All posts by Gideon Marcus

Magazine

[April 8, 1961] Variety pack (May 1961 IF)

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The nice thing about a science fiction magazine (or anthology) as opposed to a novel is if you don't like one story, you might like the next.  Once you start a bad novel, your only options are to drag yourself through it or give it up unfinished.  And you can't very well review an unfinished novel, can you?

Galaxy's sister magazine, IF, is not as good, on the average, as the other members of the Big Four (including F&SF and Analog).  But because it is a digest, occasional stories surprise and delight.  There's one gem in this month's issue of IF, and a few other diverting tales.

Not the first one, though.  J.T. McIntosh tends to save his dreck for the lesser mags, and his That's the Way it Goes is a thinly redressed pioneer story grafted onto a Malthusian future.  Science fiction has to be at least a little visionary if not progressive.  Way fails at both, though to its credit, it's not unreadable; just unimpressive.  Two stars.

William Stuart's Out of Mind has an interesting concept: a planet of telepaths who present to you the experience you most want to have.  As one might expect, it is a dangerous world, indeed, for those who ever want to return home.  It's done in a droll satirical fashion that I didn't care for, but you might.  Two stars.

I think Frank Banta must be new, as I haven't encountered his name before.  The Connoisseur is a sad, humorous story about an off-course colony ship.  It doesn't tread new ground, but it is pleasant and short.  Three stars.

Seven Doors to Education is the jewel of this issue.  It is the third story by newcomer Fred Saberhagen, and I think it's my favorite thus far.  A young postal worker with no particular talents or prospects is abducted by unknown forces and presented with a series of increasingly difficult puzzles.  Why him?  And to what end?  A genuinely engaging story with a satisfying conclusion.  Four stars.

The Useless Bugbreeders may be James Stamers' best story to date.  That's not necessarily high praise given his track record of two and three star submissions, but this particular story, about an attorney attempting to spare a planet in the way of interstellar freeway construction, is silly fun.  Three stories.

Cinderella Story, the second story I've read by Allen Kim Lang, retains his breezy style.  It works in this tale, of a young woman federal agent who is sent to investigate a most peculiar bank.  It scores points for featuring a strong female lead, and for spotlighting the sexism women have to endure in the workplace (though I can't be certain if Lang did so deliberately or unconsciously).  Three stars.

Ending with a whimper, the last story is Jack Sharkey's The Flying Tuskies of K'niik K'naak — basically, about the comeuppance of an upper class big-game hunter by his mistreated servant.  Again, it's a science fiction story with no science fiction.  I appreciate the sentiment, but it's just not that good.  Two stars.

That puts us at 2.75 for the whole book, but if you start on page 50 and quit around page 124, you're actually in for a fine read.  And that's 75 more pages of good fiction than I've published this month!

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Science Fiction/Fantasy

[April 4, 1961] Do women do it better?  (the Second Sex in SF, Part 2)

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Welcome to Part 2 in this series on the women actively writing science fiction and fantasy in 1961.  This installment will be a bit different, but don't worry — we'll go back to the original format with the next one.

After I wrote the first part, my wife asked me why I have a preference for woman-penned stories.  That brought me up short.  Why did I look forward to seeing a woman's name on the cover or in the table of contents of one of my science fiction magazines?  After some mental wrangling, I think I've got the answers:

1) I rarely see female characters, and women tend to be more likely to write female protagonists.

H. Beam Piper's Omnilingual, starring Dr. Martha Dane in a role that featured brains and science rather than beauty and romance, opened my eyes to a new world of characterization.  Most science fiction and fantasy is written by men, stars men, and women generally exist to be romantic foils or scenery.  I wasn't even consciously aware that things could be otherwise. 

It was like discovering Japanese cuisine.  Completely alien; thoroughly desirable.

2) Female authors tend to write in a different style and from a different perspective.

With the exception of some, like Norton and Bradley, who are deliberately composing in a male-pulpish style, women write in a manner shaped by the context in which they live.  Their work tends to emphasize emotions and relationships.  There is often the bitter tinge of the downtrodden (for who would argue that the female is the less privileged of the genders, even in our modern time).  They will write about issues unique to them; for instance: motherhood (e.g. Henderson's The Return) and workplace discrimination (e.g. Smith's Softly while you're sleeping).

This phenomenon is common to all minority viewpoints (whether the group be in the numerical or cultural minority) — people write what they know.  When a White man tells a story, it is told from the perspective of power, of a world-conqueror.  Many of the more nuanced and cynical stories come from the pens of the less societally advantaged — for instance, Jewish authors like Sheckley and Davidson.  I have yet to read a story by a Black author (that I know of).  I can't imagine they aren't writing, so I look forward to getting another fresh perspective when they are published.

