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[October 8, 1967] Things Fall Apart (November 1967 Fantastic)

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by Victoria Silverwolf

P.O.P. Sends Out An S.O.S.

The seaside amusement area known as Pacific Ocean Park, opened in 1958, closed its doors forever a couple of days ago, due to decreasing attendance and failure to pay back taxes and rental fees.


Pacific Ocean Park in happier days.

This aquatic rival of nearby Disneyland offered such futuristic and nautical delights as the House of Tomorrow, a Sea Circus, Diving Bells, the Sea Serpent Roller Coaster, and even a Flight to Mars, to name just a few out of dozens.


Artist's impression of the entrance to the defunct wonderland.

Long Time Passing

The vanishing of this Southern California landmark brings thoughts of the way in which almost everything disappears sooner or later. Pete Seeger's classic folk song Where Have All the Flowers Gone? (perhaps best known in the version recorded by Peter, Paul, and Mary a few years ago) could serve as appropriately melancholy background music for such meditations.


It's on the trio's first album, by the way.

Appropriately, the latest issue of Fantastic contains a number of stories dealing with the passage of time and the decay of technology and culture.


Recycled art by Johnny Bruck.

The painting on the cover, as usual, has already appeared elsewhere. In this case, it's from an issue of Perry Rhodan, the popular weekly German publication named for the heroic space adventurer who appears in its pages.


Working from a German/English dictionary, the caption seems to mean something like Robots Please Allow . . . Far Is The Way To Noman's Land — A New Arlan Story. I'm sure my German-speaking fellow Galactic Journeyers can supply a better translation.

The Housebreakers, by Ron Goulart

Before we get to all the doom and gloom stuff dealing with vast expanses of time and the breakdown of society, let's have a little comic relief from a writer who specializes in funny stuff. If nothing else, it's the only new story in the issue.


Illustrations by Jeff Jones.

A mercenary gets his latest assignment from a talkative computer riding in an unreliable automated car. It seems there's a planet that essentially serves as a suburb. Folks commute from it to other planets to work. Some of the inhabitants are criminals and other lowlifes dumped there. (That seems like a really bad idea to me, but it sets up the plot.)

Crooks are appearing out of nowhere, grabbing loot and then disappearing. Since they don't have the gizmo necessary for teleportation, this seems impossible. The last guy to investigate the case is missing in action and presumed dead. Our hero has to contact the wife of a fellow who has joined the robbers in an attempt to track them down. Could it have anything to do with the planet's only real city (as opposed to bedroom communities), thought to be abandoned?


And what about this guy?

Maybe this sounds like crime fiction or an adventure story, but it's almost pure slapstick. There's not a lot of plot logic. The bad guys show up on horses, which doesn't make any sense in this high-tech setting. I guess the author wanted to spoof Westerns. The explanation for teleportation without a device is completely anticlimactic. Without giving too much away, it boils down to plot convenience.

Two stars.

Hok Visits the Land of Legends, by Manly Wade Wellman


Illustrations by Jay Jackson.

Speaking of vast amounts of time, let's go way, way back to the Stone Age. We've met the mighty caveman Hok a couple of times before. This yarn comes from the April 1942 issue of Fantastic Adventures.


Cover art by Malcolm Smith.

Hok decides to kill a mammoth all by himself. He manages to wound the beast badly, and track it down through heavy snow to its place of dying. (This is similar to the legend of the elephant's graveyard.)


Note the very modern-looking snowshoes.

This turns out to be a deep valley, where the weather is nice and warm. The first thing you know, Hok is attacked by a pterodactyl.


Yes, this is an extreme anachronism; but what's a few million years between friends?

He also has to fight off a nasty critter, sort of like a rhinoceros, that doesn't belong in his time either. Poetic license, I guess.

A tribe of folks live in the treetops of this hidden tropical jungle. They're ruled by a brutal dictator. Hok has to deal with this guy as well as the animals that are out to kill him.

Even more so than in previous stories in this series, it's impossible to take this outrageous tale as a serious look into the remote past. The hot weather in the valley, the presence of beasts that died out millions of years before humans showed up; none of it makes sense.

There are tons of footnotes, as if we're supposed to accept this as scientific speculation rather than pure fantasy. These get in the way of just enjoying an exciting adventure story. Perhaps the most unbelievable thing about this exercise in pseudo-scholarship is the notion that Hok is the source of legends about Hercules.

Two stars.

That We May Rise Again . . ., by Charles Recour


Illustration by Julian S. Krupa.

From the remote past we jump forward into the extreme far future, in this apocalyptic tale from the July 1948 issue of Amazing Stories.


Cover art by Arnold Kohn.

A really long time from now, Earth is ruled by gigantic telepathic ants. They keep a few human beings around as servants. Our hero's master is a relatively kind ant, it seems. It lets him wander through a library of ancient books, learning how humanity used to dominate the planet. Apparently, the huge ants were created by radioactivity during the atomic war that destroyed civilization (The author anticipated the flick Them! by a few years.)

The ants want this fellow to take a ride in their only rocket ship, so he can act as a sort of double-check on their navigation systems. They don't want to go into space, but they want to take a look at things up there. Meanwhile, the guy meets the only other human being he's ever seen. Wouldn't you know it, she's a woman, and they fall instantly in love out of pure instinct.

Suddenly the prospect of taking a trip into the void doesn't sound so appealing. The lovebirds set out on their own, despite the opposition of the massive brain that rules over all the ants and their human slaves.

This is kind of a silly story that tries to create pathos in the fate of the two humans but winds up seeming ludicrous instead. The love story is implausible, to say the least, since these folks have never encountered one of their own kind before. It almost makes the giant ants seem realistic.

Two stars.

Make Room for Me!, by Theodore Sturgeon


Illustration by Gerald Hohns.

The May 1951 issue of Fantastic Adventures supplies this story featuring one of the author's favorite themes.


Cover art by Robert Gibson Jones.

As in his famous novel More Than Human (1953), Sturgeon presents us with a kind of group mind. Three college students form a triangular relationship. One, the only woman in the group, supplies the emotional and esthetic aspects of their lives. One of the men is an intellectual, and the other performs physical tasks. They drift apart over the years, but inevitably come back together. There's an unexpected reason for this.

An alien who consists of three symbiotic parts inhabits their minds. Those of its species have been acting as mental parasites on the simple lifeforms on the moon Titan. Now they intend to move to Earth, because the creatures they prey upon are running out. Working as one, the humans come up with an alternate plan to benefit everyone.

Despite its rather melodramatic science fiction aspects, this is a moving account of people who find themselves drawn together mysteriously, often against their conscious wills. As you'd expect from Sturgeon, the characters seem like real, complex people. It may be something of a stereotype to have the only woman be the emotional member of the group, but this doesn't seriously detract from the story.

Four stars.

Full Circle, by H. B. Hickey


Illustration by Ed Valigursky.

The premiere issue of the magazine (Summer 1952) is the source for this brief bit of irony.


Cover art by Barye Phillips and Leo Summers.

Once again, we're in the very far future, after human society has disappeared. The world is inhabited by robots. After an extremely long struggle, they have finally produced the ultimate being.

Well, just a glance at the illustration gives away the story's twist ending. Despite that, it's fairly effective. A minor piece that nevertheless accomplishes what it sets out to do.

Three stars.

The Metal Doom (Part 1 of 2), by David H. Keller, M. D.


Illustration by Leo Morey.

This Kelleryarn (Kellernovel?) originally appeared in three parts in the May, June, and July 1932 issues of Amazing Stories. All cover art also by Leo Morey.


Another physician in the issue.


This time there's a Ph.D. included.


Keller gets his name on all three covers.

For no apparent reason, all metal rots away. Naturally, this wipes out civilization. A husband and wife, with their infant daughter, escape the city early enough to find an abandoned farmhouse where they can live off the land.

A wealthy fellow not too far away sets up a group of folks who work together in order to fight off the bands of desperate criminals roaming around, now that no prison can hold them. After some violent battles, the first attempts to form some kind of loose confederation with other communities for mutual defense begin.

This is a grim story, not always pleasant to read. The main character changes from an ordinary citizen into somebody willing to kill dangerous people in cold blood. There's a disturbing subplot about the physician in charge of an institution for the so-called feebleminded, who has to make a terrible decision about what to do about them.

Three stars.

Order Out Of Chaos?

This wasn't a very good issue, with only the Sturgeon worthy of notice. I wonder if the magazine and its sister publication Amazing are going to slowly wear away into nothing, given the way they're both raiding back issues for the dregs. Maybe it's about time to look around for some better reading, like a classic novel.


From 1958, a groundbreaking work of modern African literature.

Or you could turn on the radio instead, and listen to KGJ for all the hits, all the time!




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Magazine, Science Fiction/Fantasy, Serial, Uncategorized

[October 2, 1967] Switching Sides (November 1967 IF)

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by David Levinson

Crossing the road

You probably know that, while much of the world drives on the right-hand side of the road with steering wheels on the left side of the vehicle, Great Britain and most of her former colonies do things the other way around, steering wheel on the right and driving on the left. A few other countries follow the British example, such as Japan, Indonesia, and Thailand. Up until a month ago, Sweden was among them.

A switch has been considered for a while and, although Swedes voted overwhelmingly against the change in 1955, it has now gone through. All of Sweden’s neighbors drive on the right, with something like 5 million vehicles crossing the borders with Norway and Finland (not to mention Danish and German tourists arriving with their cars by ferry). On top of that, roughly 90 percent of the cars in Sweden have their steering wheel on the left, which means that Swedish automakers have been building their cars that way for a long time.

The logo for the traffic changeover.

After four years of preparation and education, H-day (Dagen H for Högertrafik, which means right-hand traffic) came in the wee hours of Sunday, September 3rd. Road signs had to be moved or remade, new lines had to be painted on the roads, intersections had to be reshaped. Just as much effort went into educating the public. The logo was plastered on everything from milk cartons to underwear. There was even a catchy tune written for the event, “Håll dig till höger, Svensson” (Keep to the Right, Svensson). Everything seems to have gone off without a hitch, and traffic accidents have been down, probably because everyone is being extra careful. Iceland is planning on following suit next year.

This photo was staged several months ago as part of the education campaign. The real thing was much less chaotic.

Turncoats and breakthroughs

This month’s IF begins and ends with characters changing sides (or appearing to) while elsewhere the crew of a spaceship breaks on through to the other side.

