All posts by Gideon Marcus

Magazine

[October 8, 1963] The Big Lemon (November 1963 IF)

4 Comments


by Gideon Marcus

New York.  Gateway to America.  Home of Broadway, the Empire State Building, Times Square, etc. etc.

Big deal.

This week, my wife and I took a United 707 from LAX to Newark for a mini-vacation.  A good friend of ours, whom we met in fandom, lives in Morristown, New Jersey.  We stayed in bucolic west New Jersey for a couple of lovely days before hopping the train into Town.  You see, I'd never really been to the Big Apple, and my wife had enjoyed the last couple of times.  Plus, there was a little convention going on at the time to serve as an anchor.  What the hell.

Hell and anchor are right.  Lemme tell you, bub — two nights in mid-town, with the bums, the horns, and the smoke, will sour anyone on the place.  Maybe the folks here are inured to this constant assault on all of the senses, but for a country boy like me, it warn't no fun.  The con was a crummy, disorganized mess, too.

All right.  I can see you natives getting your fur up.  To your credit, there were some interesting-looking shows on the Great White Way, and my last meal on the island involved some of the tastiest pizza I've ever had, and we managed to meet a clutch of truly excellent people in Manhattan.  But we're happy to be back in quiet ol' Morristown for our last day, and ever-so-glad to be heading home tonight.

The experience is not unlike the one I had reading this month's IF Science Fiction.  It had a few bright spots, but otherwise was a tough slog.  I understand that IF was the low rent sister to Galaxy, offering a bare cent and a half per word and getting what it paid for.  When Fred Pohl took over the mag in 1961, he raised the rates for new stories and closed the deal on a bunch of previously rejected bargain stuff to fill the cracks.  This issue appears to be made up entirely of the chaff.

The Governor of Glave, by Keith Laumer

Laumer's Retief series is getting long in the tooth.  There are only so many stories of a diplomat/super-spy (spy/super-diplomat?) we need.  This one was especially tired: the rabble coup the eggheads running a planet dependent on skilled engineers to keep the terraforming plants running.  Decent plot but horrible execution.  Hint to Laumer — if Retief doesn't feel any need to worry, neither does the reader.  Two stars.

The Second-Class Citizen, by Damon Knight

A hand-less dolphin trying to make it in a human world is truly a fish out of water.  But what happens when the roles reverse?  Damon Knight has returned to fiction writing after a long stint translating European works and doing book reviews.  That he's chosen the friendly bottlenose as his subject shouldn't surprise given the success of the recent movie, Flipper (not to mention Clarke's novel, People of the Sea.  This particular tale had promise, but it ends too quickly and ham-fistedly.  I look forward to better tales from Knight and about dolphins.  Three stars.

Muck Man, by Fremont Dodge

Here's a neat concept.  After a century of interstellar exploration, humanity has found a dozen inhabitable planets, but none of them are carbon-copies of the Earth.  Survival on any of them requires physical modification to deal with the immense gravities or impurities in the atmosphere or dangerous predators.  Thus, people who settle these alien worlds become, themselves, aliens.  It's very refreshing to find a depiction of a universe that isn't filled with perfectly suitable worlds.

This particular tale involves a fellow who is framed for the theft of a Slider egg, a coruscant treasure found only on Jordan's Planet.  Not only is one difficult to obtain, as they are vigorously defended by the fearsome Slider beasts, but they also have a limited lifespan.  Asa Graybar was working on a way to keep them alive indefinitely; thus, a put-up job by the Director of Operations of the primary distributor of Slider eggs, who wants to preserve their scarcity and value. 

Rather than cool his heels for five years in a conventional prison, Graybar elects to serve a one-year hitch on Jordan's Planet as a Muck Man — a human modified to be a powerful frog-like being.  Muck Men are well suited for digging Slider eggs and thriving in the swampy environs.  Graybar hopes to use his tenure on the mud planet to continue his research and, perhaps, clear his name.  Unfortunately for him, the guy who framed him also comes to Jordan's Planet to ensure Graybar doesn't finish his sentence.

It's a good, vivid story, and it even has a competent female character (heiress to the Slider egg distributor company).  However, it's about a third too short, perhaps cut for length like Panshin's Down to the Worlds of Men a few issues back.  Moreover, I'm getting tired of there being room for just one woman in any tale, and she only in a position of importance due to breeding.  Can't women make it to the top on their own merit?  Three stars and hoping for more next time.

Long Day in Court, by Jonathan Brand

This is the first story from "Brand," a university employee operating under a pseudonym.  It's an interstellar court of law story, consciously aping the not-at-all futuristic Perry Mason series.  The puzzler case of the day: when is beating your spouse both the crime and the punishment?

It's about as amusing as it sounds, though at least it's in English.  Two stars.

Glop, Goosh and Gilgamesh, by Theodore Sturgeon

Mr. "90% of everything is crap" proves that the rule applies to its inventor as well as the rest of us mortals.  This piece on asphalt is readable, but the guy is phoning in his non-fiction.  Get back to fiction, Ted!  Two stars.

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

The first part of this three-part serial introduced us to Steve Ryland, a physicist condemned to life imprisonment for subversive acts against the oppressively harmonious world-state run by a giant computer, The Machine.  Ryeland is asked to recreate the reactionless space drive and find the legendary Reefs of Space, free-floating inhabitable structures far beyond the orbit of Pluto.  The hope is that this will allow Earth's authorities to find Ron Donderevo, the one terran ever to escape the Machine's regime.

Part Two was almost a standalone tale, chronicling Ryeland's exile to and attempt to escape Heaven, where convicts are doped up and allowed to live a pleasant life — as their organs are harvested one by one until the host can't sustain life anymore.  Ryeland fails in the end, but is rescued by Donna Creery, daughter of The Planner, the one person on the planet with authority to change the Machine's programming. 

She and Steve escape to the Reefs of Space on the back of the seal-like "starchild," a beast that can travel across light years of vacuum without adverse effects.  In their new home, with the aid of the exiled Donderevo, they must prepare to face down dangers both indigenous and Earth-born

Reefs of Space is an odd duck.  It's a pair of pulpish book-ends around a virtually unassociated novella.  I suspect Parts 1 and 3 were written by Jack Williamson, whose bibliography goes back to the 20s, and Part 2 was done by Fred Pohl.  Certainly, the fascinatingly horrific aspects of it feel very Pohlian.  In any event, whereas Part 1 barely merited three stars and Part 2 was a surprisingly decent four-star episode, Part 3 is a muddled mess that ends on an abrupt and unsatisfactory note.  Plus, of course, it has the mandatory sole female whose high position is earned solely from having had a well-placed father.

Two stars for this section, three stars for the whole story.