3) Female authors have to try harder.

One of my readers noted that women do not necessarily write better than men (e.g. Judith Merril's The Tomorrow People).  But women-penned stories, on average, tend to be better than those written by men.  Why is that?  My wife speculates that the prejudice against woman authors causes there to be a higher bar, which women must hurdle to be published at all.  If the playing field were entirely even, we would see parity in the quality of stories written by men and women.

But here's where things get interesting, and it's a secret F&SF has probably figured out.  No matter what, any group of writers is going to obey Sturgeon's Law: 90% of anything is crap.  By limiting the pool of authors, consciously or unconsciously, to men, science fiction publishers necessarily restrict their access to good stories.  Women may write 90% crap, too, but if only the top 2% gets published, there is room to expand.  So, when the bar to women (and Blacks, and Latins, and Asians, etc.) be lifted, my wife asserts, the overall level of magazine quality should rise.  I think she's right.

In Conclusion

It is a truism that once you see something, you cannot "un-see" it.  Discovering the dearth of women and female characters in my favorite genre has colored what I value in it.  Stories with and by women are precious because of rarity, like anything else.  A woman's byline is no guarantee of quality or uniqueness — but the odds are pretty good.  So I smile when I find woman-penned stories.  I am delighted when I read about well-developed female characters.  I am dismayed when I read a magazine devoid of woman authors, of woman characters. 

I am hopeful.  F&SF did offer a nearly 50/50 gender split in the April 1961 issue (to its benefit).  Moreover, twenty years ago, one rarely saw characters of non-European origin.  Now, most who write about the future tend to include Asians, Latins, sometimes even Africans, among their cast. 

Women will be next.

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Magazine

[April 2, 1961] Uprooting itself (The Twilight Zone, Season 2, Episodes 17, 19, 20, 21)

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Twenty years ago, even ten (and zero in some places), science fiction was all about the twist ending.  Aliens would seed a dead planet with life only for it to turn out…that planet was EARTH!  Or folks might spend a story in a struggle to stay alive, only to find out THEY WERE ALREADY DEAD!  And so on.  Stories would usually end with a shock sentence, often with copious slammers (!!!)

But the genre matured.  Characters, writing, and fully explored concepts appeared.  These days, the "gimmick" often takes the back seat, facilitating rather than dominating the story.

The Twilight Zone, the science fiction/fantasy/horror anthology created by Rod Serling, is generally a cut above anything else on TV.  This includes its pale competitors like One Step Beyond and Way Out.  Unfortunately, several times in the first season, and more frequently in this, the second season, the show has aped the gimmick stories of print sf.  The result is a run of predictable, sub-par episodes.  There is light at the end of this tunnel, however – the most recent episodes have returned the focus to interesting characters and genuine drama. 

First, we have to get there:

The episode preceding the lackluster The Odyssey of Flight 33 was the lackluster 22.  In it, a young dancer has been committed to hospital for an apparent case of nerves.  She repeats a chilling dream: she awakens, a glass crashes to the floor, she follows a nurse to the hospital basement, and there she finds the nurse waiting behind a door marked "22" – the morgue.  It is a clear case of precognition, though no one believes her, including herself.  At the episode's end, the dancer, wide awake, is about to board a plane.  Just before she does, something crashes to the terminal floor, and she notes the plane is number 22, its stewardess the nurse of her dreams.  She falls in hysterics and watches wide-eyed as the plane takes off without her…and explodes over the runway.

It sounds a lot better when I type it than when you watch it, which is the problem.  It's yet another of the episodes captured on videotape rather than film, an unsuccessful experiment I hope is ended soon.  The acting is a notch too broad, particularly the sardonic, uncaring doctor (though perhaps this is intended to make us think that even the dancer's waking scenes are dreams).  In short, good concept, mediocre presentation.  Two stars.

Burgess Meredith is back for the silly Mr. Dingle, the Strong.  Take the most nebbishy of folks and give him the strength of Superman; then sit back and watch the fun unfold.  Of course, you can't leave it there, so rob him of his powers at a critical juncture to ensure maximum humiliation. 

It's somehow not awful.  In particular, the strength effects are nicely done.  Lots of scenes with a scrawny fellow lifting heavy objects, punching holes in walls, etc.  Also, the aliens that bestow strength are genuinely hilarious.  Bad concept…but good presentation.  Three stars.

The dreary Static, in which a regretful old man tunes into the past on a magic radio, could have been good.  Like any bad gimmick story, it draws out far too long without developing the characters beyond bare pencil sketches.  Videotape doesn't help this one either.  One star.

