I’ve written a few times about the turmoil in communist China brought on by Chairman Mao Tse-tung’s efforts to reassert his power after being sidelined. The most dangerous of Mao’s tools has been the explosive, violent fanaticism of the country’s young people. Calling themselves Red Guards, they came boiling out of the universities and high schools, enforcing a strict adherence to “Mao Tse-tung thought” with humiliation, beatings, and even death.
That was the situation when I last covered the “Cultural Revolution” in February of last year. Since then, the Red Guards have split into factions almost everywhere, generally with one side being more fanatical and the other more willing to work within the system. There are rumors of massacres in Canton Province last year and Kwangshi Province this spring. Clashes in Peking over the last three months have involved not only batons and stones, but landmines, improvised armored vehicles and Molotov cocktails.
Red Guard rebels march in Shanghai last year.
Enough is enough. On July 3rd, the Central Committee of the Communist Party issued a public notice aimed at the violence in Kwangshi. China watchers say this is a sign Mao and the other leaders have decided it’s time to rein in the Red Guards. Results so far have been minimal, so on the 27th Mao dispatched thousands of “worker-peasant thought propaganda teams” to Tsinghua University, the birthplace of the Red Guard movement. The next day, he summoned five of the most influential Red Guard leaders to a meeting. Word is that he strongly reprimanded them, but any news out of China is uncertain. Time will tell if the violence will finally ebb.
Dream a little dream
This month’s IF features several stories that involve dreams and hallucinations. It’s also missing something, but we’ll talk about that later.
Those are supposed to be radiators, not rocket thrusters. Art by McKenna
"Fans are Slans", or so the legend goes. Inspired by the psychic supermen in A. E. Van Vogt's Slan, the notion is that SF fans are a breed apart. Better than the average Joe, who are comparative Palookas. And why not? We're obviously smarter, given our intellectual proclivities, and our favored choice of fiction has all the answers. A problem is presented, our brilliant heroes hatch a solution, and we live happily ever after.
How else to explain Fred Pohl's call for Galaxy readers to submit solutions (in 100 words or fewer!) to the Vietnam war? Never mind that the problem has occupied our greatest minds for two decades, with no solution in sight. Indeed, ever since the Tet offensive, things have gotten more complicated.
You see, according to the Pentagon (per Aviation Weekly and Space Report), we won the Tet offensive. Handily. And that onslaught was actually a desperate 'Hail Mary'–Soviet and Chinese advisors had told the North Vietnamese that they were losing, big-time, and they had to do something to shatter American and South Vietnamese morale, no matter the cost.
And it worked! It induced LBJ to throw in the towel, declare a bombing holiday, and start a peace process, the only tangible effect of which has been to allow the communists to resume logistical deliveries down the Ho Chi Minh Trail and to offload shipments of Soviet materiele in the port of Haiphong, which had been interdicted by the U.S. Air Force.
That's not the only setback to the Allied cause–Khe Sanh, that forward Marine base that held out against siege for a full season, has been abandoned. No good explanation has been forthcoming.
Now, I'm not defending our presence in Vietnam, and I'm not arguing against the peace process. I'm saying no science fiction writer, no matter how brainy, is going to have an answer. Not even an easy one. I don't think there is one.
But so long as easy solutions exist in our science fiction, we Slans will keep thinking there is. Certainly, this month's issue of Analog is chock full of solvable problems, a bunch of scenarios that might well have been developed by high school or college professors as logic puzzles for their students.These are the kind of stories you find most often in Analog, which aims at the clear-thinking, black-and-white engineering set.
Now, that's fine. Analog's job is to make money, and it has the most readers of any SF mag, so it must be doing something right. It's certainly not editor Campbell's job to disabuse fans of their Slan aspirations.
Nevertheless, as someone who isn't an engineer, I find Analog often to be a slog. I like to have more story in my stories. Sometimes Campbell lets a compelling tale slip into his pages; more often he does not. The proportion of story types usually determines whether I give an issue more or fewer than three stars.
Given the tone of this preamble, you can probably guess what kind of issue this will be…
by Kelly Freas
Logic Puzzles
The Baalim Problem, by Bruce Daniels
by Kelly Freas
Problem posed: the human race has spread throughout the stars, setting up all sorts of empires, nations, and leagues. They have never encountered evidence of aliens–until now: a putatively nonhuman distress beacon has gone off over an independent human world. Two polities, an extremely libertarian nation and a group-thinking bureaucracy, have, at their computers' recommendations, sent single representatives to investigate.
The beacon leads them both to a hostile world, one beyond the means of either of scouts to handle alone. So, these adversaries must work together to escape the planet and bring back news of what they've found.
And what they find is that the "alien" evidence is an obvious hoax, developed by…someone…for…some purpose. Who might have hatched the scheme and why is the puzzle to be deciphered by the reader. Or, if the reader be lazy, to simply read about as the characters in the story explain the answer to each other.
The sentiment is nice, but I'd rather have had the thing play out narratively rather than in narration.
Three stars.
The Fuglemen of Recall, by Jack Wodhams
by Leo Summers
Problem posed: a number of people seem to have lost their minds, convinced they are someone else. The Feds investigate and determine the common factor was that each had just had an engagement with Lidlun Spacial Electronic Enterprises. Some kind of mind/memory transfer hocus pocus is clearly afoot. But when they apprehend the President of Lidlun for interrogation, is he really who he seems?
I suppose the lesson of this tale is that cops should always have a picture of the person to prevent a false arrest.
Unfortunately, Wodhams had to write a bit too obliquely and clumsily, and also had to make the investigators morons, to make this puzzle a challenge for the reader.
Two stars.
How the Soviets Did it in Space, by G. Harry Stine
Problem posed: how did the USSR so handily beat us to orbit, and why did they keep scoring space spectaculars earlier than us?
If you've got a subscription to Aviation Weekly, you know the answer, but rocketry popularizer Stine does an excellent job of summarizing all the tidbits that have been leaked over the last few years. Now we know that the Soviets had a Saturn-class rocket from the beginning while we were still piddling around with Thors, Jupiters and Atlases.
So why didn't the Russkies keep their lead? Well, we don't know that another Soviet spectacular isn't around the corner. But assuming it isn't, I would guess it's because our Saturn 1 was the beginning of a family of superboosters whereas their Vostok/Luna/Zond launcher has already topped out its potential.
