[February 6, 1970] All We Are Saying Is Give The Peace Game A Chance (The Peace Game, AKA The Gladiators)

A black-and-white author's photo of a young white person with light hair.  They are wearing a striped scarf around their neck and smiling enigmatically at the camera.
By Mx Kris Vyas-Myall

When reading my morning paper, it can feel like the whole world is determined to blow itself up.

A black-and-white photograph of a field in Vietnam.  A helicopter is either landing or taking off, its rotor blurred and its body tilted upward.  A group of 7-10 soldiers in camouflage uniforms and helmets are moving toward the right, not quite in single file.  They have backpacks on and carry rifles in one hand, not in firing position.

Vietnamese peace talks are going nowhere, with American “help” possibly reaching its nadir when a US helicopter killed friendly South Vietnamese forces by mistake. Israel is once again fighting its Arab neighbours with both Communists and Capitalist countries pouring in military aid to their favoured sides. There is not even goodwill within their respective camps, with the Soviets and Communist China continuing to sabre rattle over the border. And this doesn’t even count the civil wars going on in places like Rhodesia.

A color photograph of a street in Northern Ireland.  Brick buildings with arched doorways are in the background.  A line of soldiers in camouflage uniforms and red berets stand facing toward the left behind a stretched-out roll of barbed wire.  The soldiers are carrying batons and some are carrying heavier helmets.

Closer to home, British troops in Northern Ireland’s attempts to keep the peace so far seem to be counter-productive. Whilst we are also learning more of the atrocities committed by British troops during the so-called “Malayan Emergency” from the official enquiry.

With all this violence going on, it makes you wonder if there could be another way. Well Peter Watkins has come up with one, albeit not necessarily the most pleasant option:

Peace in Our Time

A black and white film poster for The War Game. Across the top the words "Academy Award Winner" in all capitals with a black and white image of an Oscar statue.  
Beneath that are three positive reviews, reading:  
"It may be the most important film ever made." Kenneth Tynan, London Observer
"An extraordinary film." The New York Times
"Extraordinary. I urge you to see The War Game." The New Yorker
The War Game
Directed by Peter Watkins
A British Broadcasting Production
Presented in association with the British Film Institute
A pathe contemporary films release
At the bottom the movie title, The War Game, is in large all capitals with two screaming faces superimposed on each other but slightly offset, such that there are three eyes and two mouths. Behind the heads is a white mushroom cloud.

Even if it only got a limited film-run instead of the planned television broadcast, Peter Watkins’ The War Game still had a massive impact on British popular culture. As well as getting a Galactic Star, it won both a BAFTA and an Academy Award. At the same time, it gave a big shot in the arm to the peace movement.

One interesting crystallization of that can be seen in an interview with John Lennon on his Bed In for Peace:

a letter we got from a guy called Peter Watkins who made a film called The War Game. It was a very long letter stating just what's happening – how the media is really controlled, how it's all run, and everything else that people really know deep down. He said 'People in your position have a responsibility to use the media for world peace'.

It seems he was already thinking about putting these ideas on film, because this is really going to form the basis of his pseudo-sequel to The War Game, The Peace Game (called The Gladiators in some other countries).

Year of the Peace Olympics

A color still from the movie The Peace Game, showing ten people in military uniforms standing to attention facing away from the camera.  They are outside on a gravel surface with a body of water in the background.  They are facing a line of international flags, including France, Greece, Italy China, Nigeria, Norway, the United States,  and Sweden.

Not long-ago, the United Nations and Communist Countries agreed to the creation of The International Peace Games, based on the gladiatorial combat of Ancient Rome. In doing so they would divert the natural aggressive nature of humanity and ensure the survival of the human race.

Ten participants are chosen for each side, all young people in their twenties.  The actual game we see has a simple format. The Western team has two hours to capture the control room, which leads to their instant victory. The red team have to stop them, getting rid of all opponents, by any means they so choose, which leads to their instant victory. If neither is completed in the two hours, points are awarded based on “strength” (e.g. taking prisoners) and deducted for “weakness” (e.g. hesitation). They are even given paths of different difficulty they can choose to take, as if they are on a ski slope.

A color still from the movie The Peace Game of two white men , the controllers, in blue button down shirts and black ties.  The man on the left is sitting up and reading a document on a desk in front of him and reaching for a button on the control panel, while the man on the right slouches back in his chair, staring blankly.

Today’s Peace Game, #256 in the current series, is played in a castle near Stockholm. It seems to be being held between USSR, Communist China, East Germany and North Vietnam on the one side, and UK, France, West Germany & USA on the other. (There are Nigerian and Indian generals present but they appear to be there purely as observers).

This is not just a private affair between the participants involved. It has in fact become the most popular programme on television in NATO countries. This is broadcast for 2 hours on a Saturday in a regular slot, so they need to work on a schedule to keep the sponsors happy. Remember this point, as it is going to be important for understanding what happens later.

Let the games begin

A color still from the movie The Peace Game showing of a group of men in military uniforms from different countries looking in different directions, some only partially visible.  In the foreground a hand emerging from a servant's black suit and white shirt is serving tea.

It opens in Peter Watkins’ documentarian style, with musicless shots of little details of the various scenes. Generals walk to the ceremony silently, whilst the soldiers are interviewed about the game. We hear different people talking about the different reasons they come here. Volunteers and draftees. True believers and those without purpose.

Right from the start, we are encouraged to see the gap between the generals and controllers, and the ordinary people forced to participate in the system. The twenty-something soldiers are all sitting in the cold, whilst old generals are in a mansion in good spirits sipping tea and joking with their opposite numbers. As the Western team hides in a hole from an artillery barrage, one general says to another, "We will be able to enjoy ourselves like chess players, no matter the outcome".

In fact, it goes even further. If things get boring the generals can start to fire artillery on their own teams to get them moving. And whilst the teams have phones to call up support, these are only dummy phones and do not connect at all.

There is also a third player in all of this. The Machine. This is a giant computer, which analyzes and awards points throughout the game. Yet there seems a kind of masochistic nature to it. When ordered to put in more violence it thanks the generals for it. In addition, it constantly broadcasts a signal beyond human hearing, to increase the pressure on the participants.

A dimly-lit color still from the movie The Peace Game. A woman in a Red Army uniform and cap faces slightly to the right of the viewer, her hands held up in surrender.

We predominantly follow the Western team as they attempt to proceed to the command center. Going through the various traps we see them constantly forced into doing whatever the system wants. Even when a Black American soldier gets sick of the condescension of his teammates and declares he is leaving, the general is able to convince him to “use his hate” and keep going (shortly after which he is killed).

What the system cannot account for, though, is basic human decency. When a Communist Chinese soldier is captured, one of the British soldiers takes pity on her and they talk. This action is seen as “collaboration”; this does not mean fighting to destroy the system, but basic empathy. The game is declared a tie so both teams can “eliminate these two subversive young perverts” together. Attempting to avoid their fate, the two young people decide to escape, in spite of the fact that both sides, The Machine and the Swedish police are after them. Needless to say, it does not end well. Our final scene is the generals posing for a picture to celebrate a successful game, as the two aforementioned soldiers are seen being bloodily beaten in a series of black and white photographs.

Journey to the Near Side of the Sun

A color still from the Peace Game.  A line of soldiers in camouflage uniforms and helmets hold their rifles over their heads as they wade through chest-deep muddy water.  A concrete wall to the left suggests that they are in a sewer.

There are many delicious elements that can be analysed from this film but I will just touch on a couple.

One complaint I can imagine emerging from some in the SF community is that it doesn’t try to update the technology and fashion for the future, But I believe this actually makes it more powerful. This is meant to be a microcosm of our world. Shots of the teams regularly look like images I have seen from Vietnam, only inside of a building instead of a jungle.

At the same time, we are given statistics related to our current world. For example, during the World Wars, it costs $60,000 to kill one man. With the use of nuclear weapons, it costs $50 to kill one man. During the 1960s the world spent on their arms system £23 million pounds each second.

As such, we are called on to ask two questions:

1. How far away is our reality from this?
2. Is this better or worse than our current system?

The second point particularly is an interesting one. It feels horrific watching this play out but that is because it is controlled and sanitized. Is it better to send hundreds of young people across the world to decide someone else’s system of government? Or to have a few people die for televisual entertainment?

The Not-So Great Society

A dimly-lit color still from the movie The Peace Game.  A group of women wearing only panties and bras are giving flowers to men in various military uniforms.

Another interesting element is that we see how everyone is coopted into this system, even those who are ostensibly against this. In neutral Sweden, those who cannot be convinced of the value of the system are used in their own way. They are kept in a kind of hippy camp to tempt the attacking team away from their purpose and lose points.

We also have a French Student who has come to provide his thoughts but does not fight. As the unnamed documentarian says “Do you not think the system is using you?”. Even though he actually makes it further than anyone else, as he learns more he elects to join the machine’s controllers.

During these sections, it should be noted, it all takes place in Swedish and French. From context and my mid-level French I believe I have understood what is happening but there is probably some more detail I have missed.

After the Guns Have Stopped

A movie poster for The Peace Game, printed in black and white with red accents on a red and white striped background. Across the top is written:
After his sensational 'The War Game'
Now from Peter Watkins' The Peace Game. (The Gladiators)
Below is a different photograph of a woman in a Red Army uniform holding her hands up in surrender.  There is a man in front facing her and a man behind her watching her back.

This is the best piece of SF cinema I have seen since, well, The War Game. I don’t know if this is where we are headed but it does what truly great science fiction is meant to do: Present a picture of the now through a speculation of what could be whilst still making it feel disturbingly believable.

So, watch out Doctor Who! The Peace Game Olympics may soon supplant you as the nation’s favourite Saturday evening family television show.

Five stars.




 

[February 4, 1970] To Rome, with love (SPI's wargame, Anzio Beachhead)

[New to the Journey?  Read this for a brief introduction!]

photo of a man with glasses and curly, long, brown hair, and a beard and mustache
by Gideon Marcus

When you talk about destruction…

Two months ago, Jim Dunnigan started a revolution.  He took over the wargame fanzine, Strategy and Tactics, and not only worked to revitalize it, he started the novel practice of releasing a new wargame in it every issue!  Avalon Hill, the previous, undisputed king of the wargame publishers, comes out with one or two new games a year, whereas S&T plans to put out six to twelve (there are two in the current issue) of these magazine inserts in the same time—plus a whole line of regular releases.  In fact, a number of them are already out as limited series test prototypes, which some of my friends are playing.  Once they get through this round of testing, we should see some or all of them in a more finished form on our hobby store shelves.

Wow!

The copyright page and table of contents for the magazine Strategy & Tactics.  The table of contents reads:
In This Issue...
The Luftwaffe Land Army, by Victor Madeja; Bastogne, by James F. Dunnigan; Anzio Beachhead, by Dave Williams; Outgoing Mail; If Looks Could Kill, by Redmond Simonsen; Games, by Sid Sackson; Pass in Review, by Albert Nofi; Diplomacy, by Rod Walker; Wargamers Notebook, by Ed Mohrmann; Incoming Mail.

Last issue's wargame was Crete, which I was well pleased with.  The two games in this issue are Bastogne, which looks very cumbersome, and a cutey called Anzio Beachhead, which we've had a lot of fun with.  Let's take a look.

Reconnaissance

If the name strikes a chord, it's because we've already played a game with "Anzio" in the title—namely Anzio, which billed itself as "A Realistic Strategy Game of Forces in Italy… 1944"!

Which is funny because the game actually covers from the Salerno landings in September 1943.  Anzio is a strategic game that covers the entire Italian campaign in WW2, with invasions treated very abstractly.  The invasion of Anzio in January 1944 was planned as a flank of the Germany "Gustav Line", against which the Allies had stalled.  The hope was that the Allies could pierce through at a weak point and destabilize the German front.  Instead, the Allies were bottled up for four long months.  The front didn't move again until the Allies bashed headlong into the Gustav Line, and General Mark Clark took the Anzio forces to Rome, claiming the Italian capital concurrently with the invasion of Normandy.

(This was the wrong move, strategically—by going for glory instead of providing an anvil for the Allied hammer, against which the retreating Germans would be smashed, it meant that the Italian campaign remained an agonizing meatgrinder until the end of the war.)

A black and white map of Italy. Parts of Switzerland, Austria, Yugoslavia, and Tunisia are also shown. Cities and regions  relevant to the Italian Campaign of 1943-45 are marked.

But that's neither here nor there.  Anzio Beachhead depicts the landings and initial expansion at an operational level, covering the early part of the campaign.  In fact, it's by the same fellow who designed Anzio, Dave Williams.  Here's what Jim Dunnigan has to say about it:

"Anzio Beachhead was seen as another situation like the Bulge, where the attacker had a rapidly declining edge.  The original American commander was not bold, and lost.  So the idea with Anzio Beachhead was to explore the what if's.  At that time, I had been working on designing games for about eight years (since I first discovered the Avalon Hill games.) Before that, I was always interested in the details of history, and how they were connected.  Avalon Hill wargames were the first time I saw someone else thinking the same way, and doing it in a novel way. I was always building on that."

"I had been designing a similar game, called Italy, which incorporated the rest of the Italian theater, with a smaller scale map of the Anzio area (ie, two interrelated games, one strategic and the other operational).  But when Dave's game came in I thought it did a better job of the Anzio section.  We had come up with some of the same solutions, and his game was more compact and suitable for the magazine."

