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[August 12, 1963] WET BLANKET (the September 1963 Amazing)

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by John Boston

[Want to talk to the Journey crew and fellow fans?  Come join us at Portal 55! (Ed.)]

Just as I feared, the September 1963 Amazing marks the return, after too short an absence, of Robert F. Young, who in Boarding Party moves on from his twee recapitulations of the Old Testament to, I kid you not, Jack and the [REDACTED] Beanstalk.  Alien space traveler needs to enrich the soil in the on-ship farm, finds an out-of-bounds planet with the right kind of dirt, and lowers a big tube to suck it up; but one of the natives (those protected by the out-of-bounds designation) climbs the tube, and makes off with a “Uterium 5 Snirk Bird, a Toy Friddle-fork, and Two Containers of Yellow Trading Disks,” it says here.  The aliens all have names of four syllables separated by hyphens, and you can fill in the blanks for this one.  One guttering star—a tiny red dwarf at best.

But the issue opens with Poul Anderson’s Homo Aquaticus, illustrated on the cover by a swimmer with a menacing look and a more menacing trident, next to a nicely-rendered fish, in one of artist Lloyd Birmingham’s better moments.  This is one of Anderson’s atmospheric stories, its mood dominated by Anglo-Saxon monosyllables.  No, not those—I mean fate, guilt, doom, that sort of thing.  The story’s tone is set in the first paragraph, in which the protagonist “thought he heard the distant blowing of a horn.  It would begin low, with a pulse that quickened as the notes waxed, until the snarl broke in a brazen scream and sank sobbing away.”

This is rationalized as the wind in the cliffs, but we know better.  The good (space)ship Golden Flyer and its crew have been sentenced to roam the galactic hinterlands after some of their number betrayed other ships of the Kith, a starfaring culture separated from planetary cultures by relativistic time dilation.  Right now they’re looking at what used to be a colony planet, but all they see is ruins, until their encounter with the colony’s descendants, as given away by the title.  In the end, doom and fate are tempered with rationality and mercy.  Three stars, but towards the top of Anderson’s middling range.

After these two short stories, there is only one other piece of fiction in the issue, A. Bertram Chandler’s long novella The Winds of If, an entry in what now seems to be a series about goings-on on the Rim (of the galaxy), with a couple of magazine stories and a novel, The Rim of Space, already published.  The plot: tramp space freighter is about ready for the knackers, or breakers, or whatever, but the crew gets hired by a Commodore Grimes to take an experimental ship on a long flight—a lightjammer, propelled by the pressure of light against large sails. 

Two women, a journalist and an engineer, are added to the crew, which already includes one woman.  Soap opera ensues, and one of the women decides to present her inamorata with a really special gift—genuine faster-than-light travel.  The lightjammer is by now at 0.9 per cent of light speed, so a little push should put it over, right?  Like a bucket of gunpowder detonated at the stern?

I’m really not the one to judge—hey, I’m still a couple of years away from high school physics—but hasn’t Chandler stumbled into a sort of relativistic Fool’s Mate here?  There’s an obvious arithmetical problem; wouldn’t you need a lot more 9s after that decimal point to get close enough to c for such a little push to put you over?  But more importantly, doesn’t matter get more massive the closer you get to c, meaning a corresponding increase in inertia would defeat any attempt to sneak over the line with a little added acceleration?  Where’s Julio Gomez when you need him?

Anyway, in the story it works, and it precipitates the characters into a series of strange experiences which I won’t detail, save to say that the soap opera intensifies and permutates, and we get a good dose of low-level male-chauvinism as the women prove slaves to their emotions.  Aside from that, it’s smoothly written and perfectly readable if you don’t have anything better to do, but that and the cartoon science get it two stars.  Also, the characters smoke cigarettes.  A lot.  On board an enclosed vessel that has only the air it can bring with it or manufacture in flight.  How likely is it that smoking would be tolerated on a long-haul spaceship?  Inquiring minds think that’s about as silly as the gunpowder-bucket FTL drive.

This month’s non-fiction piece is Ben Bova’s article Neutrino Astronomy—reasonably informative but dull, and briefly worse than dull as he unveils the Useless Simile of the Month.  One section of the article is headed The Stellar Pituitary Gland, and it says here: “Neutrinos might well control the aging process in the Sun, much as the pituitary gland is suspected to regulate aging in human beings.” P’tooey!  Two stars.

So, once again, Amazing brightened up for a month, with several excellent stories last month, but now as usual the wet blanket of mediocrity has descended again. 




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[August 8, 1963] Great Escapes (September 1963 IF)

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by Gideon Marcus

In the United States, the Fourth of July is perhaps our biggest holiday, celebrating our declaration of independence from our former motherland, Great Britain.  It was our escape from taxation without representation, from capricious colonial government, and from forced tea-drinking. 

This latest Independence Day saw the premiere of one of the biggest and best summer blockbusters ever made, the appropriately themed The Great Escape.  Directed by John Sturges, and starring James Garner, Richard Attenborough, and Steve McQueen, it is the vaguely true-to-life story of a prison break from a Nazi Stalag.  Exciting, moving, and beautifully done, it's sure to be a contender for an Oscar or three.  Watch it.

The September 1963 Worlds of IF Science Fiction continues the escape motif.  Not just in the normal sense in that it provides an escape from reality, but rather, each of its stories involves an escape of some kind. 

Was this a deliberate editorial choice by Fred Pohl or simply a happy circumstance?  Either way, it makes for an enjoyable issue that is better than the sum of its parts.

The Expendables, by A. E. van Vogt

Van Vogt, one of space opera's most prominent lights, has been away from the SF scene for fourteen years.  So it's quite a scoop for Pohl to have gotten this latest piece, depicting the final stages of a generation ship's journey.  A mutiny against the authoritarian captaincy is brewing as the ship nears its destination, and when it turns out the planet intended for colonization is already inhabited, all-out rebellion ensues.

This is a tale that combines two of my favorite topics, first contact and generation ships, and I'm a big fan of Van Vogt.  However, I am disappointed to report that Expendables just doesn't hang well together.  The science is shaky, the dialogue rather implausible, and the characters a bit too gullible.  There is also a queer, slapdash quality to the writing.  I suspect this was written in a hurry; a do-over could turn it into a fine story, indeed.  Two stars as is.

The Time of Cold, by Mary Carlson

Curt, a spacewrecked man trapped without water on a parched world has little hope of surviving long enough to be rescued.  Xen is an amorphous hot-blooded being, native to the planet, desperate for more warmth.  Both are menaced by liquid scorpions, beasts who kill in an instant and don't care what world you come from.  Are the two aliens the key to each other's survival?

There is an art to telling a story from alternating perspectives such that each scene moves the story forward without repetition.  Mary Carlson, a young lady from South Dakota, mastered that art in her first published piece.  It's a beautiful, uplifting tale.  Bravo.  Five stars.

Manners and Customs of the Thrid, by Murray Leinster

In Thrid culture, the Governor can never be wrong, and woe be to one who disputes him.  Jorgenson, a representative of the Rim Star Trading Corp., dares to stand up for his native business partner, Ganti, whose wife the Governor would have for his own.  Both are exiled for life to a barren rock in the middle of the ocean, escape from which would daunt even the fellows who broke out of Alcatraz. 

But, escape they do, and the method is quite ingenious — and logical given the central tenet of Thrid society.  Writing-wise, it's a rather workmanlike piece, but the thrilling bits more than compensate.  Three stars.