On the other hand, their new Proton rocket seems to be operational, and something launched Soyuz 1…
Great schematics, and I appreciated the strong line drawn between the development of ICBMs and the almost incidental exploitation of the rockets for civilian applications.
Four stars.
Appointment on Prila, by Bob Shaw
by Leo Summers
Problem posed: a gray terror, an alien being that can mimic anything perfectly, is trapped on a hostile cinder of a world when a Terran survey team arrives. Six self-contained pods leave the human mothership to conduct a geodetic survey; seven return. Worse still, the alien has the ability to take over any organic mind that it finds. Is there anything the team can do to withstand this menace?
Well, as it turns out, no. Indeed, the humans do precious little, and salvation relies on factors already baked into the scenario. I will confess that I had the ending spoiled for me before I started, so that might have diminished things.
That said, Shaw is a sensitive and evocative author, and this work is the highlight of the issue.
Problem posed: Serendipity Inc., a knowledge broker for the loose knit Polesotechnic League of stars, is actually an intelligence-gathering front for the Shenn, an up-and-coming race of rapacious beings. Plenty of stuff happens as a lead up to this, the fourth installment in the serial, but most of it is inconsequential. This particular instance is concerned with the following questions:
1) Who are the Shenn, and how, with their frankly primitive, impulsive, and aggressive mindset, did they get control of an advanced, robotic civilization?
2) How can one reconcile their above racial habits with the fact that they are herbivores, who tend toward peaceful, communal societies?
3) How did the six human members of Serendipity's board end up in thrall to the Shenn, and how is that the linchpin to dealing with the seemingly implacable aliens?
These are all fine questions, and they are all answered tidily, in pages and pages of explanation that might well have been copied from a 30th Century encyclopedia. As often happens with Poul's work, he's created an interesting universe, only developed a plot for half of his story, and employed uninteresting caricatures to carry it out.
I'm sick of Nicholas van Rijn and his lusty Dutch oaths. I'm tired of the Buddhist dragon-centaur Adzel and the irritable (though admittedly adorable) Chee Lan, and the callow Davy Falkayn. Again, I want stories, not historical tracts of Anderson's future universe.
Two stars for this installment and 2.5 for the book as a whole.
Specialty, by Joe Poyer
by Kelly Freas
Problem posed: Tupac Araptha is an Alto Plano Peruvian, adapted to low pressure from birth. As a result, he is uniquely qualified to work on the moon. He can operate his suit at lower pressures, which means less resistance to movement, meaning he can work eight hours a "day" (twenty-four hour cycles are arbitrary on the moon) whereas lowlanders can barely manage three. How does Kelly, the local mining boss, handle the interpersonal jealousy that springs from this issue?
This story would be better served if it weren't set in the same timeline as "Spirits of '76", in which a dozen moonshiners (pun intended) establish a libertarian "republic" on the moon; it makes the context sillier, when the story is rather serious. I was also annoyed that Kelly's first solution was to suggest that Tupac beat up his rival in a manly display (on the moon? Surrounded by high vacuum?!), and when Tupac demurs, Kelly's next solution is to…take a leave of absence.
There could have been an interesting story here, but there ultimately isn't.
Two stars.
Harsh reality
Doing the math, Analog finishes at a mediocre 2.7. As uninspiring a finish as this is, it actually consitutes a median: Fantasy and Science Fiction (2.4) was worse, as were Fantastic (2.3) and Orbit 3 (2.3). IF (2.8) was a near tie.
The saving graces of this month were Famous Science Fiction (3.5), though that was mostly reprints, and Galaxy (3.9), which I seemed to like more than everyone else. Well, that's my privilege!
Despite the low aggregate ratings, there was actually enough good stuff to fill two decent sized magazines. Women contributed 10.5% of the new fiction this month, which sounds better than average, but all but one of the tales was in Orbit, which is technically a paperback rather than a magazine.
Bringing things full circle, the issue of getting more women in print has been a perennial one, one that has defied solution (or even the notion that it's a problem that needs solving). Since the magazines won't or can't fix the situation, women have moved to other media. So we see women in anthologies like Orbit. We see women like A. M. Lightner and Madeleine L'Engle writing "young adult" (the new term for juvenile) series. We see women prominent in the writing and production of science fiction shows like Star Trek.
I think it's fandom's loss when the SF mags become stag parties. I remember the salad days of Galaxy and F&SF back in the early '50s, and part of what made them great was the diversity of stories, the range of viewpoints and styles. I'd hate to lose that to other venues (though the mags' loss is obviously other media's gain).
How do we get more women back into the mags? How do we get folks to recognize the value of women in the mags? I wish I knew. After all, I'm no Slan, just a man…
Yellow Submarine is a weird film. Directed by George Dunning and produced by Al Brodax and King Features, the latest Beatles movie is a bit different from the previous live-action offerings. For one, it’s animated, and for two… the Beatles are barely even in it. I mean, they’re in it as characters, and in person in a very brief cameo at the end, but the four themselves don’t actually voice their animated counterparts. I’m sure they’re busy smoking whatever the hell made them come up with Revolution No. 9. But that’s not the weird bit.
The weird bit is the content of this film.
Think ‘Alice In Wonderland’ if Alice sampled a rather more special kind of mushroom.
The Lost Continent is a movie that leaves me feeling unrewarded for the investment of my time towards it. The premise of the movie is interesting, that being that there is a place on Earth that is so dangerous to mankind that no people could survive there. The thought of seeing brave heroes struggle against the odds and monsters of all types to fight for a noble cause, sounds like it might be a good time.
This is where our expectations disappoint us. Sure, the monsters looked like papier-mâché floats on tracks, but I'm a cinematic veteran. I can overlook such minor issues. No, there are three things that would have changed my opinion on this movie, had they been different, three P’s actually. They are, People, Placement, and Purpose. Had just two of those P’s been different, we could have had an endearing movie. Had just one P been different, I would have considered my time spent justified.
– A group of good looking bad people.