Things end on a high note, though.  The Prime Mover is an excellent character study that starts right – with the focus on the players, not the twist.  Ace Larsen is a fellow who feels down on his luck, despite co-ownership of a little coffee shop, the love of a lovely co-worker, Kitty, and the unflagging friendship of the other owner, Jimbo Cobb.  It's Ace's desire for more, what he considers his due, that promises to be his undoing, especially when it turns out Cobb has the power of psychokinesis, able to manipulate items with his mind.

They end up in Vegas, with Ace raking in the dough at the craps and roulette tables.  With winnings totaling $200,000, both Kitty and Cobb urge Ace to pack it in, but Ace wants one more game, even if it means losing Kitty, and perhaps, sight of what's really important.  At a high-stakes craps bout with a notorious gangster, Cobb "blows a fuse" right as Ace lets his fortune ride.  Ace is left with nothing.

Or is he?  The event proves a watershed for the basically good-hearted Ace.  He laughs off the loss, returns back to the restaurant and proposes to Kitty, who accepts.  As a coda, we see that the seemingly simple Cobb hadn't lost his power at all.  It was all orchestrated for Ace's maximum benefit.  Now there's a friend. 

The episode works because the gimmick, Cobb's psionic ability, is almost incidental.  It isn't even revealed until almost a quarter-way through.  While I was pretty sure Ace was going to lose his winnings in the end, I was delighted to see that it wasn't the point.  Excellent acting and cinematography help, too.  Five stars.

More good news: the succeeding episode was also good…but you'll just have to wait until the next round-up to read about it!

Coming up, Part 2 of my article on the Women of Science Fiction.  Expect it day-after-day-after-tomorrow.

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Fashion, music, politics, sports, Science / Space Race

[March 31, 1961] Real-world round-up for March

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Here's an end of March, real-world round-up for you before we plunge into the science fiction of April:


http://www.jfklibrary.org/Asset-Viewer/Archives/JFKWHP-AR6454-B.aspx

President Kennedy devoted a good deal of time to the civil war in Laos at his fifth press conference, March 23.  This three-cornered fight between the nationalists (propped up by the United States), the Communist Pathet Lao (backed by the Soviets and the North Vietnamese), and the neutralists has been going on since the end of last year.  The US Navy Seventh Fleet was recently dispatched to the region along with a contingent of troops.  For a while, it looked as if we were looking at another Korea.

I'm happy to report that both Kennedy and Premier Khruschev have now proposed plans for peaceful solutions to the crisis that involve the invading North Vietnamese disarming and going home.  I fervently hope that this means Southeast Asia won't be the site of war in the 1960s.

Speaking of Kennedy and war, the President recently asked Congress for a significantly bigger defense package.  This would see the United States armed with 1200 nuclear-tipped missiles by 1965!

On the dove-ish side of the coin, Kennedy also asked for an increase in the NASA budget for development of the mighty "Saturn C-2", which would facilitate manned flights around the Moon by 1966.

On the subject of space, NASA pilot Joe Walker took the X-15 spaceplane to a record height of 31 miles above the Earth yesterday, more than five miles higher than anyone has flown the craft before.  During a good portion of his 10-minute flight, the plane's stubby wings and control surfaces had nothing to "bite" into, the atmosphere being so rarefied at that altitude.  For all intents and purposes, it was a flight in space, down to the unwinking white stars that filled the daylight sky. 

And he only got halfway to the rocketship's expected maximum altitude!

Meanwhile, the Air Force failed to get into orbit the 22nd in their Discoverer series.  These probes are ostensibly for orbiting and returning biological samples, but they really test components for their Samos spy satellites.  There was supposed to be a monkey on this one, but I haven't read any reports about it.  Perhaps the fly-boys were merciful and just stuffed the spaceship with non-perishable hardware.


http://photos.clevescene.com/28-vintage-photos-karamu-house/?slide=9&children-look-through-a-telescope-at-karamu-house-1961

Now let's look ahead at April.  There will, of course, be the three magazines, IF, Analog, and Fantasy and Science Fiction, the monthly The Twilight Zone round-up, and perhaps a trip to the movies.  I have Marion Zimmer Bradley's The Door Through Space on my bedside table, but it hasn't gripped me yet.  We'll see.

We'll also see more of our new regular columnist, Rosemary Benton, and along those lines, I've got another surprise for you 'round mid-month!

S'okay?  S'alright.

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Magazine

[March 30, 1961] F&SF + XX (the April 1961 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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If you've been a fan in the scientificition/fantasy genre for any length of time, you've likely been exposed to rumors of its impending doom.  The pulps are gone.  The magazines are dying.  The best writers are defecting for the lucre of the "slicks." 