Science on a Shoestring – Or Less , by Theodore Sturgeon

In this month's science column, Sturgeon extols the merits of UNESCO's book, Sourcebook for Science Teaching.  I love Ted Sturgeon, don't get me wrong, but sometimes his article topics just don't merit the space they take up.  Two stars.

The Reefs of Space (Part 2 of 3), by Jack Williamson, and Frederik Pohl

In the future, Earth is a dystopia under the stifling computerized control of the Machine and its inscrutable Plan.  Those who resist the Plan, or for whom the Machine can make no use, are condemned to the Body Bank for reclamation.  The last installment, in which state criminal Steve Ryeland was forced by the Machine to develop a reactionless drive, only mentioned the Body Banks in passing.  Part 2 deals almost exclusively with them.

In the midst of his work, Ryeland, accused of plotting a wave of disasters around the world, is exiled to Cuba.  The tropical paradise has been turned into a kind of leper colony, except limbs and organs are not lost to disease, but instead, according to the demands of the citizens for whom parts are harvested.  Over time, the residents lose more and more of themselves until there is not enough to sustain life.  One might survive as long as six years, if you can call a limbless, mouthless existence survival.  Of course, the tranquilizing drugs they put in the food and water keep you from minding too much…

Fred Pohl already proved he could write compelling horror in A Plague of Pythons.  This latest installment of The Reefs of Space would do fine as a stand-alone story (and I have to wonder if it was originally intended as such).  The tale of Ryeland's attempt to escape an escape-proof prison is gripping, even if the trappings of the greater story aren't so much.  Four stars.

The Course of Logic, by Lester del Rey

A mated pair of parasitic aliens, who use other creatures as their hosts, have been trapped on a bleak world for eons.  Their home galaxy has been destroyed, and the only compatible beasts they've found lack the fine motor skills to construct spaceships for escape — or any other kind of technology.  So they are delighted when they come across a pair of humans, for our form is absolutely perfect for their needs.  Will these puppet masters, once ensconced in our guise, escape their planetary prison and become unstoppable conquerors?

Lester has been too long from our ranks, but it looks like he's back to stay, given his recent record of publication.  This is a grim piece but with a splendid sting in its tail.  I also particularly enjoyed this bit of evolutionary teleology, said by the dominant female to her mate:

"The larger, stronger and more intelligent form is always female.  How else could it care for its young?  It needs ability for a whole family, while the male needs only enough for itself.  The laws of evolution are logical or we wouldn't have evolved at all."

And before you scoff, recall the hyenas and the bees.  Four stars.

The Customs Lounge, by E. A. Proulx

This vignette appears to be a Tale from the White Hart, but it's really a story of human cleverness under alien domination.  It is apparently the first piece by Proulx, "a folk singing star-gazing man from upstate New York," and while it's nothing special, it's also not bad.  Three stars.

Threlkeld's Daughter, by James Bell

Last up, we have a tale not of escape, but of entrapment.  A six-legged, tailed tree-creature from Alpha Centauri takes on comely human female form and travels to Earth to secure a male homo sapiens specimen for study.  But with the human body comes human hormones and emotions, and love creates its own entrapments. 

It's a cute little piece, more like something I'd find in F&SF.  Three stars.

Thus ends a fine issue of an improving magazine.  If you ever find yourself imprisoned, in gaol real or virtual, one of these stories might give you the inspiration to break out.  Or, at the very least, make a few hours of your sentence more pleasant.

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Magazine

[July 30, 1963] Inoffensive Pact (August 1963 Analog)

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[Don't forget to vote for the Hugos — the deadline is here!]


by Gideon Marcus

Across the globe, under the medieval spires of the Kremlin, three ambassadors and their teams vigorously discussed the terms of what may be the precursor to Peace in Our Time (where have we heard that before?)

It all started in 1961, when the Soviet Union began testing gigantic atomic bombs in the air and on the Siberian tundra after a three year moratorium.  America followed suit with a series of tests in the Pacific and high in the atmosphere.  These provided a wonderful show for residents of Hawaii but also made planning for Mercury shots a bit more tricky.

Then, in October 1962, the two superpowers came to the brink of war over the Soviet Union's placement of nuclear missiles in Cuba, just 90 miles off the Florida cloast.  Nikita blinked when Jack glared, and the Doomsday Clock, fluttering at seven minutes to midnight, did not tick.

Nevertheless, it was a close shave, and since then, great strides have been taken to ensure the ongoing survival of our species.  For instance, a teletype "hotline" is being established between Washington D.C. and Moscow.  If things heat up, the President and the Premier can be chatting (via text) in short order, no need to work through ambassadors.

More significantly, W. Averell Harriman, a former U.S. ambassador to the Soviet Union; Lord Hailsham of Britain; and Soviet Foreign Minister Andrei Gromyko have just put together the first Partial Test Ban Treaty.  It will establish a moratorium on atomic testing in the oceans, in the air, above ground, and in space.  Enforcement of the ban will be done by satellite, which can detect the flash of a nuclear detonation.

Why are underground tests excluded from the ban?  Because we can't easily verify when they've happened, and the Russians don't want us prying too deeply into their affairs.  That said, it is a first step, and one that should greatly reduce atmospheric and orbital radiation — a boon that cannot be understated.  With the ban's ratification (hopefully within the next couple of months), the Free and Communist Worlds may inch permanently back from the potential of war.

Meanwhile, in the United States, editor John W. Campbell appears to have done his utmost not to distract from the unquestionably big news described above.  Indeed, the August 1963 Analog is so unremarkable that it might well have not even been published.  I suppose I prefer good real news to good science fiction, but on the other hand, I pay for my subscription to Analog. 

Well… maybe not for long.  See for yourself.

Change, by R. A. J. Phillips

For once, the "Science Fact" article is neither silly nor dry as dust.  This month's piece is on the Eskimo people of the Arctic, the consequences of their interactions with the industrialized peoples to the south, and the lessons we might carry over to our first contact with aboriginal aliens.

Pretty interesting, actually.  Three stars.

The Hate Disease, by Murray Leinster

I adore the stories of Dr. Calhoun of the interstellar "Med Service" and his cute little monkey/cat, Murgatroyd.  So enchanted have I been by his universe that I have unabashedly cribbed some aspects of it (like the jump drive and the independent nature of the various worlds) for my own stories. 

Thus, it is with great sadness that I must levy a two-star rating on this piece, whose premise involves a contagion that had infected nearly half of a planet's population.  It's just poorly put together, difficult to follow, and the chemical basis for the plague is both abstruse and ridiculous.

"To Invade New York … ", by Irwin Lewis

A mild professor believes he has discovered a plot to paralyze the Big Apple by seizing control of its traffic lights.  This first tale from Irwin Lewis is a shaggy dog bar story without a lot of there there.  Two stars.

Patriot, by Frank A. Javor

An extraterrestrial invasion of Earth is repulsed when one brave man tricks the conquering enemy into raising the flag of a terran nation (presumably the United States).  The hook is that the fellow wends his way into the alien camp by wearing a deliberately mismatched enemy uniform — but it is never explained how that accomplishes his goal.  I read it twice and couldn't figure it out.  It was a silly story, too.  Two stars.

Controlled Experiment, by Arthur Porges

The prolific (if not terrific) Arthur Porges returns with an unnecessary sequel to The Topper, depicting another magical hoax and its scientific explanation.  Forgettable.  Two stars.