A Better Mousetrap, by John Brunner

Last up, a piece from the often (but sadly, not always) excellent Britisher, John Brunner.  Hostile aliens have seeded the solar system with asteroid-sized clusters of precious metals that turn out to be ship-destroyers.  A very talky piece, as dull as it is nonsensical.  Two stars.

***

I won't denigrate this issue too much; IF has always been of widely variable quality, and the good issues make up for the lousy ones.  Still, if ever there was an issue to miss, this is it.

You're welcome.

4 Comments Leave A Comment
TV

[October 6, 1963] Birth of a genre (the Japanese cartoon, Astro Boy)

8 Comments


by Gideon Marcus

Up in the sky!  It's a bird.. it's a plane… it's Superman… no.  it's…

ASTRO BOY!

If you've tuned into NBC on Saturday mornings, you may already have caught sight of the world's newest superhero.  Astro Boy, a robotic child with rocket jets, has already charmed grown-ups and kids alike.  But where did this strange new cartoon come from, why does it seem slightly off-kilter, and what is the provenance of those clearly foreign names in the credits?

The birth of Astro Boy

The story begins in Japan immediately after the war's end within the pages of a comic book.  While comic strips had been known in the country for nearly a century, it was the American occupation and the subsequent exposure to western-style comics that really made them popular in the island nation.  One of the most famous of the Japanese comic artists is Osamu Tezuka, who created the character that would one day be known as Astro Boy in 1952.  Called "Mighty Atom," he has appeared in weekly comic anthologies ever since.

As these comics ("manga" in Japanese) increased in popularity, a number of attempts were made to translate them into other media.  Live-action movies were made for many strips including Uncle Alien, Ironman #28 (no relation to the Iron Man of Marvel comics), and, of course, Mighty Atom.  They were all pretty crude affairs, calling to mind the movie serials of the 1930s.

Astro Boy arrives on television

Surprisingly, it was not until this year that manga began to come out on TV in cartoon form (I'd have thought that would have been a more natural evolution, but perhaps live action is easier to produce.) Japan has flirted with animation before, notably the movie Alakazam the Great, which came out a couple of years ago.  But Japanese cartoons are now flourishing in an unprecedented fashion.  I know of at least three animated series that debuted this year, and there are probably more.

The first and perhaps most anticipated one was Mighty Atom, which debuted in January.  By the time my family and I visited Japan in June, the story was well underway, but I managed to catch a rerun of the first episode, and thus became acquainted with the origin story:

It is the late 1990s, and the world is significantly more advanced, technologically.  Flying cars, space ships, and sentient robots are common.  Episode One opens up on Tobio, a teenaged boy cheerfully driving down the street in his air car.  A large truck suddenly looms into the lane and a collision ensues.  The accident is fatal, and his father, Dr. Tenma of the National Science Institute, carries the body away, sobbing.  That night, he resolves to cast a new Tobio from steel, to create the most advanced robot the world has ever known.

It takes a year, but the result is a metal boy, powerful and brilliant.  At first, the robot is the apple of his creator's eye.  But as the years pass, an increasingly erratic Dr. Tenma grows disenchanted with his invention, which is unable to grow into a man.  He sells Tobio to a robot circus master, who throws dubs the boy "Mighty Atom" and throws him into the ring against Golem, an enormous robotic opponent.  Despite the size disadvantage, Atom dispatches Golem with ease, thrilling the audience.  He refuses to deal a death blow to his opponent, however, and the cruel master locks Atom up and refuses to give him more energy.

During his confinement, Atom discovers a group of discarded robots, their power levels virtually exhausted.  These are former performers of whom the master has tired.  Touched by their plight, Atom offers them some of his own limited reserves of energy to make them mobile again.

That night, a dangerous performance involving fire goes awry, and the circus structure bursts into flames.  Atom springs into action, enlisting his robotic friends to save the human attendees.  He even personally saves his master, who has been trapped under a pile of collapsed timber.

In hospital the next day, Dr. Ochanomizu, Dr. Tenma's successor, entreats the circus master to release Atom into the custody of the Institute, where he will be properly treated.  Atom's master refuses, scoffing at the idea that he should be grateful to a robot who, after all, was only doing his duty.  Whereupon Ochanomizu turns on the television, which carries news of a "Robot Human Rights Act," bestowing full rights upon the robotic underclass.  The master must give Atom up or be guilty of human trafficking.  In tears, the fellow relents.

So begins Tobio's adventures with the Institute under the name, Mighty Atom.  Over the course of the next three episodes, he aids the police in the capture of a renegade robot, leads an expedition to Mars, and is shanghaied to Arabia by an evil archaeologist cum treasure hunter. 

That's the plot in broad strokes.  But it's the execution of the show that's so interesting.  The animation is weird, surreal and sparse, more akin to Felix the Cat than Hanna-Barbera, or even Mighty Mouse.  It's a genuinely funny show, with lots of sight gags and adorably outre character designs. 

What truly got me was the social commentary.  In every outing, Mighty Atom faces intolerance and discrimination.  When a robot goes amok and becomes a criminal, Mighty Atom is blamed; his heroic actions in the first episode are not enough to clear even him of the suspicion leveled against robot-kind.  In Episode 3, Atom's XO is so incensed at having to work for a robot that he tries multiple times to kill him! (and yet, the goodhearted robot can't help but forgive him).  And in the fourth episode, the villains have no qualms with enslaving the robot boy.  I can't imagine an American children's show so directly taking on the touchy topics of slavery and bigotry even though they are perhaps more relevant to our current situation than Japan's (not that Japan is absent of prejudice problems — ask the Koreans who live there).

Astro Boy's American debut

And yet, that's exactly what's happening.  Starting this September, Mighty Atom debuted on American television under the name of "Astro Boy!"

How has the show fared in its journey across the sea?  Not too badly, actually.  If you, like me, went to Worldcon, then you got to see the first show weeks before anyone else, and the general consensus there was that it made for fine viewing.  The dubbing is competent, although it tries a little too hard to match voices to mouth movements (the Japanese are more carefree about such things, putting emphasis instead on acting).  The Japanese version was very spare with its narration, preferring to let the visuals speak for themselves; the American narrator is relentless and ubiquitous.

But every scene is there, and all the lines are translated.  It is the same show. 

How remarkable is that?  We live in an age where television now crosses both seas, and we Americans can enjoy British and Japanese productions less than a year after their premiere in their countries of origin.  Perhaps next year, we'll be seeing the cartoon versions of Eight Man and Ironman #28, which began in Japan last month, on American television.

Who knows?  Someday, Japan's animated creations may end up more popular here than anywhere else!  Make Mine Mighty!