A newcomer gets the cover. Does he deserve it? Art by Vaughn Bodé

Brother Berserker, by Fred Saberhagen

The time war against the deadly berserkers on the planet Sirgol comes to a head. The enemy will try to stop Vincent Vincento (a Galileo analogue) from recanting his belief in heliocentrism, thus preventing him from writing an important scientific treatise. Feeling guilt over sending his rival to his death, Derron Odegard volunteers to go back and try to stop the berserkers. If he succeeds, Time Ops will be able to locate their staging area and lock them out of the time stream. But what happens when a berserker meets the equivalent of St. Francis of Assisi?

Can a Foucault pendulum keep Vencento from recanting?. Art by Gaughan

This is a direct sequel to Stone Man and The Winged Helmet and wraps the story up nicely. That said, I’ve never been completely satisfied with the time war stories. Saberhagen continues to show some range, though, and I will always be glad to see his name on the cover.

Three stars.

Mail Drop, by C. C. MacApp

Klonit-41-Z-Bih is the director of the mail center on Galkbar. Things are stressful enough, but when the first manned mission to Mars stumbles into a long-forgotten mail transporter, war may break out between the Selidae and Medanjians over the Live Unclaimed Mail – a war that will claim the mail center as its first victim.

Klonit does his best to soothe the rival claimants. Art by Vaughn Bodé

I’ve noted before that MacApp tends to be unsuccessful when he tries to be funny. Here, he’s going more for general humor than a real knee-slapper and gets closer to the mark. Like a lot of what he’s put out lately, it’s reasonably entertaining, but forgettable.

Three stars just for not being Gree.

The Shadow of Space, by Philip José Farmer

The Sleipnir under Captain Grettir is scheduled to test the first faster-than-light drive. Before starting the test, the crew pick up the sole survivor of a wrecked ship. Unfortunately, she is distraught and becomes convinced the captain is her husband. Upset by his rejection of her, she commandeers the drive and sends the ship to speeds much faster than planned before stripping naked and walking out the airlock. Meanwhile, the ship and the body have burst out of the universe to find it is just an electron orbiting an atomic nucleus. Then things get weird.

The Sleipnir in orbit around the body of Mrs. Wellington. Art by Morrow

If the timing didn’t make it nearly impossible, I’d say Farmer wrote this as a parody or pastiche of Poul Anderson’s To Outlive Eternity, what with the Nordic names of the ship and captain. Farmer’s been on a losing streak lately; even his latest Riverworld story was a little off. This story does nothing to end that streak.

A high two stars.

Thus Spake Marco Polo, by James Stevens

The MARK-40 PLO Command Computer, which oversees America’s nuclear armaments, has gained sentience, dubbed itself Marco Polo, and linked up with the Russian IVAN-812 Command Computer. It also lisps. Now General Emerito Sandez has 24 hours to defeat the computer in a war game, or humanity will be wiped out.

This month’s new author is a 22-year-old graduate student in drama at the University of Illinois, originally from Puerto Rico. (I hope Fred keeps doing these mini-biographies for new authors; they’re handy.) Giving the computer a childish lisp may not be the most successful way of showing that its sentience is brand-new, but it’s not too distracting. On the other hand, it’s unusual to have a Latin protagonist, particularly one so high-ranking, and I approve. Overall, this is a fine debut, and I look forward to more from Mr. Stevens.

A solid three stars.

Dreamhouse, by Gary Wright

The planet of New Kansas is very, very flat. It also has no violent crime. However, it’s not without its sins, like the Dreamhouse, which offers patrons the chance to experience almost anything as though it were real. Maybe there’s a connection.

Adam’s dreams keep going disastrously wrong. Art by Wood

Gary Wright has turned out some sound, middle-of-the-road stories, frequently about sports. Alas, this is none of those things. The writing is fine, but the protagonist (such as he is) is unpleasant, and much of the story hinges on him being unable or unwilling to communicate his problems. The conclusion also doesn’t hold up if you give it even a passing thought. Wright is capable of much better than this.

Barely three stars.

In the Jaws of Danger, by Piers Anthony

Dr. Dillingham is a dentist who has been kidnapped by aliens, because he did such a good job fixing one of their dental problems. Now he’s been loaned out to deal with a cavity in an alien the size of a whale.

Dr. Dillingham asks his new patient to say “Aaah.” Art by Vaughn Bodé

Piers Anthony is a Cele Lalli discovery, and she seems to be the only editor to get the best out of him. Under other editors, he’s produced some mediocre stories (alone and in collaboration) and an execrable novel. This humorous piece is… fine, I guess (cue Señor Wences again). It also feels like there might be a story before this one that has gone missing somewhere.

Three stars.

Ocean on Top (Part 2 of 3), by Hal Clement

In Part 1, an unnamed investigator for the Power Board, which rations energy for the whole world, is looking into the disappearance of three other investigators over the last year. On the ocean floor, he discovers a vast area being illuminated in a criminal waste of energy. Eventually he is captured and taken into an underwater base. Still underwater, his captors removed their helmets.

After a while, he is visited by Bert Wehlstrahl, the first investigator to go missing. Communicating by writing, Bert explains that the 15,000 people down here aren’t stealing power, and that he has joined them. He has no news about Joey Elfven, the second investigator, but they do have Marie Wladetzky, who refuses to believe anything Bert says.

Our protagonist agrees to undergo the process to allow him to live in the underwater base, secretly planning to find out as much as he can before returning to surface. The people down there want him to go back with a message to the Power Board, but he wants as much information as possible. He meets with Marie and explains his plan and then takes a tour of the facility. Following a visit to the power plant, Bert claims that he is also not planning to stay and that the Power Board knows, or at least knew, about this base. He then takes the protagonist to see the supposedly missing Joey. To be concluded.

One of the locals shows the protagonist where to get lunch. Art by Castellon

Clement just keeps piling mystery upon mystery, without offering us any real answers. Most importantly, he hasn’t explained how these people breathe; the protagonist thinks they get their oxygen from special food. After remembering reading about some experiments done after the First World War with oxygenated saline to help soldiers whose lungs were devastated by gas and a trip to the library where I learned about some very recent breakthroughs, I think I know how the breathing works, at least.

The tour of the base is the most Clement-esque part of this installment, but the rest still has a darker, more “grown-up” feel than is usual for his work. If I have a real quibble, it’s that the dialogue is too involved and flowing for being done in writing on a letter-sized board.

Three stars for now.

Summing up

Last month at Worldcon, IF was awarded Best Professional Magazine for the second year in a row. In his con report, the Traveler suggested that voters were rewarding the magazine for its standouts. It’s true that the magazine has been lackluster of late, but the award was for last year, a year dominated by the serialization of Best Novel winner The Moon is a Harsh Mistress. And while the magazine was only in the middle of the pack in last year’s Galactic Stars, it did tie for second in most Stars nominees, as well as running the Best Novel and Best Short Fiction Hugo winners. Up through the June issue of this year, every issue has had at least one truly outstanding story, and of course, there was the wonderful Hugo winners issue

Speaking of the Hugo winners issue, will Fred try to put out another one next year? I’m not hopeful. There were four potential authors last year, thanks to the tie for Best Novel and the one-time Best Series award. For next year, there are only three, even with the addition of another category in short fiction, and Heinlein hasn’t written a short story in almost a decade. Although, Best Fan Writer (and occasional Journey contributer) Alexei Panshin does have some professional sales… No, I’m not getting my hopes up.

Okay, new Leiber is promising, and James White is usually pretty good.




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Magazine, Science Fiction/Fantasy, Serial

[September 30, 1967] Ain't that good news! (October 1967 Analog)

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by Gideon Marcus

End of Summer

The long, hot summer is over, and with it a general cooling across the country, both in temperature and in tension.  While San Francisco enjoyed a summer of love, with folks as disparate as Eric Burdom and Scott McKenzie coming to just be-in, the rest of the nation was rocked by civil strife, strikes, and protest.


Ashes in Cambridge, MD


Teachers on strike

And why not?  The cities have been bubbling kettles for a long time, and too many mayors and councilmen are ignoring the problem.  Too many workers have been stiffed and neglected.  Too many young men, too young even to vote, have lost their lives in Vietnam.

Now, the strikes are largely settled in the workers' favor.  The racial problems, well they're still there, but harder to ignore, and with the departure of sultry weather, tempers are a little less frayed.  Vietnam…well, they had a free election didn't they?  Surely things must be getting a little better.

Surely.

In any event, enjoy the respite.  We're going to need our strength.

So goes the nation…

The nation of science fiction, that is.  SF had a rocky summer, with a slew of lackluster magazines, inconsistent books, and of course, endless reruns on TV.  I'm happy to report that the dog days are over, at least for now: not only has it been a good month for SF mags in general, but the latest issue of Analog is the best in more than a year and a half.


by John Schoenherr

Weyr Search, by Anne McCaffrey


by John Schoenherr

Jack Vance and Frank Herbert have made sweeping, quasi-fantastic tableaus the in thing.  Universes that feel thousands of years old, with venerable, somewhat tattered institutions vying for power in a decadent setting.  Now Ann McCaffrey, best known for her The Ship Who series, has tossed her hat in the ring.

Pern is a planet somewhere in the galaxy, once settled by Earth, but long since forgotten.  It is a verdant, pleasant world save for one feature.  Every few hundred years, a rogue planet comes close enough in its eccentric orbit to launch deadly spores of "thread".  These burrow into Pern's soil, destroying native life, scourging farms and people.

To combat them, humans formed a sort of treaty with the native intelligent life: sapient dragons, with whom their riders bond telepathically.  These dragons not only breathe fire, but they can teleport.  This makes them formidable defenders, indeed!  Clearly, they once dominated Pernian politics.  Long ago, there were six "Weyrs"–barren fortresses wherein lived the dragons and their human brethren.  From these strongholds, Pern was kept safe from the baleful "red star".

But humans have short memories, and when Weyr Search begins, it has been several centuries since the last orbital conjunction.  Human politics have supplanted other concerns, and the "Holds", fortresses against human incursion, reign supreme.  Only one Weyr, called Benden, remains in operation–a shabby shadow of itself.

Nevertheless, with the rogue planet approaching, and the queen of dragons recently dead, it is imperative that the Benden riders find a new rider for the next queen, one who has the requisite psychic talents and the necessary strength of character.  Can any such person exist in these fallen times, when even proud Ruatha hold, whose royal family's blood once ran with a strong vein of dragon talent, has become a wreck under the cruel ministrations of Lord Fax of the High Reaches?

Well, of course the answer is yes.  It's obvious from the first page, told from the point of view of Lessa, Ruathan scullery girl, who is secretly scion of the dead lineage.  Weyr Search is not a story to surprise, a tale of twists and turns.  It is not even really a complete story; it is clear there will be sequels.  What it is, however, is an intriguing setup for a story.

