravy from here.)

Gamma Interview: Rod Serling, by Rod Serling

Any conversation with one of television's brightest lights is bound to be an engaging one.  The Twilight Zone's creator does not disappoint.  Five stars.

The Freeway, by George Clayton Johnson

Johnson is another Zone regular, and in this tale of the breakdown of an automatic car in the middle of the desert, he highlights the danger of over-reliance on technology.  Could you survive?  Not just the physical peril, but the knowledge of just how ill-equipped we are to deal with nature undiluted?  A solid three stars.

One Night Stand, by Herbert A. Simmons

Horn-blowing misfit finds his groove and love in a gig on the Red Planet.  The first SFF story I've read by a Black man (that I know of), it's a satisfyingly hep read.  Three stars.

As Holy and Enchanted, by Kris Neville

I first fell in love with a fictional character when I was ten.  It was Polychrome, the fairy daughter of the rainbow who first fell to Earth in The Road to Oz, and I wrote several childish tales that detailed our meeting and (innocent) courtship.  This reprint from the April 1953 Avon Science Fiction and Fantasy Reader covers similar ground, but far more beautifully than I ever could have managed.  Four stars.

Shade of Day, by John Tomerlin

A sick salesman whose life zagged when it should have zigged revisits the last happy time of his life, touring the Junior High of his early teens.  Heavy, subtle, effective.  Four stars.

The Girl Who Wasn't There, by Forrest J. Ackerman

If you don't yet know 4E, that legendary SFF fan who helms magazines, anchors conventions, and keeps old magazines in his refrigerator for want of space elsewhere, this tale of a lonely, invisible girl is a good introduction.  Four stars.

Death in Mexico, by Ray Bradbury

I spend much of my time praising Bradbury with faint damns, but this poem is a genuinely worthy piece.  Four stars.

Crescendo, by Richard Matheson

It's never a bad idea to wrap up a magazine with Matheson, possibly the best SFF screenwriter of our age.  Who else could make an electric church organ so plausibly menacing?  Four stars.

Viewed with the dispassionate eye of a statistics collector, GAMMA garners a strong, but not noteworthy, score of 3.4 stars.  Taken as a whole, however, this is a stunning first issue.  For those who like F&SF and wish there were more magazines like it, your prayers have been answered.  Here's looking forward to GAMMA 2, coming out in the fall.

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Magazine

[June 30, 1963] Calm from the Storm (July 1963 Analog)

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by Gideon Marcus

We live in increasingly tumultuous times (or maybe we are just better informed about them).  A war is heating up in Vietnam, an even significant enough to have produced fictional characters who have experienced it (e.g. Linc, the veteran in Route 66; Oscar from Heinlein's new serial, Glory Road). 

There's a war waging in our country, too, as Blacks fight for the rights they are due as humans.  They march, they protest, they are attacked, and sometimes they are killed.  The President recently sent a Civil Rights Bill to Congress, but its future is far from certain.

When the news gets unbearable (or if you are a soldier on either of these front lines and need a break) science fiction and fantasy provide welcome respites.  They offer completely new worlds to explore that may have their own problems, but at least they're different ones.  Or the stories posit futures/alternaties where vexing issues have been solved. 

I find myself increasingly seeking out this refuge as the world gets scarier.  This month's last science fiction digest, the July 1963 Analog, afforded me several hours of peace when I needed it.  Perhaps it will do the same for you.

The Big Fuel Feud (Part 2 of 2), by Harry B. Porter

Even as a rocket scientist, I found Porter's increasingly dry comparison of solid vs. liquid fuels to be interminable.  Campbell needs contributors who will be less textbook, more Asimov (or Ley).  Two stars.

The Ethical Engineer (Part 1 of 2), by Harry Harrison

When we last saw Jason dinAlt, the psychic gambler with a galactic range, he had brought a tepid peace between the city-dwellers and the country folk on the lethal world of Pyrrus.  The latter had managed to live with the increasingly hostile life forms on that death world rather than wage an increasingly futile arms race against it. 

Pyrrus barely figures in this new serial, as dinAlt is kidnapped in Chapter One by a religious fanatic bent on taking Jason back to galactic civilization to face crimes against decency.  On the way, their ship is crippled, and the two must become unlikely allies to survive on yet another harsh world.

It's not as good as Deathworld, and it could have just as easily starred another character.  That said, it picks up as it goes, and I found myself wanting more at the half-way break.  I appreciate that Jason dinAlt, like Laumer's Retief, appears to be Black.  Three stars trending upwards.

New Apples in the Garden, by Kris Neville

In an increasingly technological world, the engineer becomes increasingly essential.  So what happens when people stop seeing slip-stick pusher as a desirable career?  Kris Neville describes a dark future of slow but inexorable decay (with the unspoken subtext made overt in the final illustration).  I don't know that I buy this premise given how heavily the sciences are boosted these days, but it is evocatively drawn.  Three stars.

A Knyght Ther Was, by Robert F. Young

Robert Young has written a lot of great stuff, but these days, his work tends to be really bad, usually some sort of in-joke based on an obvious literary reference (usually something obscure like the Book of Genesis).  This time, his story features a fellow named Thomas Mallory who goes back to England in 542 A.D.  Can you guess what he finds?  I'll give you a clue — it's not a decaying Romano-British/Welsh society under attack by colonizing Saxons.

Worse yet, and you'll see this a mile away, Mallory is THE Mallory.  Yes, bootstraps galore in a tediously predictable tale that doesn't even have the virtue of being funny.  Two stars, and that's being generous.  Read the original, or the ur-document penned by Geoffrey of Monmouth.

New Folks' Home, by Clifford D. Simak

Cliff Simak, master of bucolic SF, has got a serial running in Galaxy right now called Here gather the stars, in which aliens set up a galactic way station in a rural part of America.  New Folk's Home is very similar, thematically, in which an old man, making his last vacation to the backwoods of his youth, discovers a beautiful new house in the middle of nowhere.  Why is it there, and how could it be tied to him?  Is it an intrusive eyesore, or just the retirement spot he was looking for? 

I especially enjoy Simak because his stuff tends to have happy endings, and his aliens are benevolent.  Good stuff, as always.  Four stars.

