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Magazine, Serial

[October 18, 1965] Turn, Turn, Turn (November 1965 Fantasy & Science Fiction)

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by Gideon Marcus

The Winds of Change

History is divided into eras: The Stone Age, The Middle Ages, The Renaissance.  There are Golden Ages and Dark Ages.  The Jazz Age.  The Gilded Age.  One is never quite sure of a period's exact delineations, the precise moments of its beginning or end, until the next one is well on its way.  It is possible to tell when one is in an age, however, and also to feel keenly the wistful uncertain sense one gets in the doldrums between epochs.  Who can't have felt that way in the year succeeding President Kennedy's assassination, when his civil rights program, American involvement in Indochina, even the character of government in general hung in the balance.  And who can doubt that, for better or worse, the Johnson era has clearly begun?

I've lived through two sea changes in music.  The first was in 1954, when the overripe swing and schmaltz on the radio was overrun with a wave of rock and roll, particularly if you tuned into the Black stations (luckily, a radio tuner cannot easily be segregated).  By 1963, the winds of change had become muddled.  With folk, pop, motown, surf, and country vying for our eardrums, it was quite impossible to know then where the next two years would take us.  Then the Beatles spearheaded the biggest British invasion since 1812, and a new age was upon us.

Science fiction has its ages, too.  When I got into SF in a big way, the genre was clearly plumb in the middle of one.  It was 1954, four years after Galaxy's editor, Horace Gold, had thrown the gauntlet down at the feet of puerile pulp SF, five years after the new Fantasy and Science Fiction established a literary benchmark for the genre that has yet to be exceeded.  Science fiction primarily came in digest sized magazines, and the market was aflood with them.  Quality ranged from the penny-a-word mags which were little above the pulps that preceded them to stellar new fiction that burst beyond our solar system and ranged deep into our pysches.

As the 60s dawned, the genre had become anemic.  Almost all of the monthly digests had gone out of print.  The old stalwart, Astounding, had changed its name to Analog, but is fiction remained stolidly fixed in an older mode.  Gold retired from Galaxy and Fred Pohl struggled to keep it and its sister mags fresh as its reliable stable of authors left for greener (as in the color of money) pastures.  F&SF's helm passed on to Avram Davidson, whose whimsical style did the magazine few favors.

But the genre seems to have found its feet and is stomping off in a new direction.  Propelled by a "New Wave," again largely based in Britain, the science fiction I've been reading these days no longer feels like retreads of familiar stories.  They have the stamp of a modern era, an indisputable sense of 1960s.  And no single issue of a single magazine has represented this renaissance in SF better than the latest issue of Fantasy and Science Fiction.

A Fresh Breeze


by Gray Morrow (illustrating the many perils of … And Call Me Conrad (Part 2 of 2)

Come to Venus Melancholy, by Thomas M. Disch

Disch is one of the flagbearers of the new era.  In just three years, this new author has produced more than 20 stories, some of them quite brilliant.  In this one (set on an obviously pre-Mariner Venus), a lonely cyborg staffer of a trading post literally holds you captive while she tells the sad story of how she lost her love.

By turns horrifying and heartbreaking, it's a moving piece.  Four stars.

The Peacock King, by Larry McCombs and Ted White

Less effective though more experimental is this piece on the first successful hyperdrive jaunt.  After four failures, it is determined that the transition to hyperspace bears similarities to drug-induced schizophrenia.  One couple, so in love as to practically share a consciousness, is fed a regimen of psychoactives to prepare them for the trip.

Somewhat roughly written, and perhaps too short, it is nevertheless a fascinatingly "now" story delving into new territory.

Three stars.

Insect Attractant, by Theodore L. Thomas

This usually disappointing column of sf-story ideas masquerading as short science articles starts promisingly, discussing how insect pests could be eradicated through synthesis of female sex pheromones, which could then be sprayed to disrupt their breeding cycles.  A fine alternative to DDT.

But then he goes on to suggest that human females have similar pheromones, and that distillation and application of same could be used by marriage counselors, as if love is purely a matter of chemical compatibility. Perhaps the author has never been in love, let alone gotten married.  Of course, Mr. Thomas may have meant the piece in jest, though I also resented its casually sexist overtones.  Either way, it's not worth the page it occupies.

Two stars — and let's please 86 this column, Mr. Ferman?

… And Call Me Conrad (Part 2 of 2), by Roger Zelazny

When last we left Konstantin Karaghiosis, Minister for Cultural Sites on an atomics-devastated Earth, he was giving a tour of Greece to a blue-skinned Vegan, name of Cort Vishtigo, and his human entourage.  Ostensibly, the alien was on Earth to write a travelogue.  His true purpose is unknown, but the members of the Radpol movement believe Vishtigo's trip is a real estate survey, prelude to the Vegans buying up the planet to plunder.  An assassination attempt is in the offing, and Karaghiosis (virtually immortal and currently going by the name of Conrad) believes that the alien's bodyguard, Hassan, is the likely killer. 

That's the context, but the tale Zelazny weaves reads like a modern interpretation of mythology, with Conrad's party encountering a host of radiation mutated beasts, humans, and everything in-between.  Conrad is a tale of survival, of derring do, of proving worth.  It's also a pretty good mystery with a satisfying, if a touch too pat, ending.

At first, I was leery of Zelazny's style, a first person macho that threatens to become precious.  But there's enough self-deprecatory humor to make it work, and I found the pages flying.  There's enough action to keep it moving, enough depth to keep you thinking.

Four stars for this segment, and the novel as a whole is elevated to this rank as well.

El Numero Uno, by Sasha Gilien

It used to be that Death attended to matters personally.  Now, the business has boomed, and he requires field agents armed with legal contracts instead of scythes.  This particular case involves a harried operative on the sports beat and a particularly recalcitrant matador scheduled for expiration.

Good stuff in the style of Ron Goulart.  Four stars.

Squ-u-u-ush!, by Isaac Asimov

Having previously discussed the shortest measure of time, the largest measures of dimension, the hottest heat, and the coldest cold, the Good Doctor now explores the densest densities, starting with ordinary matter and proceeding the greatest crushes in the universe: the interior of giant stars.

Cutting edge stuff, and it's the first time I learned of neutronium, a state of matter even more compressed than that found inside a white dwarf.

Four stars.

A Few Kindred Spirits, by John Christopher

Last up, the much heralded author of No Blade of Grass offers up a tale combining a queer (in both senses of the word) group of dogs, the concept of reincarnation, and the pursuit of literary laurels.  A character study cum literal shaggy dog story, it's perhaps the most conventional piece of the issue — save for the rather daring (and refreshingly uncondemned) discussion of alternate sexual preferences.

Four stars.

The Sound of Shoes Dropping

It is clear that, after a long many-tacked jaunt in trackless seas, The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction has set a bold new course.  I have high hopes and more than a little suspicion that this New Wave era has many more exciting years left to it.

After quite a few lean years, I'm finally getting my dessert again!




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Book

[July 16, 1965] To Fresh Woods (August 1965 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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by Gideon Marcus

Shifting Vistas

The universe is changing.

One of the fundamental tenets of quantum physics is that one cannot observe the universe without fundamentally affecting it.  In ancient times, the stars and planets were objects of mystery.  They lay fixed in crystal spheres; they influenced human affairs with strange forces; they were Gods; they were little fires.

And then we observed them with telescope, and the fuzzy waveforms collapsed into particles.  The stars were just the Sun's brethren.  Planets were actually spheres of matter, and the Earth was one of them.  These discoveries did not make the celestial bodies any less interesting, but it did more narrowly confine the bounds of their possible natures.

Still, that left lots of wiggle room for imagination.  Why, Venus must be a primeval swamp or perhaps a vast desert.  Mars was clearly the home of an elderly civilization, huddling close to their dying canals.  Even the Moon might be home to a hardy lichen on its surface (and perhaps a society of aliens beneath it — perhaps they nourished themselves on green cheese).

Then came the Pioneers, Rangers, and Mariners.  The Pioneers told us that the Moon had no atmosphere at all, and the Rangers confirmed that Luna was a dead, cratered world.  Then Mariner 2 dashed our carefully wrought picture of Venus, revealing a searing inferno of a planet. 

Now Mariner 4, which zoomed just 6000 feet over the surface of Mars on July 14, has slain another fantasy land.  Preliminary data show that the Red Planet has a much thinner atmosphere than expected and no magnetic field.  Without significant erosion from wind and rain, and without a liquid core to drive vulcanism and resurfacing, Mars is probably a cratered wasteland like the Moon.  We'll know more when photos start coming in (look for an article on the 20th from Kaye Dee).

Again, this does not make Venus or Mars any less interesting…to science.  But for science fiction, the stories are yet again constrained.  They still exist: Niven's recent Becalmed in Hell takes place in the new Venus; perhaps he'll be the first to set a story on the new Mars.  But for the most part, increased knowledge has excluded our solar system from fantastic speculation. 

It's no surprise, then, that the very newest science fiction, that coming out in our monthly magazines, has turned to other settings: other dimensions and faraway stars.  Or focused closer to home, offering up cautionary and satirical stories of human, terrestrial society.