The Ethical Engineer (Part 2 of 2), by Harry Harrison

At last we come to what you all will probably (as I did) turn to first: the conclusion to the second novel in the Deathworld series.  When last we left Jason dinAlt, interstellar gambler and lately resident of the dangerous world of Pyrrus, he had been enslaved by the D'sertanoj of a nearby primitive planet.  These desert-dwellers know how to mine petroleum, which they trade to the people of the country, Appsala, in exchange for caroj — steam powered battle wagons.  When dinAlt reveals that he can produce caroj himself, he is promoted to "employee" status and given run of the place.  He eventually escapes with his native companion, Ijale, as well as the obnoxiously moralistic Micah, who kidnapped dinAlt in the first place.  Adventures ensue.

The original Deathworld was a minor masterpiece, a parable about letting go of destructive hatred, suffused with a message on the importance of environmentalism.  It was also a cracking good read.  This new piece is just a yarn, one almost as clunky as the caroj dinAlt works on.  The theme is that universal morality is anything but, and ethics must be tailored to the society for which they are developed. 

I don't disagree, but the passages that deal with ethics are long-winded and poorly integrated; Harrison never matches the message to the underlying carrier wave.  The result reads as if the author had digested a bunch of recent Heinlein before putting finger to typewriter.

The second Deathworld is not bad, just disappointing, particularly given the brilliance of the first story.  Three stars.

It's time to crunch the numbers.  Firstly, I note that the readers of Analog found that Norman Spinrad's first story, the exquisite The Last of the Romany, was the worst story of that issue.  Well, I hope they're happy now.  This latest issue ranks a lousy 2.4 stars, easily at the bottom of the pack this month. 

By comparison, F&SF got a lackluster 2.7 stars, and all the other mags finished above water: Fantastic (with the best story, the Leiber), New Worlds, and Galaxy all got 3.2; Amazing scored an atypical 3.5.  Editor of Fantastic and Amazing, Cele Goldsmith, is the winner this month for certain.

Women fared less well otherwise — out of 39 pieces of fiction (lumping together the various vignettes in this month's Fantastic), only two were written by women — one a short poem co-written with her husband.  Yes, folks.  It's getting worse.

Maybe the SF editors have signed a Partial Woman Ban Treaty?

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Magazine

[July 26, 1963] Ups and Downs… New Worlds, August 1963]

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[P.S.  Did you take our super short survey yet?  There could be free beer/coffee in it for you!]


by Mark Yon

The coldness of Winter now seems a long way off. Can it be that I was almost up to my neck in snow a mere five months ago? Looking at my small garden, in full bloom, it is hard to believe the weather heralded a possible New Ice Age, and now we’re sweltering.

Such warmer weather (and an impending summer vacation!) leads me to more positive thoughts. This may also help with the reading of a new issue of New Worlds!

There seem to be some changes this month, beginning with the cover.

While a new cover is to be appreciated, it seems to be a change for expediency rather than for any artistic merit, though, at least you can tell from this that New Worlds is a science-fiction magazine, I found the new style made the type difficult to read, which rather defeats the cover’s purpose of attracting readers.

This attempt at change is also reflected in the story titles, which are now, annoyingly, all written in lower case letters.

Speaking For Myself, by Mr. Robert Presslie

In his attempt to discuss “What is wrong with Science Fiction today?” , regular New Worlds writer and now guest editor Mr. Presslie tries to relate to s-f from the perspective of the world-outside-genre by looking at a current British newspaper. His point? There the most heated debate of the day is not the importance of Telstar’s satellite successor, Relay; instead many pages are dedicated to an injury sustained by an English cricketer.

This then leads to the conclusion that the wonders of science are of little interest to the layperson when given more mundane, more human things to relate to, and further ,that the same can be said for Science Fiction. It’s a fair point, but nothing really new. I’m still of the view that, for many s-f readers, it is exactly because the genre does not appeal to the masses that makes s-f attractive.

To the stories themselves.

To Conquer Chaos (Part 1 of 3) , by Mr. John Brunner

The return of a New Worlds stalwart after a gap (at least under his own name) is to be heralded, particularly as Mr. Brunner seems to be making waves across the Atlantic and, like his contemporaries Mr. Aldiss and Mr. J.G. Ballard, is appearing less over here in Britain.

In Chaos, Mr. Brunner describes life on the edge of the ‘Barrenland’, some sort of post-apocalyptic wasteland that seems to be the border between Order and Chaos. Though the plot reads like a Fantasy, the account made me think it was rather Analog-esque, with all the trappings of a once-technological civilization in decay. 

To Conquer Chaos is a good solid tale, a bit slow to start but likable in its execution, competent without being flashy or deliberately obtuse. One of the more memorable serials of late, even if it is really nothing particularly new. Mr. Michael Moorcock has trod similar ground recently with his Elric Fantasy stories and across the pond Mr. Poul Anderson and others have been telling such stories for a while now.  4 out of 5 so far.

The Lonely City, by Mr. Lee Harding

This is predominantly a mood piece about the passage of time and the consequential technological obsolescence. Whilst the story is full of implausibilities (why does the main character bother turning up on a boat, for example?) it does create a certain mood. Reminded me a little of Mr. J.G. Ballard’s The Drowned World, which I suspect Mr. Harding was trying to emulate. Here the title tells us all we need to know, really. 

I think I quite liked this one by the end. 3 out of 5.

Foreign Body, by Mr. David Rome

I see that Mr. Rome is appearing in the US magazines this month as well, as fellow Traveller John Boston has pointed out in his review of this month’s Amazing. This one’s an attempt at a lighter story, but clearly still trying to curry favour with a known (ie: science-fiction-loving) audience – it's about an author whose royalty cheques are put into his letter box, yet they never seem to arrive. It’s a nice idea but the story doesn’t know how to end. Any tale that ends with an editor commenting on the crummyness of a submitted story is asking for trouble. I much preferred the story in Amazing .

3 out of 5.

Natural Defense, by Mr. P.F. Woods

Here’s another author who seems to have spent his time in the other magazines recently. This is Mr. P.F. Woods’s first publication in New Worlds since July last year. Natural Defense starts well as a First Contact story, but the solution to the problem that this unusual meeting creates is, frankly, laughable. 2 out of 5.

The Disposal Unit Man, by Mr. David Alexander

Another dud. Mr. Alexander’s story is an overexcited piece based on a flimsy idea, namely that in the future city residents are often culled by, you guessed it, The Disposal Unit Man. Future social mobility in action, but uncompellingly presented.  2 out of 5.

The Shtarman, by Mr. John Ashcroft.

Just reading the title of this novelette made me grimace at what I expected would be another weak attempt at humour. I was pleased to find that it wasn’t. Admittedly, the beginning wasn’t great – the first few pages made me believe that I’d wandered into some grotesque James Joyce-ian stereotype – but once the plot settled, this tale of alien telepathy did well to place a science-fictional theme logically within a modern setting. For that reason, it reminded me of those recent bestsellers by Mr. John Wyndham. That title needs changing, though!  4 out of 5.

Book Reviews, by Mr. Leslie Flood and Mr John Carnell.

The section seems to be much bigger this month. In this issue’s selection, short story collections The 4th Dimensional Nightmare by Mr. J.G. Ballard, Best SF 5 edited by Mr. Edmund Crispin, and the ‘remarkable’ Tales of Ten Worlds by Mr. Arthur C. Clarke are all reviewed by Mr. Flood.

American paperbacks of Mr. Clarke’s A Fall of Moondust, Star Surgeon by Mr. James White and a slew of books by Mr. Sam Moskowitz are reviewed by Mr. Carnell.

The book reviews, both for the British and the International releases, show me that there’s much out there to enjoy, even when the actual contents of this magazine pale by comparison.