Vital Statistics

The title page of the Anzio Beachhead game. In the upper left corner it reads: Dave Williams designed Avalon Hill's latest effort, Anzio, and, you will soon discover, a great deal more.  The Anzio Beachhead game is but a part of the additional design effort that went into Anzio but never saw publication. In the center of the page is a black and white illustration of Anzio Beachhead.  A tank is on the left and a military ship labeled US 21 is docked to the right.  A small group of soldiers stands between them. The title of the game is written in white capitals across the bottom of the image.

Anzio Beachhead seats two players and is seven turns long.  A complete game takes about 6 hours.  The map is black and white (I made a color version tinted with pastels).

The whole game takes two pages of rules, almost half of which are "optional rules", which we always played with. 

Instead of the traditional "Player one moves, then fights; Player two moves, then fights" sequence, each turn is divided into six impulses.  Each side gets two moves, while the other side gets a half-move inbetween, during which they can't move into an enemy's "zone of control" (the six hexes surrounding a unit).  Zones of Control (ZOCs) are really sticky.  You can't move from one to another, and if you move out, you can only move one space.  Thus, it's easy to slow an enemy unit down just by parking next to it.

Combat is pretty typical, adding combat factors of attackers and dividing them by the combat factors of the defenders, determining a ratio, rolling a die, and finding the result on the Combar Results Table.  Unlike Crete, but like most wargames, good results don't really happen for the attacker until 3-1. 1-1 isn't generally worth it.

There are some fiddly rules which allow the Allies to use naval guns and fighters to add strength to their troop stacks during one impulse per turn.  This becomes a fun game of trying to outthink the other.  The Allies cannot defend all of their pieces, but the German player can never know which defender is augmented.  A miscalculation can result in losing a lot of attackers!

If the Germans engage units with 30 or more strength factors on turns 4 and 5, there is the chance that the Allies will break morale, allowing the Germans to swarm the lines.  You can bet that those two turns will see a lot of action—sometimes desperate action.

The Germans win if they slaughter lots of Allies or if they manage to park units next to Anzio. The Allies win if they avoid that.

How does it play?!

After the initial irruption onto the map, which may not see a single combat, it's all defense for the Allies, setting up a defensive perimeter using rivers and cities as barriers. The Germans are looking for weak points in the line. Both sides have reinforcements come in, the Allies get most of them earlier, the Germans getting more later.

Photo of the Anzio Beachhead map, hand-colored with pastels. It is the size of four regular 8.5 inch by 11 inch sheets of paper.

Allied play is fairly simple, if unforgiving.  Keep your lines strong and counterattack where appropriate.  German strategy is tougher.  A lot depends on understanding how to use the two movement turns, as there is no advance after combat rule.  The allies can break their lines to hit bad guys one hex away and then get back in line in phase 2, which is nice.  Indeed, as the Allies, many is the time I pounced south of the Asturia River to preemptively break up Germany attacks.

A good Allied player will not let the Germans have more than 2-1 odds at any point, to ensure that the Germans have to risk ugly exchanges.  Both the Germans and Allies have a few very powerful units, and those serve as anchors for defense, linchpins for assault.

Experience

I've played four games of Anzio Beachhead, and each was a different experience.  I lost as the Allies quickly in the first game because the rules say that the Germans can show up behind enemy lines at the Asturia River line unless you block it with your units' ZOCs.  I won as the Germans as quickly the second time, piercing the Allied line such that they never regained cohesion.

Gideon, wearing a Shakey's faux straw hat, points at the Anzio Beachhead map in this photo, taken in a diner.

The last two games went down to the wire.  I was the Allies both times, winning the first game (the Germans couldn't quite collapse me fast enough) and losing the second game (bad luck, mostly).

There are some games where you can be pretty free-wheeling with your strategy.  Crete for instance.  Sure, throw yourself at the enemy at 1:1 and see what happens!  You might open up a hole.

Not so, Anzio Beachhead.  With two skilled players, every unit, every hex feels like the most critical, and a single wrong move could lose the game.  I know I played almost perfectly as the Allies except for abandoning Corroceto Station too early; this was barely balanced out by a less than optimal German placement early in the game.  Otherwise, it was like a rigorous chess match.

Perfect John, a white man with a pensive expression, contemplates the Anzio Beachhead map in this photo. He is seated in the corner of a diner.

That kind of game can be exhausting, and it takes a long time.  There's no room for 85% thinking.  On the other hand… boy, it sure is rewarding when it all pays off!

Final thoughts

As Dunnigan said, wargames are all about "what if"s.  What if Napoleon had won at Waterloo?  What if the Germans had won the Battle of the Bulge?  The interesting thing about Anzio Beachhead is that the what if is not "what if the Allies have broken through to Rome or crushed the Germany Wehrmacht in Italy?" because that was flatly impossible, no matter how well they'd done at Anzio.  As one person put it, "a corps was given an army's job."

I suppose the hypothetical is actually "what if the Germans had utterly crushed the Italian invasion?"  It would have given German forces more freedom of movement and been valuable for morale and propaganda purposes, but the long-term results would have been the same.  Either way, the ramifications are beyond the scope of the game.

But taken as a primer in operational invasions, it's a lot of fun, whether you're the Allies trying to make a bigger pimple in the Germany side, or the Germans trying to hurl the Allies back into the sea.  It's a taut game with a lot of interesting new mechanics, very evenly balanced.  Its only drawback is that it's a bit lengthy for what you get.

3.5 stars.

Photo of ships and men of the American Fifth Army landing at Anzio beach



[New to the Journey?  Read this for a brief introduction!]


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[February 2, 1970] Deceptive Appearances (March 1970 IF)


by David Levinson

The Super Fight

Back in 1967, a radio producer by the name of Murray Woroner came up with the idea of using a computer to work out who the best heavyweight fighter of all time is. He polled 250 boxing writers and came up with a list of 16. He then worked closely with a programmer to input everything that could be determined about each boxer into a computer.

Match-ups were set up as a single-elimination tournament to be broadcast as a series of radio plays. Each fight was run through an NCR 315 computer the night before broadcast to create a blow-by-blow account of the fight. Woroner and boxing announcer Guy LeBow would then “call” the fight as if it were really happening. In the end, Rocky Marciano beat Jack Dempsey and was awarded a championship belt worth $10,000.

The arbiter, an NCR 315.The arbiter, an NCR 315.

Ali was not happy. The computer had him losing in the quarter finals to Jim Jeffries, a boxer he has little respect for. He sued for defamation of character, asking for $1 million. They settled when Ali agreed to take part in a filmed version of a computerized fight between him and Marciano in return for $10,000 and a cut of the box office.

Last year, Ali and Marciano got together and sparred for over 70 rounds, filming a few different versions of events that the computer might predict. Marciano dropped 50 pounds and wore a toupee so he’d look more like he did in his prime. Ali probably had to get back in shape too, since he’s been banned from boxing for refusing induction into the army. Instinct seems to have taken over for both men. Ali bloodied Marciano’s nose and opened cuts over his eyes (Rocky always bled easily); at one point, Ali was so exhausted he refused to go back into the ring (until he got another $2,000) and could barely raise his arms enough to eat breakfast the next day. Filming ended just three weeks before Marciano was killed in a plane crash last Labor Day.

Armed with hours of footage and the top secret computer result, Woroner and his team put together a film they dubbed The Super Fight. On January 20th, it aired in 1,500 theaters in the US, Canada, and Europe via closed-circuit television, with viewers paying a whopping $5.00 a head.

How did it turn out? Ali is not happy. The computer had him knocked out in the 13th round. He’s talking about another defamation suit. Maybe he’ll change his mind when he finds out that was only in the US and Canada. European viewers saw Ali win by TKO. The producers are also talking about destroying all the prints.

Boxing Poster captioned AT THIS THEATRE JANUARY 20, 1970 - 10 PM-E.S.T.
THE SUPER FIGHT
ONE SHOWING ONLY
THE ONLY 2 UNDEFEATED HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONS IN HISTORY 
ROCKY MARCIANO VS MUHAMMAD ALI (CASSIUS CLAY)
ON FILM LIVE! IN COLOR TICKETS ON SALE NOW!Movie poster for the event. That “LIVE!” is a little deceptive, which is something else Ali is complaining about.

It’s a rather science-fictional concept we’ve seen in other guises. Maybe Murray Woroner got his original idea from the Star Trek episode “A Taste of Armageddon.” Of course, any statistician will tell you that a single simulation doesn’t really say anything. Rolling a die once doesn’t tell you if it’s fair; it takes hundreds or thousands of repetitions to determine that. But when the computer needs 45 minutes to determine the events of one match, this is the best that can be expected. For now.

Not what it looks like

Authors like to counter readers’ expectations. It’s a good way to evoke a response, particularly in a genre that has a fair number of cliches and formulas. Sometimes, the surprise comes from the author doing something that’s not what you expect that particular writer to do or say. This month’s IF offers some of both.

Cover of the March 1970 issue of IF science fiction, depicting an astronaut carrying an antenna on the surface of the moon, looking out onto the Earth and its magnetic field depicted in white, orange, red and blue.Art actually for “SOS,” rather than just suggested by. Maybe because it’s by Mike Gilbert, not the overworked Jack Gaughan.

SOS, by Poul Anderson

Some 2,000 years from now, the Earth’s magnetic field is fading, prior to a reversal of the magnetic poles. The feudalistic Westrealm and the communist Autarchy of Great Asia compete for dwindling resources as they search desperately for a way to survive the pending catastrophe. The Autarchy secretly invades a Westrealm research station on the dark side of the moon, preparatory to a surprise attack on the West’s space fleet. It’s up to the scientists to find a way to prevent it.

Black and white illustration depicting two astronauts on the surface on the moon, one is running and the other stands with his arm up. Behind them stands a large white structure while ships launch in the distance. The caption reads SOS. Poul Anderson. Earth flipped- but Man stayed right on his course!The invasion arrives. Art uncredited

This feels like a fairly typical Anderson story of the well-done sort all the way through. But then he hits the reader with a punch to the gut right at the end. The ending and the commentary from the author are surprising in light of most of his work. It’s a good story, but weakened by two things: the title completely gives away the resolution; worse, there’s a couple of paragraphs at the beginning that undercut the emotional impact of the ending.

A high three stars, but could have been better.

Telemart 3, by Bob Shaw

Shaw gives us the tale of an unpleasant man who married for money and his wife who seems intent on spending all of it. The problem is made worse by the titular device, which allows her to buy things from the comfort of her living room with instant delivery. It’s probably meant as commentary on consumerism, but feels more like a sexist rant about women and money.

Two stars.

Sketchy illustration of a man throwing what appears to be a lamp.Matters come to a head. Art by Gaughan

The Thing in the Stone, by Clifford Simak

After a car accident that killed his wife and child and may have given him brain damage, Wallace Daniels retired to the countryside of south-western Wisconsin, where he has visions that seem to let him go walking in the geologic past. There’s also something alive buried deep in the limestone, not to mention an unpleasant and shiftless neighbor. Not everything is as it seems.

Illustration of the silhouette of a man walking along the ocean shore.Daniels finds himself in the deep past, before life has truly left the ocean. Art by Gaughan

This story has almost everything I don’t like about Simak: the pastoralism, wandering back and forth over the line between science fiction and fantasy, the slow progression. I understand why people like him, but he just isn’t for me. If you like those aspects of his work, you may like this one a lot.

Three stars for me, might be four for Simak fans.

The Ethics of Trade, by Timothy M. Brown

This month’s (official) new author gives us a series of letters from the operators of a company that provides dangerous animals to zoos to one of their clients. There’s nothing really new here, but it’s done fairly well. Brown does a good job of calling the letter writer into question, even though we only hear his side.

Three stars.

Cover depicting a scaly claw dragging a black tear down the center of the page. The caption reads: THE ETHICS OF TRADE
TIMOTHY M. BROWN
an IF firstRigellian wombats are very, very dangerous. Art by Gaughan

In the Silent World, by Ed Bryant

Julie is a co-ed with telepathy. As far as she know, she’s the only telepath in the world. At least, until an overwhelming cry of loneliness prompts another to contact her.

Sketch of a mouthless woman with long blonde hair.Julie, I suppose. Art uncredited, but looks like Gaughan

Nothing about this story is bad, but nothing is particularly outstanding either. I saw the ending coming almost as soon as the other telepath made contact. There’s not much more to say about it.

Three stars.

Traps, by Jack Dann and George Zebrowski

Planet 3-10004-2 can’t be approved for colonization until all land animals have been properly classified; Rysling has taken the contract to capture the last unclassified species. He’s puzzled by the presence of another ship and the cryptic messages left by its pilot. Even more puzzling is the effect the creature he’s after seems to have on him.

Illustration of a man looking on the ground in despair.Rysling’s not sure who or what he is. Art by Gaughan

Dann seems to be a new author, but Zebrowski had a story in a collection that came out last month, so this isn’t quite an IF first. The premise and the powers of the creature are hard to buy, but it’s told well enough. There’s enough talent here to make the story readable; we’ll see if either author has any staying power.

Three stars.

Whipping Star (Part 3 of 4), by Frank Herbert

Herbert’s tale of Saboteur Extraordinary Jorj McKie and his efforts to stop a “reformed” sadist from causing the death of an alien, thus triggering the deaths of nearly every sentient being in the galaxy, plods along. Last month, I said the story was holding my interest and praised the action. Neither of those things is true this month. This installment is nothing but conversations. There are a couple of brief bits of action, but neither is more than a flash.

I’m also getting a little bored. There may not be enough here for a novel. The idea of examining communication without a common perspective is sound, but the whole thing might have been trimmed to a longish novella.

Three fading stars.