Though it cautiously stays on the safe side of the weird, more nuanced New Wave that has started to flood the pages of our books and digests, this month's Fantasy and Science Fiction offers a nice survey of the current frontier of science fiction:

The issue at hand


by Bert Tanner

The Masculinist Revolt, by William Tenn

At the dawn of the 21st Century, the feminist revolt is complete and there is, with one exception, complete equality between the sexes.  This doesn't sit well with one P. Edward Pollyglow, a clothier who finds that demand for his made-for-men jumpsuits has dropped to nil.  So he tries to restore le difference between the sexes by reviving that most manly of garments, the codpiece.  In so doing, he sets off a revolution that restores men's clubs, dueling, and other brands of overt masculinity. 

There are two major flaws in this story.  The first is that the piece has no real through line.  Things happen, get more ridiculous, and the masculinist revolt eventually overripens and collapses.

The second flaw is the doozy, however.  From the second page:

Women kept gaining prestige and political power.  The F.E.P.C. started policing discriminatory employment practices in any way based on sex.  A Supreme Court decision (Mrs. Staub's Employment Agency for Lady Athletes vs. The New York State Boxing Commission) enunciated the law in Justice Emmeline Craggly's historic words: "Sex is a private, internal matter and ends at the individual's skin.  From the skin outwards, in family chores, job opportunities, or even cloting, the sexes must be considered legally interchangeable in all respects save one.  That one is the traditional duty of the male to support his family to the limit of his physical powers–the fixed cornerstone of all civilized existence.

I'm sure everyone was fine until the part at the end (bolding added by me).  It straw(wo)mans the feminist movement.  What women want to day is equality, the freedom to pursue a life as unfettered in opportunity, as rewarding in ambition and compensation as that enjoyed by men.  I don't know any women espousing for equality in all fields and a free ride on the back of men. 

Thus, what could have been a piquant tale is a flop at the beginning and end, destroying the value of any droll cleverness inbetween.

One star.


I'm not sure how this month's Gahan Wilson piece does any more than fill a page.

Explosion, by Robert Rohrer

The starship Southern Cross, crewed by a mixed complement of Terrans and feline Maxyd, encounters an ancient missile that threatens to destroy the ship if its shields are not raised in time.  Unfortunately for two Maxyd, repairs had been underway when the Captain made his fateful decision, and they are killed.  The missile turns out to be a dud.

However, the ancient hatred between the two races of the crew, only thinly papered over since a brutal war in recent memory, flares brightly.  A mutiny ensues, completing what the ancient alien warhead could not.

In defter hands, I suppose this could have been something.  As is, Explosion is both heavy handed and forgettable.  Two stars.

Crystal Surfaces, by Theodore L. Thomas

In the future, Thomas posits, data will be stored not with chemical residue (pen/pencil) or magnetic charging (computer tape) but the careful positioning of atoms.  Thus, information will be stored and conveyed at the maximum possible density.

Neat idea.  Three stars.

Everyone's Hometown Is Guernica, by Willard Marsh

A starving painter adopts a scraggly kitten and, almost simultaneously, is consumed with an art idea he must commit to canvas.  As he pours his soul into his work, the kitten disappears, replaced by an alluring, independent woman who cooks and cleans for him, never saying a word.  I won't betray the ending, which is powerful, sad and poetic. 

This is definitely the standout piece of the issue.  Four stars.

The 2-D Problem, by Jody Scott

Things slip into mediocrity again with the subsequent nonsensical piece from Jody Scott.  Apparently, folks from Callisto have the ability to translate fiction into reality.  This becomes problematic when one Callistan, slated to be an ambassador of sorts to Earth, gets a hold of a comic book and brings Little Orphan Annie to life.  Flat life, but life nevertheless.

It's never explained how this power works, and the humor is about as flat as the story's subject matter.

Two stars.

First Context, by Laurence M. Janifer and S. J. Treibich

Speaking of Mariner, it is the subject for this punchline-focused vignette in which the human race gets fined by aliens for letting a probe go errant into a restricted zone.

First Context is like one of those four panel comics that should have ended on panel three.

Two stars.

Behind the Teacher's Back, by Isaac Asimov

A sequel of sorts to Asimov's article in the April issue on the uncertainty principle, Dr. A. describes the discovery of the third of the four presently known fundamental forces of the universe.  There's nothing in here I didn't already know, thanks to my time as an astrophysics major, but the energy version of the uncertainty principle is one of my favorite subjects.

You tell me if he succeeded in conveying what he was trying to convey.

Four stars.

A Stick for Harry Eddington, by Chad Oliver

By the turn of the 21st Century, retirement comes at 50 and boredom soon after.  What's left to do when one's salad days are in the rear view mirror, the kids are off to college, and the spouse fails to excite?  Have your mind exchanged with someone from a "primitive" culture, one which still values the important things in life!

Stick seems more a vehicle to denigrate the upcoming decadent, materialistic life we seem to be headed for.  On the other hand, the sting in the story's ending is pretty clever.

A solid three stars.

The Immortal, by Gordon R. Dickson

Hundreds of parsecs behind enemy lines, the ancient fighting ship La Chasse Gallerie, struggles its way home over a series of ten light-year hops.  Its pilot and sole crewmember, who left Earth a young man, is now a staggering two hundred years old.  Yet he continues to fend off enemy interceptors, always gustily singing one French shanty or another.

Back on Earth, it is concluded that this survivor, who has somehow pushed the boundaries of the human life span, might hold the key to immortality.  A risky penetration and rescue mission is executed.

The first ten pages of this story are rather dry and slow, and I can't help but think they could have been condensed into a page or two.  Also marring this piece is the melodramatic portrayal of the leader of the rescuing task force, a bitter battle-fatigued man with a death wish, and the geriatric specialist assigned to his ship.

But The Immortal eventually hits its stride, and if the end result is not perfection, it is not unsatisfying.

Call it a high three stars.

The New Frontier

Science fiction, like science, seems to be in a transitional stage.  As writers explore the new, as-yet unsurveyed realms of the universe, the resulting stories should only grow in quality and scope.  Until, of course, some new probe upends everything again!

What frontier's literary exploration do you look most forward to?




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Magazine

[June 18, 1965] Galactic Doppleganger (July 1965 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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by Gideon Marcus

Those of you who have been following the Journey over the past several years know that my appraisal of The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction has changed a few times.  Back in the days when Anthony Boucher and then Robert Mills were editing F&SF, it was my favorite magazine, a dessert I saved for reviewing last.

Then Avram Davidson took over in 1962, and while there were still standout issues, Davidson's whimsical, somewhat obtuse preferences led to a pretty rough couple of years.  Recently, Joe Ferman, son of the owner of the magazine, took over, and quality has been on a slow but perceptible rise.

One thing about F&SF is that it has always been unique amongst its SFF magazine brethren (which once numbered 40 and now less than ten).  It was the literary sibling, the most highfalutin.  Composed largely of vignettes and short stories, it contrasted sharply with the crunchier digests like Analog.

Which is why the current July 1965 issue is so unusual.  It's not bad; indeed, it's pretty good.  But it reads much like an issue of Galaxy or IF, one of the more mainstream mags.  I'm not disappointed.  It's just odd is all.  Read on and see what I mean.


by Jack Gaughan (he likes dragons — he did the illos for Vance's The Dragon Masters too!

Rogue Dragon, by Avram Davidson

Last year, Davidson left editing to go back to writing full time, and Rogue Dragon is his first major work since his departure from the helm of F&SF.  From the title, I expected a fantasy piece, or perhaps the dragon would even turn out to be metaphorical.  Both suppositions were wrong: Rogue Dragon is pure science fiction set on a far future Earth, one that had been conquered and then abandoned by the merciless insectoid Kar-chee.

Now simply called Prime World, humanity's original home has devolved to a handful of city-states. The planet's economy is based on Hunts, wherein the dragons introduced by the Kar-chee are slain by off-world big game hunters.  These dragons are nigh invulnerable things, their chest armor only pierceable in a weak spot identified with a painted white cross.

Enter Jan-Joras, the Private Man (representative) of the great off-world leader, Por Paulo.  Sent to arrange a vacation for the elected king he serves, Jan-Joras quickly gets caught up in a political struggle between the aristocratic Gentlemen class, who raise the dragons, the base-born (known pejoratively as dogcatchers and potato-growers), and the outlaws, who have hatched a scheme that will strike at the very foundation of the Hunt system.

But Rogue Dragon is no political thriller.  Rather, after a slightly difficult to read opening act (Davidson introduces many concepts and an abundance of idiomatic language in a short space), Rogue Dragon is an adventure story filled with derring-do, great escapes, and much traveling across increasingly hot frying pans — and we all know what destination lies at the end of that trail.

I found that I liked the story quite a bit, although it is perhaps less substantial than it might have been.  I waver between giving it three stars (perfectly adequate entertainment) and four stars (there's creative worldbuilding here).

Generosity wins.  Four stars it is, and welcome back to where you belong, Avram.

Computer Diagnosis, by Theodore L. Thomas

For his latest science fact vignette, Thomas discusses computer-assisted medical diagnosis — feed the data in, get a determination of malady and a life expectancy out.  Expanded, this could have made a nice article.  As is…

Three stars for being harmless.