Despite comments in last month’s issue saying that there would be a report of The First International S-F Film Festival , by Mr. John Carnell this month, clearly it was not written in time. Perhaps Mr. Carnell was too busy writing book reviews or having too good a time in Trieste to bother to write a report – or it was felt that it wasn’t worth the effort. 

On balance, the August issue of New Worlds is more good than bad – I liked the Brunner serial, and the Ashcroft novelette was a pleasant surprise – but some of the other material was dire.

As much as the magazine is to be applauded for pushing the boundaries of the genre, there is still too much new material that fails to be both original and good. Mr. Carnell has lofty ambitions but seems to lack the money or the quality of material to meet the challenge. I do feel that without significant revenue (in other words, subscriptions), the magazine is struggling to purchase quality stories that would make a new reader curious or maintain the interest of an old regular.

How much longer can this go on?




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[July 24, 1963] The Numbers Game (August 1963 Fantastic)

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[Did you meet us at Comic Con?  Read this to see what we’re all about!]


by Victoria Silverwolf

Those of us living in the United States had to memorize a new number this month.  In addition to our telephone numbers, Social Security numbers, and so on, we now have Zone Improvement Plan numbers, also known as ZIP Codes.  These numbers help the United States Post Office Department direct the mail to its proper destination.  We used to be able to use one or two digit Postal Zone numbers, and only for big cities.  Now every area in the nation has a ZIP Code.  The Post Office sent a postcard to every mailing address in the country –seventy-two million, more or less — listing its five digit ZIP Code. 

They even created a mascot, a cartoon mail carrier named Mr. Zip.

Other numbers in the news this month were 15 (as in the X-15 hypersonic rocket-powered aircraft), 90 (as in Flight 90 of this vehicle), and 100 (as in 100 kilometers above the surface of the Earth, considered to be place where outer space begins.) Just a few days ago, Joseph A. Walker, pilot for the X-15's Flight 90, reached an altitude of 107.8 kilometers and a speed of nearly six thousand kilometers per hour.  That makes him the first person to reach outer space in an airplane, and America's first civilian astronaut.

In popular music, of course, the only number that really matters is one.  Earlier this month, a rhythm and blues group called The Essex reached Number One on the American pop music charts with their catchy, if hardly innovative, tune Easier Said Than Done.  The most unusual thing about the musicians who make up The Essex is that all of them are active members of the United States Marine Corps.

Currently, the top position is held by the vocal duo Jan and Dean, with Surf City.  This is the first song in the relatively new genre of surf music to reach Number One.  Speaking of numbers, this tune begins with a numerical lyric that may raise some eyebrows.
Two girls for every boy

With all these numbers spinning around in my head, I thought I could get away from them for a while and enjoy the latest issue of Fantastic.  It turns out that the simple question How many stories are in this issue? requires some tricky mathematics.

Bazaar of the Bizarre, by Fritz Leiber

Vernon Kramer's colorful cover art accurately portrays the lead story.  The cover blurb, however, is unfair to the Gray Mouser's companion Fafhrd, who actually plays a more active role in their latest adventure.

Two strange sorcerers, who often send the pair on weird and dangerous quests, summon them to a nighttime marketplace in the city of Lankhmar.  The Gray Mouser arrives early.  Having a little time to kill, he investigates a new shop that appears out of nowhere.  It is full of wonderful things.  Of particular interest to the lusty little fellow are the alluring young women within cages hanging from the ceiling.

Meanwhile, his giant friend Fafhrd meets with the wizards.  It seems that an evil force from another universe threatens the land of Nehwon.  They provide him with magical objects and send him to destroy the invader.  What follows is a deadly battle against sinister foes.

No one is better at writing sword-and-sorcery than Fritz Leiber.  Every line begs to be read aloud, the better to appreciate its poetic rhythm and vivid imagery.  Exotic details make the setting seem very real.  The author adds just the right of touch of wit to spice up his story.  The climactic battle is thrilling.  Five stars.

The Red Tape Yonder, by Vance Simonds

A government official dies and tries to make his way to Heaven.  He encounters multiple obstacles.  This is a heavy-handed satire of bureaucracy.  A few lines suggest that the author is a loyal supporter of the G.O.P., so I hope my left-leaning tendencies don't interfere with my ability to judge this story on its merits.  Two stars.

The Grass, More Green, by W. Lee Tomerlin

A henpecked husband receives several miniatures from a friend who feels sorry for him.  The fellow becomes obsessed with his little world, locking himself in his basement.  What happens isn't very surprising.  This story reminded me of Rod Serling's nostalgic tales of men yearning to escape their disappointing lives.  (In particular, the Twilight Zone episodes Walking Distance and A Stop at Willoughby.) Unfortunately, the author doesn't quite have the delicate touch required for this theme.  The man's wife is a caricature of a selfish, nagging woman.  Two stars.

A Hoax in Time (Part 3 of 3), by Keith Laumer

The three protagonists of this novel – a wealthy heir, a carnival worker, and an artificial woman, formed by a computer with immense powers – are in a parallel reality, created by their journey through time.  The heir undergoes an intense training program, which transforms him from a useless, spoiled weakling into a man with extraordinary mental and physical skills.  While on an outdoor test of his abilities, he discovers a plot to overthrow the utopian society he and his companions brought into being. 

The story moves quickly, particularly at the end.  The author relies on a deus ex machina — almost literally, in this case — to tie everything up.  If the first third of this serial was a comic romp, and the second third a philosophical essay, the final third is a fast-paced adventure story.  Although entertaining, the disparate elements of the story never quite come together.  Three stars.

Two More Tales for the Horrid at Heart, by Brad Steiger

Here's where the counting of stories gets complicated.  Two tiny works of fiction appear under the title above, but they also have their own titles. 

Sacrifice Play features an archeologist who discovers an inscription at the ruins of Ankor Wat.  They promise fabulous wealth in exchange for a sacrifice to a demon.  As you might imagine, this is a bad idea.

In One Too Many, a married couple sneaks vodka into the fruit punch of a mysterious fellow who never drinks alcohol.  They soon find out the reason for his abstinence.

Both stories feature twist endings.  The first one is obvious, and the second one is arbitrary.  Two stars.

The Devil in Hollywood, by Dale Clark

This month's reprint comes from the August 8, 1936 issue of Argosy.  A little over a decade ago, it was reprinted in Avon Fantasy Reader. 

Dale Clark (which Fantastic misspells as Clarke in the table of contents and title page of the story, although Sam Moskowitz spells it correctly in his introduction) is a pseudonym used by a writer with the much more interesting name of Ronal Sherwood Kayser.  He writes mostly crime fiction, although I don't think he's published anything for a while.  He also wrote a few fantasy stories for markets such as Weird Tales.

A movie director convinces an unemployed cameraman and an aspiring actress to work on a film he is producing on his own.  The director himself will play the lead role.  The plot of the movie, which reminds me of the early German talkie Der Blaue Engel, involves a man who becomes involved with a heartless dancer.  He makes a pact with Satan in order to acquire sufficient riches to purchase her affection.  This story-within-the-story turns out to be all too real.

This tale of terror is written in a realistic manner, probably due to the author's experience with hardboiled fiction.  The description of the moviemaking industry is very convincing, making the supernatural aspects seem believable.  Four stars.

Sometimes I Get So Happy, by David R. Bunch

A writer that some readers love to hate returns to the dystopian world of Moderan, whose inhabitants have bodies made mostly of metal.  The narrator recalls his former life, when he was made entirely of flesh.  He remembers a failed romance.  The main appeal of this story is the author's unique style.  Three stars.