And what is often pointed to as the cause of the greatest decline of an entity since Commodus decided he liked gladiating more than emperoring?  The visual media: science fiction films and television.  Why read when you can watch?  Of course, maybe the quality's not up to the standards set by written fiction, but who cares?

All this hubbub is silly.  There are two reasons why printed sf/f isn't going anywhere, at least for the next few decades.  The first is that the quality isn't in the films or television shows.  Sure, there are some stand-outs, like the first season of The Twilight Zone, and the occasional movie that gets it right, but for the most part, it's monsters in rubber suits and the worst "science" ever concocted. 

But the second reason, and this is the rub, is the sheer impermanence of the visual media.  If you miss a movie during its run, chances are you've missed out forever.  Ditto, television.  For instance, I recently learned that an episode of Angel (think I Love Lucy, but with a French accent) starred ex-Maverick, James Garner.  I'm out of luck if I ever want to see it unless it happens to make the summer re-runs. 

My magazines, however, reside on my shelves forever.  I can re-read them at will.  I can even loan them out to my friends (provided they pony up a $10 deposit).  They are permanent, or at least long-lived. 

And that's why I'll stick with my printed sf, thank-you-very-much.

Speaking of permanence, I think April 1961 will be a red-letter date remembered for all time.  It's the first time, that I'm aware of, that women secured equal top-billing on a science fiction magazine cover.  To wit, this month's Fantasy and Science Fiction features six names, three of which belong to woman writers.  Exciting stuff, particularly given my observation that, while female writers make up only a ninth of the genre's pool, they produce a fourth of its best stuff.

Case in point: Evelyn Smith's Softly while you're sleeping is a clever piece about a young woman from the old country who is wooed by a passionate vampire.  She ultimately resists his advances, unwilling to undergo the transformation that is the inevitable end of his draining attentions.  The story is older than Stoker, but the writing and the social commentary are entirely modern.  Four stars.

The Hills of Lodan, by the newish Harold Calin, on the other hand, is a comparatively clumsy piece.  Think The Red Badge of Courage, but with a different kind of enemy.  I appreciated the message, but the execution needs work.  Two stars.

The next story is something special.  Every so often, a story comes along that introduces something truly new.  The Ship Who Sang, by new author Anne McCaffrey, brings us the lovely concept of sound-minded but hideously crippled children given mechanical bodies and groomed to become the "brains" of interstellar ships.  These are two-person scout vessels, the other crew-member being the "mobile" element.  Inevitably, the relationship is a close one, and this bonding makes up much of the plot (and charm) of Ship.  In fact, if I have a complaint at all about this story, it is that it is too short; such an intriguing courtship should have more fully developed.  McCaffrey's detached style feels a bit too impersonal for the piece, as well.  Still, Ship gets an unreserved four stars.

If Anne McCaffrey had gotten the space reserved for the succeeding piece, a reprinted Robert Graves story called Dead Man's Bottles, I imagine the issue would have been much improved.  Bottles features a minor kleptomaniac (a matches and pencil thief), an unpleasant wine aficionado, and the mysterious haunting that succeeds the latter's death.  It's standard, low-grade F&SF filler.  Two stars.

The third woman-penned piece of the book is Kit Reed's Judas Bomb, a sort of Post-Apocalyptic parable of the Cold War with gangs taking the role of nations.  It's a quirky, layered piece, and I look forward to seeing more by this San Diegan turned Connecticutian.  Three stars.

My Built-in Doubter is Isaac Asimov's article for this month, all about how science's apparent rigidity to crackpot ideas is a virtue, not a liability.  Less information, more editorial, but a fun read, nevertheless.  Four stars.

Richard Banks' Daddy's People is a stream of consciousness wall of words about an overlong bedtime story and the weird folks one meets when crossing the planes.  It is difficult reading, and my first temptation was to give it a one-star review.  Something restrains me, however.  So I give it two stars.

Finally, Brian Aldiss is back with the sequel to the superb Hothouse: the superior, if not quite as excellent, Nomansland.  This novella is set in the same steambath Earth of the future, when the Sun has grown hot, and the tidally locked Earth is dominated by semi-intelligent plant life.  We get to learn what happened to Toy and the other human children after the departure of the adults into space.  It's all a bit like Harrison's Deathworld without the high technology.  Once again, Aldiss delivers the goods, although the third-person omniscient expositions, while informative, break the narrative a little.  Four stars.