As such, it really succeeds or fails on its writing.  McCaffrey is better at her job than Herbert, whose reach regularly exceeds his grasp.  She is less talented than Vance (who wrote a somewhat reminiscent tale several years ago called The Dragon Masters).  The first portion of the story is a bit stiltedly told, and Lessa comes across as something of a caricature, a wish-fullfilment vehicle akin to Cinderella ("I may seem a nothing, but I'm really a secret princess-queen!") Not that this kind of character can't work–after all, look at Roan in Earthblood, but Laumer and Brown did a better job with it.  And, of course, there are the tics that sold the work to Campbell: psionics and the idea of people being genetically special.

Nevertheless, the writing gets better as it goes along, and the concepts are interesting.  I've read some great stuff by McCaffrey, and I've read some tepid stuff by McCaffrey.  This installment gets four stars.  We'll see how the serial (in all but name) does as a whole when its done.

(Note: There's a bit in the prologue where Pern's "Yankee" colonists are mentioned.  I'll bet my bottom dollar this was a Campbell edit, as nowhere in the rest of the story is the race of the colonists suggested.  Heaven forbid anyone but WASPs settle the galaxy…)

Toys, by Tom Purdom


by Leo Summers

I'm always happy to see a piece from my good friend, Tom.  This one involves a cop duo (male and female) taking on a gang of pre-teenage kids, who have taken their families hostage using a host of homegrown weapons: genetically engineered apes and tigers, chemistry-set psychedelic drugs, erector-set shock guns.  The work of the police is complicated by their standing directive to minimize casualties.

A little insight from the author:

I have a lot of thoughts on Toys. I gave a talk on it at a Philadelphia Science Fiction Society meeting this month.

Basically, it's built around three ideas.

The first came from a John Campbell editorial I read around 1950 or 51.  What are you going to do, Campbell asked, when an angry teenager can blow up a city merely by twisting a pair of wires in a certain way?  It's a thought experiment that gets at the heart of some of the issues raised by technology.  I reduced the problem to a world where children have access to all kinds of potentially lethal technologies.

The second big idea is economic growth.  I got interested in that years before, and it figures in many of my stories. The standard of living in the industrialized nation has been doubling two or three times per century since about 1700.  The children in my story are lower middle class or might even be considered poor, but they have access to things like home genetic kits.  They are poor in land, however, living in a five story house on a narrow plot.  And lots of other kids have a lot more.

The third element is a Utopian police force.  In a world with so much potential for violence, you need a first class police force and a society willing to pay for highly trained, well educated cops.  Edelman [the viewpoint character] understands that he is supposed to resolve this situation without harming the kids.  He takes bigger risks than he has to because he is responsible for the kids' welfare.

Thus, both utopian and anti-utopian predictions.  Purdom excels at these concepts, painting a future world with realistic touches.  For instance, complete equality of the sexes (exemplified by the cop partners), and one of the few stories that takes monetary inflation into account ($50,000 a year is a poor salary; $200,000 is pretty good.)

Where Tom always has trouble is combat scenes.  It's no coincidence that his best works, like I Want the Stars and Courting Time, focus on people rather than fighting.

Toys is essentially a non-stop fight sequence.  Thus, three stars.

Political Science—Chinese Style, by Research Group of the Theory of Elementary Particles, Peking

Editor Campbell offers up the preamble to a Chinese paper on subatomic particles, the realm of the "quark".  The actual paper is not included; instead, we get many pages of explanation as to the philosophy that let to the composer's discoveries–all guided by the pure thought of their leader Mao Tse Tung.

It's pretty obvious that such folderol is necessary to get anything published in China.  I'm sure the Nazi and Stalinist publishers had to do the same.  What's special about this paper is that the science is reportedly "first-class".  Which makes me sad that the whole paper wasn't included.  Subatomic physics is fascinating stuff.

Anyway, it's short and interesting for what it is.  And given the quality of fiction in this mag, I didn't miss the (hit and miss) science column too much.

Three stars.

The Judas Bug, by Caroll C. MacApp


by Kelly Freas

C.C. MacApp, using his first name rather than an initial for some reason, offers up this tale of a colony in peril.  Two settlers of a new planet have been found dead in the field, their faces, throats and hands gnawed away.  The fauna of the planet just don't seem harmful enough to be the culprit; Mechanic James Gruder worries that a human conspiracy is involved.

This is a perfectly competent story, although I found the resolution a little rushed.  Three stars.

Free Vacation, by W. Macfarlane


by Leo Summers

I really liked the concept behind this story: Terran convicts are offered a choice–imprisonment, or teleportation to a roughhewn world as conscripted explorers.  Day Layard, a brand new draftee, is paired with an old hand, who proves invaluable in keeping him alive.  It turns out Layard's partner is particularly happy with his lot in life; it gives him the opportunity to seek out signs of the "Prodromals", the race of beings that preceded humanity in the galaxy.

This is another tale that runs along just fine until the somewhat rushed ending.  An extra page or two would have perhaps garnered a fourth star.  As is, a pleasant three.

Pontius Pirates, by J. T. McIntosh


by Leo Summers

The planet of Molle is a rich, advanced world, with nothing to hide.  So why is it the moment Jack Sheridan makes planetfall from Earth, he is under 24 hour surveillance?  Nothing formal, mind you–just subject to the attentions of four jovial fellows eager to get him drunk, and a pretty young girl employed to spend the night with him…or at least tell him she did when he wakes up with no memory of what went on the previous day.

Could it be that Molle is actually the home base for the piratical Buccaneers, and the surveillance is to make sure no one gets too close to the secret? That's certainly why Sheridan, actually an Interstellar Patrolman, was dispatched to the planet.

On the surface, this is just a secret agent thriller.  The plot is interesting, but nothing noteworthy.  The average reader will probably enjoy it and move on.

As a writer, I found much to admire.  The thing is, Jack Sheridan is never wrong.  He has his working theories, he tests them, and they always turn out to be more or less as expected.  There are plenty of stories with characters like these, from Retief to James Bond, and they quickly run into one or both of two issues:

1) When you know the hero is always right, where's the tension?

2) When the hero knows he's always right, he tends to become insufferable.

McIntosh, who has been writing for two decades now, neatly avoids both pratfalls.  The mystery is unfolded piece by piece, and at each juncture, Sheridan is plagued with doubt.  He doesn't know if he's right, he lists all the reasons he could be wrong, and he explains what he'll do in that event.  The thing is, he isn't some schnook like Bond who stumbles upon the truth.  He lands on Molle with enough information to be pretty sure it's the Buccaneer base.  After that, it's logical and plausible deduction.

We also learn a lot about Sheridan, his character and his values, without ever explicitly being told about them.  It's a lovely piece of oblique writing, all showing and no telling.

So, well done, Mr. McIntosh.  Perhaps others in Campbell's stable can learn from your example (*ahem* Chris Anvil).  Four stars.

Doing the math

With a star-o-meter rating of 3.4 stars, Analog tops its competition.  But competition it did have!  New Worlds and Fantasy and Science Fiction both scored 3.3, and even Amazing got 3.0.  Only IF and
Galaxy lagged, with 2.8 and 2.7, respectively.

If you took all the four and five star stories, you could fill two slim digests.  The only really sad statistic is that, out of 33 new pieces of fiction, just one was written by a woman.  Looks like women have struck out for books and screenplays, where the money's better.  A smart move, but not a happy sign for magazines in general.

Nevertheless, let's dwell on the positive.  Good job, Analog, and thanks for a happy punctuation to the month of September!

Speaking of books by women…

You've probably heard of Marie Vibbert, one of the biggest names in SFF magazines (of the far-future year 2022).  Her book, The Gods Awoke, is what I've been calling "a new New Wave masterpiece":

Do check it out.  You'll not only be getting a great book, but you'll be supporting the Journey!




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Magazine, Science Fiction/Fantasy, Serial

[September 26, 1967] Anniversary? Really? New Worlds, October 1967

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by Mark Yon

Scenes from England

Hello again!

The changes with New Worlds in the last few months have been so much that they’ve rather left me guessing what the next issue will be like. Will it be sexually adult, like last month’s issue? Will it introduce me to art and artists I’ve never heard of before? Or will it try to flummox me with philosophy, religion and science?

Who knows? Each issue has been one of surprise and bewilderment, with, as I suggested last month, less emphasis on the science fiction and more on those other elements. It certainly keeps me guessing!

And it is an anniversary issue, too! If you’ve been following what’s been going on here in the last year or so, many of us didn’t think we’d get to celebrating 21 years of New Worlds, but here we are – even if its publishing schedule has been a little erratic, admittedly. I am hoping that there is plenty to celebrate here.


Cover by Richard Hamilton

And with that in mind, let’s go to the issue!

Article: The Languages of Science by Dr. David Harvey

We seem to have given up any pretence of an Editorial now. We’re straight into a Science article, which discusses the importance of language in science, as “a theory … is a language for discussing the facts the theory is said to explain.”


Art from the article: Geometry is important!

It’s interesting in that science is usually considered (at least by me) as being unemotional yet here there’s an argument for the point that it is all down to how we use the language that is important. It also examines the question of whether the language of science is fit for purpose. Not a light read, but another one that makes you think. 3 out of 5.


More art that seems unrelated to the story it is in!

An Age (Part 1 of 3) by Brian W. Aldiss

Another month, another Aldiss – although this is the first part of a new serial. Here time travellers from 2090 spend time in the Cryptozoic. The past has become a destination for a myriad of unusual characters.

Artist Edward Bush describes what the place is like before the story brings in Ann, the girlfriend of motorbike gang leader Lenny. Bush has an affair with Ann and they decide to hop off to the Jurassic together. Before they leave, Edward finds himself being watched by a mysterious woman in black, about whom I suspect we will discover more in the next part.

This is different to the recent Aldiss stories published, although like many of his stories deliberately socially conscious. Also self-conscious. It feels rather like how a British writer believes they should write about a counterculture, with its casual sexual relationships and talk of drugs and mind-travel, but I must admit that I prefer this story to that of the recent Charteris series – at least so far. 4 out of 5.


An advert for the novelisation of this serial from this issue. However, be warned – there might be some future plot details here!

Article: A Fine Pop-Art Continuum by Christopher Finch


Art by Richard Hamilton

This month’s ‘artycle’, (I’ll keep saying it because I like it) examines the work of Richard Hamilton, an artist able to “distil from the idioms of the present a possible language for the future”. I was impressed by the range of work, from paintings to photography to models and even buildings, although much of this is prose trying to describe a medium that seems primarily visual. 3 out of 5.