Thanks to the Harrison and the Simak, I have a more positive feeling toward this issue (and the world) than the issue's 2.6 star rating would normally command.  It's not the best magazine of the month, or even near the top — that prize goes to Fantastic (3.3), followed by Worlds of Tomorrow and Fantasy and Science Fiction (3.1).  Even IF got a higher score (2.8), and it had one of the best stories (Down to the Worlds of Men, by Alexei Panshin).  New Worlds was slightly better, too (2.7).  Only Amazing was worse, and it was a LOT worse (2.1).  So there was lots to enjoy this month to take you out of the miseries of the world.

On the other hand, one misery continues to intrude.  Women wrote just two out of the thirty-seven contributions.  I've been told women aren't just interested, and the editors print the best things they can find.  Why should editors bother to especially solicit women when their jobs are busy enough as it is? 

In reply, I present Exhibit A: Jack Sharkey, whose work fills half of two magazines this month, garnering a whopping two stars between them.  Surely, we can do better than that if we bring in some new blood. We literally can't do worse.

Speaking of Alexei Panshin, the great young author, himself, has answered my letter and offered up an article describing the birth of his first (and most excellent story).  Look forward to it in just a couple of days!

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Science / Space Race

[June 20, 1963] Crossing stars (the flights of Vostoks 5 and 6)

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by Gideon Marcus

Gordo Cooper's 22-orbit flight in Faith 7 afforded America a rare monopoly on space news during the month of May.  Now, a new Soviet spectacular has put the West in the shade and ushered in a new era of spaceflight.

On June 14, Lt. Colonel Valery Bykosky zoomed into orbit atop the same type of rocket and in the same type of Vostok capsule that took his four predecessors to space.  Call signed "Hawk," he circled the Earth for just a hair shy of five days, beating the previous record set by Andrian Nikolayev in Vostok 3 by a few minutes.  Bykovsky conducted experiments, floated unstrapped from his seat a few times, ate, slept, and otherwise did the normal things one might expect of a cosmonaut.  He landed early yesterday morning.

That's not the exciting bit.

Two days after Hawk's flight began, he was joined by "Seagull" in Vostok 6.  As with the twin flights of Vostoks 3 and 4, Hawk and Seagull's trajectories were tailored to overlap so that the two spacecraft could get within hailing distance.  They shared radio transmissions and reported observing each other.  Vostok 6 landed around the same time as Vostok 5.  In most ways, the mission of Hawk and Seagull marked no new ground over the previous joint mission.

Except one: Vostok 6 was crewed by Valentina Tereshkova, a textile worker from Moscow.  She was the first woman and the first civilian in space. 

Let that settle in.  There are a lot of ramifications. 

When Project Mercury was established, NASA solicited applicants with a specific set of talents.  They had to be male military test pilots with thousands of hours of jet experience.  Seven were ultimately chosen, six of whom have flown.

Six Soviets have also flown.  Five were male military test pilots, but the sixth had never enlisted.  Tereshkova's closest relevant experience is that her hobbies included parachuting.  That the Soviet space program anticipated and insisted on including a civilian woman is significant.  Moreover, in her sole space flight, she logged more hours than all previous American astronauts combined.

You can call it a media stunt.  You can sneer that the Vostok capsules are bigger and more automated and therefore Tereshkova's role was limited to that of a passenger, not a pilot.  That's cold comfort, though.  The fact is, the Russians are thinking long-term.  They want to know how space affects men and women because they intend on not just conquering space but settling it.  Furthermore, they are demonstrating that Communism is an equal-opportunity business.  For all of our touting of democracy, America has no plans to let women join the space corps. 

So let's tally where we are in the "manned" space race as of June 1963.  The Americans have just finished the Mercury program, which had six flights, two of them suborbital.  The longest mission lasted a day-and-a-half.  There won't be another crewed flight until late '64, when the two-manned Gemini goes up.

Meanwhile, the Soviets launched six crewed Vostoks over roughly the same period.  But, they got there "fustest with the mostest," (Gagarin went up a month before Shepard), all of the flights were orbital, Vostok has an endurance at least three times that of Mercury, the Soviets mastered the art of double-launching, and, of course, their program is sophisticated enough to accommodate a non-pilot.  America may have been the first to break the sound barrier, but the Communists were the first to break the space gender barrier.

Our one consolation is that the near real-time appreciation of the Vostok flights was made possible by the existence of American communications satellites.  The TV transmissions from Vostoks 5 and 6 were relayed across the Atlantic via Telstar.  That's a pretty weak "yeah, but." 

Here's a better one.  Let's bring women into the astronaut corps.  In fact, there is already a reserve of thirteen woman pilots who have voluntarily subjected themselves to and passed the same test regimen as the Mercury 7.  Led by NASA consultant, Jerrie Cobb, they've been waiting in the wings for three years now.  They are eager and fit to fly — all they need is the green light from the space agency.  Given that the next class of astronauts will include civilians, there should be no barrier to letting one of these qualified women fly in Gemini and/or Apollo.

There shouldn't be…

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Magazine

[June 18, 1963] Eastbound for Adventure! (July 1963 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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by Gideon Marcus

Galactic Journey approaches the completion of its fifth year in publication, and we delight in the increasing variety of travels we've been able to share with you.  We started with science fiction digests and real-life space shots, expanded our coverage to movies and television, and then dove whole-hog into all aspects of culture, including music, politics, and fashion.  We even broadened our geographic scope, with British correspondents Ashley Pollard and Mark Yon, and our newest teammember, Cora Buhlert from West Germany.

One constant throughout, dating back to our third article, is the coverage of physical journeys of the Traveler family.  And so we tread familiar ground in two respects as the Journey reports for its fourth time from the near-mythical land of Wa, the country of Japan.

We touched down the afternoon of June 10 after a long but thoroughly pleasant trip across the Pacific in first class.  Leigh Brackett was my traveling companion, though the conversation was strictly one-way.

The next day, we took a quick flight from Tokyo to the industrial city of Nagoya, third biggest in the nation.  Renowned for its drab ugliness, nevertheless we like it, not for the least reason the presence of three good friends — one native and two transplants. 