The bad guys make an ineffectual attempt to eliminate McKie. Art by GaughanThe bad guys make an ineffectual attempt to eliminate McKie. Art by Gaughan

The Time Judge, by Dannie Plachta

A criminal is dragged through time and condemned by the title character to a fitting punishment.

Art nouveau cover depicting a judge pointing downward to the author and title 
DANNIE PLACHTA
THE TIME JUDGE
The accused found no end to his crime- no beginning to justice!Here come da judge. Art by Gaughan

Actually, we don’t know if the punishment is fitting, since we’re never told the nature of the crime, just of the judge’s disgust. For that matter, the punishment wasn’t all that uncommon in its day. As with nearly every Plachta story, the nicest thing I can say is that it’s very short.

Two stars.

Love Thy Neighbor, by E. Clayton McCarty

Jake Terrell starts seeing something out of the corner of his eye. Then it jumps into his head, and he begins behaving oddly.

Cover depicting 5 sets of sketchily drawn sets of eyes going down the page. Some look at figures in the margin. The bottom set is punctuated with tiny stick figures with heads as pupils. The caption reads LOVE THY NEIGHBOR
E. CLAYTON McCARTY
The loving aliens came- and there went the neighborhood! It’s a stretch, but I see how this connects with the story. Art uncredited

Another story that’s like a piece of popcorn. You consume it without really noticing it, nor is there anything memorable about it, good or bad. A decently told piece of filler.

Three low, but not too low stars.

All Brothers Are Men, by Basil Wells

Three alien religious fanatics are part of a conspiracy to drive humans off their world. Two of them started out as the personality of the third implanted into mind-wiped bodies. The years apart have undermined their commonality, and two of them may no longer believe in the cause.

Illustration of a fluffy, large eyed, dish eared alien with a beak, holding a paper airplane.Not sure what the paper airplane is doing here. Art by Gaughan

Perhaps the most interesting thing about this story is that the humans aren’t really in it. They’re a distant, never seen presence affecting the characters’ society in ways they don’t like. For a guy who started out 30 years ago and probably spends more time writing mysteries and westerns than SF, Wells has managed to stay up-to-date. This is by no means a New Wave tale, but it still manages to have a modern sensibility.

A very solid three stars.

Miscellany

Elsewhere in the magazine, the letters were almost universally in praise of the savaging Ejler Jakobsson gave John Campbell in two editorials over the latter’s piece on race and IQ. I particularly liked the point made by one writer, who notes that Campbell’s premise is based tightly on statistical analysis of something poorly defined and understood, while he flatly rejects statistical evidence indicating clear connections between smoking and lung cancer and heart disease.

Summing up

Looking over what I’ve written, this seems like a weak issue, but it’s not as bad as I make it sound. The Simak is undoubtedly the best in the issue; it might even be a four-star story, but my own prejudices keep me from rating it that high. The Anderson and Wells are fine stories, if not outstanding. The rest are mostly just there. The only really bad story is the Shaw (Plachta’s not bad, just stupid). Frank Herbert might manage to salvage his novel in the final episode, but I’m not holding my breath.






[January 31, 1970] Both sides now (February 1970 Analog)

[New to the Journey?  Read this for a brief introduction!]

photo of a man with glasses and curly, long, brown hair, and a beard and mustache
by Gideon Marcus

All night long

Woody Allen likes to quip that being "bi-sexual" (liking both men and women) doubles of your chance of getting a date on the weekend.

NASA has just doubled the amount of weather they can look at in a single launch.  TIROS-M (does the "M" stand for "Mature"?) was launched from California on January 23rd into a two-hour orbit over the poles.  12 times a day, it circles the Earth, which rotates underneath.  Unlike the last 19 TIROS satellites, TIROS-M can see in the dark.  That means it gets and transmits a worldwide view of the weather twice a day rather than once.

More than that, the satellite is called the "space bus" because it carries a number of other experiments, measuring the heat of the Earth as well as solar proton radiation.  Launched "pickaback" with TIROS-M was Oscar 5, an Aussie satellite that broadcasts on a couple of bands so ham radio fans can track signals from orbit.  Maybe Kaye Dee will write more about that one in her next piece!

Clouds got in my way

If the distinctive feature of the Earth as viewed from space is its swaddling blanket of clouds, then perhaps the salient characteristic of this month's Analog is its conspicuous degree of padding.  Almost all of the stories are longer than they need to be, at least if their purpose be readability and conveying of point.  Of course, more words means more four-cent rate…


by Kelly Freas, illustrating "Birthright"

Birthright, by Poul Anderson

Emil Darmody is the manager for the terran trading station on the planet of Suleiman, a sub-jovian hulk of a world with a thick hydrogen atmosphere, primitive alien inhabitants, and a rare and valuable spice.  When Burbites, an off-world alien race who are the main purchasers of the spice, drop robots to harvest the spice themselves, Darmody must find an ingenious way to stop them without inciting an interstellar incident.  In doing so, he attracts the attention of trade magnate Nicholas Van Rijn, who likes the adventurous sort.


by Kelly Freas

If someone were to ask for a generic example of a story set in the Polesotechnic League, you could do worse than to pick this one.  It has all the usual features: compelling astronomy and sufficiently alien beings; a bold, if naive, hero; women as competent professionals; daring-do; and a cameo by the corpulent and lusty Van Rijn.

Three stars.

Dali, for Instance, by Jack Wodhams


by Peter Skirka

And now, the padding begins.  Golec is a truly alien being who wakes up one day in the form of a human on present-day Earth.  Eventually, he recalls that the mind transference was intentional, a form of reconnaissance.  The problem is, it's not reversible, and he finds his new body disgusting.  Knowing that there may be others of his race on the planet in the same predicament, he seeks them out.  Golec is told that he might as well go native.  Things could be worse.

All of this should have been a one-page prelude to an actual story.

Two stars.

The Wind from a Star, by Margaret L. Silbar

I'm very happy to see Ms. Silbar back, as her last piece, on quarks, was excellent.  This time, she talks about a topic near and dear to my heart: the solar wind.

I've actually just given a talk on this very subject, so most of what she says is familiar.  It's nicely laid out, very interesting, and with some details that are new to me.  Newcomers may find it a little abstruse, and as with her last piece, an extra page or two of explanation, or splitting things up into two, simpler articles, might have been in order.  Asimov would have taken three or four (though, to be fair, he has half the space).

Four stars.

The Fifth Ace, by Robert Chilson


by Kelly Freas

The planet of Hyperica is the outpost of the Realm of Humanity closest to the "Empire", a separate polity of unknown constitution.  One day, a liaison between the two governments brings a gift from the Empire: several giant cat-creatures in cages.  They break out of confinement at the same time an Imperial spy-craft crashlands on Hyperica.  The local Hypericans attempt to deal with both.

This one took me two reads to grasp for some reason.  Much of the story is told from the point of view from the felinoids, who are intelligent and the real invasion, the spy ship being a decoy.  There is a lot of description of the stratified human culture, a host of characters, and a great deal of lovingly depicted gore. 

A lot of pages for not a lot of story.  I did appreciate the portrayal of actual aliens, but I didn't need a page of explanation of how their retractable claws work.

Two stars.

In Our Hands, the Stars (Part 3 of 3), by Harry Harrison


by Kelly Freas

In this installment, the Daleth-drive equipped Galathea, takes off for Mars with an international contingent of observers.  Shortly into the flight, both Soviet and American agents vie for control of the ship.  The ending is not at all what I expected.

This is such a curious book, in some ways just a vessel for delivering polemics.  Worthy polemics, perhaps, on the nobility and folly of national pride.  Nevertheless, it's definitely not one of Harrison's best, with none of his New Wave flourishes, nor any of the progressive brilliance of, say, Deathworld.  His characters are bland—Martha a particular travesty—and there's not much in the way of story.  In fact, I think the whole thing could have been a compelling, four-star novella… forty or fifty pages, tops.

As is, the final installment keeps things from falling below three stars, but no more.

The Biggest Oil Disaster, by Hayden Howard


by Leo Summers

A man named Sirbuh ('hubris' backwards) has a penchant for wildcatting oil wells in the deep sea.  When one of his digs creates the biggest oil spill in history, blackening California's beaches, Sibrah doubles down and calls for the use of a nuke to both seal it and create an undersea storage cavern.  Sibrah's son, devastated by the environmental catastrophe and sickened by Sibrah's cold calculations, can only watch as the inevitable unfolds. 

I assume this is a parable on the excesses of capitalism, though editor Campbell probably enjoyed it as an endorsement of the casual use of atomic weapons.  Either way, it goes on far too long and repetitiously.

Two stars.

The Reference Library (Analog, February 1970), by P. Schuyler Miller

Miller is a great book reviewer; even though he's been writing for decades, and despite writing for the most conservative of the SF mags, he keeps an open mind.  I'm afraid this year might have broken him, though.  The New Wave claimed the Hugos, and so Schuy is trying to wrap his head around the New Wave.  The result is a column that's a bit more scattered and less engaging than most.

He does have fun moments, though, particularly his review of Moorcock's The Final Programme:

"[Jerry Cornelius] is the Cthulhu mythos of the New Wave.  Michael Moorcock..originated him in his "novel" but other authors are making him the antihero of their "stories" just as a group of authors did with the assumptions and beings created by H.P. Lovecraft..

May all of Lovecraft's most powerful entities help the poor befuddled soul who tries to fit all the Cornelius stories together."

Miller also reviews Asimov's Opus 100, which he liked better than Algis Budrys did.  Perhaps Mrs. Miller hasn't had her posterior pinched by the Good Doctor.

Reading the data

It's not so much that Analog is bad these days, it's just that it isn't very good.  The Star-O-Meter for this one pegged at 2.6.  That's worse than virtually all the other mags/anthologies this month:

  • Fantastic (3.3)
  • Galaxy (3.3)
  • IF (3.1)
  • New Worlds (3.1)
  • New Writings #16 (3)
  • Vision of Tomorrow (3)
  • Venture (2.8)

    Only Fantasy and Science Fiction (2.3) was worse, a most unusual state of affairs.

    In the spirit of TIROS-M, here are some other vital figures for the month: ten magazines/anthologies were released this month (though Crime Prevention in the 30th Century only had two new stories).  The four and five star stuff would fill three magazines, which I suppose is a normal distribution.

    Women wrote 5% of new fiction.  On the other hand, Silbar's piece means 33% of the nonfiction is by a woman.  Progress!

    Like NASA, the Journey is expanding its capacity to review the flood of new material.  Let's pray for more stuff in the greater-than-three-star territory.

    It's more fun to review "the day side" of fiction!



    [New to the Journey?  Read this for a brief introduction!]


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[January 28, 1970] Cinemascope: Just a Poe Boy (An Evening of Edgar Allan Poe, The Moebius Flip, Sole Survivor, and The Dunwich Horror)

An author's headshot of a white woman with blonde pigtails.  She is wearing black glasses, a pale blue button-down shirt, a dark green vest, and a pendant on a chain necklace.
by Fiona Moore

An Evening of Edgar Allan Poe

An evening of Edgar Allan Poe is written across the top of the poster in yellow capitals on a black background.  The initial A and the word 'Poe' are written in a fancier, medieval-looking font.  The A and the P are superimposed over red squares.  The O in Poe has a drawing of a skull in it. Beneath the title, a color photograph of Vincent Price looking at the camera, cut off at the forehead where it intersects the title . A clock's hands are floating in front of his face.  The Roman numeral XII is projected across his forehead.  In the background there is the ghostly silhouette of what might either be a castle or some pine trees.Theatrical poster for An Evening of Edgar Allan Poe

An Evening of Edgar Allan Poe is an hour-long film in which four Edgar Allan Poe stories are recited by Vincent Price. Originally made as a television play (and in a way which suggests it was based on a theatrical production, albeit with the addition of some new visual effects), it’s reminiscent of the BBC’s A Ghost Story For Christmas segment, and I was recently asked to view it as a possible acquisition as a teaching tool by my university’s English Literature department.

A color film still of Vincent Price, wearing a white bow tie and black tails,and made up to look older with white hair and beard.  He is seated at a high-class dining table with a white tablecloth.  The room is dim and only the table and Price are clearly visible.  In front of Price there are a variety of bowls and dishes stacked up, and past them at the front of the frame is a fruit basket with grapes and bananas visible.  Two candelabra with three candles each sit one on either side of the fruit basket. Price appears to be gesticulating while speaking.
The Cask of Amontillado

The programme is split into four segments, in each of which Price recites a different Poe short story. Fairly predictably, these are “The Tell-Tale Heart”, “The Sphinx”, “The Cask of Amontillado” and “The Pit and the Pendulum”. Each segment is performed with Price in character as the narrator of each story, with appropriate costuming and sets. Although Price does show a decent range in playing different characters, they’re all very much within Price’s repertoire as an actor, so, although none of the performances are bad, there are no real surprises to be had here.

A film still of Vincent Price, this time with dark fluffy hair and a van dyke beard. He is wearing a brown sport jacket over a brown plaid waistcoat with matching brown plaid trousers and necktie. He is sitting in a brown leather wingback armchair with his hands gripping the ends of the chair arms, looking at the viewer.  The chair sits in front of a round side table with glassware on it.  In the background is a pair of diamond lattice windows, of which three diamonds have colored glass instead of clear.The Sphinx

I felt the best segment was “The Cask of Amontillado”. Price really seems to relish the role of Montressor and plays him with a wicked twinkle in his eye, surrounded by luxurious draperies and furniture and a banquet-table of food. The weakest for me was “The Sphinx,” which struggled to hold my attention, though it did have an effective use of special effects when we briefly see a skull overlaid over Price’s face at a crucial moment.