The overall score for this magazine is just over 3 stars — less than Galaxy's 3.5, and more than Analog's 2.5.  Yet, despite the uneven quality of its contents, I feel it is in some ways the worthiest of this month's magazines.  It takes risks; thus, its highs are higher.  As predicted, most of the highs were provided by the female authors — and to think the State of Alabama still won't let women serve on juries…

As for this month's best story, I think Aldiss gets the nod, but just barely.  I'd almost call it a tie between Nomansland and The Ship who Sang. 

What do you think?

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Conventions/Performances

[March 27, 1961] What a Wonder! (WonderCon)

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(from The LA Science Fiction Society (1939))

Comic book lovers, science fiction aficionados, and history buffs all share some characteristics, no matter how disparate their interests may seem on the surface: they are passionate about their pidgin, they plumb deeply into the lore of their fields, and they are all just a bit off-center from the rest of "normal" society.

Let's face it–it's 1961, and conformity is still the rule of the day.  We're expected to wear suits and hats (though our new President seems to be a trendsetter in the "no hats" arena).  We're supposed to abandon the frivoloties of youth and settle down to hard work and raising a family.  Heaven forbid our interests should stray outside the socially acceptable pasttimes of sports, religion, politics, and cocktail parties.

But for those of us who refuse to "grow up", we still want to belong somewhere.  We don't want to go it alone; we seek out others of our ilk.  The weird ones.  The creative ones.

The Fans.

So we form clubs, some associated with centers of learning, others with geographic districts.  We create fan circles that put out fanzines.  We form readers' groups to share our self-penned works.

And…we hold conventions.

These are generally smallish affairs compared to their business-oriented cousins, with attendance running into the hundreds.  But for the fan who normally has a local community of just a half-dozen fellows (and perhaps many more as pen pals), going to a convention is like a pilgrimage to Mecca.  One meets people with completely different experiences, different perspectives.  There is the opportunity to get news from far and wide on exciting new projects, both fan and professional.  And the carousing is second to none, both in the heights of enthusiasm and creativity.

Take a look at my newly developed roll of shots from "WonderCon", a sizeable affair held last weekend in Los Angeles.  These are some dedicated fans, some fabulous costumes, and some terrific times!

First off, a few attendees who came in street clothes:

A few inspired by the pulps of yesteryear:

Some fresh from the pages of the comics (the new character, Supergirl, appears to have an unusually red skirt…)

A pair of Snow Whites, one traditional, and one in 40s chic:

Speaking of the 40s, check out these spot-on duds–go Airborne!

And their most hated foe (this one made me double-take, but I understand it's a minor character from an Atlas comics ish):

The Crown Princess, Anasatasia, last of the Romanovs:

Some great costumes I can't quite identify (the Germans may just have been lost and wandered in):

The Sweep, from the Mary Poppins childrens' book series:

Some cartoons come to life–Betty Boop and Fred Flinstsone (the latter is quite new, the 1st season not having yet ended!)

The inimitable Amy Spaulding–her art is amazing:

And, of course, The Traveler:

With Professor Elliot:

And making Archie cry:

That's it for this time.  I loved seeing all of my friends and fans again, and I hope you'll stay tuned for the review of this month's (the April 1961) Fantasy and Science Fiction!  There are some excellent stories in there, three of them by woman authors–a new record!

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Science Fiction/Fantasy

[March 24, 1961] The Second Sex in SF

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1961.  The year that an Irishman named Kennedy assumed the highest office in the land.  The year in which some 17 African nations celebrated their first birthday.  The air smells of cigarette smoke, heads are covered with hats, and men run politics, industry, and much of popular culture.

In a field (and world) dominated by men, it is easy to assume that science fiction is as closed to women as the local Elks Lodge.  Who are the stars of the genre?  Isaac Asimov, Robert Heinlein, Arthur C. Clarke, Theodore Sturgeon, Robert Sheckley; these are household names.  But if there is anything I have discovered in my 11 years as an avid science fiction fan (following another 20 of casual interest), it is that there is a slew of excellent woman authors who have produced a body of high quality work.  In fact, per my notes, women write just one ninth of the science fiction stories published, but a full fourth of the best works. 

For this reason, I've compiled a list of female science fiction writers active in this, the second year of the 1960s.  These authors are just the tip of the vanguard.  They are blazing a trail for women to one day share equally in the limelight…and the Hugos!

Here they are, in alphabetical order:

Pauline Ashwell: This young British author is unusual in that her works are confined exclusively (so far as I can tell) to the usually rather stag Analog, the most conservative and widely distributed of the digests.  Her Unwillingly to School, and its recent sequel, The Lost Kafoozalum, were both Hugo-nominees.  Deservedly so, as they are both unique and a lot of fun.  They also feature a creature about as rare as the female author: the female protagonist!  Ashwell also wrote the off-the-wall alien/human friendship story, Big Sword, under the transparent pseudonym, Paul Ash.  More, please!

