Tag Archives: margaret st. clair

[May 16, 1967] From the Sea to the Stars (May 1967 Galactoscope)


by Victoria Silverwolf

A trio of new works, two of them inside the same book, take readers from the far reaches of the galaxy to the depths of the ocean. (Sounds like last month's Galactoscope, doesn't it?) Let's start with the latest Ace Double, containing two short novels (or long novellas) set in interstellar space.

Gedankenexperiment


Cover art by Peter Michael.

The Rival Rigelians, by Mack Reynolds

This is an expansion of the novella Adaptation, which appeared in the August 1960 issue of Astounding/Analog. (That's during the brief period when both titles appeared on the cover of the magazine. Confusing, isn't it?)


Cover art by John Schoenherr.

The Noble Editor thought it was so-so at the time. Let's see if it's any better, like fine wine, after seven years.

Cold War Two

Long before the story begins, Earth colonized a large number of planets with about one hundred people per world. Over several generations, the colonies degenerated from scientifically advanced to primitive, due to the lack of support from the home world. Then each slowly made their way back up to a particular level of technological sophistication.

(If this sounds like a really lousy way to populate the galaxy, I agree. The author is clearly more interested in setting up a thought experiment than in ensuring plausibility.)

It seems that two inhabited worlds orbit the star Rigel. One is similar to Italy during the time of feudalism. The people on the other are similar to the Aztecs.


Rigel is part of the constellation Orion; one of his feet, to be exact.

Earth sends a team of folks to Rigel to bring the colonies up to a modern level of technology. They argue a bit about what to do, then finally agree to split up. One group will bring the free market to the feudalists, and the other will impose a state-controlled economy on the Aztecs. It's capitalism versus communism all over again! Long story short, things don't work out very well for either bunch.

The main difference between the original novella and this expanded version is the addition of two female members to the visiting Earthlings. Both are physicians. Unfortunately, they are pure stereotypes.

One is the Good Girl, doing the best she can to help the colonists while remaining loyal to the man she loves. (To add a little romantic tension to the plot, the author has him choose to go to the Aztec planet while she opts to work on the Italian planet.)

The other is the Bad Girl, teasing the men by exchanging the standard uniform for a sexy gown before they even reach Rigel. On the Aztec planet, she sets herself up as the mistress of whichever fellow happens to be in power at the time, and rules over the locals like a wicked queen.

The author's point seems to be that both pure capitalism and pure communism are seriously flawed. I've seen this theme come up in his work before, most recently in his spy yarn The Throwaway Age in the final issue of Worlds of Tomorrow.

This story isn't quite as blatant a fictionalized essay as that one was, but it comes close. Besides the two-dimensional female characters, we have male characters that are mostly either fools or scoundrels. It's readable, certainly, and you may appreciate its satiric look at humanity's attempts to create workable socioeconomic systems.

Three stars.

Naval Maneuvers

Born in England but living in Australia since 1956, A. Bertram Chandler has been working on merchant ships since 1928. It's no wonder, then, that the space-going vessels in his stories often seem like sailing ships. One can almost smell the salt air and hear the wind rippling in the sails.

Many of his semi-nautical tales feature the character of John Grimes, sort of a Horatio Hornblower of the galaxy. My esteemed colleague David Levinson recently reviewed a pair of these yarns that appeared in If. Why do I bring this up? You'll see.


Cover art by Kelly Freas.

Nebula Alert, by A. Bertram Chandler

This latest work once again makes space seem like the ocean, and those who journey through it like seadogs. (It also serves as a nice bridge between Reynold's interstellar allegory and the sea story I'll discuss later.)

All Hands On Deck!

The starship Wanderer is under the command of a husband-and-wife team. She's the owner and he's the captain. Among the crew are another married couple and a couple of bachelors. They accept the challenge of transporting several Iralians back to their home world.

Iralians are very human-like aliens. So similar to people, in fact, that romance blooms between one of the bachelors and one of the passengers. (They're both telepaths, which must help.) There are some important differences, however.

The Iralians have a very short gestation period, and multiply rapidly. Their offspring inherit the learned skills of their parents, in a kind of mental Lamarckism. Unfortunately, the combination of these traits makes them valuable slaves; the owners have a steady supply of fully trained workers.

During the voyage, a trio of pirate ships threatens the Wanderer. (The identity of the would-be slavers on these vessels is an interesting plot twist, which I won't reveal here.) In order to evade the attackers, our heroes take the very dangerous gamble of entering the Horsehead Nebula.


The real Horsehead Nebula, which is aptly named.

It seems that no starship has ever returned from the nebula, and there are indications that it does something weird to time and space. In fact, the Wanderer enters a parallel universe, where they encounter a ship under the command of none other than John Grimes! Suffice to say that the meeting leads to a way to exit the nebula safely and defeat the pirates.

Unlike Reynolds, Chandler doesn't seem to have any particular axe to grind. This is strictly an adventure story, meant to entertain the reader for a couple of hours. It succeeds at that modest goal reasonably well. It's not the most plausible story ever written, and you won't find anything profound in it, but it's not a waste of time.

Three stars.

The Patron Saint of Science Fiction

Margaret St. Clair (no relation to actress Jill St. John, who recently appeared in the big budget flop The Oscar, co-written by none other than Harlan Ellison) has been publishing fiction since the late 1940's. Much of her short fiction is strikingly original, with a haunting, dream-like mood. (I particularly like her stories for The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, which appear under the pseudonym Idris Seabright.)

She's offered readers a few short novels as halves of Ace Doubles, as well as the full-length novel Sign of the Labrys. Both the Noble Editor and I agreed that this was a unique, very interesting mixture of apocalyptic science fiction and mysticism, if not fully satisfying. The book featured quite a lot of lore from the neo-pagan religion Wicca, and I understand that St. Clair was initiated into that faith last year.


Cover art by Paul Lehr.

The Dolphins of Altair, by Margaret St. Clair

Dolphins have appeared in science fiction for a while now, from Clarke's 1963 work mentioned below to this year's French novel Un animal doué raison by Robert Merle. Some of this seems to be inspired by recent attempts to communicate with dolphins by the controversial researcher John C. Lilly. Or maybe they've just been watching reruns of Flipper, which was cancelled last month. In any case, let's see how this new book handles the theme.

People of the Sea

(Apologies to Arthur C. Clarke for stealing the title of his Worlds of Tomorrow serial, now available in book form as Dolphin Island. I hope he's too busy scuba diving off the coast of Ceylon to notice.)

Appropriately, the novel is narrated by a dolphin. He relates how three human beings came to the aid of his kind.

The first is Madelaine. She is particularly sensitive to telepathic messages sent by the dolphins. So much so, in fact, that she suffers from amnesia when they call her. Nonetheless, she answers their distress signal by journeying to a small, rocky, uninhabited island off the coast of Northern California.

Next is Swen. The dolphins don't directly contact him, the way they do Madelaine, but he overhears the message and shows up at the same place.

Last is Doctor Lawrence. He becomes involved with Madelaine when he treats her amnesia. Although he has no ability at all to receive psychic messages from the dolphins, he follows her to the island.

The dolphins, some of whom have learned to speak English, are fed up with the way that human beings pollute their sea and keep their kind captive. They seek help from the unlikely trio.

At first, this involves rescuing several dolphins from a military facility. The plan is to use a powerful explosive device (which Swen has to steal) to trigger an earthquake that will break open the seawall that keeps them in captivity. Although the three agree to take this action, which will inevitably cause great destruction and is likely to cost human lives, they try to minimize the harm done to their own kind by timing the quake when the fewest number of people will be around.

If this all seems to strain your willingness to suspend your belief, wait until you see what we find out next.

It seems that both dolphins and humans are the descendants of beings who came from a planet orbiting the star Altair (hence the title.) They showed up on Earth about one million years ago. Some chose to remain on land, others went to the ocean. Over many thousands of years, they diverged into the two species.


Altair, located near a very appropriate constellation.

The dolphins remember the covenant made so long ago, that the two groups would remain on friendly terms. Betrayed by the forgetful humans, they are ready to use any means possible to end the abuse of their kind. The next step is to use ancient technology from Altair to melt the ice caps.  As you might imagine, this leads to an apocalyptic conclusion.

Unsurprisingly, given the author, this is an unusual book. It combines a science fiction thriller with a great deal of mysticism. The author is obviously incensed by the way people enslave dolphins and dump poison into the ocean. The reader is definitely supposed to root for the dolphins in their war against humanity.