Starting off with the people. The anchor to any story is character based. The characters in this story are all awful people. There is not one good person among them. The movie starts off showing an event that occurs at the very end, then it begins in earnest with the introduction of all the characters for the movie’s proper beginning. It’s set on a ship setting off on a voyage on a dark and stormy night. We met the captain and crew and several of the passengers. They are smugglers, embezzlers, thieves, bullies, drunkards, and gamblers. Among this lot I couldn’t find one decent person who might shine as the hero of the story. Hence, I was left with no one person to root for. It might have been acceptable if some characters began reprehensible and later had a change of heart, but that was not the tenor of this cast, where most start as bad people, only to later in the story transform into a slightly different ilk of bad.
– Someone please help this man!
– No thanks. We’ll just watch him die
So, if we start off with bad people, what could be worse? The answer to that is bad people in bad places and the lost continent is a bad place. As our band of miscreants arrive in the bad place we find that the vegetation and wildlife are very intent on killing humans. Just note, the "placement" that I referring to isn't just the setting. What I allude more to is the stationary placement that all of these bad folks adhere to when other are being attacked by monsters and being killed. Whereas a hero might step and try to fight off monsters, our characters stand back and watch, rooted in place. They don’t care enough about other bad people to risk life and limb to help them.
– bad place
– more bad people.
Lastly we come to the topic of Purpose. As our band of malcontents make shore in the bad place they come to learn of the true monsters that exist in the lost continent. When they are revealed, our “heroes” decide to engage in an war with them. The question is, why? The purpose that our characters fulfill in the story is never clear. It is a case of bad people in a bad place doing things for no reason. Had any of the three listed factors been different, we would have had a different movie. A more enjoyable movie. Instead, we are left with a feeling of emptiness as the Lost Continent amounts to a bunch of lost time.
The Cinderford Palace Cinema is currently holding a Peter Cushing retrospective, celebrating a career that has included roles as diverse as van Helsing, Sherlock Holmes, Winston Smith and an odious Oxford student out to get Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy (no, really). I’m taking the opportunity to review their double bill of Frankenstein Created Woman (Hammer, 1966) and his most recent movie, The Blood Beast Terror (Tigon, 1968).
Frankenstein Created Woman
Hammer Studios’ take on the Frankenstein franchise differs from the American one in that the focus is not on the monster, but on the man who created it. The monster doesn’t survive beyond the first movie, and the subsequent films, including this one, instead follow the career of Doctor Victor Frankenstein (Peter Cushing) as he continues his experiments in reviving the dead while staying one step ahead of the law.
Victor Frankenstein leading his collaborator, Hertz, into corruption.
In Frankenstein Created Woman, Frankenstein, aided by local doctor Hertz (Thorley Walters) and Hertz’s assistant Hans (Robert Morris), develops a means of capturing the soul at point of death. When Anton (Peter Blythe), a rich bully, murders the town innkeeper and frames Hans for it, Frankenstein exploits the situation by using the executed Hans’ soul to test his new procedure. The innkeeper’s daughter, Christina (Susan Denberg), who is also Hans’ lover, commits suicide, and Frankenstein, naturally enough, decants Hans’ soul into her body. Christina then goes on a murder spree, killing Anton and his friends, before finally killing herself a second time.
The result is a surprisingly nuanced take on marginalisation and prejudice, particularly as regards women. Both Hans and Christina are shunned by the villagers and bullied by Anton’s clique: Hans because his father was executed for murder (a death Hans himself witnessed as a child) and Christina because she has a prominent scar on her face. However, they find comfort and love with each other. Christina is continually underestimated and belittled by everyone around her: when the murders start, even Frankenstein assumes that it is Hans’ soul working through her body, but the film itself is much more ambiguous, making it clear that Christina is at the very least a willing participant, and possibly the one wholly responsible. At the end of the film, when Frankenstein confronts her and tells her that she is not responsible for the murders, saying “let me tell you who you really are,” Christina responds “I know who I really am.” Without intending it, Frankenstein has empowered her, and, although Frankenstein may think he understands her, he, like everyone in the story, has underestimated and misjudged her.
To add insult to injury, Frankenstein fixes Christina's scar when he restores her. Meaning he could have done that at any time, but didn't.
The direction of the movie is also rather clever: the murders are implied rather than shown, and the director, Terence Fisher (known for other Cushing outings like The Curse of Frankenstein [1957] and Dracula [1958]), throws in little bits of foreshadowing like having the guillotine visible in the background just before Hans is framed for the innkeeper’s death. The villains are believably nasty, reminiscent of the violent young men in the novel A Clockwork Orange. Finally, Cushing gives a brilliant performance as Victor Frankenstein that highlights the character’s charismatic evil, unintentionally corrupting everyone with whom he associates.
Four out of five stars.
The Blood Beast Terror
I was particularly interested to see this one as it is the sole film by Tigon British Film Porductions prior to their astounding folk-horror piece Witchfinder General. While it’s ambitious and interesting, The Blood Beast Terror is unfortunately nowhere near Witchfinder General’s league.
The movie’s plot is an attempt to meld no fewer than three horror subgenres: the vampire film, the were-beast film, and, of course, Frankenstein. Cushing plays Quennell, a detective investigating the strange deaths of a series of young men, seemingly mauled by a bird of prey. His investigation leads him to a lepidopterist, Carl Mallinger (Robert Flemyng) with a beautiful daughter, Clare (Wanda Ventham). After a few unconvincing red herrings, it becomes evident that Clare is not Mallinger’s daughter per se, but a monstrous hybrid of a human and a moth, who drinks human blood. She and her creator flee into the countryside, where Mallinger attempts to create a mate for her, but Quennell tracks them down.
This movie's got some notable supporting actors too, for instance Kevin Stoney as an evil manservant.
The movie gets points for playing against traditional horror film clichés, though it then loses some for not doing so to a satisfying conclusion. For instance, the movie plays against type by giving us a female vampire who preys on men, and a female Frankenstein’s Monster-figure who desires a mate as much as her male counterpart does. However, it doesn’t really follow through thematically, failing to explore the implications of reversing the gender roles, and, where the Monster’s pathetic need for a companion humanises him, Clare’s desire for a male of her species is dealt with perfunctorily and unsympathetically. The writer also seems uncomfortable with the lack of a female victim, but, rather than exploring the implications of men as victims—or perhaps considering more subtle ways in which Clare might be seen as a victim of society, as with Christina in Frankenstein Created Woman—instead shoehorns in a daughter for Quennell to provide some end-of-movie rescue action.