Solipsist by Bob Parkinson

A quick check – for those who didn’t know, a solipsist is “a very self-centred or selfish” person (as it says in my English Dictionary.) I don’t know about you, but that immediately makes me think that this story is going to be one that spends its time gazing introvertly at itself. And guess what? It does. Lots of empty phrases and Words! With Exclamation Marks! that ape Alfred Bester’s novels from a decade ago. So, to paraphrase: Run! Go now! Avoid! 2 out of 5.

The Men Are Coming Back! by Barry Cole

And in the same manner, approach with caution. The magazine is still trying to bring poetry to the readership, which for me is a bit of a lost cause, frankly – though I hope that one day there will be something I like! At least this one is understandable, if enigmatic. It tells of what happens to a village of women on seeing their men return from somewhere. It casts mockery upon sexual stereotypes, I guess. 3 out of 5.


Illustration by Zoline

Camp Concentration (Part 4 of 4) by Thomas M. Disch

In this fourth and final part we see the culmination of Louis Sacchetti’s exposure to the Pallidine bug, and as expected it is not pretty. Sacchetti is now the last remaining prisoner of the inmates there in Camp Archimedes when he arrived, although there are new recruits brought in by Skilliman.

Haast, the prison director, is concerned by Louis’s realisation that Dr. Aimee Busk’s disappearance means that she is spreading the disease to the general public, and therefore within months 30-50% of the American public will be geniuses. The consequences of this is that all of those needed to stabilise society will die and society will collapse, something which Skilliman and his fellow recruits seem to be engineering. Louis’s attempts to make Haast see what is happening initially appear to be unheeded, and there are no signs in the news that changes are happening.

As a consequence of the infection, Louis eventually goes blind but is still able to type. Skilliman continues to taunt Louis. He maintains his friendship with Schipansky and Fredgren, two of Skilliman’s recruits, who despite Skilliman’s attempts to isolate Louis, manage to bring in more visitors. Louis also hallucinates discussions with people as well, such as Thomas Nashe.

At the end, things are resolved. Louis has a stroke, which paralyses him. One of Sacchetti’s visitors, Watson, leads a protest against Skilliman, which Louis is accused of instigating by Skilliman. When Skilliman tries to get Haast to shoot Louis ‘escaping’, he is shot by Haast. Haast then tells Louis that he is Mordecai Washington, who we thought died two parts ago.

It seems that Haast and Mordecai swapped bodies through secret equipment developed by the venereally-infected geniuses during their production of Faust. Louis is then transferred to the body of a guard he has continually referred to as Assiduous. They continue to search for a vaccine.

Frankly, this final part seemed to make more sense than the last, as it draws the story to an end. The last part was confusing – understandably so, admittedly – for its disjointed ruminations on disconnected issues, whereas this time around, Louis’s demise seems to create a more intensely focussed perspective. Although it was flagged up in part 2 of the serial, the ending seems a little bit of a cop-out, though, lacking conviction.

Nevertheless, on balance this is one of the most memorable stories I’ve seen in recent years, and certainly in New Worlds. It is a startling piece of work, although the impact of this has worn off a little since that initial first part. 4 out of 5.


Terrific artwork to illustrate the article on the brain.

Article: The Inconsistent Alpha by Dr. Christopher Evans

This month – and rather appropriate, given what has just happened in Disch’s serial – in his series of articles about the human body, Dr. Evans looks at the brain and brain waves, the alpha wave in particular. 4 out of 5.

The City Dwellers by Charles Platt

Do you remember Charles Platt’s story, Lone Zone which I reviewed back in the July 1965 issue of New Worlds? This one treads similar ground as it is set in a dilapidated city of the future. It’s the story of Manning and a group of fellow emotionless and exhausted characters who try to maintain their difficult existence. There’s fighting between gangs, military weapons on the streets and buildings set light to, as if life in the city wasn’t depressing enough. It’s fine, but nothing special. This one feels like a leftover, filling up a space without any importance. 3 out of 5.

Yes: people are willing to go to war over Baked Beans!

The Baked Bean Factory by Michael Butterworth

I have in the past felt pretty disappointed by Michael’s stories. So I am pleased that this is one I actually liked. It is basically a future-war story, where the combatants are all based on big corporate industries. So we have a Baked Beans company fighting rival corporations referred to as “The Enemy” in Image Warfare, all for the sake of dominance and greater profit. I was amused by this extreme extrapolation of corporate influence, even with its sudden and disappointing ending, but it makes a chilling prediction – could we see a future where big business runs everything? 3 out of 5.

Article: Reverie of Bone by Langdon Jones

A page showing some of Peake's imaginative artwork.

The Assistant Editor reviews the work of artist and writer Mervyn Peake, who you may know for his work Gormenghast. It shows an eclectic body of work, from art to poetry and prose, and hopefully will draw reader’s attention to his work. Peake may be a real version of Louis Sacchetti, a multi-talented genius. 4 out of 5.

This illustration seems to sum up this odd story.

The Last Inn on the Road by Danny Plachta and Roger Zelazny

For me these days, just the appearance of the name ‘Roger Zelazny’ in a magazine is a pleasing one. His work generally shows a range, intelligence and depth that few reach, and I see him as at the vanguard of the American interpretation of the New Wave writers.

With that in mind, then, I think that this is the first collaboration of his I have read. I must admit that I found it a bit disappointing. There’s a satirical tone that seems to echo the mannerisms of Brian Aldiss, but overall this story about Hells Angel-type motor bikers who stop in a garage, murder a priest and a nun and then drive off seems pointless. The involvement of a dog and some celestial aliens are there too, for an unknown reason. Perhaps its meaning is just beyond me. A surprisingly low 3 out of 5.

Book Reviews

Thomas Disch this month expounds a lengthy article on the idea of Metropolises in culture and society, which is mainly focused on Oswald Spengler’s ideas in his book The Decline of the West and allows Disch to explain more about Faust, which partly helped me understand his relevance in Camp Concentration. Disch then goes on to review D. F. Jones’s novel Implosion as a story of a future Britain suffering from population decline, and a “moderately entertaining” collection edited by Douglas Hill named The Devil His Due.

The other reviews this month by James Cawthorn are for the “indescribable” The Ganymede Takeover by Philip K. Dick and Ray Nelson, Edmond Hamilton’s "colourful"  Starwolf and Poul Anderson’s The Trouble Twisters, which manages “a smooth blend of science and adventure that few other authors can achieve with such consistency.”


Read some of the biographical details carefully. A poetry magazine entitled "Ronald Reagan", after that film star? Really?

Summing up New Worlds

I’m pleased to read much more fiction this month, and it is of a greater variety. The Disch ends on a bit of a deux ex machina, but is still good, Aldiss continues to produce well written work, and I liked the Peake article. I was pleasingly impressed by the Butterworth story, up to the unimpressive end. The Platt story was OK, but the Zelazny was a disappointment and felt like a minor work, even if competently written.

All in all, not a bad issue, unless you wanted to argue about the imbalance in the new New Worlds between art, articles and fiction.
But, in short, it feels like a stronger issue than the last, and worth me giving my money to. Not quite as much to celebrate as I had hoped for,  but c'est la vie.


And speaking of celebrating anniversaries, I was surprised at how little the magazine’s 21st anniversary was mentioned, other than on the front cover and a tiny box in the Wanted columns.

Although the magazine claims that it is more about looking to the future rather than the past, to me it feels a little like the opposite – almost like the magazine is ashamed of its heritage.

I’m sure that it’s not – and I am pleased that they’ve not seen the occasion as a time to fill the magazine with reprints – but I would have liked a little more reference, I think. After all, 21 years of publication, even if they have been a little "stop-and-start", is quite an achievement for a British science fiction magazine.


No advert for next month's issue, worryingly. Instead, some books to look forward to.

Until the next!



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Magazine, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[September 18, 1967] Skål! (October 1967 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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by Gideon Marcus

Vicious Varangians

Reliving the Middle Ages "as they ought to have been" is all the rage now, from Renaissance Pleasure Faires to The Society for Creative Anachronism to The Byrd's song, "Renaissance Faire".  Not to be left out, our corner of San Diego has decided to put on its own Viking Fest, featuring axe-throwing, mead-drinking, and general revelry.

Of course, the seasoned time-traveling Journey crowd attended!

Something to cheer about

It's been a while since I've been able to report on a issue that's good from bow to stern (recognizing that such things are rare, of course–Sturgeon's Law ensures much of what anyone reads must not be the best).  I'm happy to report that this month's issue of Fantasy of Science Fiction was quite enjoyable.


by Chesley Bonestell; as usual, it doesn't illustrate any of the stories inside

Home the Hard Way, by Richard McKenna

Chief Biotech Skinner Webb of the Galactic Patrol Ship Carlyle is determined to jump ship.  The why: planet Conover is the loveliest world Webb has ever espied, and its richest denizens have offered him the moon…and a chance at love with a plump and gorgeous scion.

Sadly for Skinner, he's got a seven year hitch.  And so, he does his damndest to get out of it, going AWOL, starting fights, even consorting with a criminal element.  All it does it lose him stripes and put him under Vry Chalmers, his former adjutant and long-suffering friend.  Will Webb ever get to paradise?

Author Richard McKenna seems to write more now that he's dead than he did when he was alive.  I quite enjoyed this space-based yarn, and I particularly appreciated the frequent appearance of women in the navy–as high rated enlisted men, no less.  I don't think I've ever seen that particular touch in a story.  We've had women officers (q.v. Star Trek and Starship Troopers), but no women grunts.  Certainly, it's a rare thing.

Of course, as my wife notes, why anyone would fall for Skinner Webb, when he's something of a lummox, is a bit of a mystery.  But perhaps we just have an unsympathetic narrator.  In any event, this story gets an unreserved four stars.

The Inner Circles, by Fritz Leiber

The artful Leiber offers up this tale of a family that seems to create its own reality.  The father molds ebony companions out of shadow, with whom he converses over watered-down martinis.  The mother sketches fanciful worlds and imagines that the machines of the house talk to her.  And the son is an interstellar rocket jockey, aided by just a few toys as visual aids.

Notable for including the second use of the word "shit" in as many months in F&SF (will the mails stop carrying this trashy publication?) and for a surprising but welcome happy ending, this is another good piece.  Leiber, a veteran stage actor, has mastered the art of rendering the theatrical in his prose.  Four stars.