The three human characters are quite different from each other. Swen is probably the most normal, and serves as the novel's action/adventure hero, at least to some extent. Madelaine is an ethereal creature, almost like some kind of mythic being. Doctor Lawrence is an enigma. He informs the military about the dolphins, leading to an attack on the island, but he is also a misanthrope, the most eager to wreak destruction on humanity.

Like Sign of the Labrys, The Dolphins of Altair is a fascinating novel with disparate elements that don't always quite mesh, and an odd combination of science fiction themes with the purely mystical. I can definitely say that I'm glad I read it, and that it is likely to stay in my memory for some time to come.

Four stars.


To Outrun Doomsday, by Kenneth Bulmer


by Mx. Kris Vyas-Myall

4 Kenneth Bulmer Works

Bulmer is very much a mixed author for me. He has produced great works, like The Contraption or City Under the Sea. But also, less interesting pieces, such as Behold the Stars or his Terran Space Navy series.

Which Bulmer do we get in To Outrun Doomsday? Luckily for me, it is definitely the former, as I think this is his best work to date.

Balance of Imagination

To Outrun Doomsday by Kenneth Bulmer

I think it is worth quickly addressing the issue some readers have with Bulmer’s work. Much of his writing hew very close to real world scenarios, such as war novels. For some people this presents the same issue I have seen discussed in the recent Star Trek episode Balance of Terror.

They ask, “if you have the limitless possibilities of science fiction, why would you do submarine warfare in space?” I say, “if you have the limitless possibilities of science fiction, why wouldn’t you do submarine warfare in space!”

As such, it is with the scenario To Outrun Doomsday. Jack Waley is a gadabout on a starship which seems to be acting as a cruise liner. He sees himself as a kind of old-fashioned rake, seducing women and generally pleasure seeking across the galaxy.

This life falls apart when an accident befalls the ship he is on and his lifeboat crashes on a planet that has, apparently, never encountered people from Earth. There he lives with the tribe of “The Homeless Ones” learning their ways whilst also facing the hostile “The Whispering Wizards”.

This all seems like it could be an old-fashioned castaway story in a boy’s adventure magazine from the 30s, and I am sure his critics will say as such. But there are a number of elements that raise it up.

To Outrun Cliches

Firstly, when Bulmer’s writing is good, it is so good it fully takes me away into his world in a way I am in awe of. For example:

The ship blew.
How then describe the opening to nothingness of the warmth and light and air of human habitation?
From the fetus of womblike comfort to space-savaged death-the ship blew. Metal shivered and sundered. Air frothed and vanished. Heat dissipated and was cold. Light struggled weakly and was lost in the multiplicity of the stellar spectra. The ship blew.
Here and there in the mightily-puny bulk, pockets of air and light and warmth yet remained for a heartbeat, for the torturing time to scream in the face of death. Some, a pitiful few persisted for a longer time.

But then is also at other times willing to bring in silliness when the scene requires it:

“I’m sorry that-“ Waley began.
A hand shook. “Quiet!”
Waley stopped being sorry that.

These are merely a couple of examples. Bulmer uses a full literary toolbox to make an exciting and engaging adventure.

Then you have Waley’s character. He is the kind of fellow you expect to hang around in bars until the wee small hours and take Playboy articles as his guide to life. But as we are not meant to see this as something to admire, he is at different times referred to as “a walking lecherous horrid heap of contagion” and ends getting chained up as a galley slave for following his licentious urges. Throughout we follow the journey of him learning there are more valuable things in life than carnal pleasures and forging real friendships with people.

At the same time this is balanced by the abundance of different women throughout the story. Their journeys are independent of Waley’s adventures and often are quite dismissive of him. They are simply well-rounded inhabitants of the world.

Further, this surface story is slowly revealed to be covering up something deeper. There are intriguing breadcrumbs laid out for you. For example, Waley never sees any children, buildings collapse and no one takes any notice, and, strangest of all, praying for any item (assuming it is not or has not been living) results in it appearing instantly. I will not reveal the mystery, but it adds strangeness to what could be a middling space fantasy tale like Norton’s Witch World saga.

The story is not without flaws. Whilst the emotional conclusion is very strong, tying up the main plot mystery made me put my head into my hands at how silly it is (if also reminding me how important it is I get it to the weeding).

It also occasionally goes into racist language when describing enemies. For example:

Small wiry yellow men with spindly legs and bulbous bodies, with Aztec lips and grinning idiot faces

These are very rare occurrences and not a core part of the story, but still wish they had been excised.

I also wished that the book was longer. Whilst I noted there were a number of interesting characters, particularly among the women, we do not have as much time with them as I would have liked. If it could have been allowed another 40 or so pages, it would just have allowed the extra space needed to flesh them out.

But I am happy to give it a very high four stars.



by Gideon Marcus

The Time Hoppers

The jacket for Silverbob's latest novel notes that he "and his wife live in Riverdale, New York, in a large house also occupied by a family of cats (currently four permanent ones), a fluctuating number of kittens, and thousands of books, some of which he has not written."  This only slightly overstates the prodigiousness with which Mr. Silverberg cranks out the prose.  Sometimes, Bob gives it his all and turns out something rather profound like his recent Blue Fire series, which was serialized in Galaxy and came out in book form this month as To Open the Sky.

Other times, we get books like The Time Hoppers, clearly produced in a pressured week, perhaps between passion projects.  The short novel takes place in the 25th Century, but this is no Buck Rogers future.  Rather, we have an overpopulated dystopia where almost everyone is on the dole, society is calcified into numbered levels of privilege, and most live in enormous buildings that soar into the sky as well as plunge deep in the ground.  Within this crowded world, we follow the viewpoint of Quellen, a Level Seven local police boss, hot on the trail of the time hoppers.  These are folks who are leaving the future for the spaciousness of the past.  They know these temporal refugees exist because they are already recorded in the history books.  Can Quellen stop them before the trickle becomes a flood?  Should he?

There are a lot of problems with this book.  Quellen is a fairly unlikeable person, a sort of Winston Smith-type at the outer levels of the party, enjoying a few illicit pleasures like a second home in Africa (conveniently depopulated by a century-old plague).  Society in the future makes no sense–it seems an extrapolation of a 1950s view of American society, where the men work and the women are shrieking housewives or grasping adventuresses.  Never mind that, in a world where everyone is unemployed, why there should be a sharp dichotomy between male and female roles goes unexplained.  Just "Chicks, am I right, folks?"

There a sort of shallowness to the book, and the time travel bit is almost incidental.  Particularly since, as the hoppers have already been recorded in the past, any efforts to stop them in the future must inevitably be thwarted.  Also, the idea that these hoppers wouldn't be of prime concern to the powers-that-be (or in the case of this book, actually just one power-that-is) far earlier than four years into the hopping seems ludicrous.

But, I have a perverse penchant for books with the word "Time" in the title, however misleading, as well as stories that have explicit social ranks for people.  And Silverberg, even on a bad day, has a minimum threshold of competence.

So, three stars.


And that's that!  While you're waiting for the next Galactoscope, come join us in Portal 55 to chat about these and other great titles:





[December 18, 1965] Bulges and Depressions (January 1966 Fantasy and Science Fiction)


by Gideon Marcus

Blitzkrieg

Sometimes war is a crackling thing, a coiled spring of conflict that sees an enemy pouncing on and through a hapless foe.  Such a campaign marked the German invasion of France through the "impassable" Ardennes forest in May 1940; a similar campaign occurred in December 1944 by the same combatants at the same spot.

They say, "Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me," and indeed the Americans and British soldiers in France should have known better than to pooh pooh the idea of a Wehrmacht onslaught at exactly the same location they'd used four years prior.  Nevertheless, it happened, the Nazis made a big indentation in the Allied lines, and so "The Battle of the Bulge" forever got its name.

There's little surprise that Avalon Hill has made a game out of the battle.  It's a fight with a lot of appeal (odious ideologies aside): As the Germans, there's the hope that enough momentum will push the tide of your forces to the coast, splitting the Allies irrevocably.  As the Allies, there's the desperate holding action while you wait for reinforcements to gird the lines and throw back the Hun horde.

This year, a new war epic debuted on the 21st anniversary of the start of the battle simply called The Battle of the Bulge.  Of course, we drove up to Los Angeles on the new interstate to see it.  Verdict: not bad, though it's always a little disorienting to see American tanks play the role of German panzers. 