The movie has a few other problems. There is an unsubtle amateur drama sequence which draws the parallels between Clare and Frankenstein’s Monster, and which could have been half its length. There are some inconsistencies and inexplicable points, e.g. when a young naturalist turns up dead near Mallinger’s house, he denies ever having known the man, when a simple investigation would have showed that he visited him the previous night. The monster is eventually killed in a way that is so obvious I was surprised they chose that path.
Two and a half out of five stars.
There's also a cameo by music-hall comedian Roy Hudd, which goes about as you'd expect.
The two movies are a good match in that they both explore women’s roles in horror and particularly females as independent entities, though Christina is a much more interesting and complicated figure than Clare, and is treated more sympathetically by the writers. Peter Cushing shows the subtlety of his acting ability, in that both Frankenstein and Quennell are severe, obsessive men on a mission, but one is a cold, cruel psychopath while the other genuinely cares for the people under his protection. Overall, I’d recommend Frankenstein Created Woman to people who like a good, thought-provoking psychological horror, but The Blood Beast Terror is mostly of interest to Cushing completists.
I mentioned a few months back that Tony Boucher, one of the original editors for The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction had passed away. Because of the vagaries of publication, it took this long for F&SF to solicit eulogies for Tony and get them in print. But a finer tribute, I can't imagine.
Some of SF's greatest luminaries pay their respects: Poul Anderson, Isaac Asimov, Randall Garrett, Philip K. Dick, Avram Davidson…but what impressed me even more was how many prominent women authors appear, too–Judith Merril, Mildred Clingerman, Margaret St. Clair, Miriam Allen DeFord. It is fitting that so many of the fond rememberers are women; F&SF, particularly in the Boucher years, was by far the biggest SF publisher of woman-penned SFF.
Those were great days, the Boucher reign, when virtually every issue was a winner (sort of like the Gold days at Galaxy). And half the stories we picked for our anthology of SF by women from 1953-57, some of the very best science fiction of the time, came from the pages of F&SF.
It is a shame that the appearance of these names from yesteryear evoke a pang of loss perhaps greater than the passing of Mr. Boucher. Except for a few notable rallies, F&SF has been on a slow, inexorable downward trend since 1959, it's last superlative year. This issue is no exception. While it is not crammed with wholly unworthy material, nor is it anywhere near the standards it used to maintain.
Let me show you…
by Gahan Wilson
The House that Tony Built
The Devil and Jake O'Hara, by Brian Cleeve
I was less than enthusiastic about Brian's last story about Old Nick, in which Satan is cast out of hell along with a lowly sidekick when the souls of Hell unionize and go on strike. This one is a step downward.
All Lucifer needs to break the strike is one measly member of the damned who will cross the picket lines and turn the power back on in the underworld. He sets his eyes on an Irish lush who sells his soul for a bottle of quality whiskey. His daughter adds a few amendments to the deal, but it doesn't really matter. Ultimately, the sot goes to Hell, though the result is not what the Prince of Darkness wants.
There's just too much affected dialect, meandering, and oh-so-cleverisms. What could be a workable premise is, instead, tedious. And this is from someone who likes Deal-with-the-Devil stories.
Two stars.
Sos the Rope (Part 2 of 3), by Piers Anthony
[As with last time, Brian has graciously offered to stand in so I don't have to suffer through Anthony's latest "masterpiece"…]
by Brian Collins
To show once again that democracy is a flawed system, Piers Anthony is now a Hugo nominee! I can scarcely fathom some people’s enthusiasm for his debut novel Chthon getting nominated for Best Novel. His second novel, Sos the Rope, may redeem itself by the final installment, but the chances of it recovering are not high. There is one positive that can be said of this middle installment immediately: it’s short.
Not much happens here, and at only about 25 pages there isn’t much opportunity for Anthony to bless us with his worst habits, all involving women. To recap, it’s America a good century after a nuclear catastrophe, and two rogues, Sos and Sol, agree to a one-year partnership while the latter builds a tribe, one combatant at a time. The two are good friends and respect each other as warriors, but Sos is weaponless while Sol is unable to beget children of his own. Their friendship is complicated when Sol’s wife in name only, Sola, takes a strong liking to Sos and the two eventually have sex behind Sol’s back, leaving Sola pregnant with Sos’s child. This is unfortunate for everyone, including the reader. But by now the one-year contract has run out and Sos and Sol agree to part ways, with Sos returning to a crazy-run hospital where he grew up and where he learned to read.
Another positive thing I can say is that since Sola is virtually absent in this installment, and since Sol only appears at the beginning and end, we’re taken away from the plot to be given more of an explanation as to the workings of this post-apocalyptic world. It’s during his time away from Sol’s tribe that Sos finally decides to take on another weapon—this one the long heavy rope of the title. It’s about halfway through the novel that we finally get the weapon that would become part of the hero’s name. I still cannot properly describe how much I object to the naming system Anthony concocted here. It only gets more aggravating when Sos eventually returns to the tribe and finds that Sol now has a daughter named—wait for it—Soli. Sos and Sola still want each other but the latter refuses to give up Sol’s name and Sol himself refuses to give up his adoptive daughter. A fight in the battle circle, possibly to the death, ensues!
Anthony still cannot write compelling action scenes, and he still cannot write women above the level of depicting them as instigators of doom. A recurring implication here is that Sos and Sol would turn out fine, at worst going down different paths amicably, if not for Sola’s meddling. At the same time I was not offended so much this time.
If I turn my head on its side I might be able to stretch this installment to 3 stars, because it is a relatively painless experience and even mildly enjoyable in a few places, but that implies a tepid recommendation and I can’t lie to readers like that. Strong 2 out of 5 stars.
by Gideon Marcus
The Twelfth Bed, by Dean R. Koontz
by Gahan Wilson
This one takes place in a futuristic rest home, where the aged are confined in their last years under the beneficent but iron care of robot wards. One day, a young accountant is checked into the home by mistake. Try as he might, he can't get out…until he brews a revolt.