Fables of the Past & Future, by Thomas M. Disch

Once again, I have to scratch my head and wonder how I should count this trio of vignettes.  The title listed above only appears in the table of contents.  Unlike the pair of tales by Brad Steiger, each of these stories has its own introduction by editor Cele Goldsmith.

In The Return of the Medusae, the inhabitants of New York City turn to stone.  Those who remain alive treat them as statues, destroying them if they fail to please.  This story may be an allegory about the nature of art.

In Master Said-And-Done, a mute hunchback makes a deal with the Devil, damning himself by accepting three wishes.  This familiar theme leads to a twist ending.  Of the three so-called fables, this is the most traditional.

The Enchanted Prince, 1963 is a twisted fairy tale that combines medieval elements with modern touches.  An orphaned princess, raised by a cruel uncle, has to go to public school.  The reason this horrifies her has to do with a serious problem facing the United States today. 

The author writes well, but his sardonic tone will not appeal to all readers.  Three stars.

Cornie on the Walls, by Sydney van Scyoc

The magazine once more makes a spelling error, giving the author's first name as Sidney.  This may disguise the fact that she is a woman.  Since she has only published a small number of stories, mostly in Galaxy, perhaps we can forgive this mistake.

Her latest offering is a strange tale, which requires close reading.  An artist of the future lies motionless, connected to his house by machines.  He uses his mind to create pictures that appear on the walls of his home.  Students and tourists show up to observe them.  Against his will, distorted images of a dead woman, apparently his wife or lover, appear on the walls. 

This is a dark and disturbing story, often gruesome.  The author creates a compelling science fiction horror story.  Four stars.

Let's see; that makes six stories; one-third of a novel; two stories that might be one story; and three stories that might be one story, for a total of . . .

I better go study this crazy New Math that everybody's talking about.

[P.S.  Did you take our super short survey yet?  There could be free beer/coffee in it for you!]

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[July 18, 1963] Several bad apples (August Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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[Did you meet us at Comic Con?  Read this to see what we’re all about!]


by Gideon Marcus

I've discussed recently how this appears to be a revival period for science fiction what with two new magazines having been launched and the paperback industry on the rise.  I've also noted that, with the advent of Avram Davidson at the helm of The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, the editorial course of that digest has…changed.  That venerable outlet has definitely doubled down on its commitment to the esoteric and the literary.

Has Davidson determined that success relies on making his magazine as distinct from all the others as possible?  Or do I have things backwards?  Perhaps the profusion of new magazines is a reaction to F&SF's new tack, sticking more closely to the mainstream of our genre.

All I can tell you is that the latest edition ain't that great, though, to be fair, a lot of that is due to the absolutely awful Heinlein dross that fills half of the August 1963 Fantasy and Science Fiction.  See for yourself:

Turn Off the Sky, by Ray Nelson

Things start off strong with a tale of love and loss in a future of abundance, unemployment, and political apathy.  Abelard Rosenburg, a blue-painted, black-skinned, bearded Beatnik is unswervingly committed to the cause of pacifistic anarchy, "sharing his burden" of leaflets to whomever will read them.  Then he meets the beautiful Eurasian, Reva, last of the capitalists, who plies the oldest profession in a virtually moneyless society.  Passion and polemics ensue.

Beautifully illustrated by EMSH, Turn Off the Sky was apparently written in 1958.  Davidson held it in reserve for just the right moment.  In fact, the story has that broodingly whimsical quality that marked the work of Avram Davidson at his finest – if I didn't know Ray Nelson was a real person (something of a superfan), I'd suspect this was an old work Davidson snuck in under a pseudonym.  It certainly feels like something from the last decade, albeit a progressive work from that era.  I liked it a lot.  Four stars.

[Walter Breen of Berkeley tells me that this version is expurgated.  That means they took the sex out.  So much for F&SF being combined with the old Venture mag…]

Fred, by Calvin Demmon

This joke vignette is something you might enjoy telling at your next dinner party.  I smiled.  Four stars.

T-Formation, by Isaac Asimov

Things start to go downhill at the third-way mark.  The Good Doctor has been floundering a bit lately, and his latest piece on very big numbers is both abstruse and not particularly exciting.  I did appreciate his discussion of Mersenne numbers and the Fibonacci sequence, however.  Three stars.

Ubi Sunt? by R. H. Reis and Kathleen P. Reis

A couple of months back, Brian Aldiss wrote a poem about how modern astronomy has killed the Mars of Burroughs.  This new poem by the Reis' covers the same ground.  Three stars.

Glory Road (Part 2 of 3), by Robert A. Heinlein

Last month, I covered the beginning of a promising though uneven new Heinlein serial.  It began with a compelling account of one of the first veterans of our newest war (the one in Vietnam) and then declined (with some bright spots) into a fantasy novel that was a pale shadow of Poul Anderson's Three Hearts and Three Lions.  It ended with our hero and his heroine, both having pledged their love for each other, tilting lances at their former benefactor, who had thrown them out for not having sex with his family. 

Yes, you read that right.

How does this exciting lead-up resolve?  With a disappointing, "After resolving the situation, our heroes hung out in their benefactor's steam bath and chatted."  I'm not leaving anything out.  That is pretty much how Part 2 begins.  Then it meanders into a dialogue between the protagonists that reads as if Heinlein had a conversation with himself in the shower (before he'd entirely woken up), and someone transcribed the result.

It's bad.  It's unreadable.  It's the worst Heinlein I've ever read, and I'm a fan (though Podkayne of Mars and Stranger in a Strange Land sorely tested that status).  Truth be told, I gave up ten pages in.  Let me know if it gets better, but having skimmed some of the later pages out of morbid curiosity, it didn't look like it.

One star.

The Censors: A Sad Allegory, by T. P. Caravan

Another half-page joke piece.  Not as good as the first one.  Three stars.

Sweets to the Sweet, by Paul Jay Robbins

Undistinguished, middle-aged man in a loveless marriage resorts to the occult to make his mark.  In the course of his studies, he discovers he's really a fantastic creature of unknown lineage, requiring just the right spell to express his true form.

This first piece by newcomer Robbins is at once half-baked and overdone, very much a freshman work, and you'll see the conclusion a mile away.  Two stars.

So, once again, F&SF has oscillated into the negative end of the spectrum, and I can't help being tempted to echo the actions of a fellow reader, whose letter Davidson had the bravery to publish:

Lately, I and my friends have been somewhat disappointed with F&SF.  Mr. Davidson leaves something to be desired as an editor.  Therefore, I am declining your kind offer to renew my subscription to your magazine.

E. Gary Gygax, Chicago, Ill.

[P.S.  Did you take our super short survey yet?  There could be free beer/coffee in it for you!]

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[July 12, 1963] Shine, little glow-worm, glimmer, glimmer (the August 1963 Amazing)

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by John Boston

The August 1963 Amazing features Daniel F. Galouye’s novella Reign of the Telepuppets, a splendid title that apparently evokes a bit of editorial discomfort.  “Editorial director” Norman M. Lobsenz is at pains to explain that “‘Telepuppets’—despite its pulp-fictiony sound—is a word already in good repute with the soberer elements of the scientific community,” brandishing as evidence a statement from the National Research Council.

The story itself, like Galouye’s earlier novella Recovery Area, is ambitious but a bit of a misfire.  The Bureau of Interstellar Exploration has left a crew of telepuppets—robots designed for particular tasks—somewhere (“a satellite,” no explanation) in the Aldebaran system.  They are named to fit their tasks: Bigboss, Sky Watcher, Scraper, Peter the Meter, etc.  Bigboss has decided he’s the Supreme Being who created everything but somehow forgot the details, which doesn’t affect the puppets’ work or Bigboss’s role in supervising them, but they have stopped communicating with Earth.  Also, Minnie—Mineral Assessor—is jealous of Bigboss’s position and keeps attacking him.  The source of these derangements is not clear, in part because the telepuppets’ capabilities and limits are not much explained, compared, say, with Asimov’s I, Robot sequence, which contains much more and better handwaving on that subject. 