To truly mark the occasion, we also started another game of Battle of the Bulge, this time switching sides.  We're playing it out day by day, exactly matching the turns of the game to the days they represented.  This time-shifted experience is actually a lot of fun.  I wonder if I can find other opportunities to do it…

Sitzkrieg

If The Battle of the Bulge represents the essence of the blitzkrieg, this month's Fantasy and Science Fiction is a recreation of World War 1 — overlong, with little movement, ultimately pointless.  Such a sad contrast to last month's issue, which was the best in years.  Ah, such are the vicissitudes of war.  Come slog along with me, would you?


by Jack Gaughan

L'Arc De Jeanne, by Robert F. Young

We start with the story illustrated on the front cover, sort of a cross between Young's science fiction-tinged fables and actual SF.  The rapacious O'Riordan the Reorganizer, a would-be tyrant of the Terran Empire, invades the world of Ciel Bleu only to be thwarted by a young virgin with a bow and arrow named Jeanne.  Her arrows, by the way, create torrential thunderstorms.

Rather than continue a hopeless fight, O'Riordan retreats his forces, instead dispatching a handsome young fellow to seduce and capture the Maiden of New New Orleans before she can fully rally the planet's defenses.

Like most Young stories, it is a bit rambling and sentimental, but it avoids the over-saccharine nature of his worst works (while missing the sublime levels of his best).  It also takes a while to get going, but I enjoyed it well enough by the end.

Three stars.


by Gahan Wilson

Beaulieu, by Margaret St. Clair

A young man on the edge of a losing battle with a fatal disease is picked up by an enigmatic woman.  Will she be able to drive him down the wind in the road that leads to an alternate universe where things have gone right instead of tragically wrong?

A nice psychological piece.  Three stars.

Books, by Judith Merril

I don't usually review the reviews, but Merril's column is especially good this month, describing fandom and publishing in the United Kingdom, as well as devoting inches to Aldiss and Ballard.  Worth a read (Mark Yon, are you reading?)

To the Rescue, by Ron Goulart

Space private dick wrestles with his sentient car companion, which is suffering a progressive nervous breakdown.  Is the detective just unlucky?  Or is his dissatisfaction with his chosen profession unlocking his psychic abilities?

Perhaps better suited to Analog, it's the kind of frivolous story I had to keep revisiting to remember just what had happened.

Two stars.

The Most Wonderful News, by Len Guttridge

A Welshman with a hospital-bound wife is desperate for news, any news, which he can relate to her on this week's visit.  When all the usual sources dry up, he is left with one tidbit that is certifiably out of this world.

This story just goes on and on, and you won't be at all surprised by the ending.  Two stars.

Smog, by Theodore L. Thomas

After a nice summary of what smog is, Thomas suggests using additives to combat automotive emissions rather than filters or oxidizers.  I'm not sure how this makes any sense; oxidizers are additives.  Moreover, I'm not sure one could make an emission less harmful than the carbon dioxide and water a catalytic converter produces (in the short term — in the long term, of course, we could see an accelerated global greenhouse effect).

So two stars, and learn some chemistry, Ted.

Survey of the Third Planet, by Keith Roberts

Greedy aliens arrive on Earth to add it to their collection of worlds only to be repulsed by the doughty primitives.  The gimmick to the story is the revelation of who the primitives actually are.

Shrug.  We saw this trick in Garrett's Despoiler of the Golden Empire, and I didn't like it much there, either.

Two stars.

The Proton-Reckoner, by Isaac Asimov

Here's a fun article about how big Archimedes thought the universe was, how big the universe actually is, and why the proton is the smallest meaningful unit of volume.

There is also a brief plug for the Steady State model of the universe, which is unfortunate given that, between the article's writing and its publication, the Big Bang model has garnered overwhelming favor.

Four stars.

Representative From Earth, by Gregory Benford

A Jovian skydiver from Earth is scooped up by aliens and given a series of tasks to complete to prove his worthiness.  All of them have some element of physical prowess and intellectual cunning involved.  In the end, we find out just whom he's trying to impress.

It is a story at once too overwrought and too sketchy to please, all of it in service to an off color joke.

Two stars.

Apology to Inky, by Robert M. Green, Jr.

Haunted by an incident from his past he can only vaguely remember, but which tore apart his one true love, experimental musician Walton Ulster finds himself living in several times at once: 1930, 1944, and 1965.  At the intersection of these three eras is a double-murder and, perhaps, true love.

At half the length, and in more capable hands, this interminable novelette could have been something special.  As is, it wavers between interest and boredom, settling in for the latter by the end.

Two stars.

Casualties of War

I suppose after last month's all-star issue, it was a matter of course that the follow up would be dismal.  Part of the issue is the abundance of new/newish writers (Green, Benford, Guttridge).  Ah well.  I'm inclined to take the long view.

After all — one battle does not a war make!



The holidays are coming!  Looking for the perfect gift for a niece, nephew, or other young relative?  Kitra is the hopeful, found family novel that they've been waiting for.  Buy a copy for them today…and perhaps one for yourself!




[December 11, 1964] December Galactoscope


by Cora Buhlert

The season of giving is upon us. For women, perfumes like the classic scent Tosca are the most popular gifts, while men tend to find ties, socks and underwear under the tree.

Tosca ad

Personally, I think that books are the best gifts. And so I gave myself Margaret St. Clair's latest, when I spotted it in the spinner rack at my local import bookstore, since I enjoyed last year's Sign of the Labrys a lot. Even better, this book is an Ace Double, which means I get two new tales for the price of one. Or rather, I get six, because one half is a collection of five short stories.

Message from the Eocene by Margaret St. Clair (Ace Double M-105)

Message from the Eocene by Margaret St. Clair

An alien in trouble

The first half is a brand-new science fiction novel called Message from the Eocene. The protagonist, a being named Tharg, is tasked with transporting a cosmic guidebook across hostile territory. The reader learns in the first paragraph that Tharg is not human, because he has a triple heartbeat. Tharg lives on Earth, but the Earth of billions of years ago (long before the Eocene, so the title is a misnomer), a world of volcanos and methane snow, devoid of oxygen. Tharg "breathes" via microorganisms inside his body that break down metallic oxides to oxygenate his blood and has extrasensory perception.

Tharg is in trouble, for a mysterious enemy is trying to thwart his mission. This enemy turns out to be the Vaeaa, a legendary alien race, who are believed to have deposited Tharg's people on Earth in the first place.

Tharg is taken is taken prisoner, but not before he manages to hide the book inside a volcano (it has a protective casing). Under interrogation, Tharg has an out-of-body experience. As a result, his consciousness remains, when his body dies during an escape attempt, to witness the extinction of both his people and the Vaeaa, though the Vaeaa manage to set up a projector on Pluto to keep out further cosmic guidebooks first.

Over billions of years, Tharg's spirit observes life arise and evolve on Earth. Tharg realises that the book might help with his condition, but he has no way to retrieve it. So Tharg decides to ask the Earth's new inhabitants for help. But how to make himself known, considering that Tharg is a bodyless spirit being and never was human in the first place?

Misadventures and miscommunications

Margaret St. Clair
Margaret St. Clair

The rest of the novel chronicles Tharg's attempts to communicate. Tharg's first attempt targets the Proctors, a Quaker family in 19th century England. This goes disastrously wrong, because not only do the Proctors come to believe that their house is haunted – no, Tharg also gets trapped in the house. Taken on its own, the Proctor segment feels like a Victorian ghost story, except that the ghost is a desperate disembodied alien. The insights into the lives of 19th century Quakers are fascinating, but then Margaret St. Clair is a member of the Society of Friends.

Tharg's next attempt targets Denise, who lives with her husband Pierre in a French colony in the South Pacific. Denise has extrasensory perception, making her the ideal subject. But once again Tharg only succeeds in giving Denise nightmares and causing hauntings in the mine Pierre oversees. Worse, the superstitious miners blame Denise for the hauntings. They kidnap the couple and give Denise hallucinogenic herbs to increase her abilities. Now Denise is able to communicate with Tharg long enough to realise that he wants them to recover the book.

So Pierre uses his mining job to blast a hole into a mountain at the very spot where Denise insists the book is hidden. After some trouble with Vietnamese workers – an incident St. Clair uses to explain that oppression during colonial times has left the Vietnamese angry and frustrated, which leads to violence, a lesson that is highly relevant to the situation in Vietnam today – Denise and Pierre manage to retrieve the book. Alas, once they open the protective casing, the book bursts into flame and is destroyed.