After a delicious lunch, we all gathered in the hotel room and performed music together (Nanami and the Young Traveler are both accomplished ukelele-players). 

We had just one full day after that in Nagoya, and we used the time to good advantage, exploring the many shopping and dining options.  Despite June being monsoon month in Japan, rain was sparse and the temperature reasonable (though the humidity rivaled that of pre-Mariner Venus…)

For the last five days, we have been back in the nation's capital.  Tokyo is a city in transition, busily preparing for the Olympics next year.  In addition to the remodeling of the Shibuya district, work is being completed on the new bullet train that will reduce the trip from Osaka to Tokyo (about the same distance as Los Angeles to San Francisco) to just three hours.  Would have been nice on our trip this time around…

My primary destination this time around was Jimbouchou — Bookseller's Row — where dozens of bookstores crowd a cluster of avenues.  I've never seen so many volumes crowded together in one place!  However, the subject matter tended to be rather dry and abstruse at most of the places, and I made most of my scavenging finds at the second-hand shops around the various universities. 

As for the rest of the time, we shopped, we dined, and we walked…endlessly.  More than five miles every day. 

One "highlight" of the trip was the chance to watch King Kong vs. Godzilla in the cinema.  There will be a report.

I also found time to enjoy to enjoy the July 1963 Fantasy and Science Fiction, the fourth issue of this venerable magazine I've read in Japan.  How did this set of excursions compare to the real-life adventure I am currently enjoying?  Read on and find out!

Glory Road (Part 1 of 3), by Robert A. Heinlein

Most of the issue is taken up by the first half of Heinlein's latest novel.  Evelyn Cyril "Oscar" Gordon is a remarkable young man plagued by hard luck: a skilled athlete saddled with a losing team; an abortive engineering student sent to fight (and grievously wounded) in Vietnam; a winner of the Irish Derby sweepstakes whose ticket turns out to be counterfeit.  Things look up when he answers this classified ad, tailor-made for him:

"ARE YOU A COWARD? This is not for you. We badly need a brave man. He must be 23 to 25 years old, in perfect health, at least six feet tall, weigh about 190 pounds, fluent English, with some French, proficient in all weapons, some knowledge of engineering and mathematics essential, willing to travel, no family or emotional ties, indomitably courageous and handsome of face and figure. Permanent employment, very high pay, glorious adventure, great danger. You must apply in person, rue Dante, Nice, 2me étage, apt. D."

Gordon's employer is the unearthily beautiful "Star," part Amazon, part Fae.  Along with her aged but capable assistant, Rufo, the trio head off into a fantastic dimension on an errand whose purpose is known only to the mysterious magical lady.  There, they run into golems, explosive swamps, easily offended hosts, and many other dangers.

Glory Road is Heinlein's answer to Anderson's Three Hearts and Three Lions, and the closesness with which it hews to the predecessor only highlights its inferiority.  Anderson's tale was fun and subtle, his characters well-realized.  Heinlein, as we saw in his last book, Podkayne of Mars, can't seem to portray anyone but Heinlein these days.  When Oscar and Star start mooning at each other, it's like watching old Bob seduce himself. 

I did enjoy the first 30 pages or so, detailing Gordon's pre-adventure life, however, and there are moments of interest along the way.  But if you're looking for the next Starship Troopers or The Menace from Earth, this likely won't be it.  Three stars.

Success, by Fritz Leiber

The creator of Fahfrd and the Grey Mouser offers up this fantasy vignette, a distillation of the genre in four pages.  Is it satire?  Parody?  Or the only fantastic story you'll ever need to read?  Vividly written but inconsequential.  Three stars.

The Respondents, by Doris Pitkin Buck

Pretty words from one of F&SF's resident poets.  Three stars.

With These Hands, by Kenneth Smith

The first SF publication by this college freshman, this is a tale of an artless alien (both descriptors used literally) unable to contribute to Earth's cultural beauty despite his desperate admiration.  It starts off strong, but the ending is a bit talkie and mawkish.  Nevertheless, three stars, and let's see some more!

The Isaac Winners, by Isaac Asimov

A rather lackluster piece this month, just a list of the top 72 scientists in human history.  The best part of the article is Asimov's justification for the trophy's name (after Newton, of course!) Three stars.

As Long as You're Here, by Will Stanton

F&SF perennial, Stanton, gives us a both charming and chilling tale about a couple that digs a deep shelter to avoid the hell of nuclear annihilation only to find Old Nick digging upwards to expand his domain in similar anticipation.  It stayed with me.  Four stars.

McNamara's Fish, by Ron Goulart

Max Kearny, spiritual private eye, is consulted individually by both members of a married couple, who both fear the other partner is being unfaithful.  Is something fishy going on?  Yes!  Indeed, in this case, the troubles stem from the meddling of a venal water elemental.  Goulart's Kearny tales are always glib and enjoyable, though this one is less substantial than most.  Three stars.

Thus ends a pleasant but not superlative issue of F&SF, an issue more notable for the environs in which it was read (on a rock under a waterfall near a shrine; in the lounge of a fancy Nagoya hotel; on a train traveling in the shadow of Mt. Fuji) than its contents. 

See you in two days when I discuss the most amazing events happening just a few hundred miles over our heads as we speak…

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Magazine

[June 4, 1963] Booked passage (July 1963 IF)

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by Gideon Marcus

How quickly the futuristic becomes commonplace.  Just two years ago, I marveled about how fast one can cross the oceans by jet.  Now, on the eve of another trip to Japan (we really have joined the Jet Set, haven't we?) I look at the flight itinerary and grumble.  Why must we stop in Hawaii?  That adds several hours to the trip — it'll take more than half a day to get from LAX to Haneda.

Spoiled rotten, I tell you.

Speaking of travel stories, a fresh crop of science fiction digests has hit my mailbox.  Many of them will be joining me on my trip to the Orient, but I finished one of them, the July 1963 IF, pre-flight.  All of them feature some element of star-hopping, and so this issue sets a fine mood as we embark on our latest journey:

That Notebook Again, by Theodore Sturgeon

I find it interesting that editor Fred Pohl has gotten Ted Sturgeon to write his editorials for him.  I'm not complaining — it's always nice to see Sturgeon in print in any capacity.  This time around, he treats us to a number of technological proposals, a wishlist of inventions that should be right around the corner, given a little interest and effort.  I found his idea for a home TV-tape camera and player particularly titilating (and not farfetched — my nephew already audio-tapes television shows onto reel-to-reel).