A blurry film still of Vincent Price sitting on a bench at the bottom of the pit, looking up at the viewer.  There is a large support column behind him and straw covering the floor. A blurry line that may be the pendulum is to the right of the frame, as though it had just swung past Price's face.The Pit and the Pendulum

By contrast, “The Pit and the Pendulum” was a good enough dramatization of an exciting story, but the problem was that the producer seemed to feel it needed jazzing up with effects shots of Price falling into the pit, Price helpless before the pendulum, Price faced with colour separation overlay ("chroma-key" to yanks) flames, and so forth. The rats were far too cute, with inquisitive little faces and glossy fur, for me to find them horrific.

Finally, “The Tell-Tale Heart” was a good choice as the opening story, told simply with the set a bare garret, with Price steadily ramping up the hysteria as the narrator follows his path into murder and madness.

A color film still of a sparsely furnished 19th century room.  A chair and threadbare carpet are in the foreground, a basin and towel on a stand in front of a window to the left, and a bed or table with rumpled white fabric on it to the right. Vincent Price stands facing the carpet, looking down at it.  He is wearing a white shirt with black waistcoat and black trousers.  His hands are stretched out toward the carpet as if spasming or gesticulating.The Tell-Tale Heart

One great benefit I can see from this production is a chance to show audiences who may just know Poe from the cinematic productions loosely based on his work, just how skilled a horror writer Poe was in real life. The issue with something like “The Pit and the Pendulum” is that one can’t really get an entire 90-minute film out of it without adding a lot of material, which, while it can work as a movie, means you lose the terrifying economy of the original story (although if anyone wants to adapt “The Cask of Amontillado”, I think one could spend at least 90 minutes exploring the buildup of resentment in the two characters’ relationships that led up to the final murder). For this reason, I’m recommending that the English Literature department acquires a copy, and would also say that, if it turns up on TV in your region, it’s worth a watch.

3 out of 5 stars.


A black-and-white headshot of a white woman with dark hair, dramatically arched eyebrows, and dark lipstick. She is looking at the camera with an unreadable expression.
by Victoria Silverwolf

There's A Signpost Up Ahead . . .

Two films I caught recently reminded me of Rod Serling's late, lamented television series Twilight Zone.  Let's take a look.

The Moebius Flip

The title card from the film

Less than half an hour long, this skiing film is the sort of thing that might be shown at a college campus, before the main feature in a movie theater, or to fill up time on television in the wee hours of the morning.  The brief running time isn't the only thing that reminds me of Serling's creation.

We begin with scenes of people skiing, edited in a jumpy way.  Jazz, rock, and folk music fill up the soundtrack.  The skiers also fool around in the snow, eat some fruit, and so forth.

Suddenly, we see a news announcer.  He tells us that scientists have determined that every subatomic particle in the universe has reversed polarity.  I'm not sure what that means, but let's see what happens.

A color film still of a white  man with brown hair wearing a plaid suit and red tie sitting in front of a red background with brown acoustic tile on the right side.  He is holding a stack of papers from which he is reading into a black microphone.

Somehow, this is supposed to change the way people perceive things.  That means the film turns into a negative of itself.

A negative image of a color still.  A man in a top hat wearing a cardigan is standing in front of an orange background gesticulating at the screen.  The hat is white instead of black, the man's face green, and the cardigan a bright teal with black +s.

This goes on for a while, then the movie goes back to normal.  Once in a while, it turns back into a negative.  I guess that's a Moebius Flip.  Along with more skiing, we get folks at an amusement park and eating in a restaurant.  This part of the film features some pretty impressive and scary scenes of dangerous winter sports.  People ski over huge crevasses, wind up on top of a tower of snow, and hang from cliffs.

A color still of a person hanging from the underside of a cliff overhang. The person is supported by several ropes and a rope ladder.

Is it worth twenty-odd minutes of your time?  Well, if you like psychedelic images or are a big fan of skiing, it could be.  The science fiction premise is just an excuse to reverse the colors of the film, and there's no real plot at all.  I've never been on a pair of skis, so I can only appreciate the athleticism on display here as an outsider.

Two stars.

Sole Survivor

The title card of the movie SOLE SURVIVOR, written in black capitals with white shadows in a stencil font.  The title is superimposed over a photograph of the silhouette of a wrecked airplane against an orange sky, with the low sun just touching the top of the plane.

This is a made-for-TV movie that aired on CBS stations in the USA earlier this month.  It begins with five men in World War Two uniforms standing around a wrecked American bomber of the time.  They seem to be in pretty good shape, given that they're in a desert wasteland.  Things get weird when we find out they've been waiting to be rescued for seventeen years.

A color film still of five white men in World War II era military bomber jackets. They are standing in front of pieces of wrecked airplane.  The man on the left wears a flight helmet. The man next to him wears a baseball cap.  The third and fourth men are wearing officers' caps. All four look at the fifth man on the far right of the frame, who is facing them and appears to be speaking.
The crew of the Home Run.

It quickly becomes clear that they are ghosts, waiting for their bodies to be found so they can stop haunting the wreck. 

I should note here that the premise is inspired by the case of the Lady Be Good, a bomber that crashed in the Libyan desert in 1943 and was not discovered until 1958.

A color photograph of the wreck of the bomber 'Lady Be Good' as it lays on the sand in the Libyan desert. The back half of the plane lies at right angles to the front half, and there are several small items scattered around the main wreck.
The real wreck.

Fans of Twilight Zone will remember the episode King Nine Will Not Return, which was also inspired by the fate of the Lady Be Good.  That tale goes in a different direction, however.

Two men in an airplane discover the wreck.  (By the way, the fact that the ghosts have been waiting for seventeen years means that the movie takes place in 1960 or so.  There's no other indication that it's set a decade ago.)

Two white men sitting in the tan interior of a small plane.  The passenger wears a tan hat, a white shirt, and dark jacket, and is adjusting a camera. The driver wears sunglasses, a pink shirt, and a brown jacket.
The discoverers, who look more 1970 to me.

This leads to an official investigation by the United States Army.  (Remember that the Air Force was part of the Army, and not a separate branch of the service, until a few years after World War Two.) Two officers are in charge of the mission.

Two white men in black army dress uniforms and hats sitting in the back of a car and having a conversation. They are looking out the front of the car rather than at each other.
William Shatner, fresh from Star Trek, as Lieutenant Colonel Josef Gronke and Vince Edwards, best known as Ben Casey, as Major Michael Devlin.

They pay a visit to the sole survivor of the Home Run.  This fellow parachuted out of the plane and landed in the Mediterranean Sea, managing to make it out alive to continue his military career.  (More details of what happened later.)

A blonde white man in general's dress uniform stands in front of window with a flower-print curtain.  The man looks pensive.  The view outside the window is dark and rainy.
Brigadier General Russell Hamner, as played by Richard Basehart, recently the star of the TV series Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea.

Hamner agrees to accompany the two officers to the North African desert.  He claims that all of the crew of the Home Run bailed out into the ocean, so the plane must have continued without them for several hundred miles before it crashed.  Unlikely, but possible.  Flashbacks tell us the real story.

A white man, the top of his face obscured by his hat, sitting scrunched up in the bomber. He is wearing a communication headset and appears to be speaking urgently.
Hamner as the navigator of the Home Run during the war.

The bomber was damaged in an attack by the enemy.  The captain ordered Hamner to plot a course back to base, but he panicked and bailed out against orders.  Without a navigator, the crew went off course and the plane crashed. 

Tension builds as Devlin casts doubt on Hamner's story, and Gronke tells him not to make waves, lest he ruin his career.  Both officers have their own concerns about their pasts, adding depth of character.  Without giving too much away, let's just say that the truth comes out because of a harmonica, a rubber raft, and Hamner's guilty conscience.  There's a powerful and poignant conclusion.

A white man with brown hair  and a bomber jacket (the fifth man from the second photo from this segment) holds a baseball in one hand and a baseball glove in the other.  He is standing in front of the airplane.
The last ghost faces an eternity playing baseball alone.

This is quite a good movie, particularly for one made for TV.  I like the fact that the ghosts appear as ordinary men, rather than being transparent or something.  The actors all do a good job.  You'll never hear the song Take Me Out To The Ball Game again without having an eerie feeling.

Four stars.


A white man with dark short hair and a dark van dyke beard sits on a yellow couch reading a fantasy periodical.  A window in the background shows an empty suburban street.
by Brian Collins

Over the past several years, AIP has adapted stories by H. P. Lovecraft for the big screen—or at least the drive-in. The results have been mixed, but they could certainly be much worse. The first and still the best of these was The Haunted Palace (adapted from The Case of Charles Dexter Ward) back in '63, directed by Roger Corman, with a script by the late Charles Beaumont, and starring an especially tormented Vincent Price. It was a very fine picture. Now we have the latest entry in this "series," The Dunwich Horror, taken from the Lovecraft story of the same name, although it's a pretty loose adaptation.

The Dunwich Horror

The title card from 'The Dunwich Horror.' The title is written in white capitals, and includes the quotation marks. behind the title are abstract silhouettes of trees with short, spiky branches stand against a dark blue background.

One warning I want to give about this movie, one which has nothing to do with sex or violence, is that, aside from being generally a pretty strange film, there are several scenes featuring flashing lights, or a color filter changing rapidly to give one the impression of a strobing light. Some people (thankfully not many) are susceptible to epileptic fits if subjected to such stimuli.

Now, as for the film itself, once we get past what I was surprised to find is an animated (as in a cartoon) opening credits sequence, we start with what seems to be a flashback of a woman giving birth, surrounded by two elderly sisters and an old man. We then flash forward to Miskatonic University, that college of the occult and Lovecraft's making, in Arkham. Nancy Wagner (Sandra Dee) is a student who, in the college's library, meets a good-looking but unusual young man named Wilbur Whateley (Dean Stockwell), who is terribly interested in the Necronomicon. I'm sure his interest in the accursed book and his strange deadpan way of talking are perfectly innocuous. A certain professor at Miskatonic, Henry Armitage (Ed Begley), gets a bit of a hunch that Wilbur is up to no good, but for now does nothing about it.

A color film still. A man in a black shirt, his face visible only from the mouth down because of the camera angle.  He reaches into a glass case to gently lift out a large black hardbound book with metal fittings and a lock on the pages. The label at the top of the case reads 'The 'Necronomicon' ' in white capitals. A woman in a white shirt stands behind the man, her hands raised, watching what he is doing.  Her face is visible only from the eyes down.
The Necronomicon, kept in a cozy glass case.

"The Dunwich Horror" is one of Lovecraft's most celebrated stories, but it's also one of his trickiest. As with "the Call of Cthulhu," Lovecraft wrote "The Dunwich Horror" as if it were a report or an essay, a work of journalism or academia, rather than a fiction narrative. There's no protagonist, properly speaking, although Wilbur is certainly the story's nucleus. This remains sort of the case with the film, although Nancy and Armitage now serve as our eyes and ears, or rather as normal people in what becomes an extraordinary situation. However, it's not Sandra Dee or Ed Begley who caught my attention, but Dean Stockwell as Wilbur, who gives almost what could be considered a star-making role (to my knowledge his most high-profile roles up to now were film adaptations of Sons and Lovers and Long Day's Journey into Night), if not for the movie that surrounds him. Unlike his short story counterpart Wilbur here is not physically deformed, but instead talks in a strangely deadened tone, as if human emotions are foreign to him. Stockwell as Wilbur manages to be uncanny simply through how he talks and acts, which is a major point of praise.

A color film still of a young white man with brown curly hair and a mustache and a young white woman with blonde hair.  They are staring to the left of the viewer with apprehensive looks on their faces.  The man wears a blue shirt, dark tie, and brown jacket.  The woman wears a black blouse and tan jacket.  Some dark wooden furniture is behind them, along with teal wallpaper.
Dean Stockwell as Wilbur Whateley and Sandra Dee as Nancy Wagner.

Director Daniel Haller and his team of screenwriters have opted to streamline Lovecraft's story while giving it a sort of romance plot, as well as a dose of sex and violence. Sex and Lovecraft have always been uneasy bedfellows, even in something like "The Shadow Over Innsmouth" which explicitly involves sex in its plot. Wilbur is one of two twins, the other having supposedly died in childbirth, with the father being unknown, and his mother having been kept in an asylum for the past two decades. Wilbur lives with his grandfather, Old Man Whateley (Sam Jaffe, who some may recognize as that one scientist in the now-classic The Day the Earth Stood Still), who seems convinced his grandson is also up to no good, but arbitrarily (the film does nothing to explain this) does nothing about Wilbur being a scoundrel. For his part, Wilbur sees Nancy as a pretty fine girl—for a dark ritual, that is. The idea is that if he can steal the Necronomicon and impregnate Nancy (the implication, via a mind-bending scene, is that he rapes her), he can bring one of "the Old Ones" into the human world.

Two older white men stand in front of a house with dark wooden siding and a four-paned window.  The man on the left has curly hair and a beard and wears a white shirt with blue stripes and a bugundy smoking jacket.  The man on the right wears a fedora, a black suit, and a dark gray overcoat.  They both look to the right offscreen with disturbed expressions.
Sam Jaffe as Old Man Whateley and Ed Begley as Professor Henry Armitage.