Tharg now sets his sights on the projector the Vaeaa installed on Pluto to keep future cosmic guidebooks away from Earth. For if another book were to arrive, Tharg might finally be able to escape his condition.

Sacrifices and success

There is another time jump to 1974, when strange things happen. An experiment detects a purely theoretical particle, a sea captain sees a mermaid, Canadians dance under the Northern lights and a Tibetan monk has a vision. Tharg views these events as signs that another guidebook is on the way. But due to the  projector on Pluto, it will never reach Earth.

In order to shut down the projector long enough to let the book through, Tharg has to dissolve himself in the collective consciousness of humanity, which will also mean his annihilation. So Tharg sacrifices himself and the book is picked up by an expedition to Venus. The novel ends with Tharg waking on the astral plane in a replica of his original body, just as the US-Soviet crew of the spaceship to Venus is about to open the book.

This is a strange and disjointed, but fascinating novel. Though Tharg is one of the rare truly alien aliens of science fiction, he is nonetheless a likeable protagonist and the reader sympathises with his plight. Tharg is also an unlikely messiah, sacrificing himself to assure the future of humanity.

Humanity being uplifted and our minds and bodies evolving is a common theme in our genre. However, Message from the Eocene offers a very different variation on this theme compared to what you'd find in the pages of Analog, even if psychic abilities are involved. The enlightenment offered by the book is reminiscent of both Buddhism and various occult traditions, while its arrival alludes to the so-called Age of Aquarius that astrologers believe will arrive soon.

In a genre that is still all too often peopled solely by white American men, the humans Tharg encounters are of all genders, races, nationalities and religions and all are portrayed sympathetically. For if the alien Tharg does not discriminate based on superficial criteria, then maybe neither should we. It is also notable that even before they receive the book, St. Clair's near future Earth is a more peaceful place than our world, where China has withdrawn from Tibet and the US and USSR cooperate in space.

Message from the Eocene is a story of failed communication, but also a story of evolution and enlightenment and overcoming one's limitations. Given the state of the world today, this may be just the message humanity needs.

Four and a half stars.

Three World of Futurity by Margaret St. Clair

Three Worlds and five stories

Three Worlds of Futurity, the other half of this Ace Double, is a collection of five short stories originally published between 1949 and 1962. The three worlds in question are Mars, Venus and Earth.

Thrilling Wonder Stories December 1950In "The Everlasting Food", Earthman Richard Dekker finds that his Venusian wife Issa has changed after lifesaving surgery. One night, Issa announces that she is immortal now, that she no longer needs to eat and that energy sustains her. Soon thereafter, she leaves, taking their young son with her. Richard takes off after her to get his son back, Issa's human foster sister Megan in tow. After many trials and tribulations, they finally find Issa – only for Richard to lose his wife and son for good. But while Richard is heartbroken, he has also fallen in love with Megan.

"The Everlasting Food" is a curious mix of domestic science fiction in the vein of Zenna Henderson and Mildred Clingerman and planetary adventure in the vein of Leigh Brackett, and never quite gels. I did like Megan, who is described as dark-skinned, by the way, but Issa is hard to connect to and Richard, though well meaning, falls for Megan a little too quickly. Furthermore, the villain feels like an afterthought who comes out of nowhere.

Startling Stories July 1949"Idris' Pig" opens on a spaceship to Mars. George Baker is the ship's resident psychologist. His cousin Bill is a courier and passenger aboard the same ship. When Bill falls ill, it's up to George to deliver the object Bill was supposed to deliver, a blue-skinned sacred pig. However, Bill can only give George very vague instructions about where to deliver the pig and so the pig is promptly stolen. And so George has to retrieve it with the help of Blixa, a young Martian woman. As a result, George gets mixed up with drug dealers and Martian cults, involved in an interplanetary incident and lands in jail. He also completely forgets about the woman he has been trying very hard not to think about and falls in love with Blixa.

This is an utterly charming story, a science fiction screwball comedy reminiscent of Howard Hawks' Bringing Up Baby. A hidden gem and true delight.

Fantastic Universe July 1954"The Rages" is set in an overmedicated Earth of the future. Harvey has a perfect life and a perfect, though sexless marriage. However, he has a problem because his monthly ration of euphoria pills has run out. And without euphoria pills, Harvey fears the oncoming of the rages, attacks of uncontrollable anger, which eventually lead to a final rage from which one never emerges. The story follows Harvey through his day as he meets several people and tries to get more pills. Gradually, it dawns upon both Harvey and the reader that the pills may be causing the very rages they are supposed to suppress. The story ends with Harvey throwing all of his and his wife's pills away.

This is a dystopian tale in the vein of Brave New World and Fahrenheit 541. The future world St. Clair has built is fascinating, if horrifying, and I would have liked to see more of it. However, Harvey is a thoroughly unlikeable character, who almost rapes two women in the course of a single novelette. Maybe Harvey could have rediscovered his messy humanity without resorting to sexual violence.

Galaxy October 1962"Roberta" is the shortest and most recent story, first published in Galaxy in October 1962, reviewed by our editor Gideon Marcus here. Roberta is a confused young woman with the unfortunate tendency to kill men. Robert is the phantom who won't leave her alone. Eventually, it is revealed that Roberta had a sex change operation and that "Robert" represents her former self, as do the men she kills.

Transsexualism is a subject that science fiction almost never addresses, even though our genre is ideal for it. After all, there are transsexuals living in our world right now and science offers possibilities to make it much easier for them to live the lives they want to. So I applaud Margaret St. Clair for tackling what is sadly still a taboo topic (and for having her heroine utter another taboo word, "abortion"), though I am troubled that science fiction's only transsexual heroine (so far) is also a multiple murderer.

Weird Tales September 1952In "The Island of the Hands", Dirk dreams about his wife Joan who died in a plane crash at sea. He hires a plane to check out the coordinates from his dream and crashes on an invisible island. Dirk finds Joan's plane and a dead body and also meets Miranda, a young woman who suspiciously resembles Joan. He is on the Island of the Hands, Miranda informs them, where everybody can shape their heart's desire from mythical mist. Dirk tries to shape Joan, but fails. He spends the night with Miranda, who confesses that Joan is still alive, but trapped in the mist. Dirk goes after her and rescues Joan, only to learn that there is a very good reason why Miranda looks so much like an idealised version of Joan.

It's no surprise that this story was first published in Weird Tales, since it has the otherworldly quality typical for that magazine. "The Island of the Hands" reminded me of the 1948 Leigh Brackett story "The Moon That Vanished", where another heartbroken widower finds himself faced with a magical mist that shapes one's heart's desire.

All in all, this is an excellent collection. Not every story is perfect (though "Idris' Pig" pretty much is), but they are all fascinating and make me want to read more of Margaret St. Clair's work.

Four stars for the collection.


[But wait!  There's more!]



by Gideon Marcus

False Finishes

After such a remarkable pair of books, I hate to sully this edition with less than stellar reviews.  But the year is almost up, and there are a lot of books to get through.  So, here is a trio of novels that start promisingly and then fizzle out. 

The Greks Bring Gifts, by Murray Leinster

If you can get past the punny title, Gifts grabs your interest from the first.  In the near future, the humanoid Greks land in a miles-long spaceship.  They were just sailing by, training a class of Aladarian engineers, and thought they'd pop in to give humanity a myriad of technological gifts.  The aliens are welcomed with riotous joy — after all, soon no one will have to work more than one day a week, and all the comforts of the world will be evenly distributed. 

But one fellow, Jim Hackett, is suspicious.  Despite being a brilliant young physicist, he was rejected as a candidate to learn Grek science after failing to comprehend it.  Was he just not bright enough?  Or were the Greks feeding us gobbledegook to keep us ignorant?  And then, why did the Greks abruptly leave after six months, just as desire for the fruits of their wondrous technology was peaking, but the ability to sate said desire was lacking?  Finally, after the Grek ship had left, why did an archaeologist party find the bones of Aldorians in the ship's waste ejecta?  And worse yet, those of humans?

So Hackett and his fiancee, the capable Dr. Lucy Thale, work together to reverse engineer the Grek technology so that, when they return to a world whose populace is fairly begging for them to come back, Earth can stand against them and provide for its own.

What begins as a fascinating mystery quickly proves overlong.  Leinster is much better with short stories, before his Hemmingway-esque style can wear thin.  The endless repetition of certain phrases and epithets brings to mind the devices Homer used to make The Illiad easier to recite from memory, but they don't do a reader any favors.  As for characterization, Leinster might as well have named the characters A, B, and C for all the color they possess.  A shorter story would have made that issue stand out less.