Koontz is a writer with a lot of promise, and he did manage a 4-star tale last month, but most of his stories have some kind of issue. For this one, it's that the setup is a bit too contrived to really engage sympathy. Maybe it's supposed to be satire, but again, it plays things to straight if that's the case. Moreover, I read a similar (and better) story in Fantastic three years ago (Terminal, by Ron Goulart).
Anyway, three stars, and keep trying Dean!
2001: A Space Odyssey, by Samuel R. Delany and Ed Emshwiller
Two of my more favorite people provide reviews of Kubrick/Clarke's epic film, 2001: A Space Odyssey. They are interesting perspectives, one from a vivid fictioneer, and one from a gifted illustrator and artist.
Chip (Delany) actually favored the original three-hour version that was cut within a week of its premiere, asserting that the irony of the HAL segment is sharper, and the disorientation of the weightlessness scenes settle in more viscerally. I don't know if that kind of glacial pacing would have been an improvement, but on the other hand, the only time I felt even slightly restless when I watched the film was during the transit scene near the end, so maybe I missed out.
Emsh praises the effects and spends most of his time discussing them rather than the story, which he seems to find serviceable, if not stellar.
It's a better pair of reviews than, say, Robert Bloch's blistering affair (in which Bob calls the monolith a "cylinder" for some reason–sadly, I can't remember where I saw it. A fanzine, I think.)
This piece is book-ended by the protestations of a producer of a television program, disclaiming all responsibility for what ensued on his show, Investigations. It seems he hired a has-been actor to re-enact the recent assassination of a public figure (presumably, echoing the murder of JFK). The actor went meshuginnah and actually assured that he actually got killed in a sort of expiation of public sins. We know this from the interminable, raving diary the actor left behind explaining his motivations.
I really don't know what to make of this story. While I'm not the biggest fan of J.G. Ballard, I found his utlization of the Kennedy assassination (and other cultural touchstones) to be more effective. Certainly more readable, despite the outré nature of his composition. O'Donnell just seems like he's trying too hard.
It is the last night of a short-lived affair, for the male half is leaving. And not just away from his lover, but from Earth. You see, he is an alien, sort of, a member of an extraterrestrial race of humans, and Earth is doomed to soon be consumed in a natural nova. He was sent to our world to gather our finest art treasures, these to form a legacy of our lost race.
The tale is reasonably well executed, but its effectiveness is reduced both by the mawkishness of the scenario and that of its participants (the woman is hysterical, the man poor at communicating), as well as the fact that, again, this feels like a story I've read before, one that was done better. I just can't remember which one it was…
Maybe Taylor, who is a novice, will realize his potential with a more original story next time out. For now, three stars.
The Terrible Lizards, by Isaac Asimov
I was just thinking that I wanted a nice survey on what we know about dinosaurs in 1968, and the good Doctor has presented one. As a bonus, he tell us some horrible things about Sir Richard Owens, a preeminent dino-hunter in the last century.
I enjoyed learning the greek roots of the various dinosaur names as well as the relationship between dinosaurs, mammals, birds, crocodiles, and turtles.
Lanier is another newcomer, but this is his second story, and he seems to have found his footing very quickly. This is the tale of a British Brigadier, the sort with decades of experiences and a knack for storytelling. Apparently, Lanier has a whole treasure chest of stories that the Brigadier will tell, which we'll get to see as F&SF publishes them.
This particular piece involves the time the Brigadier went Caribbean island-hopping in a small boat with his friend, Joe, and two local seamen, Maxton and Oswald. They learn of Soldier Key, a little spit of land inhabited by the queerest of ex-Britishers, dedicated to an unholy church and with an unhealthy adoration for giant hermit crabs.
The plot is Lovecraftian, but without the undercurrent of racism (indeed, the story is quite anti-racist). I found it engaging, thrilling, and also satisfying. Not just horror for horror's sake, but threaded with light–the light provided by decent human beings remaining human in the face of inhumanity.
Four stars.
Urban blight
Well, that wasn't all bad, thankfully. Still, 2.4 is a pretty dismal aggregate. Compare that to the 3.3 average for 1959. Also, for all the female participation in the eulogizing, there are no fiction stories from women this issue. In fact, there have been only six stories by women this entire year.
We could stand to go back to the '50s in more ways than one…
Last month marked the 20th anniversary of the founding of the UK’s National Health Service. There are many issues with it, patients often wait for hours to see a GP, doctors trained by the service are regularly leaving for better paid work overseas, and many of the hospitals taken over from the private sector are in disrepair and not fit for the modern era.
Long hospital queues. A perennial issue
Many of the major issues come down to spending choices. There are continually new innovations coming out that are expensive to use. For example, would it be better to spend the money on the new dialysis machines, rebuilding hospitals or reducing staff to patient ratios? All are important but they cannot all be achieved.
Is it better to invest in new technology or more staff?
However, in spite of this, it has already become a beloved institution. There are few that want to go back to the system of voluntary hospitals and medical aid societies, and the principle of a health service free at the point of use is hugely popular.
Both of the publications I am reviewing this month are similar to the NHS in this manner. They may be relatively recent and not without their flaws but are still loved for what they do.
Orbit 3
Cover by Jack Lehr
Much like its British equivalent New Writings in S-F, Damon Knight seems to have a stable set of writers to draw from, with 4 of the 9 authors in this issue having appeared in a prior volume.
Mother To The World by Richard Wilson
Martin Rolfe and Cecelia “Siss” Beamer appear to be the last survivors of biological attack on the US by China. Whilst Siss is devoted to Rolfe, she also has an intellectual handicap, and he grows increasingly depressed about his situation.
Yes, this is yet another “Last Man” story, the twist being that the lead here is an unpleasant creep. Maybe others want to read about domestic abuse and incest. I do not. Add on to that statements about being surprised that a “backward country” like China could develop powerful weapons (the same country that built a hydrogen bomb last year) and I found myself annoyed at the entire thing.
One star
Bramble Bush by Richard McKenna
We are told that McKenna’s back catalogue has finally been exhausted so this is the last of him we will see in Orbit, and it is his most baffling tale.
In a future where man has explored much of the galaxy, a team is dispatched to Proteus. This planet, in Alpha Centauri, has never been landed on, as every prior mission has mysteriously had to abort before arriving. After making landfall they encounter what appear to be primitive humans who they are unable to communicate with. But after these Proteans perform a ceremony, the world gets a lot stranger for the crew.