As this point the plot splits in two, with one half focusing on Wilbur and Nancy's "romance" while the other sees Armitage tracking down the mystery of Wilbur's birth, since it becomes apparent the young man and the Necronomicon are somehow connected. One of the strangest (sorry, "far-out") scenes in the whole movie is when Armitage goes to see Wilbur's mother (Joanne Moore Jordan), who apparently had lost her mind many years ago upon giving birth to Wilbur and his dead twin. When it comes to this movie, there are two types of strange: that of the unnerving sort, and that of the cheesy sort. There are parts (sometimes moments within a single scene) of this movie that do a good job of spooking the audience, and others where it's rather silly. With that said, the nightmarish effect of Jordan's performance combined with the changing color tints in this scene make it one of the most effective. This is a movie that generally shines brightest when it focuses on Stockwell's performance and/or the Gothic cliches (including a creepy old house) that clearly also influenced Lovecraft's writing. Maybe it's because they didn't have the budget for it, but the lack of an on-screen monster for the vast majority of the film's runtime also works in its favor.

An old woman with unkempt white hair and a blue one-piece hospital gown huddles in the corner of a padded cell looking upward with a frightened expression.  The buttons of the padding - like on a mattress - are visible on the walls and floor. The metal frame and springs of a bed are in the foreground.
Joanne Moore Jordan as Wilbur's mother, who's spent the past two decades as a mental patient.

When Old Man Whateley finally decides to take action, Wilbur kills him for his troubles, along with imprisoning one of Nancy's friends and turning her into some kind of abomination. Meanwhile Wilbur gives his grandfather a heathen burial and in so doing provokes the wrath of the Dunwich townspeople, who never liked the Whateleys anyway. It's revealed, or rather speculated, that Wilbur's twin may not have died after all, but instead gone to the realm of the Old Ones while Wilbur got stuck on Earth as a human. Armitage and the townsfolk succeed in stopping Wilbur from completing his ritual with the unconscious Nancy, Armitage being well-versed enough in the Necronomicon to use the book against Wilbur, killing him with a blast of lightning. So the last of the Whateley men is dead. Unfortunately, the final shot, eerily showing a fetus growing inside Nancy (which is odd, because she's probably only been pregnant a day or two), implying an Old One may be born after all.

A white man with brown curly hair - the same one from the earlier photo - stands among trees at night.  He looks off to the left, seemingly in concentration.  He is  wearing a black cultist robe and rests his hand on top of a metal wine goblet which is standing on a wooden board.  A hand, presumably attached to a body lying on the board, is visible at the bottom of the screen.
Dean Stockwell at his most devilish.

Lovecraft purists will surely be much disappointed with this movie, and even as someone who is not exactly a Lovecraft fan, I have to admit it's by no means perfect. Even at 90 minutes it feels a bit overlong, and it tries desperately to contort one of Lovecraft's more unconventional stories into having a three-act structure. I also get the impression that the addition of blood and breasts was to appease those (people my age and younger) who are suckers for AIP schlock. Not too long ago we had Roger Corman's so-called Poe cycle, which for the most part did Edgar Allan Poe's (and in one case Lovecraft's) fiction justice on modest budgets. I would say The Dunwich Horror is on par with one of the lesser of Corman's Poe movies.

A high three stars.



[New to the Journey?  Read this for a brief introduction!


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[January 26, 1970] Over The Rainbow (Doctor Who: Spearhead From Space)


By Jessica Holmes

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? It’s all change in the new season of Doctor Who: new Doctor, new companion, new visuals. And it's now in colour!

But is it worth the increased rent on my new television set? Let’s catch up on “Spearhead From Space”.

Doctor Who title card—new font on a swirly, coloured background

In Case You Missed It

The last season of Doctor Who ended with Second Doctor Patrick Troughton being separated from his longtime companions Jamie (Frazer Hines) and Zoe (Wendy Padbury) and sentenced to exile on Earth in the 20th century. “Spearhead From Space” picks up where “The War Games” left off, with the new Doctor, Jon Pertwee, tumbling out of the TARDIS in the middle of a field in England. And he’s not the only extraterrestrial arrival to Earth. Remember UNIT from “The Invasion”? They’re back again, this time investigating an unusual spearhead-shaped shower of unidentified flying objects that landed in the local area. Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart (Nicholas Courtney) remains in charge, and his curiosity is piqued when he learns of the arrival of a mysterious patient to a nearby hospital: a man found next to a peculiarly-situated police box.

The Brigadier gets a bit of a shock when he sees that this is not the Doctor he knows—and yet this Doctor knows him, greeting him like an old friend. Which of course, he is. Unfortunately for the Brig, for the moment the Doctor isn’t feeling up to doing much more than drifting in and out of consciousness and raving about his shoes, so he needs an alternative scientific consultant. Enter Liz Shaw (Caroline John), an acid-tongued skeptic who is less than impressed with the Brigadier for pulling her away from her research to go chasing after UFO nonsense.

Liz Shaw (left) and the Brigadier (Right). The Brigadier is frowning at the TARDIS key in his hand, and Liz stands behind him with a slightly mocking look on her face.

When word gets out about the Doctor’s alien biology, it attracts the attention of local alien ne’er-do-wells, the Nestenes. There’s an advance party of Nestenes already on Earth, being controlled remotely by a sort of shared mind. They’re planning to take over the world by replacing powerful individuals with living plastic duplicates. And also shop window dummies that shoot people. The plan is nearing fruition, but there’s a snag: they’ve quite literally lost their mind. Rather than transport the mind to Earth in a spacecraft like any self-respecting alien conqueror, they put it into a bunch of plastic shells (perhaps they couldn’t find one big enough for the whole thing), flung it in the direction of England and hoped for the best. That was the meteor shower seen earlier. And now some of those shells are missing.

Hoping he can help lead them to the missing shells, the Nestenes attempt to abduct the Doctor from UNIT. The attempt fails, and if anything, puts UNIT and the newly-recovered (and marvellously dressed) Doctor on their trail. A race ensues to recover the shells, and discover what makes them tick. Though the Nestenes manage to recover the shells, even sending in an impostor to steal one from HQ, it’s not long before UNIT track the Nestenes down to a local plastic doll factory.

A shop window with 5 dressed dummies behind the glass.
You don't really get the effect in a still image, but trust me, it's really scary in motion.

Just in the nick of time too, as the Nestenes’ blank-faced Auton servants are wreaking havoc across the country. The Doctor pulls an all-nighter to create a device capable of blocking the Nestenes’ telepathic signal to the Autons, and accompanies UNIT to an assault on the factory. Though the assault fails (plastic dummies don’t really care about bullets), it creates enough of a distraction for the Doctor to infiltrate the factory and confront the big blobby tentacle thing controlling them. According to the Nestenes that’s the ideal vessel for their consciousness: a big blobby tentacle thing in a tank. The Big Blobby Tentacle Thing has a good go of throttling the Doctor as he tries to cut it off from the main Nestene mind off in outer space, but Liz manages to save the day with some last-second adjustments. The Earth is safe… for now. They’ve stopped the Nestenes this time, but all Nestenes share a mind, and the rest of it is still out there somewhere. All the Doctor did was essentially cut off a limb. Who knows if or when they’ll be back? And if not them, who else might be plotting against humanity? We know by now that the Nestenes aren’t the only extraterrestrial threat out there, not by a long shot. With our advancing technology, Earth’s getting noisier every day, and the rest of the universe is taking notice.

Fortunately for UNIT (but not for the Doctor) the TARDIS isn’t going anywhere. It looks like the Doctor will be sticking around on Earth for a bit—and rest assured UNIT will find plenty to keep him busy.

Left-Right: Liz, the Brigadier and the Doctor. They're looking at a glowing orb-shaped object which is connected to various scientific equipment.

All Change? Not Quite!

It’s a new decade, a new format, a new Doctor, even a new title sequence, but long-time viewers will be glad to know that Doctor Who isn’t shedding the past entirely. With more Earth-bound stories to come in the coming series, and with a new Doctor without companions from his past life, I did have worries that it would feel more like a revival than a continuation of the past 7 years. However, we have UNIT and returning character Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart to bridge the gap between past and present. Indeed, in terms of tone this serial is reminiscent of last year’s ‘The Invasion’. If we’ve got more of that sort of thing on the way, I say ‘Brig’ it on.

I am so sorry.

Yes, I was glad to see the Brigadier again, though I hope that the increased focus on UNIT’s activities won’t send the programme in an overtly militaristic direction. That said, it wasn’t going in guns blazing that won the day. It was military intelligence and technological expertise. It’s all rather James Bond.

The Brigadier and the Doctor in front of the TARDIS. The Brigadier has his back to the camera and is talking to the Doctor, who has a sardonic expression.
The name's Smith. Doctor… John Smith.

Though Doctor Who remains connected to its past, this serial is an excellent starting point for anyone wanting to start watching for the first time. With all the exposition flying around, you’ll easily get the gist of what the show is all about. If you’re an occasional viewer, a bit of a refresher is also probably welcome by now. But you're still never going to learn his name.  Not his real name, anyway.

We were all sad to say goodbye to Jamie and Zoe at the end of the last season, but it looks like the Doctor won’t be too lonely on Earth. Not only is the Brigadier going to be around for the foreseeable future, but he has a new companion in the form of no-nonsense scientist Liz Shaw. She’s less than impressed to have been dragged off her research at Cambridge to go chasing after UFOs, and it shows. Especially when the men around her start commenting on her looks rather than her brains. I’m immediately rather fond of her, and so too is the Doctor.

Speaking of whom, let’s properly introduce you to the Third Doctor, shall we?

The Doctor falling forwards out of the TARDIS, which is in the middle of a wooded area.
Gracefully flopping his way into the world.

Doctor Who?

So. Doctor number three. If Troughton had the hardest job that any actor has ever had on Doctor Who, proving that the show can survive recasting the main character, then Pertwee has the second hardest. He has to prove that it can work more than once.

But who is Jon Pertwee, anyway? Well, he’s certainly got chops as a comedic actor, with a great many appearances on radio, television, film, and stage, including the original West End production of Sondheim’s musical comedy A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum, and later its film adaptation. And of course there’s his appearances in the Carry On… series of films, which starred Bill Hartnell (Doctor No. 1) in its first outing. So he’s in good company there. Does he have the range to make his Doctor more than a clown, however? From what I’ve seen so far… Yes!

The Brigadier leans over the Doctor's hospital bed, as the Doctor frowns up at him.

Right out the gate, he seems to have taken a leaf out of Troughton’s book, which is to not base his Doctor too heavily on his predecessor. There’s a delicate balance required to find a unique take on the Doctor’s character while keeping him still the same man at heart. Well, hearts. Apparently he’s got two.

Pertwee’s Doctor is a much more confident and authoritative figure than Troughton’s, that much is clear right away. He’s very charming when he wants to be, and abrasive when he doesn’t. And cool. He is undeniably cooler. He’s like James Bond from space. Of course, like both Doctors before him, there’s an element of childishness that he can’t quite suppress. Every now and then, traces of the old Doctor creep in, a sort of Troughton-esque haplessness when things go wrong. I like it.

The Doctor surveys his outfit in the mirror with satisfaction. His fedora is at a jaunty angle.

Of course, the Doctor wouldn’t be the Doctor without a streak of mischief (plus a total disregard for authority), and this Doctor’s more than qualified in that regard. He starts off by nicking himself a new set of clothes. Whereas his predecessor was all for the shabby-chic (emphasis on shabby), this Doctor has rather more refined—if ostentatious—taste. Rather than settle for the first basic shirt and trousers he can dig out of the lost-and-found, he pilfers a frilly shirt, trousers, smart velvet jacket, fedora and, of all things, an opera cape from the (doctors-only, naturally) changing room. But—and this is important—it is a smashing look for him. So morally I’m pretty sure it’s fine.

I also didn’t expect Doctor Who, of all programmes, to have a shirtless scene. Much less getting to see the Doctor with his top off. If you’ve an eye for a silver-haired gent, you’re in luck—there’s a shower scene, too. I wasn’t looking or anything, but I did notice that the Doctor now has a forearm tattoo. Maybe he dropped by an outer space tattoo parlour on the way to Earth.

The Doctor fresh out of the shower with a towel around his waist and a shower cap on. There's a serpent tattoo vaguely resembling a question mark on his right forearm.
Sorry to barge in on you, Doctor!

So, yes. I think the new Doctor is working. He charmed Liz in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, and it’s safe to say he’s charmed me too. It’s early days, but I think Jon Pertwee is off to a good start.

Final Thoughts

Plot-wise, this is a pretty fun serial, with a slow but satisfying first half and some exciting action in the second. Come to think of it, the first half reminds me of a film from a few years ago, 1966’s Invasion, directed by Alan Bridges, written by Roger Marshall… and based on a story by Robert Holmes. And guess who wrote this serial?

If an idea’s good, you might as well re-use it.

There’s quite a lot of moving parts which I simplified in the summary, but it’s not hard to follow, just pleasantly complex, with vivid side characters and an air of intrigue to the whole thing.

That said… the ending is a bit weak. Not weak enough to bring down the whole thing, but not as good or smart as all the build-up had been.

The Doctor being strangled by green tentacles, with a comic expression of distress on his face.

I’d better discuss the Big-Blobby-Tentacle-Thing in the room. Yes, the final confrontation between the Doctor and the Nestenes is a bit naff. Yes, the rubber tentacles are silly, and yes, Pertwee pulls a very, very funny face when being ‘strangled’ by them.

The Autons, on the other hand, are a much more impactful villain. I don’t think I’ll ever look at a shop window dummy the same way again—and neither will the nation’s children. The moment in the last episode where the dummies in the window suddenly come to life with a start is truly chilling. Even when they’re not attacking people, they just look wrong. They sit perfectly in the uncomfortable area between human and not-human. The more human-like Nestene duplicates with their waxy faces are pretty creepy, but the Autons are a standout for me.One of the best monsters we’ve had in a while, I reckon.