Anyway, it's an interesting storyline; it would make a good movie, but as is, it's a mediocre novel.  Three stars.

Arsenal of Miracles (ACE Double F-299), by Gardner F. Fox

From the notable pen of comics writer and, now, SF author Gardner Fox, we have a brand new ACE novel.  And this one isn't a short 120-pager.  No, this time we've got 157 pages devoted to the adventures of Bran Magannon, formerly an Admiral of a Terran space fleet, vanquisher of the invading Lyanir, and now a discredited exile, wandering across the known and unknown galaxy.  Arsenal starts off beautifully, like a space age Fritz Leiber fantasy.  A nearly penniless Bran arrives on the desolate world of Makkador to make traveling funds through gambling.  There, he throws dice against, and loses to, the lovely Peganna, queen of the Lyanir.  And then we learn Bran's tragic past: how he divined how to defeat the seemingly invincible Lyanir ships; how he negotiated for the Lyanir to be given a sanctuary world within the Terran Cluster of stars.  How Bran was betrayed by an ambitious subordinate, who sabotaged the talks, discredited Bran, and condemned the Lyanir to inhabit a radioactive wasteland of a planet.

But now Bran has an ace up his sleeve — he has discovered the ancient portal network of the Crenn Lir, a precursor race that once inhabited countless worlds.  If Bran and Peganna can find the Crenn Lir arsenal before they are caught by Terran and Lyranir agents, they might be able to negotiate with the Terrans as equals and secure a sanctuary for the weary aliens.

I tore through the first third of this book, but things slowed halfway through.  I grew irritated that there was exactly one female character in the book, though I did appreciate the natural and loving relationship Peganna and Bran shared.  What promises to be a galaxy-trotting adventure with big scope and ideas ends up a rather conventional story on a very few settings.  Things pick up a bit in the final third, but I found myself comparing the endeavor unfavorably to Terry Carr's Warlord of Kor, a somewhat similarly themed Ace novel from last year.

Three and a half stars.

Endless Shadow (ACE Double F-299), by John Brunner

With the Fox taking up so much space in the Ace Double, the second title must needs be short.  Luckily, John Brunner's Bridge to Azazel, which came out in February's issue of Amazing, fit nicely.  Both lengthwise and thematically: Endless Shadow also features teleportation across the stars, in this case involving a Terra reestablishing contact with farflung space colonies.

The general consensus among the Journey's various readers is that this was a premise with a lot of potential, but that Brunner failed to deliver satisfactorily.  Ratings ranged from two to three and a half stars.  Call it an even three.

Books to Come

These days, there are almost more books coming out than a fellow (or even a band of fellows) can read!  So, to make sure we cover all of the important books of 1964, there will be a second Galactoscope in a couple of days.  May they be more akin to the stellar St. Clairs than the disappointing Leinster/Fox/Brunner.



[Holiday season is upon us, and Rediscovery: Science Fiction by Women (1958-1963), containing some of the best science fiction of the Silver Age, makes a great gift! Think of it as a gift to friends…and the Journey!


[September 25, 1963] The Old School (Margaret St. Clair's Sign of the Labrys)


by Gideon Marcus

Just ten years after the coming of a virulent yeast-based plague, nine tenths of the world's human population and much of its wildlife is gone.  What's left of humanity survives on vast stores of canned food and spends its time burying the dead and still dying.  The disease has altered our race physically and psychologically, rendering us unable to stand each other's company for a great length of time.  Only the plum-uniformed agents of the FBY make any attempt to impose order on this shambling parody of society.

Enter Sam Sewell, an unprepossessing soul who dwells in the upper levels of a vast set of subterranean shelters designed to house the American leadership in the event of war — now, it is a decaying home to thousands, offering rude shelter and sustenance.  One day, an FBY man calls on Sam, desperate to know the whereabouts of the mysterious and beautiful Despoina, who may have the cure not just for the lingering plague but for the social maladjustment it has wrought. 

This triggers Sam's descent into labyrinthine shelter complex, each successive level containing encounters more dangerous and weird than the last: mad scientists, herds of white rats, and countless blind alleys filled with technological and human detritus.  Underneath this monument to the old world lies evidence of a world older still, one that preserves the ancient pagan teachings of Wicca first promulgated at the mosaiced halls of Minos.  In his journey through the maze, Sam finds himself not just seeking out Despoina, high priestess of the Wiccans, but also his forgotten Wiccan identity that is the key to humanity's revival.

Author Margaret St. Clair is one of the titans of SFF.  Under both her name and the pen name, Idris Seabright, she has enriched several magazines and publishing houses for two decades.  Her work is powerfully and uniquely written, never quite striking familiar chords.  Sign of the Labrys, St. Clair's latest, displays her talents in full.  She perfectly captures Sam's initial disaffection with spare, detached prose.  Later, as Sam first explores the labyrinth and suffers from an unknown fever, St. Clair conveys with dreamlike prose the protagonist's loosed hold on reality.  The settings the author created, both the moribund world above ground and the fascinating den of mysteries beneath, are vividly drawn.

But about halfway through, the car begins to wobble on its rails.  The skein that holds the book together is woven from Wicca, a modern-day myth cobbled in the last decade from various sources by Englishman, Gerald Gardner.  It features nature worship, a god and goddess pair, and it claims the ill-fated witches of the 17th century as earlier practitioners.  In Labrys, Wicca's adherents gain all sorts of superpowers, from clairvoyance to invisibility.  I don't know if St. Clair personally buys into this old/new religion, but given Wicca's recent surge in popularity, I wouldn't be surprised if Labrys isn't intended as a kind of introduction to the creed. 

Some may find the mythology at the heart of Labrys refreshing and delightful, quite different from the wells fantasy generally draws from.  I found it a distraction, particularly by the end.  After all, this book was billed as science fiction, and the first half of it gives no indication that it is anything but.  The latter half is so larded with occult magic as well as superscience like anti-gravity and matter transmission that it becomes a comic book.  A very well-written comic book.

And to be fair, one is told what they're going to get right on the back of the novel:

Wow.

Now, that's some awfully sexist language, and it has caused justified outrage.  On the other hand, I can almost understand (if not excuse) its provenance.  Sign of the Labrys is a weird, woo-woo book, and whomever wrote the blurb was clearly trying to make lemonade from the lemons.  I haven't seen this ridiculous tack used to advertise any of the other woman-penned stories this year, so I feel safe in concluding that this cover is (thankfully) not typical.

Copy-writing blunders aside, I did enjoy this book from cover to cover.  As a showcase of St. Clair's ability to turn a compelling phrase, Sign of the Labrys is as good as any of her works.  Had I known what I was getting into, I might well have been less off-put by the book's ultimate direction.  Maybe.  The fact remains that the novel isn't science fiction, despite its trappings and its billing.  Moreover, any book that suggests that humanity is doomed, and that only one cult has the key to its salvation, is going to turn me off — whether it be Sign of the Labrys, Dianetics, or the New Testament.

Three and a half stars.




[Sep. 10, 1962] Leading by Example (the terrific October 1962 Galaxy)

[if you’re new to the Journey, read this to see what we’re all about!]


by Gideon Marcus

Thirteen years ago this month, amidst the post-war boom of science fiction digests, Galaxy Science Fiction was born.  Its editor, H.L. Gold, intended his brainchild to stand above and apart from the dozens of lesser mags (remember those days of abundance?) with progressive and smart strictly SF stories.  He succeeded — Galaxy has showcased some of the best the genre has to offer, as well as a fine science fact column penned by Willy Ley.  The consistency of quality has been remarkable.

Two years ago, Fred Pohl, a bright authorial light already, took the helm from the ailing Gold.  If anything, he has improved on excellence, continuing to coax fine works from established authors and interesting pieces from new ones.  It helps that he, himself, can fill the pages with good material and often does….though I have to wonder if he gets paid when he does that.

If you were to pick any single issue to turn someone on to Galaxy (or to science fiction in general), you could hardly do better than to give them the latest issue (October 1962) of Galaxy.  Not only isn't there a clunker in the mix, not only does it feature a new Instrumentality story by the great Cordwainer Smith, but it includes part one of an incredible new novel by the editor.

Wow.  I think I threw in more superlatives in the last three paragraphs than I have in the last three months.  I guess it's time to show you what all the hubbub's about:

The Ballad of Lost C'mell, by Cordwainer Smith

Many authors write in a consistent world.  Some are developed following an individual through her/his life in a series of stories.  Others might take place in a common setting but feature different protagonists.  Smith has introduced his Instrumentality universe through oblique flashes.  Each piece involves wildly different places and characters, each with a limited view of things.  Only after reading several of them does one get an idea of the nature of Smith's creation.