1963, anime, astro boy, mighty atom, osamu tezuka, japan, gideon marcus, television

8 Comments Leave A Comment
Magazine

[October 2, 1963] Worse than it looks (October 1963 Analog)

4 Comments


by Gideon Marcus

[We've just updated KGJ for the Fall.  Check out our line-up of new hits!]

Life is a series of cycles: The seasons change; people are born, have children, die, and their children do the same; the government takes its pound of flesh every April.  And every month, I slog through an increasingly tall pile of science fiction books.  Like the Hydra of Greek legend, any conquest I make is fleeting, for there is always a new set to review.

Of course, my labor is not generally an unpleasant one.  When I get my hands on an exciting new book or a magazine dense with worthy selections, life is grand.  On the other hand, when the reading gets difficult, that's its own kind of hell, particularly when the reading involves magazines.  I can drop an unpromising book without much twinging of conscience, but I am committed to reviewing every issue of every American SFF magazine.  That can be rough.

To wit, the October 1963 Analog is a tedious slog.  While I give many of the individual pieces passable "3-star" ratings, most barely cross that threshold of acceptability, and taken together, they make a kind of mind-numbing sludge.  Aren't you glad I read this issue for you?

The Geodetic Satellite, by Marvin C. Whiting

The first entry in the magazine is the non-fiction article, and it (thankfully) doesn't involve psi or perpetual motion.

Whiting presents a the history of and need for geodesy.  It turns out that geodesy, the science of measuring Earth's exact shape, is essential for navigation — whether nautical, aerial, or ballistic.  Satellites allow measurements of incredibly high accuracy, well beyond any military requirement, which means they're almost good enough for scientists.  A competent, if not scintillating account.  Three stars.

Where I Wasn't Going (Part 1 of 2), by Walt Richmond and Leigh Richmond

A full half of the issue is taken up with the first half of a two-month serial, and thus the trouble starts.  The Richmonds were apparently never taught the old maxim: "Show, don't tell."  Either that, or the message got garbled in transmission.  In any event, while Going is ostensibly about the goings-on in a space station several decades from now, it's really a series of expositional pages that don't even have the virtue of being entertaining. 

I gave up about a quarter of the way in.  It's a pity given the beautiful illustrations Schoenherr produced for the story.  One star.

War Games, by Chris Anvil

About a century ago, the Prussian army invented the wargame, a simulation of battle that afforded a modicum of training for officers without any of that messy fighting business.  In 1954, Charles Roberts invented the board wargame — a commercial product that does much the same thing, though more cheaply and simplistically.

Anvil posits that we will soon have computerized wargames of incredible detail and flexibility.  So good will be these new games that they will replace war as a method of resolving conflicts.

The timing for this piece could not have been better given that I just completed a game of the wargame, Stalingrad.  One has to wonder if Anvil is a fellow counter-pusher.  In any event, while the plot is nothing special, the depiction of the wargame is marvelous, and I find I must give Wargames a four-star rating.  Call it bias.

The Three-Cornered Wheel, by Poul Anderson

Poul Anderson is capable of the most sublime novels as well as the most offensive dreck.  Wheel falls somewhere in-between, a little toward the lower end of his range.  It's a puzzle piece: how can a shipwrecked vessel transport a spare engine across a thousand miles of rough terrain when the planet's inhabitants find the wheel to be taboo? 

Unfortunately, the answer is given away right in the title.  The story is uninspired, for the most part, but there are some nifty bits like when young cadet, David Falkayn, hits upon the solution to his problem while being attacked by natives — a nice juxtaposition of action and cogitating.  I'll charitably give the yarn three stars though, in truth, it's right on the border of two.

A World by the Tale by Seaton McKettrig

Last up, we meet Earth's first interstellar traveler, a fellow who is given the opportunity to spend a year in Galactic society as a zookeeper for exported terran beasties.  His book about his exploits becomes a bestseller throughout the Milky Way, thus providing Earth's first real trade good.

McKettrig (really Randall Garrett in disguise) offers up a reasonably entertaining story, but it's a bit too glib, and the part where the author fails to understand that even a quarter of a percent commission on his book sales will make him a wealthy person indeed, given the size of his market, is implausible.  Three stars.

Running these numbers through my personal IBM computer, I come up with a 2.7 star rating, which feels too high.  It reminds me of the joke about how to compute "wind chill" — if you feel colder than what you're thermometer reports, fudge the chill factor until it looks right.  Anyway, 2.7 is the worst score of the month, being shared by Amazing (interestingly, fellow Traveler John Boston seemed to like his magazine more than the score would seem to warrant).  The normally remarkable Fantastic only garnered 2.9 stars.  Galaxy got 3.1, F&SF earned 3.3, and British mag New Worlds led the pack with an unusually high score of 3.4.

Women wrote 2.5 of the 29 fiction pieces, a slightly worse average than normal.  There was also a paucity of stand-out stories, though Victoria Silverwolf's glowing recommendation of Ballard's The Screen Game warrants attention.

And now it's October, and I have to do this all over again!  Wish me luck…

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

[September 29, 1963] Comrade Wargame (Avalon Hill's Stalingrad)

10 Comments


by Gideon Marcus

Here in sub-tropical San Diego, the change of the seasons is a subtle one.  As summer turns to fall, the nights slowly stretch, there is a pleasant chill in the morning air, and a marine layer of clouds hugs the ground like a blanket for the first sunlit hours. 

Across the sea, on the Ukrainian steppes, things are much different.  Autumn brings torrential rains that turn plains into bogs, and soon after come the freezing winds that herald the approach of winter.  It was just twenty two years ago that these savage twins, Comrade Mud and Comrade Snow, along with millions of human comrades in uniform, stemmed the advancing Nazi tide within sight of the towers of the Kremlin — the most titanic clash of peoples since Genghis Khan left Mongolia.

Big events invite dramatic speculation: What if the Soviets had faltered, and Hitler's 3rd Reich stretched unchallenged from Brittany to Vladivostok?  One shudders to contemplate the heights the Holocaust might have reached in such a world.  Or take the other side of the coin.  Imagine if the Red Army had been better prepared for the invasion and had stopped the Wehrmacht in its tracks.  Why, the Sickle and Hammer might have flown over the Reichstag before Western troops could set foot on Europe, and Communism might hold sway over most of the continent. 

Making History

It is no surprise that the fellows at Avalon Hill, who have made their mark with innovative board game simulations of conflicts, chose Operation Barbarossa for the topic of their newest wargame.  In their words:

Now YOU can re-fight the most gigantic military campaign the world has ever known.  You command all the major units that took part in the actual battles.  As the German commander, you begin your great offensive near the Polish-Russian border — leading the powerful Wehrmacht toward Leningrad, Moscow and Stalingrad.  Or, as the Russian commander, you direct a strategic defensive in the hopes of stopping the German thrust before the gates of Stalingrad.