If we’re starting as we mean to go on, I think we’re in for a cracking season.

An Auton with blank eyes looking at the camera.




 

[January 25, 1970] Alien Island, Enchantress from the Stars, The Winds of Darkover, and The Anything Tree

[New to the Journey? Read this for a brief introduction!]


A photo portrait of Brian Collins. He is a casually dressed white man with closely cropped dark hair, moustache, and beard (both kempt). He is casually dressed and reading an issue of 'Fantasy and Science Fiction'.
by Brian Collins

You may look at the byline for today's book of mine and wonder if your eyes are deceiving you; but no, that really is T. L. Sherred, who some older readers may remember as having written a few SF stories more than 15 years ago. Indeed, it has been so long since Sherred last appeared that it seems as if JESUS CHRIST HIMSELF had been born and then crucified in the interim, what with how much the field has changed since 1955. Now Sherred comes to us with what is apparently his debut novel.

Alien Island, by T. L. Sherred

Book cover, featuring a psychedelic illustration juxtaposing the round earth (with autumn trees and clouds inset) against a warped cube of space featuring a landscape of white peaks and pink shadows.  Large artificial structures of the same white material dominate the space proximal to the earth
Cover art by Carol Inouye.

The gist of it is that humanoid aliens, called the Regans, have come to Earth, in the name of a kind of cultural exchange; it just so happens that they've landed in Sherred's home state of Michigan. Dana Iverson holds part-time jobs as a barmaid and cafeteria worker, but secretly she works for the CIA, thus acting as our eyes and ears for the story that unfolds. A barfly buddy of Iverson's, Ken Jordan, gets randomly (or at least it seems random) selected as Earth's ambassador for the meeting with the Regans. For the Regans' part, they've provided the unrealistically gorgeous space captain Lee Kay Lukkari. The idea is that Jordan and Lukkari merge personalities and memories, quite literally, such that they learn of each other's cultures in about as direct and intimate a way as one can imagine. The neutral ground, which Jordan soon enough transforms into a kind of Xanadu, is the island of the book's title, positioned on the US-Canada border, just outside Michigan.

What could possibly go wrong? Actually, quite a lot.

Readers with good memories may recall a very good story of Sherred's from a very long time ago, "E for Effort," which involves a seemingly innocuous invention (a time-viewer that the characters use to their economic advantage) but which soon comes to have apocalyptic consequences. I have to say I'm a bit confused as to why Sherred, who for all I know has spent the past 15 years selling used cars, should suddenly emerge from hibernation with this specific novel. It's not that Alien Island is a bad novel exactly, but rather that while it follows a similar trajectory to that minor classic of Sherred's that I mentioned, and while it seems to come from the same place of pessimism regarding humanity's future in the wake of the atomic bomb, this is a narrative that doesn't benefit whatsoever from being rendered a novel. Certainly it would have worked better as a novella, given the small cast of main characters, the claustrophobic setting, and the single-mindedness of its message. The sad part is that it's by no means a bad message.

The other question I have to ask is why Sherred waited until, say, the past few years to write this novel of his. True, there are passages wherein the characters discuss sex, in a pretty inoffensive fashion (those expecting steamy human-on-space-babe intimacy will come away disappointed), but the language is more or less clean. I will say, it's not often you read an SF novel by one of "the old guard" these days and have the protagonist/narrator be a woman; that much of Iverson's conflict comes from her jealousy of Lukkari and her ill-hidden affection for Jordan is not as steep a price to pay as it sounds. Another thing to its credit is that Alien Island is a satire with a point to make, which I understand is going off of a low bar, but it still distresses me how many alleged satires strike me as utterly vacuous. Similarly to "E for Effort," this is basically a story about the pinhead humanity stands on, between nuclear annihilation and possibly ascending to a higher place. With "E for Effort" it was a time-viewer, whereas with Alien Island it's intervention on the part of some benign, if hard-to-read aliens.

One more thing: Without giving away specifics, I was worried that Sherred's novel would repeat the black hole of nuclear doom that "E for Effort" headed for by its end; but this novel's ending, which has a strangely biblical resonance, could be considered cautiously optimistic. Incidentally, "cautiously optimistic" is how I also feel about Sherred returning to the field after so long.

Three stars, but I was hoping for more.


A photo portrait of Winona Menezes. She is a woman with light-brown skin, long black curly hair and dark eyes. She is smiling at the camera.
by Winona Menezes

Ace Double 89250

The Winds of Darkover, by Marion Zimmer Bradley

Book cover, featuring a painted illustration of a snow-swept landscape with a walled city in the background, its towers just catching the light of a crepuscular red sky.  In the close foreground, separated from the city by a great distance, we see four figures with trousers, knee-high boots, tunics, metallic helmets and sleeves, gauntlets, and brightly colored capes.  Red, yellow, and green are running in a line with swords drawn towards blue in the middle distance
by Kelly Freas

This month’s Ace Double gives us the fifth story set in Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Darkover universe. A standalone story, The Winds of Darkover requires no prior knowledge of the series.

Generations removed from the colonists from whom they descended, the people of Darkover, a little waystation planet, live in an archaic feudal society lorded over by a ruling class with psychic abilities. Deep in the mountains, one of these noble families is thrust into turmoil when a bandit tribe lays siege to Storn Castle, and to save her family Lady Melitta of Storn is forced to flee in search of aid.

Seemingly unrelated, high above the planet a disgraced spaceport dispatcher named Dan Barron is unceremoniously relieved of his position after a paralyzing psychic vision renders him useless in an emergency and endangers the lives of several pilots. To salvage his employment he is sent on a humiliating planet-side mission at the request of the Darkovan Lord Valdir to instruct his men in the construction of lenses used in telescopes. Barron agrees reluctantly, but the psychic visions that cost him his job continue to plague his mind and body.

Bradley’s setting is dazzling; Darkover is unmistakably reminiscent of the Middle Ages, but filled with enough alien wonders and ancient history to give the impression that this world is much bigger than the little story it contains. The story, unfortunately, does its world little justice. Each event feels cobbled together out of necessity, and the sum of the parts is a story that jerks from one scene to the next with little regard for cohesion. The third act is so brief that the resolution feels unearned. My biggest issue, however, was the baffling choice to write one of its main characters out of importance.

Melitta of Storn is driven from her besieged home with the fate of her family entirely dependent on her wit and bravery, and seems like the obvious candidate for the heroine of a pulp fantasy. Rather than do the obvious, however, Bradley is apparently content to allow Melitta to gradually fade into the background with little impact on the plot. Until, of course, it is time for her to be the milquetoast half of a romance with Barron so under-baked I found myself checking to make sure I hadn’t accidentally skipped any pages.

The Winds of Darkover is a serviceable but ultimately skippable installment in the Darkover saga. It is buoyed only by its fantastical setting, and the story a disappointingly uninspired patchwork of genre fantasy staples. Two stars.

The Anything Tree, by John Rackham

Book cover, featuring a surreal illustration of a brown tree with neither ground nor sky, against a background of green leaves.  The lower part of the tree is shaped as a great and solemn mask, and limbs like arms rise from the convolutions of the bark
by John Schoenherr

The other half of this Ace Double is The Anything Tree by John Rackham, and I found myself enjoying this one a lot more than I thought I would upon reading the opening pages. The first few paragraphs describe the heroine flippantly enough that I thought the rest of the book was going to be dismissive of her, but once the plot picked up I was pleasantly surprised.

Selena Ash is a covert agent sent on a mission by her father’s company to locate the planet of a tree with miraculous properties, and she does so under the guise of a thrill-seeking socialite who enjoys interplanetary racing. A mysterious sabotage sends her ship crash-landing onto a lush forest planet that she believes to be uninhabited… until she runs into Joe, a fellow explorer who has inexplicably “gone native” and made this planet his home, loincloth and all. Joe acts as Selena’s guide as they traverse this obscure planet to escape her adversaries, and she slowly begins to understand that Joe has a certain kinship with the plant life that populates this planet. As she grows to share his affinity for the friendly alien flora, she realizes that his solitary existence might be less lonely than she had initially believed.

Some of the inciting incidents of the plot feel a little contrived, but I was more than willing to suspend my disbelief and enjoy this fantastically verdant paradise of a planet. Selena’s awareness of the existence of a kind of sapience possessed by the plants, not so much intelligence as base creature instinct, grows gradually enough to coax the reader along into an unwitting empathy with vegetation. Even the romance feels earnest and sweet, as the two protagonists are brought mentally and spiritually into togetherness by willingly joining the plants in their blissful existence. This unfamiliar way of existing is joyful in its inhumanity, compelling enough for me to ignore any plot contrivance or cliché and just be one with the greenery.

Maybe the contempt at the beginning of this story was justified, by Selena and all of humanity, me included. Rackham’s reverent wonder for the criminally unappreciated plant rings clear as a bell, compelling enough for me to set aside my dumb human logic and be reminded by the flowers of the joy of existing as a living creature. Four stars.


A photo portrait of Jessica Dickinson Goodman. She is a white woman with straight dark hair pulled back behind her head.  She wears a zipped up jacket, and is smiling at the camera.
by Jessica Dickinson Goodman

Enchantress From the Stars, by Sylvia Louise Engdahl

Today, 230 young women are undergraduates beginning their Spring semester at Yale where this time a year ago, none were. The education of women is a profession as old as learning, but has only recently been taken up by a range of our nation's institutions of higher learning. Stories about young women's minds, as opposed to their bodies or the uses men find for them, are as welcome and necessary as air.

Book cover, printed in yellow with black accents, featuring what appears to be a background pattern of clouds in half-tone with the title in an otherwise emptied circle above a triptych of circular prints in the lower-half of the cover, overlapping in a triangle.  Each of the circles bears a different image of a person, printed three times at horizontal offsets.

Enchantress from the Stars is a story of a young woman's exploration of her world through the worlds – and worldviews – of others. This story has three alternating perspectives but Elana's view is the central one, with scenes through Jarel and Georyn's eyes weaving around it but never overwhelming the forthright and careful way Elana approaches her story.

This is a story fans of Star Trek would deeply enjoy, with its Federation and moral imperatives not to interfere, its mix of timelines and technologies, and most of all, its earnest heart. It brings a duty-bound respect for and curiosity about all living things that fans of Nurse Chapel and Lieutenant Uhura – as well as Kirk, Spock, McCoy, Sulu, and Chekov – might enjoy.

Elana's world is divided into thirds, with her society at the top, as those who have control over the power of both machines and minds. Jeral's society is second tier, with control over mechanicals like space ships and mining engines and laser weapons, but no psychic powers. Georyn's world languishes in the bottom third of the power hierarchy, medieval with no machines and no mental powers, but he does hold a belief in magic that allows him to understand the world around him in some ways that are initially lost on Jeral.

The "dragon" that appears early in this story shows the deep potential for this tripartite frame. First, we hear of a dragon from Georyn and the number of people who have gone to fight it and never returned. Then we see through Jarel's eyes it is a fire-breathing forest clearing machine from the empire he serves in a junior capacity, and that the people Georyn has lost to the "dragon" are actually imprisoned by Jeral's colonizers. Finally, and most complexly, we understand the dragon through Elana's eyes, as both the monster of myth and of man, its terribleness and terror flowing from both wellsprings.

Enchantress from the Stars invites readers to engage in the kind of profound and transformative empathy that the best of science fiction and fantasy can draw from us. We see events from our own views as readers, from hers, from those of her father and coworker and the people she seeks to protect and those whose aggression she seeks to defuse. As I read, I found myself reinterpreting everything Georyn and Jeral said through Elana's view, a pleasant mental and emotional stretch that only grew more satisfying the more practice I had at it.

That juxtaposition between science fiction and fantasy is in a way at the heart of what makes Enchantress from the Stars so magical and remarkable, because the genre shifts depending on who is telling the story. Georyn's fantasy is Jeral's horror is Elana's science fiction. Most books ask us to walk in one stranger's shoes, and leave us better off for doing it; Enchantress from the Stars invites us to several views and gives us the tools to truly understand them.

In this moment where professors are having to learn to address their students as "ladies and gentlemen" and not merely "gentlemen," I believe we could all use as much practice expanding our worldviews as possible, to include new genders, new perspectives, and as many new ways of being as we can in a never ending effort to fully understand what it means to be human.

Americans today live under a constitution that does not once include the word "she" or "woman" or "girl." It has been nearly 50 years since the Equal Rights Amendment was first introduced and it still, still has not passed. Maybe some of those young women at Yale will get it passed or their colleagues at the University of California at Berkeley, which is celebrating its 100 year anniversary of admitting women this year, will see it through.

Like Elana's world, ours is unequal. It is full of dangers and arbitrary death, patriarchies that bind and urge conformity and restrict human potential. It is also full of girls like Elana, boys like Georyn and Jeral, young people who are willing to challenge what they can see with their own eyes is wrong in the world. Who are willing to take what they are given by their fathers, older brothers, commanders, and societies and say: no, this is not for me; for me, I choose another way.

Enchantress from the Stars gives them and us the time and space to question, to discern what our worlds are and should be and can be. It is a novel that gives us readers a breath of time, a bare string of moments, to consider: what have we received today that we will reject, reform, and remake tomorrow? Who will we teach ourselves and others to be? Who will we become?

Who do we want to be?

(Four stars)


[New to the Journey? Read this for a brief introduction!]


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[January 24, 1970] War: Individualism and Insubordination (Patton and M*A*S*H)

BW photo of Jason Sacks. He's a white man, with short light hair, rectangular glasses, and headphones.
by Jason Sacks

War is on everybody’s minds these days as the controversies around the Vietnam War rage on.