Speaking of Leiber…

Camels and Dromedaries, Clem, by R. A. Lafferty

Cleminger is a big man, one of the hottest traveling salesmen in the country.  In fact, he's a little too big: one day, he falls asleep in a hotel and splits into two beings–externally identical, but somehow each half a man.  The two go on to live separate lives, until their desirable and desiring wife, Veronica, demands an end to the intolerable situation.

Lafferty is always whimsical, but this piece feels a bit more grounded than most–more Ellison than Lafferty.  Once again, it's enjoyable from beginning to end.  That's three four-star stories in a row!

The Power of Every Root, by Avram Davidson

Now off to sunny Mexico, where Carlos Rodriguez Nunez, police officer of the municipality of Santo Tomas, finds himself increasingly afflicted with physical maladies, as well as furtively derided by his townsfolk.  Is it a disease?  A hex?  The doctor cannot help, and the witch doctor's advice seems spurious.  Surely his luscious wife, Lupe, is above suspicion…

Davidson, once editor of F&SF, fled to Mexico for a while after abandoning the helm of this magazine.  He clearly absorbed enough of the local color to vividly paint this tale.  While ably told and a beautiful travelogue, the plot itself is rather slight, so I'm afraid three stars is my limit for this one.

Corona, by Samuel R. Delany

I've often complained that everybody else gets to review Chip Delany's work but me.  Well, I got what's coming to me.  This story involves a troublemaking hulk of a blue collar man named Buddy, who forms a rapport with "the prettiest little colored girl" named Lee, afflicted with uncontrollable telepathy.  Said nine-year old has seen too much to want to live any longer.  But her love for the popular music of Bryan Faust, particularly sharing it with Buddy, may give her a new lease on life.

If it weren't for the sentimentality, I'd say this is more Analog than F&SF.  That said, despite the obvious attempts to be moving, I found myself curiously unmoved by this tale.

Three stars.

Music to My Ears, by Isaac Asimov

Speaking of music, Dr. A manages to take a potentially interesting topic–namely, the mathematical relationships between wave frequencies that underlie the fundamental scales of music–and make it not only dull as dishwater, but also virtually impenetrable.

And I have both a math and a music degree!

Two stars.

Alas, Poor Yorick! I Knew Him Well Enuff, by Joan Patricia Basch

Equity's a great gig.  It's virtually impossible to get canned from a show when you're equity, even if you're dead!  But what if you really need that not-dead skull who's a member of the guild to shut up so you can finish the damned play?

Basch has written a cute story, and it's likely to wring a grin or two from you, if nothing else.

Three stars.

Time, by L. Sprague de Camp

Poetry by a regular contributor of same, this time lamenting over the greats he'll never meet, and the fans he'll never know.

Three stars, I guess.

Cry Hope, Cry Fury!, by J. G. Ballard

We return to the crystalline seas of Vermillion Sands.  A yachter by the name of Melville is stranded when his sand boat blows a tire.  A wraith-like vision of a woman named Hope offers succor, but her obsession with an old flame (whom she may or may not have killed) belies the pleasant qualities of her namesake.

I tend to prefer Vermillion Sands stories to the more kaleidoscopic stuff Ballard has been turning in of late.  There's more of a through-line.  I also like the idea of photographic paints that depict ever-changing portraits of their subjects.

I don't think I'd give it four stars, but it's definitely interesting.

Praise be to Odin!

With no bad fiction and some solid hits in the first half of the mag, this issue of F&SF is definitely something to foray from home for (it's not as if the Vikings got home delivery of their sf mags.) That's something to toast to!

Here's looking forward to more of the same in the issues to come.


by Gahan Wilson

If you're here, you're obviously a big fan of classic fantasy and science fiction.  As you know, I founded Journey Press to revive lost classics and to bring into bring new works that evoke that same timeless quality.

I think you'll very much enjoy our newest release.  You've probably heard of Marie Vibbert, one of the biggest names in SFF magazines these days.  Her book, The Gods Awoke, is what I've been calling "a new New Wave masterpiece":

Do check it out.  You'll not only be getting a great book, but you'll be supporting the Journey!




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Magazine, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[September 14, 1967] Stuck in the Past (October 1967 Galaxy)

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by Gideon Marcus

The deuce, you say!

The other day, a BNF opined that I was kind of a sourpuss, not really liking anything I reviewed.  Moreover, he contended that my perspective is irretrievably tainted, and that I cannot appreciate fiction of the '60s with an objective eye.  Indeed, sometimes it seems like I don't like '60s science fiction much at all.

Well, he's right.

Sort of.  The thing is, I sometimes don't like the science fiction of the '60s…at least, not as consistently as I enjoyed the science fiction of the 1950s.

Perhaps it is a subjective thing.  After all, what can contend with the thrill I felt opening up my first issue of Galaxy (way back in Fall 1950!) and being bowled over by this new magazine's quality.  I had dabbled in SF before, but the age of the digest, what I like to term “The Silver Age” (if Campbell's Astounding heyday was “The Golden Age”) really sold the genre to me.

What a rush that first half decade was.  The efflorescence of magazines (at one point, there were forty SFF periodicals in print), the wide range of subjects.  Sure, there was a lot of crap.  After all, 90% of everything is crap.  But there was so much science fiction in the mags that if you stuck to the cream, you could be assured of month after month of nothing but quality readings.

And there were women.  After a swell in feminine participation in the 'zines of the late '40s and early '50s, there was a subsequent surge in women writing in the mid '50s—most notably in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, but lots of other mags, too.  SF has never been so eclectic.

What have we got these days?  Well, the paperback is putting paid to the mags, which means (as Spinrad noted recently) short form is drying up.  Paperback anthologies might remedy that situation someday, but they haven't yet.

As for the magazines, there are just six English-language ones left, two of them mostly reprints and one, Galaxy, a bimonthly since 1959.  You'd think with so many fewer slots for stories, the fiction would be better.  That turns out not to be the case.  I think the really good writers are saving their typing fingers for the sure bucks—the novels and the screenplays.  Or, at least their good stuff.

Case in point: this month's Galaxy.  It's got some big names, but is this the best they can offer what was once scientifiction's premier magazine?


by Gray Morrow, illustrating Transmogrification

A long slog

Damnation Alley, Roger Zelazny

About half of the mag is taken up with Zelazny's novella, Damnation Alley, about a trip across war-savaged America sometime in the near future.  Hell Tanner is a hellraiser, a criminal, a motorcycle enthusiast…and the best driver in the Western Hemisphere.  On the way to the Big House, he's offered a deal: take a vital shipment of drugs across the country from San Diego to Boston in an armored car; in return, he gets a full pardon.

Hell takes the deal, leading a three-car convoy into “damnation alley”, a scenic tour of blighted USA.  We're treated to violent storms that drop frogs and sharks from hundreds of miles away, giant mutant Gila lizards, radiated hellscapes, bandits, marauding biker gangs, and the occasional stretch of considerate humanity.  Now that I write this, it occurs to me it might make a pretty movie, at least of the B Class.


by Jack Gaughan

But B Class is all it would be.  Zelazny has written some of this field's best work recently, garnering well-deserved Hugo nominations and wins.  But Alley is lesser Zelazny, a mildly engaging but prosaic trip across a wild world.  Several times, I found my eyes unfocusing and a voice in the back of my mind muttering, “Why do I care?” The story doesn't say anything, feature anyone particularly interesting, nor really justify the Roger Corman monstrosities Tanner encounters.  What's left is competent writing.  It's not enough.

Three stars.

Poulfinch's Mythology, Poul Anderson


by Virgil Finlay

I always enjoy the conceit of aliens or far-future anthropologists examining current culture (and often coming to ridiculous conclusions).  One of my favorite examples was Horace Coon's 43,000 AD, where three alien archaeologists try to make sense of pre-nuclear America.

Poul Anderson, aided by the exquisite Virgil Finlay, has taken another stab at things, reducing the principal values of mid-century United States (at least as Anderson sees them) to a pantheon of idealized beings.

Some of the entries are funny, but I feel Anderson is going beyond satire to sell his own spin on America, one I'm not entirely on board with.  In particular, I can't agree with his unalloyed exaltation of “Keen”, God of Money, nor his lumping of the Klan with civil rights marchers in the form of “Brothergood” (whom he asserts “raped” Lady Liberty repeatedly).

Two or three stars, depending on your tastes.

For Your Information: The Worst of All Comets, Willy Ley

Ley's science article, on comets, is serviceable.  It's been a long time since his column has been the highlight of the magazine, though, as it was in the earlier part of the 1950s.

Three stars.

The Transmogrification of Wamba's Revenge, H. L. Gold


by Gray Morrow

How's this for a throwback?  H.L. Gold was Galaxy's first editor, helming the magazine through its first, most glorious decade.  But he started as a writer, and now he's back with this strange novelette.  Told from the viewpoint of an African “Pigmy” princess, it involves a western scientist, his treacherous wife, and an unscrupulous big game hunter.  When the hunter and wife start an amorous liaison, Princess Wamba mickeys them with a shrinking potion, reducing them to one tenth their normal size.

The scientist sees Nobel Prize written all over this development, and he undertakes a study of the Pigmy invention, which shrinks all animals except for Pigmies themselves.  Mildly droll high jinks ensue, followed by a surprisingly happy ending.

Very slight stuff, probably better suited for F&SF, but I appreciated the heroine and the sentiment, if not the science.

Three stars.

Understanding, George O. Smith


by R. Dorfman

Every so often, a story comes along with nothing overtly wrong with it, yet with such a profound soporific effect that multiple sessions are required.  Such is the case with this novelette, about an adolescent trapped in an alien city, being herded by the city government toward an unknown destination for an unknown purpose.  Only the appearance of an intelligent, talking dog named Beauregarde may prove an unanticipated wrinkle in their plans.

It's forty pages, and it induced four naps.  'Nuph said.  Two stars.

A Galaxy of Fashion, Frederik Pohl and Carol Pohl

Those who went to Nycon 3 or last year's Tricon were treated to Carol Pohl's “Galaxy of Fashion” at the annual costume ball.  For those who couldn't attend, here's an accompanying set of illustrations.  It's hard to imagine these styles catching on or being at all practical, but who knows?  Maybe mismatched pantleg length will be all the rage in a century.

Galaxy Bookshelf, Algis Budrys

Capping out the issue, the always literate Algis talks about the New Wave.  He notes that there is plenty good stuff coming out now, and it's not your grandpa's (or at least your father's) science fiction.  In particular, he praises the quartet of Aldiss, Ballard, Zelazny, and Delany.  He describes Aldiss as “the least talented” and Ballard “the least intelligent”, saving most of his praise for Delany, who he calls “less disciplined than Ellison”.