By piecing together information from captured military records in government archives, Avalon Hill has set the stage for you to recreate history.  It is now June 1941 — time to mobilize your forces in this historical World War II battle campaign —

STALINGRAD

Well, who can resist a pitch like that?  I snatched a copy of Stalingrad as soon as it appeared at our local hobby store (the same folks who sold me Waterloo) and threw down a panzer-driver's black leather glove at my wife's feet.  Her lips curled in a menacing grin, and I shivered as I saw the frost of a Soviet December in her eye.  The challenge had been accepted.

The Game

In many ways Stalingrad and Waterloo are much alike.  Both feature maps of the contested region with a hexagonal overlay that serves as the game's chessboard.  Hexes, of course, are the ingenious innovation that makes each space equally distant from its neighbor (whereas with squares, distance is longer along the diagonal).  Armed forces are represented by cardboard chits with unit designations and types printed on them: The Soviet 2nd Infantry Corps, the 41st Panzer Corp, etc.  Even the troops of Nazi satellites like Hungary and Romania are represented.

Surprisingly, the two games even share a Combat Results Table, a chart of die-roll determined outcomes that is consulted every time enemy forces come into contact.  Results include circumstances like "Attacker Eliminated" and "Defender Retreats 2 Spaces" and the deadly "Exchange" in which BOTH sides suffer losses.

But Stalingrad also features several innovations.  For instance, each side is able to replace a certain number of units every turn — and the Soviet capacity for this is much greater than that of the Germans.  Thus, though the Nazis start out with a significant numerical advantage, their opponent recovers its losses more quickly. 

Another advancement is the depiction of railroads.  Whereas in Waterloo, units moved solely under their own power, in Stalingrad, your troops can zip around the map on the printed rail lines.  Any successful battle plan relies on careful consideration of these quick routes.

Supply is also a factor at the strategic level (it was not at the tactical plane of Waterloo). Forces that cannot trace a line of logistics to their side of the map are eliminated after two months of isolation.  Thus, "pocketing" the enemy is a viable alternative to direct confrontation.

Finally, weather is simulated, as it must be for Stalingrad to emulate history.  And, as is real life, weather cannot be predicted; instead, it is determined each autumn and winter month by a die roll.  Rainy weather slows movement to a crawl.  Snow does so as well, but it also negates the defensive value of rivers, and it makes lakes and swamps as easy to traverse as highways.  Both are, thus, mixed blessings to both sides.

The terms of victory are simple: The Germany player must conquer all three major Soviet cities (each conquest reduces the replacement pool available to the Russians) by May 1943.  Failure to do so results in a Soviet player win.

The Play-through

Well then, how did Barbarossa, 1963 edition go?  Like this: Janice set up a most formidable defense, perhaps as perfect a line as could be devised.  There were no obvious weak spots in her frontier, certainly not along the Finnish border where a good portion of my army was rendered momentarily impotent.  So I did the only thing I could — I marshaled my forces into three strong spearheads and hunkered for a drawn-out brawl.

The Russians maintained good order, giving up an inch only after the most tenacious fighting.  Each month, I had to shift my spearheads around on rail lines just to get reasonable odds.  June, August, and September passed with the Wehrmacht making only nominal advances north and south of the Pripyet Marches and along the Black Sea coast toward Odessa.  By October, the Germans had punched some big holes in the Soviet lines, but then the rains came, preventing significant exploitation.  The Red Army retreated into two defensive fronts, one in the north to protect Leningrad, and one in the south to stop the Ukrainian offense.

It might have worked. 

But November's weather, instead of being inclement as occurred historically, was surprisingly balmy.  The rail line to Moscow was open, and an opportunistic panzer army was able to roll right into the Soviet capital.  This split the nation in two, making it difficult for Russian forces to shift fronts.  Other elements of the German army were able to strike deep into the USSR, putting themselves in excellent position to threaten the other two target cities.  When the December snows came and the lakes and marshes around Leningrad froze, the Finnish forces were able to spring into action, surrounding the city of Peter the Great. 

By January 1942, the Soviets had lost two of their three sources of replacements, and the Nazis were threatening Stalingrad.  Janice conceded at that point.  One falter had turned a brilliant beginning into a crushing defeat.  But make no mistake — there will be a rematch, and I suspect I will be the one flying the white flag next time.

Lessons learned

All in all, it was a tense exercise filled with countless bouts of nailbiting.  In the final assessment, it makes sense to compare this game with its predecessors.  Stalingrad is a game with endless replay value, thanks both to the variable weather and also its sheer scope.  A chess board has but 32 pieces.  Stalingrad has more than twice that, and a far more varied map.  And unlike Waterloo, whose battle plans felt strictly dictated by terrain, Avalon Hill's latest game seems to offer a lot more flexibility in strategy, both offensive and defensive.  I don't know that I'll be playing much of Waterloo (or Chess!), but I do expect Stalingrad will hit the table again, soon.

10 Comments Leave A Comment
Book

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

5 Comments


by Gideon Marcus

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wow.

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

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

Three and a half stars.

5 Comments Leave A Comment
Uncategorized

A word from our sponsor

3 Comments


by Gideon Marcus

Hello out there!

First of all, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for being fellow travelers on the Journey.  When I started this endeavor, nearly five years ago, I never expected to reach the heights we have: from one to twenty staff, a Serling Award, a Hugo nomination — it makes me giddy to think of it.

Galactic Journey is a passion project, and we are dedicated to bringing you high quality articles every other day on Science Fiction/Fantasy in print and film, the Space Race, technology, politics, music, and fashion.  Our reward is your patronage.  It will always be free.

That said, I won't say no to a little help. :)

Last month, I transitioned from amateur author to professional.  My first published short story, Andy and Tina, is the lead novelette in the anthology, Tales from Alternate Earths 2 (sequel to the Sidewise Award-winning Tales from Alternate Earths). 

My piece starts in 1963 and features some fascinating elements of the Space Race.  I'm told by folks who aren't even related to me that it's a great read, as are the other nine stories in the volume.  I would be absolutely delighted (and I think you will be, too) if you would purchase a copy.  If you like my prose, and you must if you're still here, you'll love this book.

It is available for electronic reading and also in paperback.  If you get the latter, I'll be happy to sign your copy when next we meet.

So go get yourself a copy!  You'll be supporting the Journey, and you'll be the proud owner of a fantastic book.

Thank you for your support.

3 Comments Leave A Comment
Magazine

[September 17, 1963] Places of refuge (October 1963 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

10 Comments


by Gideon Marcus

Every animal needs a safe place.  A refuge from the violence and competition of the natural world in which to evade danger, to regather one's strength in security.  The groundhog and the sand crab burrow.  The gazelle seeks the center of its herd.  The cat finds a private place to devour its prey (often just outside your back door).