Meanwhile, back on Earth, the Bureau is mounting an expedition to stop off at Aldebaran and straighten out the puppets en route to the more distant Hyades, where seven or eight Earth-type planets have been discovered.  But upon their arrival, the telepuppets quickly fade out—there’s a spaceship full of reptilian aliens lurking, its megalomaniac captain looking for an opportunity to start an interstellar war.  That plot line is followed for a bit, then the rug is pulled out entirely: nothing is what it seems.  Then the rug is pulled out again; there’s a new revelation, and the story ends rather quickly thereafter.  While some SF writers have made effective use of this kind of plot device, here it just seems that Galouye couldn’t decide which story he wanted to write and wound up with something of a mess.

Galouye does decide to let the girls into this clubhouse, though execution does not quite match good intentions.  Carol Cummings joins the crew because she is a “radio empathy specialist,” practicing a talent which is mainly confined to women.  The men refer to her as the Maid of the Megacycles.  When she pulls a mild prank on one of them, he is about to spank her when another crewman appears and interrupts him.  She is (of course) good-looking (pause for mention of “the shapeliness of her lithe, five-foot-four frame”), and by the end she is (of course) paired off with the main character.  For a while it seemed like a nice try, though.  Overall, three stars for competent and readable copy, and a clever idea (the telepuppets’ becoming independent) poorly developed.

Galouye’s long novella is followed by four short stories—very short, in the case of Thomas M. Disch’s three-page “Utopia?  Never!” It’s a well-written but cartoony gimmick story, in which a visitor insists to his tour guide that this planet can’t be the Utopia it seems, and finds out all too quickly that he’s right.  Three stars for arid but well-turned cleverness.

Next up is John Rackham’s Dr. Jeckers and Mr. Hyde, in which young Katherine, secretary at a research facility, makes a play for mild and befuddled Dr. Jeckers, whom she drives out to her aunt’s country house, except that he gets so unexpectedly fresh en route that she shoves him out the door and over a cliff.  But . . . moments later, Dr. Jeckers, driving his own car, is right behind her, trying to get her to stop.  She doesn’t, and he goes over the cliff too.  Suffice it to say we have not seen the last of Dr. Jeckers, or Dr. Jeckerses.  This ridiculously amusing story might make a good Twilight Zone episode if TZ had a sense of humor.  Four stars, believe it or not, for the usually mediocre Mr. Rackham, or John T. Phillifent as I believe he is known to Inland Revenue and readers of Analog.

David Rome’s The Lesson for Today sharply changes the mood.  It’s a child’s-eye view of going to school in a starship fleeing an apparently ruined Earth, told seemingly with Bradbury in the back of the author’s mind and a prudent study of David R. Bunch in front.  Remarkably, Rome brings off this tightrope walk; four stars for avoiding mawkishness.

Mine is the Kingdom by Roger Zelazny, disguised once more as Harrison Denmark, is something else entirely.  There’s one human left on another ruined Earth, and aliens—the “puffies”—are trying to persuade him to leave, to go where the other humans went, so they can convert what’s left of Earth to their own liking.  The protagonist is apparently being cared for by nearly omnipotent machines who can manufacture any illusion that he wants while keeping him drunk, as he demands.  It’s theatrical in the most literal sense; Zelazny is making the most of his education in drama here, with the events obscured, or transfigured as you prefer, in oratorical language and gaudy imagery.  (“The walls were rough-woven allegories of bright color, the heads of vanquished predators, and axes with complexions of smoke and eyes of rust.”) Pretentious?  Yeah, but hand it to the guy, he delivers on his pretenses, at least to my taste.  Feller does have a way with words.  You could also call it decadent, I suppose, but who cares?  Four stars, leaning towards five.  Nothing rotten in this Denmark.

Gosh—three stories in a row in Amazing that I am actually glad I read.  That is amazing! and suggestive of better things to come, except we’ve been around that track before.

Coming down to Earth, here’s Sam Moskowitz again, with John W. Campbell: The Writing Years.  This task is tailor-made for Moskowitz, who doesn’t like to acknowledge work from any later than the 1940s, since with one minor exception Campbell stopped writing in 1940 or so.  It’s the usual perfectly competent rehash of a (brief) career, enhanced by much hitherto-unknown (to me at least) biographical data.  Most interestingly, Campbell’s mother had a twin sister who didn’t much like him, and at times young Campbell didn’t know who he was dealing with, an experience that gave rise to Campbell’s most powerful story, Who Goes There? It’s not clear to what extent that is Campbell speaking, versus Moskowitz amateur-psychologizing.  In any case, three stars, and a more interesting job than some recent entries in this series.

So, three pretty good stories, and two adequate ones.  Amazing is above water for now, but it never seems to last.  What ho—be that the specter of Robert F. Young, there lurking in the shadows?

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[July 10, 1963] (August 1963 Galaxy)

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by Gideon Marcus

Last week, we marked the 187th birthday of the United States in traditional fashion.  We launched fireworks, marched in parades, read the Declaration of Independence, and otherwise honored the creation of the world's oldest extant constitutional democracy.  There is a lot to be proud of in the last two centuries of progress, which has seen our nation elevated to the status of first among equals.

At the same time, we still have a long way to go, as evidenced by the numerous Civil Rights protests that have occurred and are occurring around the country every day.  In them, one can see echoes of the original revolution, the one sparked by the land-holding, enfranchised WASPs of the colonies.  Let us hope that the benefits secured by that small group will one day extend to everyone.


Protesters of segregation at Gwynn Oak Park, just outside Baltimore, including Allison Turaj, who had a rock thrown at her.

Speaking of revolutions, every two months, we get to take the pulse of the one started by H.L. Gold, who threw down the gauntlet at the feet of pulp sci-fi in 1950 when he started his scientifiction magazine, Galaxy.  It was once a monthly magazine, but since 1959 it has been a half-again-sized bi-monthly.  This was a cost-saving measure, as was the reduction of writers' rates.  The latter caused a tangible (if not fatal) drop in quality, and it is my understanding that it either has recently been or will soon be reversed.

Thus, the August 1963 Galaxy is a mixed bag, with standout stories by lesser authors and lesser stories by standout authors.  Take a look:

Hot Planet, by Hal Clement

The once great Hugo-winner, Hal Clement, again brings us a scientifically rigorous but largely unreadable tale of an alien planet.  Last time, it was The Green World, about a young planet with paradoxically old features.  This time, the subject is closer to home.  Mercury, as we have described previously, orbits closest to the sun of all the planets, and the sun's gravity likely has frozen the planet's rotation such that it always presents one face to its parent. 

Clement posits that Mercury is so close to the sun, in fact, that the tides (the differential of gravity between the near and far sides of the planet) are strong enough to melt the planet's insides.  This, in turn, causes tremendous vulcanism such that giant cones belch forth internal gasses and give the little world an atmosphere (albeit a scalding and unbreathable one).  This is the Mercury portrayed in The Hot Planet.

It's a fascinating idea, one I've not seen advanced in any of the scientific literature.  It's also highly plausible, and I suspect similar tidal heating is underway in some of the close-in moons of the giant planets. 

Unfortunately, the characters are cardboard, the plot is threadbare, and the writing soporific.  Perhaps Analog can pick Clement up to be their regular science writer, a role for which he is likely better suited.  Two stars.