Thousands of years from now, Earth has seen global empires rise and fall.  The current ruling entity is the Instrumentality, a council of pure-humans ruling over the people-citizens and genetically altered animal-subcitizens.  Technology caters to virtually every need; the world enjoys a purely service-based economy with the Underhumans providing the services.  For humans, Earth is a beautiful, magical place filled with strange wonders.  For the animal-people, enslaved to the pure humans, life is a struggle and punishments harsh.  We are beyond the familiar subtext of racism/male-chauvinism that suffuses Western stories – the relationship between the races hearkens to the rigid castes of Asia.  The animal-men may be cast in human mold, but their treatment is peremptory, inhumane.  And the humans are blithely unaware that their creations have the capacity to rebel…

C'mell is the most straight-forward of Smith's Instrumentality stories, and it gives the sharpest insight, to date, of the world he's created (though it by no means reveals all of its secrets).  As always, it displays Smith's mastery of the craft, mixing showing and telling, romance and austerity, far-future and relatability.  Smith is an author who doesn't put pen to paper unless it's for a four or five-star story, and C'mell is no exception.  Five stars.

Come Into My Cellar, by Ray Bradbury

We've seen the plot where intelligent fungus take over humanity through forced symbiosis in Aldiss' Hothouse stories.  Bradbury gives us a much more conventional setup, where the evil mushrooms send spores of themselves via mail-order catalog to be grown and ingested.  A nicely written but dumb story, and it has the same ending as All Summer in a Day, which is to say, Ray doesn't bother to end it.  Three stars – about as good as Bradbury (not really an SF author) ever gets.

The Earthman's Burden, by Donald E. Westlake

A competent if somewhat forgettable story of an arrogant, resurgent Terran star empire and the lost colony that promises to be more trouble than it's worth to conquer.  There's pleasant satire here, particularly of the buffoonish Imperials, but nothing we haven't seen before.  In fact, I rather expected to find this piece in Analog (you'll see why).  Three stars.

For Your Information: End of the Jet Age, by Willy Ley

A generation ago, propeller planes were the way to travel.  Now that they've been eclipsed by the jets, one has to wonder just how long our 707s and DC-8s will last before they are, in turn, replaced by the next mode of transportation.  Ley gives us an excellent preview of rocketplane travel in the 1980s as well as a spotlight on a living fossil and answers to readers' questions.  Four stars.

A City Near Centaurus, by Bill Doede

Speaking of series, Doede has a third story in his tale of teleporting humans , who have exiled themselves from Earth using subcutaneous matter transmitters that work at the speed of thought.  This latest piece involves a dilettante archaeologist who'll brave offending the Gods and even risk death to dig an ancient, abandoned site on Alpha Centauri II.  Another piece that shouldn't work (why does the native speak perfect English?), but Doede always pulls it off.  Four stars.

How to Make Friends, by Jim Harmon

Resigned to an 18-year hitch, the solo operator of a Martian atmosphere seeder resorts to building his own companions to preserve his sanity.  It's a little bit McIntosh's Hallucination Orbit (one wonders if the events of the story are really happening) tinged with Sheckley-esque satire and robotics.  But Harmon is not quite as skilled as either of these authors, and so the story ends up like most of Harmon's work, never quite hitting the mark.  Three stars.

Plague of Pythons (Part 1 of 2), by Frederik Pohl

How fragile our interconnected, technological world is.  How easy it would be for a few malicious demons, selectively possessing our bodies at propitious times, to utterly disintegrate our society.  Fast forward two years, after the world has reverted to feudal savagery.  Communities larger than the village are impossible.  Religion has revived in a last-ditch attempt to protect humanity from bodily appropriation.  One ex-engineer, name of Chandler, is on trial for a heinous assault he most assuredly committed, but which wasn't his doing.  What justice can he find in a world where the dispensers of justice can, at any time, cease being themselves?

Pythons is a brutal, uncomfortable story, crushingly bleak.  It's not the sort of thing I would normally go for, and I definitely caution against it if mind control pushes unpleasant buttons.  Yet Pohl executes the thing deftly, and he holds out the barest sliver of hope to keep you going.  I have no idea how Pythons will conclude, but if the latter half is as good as the first, we'll have a minor masterpiece on our hands.  Four stars (for now…)

Roberta, by Margaret St. Clair

Roberta explores the lengths one might go to erase the wrongness they feel exists in themselves – and the possibility that it is impossible to escape that wrongness.  It is the first story I've read that explores the concept of transsexualism, and while it is not a positive story, it is an interesting one.  Three stars.

Bimmie Says, by Sydney J. Van Scyoc

While we're on the subject of changing physical form, is it possible to be transCarnivorous?  In other words, what if cats and dogs can be made mutually intermalleable?  And if pets can be transformed, why not people?  Van Scyoc's story is clearly inspired by Keyes' hit, Flowers for Algernon, whose excellence it does not quite reach.  Still, it's not bad, and I'm glad to see Sydney's continuing her promising career.  Three stars.

Who Dares a Bulbur Eat?, by Gordon R. Dickson

Last up is the second in the adventures of the interstellar ambassadorial couple, Tom and Lucy Reasoner — a sort of Hammett's Nick and Nora meets Laumer's Retief.  In this installment, the Reasoners are tasked with attending a diplomatic banquet to find the weakness in the newly discovered Jacktal empire, a rapacious regime more powerful than the Terran Federation. 

It's a bit of a muddle, and the title fairly spoils the piece, but the conclusion is great fun and worth the price of admission.  Three stars.

All told, this comes out to a 3.5 star issue, none of it tiresome, much of it amazing.  I am also happy to see that F&SF will not have the monopoly on woman writers this month.  It's issues like this that buoy me through the lousy patches (like last month's Analog).  I mean, suffering for art is all well and good, but sometimes it's nice to have nice things to say!

Next up, let's see how the October 1962 Amazing stacks up.  See you then!




[November 8, 1961] Points East (Air Travel and the December 1961 Galaxy)


by Gideon Marcus

How small the world has gotten!

Less than a decade ago, trans-oceanic travel was limited to the speed of a propeller.  If you journeyed by boat, as many still do, it would take two weeks to cross the Pacific.  Airplanes were faster – with a couple of stops, one could get from California to the Orient in less than two days.  As a journalist and travel columnist, I spent a good amount of time in both hemispheres during the early 1950s.  I got to be quite seasoned at the travel game.

I have to tell you, things are so much faster these days.  The jet engine has cut flight times in half, taking much of the tedium out of travel.  Oh, sure, I always had plenty to do in the air, between writing and reading and planning my next adventures, but for my poor fellow travelers, there was little to do but drink, smoke, and write letters.  For hours and hours. 

These days, the Journey is my primary occupation.  I can do it from anywhere, and I often do, bringing my family along with me.  As we speak, I am writing out this article with the roar of the Japan Airlines DC-8's jets massaging my ears, music from pneumatic headphone cords joining the mix.  It's a smooth ride, too.  It would be idyllic, if not for the purple clouds of tobacco smoke filling the cabin.  But again, I suffer this annoyance for half the time as before.  I'll abide. 

We've just lifted off from Honolulu, and in less than 8 hours, we will touch down at Haneda airport, in the heart of Tokyo, Japan's capital.  We will be in the Land of the Rising Sun for two weeks, visiting friends and taking in the local culture.  I'll be sure to tell you all about our adventures, but don't worry.  I've also brought along a big stack of books and magazines so I can continue to keep you informed on the latest developments in science fiction.  Moreover, I'm sure we'll see a movie or two, and we'll report on those, too.

Speaking of reports, I've just finished up this month's Galaxy Science Fiction.  I almost didn't recognize this December issue as it lacks the usual fanciful depiction of St. Nick.  Instead, it features an illustration from Poul Anderson's new novel, The Day After Doomsday, whose first part takes up a third of the double-sized magazine.  As usual, I won't cover the serial until it's done, but Anderson has been reliable of late, and I've high hopes.

The rest of the magazine maintains and perhaps even elevates Galaxy's solid record.  The first short story is Oh, Rats!, by veteran Miriam Allen DeFord (the first of three woman authors in this book!) Rats reads like an episode of The Twilight Zone — I could practically hear Serling's narrating voice as the story of SK540, a super-rat bent on world domination, unfolded.  Tense and tight, if not innovative.  Three stars.