The Expendables, by Miriam Allen deFord

In this odd bird of a story, the first astronauts sent to Mars are senior citizens.  The logic is that the mission is so hazardous, with so remote a chance of returning, that it is kinder to send folks with fewer years remaining in their lives.

It doesn't make a great deal of sense, and the story is hampered by some clunky "as you know" dialogue.  On the other hand, I thought the characters were pretty well drawn, and I appreciated the non-standard protagonists (two men, two women, all over 68).

Three stars.

The Eight Billion, by Richard Wilson

Many have made the dire prediction that Earth is heading toward massive overpopulation.  Indeed, the tremendous-sounding number, "Eight Billion", may well be reached by the end of the century.  Now imagine that crowding was such that eight thousand thousand thousands were crammed just into the island of Manhattan!

Wilson's story is mostly humorous fluff supporting a twist ending, but I enjoyed it.

Three stars.

Becalmed in Hell, by Larry Niven

Niven continues to impress with his fourth tale, sequel to The Coldest Place, which appeared in IF.  In his hard as nails variation on McCaffrey's The Ship who Sang, Howie and Eric-the-cyborg-ship explore the boiling planet of Venus.  There, floating twenty miles above the molten surface, Eric develops a fault and is unable to blast back into orbit.  Is the problem mechanical or psychosomatic?

This is the first story set on post-Mariner 2 Venus, and what a delight it is to see what is probably a much more accurate representation of the Planet of Love.  I do balk at the notion that it would be pitch black under Venus' clouds — it's not under an equivalent pressure of ocean, after all.  On the other hand, perhaps they were exploring the night side.

In any event, it's a neat story (albeit one I might have expected to find in Analog).  Four stars.

Exclamation Point!, by Isaac Asimov

The Good Doctor continues his streak of turning his frivolous meanderings through mathematics into readable but not particularly momentous articles.  In this latest, he expounds on the "Asimov series", a cute way he has developed to approximate the value of the special constant, e.

An enjoyable ride, I suppose.  Three stars.

A Murkle For Jesse, by Gary Jennings

Gary Jennings last appeared in print in this very magazine, some three years ago, with the story Myrrha.  It was nominated for the Hugo, though I didn't think it merited such acclaim.

In any event, I think I liked Murkle better.  It stars an eight-year-old boy, a section of the rural Northeast, a little lost girl, and a 400-year old Irish fairy who is most certainly not lost.

If Clifford Simak and R.A. Lafferty were put in a blender, this piece might pour out.  Three stars.

The Pterodactyl, by Philip José Farmer

The book concludes with a short poem about the wing-fingered flying reptiles of the Mesozoic.  A difficult read, it also seems to suggest that pterodactyls were the evolutionary precursors of birds.

The weakest piece of the issue; two stars.

Wrapping up

And there you have it: a pleasant, above-average issue, but with stories that seem slightly odd fits for F&SF.  I'm not really complaining, though. 

Unless, of course, it means the other mags suffer…

[Don't miss the next episode of The Journey Show, featuring singer-songwriter Harry Seldon.  He'll be playing a mix of Dylan, Simon, and some unique original compositions!]




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Magazine, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[May 18, 1965] Rubber Ball (or Skip the End) (June 1965 Fantasy & Science Fiction)

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by Gideon Marcus

Bouncin' Back to You

Cast your memories back to the distant past — about four years. Remember when Bobby Vee exploded on the scene with his first hit, Rubber Ball.

It's a song about a fellow who should know better than to stick with an untrue love but, like a rubber ball, keeps coming back to her anyhow.  The tune came to my mind more than once as I read this month's Fantasy and Science Fiction, a magazine that has plumbed depths often enough to tempt me to cancel my subscription, but on occasion (like this one) produces such an excellent issue that I remember the good times of the 1950s, and love is rekindled.

Is it the doing of new editor Joe Ferman?  Statistical variation?  Either way, it was a pleasure to read.  Come join me and see why:

Bounce my heart around


by James Roth

Admiralty, by Poul Anderson

We begin with an ending of sorts, the conclusion to the exploits of Gunnar Heim, late of the Federation Navy, now a privateer savaging the Aleriona patch of stars known as The Phoenix.  His goal, to prosecute an undeclared war to liberate the conquered human world of New Europe before its inhabitants run out of Vitamin C, is about to come to fruition.  But how can one ship achieve victory against a starfaring empire?  More personally, will an old flame of Heim's be waiting for him planetside when all is said and done?

Admiralty is Anderson near the top of his form, which, like a sine wave, has definite positive and negative amplitudes.  What makes the piece frustrating is its incompleteness.  This novella and the other two that have recently appeared in F&SF are about to be compiled into a book called The Star Fox, and I strongly suspect that there will be expansions above and beyond what has appeared in the magazines.  Indeed, some of the most exciting episodes in Admiralty, like the capture of the Aleriona prize, Meroeth, are dispatched in a paragraph or two of exposition.  What remains is something of a Readers Digest abridged version — entertaining but dissatisfying.

Also, I wish Anderson wouldn't assume that we all speak French; there are paragraphs and paragraphs of the stuff that go largely untranslated.  I'm going to start sending him letters in Japanese…

Anyway, four stars, for this and the whole sequence, and I suspect the book will be even better.  Certainly Hugo material.

Eine Kleine Nachtmusik, by Fredric Brown and Carl Onspaugh

Dooley Hanks, a clarinetist of modest talent but tremendous desire, scours the world looking (listening?) for The Sound.  When he finds it, in an obscure town in Germany, the temptation to claim it for his own becomes overpowering…and hazardous.

A powerful story, evocative and beautifully told, it's the kind of reworked fable Robert F. Young wishes he could write.

Five stars.


by Gahan Wilson — better than his previous ones

Books, by Judith Merril

Normally, I don't give inches to the book column, but Ms. Merril is cutting and insightful in a way I can only hope to approximate. Don't miss her take on the latest SF to cross her desk (many of which have been covered by the Journey).

Rake, by Ron Goulart

Ben Jolson, shape-changing agent of the Chameleon Corps, is back for another adventure.  This time, in the guise of a student, he's investigating the development of a super-weapon by an academic ensconced at a public college.

This tale is far more obviously slapstick than his previous one, which I had quite liked.  Rake is just too silly, too random to be very good, and there's no reason for such a short piece to begin in medias res followed by a flashback to How It All Began.

Two stars.

Phoenix (the Science Springboard), by Theodore L. Thomas

Normally, Thomas' non-fiction vignettes, more story seed than article, aren't worth the two pages they're printed on.  This time, I quite liked his postulation that at the center of every gas giant lies a terrestrial core.  I don't know if it's accurate; I don't know how we could verify the accuracy, but it is an exciting idea that the planets of the solar system all started out as roughly similar planetoids that grew atmospheres as time went on.  Only the inner ones lost theirs because it was too warm so close to the Sun.

Of course, it's easy to make models that fit the one set of data we have.

Four stars, anyway.

The Ancient Last, by Herb Lehrman

The first of two reader-submitted stories fulfilling the call for tales involving Univac and Unicorns.  This is the more poetic of the pair.  Interestingly, its poignant ending is somewhat marred by two additional paragraphs; because the offending superfluity occurs on a following page, I didn't originally see them, and I thought the ending was stronger than it ended up being.

Funny enough, I was recently rejected by F&SF, whose editor suggested I trim out my terminal line to give the ending more punch.  I did.  We'll see how it does.

Stand-In, by Greg Benford

Another first from a fellow San Diego native.  This Univac/Unicorn story is more swinging and fun, but not particularly consequential.

I give three stars to both.  I'm glad the authors got their breaks and I hope this sets them on their way to stardom.

Story of a Curse, by Doris Pitkin Buck

Earth spacers are forever restless in search of change, intolerant of stagnation.  But when Earth, itself, has changed, the astronauts see the folly of their wanderlust.

Long on emotion, short on coherence, Story is more prose-poem than science fiction.  I liked it well enough, though.  Three stars.

Nabonidus, by L. Sprague de Camp

Archaeologist meets a ghostly colleague of ancient vintage.  This poem has a strange meter, but again, it's appealing.  Three stars.

Future? Tense!, by Isaac Asimov

In a surprise disappointment, the science column is probably my least favorite piece of the issue.  The Good Doctor begins by relating how on-the-spot he feels when asked to predict the future, then says he'll do it anyway, and then doesn't really do it at all.

At a recent bookstore interview, I was asked if a science fiction story's value is based on its predictive accuracy.  I felt that the answer I gave ("No — its value is in how well it entertains; science fiction can't predict the future; it can only extrapolate current trends.") was better and more succinct than the one Dr. A offers.

Two stars.

Of Time and the Yan, by Roger Zelazny

The Last Man of Earth meets the Last Man of Mars; unfortunately, time is not on the side of humanity.

Zelazny increasingly makes his stories more affectedly "literate."  It may get his stories sold, but it's getting tedious.  Two stars.  (Your hue and cry tells me I'm a too-harsh boor.  I do not disagree.)

Jabez O'Brien and Davy Jones' Locker, by Robert Arthur

Lastly, here is the tale of a young New England fisherman who seeks to win fame, fortune, wisdom and happiness through the capture of a mermaid.  Instead, he winds up…well, best not to spoil this gem of a story.