I suppose that's the price we pay, right?  The old scene is dead, and what's left is folks either picking its bones or forging something completely new.  The new stuff isn't always a success (I have no real use for Ballard), but it often is.  I guess the real problem is there just isn't enough being produced right now.  In the old days, you could skip the dross and still have plenty to read all the time.  Nowadays, there's only enough to read including the dross.

Which is why my articles haven't been quite so glowing lately.  Sorry about that.  It'd help if other people didn't always get the Delany stories…

But I still love what I do, and I still often love what I read.  Really.  Certainly, our Galactic Stars, our annual list of the year's best SF, are a testament to that.  Also, women seem to be coming back, to the benefit of our genre.  And if we leave the printed word, well, I've been unreserved in my adoration for Star Trek, what Campbell calls “the first adult science fiction show on television.”

So, my dear BNF friend, please understand that if I sometimes appear grumpy or overly critical of this genre we both love, it's because I have to sift through the kaka to get to the rose. And hey, it's not just me: Ted White, Joanna Russ, Algis Budrys, Judy Merril…they all have their grumpy days too, for the same reason.

Nevertheless, of course I still find gems, and I'm always delighted when I do.  And if you want more cheerful news that'll bring more folks to our field, well, tune in to the Galactic Stars.  I guarantee that slew of greatness will be a tonic for any doldrums!

Speaking of Star Trek, the new season starts TOMORROW!  Hope you'll join us, tiger…

Here's the invitation!



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Magazine, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[September 6, 1967] New Look, New . . . ? (October 1967 Amazing)

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by John Boston

The October Amazing is the second instance of what may prove to be the magazine’s New Look.  Like the June issue, it is fronted by a pleasantly garish and nouveau-pulpish cover that, though uncredited, is known to the cognoscenti as another by Johnny Bruck, reprinted from a 1963 issue of the German Perry Rhodan magazine.  Farewell Frank R. Paul?  We’ll see.  And maybe the contents are being updated as well.  Of the five reprinted stories here, all are from the late 1940s or the ‘50s, at least in publication date.


by Johnny Bruck

That is not necessarily good news; Amazing published plenty of dreck through most of its history.  Selection is all.  But this issue’s selection is pretty decent.  Also Harry Harrison’s book reviews are still here, with a fillip.  In addition to Harrison’s own reviews of a new Edgar Rice Burroughs bio, the latest Analog anthology, and an Arthur Sellings novel, there is Brian Aldiss’s review of Harrison’s own The Technicolor Time Machine—back-slappingly complimentary, as one might expect from these close collaborators.  Harrison and Aldiss edited this year’s Nebula Award Stories, due out just about now, and it appears that they will be joining the party with their own “year’s best” anthology next year.

Santaroga Barrier (Part 1 of 3), by Frank Herbert


by Gray Morrow

Frank Herbert’s new novel Santaroga Barrier begins its three-part serialization in this issue.  As usual, I will withhold comment until it’s finished.  A cursory rummage indicates that it seems to have something to do with people in California taking drugs.  It will be interesting to see what Herbert can develop from such an unlikely premise.

The Children's Room, by Raymond F. Jones

Raymond F. Jones is the very model of a modern science fiction writer.  He checks all the boxes.  His career is so generic as to be paradigmatic, or maybe vice versa.  He started out in Campbell’s Astounding, just in time to join new writers George O. Smith and Hal Clement and retread Murray Leinster in keeping that magazine going when such mainstays as Heinlein, Hubbard, Williamson, and de Camp were lost to military service or war work.  After the war, when paper shortages loosened and the pulps returned from wartime quarterly schedules to monthly or bimonthly, Jones—along with Theodore Sturgeon, A.E. van Vogt, George O. Smith and other Astounding writers—began helping to fill them as well as continuing to appear in Astounding. When specialty publishers began to muster the large backlog of magazine SF for book publication, Jones was there with his Astounding novel Renaissance and a collection of his 1940s stories, The Toymaker.  When Galaxy appeared in 1950 and instantly broadened the range of the field, Jones contributed the shocking A Stone and a Spear, which would likely have been unpublishable anywhere else.  When “juvenile” (the term is becoming “young adult”) science fiction became a big item, Jones provided the well-remembered Son of the Stars and its sequel Planet of Light to the John C. Winston series.  When SF started to be big box office, Jones’s novel This Island Earth was turned into a mediocre but high-profile movie.  But somehow his recognition never kept pace with his resume, and now he seems to have given up and been largely forgotten, with only five new stories since 1960.

The Children’s Room, from the September 1947 Fantastic Adventures, is only the third story Jones published outside Astounding.  It’s about super-people—hardly an unusual theme in that magazine—but it pursues some of the implications of that idea that Campbell may not have found too palatable.  Bill Starbuck, chief engineer at an electronics company, picks up one of the books his IQ-240 son checked out from the university library’s children’s room, and finds himself captivated by a particularly subtle fairy tale.  Next day the kid is sick and the book is due so he returns it, only to be told “We have no children’s department.” But on the way out, he sees the children’s room, returns the book, and the librarian there (having learned that Bill has read the book), gives him more to take home.


by Rod Ruth

So what gives?  Time-traveling mutant super-people, of course—what else?  In the future, humanity is up against an alien species that is out-evolving them!  So they must scour the past for those people with beneficial mutations who never had a chance to amount to much, contact them and get them used to their exalted status (groom them, you might say), and then carry them off to their grand destiny in the future, never to see their time or their families again.  Only the mutants can even read the books, or see the time travellers’ children’s rooms.  Bill’s an exception—he can read the books and see the rooms, but has none of the other talents of the mutants, so he’s not invited to the future; and Mom’s a total loss. 

So the kid gets on board with the plan, and the parents both come around, since there’s not much else they can do.  But there’s a consolation prize for the parents (otherwise they would have a lot of ‘splainin’ to do to the Bureau of Child Welfare), and here Jones twists the knife in this formerly mild story.  (Read it and see.) Or, about as likely, Jones is just naively working out the plot, and it is only we mutants reading it who can perceive its monstrousness.  As, no doubt, Campbell did, and rejected the story, or so I surmise.  Four stars, even if the fourth may have been accidental on Jones’s part.

Five Years in the Marmalade, by Geoff St. Reynard


by Bill Terry

Geoff St. Reynard, a pseudonym of Robert W. Krepps, contributes Five Years in the Marmalade (Fantastic Adventures, July 1949), an inane joke.  Two guys walk into a bar—Muleath and Dangeur, who just returned from Alpha Centauri—and after they’ve had a drink, a Martian teleports in, just returned from a stay on Mercury.  The boys call him over, and he tells them about his “single-trav,” which will take him anywhere he can think of, through (of course) the power of thought.  So they recommend he head off next to Marmalade, which Muleath has made up and which exists only in his brain.  Connect the dots.  It's as skillfully executed as it is silly, and remarkably, Everett F. Bleiler and T.E. Dikty thought enough of it to put it in The Best Science Fiction Stories: 1950.  Two stars, barely.

The Siren Sounds at Midnight, by Frank M. Robinson

Frank M. Robinson’s The Siren Sounds at Midnight (Fantastic, November-December 1953) is entirely contrived: “they” have set a midnight deadline to resolve “their” differences, and if things don’t work out, the bombs will be flying and it’s all over for everybody, or close to it.  The story is redeemed by Robinson’s quiet good writing, following a long-married couple as they spend what may be their last hours together.  Three stars.

Largo, by Theodore Sturgeon

“More lyrical science fiction from the typewriter of Theodore Sturgeon,” says the blurb for Largo (Fantastic Adventures, July 1947).  All those terms are debatable except probably “typewriter.” Here’s the alleged science involved, from the opening of the story: “The chandeliers on the eighty-first floor of the Empire State Building swung wildly without any reason.  A company of soldiers marched over a new, well-built bridge, and it collapsed.  Enrico Caruso filled his lungs and sang, and the crystal glass before him shattered.”

The style is not so much lyrical as swaggering and demonstrative.  Here’s the next stretch of text:

“And Vernon Drecksall composed his Largo.

“He composed it in hotel rooms and scored it on trains and ships, and it took more than twenty-two years.  He started it in the days when smoke hung over the city, because factories used coal instead of broadcast power; when men spoke to men over wires and never saw each other’s faces; when the nations of earth were ruled by the greed of a man or the greed of men.  During the Thirty Days War and the Great Change which followed it, he labored; and he finished it on the day of his death.”


by Henry Sharp

That is, “I’m gonna tell you a story and I’m just the guy who can do it.” And, of course, Sturgeon is that guy, on his better days.  The striking thing about this story is the conspicuous confidence and cadence with which he lays out what is actually a pretty hackneyed plot—an extravagant revenge drama.  Drecksall is an eccentric musical genius with an all-consuming work in progress.  He works at menial jobs so support himself and his violin. Then he falls in love with the beautiful but vapid Gretel.  A crassly entrepreneurial type, Wylie, recognizes his genius, exploits it and him, and also ends up marrying Gretel himself. Drecksall continues to perfect his Largo, though it’s sounding darker all the time.  He builds his own auditorium to perform it in, invites Gretel and Wylie to hear it, and then . . . fade to black. 

There’s more, but it’s all in the telling, which is worth reading as a conspicuous demonstration of craft if nothing else.  This is Sturgeon’s fourth SF or fantasy story to be published by someone other than John Campbell, and it contrasts sharply to Blabbermouth, the second such, from Fantastic Adventures a few months earlier.  That one was told in an off-the-rack style that fit Sturgeon like an embarrassing Hallowe’en costume.  This is Sturgeon being himself, performing a circus act of the redemption of hokum by style.  Splitting the difference, three stars.

Scar-Tissue, by Henry S. Whitehead


by Robert Fuqua

The antique of the bunch is Henry S. Whitehead’s Scar-Tissue, which came from the July 1946 Amazing, but was posthumously published; the author died in 1932.  It begins unpromisingly, with the narrator asking his friend the ship’s doctor, “What is your opinion on the Atlantis question?” This becomes a frame story in which one Joe Smith, with Harvard and Oxford’s Balliol College on his resume, describes his past lives in prehistoric times, in Africa under the Portuguese (“Zim-baub-weh,” the place was called), and then Atlantis, where he was a gladiator, and he’s got scars to prove it.  It’s a perfectly readable old-fashioned story.  Three stars.

Summing Up

Not bad, a readable issue of this ill-conceived incarnation of Amazing, and better than not bad if the Herbert serial pans out.  We'll see.