Two new films, Patton and M*A*S*H, provide complex and nuanced views of war. These two films contrast strikingly, overlapping with some ideas, but dramatically far from each other with others.

The two films also present a complete contrast in look and feel. Patton has a traditional roadhouse production look and feel. But the film isn't stiff – it celebrates the quirkiness and depth of its lead character, making it a surprisingly complex film whose revolution rests with General Patton, himself. M*A*S*H focuses on the eccentricities of its lead characters but is surprisingly conservative in terms of gender roles and expectations. In its filming and style, however, M*A*S*H is like nothing we've seen before.

Following the General

A movie poster for Patton, with positive quotes from both Cosmopolitan and The New York Times

Patton, directed by Franklin J. Schaffner, stands as an epic portrayal of one of the most controversial and enigmatic military figures of World War II, General George S. Patton. The film not only delivers a stunning performance by George C. Scott but also delves into deeper themes that reflect the complexity of war and the man who seemingly thrived in it.

General George S. Patton, a larger-than-life figure with an unyielding belief in his destiny to lead and conquer, appears almost mythic in his determination and ferocity. Yet, within this portrayal, there's an underlying tragedy – Patton is depicted as a man out of his time, someone whose ideals and mannerisms belong to an era long past.

Patton: A Man Out of Time

Patton’s character is deeply rooted in the ethos of classical warfare, where personal glory and valor were the hallmarks of a military hero. He draws inspiration from historical military figures and battles, often romanticizing the past and seeing himself as a continuation of a warrior tradition. This is evident from his astounding opening speech, where he declares, "Americans love a winner and will not tolerate a loser."

Throughout the film, Patton’s anachronistic views are at odds with the modern world. His reverence for discipline, his belief in reincarnation, and his disdain for weakness are portrayed as attributes of a bygone era. In a poignant scene, he compares himself to a gladiator, reflecting his belief that he is fighting not just a modern war but a timeless battle of wills.

Patton’s rigid adherence to these antiquated ideals often puts him at odds with his contemporaries. His confrontational and abrasive leadership style contrasts sharply with the more politically astute and strategic approaches of his peers. This tension culminates in moments where his actions, though tactically brilliant, are questioned for their diplomatic and ethical implications.

Color picture of Patton, standing in the deep grass within Italian ruinsGeneral Patton at home in some Italian military ruins

Pro-War Elements in Patton

The film does not shy away from showcasing the pro-war elements that define Patton's character. His speeches and actions glorify the warrior spirit and the thrill of battle. He revels in the chaos of war, viewing the battlefield as the ultimate test of character and leadership. Patton’s relentless pursuit of victory, his insistence on pushing his troops beyond their limits, and his disdain for those who falter, all underscore a pro-war narrative that valorizes aggression and tenacity.

A significant pro-war element is the depiction of Patton’s belief in destiny and divine guidance. He sees himself as an instrument of fate, chosen to lead and conquer. This almost messianic conviction drives him to extraordinary feats of leadership, inspiring his troops to achieve seemingly impossible victories. His charisma and unwavering confidence create a sense of inevitability about his success, reinforcing the idea that war, for him, is a stage where great men prove their worth.

two white men standing on either side of a film cameraDirector Schaffner with actor Scott

Anti-War Elements in Patton

Yet, the film is not a one-dimensional glorification of war. Director Schaffner and writers Francis Ford Coppola and Edmund H. North present a nuanced view that also highlights the anti-war elements intrinsic to Patton’s story. The personal costs of Patton’s relentless drive for victory are evident in the toll it takes on those around him. His relationships are strained, his subordinates are pushed to their breaking points, and his superiors are often exasperated by his unyielding nature.

The film also critiques the destructive consequences of Patton’s actions. His obsession with glory and his impatience often leads to reckless decisions that jeopardize lives and missions. He is a man who hates what he sees as cowardice. He refuses to believe in battle fatigue. In fact, one of the most infamous incidents in Pattton’s career – and in this film – happens when he strikes a shell-shocked soldier. Victory is the crucial goal, no matter that a victory without human honor is disgraceful.

Patton standing in the snow with his binoculars, infantry behind himPatton has the long view of any military adventure.

Moreover, the film portrays the political and moral dilemmas of warfare. Patton’s disdain for diplomacy and his confrontational attitude often clash with the broader strategic goals of the Allies. His near-dismissal for insubordination highlights the tensions between individual heroism and collective responsibility. The film underscores the notion that war is not just a series of battles but a complex interplay of politics, ethics, and human cost.

This film’s portrayal of Patton raises important questions about the nature of leadership and the morality of war. It invites viewers to consider whether greatness in war justifies the personal and ethical compromises that come with it. Patton’s character serves as a lens through which the audience can explore the dualities of war: its capacity to elevate and destroy, to inspire and to devastate.

Patton’s presentation

Patton was filmed in a process called Dimension 150, similar to the old Todd A-O process which allowed extreme widescreen films (with a ratio of 2.25:1) to be shown with standard projectors. But as you know if you live in a big city, Patton is being marketed as a roadshow experience like The Sound of Music or Lawrence of Arabia.

A wide, chaotic battle scene in a desert city, with Patton firing into itJust look at that glorious widescreen image!

This results in Patton having a true epic feel: battle scenes feel titanic and powerful, filled from edge to edge with soldiers struggling through the mud or firing their rifles. It’s a powerful effect, though a dramatic contrast to our national character at the dawn of this decade. This approach reinforces the “great man” feeling of George Patton as a titan astride the fights he unleashes. It also helps to make him feel like a dinosaur.


Suicide is Painless

poster with the legend

M*A*S*H, on the other hand, feels as fresh as this week’s underground newspaper—irreverent and dismissive, full of tangents and wild moments. Patton may feel like a dinosaur, but Hawkeye, Trapper John, Painless Dentist, Nurse Hot Lips and the rest feel like people who just walked off the street in your home town.

There are acres of mud in Patton, but the world of M*A*S*H feels even muddier. Set in a military unit during the Korean War but clearly paralleling the Vietnam War, director Robert Altman delivers a film which feels like a revolution – even if its characters sometimes reinforce conservative values.

The Revolutionary Approach

M*A*S*H has rightly been celebrated for its unconventional and groundbreaking approach to filmmaking. One of the most striking features is Altman’s use of overlapping dialogue and improvisation. This technique not only adds a layer of realism but also enhances the chaotic and unpredictable nature of life in a wartime medical unit. The characters speak over each other, conversations blend together, and the audience is plunged into the midst of the chaos. Patton allows characters to make speeches. M*A*S*H doesn’t want speeches.

A word here about the script: Ring Lardner Jr. is credited as the scriptwriter, adapting Richard Hooker’s novel. As I mentioned in a recent review, Lardner was one of the Hollywood Ten, a group of screenwriters who were blacklisted by the Hollywood system for their alleged involvement with the Communist Party. It’s an act of heroism to give Lardner work today, and a great sign of the changes to American politics. I do wonder how much of this film Lardner actually scripted – M*A*S*H feels thoroughly improvised – but I welcome seeing his name again.

six white men sitting at a table, arranged in a way that echoes the Last Supper

Appropriately, M*A*S*H shuns the typical heroic combat narrative. Instead of glorifying war, M*A*S*H presents it as absurd and grotesque. The surgeons, led by the irreverent Hawkeye Pierce (Donald Sutherland) and Trapper John (Elliott Gould), cope with the horrors of war through dark humor, practical jokes, and general insubordination. The anti-establishment sentiment that runs through the film mirrors our own countercultural movements of the 1960s, making it resonant. Patton’s insubordination is internal; the insubordination in M*A*S*H is societal.

This insubordination makes M*A*S*H feel thoroughly contemporary. Everybody hates the army, its inflexibility, command structure, even its jeeps and the terrible movies it provides to the troops. Not even the intercom works as expected (the intercom also serves as a kind of Greek chorus for the film, an unexpected bit of meta-humor). I also found the insubordination to be thoroughly hilarious.

Altman’s use of non-linear storytelling and episodic structure further sets M*A*S*H apart. The film lacks a traditional plot, instead unfolding as a series of vignettes that illustrate the day-to-day lives of the characters. This approach allows for a more nuanced and multifaceted exploration of the war’s impact on individuals, eschewing the neat resolutions and moral clarity often found in war films.

Four white men standing facing each other. Three of the men are dressed in Army green, while the second from the left is wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt and aviator glassesTrapper John and Hawkeye conning and confusing a helicopter pilot

Individualism is at the center of everything Altman creates with his cast. None of these people are simple grunts manning their job. Instead, all the characters in the film, even those on the edges of the frame, feel like unique human beings. It even feels as if the movie could focus on those characters without sacrificing what makes this movie unique.

Revolution in Style, not Society

Despite its innovative approach, M*A*S*H is deeply conservative in its portrayal of the sexes. The film’s treatment of its female characters is troublesome. Women in M*A*S*H are largely depicted as objects of desire or sources of comic relief, reinforcing traditional gender stereotypes rather than challenging them.

Take, for example, the character of Major Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan, played by Sally Kellerman (Star Trek and Outer Limits). She is portrayed as a rigid, by-the-book officer who becomes the target of the male characters’ ridicule and pranks. The already-infamous shower scene, where her tent is lifted to expose her naked body to the entire camp, is a particularly glaring instance of the film’s sexist undertones. This scene is played for laughs, reducing Houlihan to a mere object of male amusement and stripping her of dignity.

a faintly blurry wide shot of various camp members, men and women alikeThe entire camp of the MASH unit mocks Major Houlihan

Furthermore, the film’s male characters frequently objectify and demean their female counterparts. Nurse Lt. Dish, for instance, is referred to more by her physical attributes than by her professional capabilities. The interactions between male and female characters often revolve around sexual innuendo or outright harassment, reflecting a chauvinistic attitude all too common in both the military and society then (and, of course, now).

This presents an interesting paradox for director Altman. Many reviewers rightly lauded Altman for his complex and nuanced portrayal of a female lead in his previous film, That Cold Day in the Park. M*A*S*H critiques many aspects of military life and the absurdity of war but does little to challenge the status quo regarding gender dynamics.

The only defense I can muster to that attack is to note how M*A*S*H shows a mostly male world at the hospital. Nearly all the officers are men, and all the injured are all men. Therefore, a male attitude prevailed at camp. M*A*S*H takes place in the early 1950s, when women had recently been sent back from factories and battlefields to the kitchen and motherhood. It was a conservative era in terms of gender roles, and male chauvinism was pervasive. Surely M*A*S*H would feel strange if women, even well-trained nurses, were treated as equals.

A white man wearing glasses and a silly expression, next to a blonde woman with a stuck-up, disgusted expressionCol. Blake is the only one who treats Houlihan as even slightly equal to him – but he is an ineffectual goof.

The film’s humor, often at the expense of its female characters, underscores a broader societal acceptance of sexist behavior. In this sense, M*A*S*H may be revolutionary in its approach to storytelling and its anti-war message, but it remains entrenched in conservative views on gender roles.

Which is the conservative film?

M*A*S*H is a reminder of the limitations of our era’s progressive movement. While the film challenges many societal norms and offered a fresh perspective on war, it offers a discordant view in its representation of women, reflecting the broader struggles of the feminist movement as we enter the 1970s.

In fact, I adore M*A*S*H. I walked out of the theatre on an emotional high from seeing the film much like the high I get after seeing a great rock concert (I still think about that Blind Faith/Delaney & Bonnie show at the Seattle Center Coliseum last fall!) M*A*S*H feels like the revolution. It feels like the future. It feels like a new generation of film and I can’t wait to see what Robert Altman delivers next.

a small wide man in sunglasses is speaking to two taller actors in army fatiguesAltman directing Gould and Sutherland

But Patton was also a movie that really shook me, particularly the oddly naïve ways General Patton strove for glory. General Patton may have been a figure from my parents’ generation, but his attitudes and life philosophy were surprisingly nuanced in the hands of George C. Scott, Franklin J. Schaffner and the writers.

The characters in M*A*S*H could come of the streets of any American town. George Patton was one of those men who seemed like he could only succeed in war.

Both films provided me experiences I’ve never had before in a movie theatre.

Five stars for each.



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[January 22, 1970] Sergeant Pepper's New Wave Writers' Club Band: New Worlds, February 1970


by Fiona Moore

February’s rain and sleet freeze the toes right off the feet, as Flanders and Swann once sang. Still, there’s reason to celebrate: the Family Law Reform Act has come into effect, reducing the age of majority from 21 to 18 for most purposes, homosexual sex being a notable exception. Decimalisation continues apace, with the half-crown coin being taken out of circulation (don’t worry, you can exchange it at most banks).

Term has resumed at Royal Holloway College and my students are attacking the writings of Margaret Mead with their usual enthusiasm. However, there is also widespread unease among our Nigerian foreign student community over the capitulation of Biafra: many of them have had no news of their families, and are also concerned about when they will be able to go home. The university is rallying round to make sure everyone is housed, and there are jobs aplenty in Southwest London if they need to stay a while, but it is still an anxious situation for them.


Jubilant street scene in Lagos upon the news of surrender, January 12, 1970

No news of Yoko Ono after December’s festive anti-war campaign. Rumour has it she and her husband have gone off to New York for some reason, so I expect I’ll be covering her activities less often. What all this means for her husband’s band, I’m not sure.

On to New Worlds, which continues its trajectory back to being an SFF magazine, but unfortunately almost every story is suffering from a lack of originality this month.