Leigh Brackett: A Californian, Brackett was a staple of the pulp era, writing a myriad of short stories and novels all the way through the middle of the last decade.  For some reason, she seems to have fallen off the genre radar in the last few years, but I understand she's making a living at Hollywood and television screenwriting.  I am chagrined to report that I've not read a single one of her stories, and I worry that I'd find them dated.  I'd be happy to be wrong.  Recommendations?

Marion Zimmer Bradley: Young Bradley has been writing for at least a decade, but her works have tended to appear in the magazines to which I don't have subscriptions, with the notable exception of The Wind People, which appeared in IF at the end of Damon Knight's short-lived tenure as its editor.  She's just come out with her first book, The Door through Space, which is sitting on my "To Read" shelf.  She's a bit of an odd duck, having recently founded her own occult religion, the Aquarian Order of the Restoration, filled with trances, discovery of past lives, and clairvoyance.  I guess if L. Ron Hubbard can do it…

Rosel George Brown: I'm on firmer ground with Ms. Brown, an author whom I have watched with avid interest since she first appeared in Galaxy in 1958.  Her stories hinted at a great talent, and her stories had something to recommend them, even if they were not perfect successes.  Her talent flowered with the excellent Step IV, which appeared in Amazing, and her recent Of all possible worlds was even better.  An unabashedly feminine, inarguably terrific writer; I can't wait to read what she pens next.

Miriam Allen Deford: One of the eldest (ahem…most seasoned!) of the woman authors, Ms. Deford has been writing since the 1920s, though she did not enter our genre in a big way until Fantasy and Science Fiction inaugurated in 1949.  Since then, she has turned out a steady stream of stories.  Their common elements are her slightly quaint style, her versatility (writing horror, mystery, and "straight" sf with equal facility), and her consistency.  She is solid, if not brilliant, and generally a welcome addition to any magazine's table of contents.

Carol Emshwiller: Say the name "Emshwiller" and you probably first think of the illustrator, Ed Emshwiller, whose drawings have appeared in hundreds (if not thousands) of magazines.  But Carol Emshwiller, who married into that improbable surname, has also appeared frequently in scientifiction magazines.  I am once again embarrassed to confess that I've only read one of her stories thus far (this is what comes of only having time to read three digests a month; curse my need for a day job!) Perhaps one of my readers can tell me if A Day at the Beach was representative of her work; I recall enjoying it.  In fact, while I called it forgettable, I still remember it two years later, so I must have been wrong!

—

I'm going to pause at this point because the list is actually quite lengthy, and I think it merits presentation in multiple parts.  I apologize for the scantiness of my knowledge in places; until one invents a comprehensive Encyclopedia for science fiction works, whereby one can retrieve information about, and stories by, any given author, any one person's viewpoint will be limited.  I do hope I've whetted your appetite, however, and that you will seek out these authors' work.

See you in a couple of days!

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Fashion, music, politics, sports

[March 21, 1961] Marching as to Peace

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[As promised, here is the first of Rosemary Benton's regular articles for Galactic Journey.  Science ficton is about progress, and not just of the nuts and bolts kind.  Sociological progress is fertile ground for a myriad of stories.  I can easily imagine an intergalactic version of the new development Ms.  Benton writes about below…(the Editor)]

Salutations everyone!  On March 1st our president made good on a proposed project from back in 1960 which we, especially the young, hoped against hope would come to fruition.  The Peace Corps, a volunteer organization tasked with providing technical assistance and fostering cultural exchange abroad, is now a reality.  Granted, it is only on a trial basis, but the enthusiasm that the very concept has generated has been momentous. 

Sharron Perry is one such prospective volunteer I had the pleasure to meet when visiting the campus for a prospective job offer at the university library.  A succinct and highly motivated lady, she told me all about this revolutionary new federal program that was started just earlier this month.  As a conscientious objector and active member of her university's organization, Americans Committed to World Responsibility, Sharron is a graduating senior who seems to vibrate with the energy that embodies her age group.  She was nice enough to share with me the following letter which she hopes will galvanize other young people at her school, the University of Michigan, to join her on this new adventure. 