We are told this story “…deals with one of the most perplexing questions in relativity…If all four spacetime dimensions are equivalent, how is it we perceive one so differently to the rest? [Mckenna gives a] solution which involved the anatomy of the nervous system, symbology, anthropology, the psychology of perception and magic."
It is possible that is what the story is about. I was honestly utterly confused throughout.
Two Stars, I guess?
The Barbarian by Joanna Russ
Continuing the adventures of Alyx in this fourth installment of her tales. She is now 35 and back in the ancient world (I presume after the novel Picnic on Paradise as there is a reference to her disappearance) when she is approached by a mysterious powerful figure who offers her anything she wants for just one deed. To kill a future dictator who is currently only six months old.
Russ continues to impress with these adventures, finding ways to expand the world and offer new situations for Alyx to grapple with. Here the tables are turned on her somewhat, as she is now dealing with someone more powerful who looks down on her. How she navigates the situation is fascinating and reveals much more about her. Whilst I wouldn’t rate this quite as highly as the prior installments, it is still very good.
Four Stars
The Changeling by Gene Wolfe
A Korean war veteran returns to his hometown in the US. Everything seems much the same except for young Peter Palmieri, who has not aged. What is more, no one else remembers Peter as being alive back then. Is our narrator suffering from Gross Stress Reaction? Or is something stranger going on?
I found this a well-told story but also fairly obvious and not doing anything I hadn’t seen before.
Three Stars
Why They Mobbed the White House by Doris Pitkin Buck
Hubert is a veteran who has become frustrated with the growing complexity of completing his tax return, so he leads a movement to have them done by supercomputers. But will the machines be any happier with this state of affairs?
As I come from outside the US, the complexity of filling out their tax returns is such a mystery to me. Not only could I not relate, I found this silly and dull.
A low two stars
The Planners by Kate Wilhelm
In a large research facility, monkeys are being given pills to test if it will increase their intelligence, along with the intellectually handicapped and prisoners. Do they have the right to do this? And is this all that is going on?
This is another of the kind of story popularized by Flowers For Algernon. It has some interesting touches, but I don’t think it rises significantly above the crowd.
Three Stars
Don't Wash the Carats by Philip Jose Farmer
In this experimental vignette, surgeons find a diamond inside a person.
A couple of years ago I considered Farmer to be one of the best people writing SF, but he has recently gone off the rails. This is described as “a ‘polytropic paramyth’ – a sort of literary Rorschach test”. Well what I see is pretentious nonsense.
One Star
Letter To A Young Poet by James Sallis
In this epistolary tale, Samthar Smith writes to another young poet back on Earth about his life and works.
This is a pleasant little piece where a writer looks back on his life and ponders about it. There is not a huge amount to say about it, but it is enjoyable.
Three Stars
Here Is Thy Sting by John Jakes
It all starts when Cassius Andrews, middling journalist, goes to pick up his brother’s corpse and finds it missing. This sends him on a surreal journey involving an old WBI agent, a superstar singer and a mad scientist.
I found it fitting that this is the longest piece in the anthology but has the shortest introduction. It rambles on for pages without much there and I found the conclusion to be rather odd. I don’t see that if we could remove the fear of the act of death (not the ceasing to be, but the momentary pain) everyone would become melancholy and cease to have a purpose. If anything would that not make people more willing to take bigger risks? The one thing I will say for it is Jakes is able to spin a yarn well enough to keep me reading to the end.
Two stars…just.
Famous Science Fiction #7
This quarter’s cover is a detail of the cover from August 1929’s Science Wonder Stories by Frank R. Paul.
I have to say I find this Famous version much less effective. In a short article on the subject, it states that it is the first time a space station was illustrated on a magazine cover but adds some criticism for it seeming old fashioned, due to the lack of technical articles available to work from in the period. Interesting enough for what it is.
Men of the Dark Comet by Festus Pragnell
This story and the next are from the summer issues of Science Wonder Stories in 1933.
In a far distant solar system, a planet’s natural satellite had been set loose in order to escape a disaster from their sun. This “Dark Comet”, as it becomes nicknamed because it absorbs all light, eventually enters Earth’s system.
Heathcoate, the commander of the spaceship Aristotle, is rendered unconscious by the application of the Martian drug Borga. He wakes up on an out of control ship, his cargo gone and the only person left on board being a prisoner, the drug addict Boddington. Boddington is able to deduce Martian pirates were behind this, working with the native authorities to secretly build up their own space fleet.
Crossing paths with the comet, they manage to effect a landing. Inside they find themselves among a species of alien “Plant-Men”, Boddington hopes to stay and learn more, Heathcote wants to return to Earth to warn of a potential Martian invasion.
Art by Frank R. Paul
Whilst I am not opposed to slow starts in fiction, this novella is glacial. So much irrelevant detail is included it is hard to get a grip on the central plot for some time. It includes some interesting elements, such as Martians having three sexes for reproduction and an interplanetary drug trade, but mostly it is irritating. At the same time, the Martian invasion plot feels cliched.
What is interesting enough to raise it up are the attempts to communicate with the plant creatures. Pragnell does a good job of making them seem truly alien, with contact taking place via the electro magnetic spectrum.
A very low three stars
The Elixir by Laurence Manning
We now come to the conclusion of the five part Man Who Awoke saga. To quickly recap for the unfamiliar, Norman Winters developed the means of putting himself to sleep for thousands of years and has been waking up further and further in Earth’s future. At the end of the last story we learnt that Winters has set his device to wake him up in the year 25,000, but that Bengue has also decided to duplicate his process and follow him.
After awakening and traversing the wilderness, Winters finds himself in the laboratory of Ponceon. As luck would have it Ponceon has been developing an elixir of immortality. Now he is able to travel into the future without sleep, instead he can live through the millenia himself.
These advancements are possible due to the development of voluntary social contracts across mankind, stating they will not force any person against their will and to never refuse anyone help. Colonies now exist on Mars and Venus, machines can convert any raw material into products and currency has been abolished, with workers simply sharing new inventions for the common good.