The Reefs of Space (Part 1 of 3), by Jack Williamson and Frederik Pohl

A good third of the issue is given to a new serial (illustrated on the cover — EMSH is big in this issue, though I also like the work of Nodel, who is new to me).  Hundreds of years from now, Earth's population is highly regimented, its economy utterly socialized, under the authority of The Machine and its master Plan.  Dissent is punished by incarceration and the forced wearing of an explosive ring around one's neck.  Further disobedience results in one's "salvage" (dissasembly into component body parts for the use of others). 

Steve Ryeland is an experimental physicist, a touchy job to have when scientific advancement poses both boon and risk for the Plan.  At Reef's beginning, he has been a prisoner for three years, unaware of his crime, but consistently questioned about "spacelings," "fusorians," "reefs of space," and "jetless drive" — terms about which he knows nothing.  Adding to his confusion is a three-day gap in his memory.

And then comes the urgent summons — the Machine will have Ryeland discover the secret of the reactionless drive, and soon, or be sent to the Body Banks.  For at the edge of the solar system lies a biological construct, the tremendous analog of a coral reef created by organisms that live on interstellar hydrogen.  Not only does this alien structure pose a hypothetical threat to the Plan, but it affords sanctuary to a more existential opponent — the revolutionary-in-exile, Donderevo.  Can Ryeland accomplish his mission in time to save his hide and human society?  Is such a goal even worth fighting for?

It's an interesting concept for a novel, but the execution leaves a bit to be desired.  It suffers from the same plodding repetitiveness as Simak's concurrent serial in Galaxy, but betrays none of Simak's literary expertise.  The writing is simple, uninspired, and the scientific concepts (including Hoyle's steady-state theory, which I find uncompelling) feel dated.  Two stars, but with cautious hopes for the next installment.

The Faces Outside, by Bruce McAllister

Here is a short tale of a married couple, the last of humanity, mutated to live in a large alien aquarium with a host of other terrestrial life forms.  The Terrans have the last laugh when the male of the pair develops psychic powers and compels the aliens to commit mass suicide.

McAllister is the first and weaker of the two new authors featured in this issue.  His writing shows potential, though.  Two stars, trying hard for three.

Mightiest Qorn, by Keith Laumer

Another IF, another Retief story.  This time, the omnipotent but much-suffering Terran agent is tapped to investigate the sudden reappearance of the fearsome Qorn, a race of dreadnought-wielding, glory-seeking warriors who appear to have the power of teleportation.

Unfortunately, the Retief shtick is starting to wear thin (arguably, it raveled a while ago), and it's really time Laumer focused his attention to the more worthy efforts we know he's capable of.  The bright spot is that Retief's nominal boss, Magnan, is now pretty game to do whatever his "underling" says.  Some might call that progress.  Two stars.

In the Arena, by Brian W. Aldiss

Given up?  Take heart — it's all better from here.  Prominent British writer, Aldiss, gives us another man-and-woman pair in the thrall of aliens.  In this case, it is two gladiators performing for a race of insectoids who have conquered the Earth (but not all of humanity).  Call it Spartacus for the 30th Century.  It's a nicely written trifle.  Three stars.

Down to the Worlds of Men, by Alexei Panshin

14-year old Mia Havero is part of a society of human space-dwellers, resident of one of the eight galaxy-trotting Ships that represent the remains of Earth's high technology.  She and 29 other young teens are dropped on a primitive colony as part of a rite of passage.  There is always an element of danger to this month-long ordeal, but this episode has a new wrinkle: the planet's people are fully aware (and resentful) of the Ships, and they plan to fight back.  Can Mia survive her coming of age and stop an insurrection?

Panshin hits it right out of the park with his first story, capturing the voice of a young almost-woman and laying out a rich world and an exciting adventure.  Finally, I've got something I can recommend to the Young Traveler.  Four stars, verging on five.

The Shadow of Wings, by Robert Silverberg

The last story introduces Caldwell, an expert in the dead language of Kethlani.  He is called back from a family vacation when a real live Kethlan shows up, bearing the banner of peace.  Can the linguist overcome his revulsion of the alien's form and forge a partnership between the two species?

This piece could have been a throwaway save for Silvergerg's careful drawing of the Caldwell's personality.  I found myself wishing the story had been longer — certainly, it could have taken some of the pages away from the stale stories of the first half.  Four stars.

Like my impending vacation, this month's issue starts with a hard slog but ends with great reward.  I'd say that's the right order of things.  See you in Tokyo!

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Movies

[June 2, 1963] Too close to home (The movie, The Mind Benders)

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by Gideon Marcus

[Today's article is a true treat — a full three Journeyers caught the latest science fiction flick, an import from Britain.  We hope you enjoy this, our first review en trio…]

Think "science fiction" movie, and you might conjure up a rubber-suited monster or a giant insect or perhaps a firework-spouting bullet of a spaceship.  Once in a great while, we get a Forbidden Planet or The Time Machine — high quality films but no less fantastic in subject matter. 

Now picture a "horror" film.  Perhaps it involves the supernatural or monstrous terror.  Maybe it's one of Hitchcock's genre-creating numbers like Psycho or The Birds.  Often, the lines between SF and horror are quite blurry as in films like Wasp Woman and The Day Mars Invaded Earth.  After all, the unknown can be quite terrifying, and what is SF but an exploration of the unknown?

The Mind Benders is a new British film that straddles the line between science fiction and horror and yet bears no resemblance to any of the examples described above.  It is, in fact, a movie set in the now and portraying modern (if cutting edge) science.  And the horror depicted is all the more jarring for its common nature. 

Two nascent sciences are the basis for this movie.  One is that of brainwashing, the technique of forcibly altering someone's beliefs, generally through some kind of torture, privation, or other constant pressure.  This is the sort of thing covert agencies are good at, but you can also see it on a national level, through effective use of propaganda and fear.  The other science is sensory deprivation.  Several experiments have been done into the effects of having all of one's senses dulled.  A subject is suspended in warm water, in the dark, unable to smell, taste, or hear anything.  The results include disorientation, agitation, and hallucination. 