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Magazine, Science Fiction/Fantasy, Serial

[September 2, 1967] Of Genies and Bottles (October 1967 IF)

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by David Levinson

The radiant genie

They say that, once you let the genie out of the bottle, it can be very hard to get him back in. Twenty-two years ago, we unleashed the genie of atomic warfare, and it has loomed ominously over humanity ever since. Most of us remember the tension of the Cuban Missile Crisis just five years ago (though it seems both farther in the past and more recent) and probably still feel a little uneasy whenever a warning siren goes off. Current predictions estimate as many as 25-30 nuclear-armed countries within 20 years.

William C. Foster, the chief American representative to the Eighteen Nation Committee on Disarmament.

Is this an inevitability? Perhaps not. In 1960, the Ten Nation Committee on Disarmament, composed of five Western and five Eastern countries, met briefly in the spring and early summer, but adjourned indefinitely in the face of the U-2 incident and the collapse of the planned Paris summit. Toward the end of the following year, the U. N. created the Eighteen Nation Committee on Disarmament, composed of the original ten countries and another eight non-aligned nations, which has been meeting regularly in Geneva since March of 1962. On August 11th, William C. Foster, the chief American representative on the committee, announced that the United States and the Soviet Union have agreed in principle on the terms of a nuclear non-proliferation treaty. The two nations submitted identical drafts to the U. N. on the 24th. These will (hopefully) form the basis of a treaty to be voted on by the General Assembly, that will at least rein in the genie.

A bottle of jinn

There are a couple of metaphorical genies out of the bottle in this month’s IF, not to mention all the demons of Hell. Let’s pop the cork.

The art is intriguing, but none of this happens in Hal Clement’s new novel. Art by Castellon

Ocean on Top (Part 1 of 3), by Hal Clement

Our unnamed narrator (he hates his name and won’t say what it is) is an investigator for the Power Board looking into the disappearance of three other investigators near Easter Island. Stealthily sinking to the bottom of the sea, he discovers lights shining on the sea floor – a massive and criminal waste of power – and what seems to be an entire settlement of people. After being found out, he nearly escapes, but is ultimately captured and brought into the base. There he is astonished as he observes his captors removing their helmets, regardless of not only the tremendous pressure, but also the fact that they are still in a watery environment. To be continued.

These underwater criminals ought to be crushed before they have the chance to drown. Art by Castellon

Since this is Hal Clement, there’s undoubtedly some scientific principle at work, but this is otherwise an unusual story for him. This first installment is almost all action (albeit in slow motion, as befits the underwater setting) and has a much darker tone than he usually uses. At this point, we’re left mostly with questions.

Three stars.

Conqueror, by Larry Eisenberg

Joe is a member of the occupying forces on an alien planet. Command keeps careful control on soldiers’ access to booze and sex in order to maintain peaceful relations with the locals, and Joe is getting desperate for the latter. He’s not willing to use one of the androids the natives use, and local women willing to offer themselves to the occupiers are few and far between. So when he runs into a woman willing to go with him in exchange for food, he jumps at the chance.

Eisenberg’s output has been fairly hit or miss thus far. This tale doesn’t quite have the punch he’d like it to have, but it’s reasonably well done and has a sting in its tail.

A high three stars.

Fans Down Under, by Lin Carter

Science fiction fandom isn’t just an American phenomenon, so Our Man in Fandom has decided to take a world tour. First stop is Australia, which seems to be a real hotbed of SF activity, with Melbourne the apparent center. Despite its name, the Australian Science Fiction Review is not a serious, literary fanzine, but one that looks at SF as entertainment and offers lively criticism that pulls no punches. Meanwhile, the Melbourne Science Fiction Club has come up with the idea of holding regular screenings of SF movies and also maintains a lending library. I imagine both are the consequence of the difficulty of finding SF from the rest of the world.

Three stars.

Enemy of the Silkies, by A. E. van Vogt

Silkies were thought to be genetically engineered humans capable of living underwater and in space as easily as on land. In the last story, it was revealed that they are actually aliens, and at the end the Earth was orbiting a giant sun along with thousands of other worlds. When contact is made with the ancient enemies of the Silkies, it is once again up to Nat Cemp to solve the problems of his people and planet.The Nijjan and Silkies are ancient enemies. Art by Gaughan

All three Silkie stories follow the same pattern: Nat encounters an alien threat, learns a new mental ability from the alien, and uses it to defeat the enemy. If you liked the others, you’ll probably like this one.

Barely three stars.

The Food of Mars, by Max H. Flindt

There may be lichen on Mars. Some lichens are edible. Therefore, astronauts who go to Mars will be able to eat lichen.

Never have I seen so many errors of fact in a science article, not even in an Analog article on the Dean drive or using astrology to predict the weather. The author begins with the assertion that there are obviously artificial canals on Mars, thus the areas of color change sometimes observed there must be lichen. This was written before the Mariner photos came out, but even then the idea of Martian canals was a dying, minority opinion. He then discusses lichen in the diets of some human populations (true) and details his own experiences eating Spanish Moss (not a lichen) and Ear of the Wood and Ear of the Rock bought in Chinatown (both are mushrooms).

One star.

Winter of the Llangs, by C. C. MacApp

Chimmuh is an adolescent krote whose herd has been caught in their summering place by early snows. The elderly and weak will be left behind, likely to fall prey to the vicious llangs. As tradition demands, he will remain with his mother, who will deliver a new calf soon. His ingenuity finds the group a place to camp that is easily defended against the llangs, and with luck they can hold out until the return of a hunting party under the command of his father. But that party might pass them by unaware, so it is up to Chimmuh to venture out alone to try to make contact.

Chimmuh fights a pair of llangs. Art by Virgil Finlay

This is a fine little adventure story. Not exceptional, but a decent read. This is the kind of thing MacApp can do right.

Three stars.

Mu Panther, by Donald J. Walsh

A century or so after a couple of major nuclear power plant accidents resulted in mutant predators roaming the American west, Barry Everett and his partners are hired to track down a panther that’s raiding a large ranch in Wyoming. At over 35 feet from nose to tail, this wily creature will demand all their skill and perfect coordination.

This is a standard big game adventure tale – complete with rich idiot who refuses to listen to the experts – all with a science fiction spin. It’s fairly well-written for a freshman effort, even if it’s nothing special.

Three stars.

Faust Aleph-Null (Part 3 of 3), by James Blish

Arms-dealer Baines has hired the black sorcerer Theron Ware to grant a number of high-ranking demons free reign upon the Earth for 24 hours. It goes about as well as you might expect.

Baphomet drops by for some exposition. Art by Gray Morrow

James Blish appears to have been possessed by Philip José Farmer. There’s an interesting story here, but it comes to an unsatisfying and abrupt halt. The story’s end should be the end of the second act. Worse, there’s, at most, enough here for a novelette. Much of the previous installments had subplots and character introductions that serve no purpose to the story. This time, a full page is given to rattling off the names of several white monks, who are just inserts of various science fiction authors (my favorite: Fr. Anson, “a brusque engineer-type who specialized in unclouding the minds of politicians”–note that the "A" in Robert A. Heinlein stands for "Anson"). Six pages are dedicated to the summoning, five of them just for the names and descriptions of several of the demons. This isn’t a story, it’s Blish showing off his research. Much like I said last month, interesting but not necessary. And then everything hits a brick wall and just stops.

Barely three stars for this part and only two for the whole (which is less than the sum of its parts).

Summing up

Another march down the path of mediocrity. There’s some decent stuff here, and some that could be better. Particularly the Blish. It’s a decent setting without the gem it needs. I’ve been saying I’d settle for something really bad, and I certainly got it with the “fact” article. I should be careful what I wish for. As it is, I’d be happy if, for once, I can say more than Señor Wences’ Pedro. “’S all right.”

At least a new Berserker story sounds promising.




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Magazine, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[August 31, 1967] I wouldn't send a knight out on a dog like this… (September 1967 Analog)

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by Gideon Marcus

Reversed metaphors

As we speak, I am packing for my trip to this year's Worldcon.  I'm not sure what to expect other than I understand I'll be on a lot of panels.  I'm mostly looking forward to seeing friends like Tom Purdom, Larry Niven, Ted White, and more.

My excitement is somewhat alloyed by the most recent magazine I've just finished.  After reading this month's Analog, I find myself asking, "Is this the state of science fiction?"


by Kelly Freas

The King's Legions, by Christopher Anvil

This month in Science Fiction Times, Norm Spinrad talked about how every editor has their pet authors.  Chris Anvil is the one who panders the most to Campbell's sensibilities, producing story after story of farcical garbage.  Legions continues the tale in which three planetary exploiters, who dealt with a planet controlled by robotic overlords by developing a emotional control nerve agent. 


by Kelly Freas

Last installment, said trio dealt with the collapse of society that ensued by assuming the roles of agents of competing feudal overlords, creating the illusion of a threat too big to contest by the planet's ragged revolutionaries.

This time around, a cadre of pirates, lured by the treasure said planet might offer (as well as the representatives' ships) have arrived bent on conquest. 

I'll be honest.  I got about four pages into this, flipped through to see that the damned thing is nearly 70 pages, and decided for once I would abrogate my responsibilities.  To quote Buck Coulson in this month's Yandro, "I can't read all this crap, and this seemed to be a good one to miss."

Two stars.

The Pearly Gates of Hell, by Jack Wodhams


by Rudolph Palais

Lurid account of a man's endless attempts at suicide, thwarted by a society that really wants its members to stay alive–forever.

Of course, even if one is successful, that doesn't mean surcease…

Bit of a tired one-note, this one.  Two stars.

The Usefulness of Nicotine, by Professor J. Harold Burn, FRS

This month's science article is a reprint, cacklingly presented by John W. Campbell, inveterate smoker.  Oh sure, the article writer concedes, smoking might kill you, but look how happy and productive you'll be before cancer does you in!  And here are all the gruesome details of the cats and rats vivisected to prove our point.

No thanks.  One star.

Fiesta Brava, by Mack Reynolds


by Kelly Freas

The misadventures of Section G, whose task is to ensure none of the United Planets gets too backwards lest they be easy prey for the (yet unmet) alien menace, continue.  This time, the agents sent by Director Sid Jakes are a botanist from a heavy gee planet, a cordon bleu chef with a talent for object throwing, a colorless matron with a photographic memory, and a diminutive 25 year-old who looks like she's eight.

This quartet is sent off to Falange, a colony of Spanish emigrants who have elected to preserve the police state of Francisco Franco long after his passing.  High jinks ensue.