Humanity, too, needs its sanctuaries.  We've built castles and moats, erected Great Walls, forged mighty nations defended by vast militaries.  Humans also create spiritual refuges, places that couldn't resist the mildest physical attack, but nevertheless provide an island of calm in which we can find shelter from chaos.  Churches.  Temples.  Libraries. 

On the morning of Sunday, September 15, 1963, one of those sanctuaries was violated: someone, or several someones, planted dynamite in the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama.  It went off during services, killing four girls (Addie Mae Collins, Cynthia Wesley, Carole Robertson and Carol Denise McNair) and injuring 22 more. 

It is unknown who is responsible, but the motivation is clear, for the victims share a trait beyond their humanity and their gender — they are Black.  And there is an evil set of Birminghamians, undoubtedly White, who would deprive their neighbors even of the dignity of refuge.  It is terrorism, plain and simple.

I heard the news of the bombing in the same manner as most of you, I'm sure.  There was a special bulletin over the radio.  At first, the significance of the event was difficult to parse.  The South has been wracked with violence for years, ever since Blacks dared to challenge the social order and demand the equality that should be their unquestioned right.  Firehoses, police dogs, stonings, lynchings, assassinations — these attacks have become all too commonplace. 

But this latest hideous act involved the mass slaughter of children, in the one place they should have been expected to have been safe.  I'm certain its perpetrators felt it would be some kind of rallying call for White racists to resist the tide of integration.  If public reaction be any indication, it will have the opposite effect.  This nation, already moving toward championing the cause of equality, already committed to deploying soldiers to ensure the civil rights of Black students, can only be spurred with greater urgency to destroy segregation and bigotry before it claims as victims more children, more sanctuaries.

That's the view from 50,000 feet.  On Sunday morning, I was incapable of analysis or even hope.  All I could think about was the horror that had happened, and the families who'd lost their little girls.  One of the dead was the same age as our Young Traveler.  I wasn't ready to process the tragedy.  I needed my own place of refuge, a moment of peace to collect myself.

So I shut out the world and picked up a book. 

The visions of other worlds afforded by the "All Star" October 1963 Fantasy and Science Fiction might not turn out to be pleasant, but they would at least let me visit different ones. 

As it turned out, the excursion was just what I needed.  This month's issue is a good one:

Girl of My Dreams, by Richard Matheson

The first tale was, for me, a bit of "out of the frying pan and into the fire."  It's a thoroughly unpleasant tale about a thoroughly unpleasant fellow who marries a possessor of the second sight.  Said wife sees the catastrophes that will befall others in her nightmares, and her scoundrel husband then uses this knowledge to fleece the upcoming victims.  Having a conscience, the clairvoyant sabotages one of her husband's plans on the eve of success.  It is only after he batters her to death for her trouble that he learns that she has foreseen his death and no longer can tell him how to avoid it.

Matheson never writes poorly, but the Twilight Zone twist combined with the rampant domestic cruelty (never lauded, mind you) make this a story you may well want to skip.  Three stars.

Epistle To Be Left In The Earth, by Archibald MacLeish

The low point of the magazine is another "Tell those who come after us that Earth was once a lovely place" poem.  It don't even rhyme.  One star.

Deluge, by Zenna Henderson
(poetic sting by Jeanette Nichols)

Now we come to the part I was most looking forward to, the return of Zenna Henderson's The People.  This episode of the saga is chronologically the first, showing what caused a family of humanoid espers to depart from Home and take refuge in the ruralities of America. 

Henderson's stories are always poignant, emotionally laden pieces.  The problem with this one is there is no real dramatic tension.  Like a movie about the Titanic, we know how it's going to end from the start.  Moreover, it lacks that delicious tension implicit in the stories set on Earth: the worry of discovery, the friction with locals, the adaptation to a new environment. 

Deluge is thus a series of evocative, poetic scenes in an inexorable and rather dull narrative, a piece that would have been better left unwritten, or perhaps simply incorporated in other stories.  Three stars.

(Since we've now gotten the beginning and the (also lackluster) end of the series, one wonders if it's time for Henderson to move on to other subjects.  On the other hand, an official meeting between The People and the people of Earth would be nifty to read.)

Faed-Out, by Avram Davidson

Followers of this column know that I was once a big fan of Davidson's work but feel his latest stuff has been too somber, incomprehensible, or both.  Faed-Out is a return to form, about a veteran B-movie villain with a heart of gold, who helps bring to rest the soul of a departed fellow thespian.

This workmanlike plot is elevated by being a wonderful character piece brought to poignant conclusion in its last paragraph.  Four stars, and welcome back, sir.

How to Plan a Fauna, by L. Sprague de Camp

De Camp has been a writing fiend, lately.  This time around, he points out the typical flaws in science fiction ecologies and gives a broad, if cursory, account of terrestrial predator/prey ratios to be applied to other planets to make convincing faunas.

It's a bit of an argument with a strawman — the examples De Camp draw on are Burroughs and other pulpish folk; truly outdated stuff.  Plus, the survey of Earth's food chains is rather glib and superficial.  Three stars, and I'd rather see the Good Doctor Asimov's take on the subject.

Special Consent, by P. M. Hubbard

Hubbard returns with a tale as different from his pleasant Cornish ghost storyThe Golden Brick as he could get.  Consent tells of a post-atomic world in which women are ascendant and the gender balance is strictly enforced by law.  Would-be mother of a daughter, Madi, must obtain special consent from her husband — by force, if necessary — for the birth.

It's a strange story, and very opaquely written, but it does make you think.  Three stars.

Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, by Isaac Asimov

I see Editor Davidson has given up on preambling Asimov's articles, now letting Isaac do the honors.  This development is to the good.  The current month's article is (appropriately) about stars, and it puts paid the notion that our yellow dwarf sun is at all insignificant.  When compared to the red dwarfs that make up the majority of the stellar population, our star looks quite impressive.

It's a good piece, and the bits about sub-stellar objects (stars too small to shine — he calls them "black dwarves") are fascinating, but I was disappointed that he went through all the trouble to tell us about white dwarfs, incredibly dense objects with the mass of a star but the volume of a planet, but didn't bother to explain what they are.  If you don't know already, white dwarfs are the end result of stellar evolution.  Once a star has fused all of its hydrogen, it collapses in on itself, becoming composed entirely of squashed neutrons with shared electron shells.

Four stars that really should have been five.

They Don't Make Life Like They Used To, by Alfred Bester

Last up is the tale I read first, a Garden of Eden analogy set in post-apocalyptic New York.  Call it The World, The Flesh, and the Devil, but instead of Mel Ferrer, you've got aliens.  And Harry Belafonte's White.