Now able to use the process to explore the universe, humanity spreads away from the Solar System. Winters joins the disciples of Calcedon, who live on a far-off planet searching for the meaning of life. There they work on trying to use the Temples of Thought to understand the nature of creation.
Art by Frank R. Paul
This is a more sedate story. Any moments of conflict are solved quickly, instead we are simply meant to explore this utopian world we find ourselves in, and hop between locations and philosophical musings. However, it manages to avoid being dull.
Bengue’s appearance is an odd one. A big point is made of it in the prior story but here he turns up for a single paragraph where we are merely told:
…he had awakened a few months after Winters had left Earth and had actively been engaged on some breeding experiments ever since. The two spent a year and a half together and finding they had nothing of real interest in common, separated by mutual consent.
I can’t help but wonder if something was cut or if there was another story that was never published.
Not as strong as some of the other parts but a satisfying conclusion.
Four Stars
Why Bother With Criticism by R. W. Lowdnes
Another of Lowdnes’ editorial essays, this time looking at reading for fun vs art and looking at how criticism can be mind-expanding. It is an incredibly kind and well thought out section, with some standout parts such as:
When someone proclaims that something you have enjoyed is inferior…you will want to defend it. Because if something you enjoyed…is proclaimed inferior or bad, then there is an implication that you are a person who enjoys the inferior, enjoys trash – so there must be something wrong with you. If you are secure enough in your own estimation of your worth as a person so that you can shrug off such implications…then you might even acknowledge that a particular story is not great art…and let it go at that. Or others might be wrong, but your own security will not require you to produce defensive reactions. It is the insecure person, who has serious doubts about himself who has to be excessively defensive…under such conditions.
Advice I wish I was able to follow more often. Highly recommended for every reader.
Five Stars
Away From The Daily Grind by Gerald W. Page
In the first new story in this issue, Mr. Federer wants a way to hide away from civilisation and is put in contact with Mr. Parkhurst, but what does the deal entail?
Unlike the rest of this issue, I found I would completely forget this story after finishing it. It is not badly written but inconsequential and built around a bad pun.
Two Stars
The Fires Die Down by Robert Silverberg
This is a bit of a rarity. Not a new piece but one from Silverberg’s absurdly prolific period in the 50s, previously published in Britain in the much missed Nebula magazine.
The Thanians, a multi-galactic civilisation, have come to colonise Earth. Finding a low technology civilisation on a sparsely populated planet they expect to be worshipped as Gods. To their surprise humanity has given up this kind of imperialism millenia ago and are simply unbothered by their visitors. What could have happened?
What a wonderful surprise, I do recall some of Silverberg’s efforts in the British magazines but this one was not in my collection. It goes counter to so many of the clichés of science fiction and critiques the idea of expansionist space operas that dominate the genre (and thereby colonialism itself), instead showcasing a form of rural anarchistic utopianism. A story that still feels fresh now and I would easily call it the best work of Silverberg’s I have ever read.
Five Stars
Not By Its Cover by Philip K. Dick
We finish off with the other new piece, possibly by the most Famous author to grace these pages.
A publisher creates a series of special editions of famous books coated in the rare indestructible Martian wub-fur. However, the Wub’s consciousness lives on in the pelt and has opinions on the books it is coating.
It is easy to forget that sometimes Dick can be very funny when he wants to be, elevating what could have been a forgettable vignette to something better.
A high three stars
Imperfect Pieces
Advert for the NHS from 1948
As you can see, the quality varies considerably in both publications, some good, some bad, but I am glad that we have them here.
Are they to remain around for 20 years like the NHS has? Or are they destined to be experiments cast by the way-side, like Gamma or Star Science Fiction before them? Only time will tell.
Richard Brautigan is one I have heard praise heaped on over Trout Fishing in America but the title put me off (my father talks enough about it!) When I heard he had a more fantastical novel coming out this year I made sure to get a copy.
I am not sure what I was expecting but this book is weird!
It is set in a world that appears to have emerged after some kind of great disaster destroyed the prior civilisation. The people live around iDEATH where the main material for production is “watermelon sugar”. As well as apparently being very versatile in and of itself, the day of the week the watermelons are planted on dictates the type that grow and the different properties they will have.
People used to be hunted and eaten by “Tigers” (it is unclear if these are felines raised up to consciousness or humans that have descended to cannibalism) a fact people of iDEATH seemed to have accepted as a natural part of life. However, these have all been hunted now and what remains are statues to the fallen.
In addition, the narrator lacks a regular name and instead:
Just call me whatever is in your mind. If you are thinking about something that happened a long time ago, somebody asked you a question and you did not know the answer, that is my name. Perhaps it was raining very hard, that is my name. Or somebody wanted you to do something, you did it and they told you what you did is wrong, sorry for the mistake, and you had to do something else, that is my name.
Thankfully this fellow (who I will call Idle Thought) is the only one without a regular name.
Idle Thought is writing the first book in 35 years (the one we are reading) which starts off just recording little notes about his life or small events, similar to The Pillow Book by Sei Shônagon. This is disrupted by InBOIL who declares that he knows the truth of iDEATH and departs to live in the forgotten works, the large remnants of the past world.
Margaret begins to go to the forgotten works to forage for her collection and talks with InBOIL about his finds. A few weeks later, InBOIL and his gang return to show everyone the true meaning of iDEATH.
What does this all add up to? Honestly I am unsure. This is no “polytropic paramyth”, it has all the features of a regular short novel and Brautigan has a great narrative voice. You do not doubt that a land could exist where people have discovered how to spin fruit sugar of watermelons into a wide range of products.
The question is how literally are we meant to take the text? Is this meant to be a far future story where the new technology is beyond our understanding? A far-fetched satire of our current society? A fable about the nature of power and belief? Or something else? Are we even meant to consider Idle Thought a reliable narrator?
I don’t have any answers and can’t help but feel nonplussed by the ending. As a case of literary experimentation, it works better than many authors that attempt similar things (just check out some issues of New Worlds) but I am not sure about how to grade it as SF.
However, it is an experience I would recommend others try for themselves; I will give it four stars.
When Women Rule
by Victoria Silverwolf
Apologies to science fiction historian Sam Moskowitz for stealing the title of his essay, which appeared in the August issue of If last year.
No doubt Mister Moskowitz will add the novel I'm about to review to his list of future worlds dominated by females. Is it a worthy example? Let's find out.