The film starts with aged sensory deprivation scientist Sharpey, paranoid and in a daze, taking his own life by throwing himself off a moving train.  In his satchel are thousands in pound notes.  Army Intelligence Major Hall is called in to investigate, and he quickly determines that Sharpey had recently sold secrets to the Communists.  Ready to brand the scientist a traitor and close the case, he is persuaded by Sharpey's colleague, Longman, that Sharpey was a patriot, and that any lapse in loyalty must have been a result of a recent sensory deprivation experience. 

Longman is introduced as a loving husband and a doting father, humorous and cynical, and possessed of a tremendous fear of sensory deprivation after several terrifying experiments.  Nevertheless, he offers himself up for a final test, a full eight hours in the deprivation tank, to show that it does something to a person.  Having shown that, Longman can prove that Sharpey was not responsible for his treasonous activities. 

Hall agrees, and with the assistance of a third colleague, Tate, who has not been a subject, conducts the experiment on Longman.  Floating alone and in the dark, the scientist suffers countless subjective hours of anguish (though only a third of a day passes outside), and at its end, he is reduced to a blank, malleable state.  Hall recognizes this condition — a broken man in this state is easily brainwashed.  But this is not enough.  They must compel Longman to engage in activity completely counter to his nature, to shake him of his strongest-held belief.  So, they pull Longman from the tank, dazed and vulnerable.

And with a just a few choice words, they cause him to hate his wife, Oonagh. 

Yet, due to the circumstances under which they effect their plot, it is unclear that they have succeeded.  Longman is released, the experiment seemingly a failure.  So ensues six months with Oonagh, increasingly pregnant, incessantly nagged and belittled until she is a shell of herself.  Longman is also a changed man, bitter and resentful, completely unaware of what has been done to him.  That Oonagh endures for so long is British "stiff-upper-lipism" carried to its absurd limits.  That this state of affairs goes unnoticed for half a year is because Tate, himself in love with Oonagh, cannot bring himself to check up on the ruined couple.

Blessedly, once Hall does find out, he is (with no little difficulty) able to reverse the process.  The marriage is repaired and Sharpey's name is cleared.  But, by God, at what price?

As a movie, Benders is a success, cinematographically compelling and with superb acting.  What makes this horror so effective is its utter plausibility, and as a family man, myself, the situation struck me at my core and left me shaken. 

It's not a perfect film.  I imagine 15 minutes could have been cut with no great loss.  And the overlong period of estrangement runs a bit beyond the lengths of credulity, and yet… is it not all too common for women to suffer indefinitely with men they once loved in the hopes that things might, one day, return to how they were?

I couldn't watch The Mind Benders again, and I can't recommend it to those who will find the subject matter unbearable, but I must recognize the skill with which the movie was crafted.  Four stars.


by Lorelei Marcus

I didn't have very high hopes going into The Mind Benders, thinking it was going to be another campy science fiction movie using a shaky camera for special effects. Instead, I got a rather dark film about the capacity of the human mind and its reaction to prolonged isolation. The concept was very fascinating, and the story even more haunting from being based on real experiments. The acting was excellent, even too real at times.

However, it was not all good. The movie was much too long, and I believe it could benefit a lot from having a few of the “man bicycles around the city” scenes taken out. Even with the interesting premise, it also lulled at times, and I found myself wondering when the movie was going to end. Even so, I would give this movie three stars out of five. It wasn't anything super special, but it wasn't bad either.

This is the Young Traveler signing off.


by Natalie Devitt

The tagline for The Mind Benders described the film as being “perverted… soulless! The most dangerous and different motion picture ever brought to the screen!” So, naturally that piqued my curiosity. What I ended up with was a pretty ambitious story about brainwashing.

Luckily, I’m a sucker for a story about brainwashing.

Overall, the film was well-shot with believable acting. The movie did run out of steam a little towards the end, and I’m not totally sure that I bought the ending, but it was an otherwise effective sci-fi/thriller. The film’s somewhat disturbing plot and dream-like qualities kept it on my mind long after it ended. Three and a half stars.

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Magazine

[May 30, 1963] Held back? (June 1963 Analog)

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by Gideon Marcus

Graduation day is rapidly approaching.  Around the world, high school seniors are about to don cap and gown and emerge from their academic cocoons.  They will be transformed creatures, highly improved in comparison to their state upon entering school.  They'll go on to be the next Picasso, Wright, Salk, or Meitner.  Such are our hopes, anyway.

Science fiction is in the midst of a similar transition.  Gestated in the womb of Mary Shelley's mind, SF was born in the late 19th Century, Mssrs. Verne and Wells serving as midwives.  In the 20s, it entered grammar school under the tutelage of Hugo Gernsback, editor of Amazing Stories.  At the time, SF was an undistinguished pupil, little different from its fellows at Pulp Elementary.  But in 1937, SF entered Astounding Middle School, which had a most extraordinary principal, John W. Campbell, aided by a student council led by Heinlein, Asimov, and Leinster.  It was a Boys' School, of course, though a few females snuck or fought their way in.  This was the period in which SF began to shine, displaying a characteristic intelligence, innovation, and devotion to scientific principles.

The genre entered Galaxy High School in 1950 after taking a few preparatory classes at F&SF School for the Gifted.  Galaxy High was (and to a limited degree still is) a co-ed school, and it was here that SF fully flowered, displaying hitherto unseen nuance, breadth, and passion.  Its vista spread beyond the solar system to the stars.  Having mastered the subjects of math, physics, and engineering in Middle School, it now turned to the subtler arts: psychology and sociology.  It achieved high marks in English such that some of its compositions were included in literary anthologies alongside the works of other, older genres.