Fiesta reads like Heinlein writing a Retief story, with Reynolds' patented history lessons thrown in.  To wit, this time we learn about bullfights (which Mack presumably saw when he was in Spain), the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand, and why slaves really are happier than we give them credit for. After all–it's not as if there were ever any slave revolts.

I guess Reynolds' travels never took him to Haiti.

Anyway, it's not very good, but if you go for this sort of thing, it is readable.  I guess I'll give it a three.  I'm trying to be nicer these days.

Important Difference, by E. G. Von Wald


by Kelly Freas

Humanity has been at peace for 500 years, but this tranquility is disturbed when (putatively) bug-eyed aliens appear and start shooting.  One three-man scout becomes the first recon ship to successfully engage the enemy…and discover their true shape.

The "twist" is telegraphed as loudly as "What hath God wrought?" but I did appreciate how our race might evolve to the point that, even if our enemy looks like us, we could find a warlike nature so repellent as to mark a drastically different species.

Another low three star.

Lost Calling, by Verge Foray


by Leo Summers

Ingenuous young Dalton Mirni is picked up by a tramp freighter after being (so he says) in the captivity of aliens for 16 years of his life.  The problem is there are no aliens, at least that humanity knows of.  Not only that, but there is a big blank in his memory.  He knows he was being trained for a singular profession, but he has no idea what it was.

Still, he looks on the bright side.  After all, he is universally liked, by the crew that picks him up, the planet of Fingal (enemy of Earth), and the Earth people themselves.  And Mirni has the uncanny ability to solve people's interpersonal problems.

Of course, there can't be any connection between this skill and his lost memories…

I appreciated the tone of this story, and it's also pretty well done.  Definitely the best thing in the magazine, though I don't think I'd give it a fourth star.

Bad data

All in all, pretty grim.  Even being generous with my ratings, Analog clocks in at a dismal 2.3 stars, beaten by every other magazine and short story collection this month.  In order of decreasing badness, we have Fantasy and Science Fiction (2.8), IF (2.9), Orbit 2 (3), Fantastic (3), New Worlds (3.2), and The Devil His Due (3.2).

You could take all the four and five star stories and fill two digests (or thin books), which is pretty bad given we had seven to choose from.  It was a bright spot for women, though, as they contributed nearly 16% of the new stories published.

So is all hope lost?  Not necessarily.  I've already started on next month's Galaxy, and Budrys' book column discusses how the New Wave of authors (Aldiss, Ballard, Zelazny, Delany, et. al.) are revolutionizing the field.

They just aren't doing it in the pages of Analog.  So long as Campbell remains in the editorial chair, I suppose the revolution will remain untelevised.

We'll see how long that lasts.  Even Alabama integrated…




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Magazine, Science Fiction/Fantasy, Serial

[August 26, 1967] The Shock of the New II – Sex and the Modern British SF Reader New Worlds, September 1967

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by Mark Yon

Scenes from England

Hello again!

The strange evolution of the ‘new’ New Worlds continues this month. Be warned – it’s not an issue to loan to minors!


Cover by Peter Phillips

Let’s go to the issue!

This month’s “Leading Article” looks at our fascination with predicting the future – relevant to science fiction, of course! – but then uses this idea to analyse and review a book named The Art of Conjecture by French writer Bernard de Jouvenal. The future is less known than the past and is therefore more uncertain. Usual food for thought, but this seems less a thought experiment and more an editorial review.

Illustration by Zoline

Camp Concentration (Part 3 of 4) by Thomas M. Disch

In this third part, the fact that Louis Sacchetti is now fully infected with the Pallidine bug, and as it has been known to cause madness before death, leads to more madness and “ramblings”, as Louis puts it. Result: lots of religious iconography and internal ponderings in very short extracts ensue. Questions posed such as “Who is there to answer to the sky?” and vivid descriptions such as “My entrails are trodden down in the mire” may give you a clue where we’re going here.

The clever part is that there is a purpose to the madness. Much of the enjoyment here is in reading Disch’s well-constructed paragraphs and trying to determine what the meaning of it all is. It is very Ballardian, in that try-and-connect-the-deliberately-disjointed-paragraphs-together kind of way.

And yes, also in that Ballardian way, it is all starting to fall apart. More prisoners die. Sacchetti is both sicker and scoring higher than ever on the psychometric tests. Dr Busk seems to have run away from Camp Archimedes, and is replaced by Bobby Fredgren, who conducts more tests on Louis. We are also introduced to Skilliman, a person who seems like they’re straight out of Doctor Strangelove and on whom most of the story is spent describing and making up strange fictions about. I suspect that the reasons for this may become more important and more obvious next time. However, the omens are not good for a happy ending next month. 4 out of 5.

Still Trajectories by Brian W. Aldiss

Another month, another Aldiss, still telling us of a near-future Europe that has experienced psychedelic drugs as a result of Russia dropping hallucinogenic bombs in the Acid Head War. Last time it was about Charteris’s travelling around the English Midlands and becoming Saint Charteris, a god-like personality that is worshipped and adored. This time, we begin in Holland with Speed Supervisor Jan Koninkrijk, who describes the kind of decaying place Colin Charteris did in Multi Value Motorway last month. Lots of talk of cars and highways and speed, because we’re still channelling J G Ballard, but also with its talk of a depressed wife with no personality and the presence of ‘omnivision’ I think there’s a little bit of an homage to Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451.

The story steps up a gear (motoring analogy!) when it is revealed that Colin Charteris, the Mad Messiah last seen in England, is due to visit Jan’s home town of Aalter, on what could be seen as a Crusade in a convoy of cars. In his capacity as future-traffic-cop, Koninkrijk picks up Charteris and his girlfriend Angeline. Strange poetry ensues. Jan is affected by what he hears, and at the end abandons his mundane, routine life. The crusade rumbles on.

Like before in previous stories, there’s lots of vivid imagery and wordplay, not to mention things that are meant to mean a lot. Allegories of cars, speed, and crashing abound, although the poetry lost me a bit. Memorable though this story is, these Charteris stories do feel like little more than cut-up sections of a book, a serial in disguise. 3 out of 5.

Article: Psychological Streamlining by Christopher Finch

This month’s ‘artycle’ (I’ll keep saying it because I like it) examines the work of Peter Phillips, which combines Pop Art sensibilities with technical method. Lots of customisation and American imagery as a result.

I’m still not sure whether these articles are mind-blowing or just self-obsessed clap-trap with delusions of grandeur. Some of the sentences here are just ripe for parody. And yet I must admit that they’re showing me things I had never considered before, which I guess is partly the purpose of art. 3 out of 5.

Masterton and the Clerks by John T. Sladek

Here’s that story delayed from last month.

A sort of Kafka-esque satire which seems to be about the mindless routines and meaningless existence of bureaucracy in the modern office as seen through the observations of Henry on his fellow workers and in particular his boss, Mr. Masterton. As is now de rigueur for much of the New Wave stuff, it’s written in that cut-up style, with diagrams, memos and the like. It’s meant to be amusing, but feels also rather pointless and depressing, filled with people that you wouldn’t want to spend time with, never mind reading about in a far-too-long story. But that may be its point.

Unfortunately, or perhaps appropriately for a story set in an office, it reads like a copy of something else or something that we’ve seen before. It almost feels like Disch has written it. Not convinced that this one was worth the wait, to be honest. File in the “Life’s dull and then you die” filing cabinet, albeit perhaps with a faint smile on your face. 2 out of 5.

Article: A New Look at Vision by Christopher Evans

The return of Dr. Evans, who to me still feels a little like a British version of The Good Doctor Asimov. This month he’s looking at new developments in optics, a much-needed development for those of us who are short-of-sight. (I’m tempted to throw in the joke about “If only I could read the small print”, but I shall refrain.) It begins with facts I didn’t know about the eye, before discussing how contact lenses work, and finally explains the experiments on pattern, form and process that allow us a greater understanding of how our brain works. Another informative article on something I didn’t realise I needed to read about. 4 out of 5.

Book Reviews

You may have noticed, like I have, that there seems to be a trend in New Worlds at the moment about stories involving religion. Not sure why, but I am noticing many stories about God/Gods, religious icons, theology and all the rest of it. Perhaps they’ve always been there and I’m only just noticing them? Anyway, the detailed review this month by C. C. Shackleton is of a book by Alex Comfort, The Anxiety Makers, which initially examines the concepts of  New Theology and New Mysticism.

All well and good. The article then links these concepts to Dr. Comfort's book to make the point (I think) that many of today's anxieties are related to ideas from Victorian times that doctors  are obsessed with dealing with. It then goes into some detail on the origins of these anxieties, referred to as the “four horses of the nineteenth-century apocalypse” – masturbation, sexual intercourse, birth control and constipation. I can safely say that these are topics I would never have expected to read of in New Worlds, although to be fair it examines these issues in a rather matter-of-fact manner.

Some of the ideas examined here are quite complex. I'm not even sure that I got them, as there seems to be an assumption that I know something about the topic already. (I do not.) As a result, I'm not really sure of its relevance here, although as an article perhaps meant to shock, I guess it might sell a few more copies. Personally, though, it makes me feel like my copy of New Worlds should be hidden behind the newsagent’s counter… can’t see it being widely promoted on the shelves of my local W H Smiths.

The other reviews this month by James Cawthorn are less titillating and more genre based. Keith Laumer’s A Plague of Demons “moves along briskly, achieves some neat lines of hard-boiled humour and is, above all, entertainment.” Brief mention is also made of Robert Silverberg’s To Open the Sky (religion, again), but this is mainly descriptive rather than analytical.

Summing up New Worlds

Another wide-ranging issue, some of which is on topics I didn’t expect. I feel that the fiction is a minor part of the magazine this month, although it can’t be denied that the magazine seems to be going all out to broaden its readership. The Disch is becoming more obtuse, John Sladek’s Masterton and the Clerks was a disappointment, although I’m not entirely sure what I was expecting.

In short, a solid issue, but not an outstanding one. With the emphasis on articles, I have a feeling that whilst trying to gain new reader’s interest, the staff may be losing their traditional readership. I do wonder what the New Worlds readers of the 1950’s would make of this issue. There’s no denying that there’s science, but where’s the science fiction? Even the fiction seems more literary and less science-fictional than what has gone before.

And I realise that that may be the point.

In this brave new world of New Worlds there may be less space for spaceships and more room for sex – or at least adult topics. This fits in with the brief that Moorcock made his intent years ago, to modernise and adult-ise science fiction, and what the Arts Council want their grant to be used for, but based on what I’m seeing here I’m not sure that it means the magazine has found, or will find, a bigger, more interested audience.


A 21st anniversary issue – has it really been around that long?

Until the next!



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