Perhaps she will motivate you, as well:

3/20/1961

To the current students, upcoming graduates and alumni,

I hope that you read this opinion piece with a desire for a sense of purpose in your life–a sense of dignity, respect and compassion for your fellow man.  As the school year draws to a close and our paths take us outside of the walls of our alma mater, I find that I am cornered in a difficult position not unknown to our generation.  To survive and flourish by the principles of goodwill and hard work, but at the same time to serve our country, our people, and live for the betterment of the world.  As the next generation of Americans – the next line of teachers, doctors, and civil engineers – it is our honor bound duty and privilege to serve our country and fellow man. 

But to serve and protect through the military is no longer the only honorable path, and it is no longer only a man's prerogative.  Wouldn't it be better to have our men serve their turn of duty through a less destructive, more diplomatic means that will encourage societies throughout the third world to turn away from the Soviets? Women of America, wouldn't it be better to offer much needed assistance abroad while traveling the world? With Janet G. Travell holding the position of physician to the president, the first woman to hold this station, shouldn't we strive to break even more boundaries? Americans of all races, shouldn't we support a federal organization which will not segregate and discriminate against our heritages? Our newly elected president challenged us University of Michigan students on October 14, 1960 to imagine such a global service, and now in March 1961 he has given us the opportunity to put the same enthusiasm we had for the idea into practice.  It is up to our generation to rise to this challenge.  As President Kennedy said at 2 AM in front of the University of Wisconsin Union, "On your willingness to do that, not merely to serve one year or two years in the service, but on your willingness to contribute part of your life to this country, I think will depend the answer whether a free society can compete."

The philosopher William James wrote in his essay The Moral Equivalent of War, that "the gilded youths" should hold a responsibility to serve in order for them "to come back into society with healthier sympathies and soberer ideas".  As we leave behind the safety of student life, heads full of new and exciting ideas, we too must go out and come back to our native land with a better understanding of the challenges that will be posed to America in the coming decade.  To be better Americans we must know the world.  "Unless you comprehend the nature of what is being asked of you, this country can't possibly move through the next 10 years in a period of relative strength."

As a conscientious objector I will be wearing my black arm band this May at my class' graduation.  As a woman I will wear the black arm band because I intend to rise to President Kennedy's challenge, and peacefully fight against the perception that America can only fight through the CIA.  We students graduating in 1961 are very lucky to have been offered an honorable alternative to the draft.  Us students lucky enough to have spent our educational lives in a school as progressive as the University of Michigan, with our study abroad program and our campus organizations like Americans Committed to World Responsibility, now must act upon our belief in sustainable peace.  It is not merely a choice to volunteer for the Peace Corps, but an obligation of our generation.


The letter and its writer are fictional, but nevertheless representative.

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Magazine

[March 18, 1961] Bad Luck of the Non-Irish (April 1961 Analog)

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Happy St. Patrick's Day!  It's a banner year for Irishmen, particularly with one having reached the top spot in the country, if not the world.  And did you know that the phrase, "Luck of the Irish," actually referred to the knack of Irish immigrants and Americans of Irish descent for becoming wealthy in the Silver and Gold Rushes of the last century?  Though the term was often used derisively by folks who thought the fortune was ill-earned.

My luck with Analog, deserved or not, ran out this month.  With the exception of the opening serial installment, The Fisherman, by Cliff Simak (which I have not yet read but look forward to), the April 1961 Analog has been singularly unimpressive.

One wonders if John Campbell deliberately alternates good issues with bad ones—I'd think he'd be better served by ensuring each magazine had at least one worthy tale!  Perhaps he plum ran out.

Take J.F. Bone's brief A Prize for Edie, for example.  A trio of teeth-gnashing members of the Nobel Prize committee agonize over giving the honor to a computer.  Disappointingly silly, and, as seems to be a theme this issue, it misses the opportunity to make a deeper point.  Two stars.

Lloyd Biggle, Jr's Still, Small Voice had some promise: A Cultural Service agent is sent to an alien world to succeed where the Interplanetary Relations Bureau had failed, namely, to convert a centuries-old absolute monarchy into a democracy.  In particular, I appreciated how the aliens were depicted as an artistic race, and that music was the key to progress.  But the thing is sloppily written with a number of duplicated phrases, the alien race is utterly human, and the story a bit too condescending in tone.  The first betrays too light an editorial touch, and the others spotlight a lack of editorial discrimination.  Two stars.

Interestingly enough, John Campbell's nonfiction piece is the most engaging part of the issue.  Normally, the stuff he writes himself is dreadful; he often shills for one kind of junk science or another.  This time, he's back to his hobby of photography, but on an interesting tangent.  He showcases a new kind of light source, an electroluminescent panel that looks for all the world like a thick sheet of paper.  Pretty neat stuff—I could see it becoming a feature of future science fiction stories.  Three stars.