It's an absolutely charming work, the best I've seen from Mr. Arthur, and made all the better for my imagining it being narrated by Fractured Fairy Tale's Edward Everett Horton (now you'll have his voice in your head, too!)

Five stars.

My heartstrings, they just snap

In the end, even this issue bounces around like a rubber ball, but the pages of quality far outnumber the momentary lapses.  The June 1965 issue of F&SF is a stand-out…and my love is rekindled.

Don't break my heart, Joe!

Don't forget to register for our show on May 23 at 1PM DT!  We really want to see you there and hear your questions.





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Magazine, Serial

[February 28, 1965] Tragedy and Triumph (March 1965 Analog)

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by Gideon Marcus

Casualty of War

Malcolm X was shot on my birthday.

While I was celebrating with friends on February 21, 1965, enjoying cake and camaraderie at a small Los Angeles fan convention, Malcolm X, one of the highest profile fighters for civil rights in America, was gunned down.  At a meeting of the Organization of Afro-American Unity (OAAU), a group X founded, three shooters attacked the 39-year-old father of four (soon to be five), wounding him sixteen times.  He did not survive the trip to the hospital.

Two of the assailants were captured, but their motive is still unclear.  All fingers point to the Black Muslims, however.  After his disillusionment with and fraught departure from the group, X had cause to worry that they intended to rub out a man they thought of as a traitor.  Indeed, X had received a number of death threats prior to the OAAU meeting. 

Elijah Muhammad, leader of the Black Muslims, had to arrive at a rally at New York's Coliseum on February 26 flanked by police protection.  Addressing the large audience, he made clear that he'd come to savage X, not to praise or bury him. 

Malcolm X was a controversial figure.  Whereas Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s non-violent methods have earned him almost universal admiration from America (those who fight the old order, anyway), X was a militant Afro-American.  It was only recently that his attitude toward Whites began to soften, the result of a pilgrimage to Mecca, which he shared with many light-skinned Muslims.  Nevertheless, there is no question that the war for civil rights has claimed one of its most important generals. 

As Black Americans prepare for a freedom march from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama, the cynic in me wonders who will be next.

Cheering News

In recent months, that kind of a downer headline would segue easily, if dishearteningly, into a piece on how the latest Analog was a disappointment.  Thankfully, the magazine is on an upswing, and the March 1965 Analog, last of the "bedsheet" sized isues, is one of the best in a long while.


by John Schoenherr

The Twenty Lost Years of Solid-State Physics, by Theodore L. Thomas

Theodore L. Thomas takes a break from his rather lousy F&SF science vignettes to talk about the patenting of the first transistor.  Apparently, a fellow named Lilienfeld worked out the theory long before Shockley et. al., filing a patent as early as 1930!  Yet, Lilienfeld never tried to build the thing, and the invention had no effect on the world save for complicating the filing of later patents by others.  Sad, to be sure, although Lilienfeld had a prolific career otherwise, and I'm given to understand that materials technology was not sufficiently advanced to make the device back then anyway.

Still, it makes you wonder what other inventions lie buried at the patent office, lacking a vital something to bring them into common use.

Four stars.

The Case of the Paradoxical Invention, by Richard P. McKenna

Speaking of inventions that haven't found their era, McKenna offers up a motor powered by the stream of radioactive particles from a decaying source.  The problem is, it appears to be both physically possible and impossible simultaneously.

The math is over my head, and probably over the head of most of Analog's readers, too.

Two stars.

The Iceman Goeth, by J. T. McIntosh


by Leo Summers

Andrew Coe is an iceman.  Years ago, he had his emotions wiped clean, both punishment and societal protection, for Coe had murdered an ex-lover for unfaithfulness.  Now he makes a living with a clairvoyant and telepathy act — except it's no act.  He's the real deal. 

It appears nothing will change the colorless unending cycle of work and sleep, but outside Coe's harshly circumscribed life, the city he resides in is slowly going mad.  Psychotic breaks followed by motive-less murders and suicides have been steadily on the rise.  The police are at wits end as to their cause until a scientists pinpoints their origin to an unexploded dementia bomb, dropped in a war 50 years before. 

To find the thing, Coe will have to have to use his full mental powers, only accessible if he gets back his emotions.

There is a five star story here, one where the drama resides in the decision to restore Coe to his former self.  Coe is a killer; is it worth it unleash one madman on the world to stop a hundred?

The problem is, that's not how McIntosh plays it.  Instead, Coe simply finds the bomb, receives a pardon, gets a new girl, and everyone lives happily ever after.  No mention is made of his past crimes.  We never learn about the woman he killed.  If anything, McIntosh almost seems to excuse Coe's act as forgivable given the circumstances.

Deeply dissatisfying, but God, what potential.  Three stars.

(Have we seen this concept of the iceman before?  It seems awfully familiar.)

Balanced Ecology, by James H. Schmitz


by Dean West

The McIntosh is followed by a tale as delightful as the prior story was disappointing.  On the planet Wrake, the ecosystem is uniquely interdependent.  Among the groves of diamondwood trees reside the skulking slurps, whose primary prey are the ambulatory tumbleweeds, whose seeds are tilled by the subterranean and invisible "clean-up squad".  Other denizens are the monkey-like humbugs, with an annoying tendency to mockingbird human expressions, and the giant tortoise-like mossbacks, who sleep for years at a time in the center of the forests.

Ilf and Auris Cholm are pre-teen owners of one of these woods, heir to a modest fortune thanks to their well-moderated timbering operation.  When greedy off-worlders want to effect a hostile takeover for a clearcutting scheme, do a pair of kids stand a chance?  Not without a little help, as it turns out…

I really really liked this story, almost an ecological fable.  The only bumpy spot, I felt, was the part where the villain revealed his evil scheme in a bit too much of a stereotypical, if metaphorical, cackle.

Four stars.

The Wrong House, by Max Gunther


by Adolph Brotman

Out in the suburbs, they're building giant subdivisions with rows of handsome houses on gently curving lanes.  Many find them charming, but others find them unsettling — like the young woman who confesses (in The Wrong House) to her engineer husband that her home seems somehow "unfriendly."  To his credit, the man takes his spouse seriously and determines to understand why the air duct pipe is warm instead of cool, and just what all those strange electronics installed in their attic might be…

Another good story, maybe a little too pat, but well executed.  Four stars.

The Prophet of Dune (Part 3 of 5), by Frank Herbert


by John Schoenherr

Now we come to the centerpiece of the issue, the sweeping serial scheduled across the first five months of 1965.  In this latest installment, Paul Atreides and his mother, the Bene Gesserit Lady Jessica, fulfill prophecy and become spiritual leaders of the Fremen, the indigenes of the desert planet Arrakis.  Meanwhile, Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, usurper of the Atreides fiefdom on Arrakis, schemes to parlay his control of the geriatric spice melange into rulership of the entire galactic Empire.

There were times when the immense scope and obvious attention to detail threatened to elevate Dune into four star, even classic territory.  And then Frank Herbert's fat fingers got in their own way and gave us such classic passages as this:

Paul heard hushed voices come down the line: "It's true then–Liet is dead."
Liet, Paul thought.  Then: Chani, daughter of Liet.  The pieces fell together in his mind.  Liet was the Fremen name of the Planetologist, Kynes.

Paul looked at Farok, asked: "Is it the Liet known as Kynes?"

"There is only one Liet," Farok said.

Paul turned, stared at the robed back of a Fremen in front of him.  Then Liet-Kynes is dead, he thought.

I guess Kynes is dead.  He's also called Liet.  I thought.

How about this one:

"This" — [Baron Harkonnen] gestured at the evidence of the struggle in the bed-chamber–"was foolishness.  I do not reward foolishness."

Get to the point, you old fool! Feyd-Ruatha thought.

"You think of me as an old fool," the Baron said.  "I must dissuade you of that."

Fool me thrice, shame on Herbert.  The third-person omniscient/everywhere/everyone vantage is clumsy; a better writer could go without such exposition and switching of viewpoints, instead saving it, perhaps, for the times when Paul goes into one of his prescient fugues.

But I do want to keep reading, if for nothing else than to know what happens.

Three stars.

Desiderata, by Max Ehrmann

For some reason, Analog's editor, John W. Campbell Jr., decided to include a set of homilies from the inside of Old Saint Paul's Church in Baltimore, dated 1692.  At first, my atheistic side bridled, but I ultimately found the platitudes refreshing and timeless.

No stars for this entry, for it's not really a tale nor an article.

The Legend of Ernie Deacon, by William F. Temple


by Dean West

Last up, we follow the exploits of Arthur, captain of a two-place merchant ship plying the lanes between Earth and Alpha Centauri.  It's a twelve year trip, reduced to a subjective 18 months thanks to time dilation.  It's still a long time, but Art finds it lucrative and satisfying, trading full-sense movies called "Teo's" for the life-saving medicine, varos.  Legend is a philosophical piece, discussing the morality of preferring a vicarious life to a "real" one (and of facilitating the addiction thereto), and also evaluating the reality of fictional creations whose existence comes to shadow that of their creators (e.g. Holmes over Doyle).

Good, thoughtful stuff, with an ending that can be viewed as mystical or simply sentimental.

Four stars.