After 12 years of High School, SF is approaching its own time of graduation.  Where will it head from here?  There is some indication that the genre will head to New Wave University, possibly at its British campus, where it can major in philosophy and advanced writing techniques.  Or it may elect to go to the twin Goldsmith Universities.  The opportunities there include exciting placement in the worlds of both science and fantasy.  Plus, that's where the women are…


(Accurate depiction of the SF genre — note the demographic ratio)

But there are also signs that SF may not be ready to graduate at all.  Its output isn't what it used to be, and in many cases, it seems to be just going through the motions.  Lately, the genre has been visiting its old stomping grounds, Astounding Elementary (recently renamed to Analog School for the Psychically Inclined).  Each time, the result is a regression in the quality of its work.

Just take a look at SF's latest exam results, the June 1963 Analog.  Outwardly, it reflects the work of a mature student.  After all, it's a full 8.5" by 11" in dimensions and printed on slick paper.  But note the content — if you were on a college (or army) recruiting board, would you take this as a sign of promise?

The Big Fuel Feud (Part 1 of 2), by Harry B. Porter

There is a war being waged inside the United States (or perhaps it is merely a spirited competition) between the factions that favor liquid-fueled rockets and those that like the solid-fueled kind.  In other words, does your propellant splash or crumble?  There are advantages and disadvantages to both methods, and they are of differing importance depending on whether your application is putting people in space or blowing up people in Russia.  The author lays out, comprehensively and legibly (if a bit disorganizedly, particularly at the end) the history and current state of the art in solid fuels.

I found it interesting, but then, it's also my pigeon.  Three stars. 

The Trouble with Telstar, by John Berryman

Some science fiction takes place in the far future against an as yet dimly conceivable tableau of advanced technologies and galactic locales.  Other SF is taken right out of tomorrow's headlines.  This is, perhaps, the easier to write.  On the other hand, it is also the most readily accessible.

Berryman, who normally writes competent psi-related stuff for Analog, turns in this competent (if annoyingly male-chauvinist) straight engineering piece on in situ satellite repair.  In it, the nationalized space telcom has discovered a fatal flaw in its new Telstar line of communications satellites.  Unfortunately, six of the constellation of eighteen have already been launched, and the problem cannot be duplicated precisely on the ground.  A technician advances the idea of diagnosing and repairing the issue in space, arguing that it's cheaper and quicker than starting all over on the ground.  Not only is the proposal accepted, but (to his dismay) the technician is drafted for the job.

Trouble is set in or around 1966 and features the real-world Saturn rocket and Air Force "Dyna-Soar" spaceplane.  The details of the repair trip are incredibly authentic, down to the manufacture of specialized tools for disassembly of the Telstars in orbit, and the depiction of the tech's several spacewalks.  I found myself utterly riveted by this snapshot of the near future, convinced of its reality.  Four stars.

Hermit, by J. T. McIntosh

A lone male officer at a remote military outpost has orders to destroy any incoming human vessel.  But when a lifeboat appears with one beautiful young woman aboard, he must decide between following his instructions or following his heart.

This is a setup that, when done well, can be quite compelling.  My favorite example is Hallunication Orbit, in which the solitary caretaker of a far-off observatory must determine whether his visitors are real or not.  Interestingly, that fine example was written more than a decade ago by none other than…J.T. McIntosh!

Hermit compares poorly with McIntosh's earlier tale.  Not only is it clear from the beginning that the "castaway" is a spy, but the sentry's actions are illogical, treasonous, and only explained by exposition in the last few paragraphs.  Two stars, and an admonition — don't plagiarize, especially from your own work!

Territory, by Poul Anderson

The trouble with do-gooding is that it's a contract with no consideration.  If the people you're helping don't understand your motivations, they don't appreciate the help.  At least, that's Anderson's assertion in Territory, in which human scientists were trying to avert an impending Ice Age are slaughtered by the aliens they were trying to help.

The project is salvaged by Nicholas van Rijn, a recurring Anderson character whose key traits include girth, malaprops, obnoxiousness, and the pursuit of profit.  He determines that the aliens won't take assistance, but they will jump into a mutually lucrative trade deal that accomplishes the same goal.  Win-win-win.

Well, wins for the characters — not for the reader.  Van Rijn is barely tolerable at his best, and when Anderson has the sole surviving scientist, a young woman, fall for the lout, it took great restraint to not throw the issue into a nearby toilet.  Two stars.

Ham Sandwich, by James H. Schmitz

Last up is an inconsequential story that is nowhere more at home than in the pages of Analog.  An oily character, specializing in the desires of the rich, offers True Insight to those who can afford it.  Such Insight is marked by the cultivation and demonstration of psychic powers, which can be greatly aided through the purchase of certain tools, available for just $1200 a-piece.

One reads the story waiting for the other shoe to drop, and when it does, it is with a dull thud.  The flim-flammer is brought in on bunko charges — turns out he really is con artist.  But he's then let free to continue his scheme in another city because, it turns out, he is effective at discovering latent psychic talents, who can then be recruited by the government.

It's just not very good.  Two stars.

Pencils down everyone.  It's time to grade the last test results before graduation day.  Oh my…  This month's Analog scored a dismal 2.6 stars.  That's as bad as June's Galaxy (our High School is failing our pupil, too, it seems).  But let's not judge out of hand, shall we?  Amazing clocked in at 2.8, New Worlds at 2.9.  Mediocre, but not entirely damning.  Fantastic scored 3.2 stars, and F&SF garnered an impressive 3.5 star grade.

In the end, I wouldn't say this is a set of failing marks.  Rather, they indicate that the genre has spent more than enough time in school and must strike out on its own to new vistas to reach the next level.  Let us allow SF to graduate

We might also consider replacing the Principal at Analog — his methods are highly outdated, and we don't want to unduly burden any new pupils, now do we?

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Magazine

[May 18, 1963] (June 1963 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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by Gideon Marcus

Every so often, you get a perfect confluence of events that makes life absolutely rosy.  In Birmingham, Alabama, the segregationist forces have caved in to the boycott and marching efforts of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference.  Two days ago, astronaut Gordo Cooper completed a day-and-a-half in orbit, putting America within spitting distance of the Russians in the Space Race.  And this month, Avram Davidson has turned out their first superlative issue of F&SF since he took the editorial helm last year. 