Actually, it's quite good, which surprised me since I've got a long-running animosity toward Alfred Bester.  You may be off-put by the assiduous adherence to gender roles in the piece, although I got the impression that the two protagonists were playing up these clichés rather than falling into them unconsciously.  I particularly appreciated the complete absence of romance between the characters throughout the vast majority of the piece.

Detractors: At the conclusion, aliens shatter the post-atomic Eden, and the protagonists commence to screw.  Though I get what Bester was doing, it cheapened the story for me.  The worst bit of the piece, however, comes right at the beginning: The female protagonist is driving to get supplies (in a masterfully told set up that only gradually reveals the post-apocalyptic setting), and it is noted that "her bosom danced enchantingly."  Since the only viewpoint is the owner of the bosom, one has to wonder just who was watching.  Did she notice the enchanting movement herself?  Isn't it unsafe to admire one's jiggling while operating a vehicle? 

Anyway, it kept my interest and, for the most part, I liked it.  Four stars.

I put down the magazine and take a deep breath.  It is September 17th, and I find myself able to once again acknowledge and take on the world's strife.  If you are need of some solace from the storm, try finding it where I found mine: within the pages of this month's F&SF.

10 Comments Leave A Comment
Magazine

[September 9, 1963] Great Expectations (October 1963 Galaxy)

3 Comments


by Gideon Marcus

Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, is a time of renewal and new beginnings.  This year, it falls on September 18, and it can't be coincidence that the Fall TV season starts around then.  After all, this year is going to see a bumper crop of science fiction television, including the debuts of the anthology show The Outer Limits, My Favorite Martian, and the Japanese import Astro Boy.

In fact, the first episode of the last show premiered just the day before yesterday and, to all accounts, it'll be a big hit.  That was certainly the reaction I observed at the preview showing during this year's Worldcon.  Look out for an article on Astro Boy next month!

In the meantime, you've got plenty of good stuff to occupy your attention.  For instance, Margaret St. Clair has an exciting new book out called Sign of the Labrys — expect a review soon.  There is also the October 1963 issue of Galaxy, an extra-thick pile of fiction that'll give you good company for a day or two.  I've just finished the mag, so let's take a look, shall we?

The Men in the Walls, by William Tenn

Imagine an alien conquest so terrible and comprehensive that humanity is reduced to living in the walls of the extraterrestrials' homes like rats.  Civilization shattered back to the Stone Age, forced to survive on the leavings of the aliens.  The world before has disappeared into legend, and artifacts from the before-time are like magic, their original purpose unknown.

This is the setting veteran author, William Tenn, gives us in the short novel, The Men in the Walls.  Our protagonist is "Eric the Only," a youth on the edge of manhood, who embarks on his first Theft in alien territory.  Originally intending to play it safe and just steal food, he is persuaded by his ambitious uncle to try for the hardest of targets: alien technology.

The components may sound familiar: Tenn's creation shares a great deal of feel with Galouye's Dark Universe (burrow-dwelling humans turned savage) as well as Aldiss' Hot House (humans are tiny in comparative scale, and they commonly give birth to "litters" rather than individuals.) Nevertheless, Tenn delivers his story in a fresh, page-turning manner, and it's a worthy read.

That said, The Men in the Walls is only half a story, ending just as it gets really interesting.  One has to wonder if a sequel or an expanded novel is planned.  Moreover, the writing gets a little repetitive in points; the story could probably have been ten pages shorter.

Three and a half stars. 

For Your Information: King of the Rats

Willy Ley brings us a discussion of the Rat King, a near-mythical phenomenon in which a dozen or more rats are found with their tails spontaneously fused.  It's a weird topic and an oddly short piece.  I wonder if Willy's getting tired of doing these.  Three stars. 

On the Gem Planet, by Cordwainer Smith

On a world composed solely of precious stones, a lone horse wanders masterless through a crystal valley.  The Dictator of the planet and his beautiful heir entreat a young visitor, a crusading exile whose sole goal is to regain the throne of his home planet, for an explanation of how the horse came to his current condition.

Nothing more need be said of this piece save that it is another tale of the Instrumentality by the inimitable Smith, and it does not injure the reputation of the series or its writer.  Four stars.

A Day on Death Highway, by Chandler Elliott

On the other hand, Elliott's would-be whimsical tale of bad drivers in the future is a clunker.  Rendering a piece in artificial slang is always a dicey prospect, and there isn't enough of interest in this story to make it worth the slog.  One star.

Sweet Tooth, by Robert F. Young

Two giant aliens, all head and no body (or all body and no head) terrorize a rural part of the country with their insatiable taste for chrome-plated automobiles.  Are they the vanguard of an invasion…or just a couple of kids in the candy shop?

Robert F. Young has produced some of the most sublime pieces of fiction as well as some of the worst pieces of hackneyed crud I've ever read.  This tale is neither.  Three stars.

Med Ship Man, by Murray Leinster

Calhoun, intrepid healer to the stars, encounters an ominously empty colony.  Why did the entire population flee their homes in a mad rush, often mid-meal?  And is there a connection with the coincident arrival of Allison, a ruthless businessman from the cattle planet of Texia?

I was trepidatious about this story because the previous Med Ship story had been a disappointment.  Thankfully, Leinster is back to form.  Sure, he still writes in that slightly plodding, repetitive fashion that shouldn't work, but it does as the voice of Calhoun, a man I perceive to be fastidious, peevish, and utterly competent.  Four stars. 

In short, this month's Galaxy gives you plenty to look forward to.  Take in the Tenn, the Leinster, and especially, the Smith.  And then pick up the St. Clair.  That should hold you through to the new year!

3 Comments Leave A Comment
Conventions/Performances

[September 5, 1963] Oh Brave New World (the 1963 Worldcon)

10 Comments


by Gideon Marcus

This has been a year of many firsts.  My first year as a full-time writer, my first published fiction story, and now, my first Worldcon.  Ever since I became a science fiction fan back in 1950, Worldcons have been mysterious, half-magic events that happened to other people.  I'd read reports in Fanac or Science Fiction Times or heard summaries from attendees, but they were never real for me.

Until now.

On August 31, 1963, I walked through the doors of the Statler-Hilton in Washington D.C. and attended Discon I, August 31 – September 2, 1963.


The Statler-Hilton in Washington D.C.

It was a weekend of panels, shopping, heated debate, raucous partying, fantastic costumes, and writers.  There, in the flesh, I saw some of the titans of a field I am just entering.  Most of them were somehow apart from me, beyond my ability to connect with at more than a perfunctory level.  Others were more than happy to mingle.  For instance, rising star Bob Silverberg, shared banter and contact information. 

Of course, Silverberg is the fellow who wrote the second-most offensive story I've ever read, the one that turned me off of the magazine Venture forever.  One can only hope he's grown out of his reactionary mindset.