The Great Nebraska Sea, by Allan Danzig

I've got a friend whose bag is disaster stories.  The bigger, the better.  Climatological events, nuclear wars, flashy alien invasions — he imagines them in the backdrop of his daily life to make it more exciting.  He'd really dig this new "history" written by newcomer, Allan Danzig. 

It's a simple, straightforward recounting of the great crustal shift of '73 that caused the Great Plains to sink dozens of feet and a great rift at the Gulf Coast to form, causing the ocean to permanently flood the central United States.  The event that caused the deaths of 14 million Americans is spun positively, seen through the lens of a far future that has used the Great Nebraska sea to great economic advantage.  Lyric in its matter-of-factness, it's a fun read.  Four stars.

Earthbound, by Lester del Rey

A tiny vignette which asks the question, "At one point does a prison the size of the world become intolerable confinement?"  It punches.  Four stars.

The Problem Makers, by Robert Hoskins

A covert agency of the Terran Empire is tasked with "advancing" the other planets of the galaxy.  Their philosophy is essentially Utilitarianism — if it benefits the most people, it is worthy…no matter how many people must suffer along the way.  Decently written, but it's a smug story, the kind I'd expect in Analog.  If Hoskins meant it as satire, it was too subtle for me.  It offended.  Two stars.

The Pain Peddlers, by Robert Silverberg

This is one of those truly unpleasant tales that I can't help admiring.  In the future, the medical credo has evolved to, "First, do no harm — unless you can make a buck by televising it."  And future television lets you feel as well as watch.  So a nation of sado-masochists gets to viscerally participate from the viewpoint of the patient, who undergoes surgery without anesthesia!  The Pain Peddlers is a dark tale of the production of such hospital shows.

It's good, feeling like it might have come from the pen of Robert Sheckley (where are you these days, Bob?) Four stars…but skip it if you're squeamish.

Here Gather the Stars (Part 2 of 2), by Clifford D. Simak

Last month, Cliff Simak introduced us to Enoch Wallace, a Civil War soldier who retired to rural Wisconsin, ultimately to become the immortal operator of a cosmic way-station.  There, he facilitates the teleportation of aliens across the galaxy.  This issue concludes Wallace's tale.

I mentioned in the first article that the work seemed strangely unpolished.  It meandered, and there was much duplication, as if the novel had not been strongly edited.  That feeling is even stronger in this second half, in which new concepts are introduced in an ad hoc matter. 

There are many several-page sequences which are cul-de-sacs, adding little to the story, and not particularly engaging in and of themselves (for instance, when Wallace goes into his virtual shooting gallery and fights a sequence of imaginary beasts).  We get a parade of alien visitors and gifts and Wallace's somber musing upon them, and sprinkled among them are plot points quickly introduced and resolved:

One of Wallace's actions, done at the request of an alien visitor, nearly causes Earth to be barred from admission to the interstellar group.  There is a Talisman that ties the universe together, but its keeper is unworthy, and so the galactic community is falling apart.  Then it turns out the Talisman has been stolen, and its thief chooses Earth to hide out on.  He is thwarted in his plans by Wallace as well as Lucy, the psychic healer, who it turns out is perfectly suited to be the new keeper.  All of this happens in Part 2 — none of it is hinted at in Part 1!

This all could have made for an interesting story, but the pacing is jagged.  In the end, Simak presents a dozen components but fails to unify or develop them in a satisfying manner.  It saddens me, for Simak is a great author, and there is the germ of a great story here.  As is, it's a three star novel badly in need of a complete rewrite. 

The Birds of Lorrane, by Bill Doede

Last up, Doede brings us the story of an Earther who plunges far beyond the pale of humanity to a desert world on which (it has been told) live a pair of sentient, talking birds.  He finds them, but at such cost that he is left at death's door.  Are the birds his salvation or his ruin?  Interesting, if a bit underdeveloped.  Three stars.

All in all, the revolution seems to have hit a rough patch.  Perhaps Galaxy's new editor, Fred Pohl, can weather this literary Valley Forge such that his ragtag army of new recruits can yet prevail…

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[July 6, 1963] A new star…  (Gamma — a new science fiction magazine)

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by Gideon Marcus

The history of our genre, like that of all things, contains several ups and downs.  From its beginnings in the pulp explosion, to its near-extinction during the second world war, to the resurgence during the digest age starting in the late '40s, and finally, to its decline at the end of the last decade.  At its most recent nadir, the number of science fiction periodicals had dropped to six from a high of forty.  Many predicted the imminent death of the genre, and not without justification.

1963 may well be remembered as the year things turned around.  In February, Worlds of Tomorrow was introduced as a sibling to sister magazines, Galaxy and IF.  To all accounts, it is a successful venture.  And last month, another digest joined the throng.

Back in 1949, the digest boom was kicked off by the birth of The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction.  It was, in many ways, a repudiation of the pulp genre, or perhaps a sign of its maturation.  F&SF set its literary standards bar very high, filling its pages with some of the most articulate works and authors our field has seen (and, with some hiccoughs, continues that tradition to this day).  For fourteen years, it stood unique in SFF.  This is not to say that other magazines did not approach or even surpass it in quality, but the combination of breadth of subject matter and eloquence of presentation made it a creature unto itself.

Until now.

The newest SFF mag is called Gamma, and here's how its editor, Charles E. Fritch, introduces it:

The Dictionary defines GAMMA for us: "…to designate some bright star."  One look at our cover and at the stunning lineup of stellar names for our next issue will confirm that definition.  Indeed, GAMMA is the bright new star of the science fiction/fantasy field, and we intend to see that it continues to light up the heavens.  The dictionary goes on to mention the gamma function — and we'll assure you that the GAMMA function, in our case, is to give our readers the best fiction, by the finest talents in and out of the sf field — fiction of yesterday, today, and tomorrow.  GAMMA will unearth classic fantasy from obscure, out-of-print markets, while creating its own classics and memorable stories in each issue.

Ambitious, to be sure.  For those of us who remember the arrival of F&SF, we cannot help note the similarities of the two magazines.  The style and composition of the sole piece of art (and the fact there is just one throughout the whole book) is highly reminiscent of the older digest.  Inside, too, there are sixteen pieces, none longer than twenty pages.  The majority of the listed authors have had work published in F&SF, too.

Just as F&SF has "theme" issues, this "FIRST BIG ISSUE" of Gamma has a clear The Twilight Zone angle.  All five of the anthology show's main authors have a piece in the mag, and Rod Serling gets top (or, I suppose it can be argued, bottom) billing. 

But does this F&SF doppleganger live up to the standards of its predecessors?  You'll have to read it and find out (hint: You won't be disappointed):

Mourning Song, by Charles Beaumont

Beaumont is one of the "Zone's" most prolific guest writers, and his pieces are generally marked with authorial expertise.  He is, in many ways, what Bradbury should be: Emotional without being mawkish; literate without self-indulgence.  Mourning Song, about a sightless old bard who claims to know when death is coming, and the young man who dares to disbelieve, is one of the most poignant things I've seen Beaumont produce.  Five stars.

Crimes Against Passion, by Fritz Leiber

The damned in hell get a chance to re-plead their cases, with the help of a psychiatric public defender and the burgeoning field of Analysis.  It's meant to be a funny piece, but largely fails at comedy (save for one genuinely funny line, when Macbeth shouts irritably at his former adversary, "Lay off, MacDuff!") Lieber's been hit or miss lately, and this is a definite miss.  Two stars.