Back to the dreary stories, Pandora's Planet, by Chris Anvil (whose best work always appears outside of Analog), is another "Earthmen are just plain better at everything than everyone else" story.  In this case, some fuzzy humanoids can't seem to win a war to subjugate a planet's native race without the help of some plucky, original Terrans.  The point of the piece seems to be that unorthodox war is just as valid as "real" war, and stuffy rigidity will only lead to failure.  That's fine so far as it goes, but the canny Terran tactics aren't that innovative, and the stodginess of the fuzzies is insufficiently explored.  Two stars.

That leaves us with Next Door, Next World by lesser magazine perennial, Robert Donald Locke (often writing under the pseudonym, Roger Arcot).  The premise is great: A hyperdrive makes travel to the stars a matter of weeks rather than millennia, but with the side effect that one never returns to quite the same time track one left.  The execution is lousy, however, with plenty of insipid dialogue, stupid characters, and lots of padding.  Again, the impression I got was that Campbell was in a hurry and took what he could get without requesting revision.  And it's yet another piece with a beginning along the lines of, "Clint Hugearms stood near his trusty spaceship, tanned and sturdy features marking him as the protagonist of the story."  I'm starting to think Campbell inserts these openings into all of his submissions.  Two stars.

I apologize to my readers who want only to hear about the good stuff; however, by jingo, if I have to read the drek, you have to read about it!  Perhaps the Simak will yet knock my socks off.  It is not uncommon that a given Astounding's stories are bad, but its serial is good (e.g. The High Crusade and Deathworld, for instance).

I've a surprise for my readers—guest columnist Rosemary Benton will be writing the next article, and she's graciously agreed to contribute one piece per month!  Like you, I will eagerly look forward to what she has to offer.

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Book

[March 15, 1961] Damaged Colossus (Blish's Titans' Daughter)

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Less than a generation ago, Adolf Hitler made eugenics–the selective breeding of humans for desired traits–a dirty word.  But what if a race of bona-fide supermen were created through the direct manipulation of DNA and presented as a fait accompli?  What would be the moral ramifications, and how would the "normals" react?  James Blish's attempts to tackle these questions in his new book, Titans' Daughter.

From the cover, you might gather that Daughter is the story of Sena, one of the eight-foot tall, super-intelligent test tube creations of the brilliant Dr. Frederick R. Hyatt.  It is, but only tangentially.  Rather, it is really the account of Maurice St. George, the "best-adjusted" of the mutants, known as "tetras" for their tetraploidal genetic make-up (having four pairs of chromosomes instead of two like "normal" diploid people). 

Resentful of the unrestrained acrimony and discrimination the tetras endure at the hands of the diploids, he secretly plots a rebellion.  By furtively training a tetra army in the guise of training them in a new, giants-only football league, and through the creation of reactionless drives converted into deadly beams, St. George creates a powerful fifth column.  A lone spark would ignite a powder keg of interracial war: the murder of Dr. Hyatt.  Sena's role is a minor one–as one of the few tetra females, St. George has tapped her to be the mother of a new generation of giants, with or without her consent!

Daughter is an uneven book in a lot of ways.  Half of it originally appeared almost a decade ago as the novella, Beanstalk; I can only imagine that the prior story contained all of the basic plot, and that the novel simply provides expansion.  Otherwise, it would be incomprehensible.

Regardless of subsequent embellishments, Daughter is fundamentally an old story, and it feels dated.  Society in the book's early 21st Century feels just like the early '50s with the addition of the friction created by the tetras.  The viewpoint is third-person omniscient, and we shift characters frequently and jarringly.  While Blish occasionally offers up a clever turn of phrase, he also litters the text with overlong and awkward scientific exposition.  The science itself is dodgy.  Basically, the thing reads like a serial from a lesser digest (which, spiritually, it is).  This is a shame because the subject matter is fascinating, even if Blish just scratches the surface, and there are moments of genuine quality. 

For instance, the references to the previous mini-rebellion, the Pasadena incident that left two dozen tetras immolated alive in their cross-shaped compound.  Or the excellent court scene in which a brilliant attorney provides a stirring defense for the tetra falsely accused of Dr. Hyatt's killing.  Or the scenes in which we get glimpses of the two-way resentment and mistrust between the two tribes of humanity, ancient and newborn.  It is tantalizing to think what might have been if Sturgeon or Henderson had made a more nuanced pass at the issue–or even a completely present-day Blish, using his current, superior skills to try again from scratch.

Instead, Daughter is somewhat engaging but ultimately unfulfilling pulp that pendulums from super-science to action-adventure.  I look forward to someone someday taking Daughter's theme and doing it right.

Three stars.

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