Silverbob, himself! (from fanac)

But in addition to the cavalcade of celebrities, there were, of course, the hundreds of fans, and boy did we have fun together.  The names of a few with whom I connected: Denise Head, Al Jackson, Myriam Warren, Larry Niven, Joe Haldeman.  I even spent a little time palling around with young Astrid Anderson (daughter of Karen and Poul — I never quite managed to cross their path).  Precocious kid.  She's going places.

As usual, Galactic Journey presented a panel on the current state of fandom.  The room was packed, and the questions were excellent.  There was just one moment of heat: an attendee took umbrage at our less-than-flattering comments regarding Barry Goldwater.  Well, it's a free country.


Leiber, Emsh, Ley, Scithers, Brackett, Asimov, De Camp (from locus)

On the last day, we crammed into the main hall for the award ceremony.  The highlight of the luncheon was, without a doubt, the final award for "Dramatic Presentation."  You see, Isaac Asimov was presenting, as he usually does (a rumor that it would be Ted Sturgeon turned out to be unfounded — he wasn't there).  He made his little introductions for each of the winners, with increasing irritation as the night wore on. 

You see, he really wanted a Hugo, and he was upset that he had never gotten one in his 25 years of writing.  And now that he'd transitioned to mostly writing science articles, it was becoming clear (to him) that he never would. 

Once he reached the last envelope, he took a moment to treat us all to a tirade.  He knew, he said, why he had never gotten the golden rocketship.  It had nothing to do with merit.  It was anti-semitism, plain and simple.  We were all Nazis.  Yes, even me.

And with a snarl, he ripped open the final envelope and called out, "The award goes to I…" and froze, his tongue tripping on his own name.  It turned out that there was no Dramatic Presentation award this year.  Instead, Asimov was given a Hugo for his F&SF science articles — "putting the science in science fiction," the award read.

The laughter lasted quite a long time. 

As for the rest of the Hugos, well, here's how they went:

Best Novel

The Man in the High Castle by Philip K. Dick [Putnam, 1962]

Nominees

Sword of Aldones by Marion Zimmer Bradley [Ace, 1961]
A Fall of Moondust by Arthur C. Clarke [Harcourt, Brace & World, 1962]
Little Fuzzy by H. Beam Piper [Avon, 1962]
Sylva by Vercors [Putnam, 1961]


H. Beam Piper in tie at the convention (from zarthani)

This selection is truly remarkable.  Not a single one of these books made our Galactic Stars list this year (though, to be fair, A Fall of Moondust was on our list the prior year).  The Dick is decent, but not Hugo-worthy; ditto the Piper.  The Bradley is just awful.  None of us read Sylva, a French novel about a woman who turns into a fox, so we can't judge that one.

Short Fiction

The The Dragon Masters by Jack Vance [Galaxy Aug 1962]

Nominees

Myrrha by Gary Jennings [F&SF Sep 1962]
The Unholy Grail by Fritz Leiber [Fantastic October 1962]
When You Care, When You Love by Theodore Sturgeon [F&SF Sep 1962]
Where Is the Bird of Fire? by Thomas Burnett Swann [Science Fantasy Apr 1962]


Costumes of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser at the convention (from fanac)

Here, we're on more common ground.  Of course, the WorldCon committee only picks five sub-novel length stories to award while the Journey gives out fifteen, which allows more opportunities for overlap between the two sets of awards.

The Vance is really an excellent novella, and I understand a sequel may be in the works.  The Leiber is definitely deserving, and its warm reception appears to have spurred a host of new Fahfrd and Mouser stories.  The Sturgeon is a reasonable choice, though it was not one of ours. 

We were not so taken by the Jennings, and we missed out on the Swann.  Would any of our fellow travelers like to clue us in?

Best Dramatic Presentation

No Winner

Nominees

Burn, Witch, Burn (1962) (alt: Night of the Eagle) [Anglo-Amalgamated/Independent Artists] Directed by Sidney Hayers; Screenplay by Charles Beaumont & Richard Matheson and George Baxt; based on the novel Conjure Wife by Fritz Leiber

The Day the Earth Caught Fire (1961) [British Lion/Pax] Directed by Val Guest; Written by Wolf Mankowitz & Val Guest

Last Year at Marienbad (1962) [Argos Films] Directed by Alain Resnais; Screenplay by Alain Resnais and Alain Robbe-Grillet; based on the novel The Invention of Morel by Adolfo Bioy Casares

The Twilight Zone (TV series) by Rod Serling [CBS]


From The Twilight Zone episode Little Girl Lost

As described above, no program managed to secure the gold rocket ship this year.  In any event, I am dismayed that we only covered two of the finalists.  We will endeavor to Do Better!

Best Professional Magazine

The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction ed. by Robert P. Mills and Avram Davidson

Nominees

Analog Science Fiction and Fact ed. by John W. Campbell, Jr.
Galaxy ed. by H. L. Gold
Fantastic ed. by Cele Goldsmith
Science Fantasy ed. by John Carnell

Once again, the names are the same but the order changes.  There just aren't that many magazines around these days, though there has been a resurgence lately (and I just read that Wonder Stories may be back!)

I wonder if we should start covering Science Fantasy…

Best Professional Artist

Roy G. Krenkel

Nominees

Ed Emshwiller
Virgil Finlay
Jack Gaughan
John Schoenherr

Krenkel's is a name I was unfamiliar with until recently.  He's the one responsible for the beautiful cover work on the Edgar Rice Burroughs reprints.  The others are, of course, staples of the magazine world.

Best Fanzine

Xero ed. by Richard A. Lupoff and Pat Lupoff

Nominees

Warhoon ed. by Richard Bergeron
Mirage ed. by Jack L. Chalker
Yandro ed. by Robert Coulson and Juanita Coulson
Shangri L’Affaires ed. by Fred Patten, Albert Lewis, Bjo Trimble and John Trimble

"Where is Galactic Journey?" you cry.  After all, it was widely reported that our beloved journal would be on the ballot this year.  Sadly, due to some arcane rule I don't quite understand, Galactic Journey was not eligible for the Hugo in 1963.  Maybe next year…

Despite our not having officially been on the ballot, the Journey was invited to the Sunday night reveling that is traditional for Hugo losers.  We sent a representative; however, the Traveler and Editor decided to get some much-needed rest.  It had been a roller-coaster of a week, and we wanted to be fresh for the return to San Diego. 

Nevertheless, Worldcon was a blast.  We loved the venue, the friends, and the programming.  We will definitely attend next year.  Hope to see you there!

[We'll be discussing the Hugo winners, losers, and shoulda-beens all week, starting now, at Portal 55! Come join us!]