Willy Ley has returned to original form with his latest non-fiction article, Dragons and Hot-Air Balloons.  Did the Montgolfier brothers get their lighter-than-aircraft ideas from the Chinese?  Have balloons been around since the Middle Ages?  Has the winged ancestor of the pterosaurs been discovered?  And, as an aside, did the Nazis really invent the biggest cannon ever?  Good stuff.  Four stars.

Satisfaction Guaranteed is a cute tale of interstellar commerce by Joy Leache.  Washed up salesman and his assistant try to figure out a profitable-enough endeavor for the elf-like denizens of Felix II such that they might join the Galactic Federation.  It's a genuinely funny piece.  I've only one complaint: very early on, it is made clear that the woman assistant is the brains of the operation, yet she feels compelled to give credit the the fellow.  I prefer my futures looking a little less like the present!  Three stars.

Now, Algis Budrys, on the other hand, has no trouble breaking with the familiar entirely.  His Wall of Crystal, Eye of Night, involving a corporate executive whose plan to release television's successor is thwarted by a seemingly immortal competitor, is a chilling mystery.  Just what gift did the Martians grant the businessman's rival to make him so powerful?  And was it really a boon after all?  Four stars.

R.A. Lafferty tones his whimsical style down just a touch in his latest, Rainbird.  It's a sort of biography of one Higgston Rainbird, an inventor who could have been, in fact was the greatest tinkerer in human history.  It just goes to show that a person's greatest ally, and also one's greatest impediment, is oneself.  Four stars.

An Old Fashioned Bird Christmas is Margaret St. Clair's contribution, delivered in that off-beat, slightly macabre, but ever-poetic fashion that is her trademark.  A story of good vs. evil, of Luddism vs. progress, archaic religion vs. new, and with a strong lady protagonist to boot!  Four stars.

We're treated to a second piece of science fact by Theodore L. Thomas, called The Watery Wonders of Captain Nemo.  Thomas praises the literary great, Jules Verne, for his writing skill, but then excoriates the French author's use (or rather, lack of use) of science.  Every technical aspect of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea is evaluated and picked apart.  To hear Thomas tell it, Verne knew about as much about science as his contemporary laymen…perhaps less.  An interesting blend of education and critique.  Three stars.

The issue is wraps up with a bang: The Little Man who wasn't Quite, by William W. Stuart, is a hard-hitting piece about the horror that lies at the bottom of Skid Row.  A sensitive piece by a fellow who seems to know, it's the kind of gripping thing Daniel Keyes might have turned in for F&SF.  Five stars.

And so Galaxy ends the year on a strong note.  Fred Pohl, now firmly in the editor's seat, has done a fine job helming one of s-f's finest digests into the 1960s.  This is the kind of magazine that could win the Hugo – it may well secure the Galactic Star this year.  It all depends on how F&SF is this month, the two are that close.

Next up… an article from our British correspondent, Ashley Pollard!

[July 3, 1961] Bigger is Better (August 1961 Galaxy)

Even months are my favorite. 

Most science fiction digests are monthlies, but the twins run by Fred Pohl, IF and Galaxy, come out in alternating months.  The latter is noteworthy for being the longest regularly published sf magazine, comprising a whopping 196 pages, so big that I need two articles to cover it.  Galaxy also happens to be a personal favorite; I've read every issue since the magazine debuted in October 1950 (when it was a smaller monthly).

How does the August 1961 issue fare?  Pretty good, so far!

The lead novella, The Gatekeepers, by J.T. McIntosh, portrays an interplanetary war between two worlds linked by a matter-transmission gateway.  The setting is interesting and the feel of the story almost Leinsterian.  There is an unpolished quality to the piece, though, which I've seen in McIntosh before, as if he dashes off pieces without a final edit when he's writing for the poorer-paying mags (Galaxy dropped its rates in '59; they may have recently gone back up).  Three stars.

The whimsical Margaret St. Clair brings us Lochinvar, featuring an adorable Martian pet with the ability to neutralize anger.  It's a story that had me completely sold until the abrupt, expositional ending.  Did the editor (now Fred Pohl) lose the last few pages and have to reconstruct them?  Was the original piece too long?  Three stars.

You may remember Bill Doede from his promising first work, Jamieson, about a group of star-exiled teleports who derive their power from a surgically implanted device.  The God Next Door is a sequel of sorts, its protagonist one of the prior story's teleports who flits to Alpha Centauri.  There, he finds a tribe of regressed primitives, their humanity underscored by the juxtaposition of another alien, the omnipotent, incorporeal whirlwind who claims the world for his own.  The plot is simple, and by all rights, it should be a mediocre story.  But Doede's got a style I like, and I found myself marking four stars on my data sheet.

R.A. Lafferty's Aloys, on the other hand, about a poverty-stricken but brilliant theoretician, is not as clever as it needs to be.  Lafferty's stock-in-trade is his off-beat, whimsical style.  It often works, but this time, it grates rather than syncopates.  Two stars.

Now for a piece on a subject near and dear to my heart.  As any of my friends will tell you, I spend a lot of time lost in daydream.  I think that's a trait common to many writers.  My particular habit is to project myself backward in time.  It's an easy game to play since so many artifacts of the past endure in the present to serve as linchpins for such fantasies. 

But what if these harmless fugues aren't just flights of fancy?  What if these overly real memories prove the existence of a past life…or constitute evidence of something more sinister?  James Harmon's The Air of Castor Oil, is an exciting story on this topic with a good (if somewhat opaque) ending.  Four stars.

It seems that sci-fi poetry is becoming a fad, these days.  Galaxy has now joined the trend, offering Sheri S. Eberhart's amusing Extraterrestrial Trilogue.  A satiric, almost Carrollian piece.  Four stars.

Henry Slesar is a busy young s-f writer who has been published (under one name or another) in most of the sf digests.  His latest piece, The Stuff, features a man dying too young and the drug that just might salvage him a life.  The twist won't surprise you, but the story is nicely executed, and the title makes sense once you've finished reading.  Three stars. 

Happy Independence Day, fellow Americans.  I'll see you with Part II in just a few days.

[June 28, 1961] The Second Sex in SFF, Part IV

Many years from now, scholars may debate furiously which decade women came to the forefront of science fiction and fantasy.  Some will (with justification) argue that it's always been a woman's genre – after all, was it not Mary Shelley who invented science fiction with Frankenstein's monster?  (Regular contributor Ashley Pollard says "no.") Others will assert that it was not until the 1950s, when women began to be regularly published, that the female sff writer came into her own. 

It's certainly true that a wave of new woman writers has joined the club in just the last few years.  If this trend continues, I suspect we'll see gender parity in the sf magazines by the end of this decade.  Right around the time we land on the Moon, if Kennedy's recently expressed wishes come to fruition. 

Come meet six of these lady authors, four of whom are quite new, and two who are veterans in this, Part IV, of The Second Sex in SFF. 


Photo generously provided by the author

Kit Reed: Born in my hometown of San Diego, Ms. Reed happens to be the one person on these lists with whom I am friends.  Like me, Ms. Reed was previously a reporter.  She's been a rising star in sff since her debut in 1958 of The Wait in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction (F&SF).  Interestingly, she does not consider herself a "woman" author and thinks the distinction superfluous.  I've only read the four stories she's published in F&SF, so I may not have a complete picture of her talents.  Nevertheless, I've liked each successive story I've encountered more than the last.  She's going to be famous someday, I predict.

Jane Dixon Rice: I understand Mrs. Rice was a fairly prolific writer during the War, but so far as I can determine, she has written just three stories in recent past, all of which came out in F&SF, and all of which were pretty good.  The last was over a year ago.  I hope she hasn't disappeared for another decade-and-a-half long hiatus.

Jane Roberts: Ms. Roberts popped on the scene in '56, writing for F&SF, and she was a regular for the next several years.  The only woman invited for the first science-fiction writer's conference in Milford, PA (also in 1956), her work is beautiful and haunting.  She hasn't published anything in the genre since the '59 piece Impasse, which is really too bad.  I hope she comes back soon.

Joanna Russ: An English graduate of the distinguished universities of Cornell and Yale, Ms. Russ has to date published just one story in the genre, the quirky Nor Custom Stale.  It's something she squeezed in the cracks in between studying for her Masters', and it shows great promise.  Now that she's gotten her advanced degree, I'm hoping we'll see more of her work!