Cover of New Worlds, February 1970. The text is red, the background is black. In the centre is a black and white image of a car running over a nude female torso.Cover by Roy Cornwall

Lead-In

Mostly introducing new writers and illustrators to the magazine, as well as showcasing the pieces by Ballard and Watson, and drawing the reader’s attention to a new, presumably ongoing, feature of the publication—of which, more later.

Journey Across a Crater by J.G. Ballard

A black and white image of the left side of a White androgynous face photographed through distorted glass.

A piece about a crash-landed astronaut finding his way to civilisation. There are resonances with Ballard’s earlier story “You and Me and The Continuum” (Impulse Magazine 1:1, 1966), and also some vivid sexual imagery about car crashes, which makes sense given that the Lead-In tells us Ballard is currently working on a novel about these. Interesting enough as a revisitation of familiar Ballard themes but no new ground broken. Three stars.

Soul Fast by Gwyneth Cravens

A black and white photocollage of kitchen utensils.Illustration, artist uncredited (possibly Charles Platt)

A story by a woman in New Worlds is always worth remarking on, particularly a woman who is a current editor of the New Yorker. However, I can’t help but notice that women writers in New Worlds always seem to get pigeonholed into writing about domestic or otherwise nurturing themes. This one, for instance, is about food and the role it plays in relationships. There are some interesting satirical commentaries on race and how over-privileged White Americans with superficial attitudes towards spirituality crib from Black and Asian cultures, which makes it worth checking out. Four stars.

Japan by Ian Watson

A series of black and white cartoons depicting impressions of Japan
Illustration by Judy Watson

This is the standout piece of the issue. Watson, a Tokyo resident, introduces Japan to English readers in a surreal, outré travelogue emphasising the weird SF-ness of living in a country where the atmosphere isn’t breathable, earthquakes and fires are endemic, sexual fetishes are catered to in the mainstream media, and consumerism takes on the status of art. The illustrations are by Watson’s wife Judy. It’s beautifully written, though, having been to Japan once or twice myself, I worry that it’s over-emphasising the strangeness of the country to a point where it might simply confirm Europeans’ stereotype that the East is a bizarre and hostile place. Nonetheless, five stars.

Apocrypha by D.M. Thomas

A poem about the life of Jesus. It’s not terribly original, but I did find it engaging and nicely written. Three stars.

6B 4C DD1 22 by Michael Butterworth

A black and white illustration depicting a face with tentacles emerging from the forehead and cranium.Illustration by Alan Stephanson

Another not-terribly-original piece in the vein of “let’s drop acid and describe the resulting trip as an SFF story.” The mind-altered protagonist lurches back and forth between several different realities, some more surreal than others, with recurring characters playing different roles. I like Butterworth’s way with prose, and some of the metaphors and descriptions are genuinely arresting, but I’d like to declare a moratorium on anyone using Alice in Wonderland as an acid trip metaphor; it’s been done to death. Similarly, while I really like the accompanying art, it looks exactly the same as every other set of illustrations intended to show an acid trip (see above). Four stars.

A Spot in the Oxidised Desert by Paul Green

A black and white line drawing of a rust patchIllustration by John Bayley

A short prose poem from the point of view of a dying sentient tank in a future desert battlefield. Possibly the most innovative piece this issue. Four stars.

The Bait Principle by M John Harrison

A black and white illustration of a small stylised human figure menaced by giant, but very cute, cats.Illustration by Ivor Latto

Patients in an asylum begin to share each other’s delusions, and, in doing so, bring them into reality, leading to an ailurophobe being tormented by human-sized cats. This is an amusing twist on the familiar crazy-people-are-actually-seeing-the-truth genre, but at the end of the day that’s all it is. Two stars.

The Wind in the Snottygobble Tree: Conclusion by Jack Trevor Story

Black and white photograph of a double decker bus in an urban streetIllustration by Roy Cornwall

Finally this serial lurches to an end, with some heavy-handed satire about the Catholic and Scientologist churches, spies and the police. I have the feeling that the story-so-far summary is in fact retroactively adding elements, but I’m not interested enough to go back and find out. The eponymous tree finally appears (it's a species of yew, apparently), but I don’t think it’s got much to do with the story apart from being a bit gross. One star.

A Vid by James Sallis

A short poem which didn’t really do much for me. Two stars.

Books

By Mike Walters, John T. Sladek and Douglas Hill. There’s a delightfully excruciating pun on the first page, although Walters has to contort his review in order to fit it.

Music

As regards the new feature I mentioned above: New Worlds now has a music column! This is certainly a welcome innovation, and I look forward to seeing whether the New Wave has a particularly distinctive take on album reviews.

Overall, I’d say the magazine is suffering this month from a lack of originality. Everything is competently written at worst and sometimes really beautiful, but most of it is things that have been done before. Even the music column is something we see over and over in other magazines, and whether the fact that the reviewers are from the usual New Worlds crowd will make a difference is uncertain.

Is the New Wave played out? Can it (and Mr. Yoko Ono’s musical career) survive into the new decade? Time will tell.



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[January 20, 1970] Jolly good Ffelowes (February 1970 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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photo of a man with glasses and curly, long, brown hair, and a beard and mustache
by Gideon Marcus

Up in the sky!

There are some intrepid women whose names are household words: Willa Brown, Jerrie Mock, Amelia Earhart.  Others are not so familiar.  The other day, I read the obituary for a pioneering soul I'd not known of before.

Blanche Stewart Scott was born in 1885.  A native of Rochester, she was 25 when she drove a 25-horsepower Overland stock car from New York to San Francisco, her 69 hour journey marking the second time a woman had made a transcontinental drive.

This attracted the interest of aviation pioneer Glen Curtiss, who took her under his wing (so to speak) and trained her to fly.  Apparently, Mrs. Scott had never seen an airplane before her coast-to-coast jaunt; she was caught in a traffic jam outside Dayton, Ohio, caused by a flying exhibition out of Wright Field. 

After just three days of instruction, she made her first solo flight on September 5, 1910, from an airfield in Hammondsport—what may well be the first time an American woman piloted an aircraft.

Photo of a cold-weather suited young woman behind the wheel of a Curtiss Model D, open-air biplane

Over the next four years, until she gave up flying, she suffered 41 broken bones in a number of crashes.  She was one of the lucky ones: "Most of the early women fliers got killed," she once observed.

Scott's later career included working as a scriptwriter, film producer, and radio broadcaster in Hollywood.  In 1948, she became the first woman to ever ride in a jet aircraft.  During the '50s, she combed the country for vintage planes to stock the U.S. Air Force Museum near Dayton.

She died on January 12 at Genesee Hospital in her native town of Rochester, New York.

Down in the mud

full cover spread depicting two conventional, space-suited astronauts meeting a pair of tall, thin, bipedal aliens with pointed heads, also in space suits, their spindly blue and yellow spaceship/base on the lunar horizon
by Michael Gilbert

Another pioneer of sorts had something of a flutter, if not yet a brush with death (I hope).  The latest issue of Fantasy and Science Fiction is pretty bad…

From the Moon, with Love, by Neil Shapiro

Who says you can't still publish Adam and Eve stories?  This time, our parabolic (is that the adjective form of parable?) two are "Dorn" and "Lara", respectively the Master and Mistress of Fortress Desire and Fortress Hope.  They are young clones, the last two humans alive, residing in twin, invulnerable bastions on the Moon.

Three centuries after atomic apocalypse destroyed their planet, the two beings are still conducting weekly mutual bombardments, begun ages before by their predecessors. Then the "Ezkeel", alien guardians of Earth, return to unite them so that they can repopulate their home planet.  I leave it to you to decipher the thinly disguised biblical reference in their race name.

Anyway, Shapiro manages to write both in a peurile fashion and for the Playboy set (perhaps the two aren't that divergent, after all).

One star.

Black and white image of three books entitled Alien Island, LUD-In-The-Mist, and The High Place. The righthand collumn reads Our thanks to James Blish for his kind words about our science fantasy program. Here are some titles. Ballantine Books 101 Fifth Avenue New York, NY, 10003.

M-1, by Gahan Wilson

Illustrator Wilson (he gets around; I see him drawing for Playboy too) takes a stab at short story writing.  In this vignette, mysterious forces have erected a thousand-foot statue of Mickey Mouse in the Nevada desert.  The point of the story, aside from the feeble joke ending, is to see how long it takes the reader to realize what has happened, as the figure is obliquely described as characters ascend it like a cliff face.

I got the joke halfway through page 2.  The rest seemed superfluous.

Two stars.

Books (F&SF, February 1970), by James Blish

Blish tags in for Russ this month, reviewing five classic fantasies and one new novel:

James Branch Cabell: FIGURES OF EARTH,
James Branch Cabell: THE SILVER STALLION.
Lord Dunsany: THE KING OF ELFLAND's DAUGHTER.
William Morris: THE WOOD BEYOND THE WORLD.
Fletcher Pratt: THE BLUE STAR.

All from Ballantine Books, New York, paper, 95¢: 1969.

He likes and recommends all of them.  I've read none of them…

He is less effusive about Josephin Saxton's THE HIERos GAMOS OF SAM AND AN SMITH.  He appreciates the surrealism of it, but he would have preferred that this odd Adam-an-Eve story had remained in its own world rather than transitioning into ours.

Comic Of a man in a suit wearing horns holding a sacrificial blade uses it on a chicken on a desk. He stands next to a woman in office attire. The caption reads Very Well Miss Apple -Call My Broker.
by Gahan Wilson

His Only Safari, by Sterling E. Lanier

Brigadier Ffelowes relates of the time he went to the Kenyan highlands and came face to face with the man-eating monster that inspired the Egyptian god Anubis.

Lanier does a good job of reviving the pulp era for modern audiences.  A brisk, taut read.

Four stars.

Watching Apollo, by Barry N. Malzberg

Our astronauts may be the stalwart vanguard of humanity, but they also have to shit, sometimes.

Three stars for this cheeky poem.

Initiation, by Joanna Russ

A precious homosexual and a straight-laced starship captain escape a spacewreck, landing on an odd human colony.  In contrast to their overcrowded, overconfining Earth, the new world's people are free, untechnological, and possessed of profound psionic powers.  The skipper is unable to adapt or understand.  The Terran civilian, unpleasant and mistrustful, eventually loses his inhibitions (and, apparently, his proclivity for men), becoming one with the outworlders.

Told in a dreamlike fashion to suggest the odd psychic phenomena and the constant wordless communication, I found this story's affected style off-putting.  Sex was described obliquely, less to avoid offense, it seemed; more as if Russ was embarrassed of describing the act.

I also didn't like anyone in the story, nor did I care much what happened to them.  The alienness of the colonists would have had more impact had things started with a more familiar, constrasting viewpoint.

I understand this story is also actually a detached piece of a larger novel due out later this year.  Perhaps it would make more sense in context.

Two stars.

The Tracy Business, by Gene DeWeese and Robert Coulson

Fans of the fanzine Yandro know who Robert "Buck" Coulson is (Juanita Coulson's husband).  He and DeWeese write Man from U.N.C.L.E. novels under the name "Thomas Stratton".

This story follows a private dick hired by a shrewish woman to find out why her husband disappears every four weeks for three days, spending a boodle of money in the process.  Hint: it's not another woman, and it's not blackmail.

It's a rather obvious tale, and unpleasant to boot.  Two stars.

The Multiplying Elements, by Isaac Asimov

The Good Doctor explains those "rare earths" that have their own separate spot on the periodic table, and also how they were first isolated from their containing ores.  However, we have yet to learn why they occupy their own sub-table.

Chemistry is not my strong suit, and this article is necessarily incomplete, but I'll give it four stars for now.

Dream Patrol, by Charles W. Runyon

Way back in 1952, J.T.McIntosh (when he still was calling himself M'Intosh) wrote a neat story called Hallucination Orbit.  The premise was that there were these solitary garrison stations at the edge of the solar system, manned for months at a time.  Eventually, the folks stationed there started having hallucinations, which was the sign they needed to be relieved.  The sentry of that story dreamed a succession of increasingly convincing female companions.  The tension of that tale lay in our hero's increasingly challenging attempts to distinguish fantasy from reality.

It was a warm and ultimately sweet story, and it is one of my favorites.  There's a reason it got republished in the Second Galaxy Reader (1953).

Dream Patrol has the same premise, except the illusions are caused by hostile aliens, and there is no cure.  There's also a streak of misogyny to the whole thing.  Hell, almost 20 years ago, McIntosh had women in his space navy; that's unfathomable to Runyon.

Two stars.

Autopsy report

Given how good last month's issue was, this abysmal 2.3-star mag is quite the surprise.  Let's hope this constitutes an outlier.  One prominent obituary this month is quite sufficient!

snippet of a page from the magazine: IMPORTANT NOTICE TO SUBSCRIBERS ON THE MOVE
Will you put yourself in the place of a copy of F&SF for a moment?
A copy that is mailed to your home, only to find that you have moved.
Is it forwarded to you? No. Is it returned to us? No. Instead, a post
office regulation decrees that it must be . . . thrown away! We are
notified of this grim procedure and charged ten cents for each notification.
Multiply this aimless ending by hundreds each month and we
have a doubly sad story: copies that do nobody any good, and a considerable
waste of money to us, money which we would much prefer to
spend on new stories. With your help, this situation can be changed.
lf you are planning a change of address, please notify us six weeks in
advance. lf possible, enclose a label from a recent issue, and be sure to
give us both your old and new address, including the zip codes.
SUBSCRIPTION SERVICE, MERCURY PRESS, Inc., P. 0. Box 271,
Rockville Centre, N.Y. 11571



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55 years ago: Science Fact and Fiction