—

10 Comments Leave A Comment
Magazine

[Sep. 1, 1963] How to Fail at Writing by not Really Trying (September 1963 Analog)

3 Comments


by Gideon Marcus

A few years ago, I began trying to write fiction.  I'd been reading science fiction regularly for eight years at that point.  I figured if all those other guys and gals could do it, surely I, with hundreds of published pieces under my belt would find the transition an easy one.  So long as I came up with some clever twist, maybe showcased some unique visions of technology, that'd be enough.

I quickly found, as I collected rejection after rejection, that it wasn't.  I started running my stories past my wife and my daughter, both talented and discerning individuals.  It became clear that I was missing the things that make any story good, regardless of genre: pacing, compelling characters, dramatic tension.  A science fiction story must be, first and foremost, a story.

I took that lesson to heart, rewriting all of my salvageable pieces.  The end result?  Last month, I got published, and the future looks bright for my other works.  Now people want to read my stuff.  Heck, even I like my stuff now.


Sadly, this month's issue of Analog, with one notable exception, is chock full of the type of stories I know now not to write.  They are a series of technological travelogues with the barest attempt at fictioneering.  This kind of thing might tickle editor John Campbell's fancy, but it won't win any Hugos.  Moreover, this isn't the first time this has happened.  If this trend keeps up, at some point it's got to impact subscription numbers.  Right?

Take a look and tell me if you agree:



Which Polaris Do You Mean? by Robert S. Richardson

Every planet has got a north pole — that place where you can stand and watch the world rotate counter-clockwise below you.  But do other planets have a "North Star," a bright star like our Polaris that lies directly in line that pole and always points north?  And do Earth and other planets have South Stars?  Robert Richardson offers up an article that answers these questions.  I found it pretty interesting, but astronomy's my bag.  Three stars.

Industrial Revolution, by Winston P. Sanders

A few months back, Sanders wrote a story about planet-divers who plunged into the atmosphere of Jupiter to retrieve valuable industrial gasses.  I don't know how the author managed to turn such an interesting premise into a dull piece, but he did. 

In Revolution, he does it again, butchering the tale of a small venture that tries to turn an asteroid into a profitable fuel trans-shipping concern.  Earth's government sends a battleship out to stop the attempt at space capitalism, but doughty Jimmy Chung (the Chinese guy) and Michael Blades (the Irish guy, and hero) outsmart those evil bureaucrats.

Along the way, we are treated to excruciatingly long explanations of technology, pages of trite dialogue, and that perennial Analog specialty: lousy portrayals of women.  All told in a smug, self-satisfied manner that is also typical of the magazine. 

Those with any knowledge of our genre know that "Winston P. Sanders" is a pen name for old hand, Poul Anderson.  Perhaps he knew that this tale was a stinker and didn't want his name attached to it.  One star.

The Last Straw, by William J. Smith

Months after a deadly plane crash that took the lives of more than seventy passengers, Inspector Kessler still can't give up the investigation.  Was it sabotage?  A drunk passenger?  Or perhaps some kind of conspiracy?  All of the leads come up short…until a final clue puts the mystery in focus.

Straw is just three separate dialogues, and yet, the writing is so deft that we learn everything we need to know just from conversation.  The rule is generally "show, don't tell," but an experienced author can "show by telling" without it feeling expository.  I'm impressed.

As for the story, it's a fine, short "who-dunnit."  Or perhaps "what-dunnit" is a better description.  Four stars.

i>Chrono-Control, by Frank A. Javor

In the future, incorrigible prisoners are stuffed into one-person satellites and subjected to a life of privation and strict time-management.  One such convict decides he can't take it anymore and hatches a plan to break his mechanical warden.  But is Heaven in a pod better than Hell?

Aside from the utter implausibility of the setup, the pages upon pages explaining the prisoner's plot are incomprehensible.  The ending is silly, too.  In other words, Javor commits all of the sins described in my preamble. 

Two stars.

The Thirst Quenchers, by Rick Raphael

A hundred years from now, science has transformed every profession but one — that of the hydrologist.  These intrepid measurers must still manually plant sensors in remote locations to ensure an accurate picture of our water budget.  And in the 21st Century, water is such a precious commodity that no drop can be spared.

A fellow reviewer described this tale as "A cross between a railway timetable and a mail-order catalogue," which I find hard to improve upon.  It reads like an educational film views, and when the "action" starts, half-way through, it is stripped of all excitement. 

Some points that stood out, though:

1.  In the future, won't satellites be able to monitor our water supplies? 

2.  If water is in such short supply, and power so abundant (nuclear fission is ubiquitous, and dams have been abandoned), why aren't there large-scale desalination operations?

3.  Analog is a particularly masculine magazine with few/no female characters or writers.  Sometimes this quality approaches self-satiric levels, as with this sentence spoken by a ranger who is rebuffed when he offers a hydrologist a cup of substandard coffee:

"Man's drink for a real man," the ranger grinned.  "Us forestry men learn to make coffee from pine pitch.  Makes a man outta you."

One star.

Am I Still There?, by James R. Hall

This year saw the first successful lung transplant, easily the most significant organ transfer operation to date.  One can easily foresee a future in which every part of the body can be exchanged, granting a kind of immortality.  But what happens when your brain starts to wear out?  Can a new one be regrown, imprinted with your memories, and implanted?  Are you still you after such an operation?

It's a fascinating concept, but you won't find it well-explored in this story.  After a competent setup, Hall simply leaves the central question unanswered.  Two stars.

We are left with the question: Do Analog's stories stink because the writers can't write, or do Analog's contributors write poorly because that's what Campbell wants?  The fact that Anderson, at least, often turns in good efforts suggests the latter — or at least, they just don't try as hard for Campbell's mag. 

Anyway, here are the numbers for this month: Analog garnered a dismal 2.2 stars, beaten to the bottom only by Amazing, which got 2.1 stars.  F&SF was also a disappointment this month, though its sins tend to go in the opposite direction of Analog.  It got 2.6 stars.  Fantastic rounds out the losers with a 2.9 average.

On the winning side, Worlds of Tomorrow features solid works by Laumer and Dick, though the balance of the issue drags things to just 3 stars.  Experimental IF, which featured two woman authors (F&SF had one, the others, none), clocked in at 3.3 stars and had my favorite story.  And New Worlds scored a surprising 3.4 stars and the top spot, in large part due to its continuing serial by John Brunner.

All in all, August wasn't a great month for science fiction, but as usual, there was enough quality to see us through.  Speaking of which, Worldcon 21 has begun, and we will soon learn what the fans thought was the best of SF published last year.  There will be a full report when it's over…

[Want to discuss the Hugo winners in real-time?  Come join us at Portal 55! (Ed.)]

3 Comments Leave A Comment