Summing Up

The counter to tragedy is hope, and the latest Analog gives me a lot of hope — that the magazine that ushered in the Golden Age of science fiction will rise to former glory (some may argue that the magazine never fell; it has maintained the highest SF circulation rates for decades.) In fact, Analog is the month's highest-rated mag, at 3.3 stars, for the first time in years.

Fantastic followed closely at 3.2; all the rest of the mags were under water:

Amazing and New Worlds both merited 2.9 stars (but the former made John Boston smile, so that's something).  Science-Fantasy scored a sad 2.6.  Fantasy and Science Fiction was a lousy 2.3.  IF, at 2 stars, was so bad that I'm not sorry to stop reviewing it; that harsh task now falls on the shoulders of one David Levinson, whom we shall meet next month.

And February does end with one more bit of tragedy: out of 45 fictional pieces published in magazines this month, only one was written by a woman.

Here's hoping March offers better news on that front, and others.




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Magazine, Serial

[January 18, 1965] Doors also open (February 1965 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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by Gideon Marcus

Eulogy for One

I opened this month's Fantasy & Science Fiction to the sad news that author Richard McKenna had passed away.  He was quite an excellent author, one who (like me) started writing fiction late in life.  That he was only to devote eight years to a career he'd hoped to last for sixty is a tragedy for all concerned.  Here's his obituary in full.

It is perhaps the fittest balm that the February 1965 issue of F&SF is the first really good one in a long time.  New editor Joe Ferman may have finally exhausted the dreck his predecessor, Avram Davidson, had assembled.  Aside from the improvement in quality and the inclusion of an honest-to-goodness science fiction story, I note there is only one piece in what I'd call the "joke" category, and there are four entries by women.  F&SF has traditionally published the most women per capita, but under Davidson's reign, that distinction had been surrendered.

So let's welcome back this return to form (long may it last).  Come take look:

The Issue at Hand


by Jack Gaughan

Marque and Reprisal, by Poul Anderson

Perhaps a hundred years from now, Earth's World Federation, beginning to settle the stars, runs into the humanoid Aleriona in the disputed Phoenix sector.  A misunderstanding ensues, and after Alerion ships slaughter the human population of New Europe with nuclear missiles, they occupy the planet.

Accidents happen.  Surely the decimation of half a million people is not worth risking interstellar war over, especially on the eve of establishing formal trade relations between Earth and Alerion.  Except, as we learn early on, most of those 500,000 colonists aren't dead.  They are holed up in New Europe's mountains, hoping for a rescue effort that the Federation is unwilling to mount.  Thus, the information is suppressed, its purveyors ostracized.

This all sits poorly with Gunnar Heim, a former space cruiser captain.  If not the Federation as a whole, surely at least one nation will stand up for New Europe.  And indeed, France would do so — if it had its own navy, which it does not in this future enlightened time.

But the Federation was never a signatory to the 1856 Declaration of Paris, which outlawed Letters of Marque…

This story takes a little while to get going, and it has a little bit too much of the protagonist talking to himself, which is one of Poul Anderson's idiosyncrasies.  It also lacks a single woman character.  On the other hand, it has many things going for it.  It is a space story, something the magazine has been sorely lacking for a long time.  It is an interesting story (ditto).  And it derails itself halfway through with a completely unexpected plot twist; I always appreciate it when an author can pull this off.

I'm giving it four stars even though it ends on a cliffhanger.  If there isn't a sequel, I'll eat my hat.

The Sin of Edna Schuster, by Willard Marsh

Mrs. Schuster engages in a tryst with a passionate, mysterious man named Raoul, an expatriate from some Latin country.  It becomes quite clear at the end that he is not quite of this world.

I am going to refrain from rating this one.  It's quite well written, but I fail to recognize the fable/myth it references at the end, so I cannot tell how effective it is at what it's trying to do.

Please enlighten me?

Mrs. Pribley's Underdog, by Sue Sanford

Aging widow Pribley discovers and becomes quite fond of an alien she finds on her lawn, one best described as a looking like an organic vacuum cleaner.  But if this is the extraterrestrial her scientist brother has been in mental communication with, why is it that it is suddenly incapable of anything more than the most rudimentary thoughts?

It's cute, the "joke" story I mentioned.  Three stars.

Time and the Sphinx, by Leah Bodine Drake

Here's a lovely piece about Time as personified aspect, and the Egyptian goddess-in-stone he comes to loathe.  Can he defeat her with his withering powers?  And will he be pleased with the outcome?

Four stars.

Harmony in Heaven, by Isaac Asimov

In which the Good Doctor discovers Kepler's Third Law and proceeds to draw up a number of tables.  It's exciting as it sounds (although, to be fair, Dr. A. is never bad).

Three stars.

The Switch, by Calvin Demmon

The Professor has been dead for a century, but his soul lives on in a box as gray as he was when he passed.  Every few months, he is switched on by some 21st Century student who wants first-hand knowledge of life in the 20th. 

Is this immortality?  Or a kind of hell?  Either way, I found it poignant.  Four stars.

Look Up, by Karen Anderson

The subject of this poem is the Tomorrowland that is space.  The quality is not up to Karen's usual snuff.  Two stars.

The Absolutely Perfect Murder, by Miriam Allen deFord

How best to eliminate a pesky spouse?  Kill their father before the spouse can be born, of course!  But, as is always the case with stories, there's an unforeseen wrinkle.

Nothing new with this piece, but neither is there anything offensive.  A low three stars.

The Placebo Effect, by Theodore L. Thomas

Our science springboardist suggests that the Placebo Effect, which is real, could be developed into a perfect cure, if only we could find the perfect placebo for every malady.

You'll quickly spot the logical fallacy, but as satire, it's kind of fun.

Three stars.

The Deadeye Dick Syndrome, by Robert M. Green, Jr.

Against the admonitions of a crackpot occultist, Tom Fish heads out to the desert.  And in the pre-dawn dark, he comes face to face with the "vast black thing, poised like a crow over the moon."  Suffused with a thrilling energy, he returns to his town only to find he is now utterly despised by all — liked Deadeye Dick from H.M.S. Pinafore.  Only the fruitcake can save Fish from an imminent lynching.

It starts excitingly, ends confusingly, and there is entirely too much quoting and name-dropping of Charles Fort and Messrs. Gilbert and Sullivan, but I hesitate to give it lower than three stars just because I am largely ignorant of the work of those three men.

Dialogue in a Twenty-First Century Dining Room, by Robert F. Young

Last up is a short piece in script form detailing how a scrupulously average couple in a deliberately average society manage to beat the wondrous Bartlett's quoting rowk bird into insipid inanity.

Good for what it is.  Three stars.

Celebration for All

And so, we say good-bye to a bright star, but we see the rosy-fingered dawn of a reborn F&SF.  Sadness and hope in equal measures.  Things could be worse.  I'll drink to both.


by "Moonman82"

[If you have a membership to this year's Worldcon (in New Zealand) or did last year (Dublin), we would very much appreciate your nomination for Best Fanzine! We work for egoboo…]




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Magazine

[December 15, 1964] Failed Flight of Fancy (January 1965 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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by Gideon Marcus

Missing Something

Science fiction and fantasy are closely aligned genres.  Indeed, there is no hard line between them (like the continuum from sharks to rays) and one person's "soft" science fiction is another's fantasy.  Each of the monthly SFF mags has carved out its own turf in the spectrum between hardest SF and fluffiest fantasy. 

Analog has chosen the firmest of grounds, its stories highly scientific; even the recent Lord D'Arcy tales are a kind of highly rigorous fantasy.  Galaxy, IF, and Worlds of Tomorrow also hew solidly to "reality".  The magazines that trip more fantastic tend to indicate such in their titles: Fantastic, Science Fantasy, The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction.

The name of the last one belies the fact that precious little, if any, science fiction appears within its covers these days.  It didn't used to be so; during the Mills era, Naked to the Stars, and many other definitive science fiction works appeared.  But ever since Avram Davidson took over, and even though he has been gone two issues now, F&SF has been a horror/fantasy mag.

And this is a problem.  While SF is an ever-evolving genre, powered by new discoveries that unlock entire subgenres, fantasy is an unstructured, amorphous mass.  And horror is (at least for now) a pile of cliches.  Seen five Alfred Hitchcock Presents (the TV analog to F&SF) and you've seen them all.  You may enjoy those five very much, but after a season of them, you're through with the genre.

F&SF's all-starring January 1965 issue is chock full of stories that might have been passable, if lesser, tales back in 1949.  These days, they are frustratingly inadequate, especially given the new 50 cent price tag.

Exibit F (for Fantasy/Failure)


by Mel Hunter (depicting a landing on Neptune's moon, Triton — the closest this issue will get to SF)

End of the Line, by Chad Oliver

We start with an "after the Bomb" piece, which I guess qualifies it as a low form of SF.  However, its premise is sheer fantasy.  In brief, it is centuries down the line, and civilized humanity has lost the ability to breed.  The more comfortable we become, the lower our fertility, the sicklier are our children.  Only the ignorant savages outside the last City remain fecund.

One City-dweller is a throwback, leading raiding parties into savage lands to kidnap children to be raised back at home.  Whence come this spark of atavistic vigor?  Of course, it turns out he's a kidnapped savage.  And also that the primitives, themselves, are descendants of City-dwellers abandoned as children.  Because all it takes to regain the spark of life is utter deprivation.