Check out the June 1963 Fantasy and Science Fiction and see if you don't agree:

No Truce With Kings, by Poul Anderson

Centuries after The Bombs Fell, the North American continent has scratched its way back to the early 20th Century, technology-wise, but enlightened feudalism remains the order of the day.  Kings begins on the eve of civil war in the Pacific States of America after a coup has placed an expansionist government in charge in San Francisco bent on reestablishing Manifest Destiny.  Colonel McKenzie of the Sierra Military Command must fight to preserve the old confederacy in the face of superior forces as well as the belligerent "neutrality" of the Esps — communal mystics who seem to have developed terrible psychic weapons.

Don't worry — the story really does belong in this magazine, and not Analog!

Anderson, of course, has been a pleasure to read for many years (since his inexplicable dip in the late '50s.) Kings is a nuanced, character-driven war story filled with lurid descriptions of battles and strategic considerations.  It's a bit like The High Crusade played straight, actually.  Four stars for the general reader, five if combat is your bag.

Pushover Planet, by Con Pederson

This piece starts well enough, with a pair of dialect-employing space miners landing on an uncommonly idyllic world and meeting an uncommonly friendly alien.  The ending, on the other hand, is pure ironic corn, and on the whole, the story feels like an idea Bob Sheckley rejected as not worth his time to write.  I don't know who Pederson is any more than Davidson does (apparently, the Editor doesn't even know where to send payment for this story written nearly a decade ago).  In any event, I don't think the magazine got its money's worth.  Two stars.

Starlesque, by Walter H. Kerr

About an alien stripper who takes it all off.  Not worth your time.  Two stars.

Green Magic, by Jack Vance

Oh, but Vance's latest work absolutely is!  Dig this: beyond our world lie the realms of White and Black magic, each featuring the powers and denizens you might expect.  But beyond them, and possessing powers more abstract and strange are the realms of Purple and Green magic (and further still, those of the indescribable colors, rawn and pallow).  One Howard Fair would follow in his Uncle Gerald's footsteps to become adept in the wonders of Green magic, no matter the warnings from a pair of its citizens.

A brilliant, unique piece that lasts just long enough and grips throughout.  Five stars.

The Light That Failed!, by Isaac Asimov

The Good Doctor continues with his series on the luminiferous ether, this time discussing the famous Michelson-Morley experiment.  This test was supposed to show Earth's "absolute speed" through the cosmic medium.  Instead, it disproved the ether's existence and set the stage for Einstein's and Planck's modern conceptions of the universe.  Vital stuff to know.  Four stars.

The Weremartini, by Vance Aandahl

Young Vance Aandahl (no relation to Jack Vance) has produced his first readable story in a long time, about an epicurian English professor whose alternate form is exactly as it says on the tin.  Weird, disturbing, but not bad.  Three stars.

Bokko-Chan, by Hoshi Shinnichi

A barkeep builds the perfect assistant — a beautiful but empty-headed robot woman to occupy the attentions (and tabs) of the tavern's patrons.  Billed as the first Japanese SF story to appear in English, it reads like a barbed children's story.  I suspect it's better in the original language (and I'd love to get a copy, since I could read it — I actually was aware of Hoshi-san before he appeared in these pages), but it's not bad, even in translation.  Three stars.

Tis the Season to Be Jelly, by Richard Matheson

Only Matheson could successfully manage this tale of post-atomic, mutated hicks.  Stupidly brilliant, or brilliantly stupid.  You decide.  Three stars.

Another Rib, by John J. Wells and Marion Zimmer Bradley

Just 16 men, the crew of humanity's first interstellar expedition, are all that remain of homo sapiens after catastrophe claims our mother star.  All hope seems lost for our species…until a native of Proxima Centauri offers to surgically alter some of the spacemen, expressing their latent female reproductive organs.

Rib is an interesting exploration of what it means to be a man, and the varying degree of push required (if any!) for a person to transition from one gender to another.  A bold piece.  Four stars.

There Are No More Good Stories About Mars Because We Need No More Good Stories About Mars, by Brian Aldiss

Things wrap up with a bitter poem about how science has ruined Mars for SF, but who cares — we'll always have Barsoom.  Three stars.

The resulting issue is a solid house made of the finest bricks albeit rather low quality mortar.  Good G-d, even Davidson's editorial openings are decent now.  Maybe he reads my column…

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Science / Space Race

[May 16, 1963] Going out with style (Gordo Cooper's Faith 7 Mercury flight)

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by Gideon Marcus

Nearly six years ago, the Russians threw down the gauntlet with Sputnik.  Then they upped the ante with the orbit of Yuri Gagarin in April 1961.  It's hard to believe that, in just two years, America has not only answered the Soviet challenge but completed its first manned space program.

For those of us well-heeled in science fiction, the Mercury spacecraft is hardly impressive-looking.  Barely big enough to hold a person (and not a tall one, at that), it is little more than a second space suit with a heat shield and a retrorocket.  And yet, as a first step for America into outer space, its importance cannot be overstated.

For it was those first two Mercury-Redstone flights, Alan Shepard's and Gus Grissom's, which showed that one could survive both the crushing weight of acceleration and the exhilarating freedom from gravity, in close succession, no less.  John Glenn proved an astronaut could orbit repeatedly, and Scott Carpenter demonstrated that spacemen are unflappable when things don't go just right.  Wally Schirra doubled the mission length of his predecessors and perfected fuel conservation and landing accuracy. 

But it was this latest and last Mercury mission, flown by the youngest of the Mercury 7, 36-year old Gordo Cooper, that showed what an astronaut and his spacecraft could really do. 

The original Mercury configuration only allowed for short flights — no more than Schirra's six orbits (nine hours).  Cooper's mission was to get into the endurance range that the Soviet Vostok enjoys — a day and beyond.  That meant more batteries, more water, more oxygen, and more maneuvering fuel.  Some items had to be trimmed, weight being at a premium.  For instance, the largely irrelevant periscope was deleted, saving a precious 76 pounds.  The result was a stocked up, stripped down version of Mercury that Cooper called Faith 7.  NASA was not too happy with this choice, worried about the inevitable headline in the event of mission failure: America Loses Faith.

The flight of Faith was scheduled for April but weather and other considerations pushed the launch back to May.  Finally, early on the 14th, the astronaut suited up and entered his spacecraft.  After many hours of waiting, the flight was delayed until the next day.  There had been a problem with the Bermuda tracking radar.  It does one well to remember that an astronaut is just one of thousands of participants in any given mission, the failure of any one of whom can cause a scrub. 