Evelyn Smith: Ms. Smith has been writing in the genre since 1952.  Her works have primarily appeared in Galaxy and Fantasy and Science Fiction, the two major mags more likely to publish women. She is also known for her gothic romances under the pen name Delphine C. Lyons. With more than 30 SF credits to her name Smith is truly one of the pillars of the genre.  (Note: Evelyn E. Smith is not Evelyn Gold, former wife of H.L. Gold, publisher of Galaxy, the SF magazine in which Evelyn E. Smith was first published…)

Margaret St. Clair.  Last, but certainly not least, is an author who has been around under one nom de plume or another since just after the War.  Her work bespeaks a broad-ranged talent.  If you know her as Ms. St. Clair, you've no doubt enjoyed her playful sense of humor.  If you are acquainted with her alter-ego, Idris Seabright, you've seen her more somber, fantastic side.  She regularly appears in Galaxy, IF, and F&SF, and she's also turned out several novels (which I've unfortunately not yet had the pleasure to read.) I expect she'll continue to be a household name for a long time to come.

Thus ends the last of the list I'd compiled as of the end of last year (1960).  Just in the course of creating this series, several new (to me) woman authors have made it into print.  Thus, this installment shall not be the last of the sequence

Stay tuned!

[Dec. 13, 1960] Ringing In a bit Early (January 1961 IF)

1961 began on November 10, 1960.

I see some of you are scratching your heads in confusion; others are nodding sagely.  It's a long-held tradition in the publishing industry that the date printed on magazines is the date through which they are expected to be on the bookstands, not the date they are first displayed.  IF Science Fiction, a bi-monthly, comes out a full two months before it's "expiration date."  Thus, I picked up a copy with a January 1961 stamp well before Thanksgiving 1960!

Since IF was acquired by the folks who bring us Galaxy Science Fiction, it has been something of a weak sister to that elder magazine.  This month's issue may turn all that around.

First, though, we have to get through the lead novella, Absolute Power, by the wildly inconsistent J.T. McIntosh.  I imagine he got top billing because he is the most famous of the crop appearing in this issue, but what a stinker.  Power features a smug man dispatched by a wealthy magnate to a backward planet in order to improve the consistency of production of a luxury foodstuff.  The aboriginal inhabitants never time their deliveries with the arrivals of the freighters, you see, and the stuff perishes quickly.  That part of the set-up is fine.  But said smug person is also tasked with making docile the magnate's intolerable daughter, who is sent to the planet, too.

When I was a kid, I enjoyed The Taming of the Shrew, but as I've matured, I've found it increasingly offensive and decreasingly humorous.  McIntosh's version is no improvement on the formula, and by the end, you'll want to give that supercilious "hero" a sock in the jaw just to wipe the smile off his puss.  One star.

Now, observe the smile on my puss.  Once you get past that kidney stone of a story, it's all good-to-amazing. 

Take Assassin by Bascom Jones, Jr., for instance.  A man is sent to wipe out the entire population of Earth, relying on subtlety and spycraft.  While not a brilliant story, Jones (who has only written one other story, for Galaxy) does an excellent job of dropping hints of the story's context rather than dumping it on the reader in a heap of exposition.  Three stars.

The off-beat R.A.Lafferty is back with The Polite People of Pudibundia.  Why is it that the humanoid Pudibundians are so incredibly polite, to the point of shielding their eyes with tinted goggles so as never to affront each other with direct gaze?  And why has every Terran who ever visited Pudibundia died shortly thereafter?  You'll have to read it to find out!  Three stars.

Then we have Vassi, by Art Lewis.  I've never heard of this fellow before, but if this novelette is any indication of what we can expect, good God, man, keep writing!  It is really the intersection of two tales, one of personal grief and tragedy, the other of exploration with a tinge of desperation.  Uniquely crafted and very poignant, the last pages are something of a difficult read, but I promise it's worth it.  Five stars.

Jack Sharkey is an author whose work has increasingly attracted my admiration.  His The Contact Point is an interesting tale of the first meeting between alien races.  Can you guess the kicker?  Three stars.

On to a pair of woman-penned short stories.  The first is Gingerbread Boy, by Phyllis Gotlieb (who has, hitherto, stayed in Cele Goldsmith's magazines), an excellent tale about the troubles faced by a race of androids, created as offspring substitutes, when they are superseded by "real" children.  Four stars. 

Number two is the fun The House in Bel Aire by the expert Margaret St. Clair.  Be careful whose house you break into—you may offend the Mistress of the Palace.  Reminiscent of the third Oz book (for Baum-o-philes).  Four stars.

Finally, Joseph Wesley (whom you may know by his pen-name, L.J. Stecher) has an engaging story, A Matter of Taste, wherein an invulnerable interstellar insurance adjuster is called in to avert imminent conquest and enslavement by a powerful race of mentalist aliens.  Nicely done, though the ending is a bit pat.  Three stars.

That leaves us with a book that scores a touch over three stars (and if you skip the opening novelette, a solid 3.5).  Moreover, there were none of the editing errors that have come to plague even the best of the scentificition digests these days.  Fred Pohl is definitely shaping IF into something to look forward to six times a year!

[August 22, 1960] If every day were a convention (September 1960 IF)

It's been a topsy turvy month!  Not only have I been to Japan, but I've just gone to yet another new science fiction convention taking place virtually next door (pictures appended below).  Yet, despite all the bustle, I've managed to find time for my #1 pasttime: my monthly pile of science fiction/fantasy digests.  And here, at long last, is my review of the September 1960 IF Science Fiction.

As Galaxy's lesser sister, its overall quality tends to be a little lower.  There are a couple of stand-outs in this issue that made it a worthy purchase, however.  Moreover, I'm noticing a trend toward the experimental.  H. Gold (and his right-hand, Fred Pohl) seem more willing to take chances with this mag.  I'm looking forward to seeing where this goes.

I don't want to spoil the stories for you, so I'll keep the synopses brief:

Daniel Galouye has the opening number, a longish novelette called Kangaroo Court.  It's an interesting murder mystery in a world where telepathy has made crime obsolete.  An extra twist is the development of memory copying–a technology that lets one create a full simulacrum of a person's personality up to the date of storage.  I'm given to understand that a writer should only present one revolutionary technology per story, but I think Galouye pulls it off.  Three stars.

Margaret St. Clair is also back with her short story, Parallel Beans, a cute little piece about the dangers of bartering across alternate time streams.  Three stars.

Wedge, by H.B. Fyfe, is about a human prisoner who is the subject of an alien intelligence test.  Is he the testee or the tester?  The first weak piece of the issue: Two stars.

But it is followed up by To Choke an Ocean by the reliable J.F.Bone.  I like stories without antagonists, and they get bonus points if they involve interesting alien civilizations.  Four stars.

That brings us to Arthur Porges, who turned 45 yesterday (Happy Birthday!) His Words and Music, about a man who can tell a person's future in a decidedly off-beat (or perhaps "on-beat" is more appropriate) fashion, would make a fantastic episode of The Twilight Zone.  Another four star tale.

There is a brief interlude during which Fred Pohl contributes a longish book-review column.  It includes praise for the rather awful The Tomorrow People, by Judy Merril.  It is followed by Robert Shea's unusually written, but rather pointless, Star Performer, involving a Martian aborigine and his effect on the decadent, overripe population of Earth.  Two stars.

Finally, R.A. Lafferty offers up Six Fingers of Time, about a fellow who discovers a talent for living life at an accelerated rate.  The writing is odd, and the subject matter uninspired, and yet…it has a certain charm.  Three stars.

That puts us at exactly three stars for the issue no matter how you slice it, which ranks it above Astounding and below F&SF this month.  No surprises there.  F&SF also wins the prize for best story: George Elliott's The NRACP, though to be fair, it's a reprint.  I might give the nod for best original story to Bone.  Your mileage will almost assuredly vary. 

Finally, of the 22 stories, serial portions, and non-fiction articles appearing in the three magazines, exactly two of them were written by women.  I'll leave this datum here without further observation or opinion.

This weekend, I'm off to the movies to watch Dinosaurus, the new flick from the team that brought us The Blob and 4D-Man.  Sadly, neither of the members of my immediate family will go with me.  Perhaps I'll run into one of you, my beloved fans.

And for those who came here to see the pretty pictures, here are the costumes from our local science fiction convention:

And some attendees, not in costume:

Yes, that's the Traveller, himself (on the left).

That's all for today, and if you're one of the gracious attendees who allowed me to take her/his picture, do drop me a line!