It's a dumb story, and women are portrayed as neurotic wives and would-be wet nurses.

Two stars.

Dimensional Analysis and Mr. Fortescue, by Eric St. Clair

Margaret St. Clair (and as her alter ego, Idris Seabright) is one of the best known names in the genre.  Her husband, Eric, is an up-and-comer.  Unfortunately, his latest story, about a fellow who opens a funhouse but finds it was inadvertently equipped with an interdimensional rift, is a down-and-goer.  Just too broadly written and inconsequential; the kind of frothy stuff Davidson dug.  Meringue can be tasty, but you can't live on it.

Two stars.

Begin at the Beginning, by Isaac Asimov

The Good Doctor's article is on calendar year system.  Entertainingly spun, and including a few tidbits I had not been hitherto aware of, it nevertheless is a history lesson rather than a scientific piece.  That's okay, as far as it goes, but it's much easier to present a non-technical piece for a layman than to explain an abstruse topic.

Three stars.

The Mysterious Milkman of Bishop Street, by Ward Moore

Turn-of-the-Century fellow engages a new milkman who promises to deliver his goods right to the doorstep rather than let it freeze on the street.  The product is superb, the service excellent — too excellent.  When it starts mysteriously appearing inside the house, the fellow decides he's had too much of a good thing and abandons his residence.

I liked that this story turns the "if it seems too good to be true" cliche on its head (there's never anything untoward about the milk; in fact, during the term of the milkman's engagement, life had been significantly better for the drinker).  However, it ends abruptly and with insufficient development.  It needed another sting for its tail.

Three stars.

Famous First Words, by Harry Harrison

Brilliant scientist devises a contraption to record the genesis of great inventions.  It's really just an excuse for a brace of ha-ha vignettes, which aren't very funny.

A disappointment, both given the author and the promising title (which is now useless).

Two stars.

The Biolaser, by Theodore L. Thomas

The Science Springboard is back, this time positing a time when laser scalpels are so thin, they can splice DNA like reel-to-reel tape.  Maybe it's possible? 

Three stars, I guess.

Those Who Can, Do, by Bob Kurosaka

An impudent college student interrupts his teacher's math lecture with a demonstration of magic.  The teacher responds in kind.

No really, that's it.

Two stars.

Wogglebeast, by Edgar Pangborn

Molly, a middle-aged woman with an inherited fancy for magical (if mythical) creatures, befriends a Wogglebeast when it emerges from a pot of chicken soup.  She keeps the odd animal, which is never really described until the end, as kind of a pet, kind of a good luck charm.  Fortune does seem to follow, and she even, at the age of 41, manages to become pregnant.  The story, however, has a sad ending.

A sentimental and well-written tale, it doesn't have much more than emotion going for it.  And I'm getting tired of women portrayed solely as mothers or wanting to be mothers.

Three stars.

Love Letter from Mars, by John Ciardi

Good meter on this poem, but after reading it five times, I've still no idea what the author is trying to communicate.

Two stars.

The House the Blakeneys Built, by Avram Davidson

Ugh.  Davidson.

Alright.  I won't leave it at that.  The Blakeneys are the descendants of a four-person crew stranded on a (entirely Earthlike, of course) planet hundreds of years ago.  Severe inbreeding has dulled their intelligence and bred in odd superstitions.  When a fresh foursome of shipwreckees arive, the results are not happy ones.

Another vaguely promising tale that comes to an unsurprising, uninspiring end.

Two stars.

Four Ghosts in Hamlet, by Fritz Leiber

Finally, we have the longest piece of the mag, about the goings on in a Shakespeare company which culminate in a seemingly spectral conclusion during the Ghost's appearance in Hamlet.

Leiber, of course, recounts from experience, being a prominent actor, himself.  But unlike the excellent No Great Magic, there is not a hint of fantasy or science fiction in this F&SF story.  And while I appreciated the 30 page, (deliberately) gossipy and meandering behind-the-scenes look at life in an acting company, that's not why I subscribed to this mag.

Three stars.

Back to Reality

What a disappointment that was!  If new editor Ferman can't find anyone to write proper SF, or even imaginative F for F&SF, he might as well change the magazine's masthead.  As is, it's false advertising.

Oh well.  There are plenty of interesting magazines and books next to it on this month's newsstand…

[Holiday season is upon us, and Rediscovery: Science Fiction by Women (1958-1963), on the other hand, contains some of the best science fiction of the Silver Age — many from F&SF's prouder days.  And it makes a great present!  A gift to friends, yourself…and to the Journey!]

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Magazine

[November 19, 1964] Ding Dong (December 1964 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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by Gideon Marcus

Avram is Gone

Way back in March 1962, Robert Mills left the editorship of The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction.  He turned over the reins to a writer of repute, a man who had published many a story in this and other mags: Avram Davidson.

It seemed auspicious — after all, who better for the most literate of SF periodicals than one of the more literary authors in the genre.  Instead, the last two and a half years have seen the decline of the once proud magazine continue apace.  Certainly, there have been standout stories and even issues (for instance, Kit Reed's To Lift a Ship came out in that first Davidson issue — and I liked it so much, I included it among the fourteen stories in Rediscovery: Science Fiction by Women (1958-1963).

But successes aside, F&SF is mostly a slog these days, filled with uninspired and/or overly self-indulgent stories.  The only thing that kept my going was the rumor, confirmed this Summer, that Avram had decided to give up the editorship to focus more on his writing.  And so, we have this month's issue, the first in what may be called "The Ferman Era". 

Mind you, I'm sure most of the stories were picked by (and certainly submitted to) Davidson, so I don't expect miracles.  Join me on the tour of the newest F&SF, and let's see what, if anything, has changed!


by Jack Gaughan

Buffoon, by Edward Wellen

For the most part, Ed Wellen is a mediocre writer, mostly turning in lamentable stuff, occasionally contributing acceptable though not brilliant fare.

This time around, we have the story of an alien who poses as an Aztec at the time of Montezuma.  His goal is to become a thrice-sold slave so that he can ultimately be the blood sacrifice made every 52 years.  It's all part of an elaborate prank on the indigenes, which is explained in the story's last page.

Despite the seeming light nature of the plot, it's actually rather humorless, a sort of "you are there" piece on the Aztecs.  Something one might sell to National Geographic, but with a veneer of SF to make it salable to F&SF.  I vacillated between three and two stars; there are some nice turns of writing in there, lots of historical detail, but the whole thing was more tedious than enjoyable.  It certainly lacked the charm of the Aztec-themed serial that recently came out on England's Doctor Who.

So, a high two.

The Man with the Speckled Eyes, by R. A. Lafferty

Mr. Lafferty often turns in fun, whimsical tales.  But this one, about a mad-eyed fellow who claims to have invented anti-gravity, and who makes disappear the corporate bigwigs who dismiss his claims, doesn't really go anywhere.  There're some vivid scenes, some Hitchcock Presents-type horror, and then roll credits.

An ending would have been nice.  Two stars.

Plant Galls, by Theodore L. Thomas

Our resident scientific "expert" waxes rhapsodic about stimulating plant galls (think vegetable callouses) with new carbohydrate sprays.  Imagine!  Like magic, all you have to do is spray a field and you get a giant, cancerous mass of food!

Except Mr. Thomas has forgotten about the second law of thermodynamics — it takes resources to make the spray, doesn't it?

One star.

From Two Universes …, by Doris Pitkin Buck

Of Univacs and Unicorns, which have never met.  This poem is the seed for an F&SF-sponsored context: write a story involving both, and you might win $200!

Three stars, I guess.

On the Orphans' Colony, by Kit Reed

Abject loneliness can make one do crazy things.  On a hostile world, a young orphan opens the barred doors of his commune, seduced by the maternal sirensong of an otherwise repulsive being.  But what horror has he unleashed upon his barracks-mates?

Vivid.  Three stars.

Wilderness Year, by Joanna Russ

After the bomb, the sub-surface survivors only go above ground as a rite of passage.  Of course, they are given the most advanced devices to ensure their safety.

This is a throwaway joke tale, which the punchline nicely arranged to occur at the top of the page turn where it can be most effective.  Certainly not the best Joanna Russ can offer, but not bad.

Three stars.

Somo These Days, by Walter H. Kerr

A poem about sensory deprivation becoming the new, hip rage with all the kids.  I imagine it's a commentary on how our teens are plugged into their transistor radios these days, ignoring the outside world. 

Silly.  Two stars.

A Galaxy at a Time, by Isaac Asimov

Strangely uncompelling piece by Dr. A about close-packed galaxies wracked by mass supernovae.  It just didn't grab me like his articles usually do.

Three stars.

Final Exam, by Bryce Walton

A variation on the Last Man/Last Woman cliche.  In this one, Last Man doesn't want to commit until a battery of psychological tests determines the potential pair's compatibility.

Forgettable: 2 stars.

The DOCS, by Richard O. Lewis

This would-be Lafferty tale is about a guy whose attainment of multiple doctorates is undercut by his lack of empathy.  Facile, with a dumb ending.

Two stars.

The Fatal Eggs, by Mikhail Bulgakov

Ah, but almost half the book is taken up by a gem.  The Fatal Eggs is a reprint from the early days of the Soviet Union, an arch piece about a scientist who discovers a mysterious red ray.  Said ray not only stimulates the reproduction of animals, but the resulting creatures are fearsome and enormous.