All systems were go the next morning, however.  After a pleasant two-hour nap in his capsule while the countdown rolled and held without him, Cooper was then pressed into his seat with several times his weight come liftoff time, 8:04 A.M. Eastern Daylight Time.  Less than fifteen minutes later, he became the sixth American to enter Earth orbit.

The flight called for 22 orbits, with go/no-go opportunities after seven and seventeen.  Cooper was the first astronaut who got to sleep in orbit, though he spent the first hour of his designated slumber time snapping pictures of the Himalayas — and astonishing folks on the ground with his visual acuity.  According to the astronaut, he could pick out individual houses and vehicles from orbit. 

Orbit 17 came and went, and Cooper declared himself and his metal steed A-Okay to finish the mission.  But perhaps he had spoken too soon.  Come the 19th orbit, Faith 7 began to fall to pieces.  The cabin temperature rose, instrument readouts became erratic, and the automatic pilot failed completely.  As Cooper approached the end of the mission, he was confronted with a situation no one had ever had to face before: he would return himself from orbit manually.

Of course, that's why NASA hired test pilots for the job.  Cooper was delighted at the opportunity to show his stuff.  His aim and timing of his retrorocket fire was so precise that not only did he make it safely back to Earth, but he came down just a couple of miles from the recovery fleet off Midway Island.  Astronaut Cooper had flown longer and better than an American before him, ending is mission just before 4 P.M. EDT (11 AM local time).

Better still, Cooper had shared none of the deterioration of his spaceship.  Aside from a little pooling of blood in the legs, the astronaut was in good health.  Moreover, he experienced none of the disassociation from reality that psychologists worried would afflict long-term space travelers.  Faith 7 was, despite the breakdowns, a complete success.

In that success, Mercury has signed its own death warrant.  While some have clamored for a multi-day Mercury flight (particularly first astronaut Alan Shepard), the fact is, there just isn't much more to learn with such a minimal craft.  The longer, more involved missions are going to need a more sophisticated spacecraft.  A two-person ship with the ability to maneuver and dock.

It's in development right now, and it's called Gemini.  It flies next year.

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Book

[May 14, 1963] Behind the times (Ace Double F-195)

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by Gideon Marcus

This morning, Gordo Cooper's Faith 7 Mercury spacecraft didn't blast off into the heavens.  It's the kind of disappointment that makes one look in science fiction for a bit of solace.  And so, I have for you, that reliable well of SF adventure (and often mediocrity), the latest Ace Double.  This particular one features two wildly different tales, and yet, both have an air of age about them (in a creaky-jointed way, not a venerable one) that ensures that neither will be stories for the ages.  Nevertheless, they scratch an itch while we wait for NASA to get its act together.  Let's take a look:

Battle on Venus, by William F. Temple

A lone spaceship descends through the thick clouds of the Venus, humanity's first expedition to the Second Planet, only to land in the midst of a planetary war.  Automated torpedo ships, mini-tanks, and oversized buzzsaw wheels terrorize the barren landscape, which is strangely devoid of people.  When the terran spacecraft is damaged in the fighting, wet-behind-the-ears crewman, George Starkey, is sent off in a helicopter to find assistance.  At the end of the grueling trek lies maturity, love, and revelation of the source of the madness that's afflicted the misnamed Planet of Love.

Several factors make Battle on Venus feel like a throwback.  For one, Temple's Venus is wildly archaic in conception, with a breathable atmosphere and comfortable temperatures.  Its inhabitants are human in all but name.  And the romantic subplot could have been lifted (like virtually everything else) straight from a Burroughs novel — all it needed was a scene in which the characters exclaimed that they'd always loved each other; they were just certain the other party didn't return their feelings.

That said, two things make Venus work as a story, if not as science fiction.  For one, the British Temple writes in a mildly droll manner that makes the book feel like a deliberately ironic satire.  Some of the conversational exchanges are genuinely funny, and occasionally even border on profound.  Temple may not conform to the rules of science, but there is internal consistency, in plot and in style. 

But the big selling point for Venus is Mara, a Venusian native who is clever, resourceful, well-developed, and (miracle of miracles) even gets to be the viewpoint character for a decent portion of the book.  She is the real protagonist of the story, far more than the rather hapless George, and you can't help but like her. 

It takes a little while for Venus to engage, but once it does, it's a fun (if frivolous) read.  Three stars.

The Silent Invaders, by Robert Silverberg

After ten long years among the stars, Major Abner Harris is coming home to Earth.  Except the Major is actually Aar Khiilom of the galaxy-spanning Daruu, and his mission is to covertly make humanity allies of his race against the squamous Medlin.  His disguise as a human, which runs surgically deep is perfect — too perfect.  He quickly falls in love with a terran named Beth Baldwin…who turns out to be a Medlin in similar disguise.

It turns out that not only are the Daruu the bad guys of the galaxy, but that the Medlin have been coaxing the birth of a new generation of humans, ones with such telepathic and physical prowess that they will be come the new masters of the galaxy, ending the petty existing squabbles.  Aar must choose between carrying out his mission or becoming a traitor to his people.

Robert Silverberg ("Silverbob") wrote the first version of Invaders five years ago, publishing it in the October 1958 Infinity shortly before that magazine disappeared forever.  That original was a third the length of the novelization.  The plot is identical, however, and 90% of the language was carried over verbatim.  The novel adds local color and ratchets up Aar's uncertainty, both of which don't hurt the story.

What does hurt the story is Silverberg's immature style.  He wrote the bulk of this in his 20s, before he'd obtain much life experience, and it shows.  The emotions don't ring true, and there is an amateur quality to the writing.  Moreover, while the setup is interesting, the introduction of the race of superhumans is a handwave too far.  The book just isn't big enough for two big revelations. 

As a piece of far future worldbuilding, particular with regard to technology, Invaders is something of a success (I particularly liked a scene in which a cabbie is unsure as to the location of an address, so he asks his computer to guide him).  But as a story, and as a piece of literature (such as it is), it's barely fair.  2.5 stars.

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