Time in Thy Flight, by Ray Bradbury

A reprint from the July 1953 Fantastic Universe, this tale of young time travelers from an antiseptic future, and the girl who decides to stay in 1928, is played for every sentimental note.  Brush your teeth afterwards.  Three stars.

The Vengeance of Nitocris, by Tennessee Williams

Now here's an interesting one, the very first sale of arguably the world's greatest living playwright.  This tale of a vengeful Egyptian Empress of the Old Kingdom first appeared in the August 1928 Weird Tales.  It's nothing if not lurid, and the story it tells is a true one (or, at least, attested back to ancient times — I checked the sources cited).  Three stars.

Itself, by A. E. van Vogt

A robotic anti-sub is the star in Van Vogt's aquatic answer to Laumer's sentient tank story, Combat Unit.  Just not as good.  Two stars.

Venus Plus Three, by Charles E. Fritch

A disenchanted wife brings his husband to savage Venus so that man-eating plants can preclude the need for a messy divorce.  An outdated, pulpish tale, but still entertaining.  Three stars.

A Message from Morj, by Ray Russell

The pulsing from the distant world could be none other than a communication — but just what was it trying to say?  This vignette manages to be, by turns, both surprising and predictable.  Three stars.

To Serve the Ship, by William F. Nolan

When your occupation has been to be sole pilot of a starship for eight decades, it can be pretty hard to adapt to retirement.  Author Nolan takes on a subject that both James White (Fast Trip) and Anne McCaffrey (The Ship Who Sang) have handled better.  Three stars.

(And now, you may be thinking, "With the exception of the Beaumont, this doesn't sound like a great magazine."  Fear not.  It's all gravy from here.)

Gamma Interview: Rod Serling, by Rod Serling

Any conversation with one of television's brightest lights is bound to be an engaging one.  The Twilight Zone's creator does not disappoint.  Five stars.

The Freeway, by George Clayton Johnson

Johnson is another Zone regular, and in this tale of the breakdown of an automatic car in the middle of the desert, he highlights the danger of over-reliance on technology.  Could you survive?  Not just the physical peril, but the knowledge of just how ill-equipped we are to deal with nature undiluted?  A solid three stars.

One Night Stand, by Herbert A. Simmons

Horn-blowing misfit finds his groove and love in a gig on the Red Planet.  The first SFF story I've read by a Black man (that I know of), it's a satisfyingly hep read.  Three stars.

As Holy and Enchanted, by Kris Neville

I first fell in love with a fictional character when I was ten.  It was Polychrome, the fairy daughter of the rainbow who first fell to Earth in The Road to Oz, and I wrote several childish tales that detailed our meeting and (innocent) courtship.  This reprint from the April 1953 Avon Science Fiction and Fantasy Reader covers similar ground, but far more beautifully than I ever could have managed.  Four stars.

Shade of Day, by John Tomerlin

A sick salesman whose life zagged when it should have zigged revisits the last happy time of his life, touring the Junior High of his early teens.  Heavy, subtle, effective.  Four stars.

The Girl Who Wasn't There, by Forrest J. Ackerman

If you don't yet know 4E, that legendary SFF fan who helms magazines, anchors conventions, and keeps old magazines in his refrigerator for want of space elsewhere, this tale of a lonely, invisible girl is a good introduction.  Four stars.

Death in Mexico, by Ray Bradbury

I spend much of my time praising Bradbury with faint damns, but this poem is a genuinely worthy piece.  Four stars.

Crescendo, by Richard Matheson

It's never a bad idea to wrap up a magazine with Matheson, possibly the best SFF screenwriter of our age.  Who else could make an electric church organ so plausibly menacing?  Four stars.

Viewed with the dispassionate eye of a statistics collector, GAMMA garners a strong, but not noteworthy, score of 3.4 stars.  Taken as a whole, however, this is a stunning first issue.  For those who like F&SF and wish there were more magazines like it, your prayers have been answered.  Here's looking forward to GAMMA 2, coming out in the fall.

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[July 2, 1963] A New Point of View (Making Down to the Worlds of Men)

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[Last month, I was delighted to discover a brand-new author, Alexei Panshin, whose Down to the Worlds of Men was not just one of the best stories I'd read in a while, but also refreshingly starred a fourteen-year old girl on the verge of womanhood.  I reached out to Mr. Panshin to express how much I'd enjoyed the story.  Not only did he respond, he prepared the following article on the creation of his work.  Please enjoy this, as I did…


by Alexei Panshin

When I began trying to write stories in the summer of 1958, I was completely ignorant and totally inept. I proved as much that fall by writing an unpublishable SF novel, but I learned a lot in doing it. Mainly what I learned was to get my think-think out of the way and listen to the words I was being given to set down on paper.

After another year and a half with more rejections, while stationed at the headquarters of a US Army preventive medicine company in a compound outside Seoul, Korea, I got an idea for a science fiction story.  I was still bothered by the [male-]chauvinism and belligerence Heinlein had shown in Starship Troopers and I wanted to write a story with a devastating conclusion that I imagined Heinlein would endorse, but I would not [Specifically to illustrate the troubling aspects of Heinlein's views, Mr. Panshin clarified for me.  (Ed.)]. 

My approach to constructing a story at that point was to accumulate a number of key factors and then integrate them into one story.

I had just read Harper Lee's new novel, To Kill a Mockingbird, and as much as I liked it, I hadn't been completely convinced by her portrayal of the mentation of a six-year-old girl.  Neither had I been convinced by Heinlein's little girl character Peewee in another book I'd loved, Have Spacesuit–Will Travel.  As of that time, Heinlein had yet to include a female protagonist in any of his juvenile novels.

I had never attempted such a character in any story I'd written myself. And I was always trying to do something I hadn't done before in every story.  So a young female lead became my second factor.

Next, I'd just read an article in Astounding by G. Harry Stine called "Science Fiction Is Too Conservative."  In it, he proposed the idea — not actually new — of giant spaceships carrying colonies to the stars.  That was my third factor.

The final piece of my story fell into place when I picked up a new novel called Walkabout in the camp library.  The blurb spoke of a rite of passage in which Australian aborigine boys were sent off to survive for a month in the wild by themselves.

So there was my story: a young girl from a starship would be dropped on a human colony planet to survive for a month in order to become an adult and earn citizenship on her ship. But the starship would be offended by the colony and vote to destroy it.

Almost as soon as I thought of the story, I found myself transferred to the company detachment at Camp Red Cloud in Uijongbu. There I was drafted by the second lieutenant in charge to do his typing. This was the only opportunity to write that I would have during my two years of Army service and I made the most of it. Over the next several months, I wrote my story.  At 20,000 words, it was the second longest story I had yet attempted.

I sent the manuscript off to John W. Campbell at Astounding, by that time retitled Analog.  But while it was gone and then being returned to me I came to the conclusion that to bring off the devastating ending I aimed for, the story needed to be longer.  I submitted it again to Fred Pohl, editor of Galaxy and If, and then set to work on the longer version.

Pohl offered to buy my story, but only if I cut it in half.  I did the job in one night while on charge of quarters duty back at company headquarters. I typed furiously through the night rewriting the story and eliminating the overwhelming ending for which it existed while I listened on the radio as John Glenn orbited the planet three times.

And Pohl did buy the shortened story which he retitled "Down to the Worlds of Men" and published a year and a half later in the July 1963 issue of If following the serialization of Heinlein's Podkayne of Mars, which had a young female protagonist, though not one whose voice I believed in…

[Mr. Panshin has, in fact, written a great deal about his journey into authorship.  You can read more (and discover the other wonders he has for sale) at his publishing house.  Go!]

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