I would not have thought that a 40 year-old piece, translated from Russian, could be so compelling, so colloquially humorous, and delightfully satirical (and thus banned, though our Soviet correspondent, Rita, also read and enjoyed it). 

Definitely a four star piece, and I am sad to learn (at the very end) that this is a condensed version!  With Bulgakov's story, the journey is as fun as the plot, and I would have enjoyed more comedic scenes of life in 1920s Russia.

Four stars.

All things must pass

Well, we made it.  On the one hand, half of this month's issue represents a nadir for the magazine.  On the other, The Fatal Eggs is wonderful.  On the third hand, it's an aged reprint.  Well, any constipation requires time to relieve itself.  I'm willing to give Joe Ferman, our new editor (and the owner's son) a chance to prove himself. 

How about you?

[Come join us at Portal 55, Galactic Journey's real-time lounge! Talk about your favorite SFF, chat with the Traveler and co., relax, sit a spell…]




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Magazine, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[November 9, 1964] Shall We Gather At The River? (January 1965 Worlds of Tomorrow)

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by Victoria Silverwolf

You Only Live Twice


Cover art by Richard Chopping

I trust that the spirit of the late Ian Fleming will forgive me for stealing the title of the last James Bond novel to be published during his lifetime. (Rumor has it that at least one more may be published posthumously.) Those evocative four words bring to mind the notion of life after death.

Since the dawn of consciousness, human beings have pondered the possibility of an afterlife. From reincarnation to oblivion, from Paradise to Gehenna, countless visions of an existence after death have filled the imaginations of poets, prophets, and philosophers.

But what about science fiction writers?

Few SF stories dealing with the subject come to mind. There are, of course, many tales of fantasy about survival beyond the grave, often comic versions of Heaven or terrifying visits to Hell. Science fiction, with its disdain for mysticism (despite a weakness for pseudo-scientific premises that are just as fantastic) generally ignores the question.


This 1962 novel is a rare exception.

It is remarkable, then, that almost half of the latest issue of Worlds of Tomorrow consists of a novella with a large cast of characters who have all died and been resurrected, without the need for a supernatural explanation.


Cover art by George Schelling.

Wanted: Dead or Alive

In fact, a few of the other pieces in the magazine feature characters who may have died, and who may have come back to life, although these are more ambiguous than the lead story.

Day of the Great Shout, by Philip Jose Farmer


Illustrations by Virgil Finlay.

A man who knows he died finds himself alive, nude, hairless, in a young and healthy body, floating in empty space, surrounded on all sides by countless others in his condition. After falling through the void and having a dream about an encounter with God, he wakes up on a new world.

(The author never gives this planet a name. The fact that the stars are different, along with other details, make it clear that it's not Earth. For convenience, let's call it Riverworld, based on the most notable physical feature of the place.)

All around him are other naked, bald people, mostly in a state of panic. One can't blame them, since this afterlife doesn't resemble anything they imagined. When they calm down a bit, it becomes clear that they are now in the valley of a wide river, surrounded on both sides by impassible mountains. A curious device, obviously making use of extremely advanced technology, provides them with food, and even luxury items such as tobacco and lipstick.


A fellow who has an unfortunate encounter with the device proves that it's possible to die a second time.

By this time, we find out that our protagonist is the famous Victorian adventurer Richard Francis Burton. It might be a good idea to list the other characters who play major roles during his adventures on Riverworld.

Dramatis Personae, in order of appearance:

Monat Grrautuft, an alien who died on Earth during the Twenty-First Century.

Kazzintuitruuaabemss, an ape-man who died sometime during the dawn of humanity. Fortunately for the reader, he'll be called just Kazz for the rest of the story.


Kazz in battle.

Peter Frigate, a writer born in Terre Haute, Indiana, in 1918. If that sounds familiar, that's because his time and place of birth are identical with the author's. Given that he has the same initials, it's clear that's he meant as a fictionalized self-portrait. He died during the same incident that led to the death of the alien.

Alice Pleasance Hargreaves, the woman who inspired Lewis Carroll to write Alice in Wonderland.

Lev Ruach, a man who also died at the same time as Frigate and the alien. (It turns out that a grave misunderstanding between aliens and Earthlings led to both being wiped out. The main reason for this apocalyptic incident, I think, is so the author doesn't have to deal with people from the far future. Everyone who has ever died on Earth is now alive on Riverworld, so limiting the timescale from prehistory to the Twenty-First Century makes his job a little less daunting than it might be.)

Gwenafra, a seven-year-old girl who died in ancient Gaul. We find out later that children who died before the age of five are somewhere else, not specified.

These are just the good guys. After some time passes, given the nature of humanity, war and slavery develop on Riverworld. Burton and his companions battle the forces of the infamous Nazi leader Hermann Goering and Tullios Hostilios, a legendary king of Rome, long before it became a Republic and then an Empire.

After this violent conflict, our heroes find out that a man is not what he seems to be, and we learn something about the origin and purpose of Riverworld.


The discovery involves the ability of Kazz to see things that the others can't detect.

The premise is a fascinating one, and Farmer develops the setting in convincing detail. There's plenty of action, and a generous number of science fiction concepts to hold the reader's interest. My only complaint is that the story is open-ended, with Burton ready to continue exploring Riverworld. I suspect that a sequel or two is in the works, perhaps leading to a full novel.

An anticipatory four stars.

Field Weapons Tomorrow, by Joseph Wesley

The first of two nonfiction articles in this issue imagines what the equipment used by an ordinary foot soldier of the near future might be like. Sensitive radar detects enemies, and small missiles of various kinds serve to identify and destroy targets. The author makes use of a couple of fictional characters to demonstrate the technology, enlivening a rather dry subject.

An interested three stars.

Retreat Syndrome, by Philip K. Dick


Illustrations by Gray Morrow.

Starts with a guy stopped for speeding in his futuristic vehicle. This mundane beginning soon turns weird as the fellow moves his hand through the dashboard of his one-wheeled car as if it weren't there. We're firmly in the territory that the author explored in previous works; what is reality?

Flashing back reveals that the man remembers killing his wife with a laser gun when she threatened to reveal plans for a revolution against Earth by colonists on Ganymede. His psychiatrist advises a visit to the woman, who is apparently alive and well on Earth.


Did this happen or not?

The guy thinks he's been brainwashed, and that he's not on Earth at all, but still on Ganymede. A mind-altering drug may be involved.

The truth is a little more complicated than that. The fellow winds up committing what promises to be an endless cycle of attempted murders that might not be real.

Touches of what Simone de Beavuoir might call (sexual) 'oppression' make reading an otherwise intriguing story uncomfortable. We're told that the woman intended to betray the revolution out of petty spite and female bitterness. Another direct quote from the protagonist:

Like all women she was motivated by personal vanity and wounded pride.

That's a pretty wide-sweeping indictment of half the human race, even if we accept the fact that the main character isn't in his right mind. Trying to ignore this unpleasant part of the story, I found it to be compelling, with one of the author's more accessible plots.

A slightly offended four stars.

The Pani Planet, by R. A. Lafferty


Illustration by Norman Nodel.

The commander of a military expedition on an alien planet dies. The only native inhabitant who bothers to speak to the humans offers to fix the broken man. Rejecting this as ridiculous, the new leader buries the dead officer, who treated the aliens decently, and initiates a new, harsher policy. You won't be surprised to find out that the deceased commander returns to life. Of course, not all is what it seems to be.

Typical for the author, this story combines whimsy with tragedy. There's comedy in the broken English of the alien, and the tale ends with a joke, but there's also torture and death. The details of the plot are gimmicky, but it's worth reading.

An ambiguous three stars.

Stella and the Moons of Mars, by Robert S. Richardson

Our second nonfiction article rehashes material that appeared in the December 1963 issue of the magazine. Once again, we go over the remarkable fact that Jonathan Swift seems to have predicted that Mars would prove to have two moons, long before they were discovered, in his satiric classic Gulliver's Travels. After talking about the history of the sighting of the satellites, and discussing their known and speculative properties, the article half-seriously suggests that Swift might have seen them through a telescope and slyly announced the fact in the pages of his book. At least the author is honest enough to admit that this hypothesis is impossible, given the limitations of telescopes in Swift's time. We learn a little about the moons of Mars, but the rest is old hat.

An overly familiar two stars.

The Dead Ones, by Sydney van Scyoc

Once again we have death and revival, of a sort. A man is horribly injured in an industrial accident, and is presumed to be near death. Not much later, he turns up perfectly fine. His son-in-law smells something fishy, and finds out the truth about the mysterious health care system of this future world. There's a twist ending you may see coming.

This story features some of the most implausible happenings I've ever read. First of all, you have to believe that one secretive company controls all health care. Secondly, you have to accept that nobody minds the fact that they experience loss of memory during routine physical exams. Thirdly, you have to presume that the hero is the only person who has ever questioned the fact that many people approach death from disease or injury, yet are completely healed right away in some unseen manner.

A skeptical two stars.

Manfire, by Theodore L. Thomas


Illustrations by Jack Gaughan.

The bizarre, and probably imaginary, phenomenon known as spontaneous human combustion becomes a worldwide plague in the near future. (The author calls it pyrophilia, but that seems like a very misleading term. The victims of this horrible death certainly don't love it!) Governments make use of all possible resources in an attempt to solve the problem.

Off to secure the remains of a victim.

The United States Secretary of Health, Education, and Welfare contacts an eccentric, reclusive genius to see if he can help.


Our hero.


A victim.

The fellow investigates things in his own way, eventually setting up a team of experts to work on the mystery from a strictly theoretical viewpoint.


He also makes sure that they have plenty of booze.

Other than some gruesome scenes of people being consumed by flames coming out of their bodies, and investigators collecting the grisly remains for study, there isn't much to this story other than the main character's method of attacking the problem. The point seems to be that throwing a bunch of highly intelligent people in a room and having them come up with speculative hypotheses is superior to the methodical collection of data. I'm not sure I agree with that, since both are important. The explanation for the rise in spontaneous combustion reveals some ingenuity on the part of the author, but is rather anticlimactic.

A disappointed two stars.

Can These Bones Live?

Like people, most stories have a limited lifetime. A lucky few gain something like immortality, reprinted in anthologies that survive when others fade away. The two authors named Philip have a good chance of seeing their creations resurrected from the pages of the magazine, into new bodies in the form of books. The other writers, maybe not as much. Only time can tell, and, like the afterlife, nobody really knows anything about the future.

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Book, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[October 2, 1964] Terrestrial Adventures (October 1964 Analog)

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[Don't miss your chance to get your copy of Rediscovery: Science Fiction by Women (1958-1963), some of the best science fiction of the Silver Age.  If you like the Journey, you'll love this book (and you'll be helping us out, too!)


by Gideon Marcus

Close to Home

Time was, science fiction meant space adventure.  As far back as Burroughs, trips to Venus and Mars were commonplace, and by the '50s, authors routinely took us to the stars.

But while each week sees a new satellite launched toward the heavens, tremendous advances are taking place here on Earth, too.  In just the last week, the news has been filled with some stunning achievements in the field of travel.

In the Air

For instance, the YF-12A interceptor, a Mach 3+ interceptor capable of flying at 100,000 feet, was just publicly unveiled.  It's a beautiful, wicked-looking machine, and unlike the X-15 rocketplane, it's about to be an operational part of the Air Force's inventory.

With planes like the F-12, it's no wonder that this Mach 3 bomber, the B-70 Valkyrie, has been restricted to just two prototypes — fast as it is, it's not fast enough to evade modern interceptors!  Still, it's a beautiful bird, and I think engineers will get useful data from flying it — if for nothing else, lessons to be learned for the upcoming Concorde trans-Atlantic passenger jet!

On Land

The new "Shinkansen" train, linking the cities of Tokyo and Osaka, may not be jet-propelled; nevertheless, the speed with which it whizzes across the Japanese countryside is certainly Jet Age.  Now, one can travel between Japan's two principal cities in less than three hours. 

I can't wait for Governor Brown to build one of these babies between Los Angeles and San Francisco!

At Sea

Operation Sea Orbit is coming to an end: the three nuclear-powered ships, CVAN Enterprise, CGN Long Beach, and DLGN Bainbridge circled the Earth without refueling, the first global showing of the flag since Teddy Roosevelt's "Great White Fleet". 

Between the Navy's nuclear ships, the Air Force's atomic space drives, and the proliferation of nuclear power plants around the county, the latter 20th Century will definitely be the Age of the Atom!

And on Paper

With all this big news of Earthbound traveling, it's perhaps no surprise that Analog, the most read science fiction magazine has most of the stories of its October 1964 issue set on our planet. 


by Robert Swanson

Inconstant Moon, by Joseph H. Jackson

Or, in the case of the science article, the Earth's closest neighbor.  It has been speculated for some time that there may be some kind of vulcanism going on under the dead-seeming crust of the Moon.  In support of that are the occasional observations by astronomers of new craters, of colored puffs of smoke, and other oddities.

There is something of a breathless quality to Jackson's piece, and the fact that it appears in Campbell's Analog makes it more suspect.  In any event, it sure would have been nice if there were color pictures of these phenomena instead of the black and whites included in the article.

Three meteorites.

Sweet Dreams, Sweet Princes (Part 1 of 3), by Mack Reynolds

Author Reynolds is no stranger to the Eastern Bloc, having extensively traveled through it in the '50s (as well as many other parts of the world).  It's no surprise, then, that his stories set in the nearish future, in which the Soviet Union has reached parity with the West, smack of plausibility if not inevitability.

Mack first projected the future with his African series starring Black American Homer Crawford, who goes to the continent to unify its northern portions.  It's a flawed pair of books, but the political scene is well developed.

The subsequent series starring Joe Mauser, in which everyone is on the dole and corporate disputes are resolved by division-level mercenary engagements, is better.  It may well be in the same universe, just further along in time. 

The background is that the North America has evolved into a stratified society, employing "People's Capitalism" wherein all get a basic income and a supply of tranquilizers and television entertainment.  Maybe a quarter of the populace is employed.  Behind the Iron Curtain, the "Sov-World" has developed similarly, though the external trappings remain Marxist-Leninist.

Between them lie Common Europe, led by the ambitious French under The Gaulle, and the "Neut World", the underdeveloped fourth corner of the power square.


by Robert Swanson

Unlike the previous stories in this universe, we get a new protagonist, Etruscan Studies professor Denny Land, of the "Middle Middle" class.  His enthusiasm for researching ancient combats gets him embroiled in the new gladiatorial games, which to his great surprise, he ends up winning.  But when he tries to go back to teaching, he finds that his superior, a member of the 1% "Upper" caste, resents Land's fame and sends him on indefinite leave.

This leaves Land ripe to be recruited by the American government as a spy, providing cover for a mission to Spain to turn, kidnap, or eliminate a French professor whose recent invention could break the decades-long balance of power of the early 21st Century.

There is something compelling yet mechanical about Reynolds' writing — it always makes you want to turn the page, but it is never flashy or inspiring.  His world building is fascinating, however. 

I think, in the end, it merits four stars.  I suspect the latter parts will fall into the standard three star zone, but we'll see.

The Mary Celeste Move, by Frank Herbert


by John Schoenherr

Do you remember that sense of trepidation when you first got on Ike's superhighway system?  The panic you felt when you realized you had to navigate four lanes of traffic to get around?

Frank Herbert offers up this minor piece in which the freeway system has become something like the jet-speed expressways of Rick Raphael's Code Three universe.  The problem at hand is that people are getting on, panicking, and deciding it's easier to resettle at the other end of the country than to risk the nerve racking trip home.

Two cars.

Flying Fish, by John T. Phillifent


by John Schoenherr

On a distant planet (this is the one off-planet story), humanity meets an alien race that tells us we are limited and incapable of advancing to their lofty level.  This being an Analog story, of course it's the alien that's wrong — and limited, to boot — and anyway, if humanity has limits, those only make us better.

It's not a great story, and I rolled my eyes at the pivotal character, Captain Beefcake, being infinitely selfless and flawless (as proven mathematically by the protagonist!) Still, it's not poorly written, and I was about to give it three stars until I wrote the above and convinced myself out of it.

Two ubermenschen.

Professional Dilemma, by Leonard Lockhard


by Leo Summers

Lockhard (really attorney Thedore L. Thomas) has penned some interesting stories of the intersection of patent law and science fiction.  This one is of the same subject matter but not the same quality — it rambles, it's not really SF, and it's conclusion is a ho hum.

Two trademarks.

Situation Unbearable, by Herbert Pembroke


by Michael Arndt

Our last story, by a brand-new author, begins with the premise of Brian Aldiss' recent novel, Greybeard.  To wit, humanity's birth rate has declined to almost nothing, and nobody seems to know why.  Well, almost nobody, but the one geneticist who might have a clue seems to have gone catatonic after encountering some horrific truth.

Can he be snapped out of it before it's too late?

This one takes a long time to get going, and the ending is a bit silly (the story is presented as a mystery, but the embedded hints aren't strong enough — did any of you guess what was going on?) I think Pembroke has the makings of a decent thriller writer, but he whiffed on this one.

Two baby bottles.

Summing up

All told, this was not a stellar issue of Analog, clocking in at just 2.6 stars.  I don't think it has anything to do with where the stories took place, though — this is just becoming a tired mag whose heyday was two decades ago.  Still, I am interested to see where the Reynolds goes.

As for the other mags, Science Fantasy was the clear winner, garnering an impress 3.5 stars with its first issue under new management.  Worlds of Tomorrow was also worthy, scoring 3.1 stars. 

Everything else was pretty dismal.  Amazing is tentatively a 2.7 (jury remaining out on the Brunner serial), Fantasy and Science Fiction got 2.7 stars, Galaxy was an unusually low 2.6, as was IF (also a Pohl mag), and Fantastic finished at 2.4.

Women writers got extremely short shrift.  We only saw a 6% participation; "Partners in Wonder" indeed.

As dreary as those numbers are, most magazines had at least one piece to recommend them, often their longest.  You could take all the better than average stuff from this month's crop and fill two magazines.  Thin ones.

Which gives me hope for next month, on or off the planet.  Come space travel with me?

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