We jump right into things with our protagonist, a fellow named Dion Quern, sneaking into a luxury apartment with burglary in mind. The place happens to be occupied by a female peace officer named Juno Locke aiming a laser pistol at him.
Futuristic crime novel? Well, not really.
After this opening scene, the author goes into full expository mode. It seems that birth control pills not only freed women from unwanted pregnancy, but it made them bigger, stronger, and smarter. (There's an implication here that, until this happened, they weren't as smart as men. I'll ignore that for now.)
Besides that, it also resulted in fewer boys being born and more girls being born. Now, in the late twenty-first century, men are outnumbered by women (you guessed it) five to twelve.
About three-quarters of women are powerful figures known as Doms. The rest, who have remained feminine (sic) are pretty much just baby machines, impregnated multiple times by artificial insemination. The Doms hire them to bear their adopted children.
Men who are fortunate to be partnered with Doms are known as Squires. Those who aren't are called Sports.
Dion is a Sport, making a living through petty crime and writing poetry on the side. He hates this woman-ruled world; however, as we'll see, he's a very mixed-up and contradictory character.
We last left him facing a cop with a pistol. Does she send him to jail? (Actually, a sort of mind-erasing facility.) Nope. She invites him to share a meal and then to bed.
There's an odd kind of love/hate relationship between these two throughout the book. Dion willingly becomes Juno's Squire. Sometimes they're passionate about each other, sometimes they're ready to kill each other.
Dion gets involved, more or less against his will (as I said, he's a very ambiguous character), in a plot to assassinate Queen Victoria II, as a symbolic act by rebellious men. Let's just say that it all leads up to a bittersweet ending for what has been, up to that point, a satiric novel.
The author's style is quirky. Everybody speaks in a weirdly affected way, full of puns and literary allusions. (The sole exception is one of the women who serve as baby machines, who plays an important part in the last part of the book.)
The big question, of course, is how sexist is it? Quite a bit, I'd say. There's a fair amount of complaining about the fact that this future world has lost its spirit of daring and adventure. (Of course, it has also eliminated war and poverty.) The baby machine is a nearly mindless character, interested only in love, sex, and reproduction, and the author seems to approve of her.
On the other hand, Dion is pretty much a jerk, even if we're supposed to sympathize with him at the end. Maybe the author is more of a misanthrope than a misogynist.
Not a great book. Two stars. Go see a movie instead.
I wasn't sure what to expect from this one. Well, that's not quite true. I had expected a silly story, maybe with lots of lurid bits. Instead I got…
Trapped in a pit, menaced by a tiger, cosmonaut Tanya Ouspanaya is nude and defenseless. She knows not why she is there–only that she has somehow returned from the moon, where she had been for days if not weeks. When escape seems impossible, and on the verge of losing all hope, a strange man speaking bad Russian arrives to rescue her.
Meet Sam Durrell, a CIA Agent on Tanya's trail. The story then rewinds to Durrell's assignment on the case, to his arrival in the allied (but dangerously independent) country of Iran, to his entanglement not only in international affairs, but a budding revolution. Tanya is the teaser, but the mysterious revolutionary General Har-Buri, with fingers of corruption in every government pie, is the key to the tale. And, of course, the evil Madame Hung and her comrade, the Chinese spy mastermind, Ta-Po, figure prominently, along with comrades of Durrell, both Western and Persian. It's all very complex, but ultimately quite manageable, and the solution to the mystery of Tanya's sudden appearance back on Earth less SFnal, and more cutting-edge plausible.
What I didn't realize, going into this book is that the Assignment books constitute a series, of which this one is number twenty six! Sam Durrell is a recurring hero, refreshingly not cut from the James Bond mold. He is intelligent, compassionate, resourceful. And Aarons is an equal opportunity author–if Tanya's introduction sounds like a bit of cheesecake, you'll be comforted to know that Durrell gets his naked time in the pit, too. In fact, Tanya is a strong character, never the prize, the damsel, nor the love interest. All of the characters are strong, actually, and vividly portrayed. But the real stand-out is the terrain of Iran, with which Aarons must have some conversance (or at least a long National Geographic subscription). The land of the Shahs is as real as any landscape in Dune.
It's a potboiler, but it's a good one, one I couldn't put it down. I may have to find more in the series…
Back in the 1950s, Robert Sheckley blazed a trail with the funniest, by turns dark and hopeful, short science fiction stories one could find. His main pad was Galaxy, but he made his mark elsewhere, too. Then came the 1960s, and Bob turned his energies to novel-length works. I'm sure it was lucrative–The 10th Victim got turned into a movie–but I wasn't really impressed by any of them.
Until now.
I brought Dimension of Miracles with me on the flight to Japan, and I had devoured the whole thing before we were far past Hawaii. Only the fact that I couldn't pound the keys on my typewriter without waking up the first class cabin kept me from dashing off a review right then and there.
Here's how it goes: Tom Carmody is a bland man, blandly handsome, blandly successful, blandly urbane. His bland life is made infinitely more colorful when an alien visitor appears in his home, announcing that he has won the Intergalactic Sweepstakes. What could Carmody do but accept the invitation to go to Galactic Central to collect his winnings? The Prize, it turns out, is a sentient box, purpose unknown. It soon turns out that Carmody was picked by accident, and the real winner is determined to secure the Prize for himself. The smiling faces of the clerks and awarders of Central are quickly shown to hide uncaring souls. Carmody is on his own against his rival. Worse than that, even should he withstand the challenge, Carmody has no idea how to get home, and no one is willing to help him.
Ultimately, going back to Earth requires not just knowing where it is, but also when it is (relativity is complicated), and also for Carmody to pick the right Earth, as there are an infinite number. Each succeeding section of the book details his misadventures as he tries to find his way home. Along the way, he treats with an omnipotent but marooned God, a family of intelligent dinosaurs, and a predator tailor-made just for Carmody who trails him across the galaxy and the eons.
It's all very farcical and stream-of-conscious-y, generally the sort of stuff I don't dig. This time around, however, Sheckley deploys his mastery of the short form to make every vignette absolutely delicious, while serving the greater whole along the way. Indeed, two bits of the story were released as short stories in and of themselves, virtually unchanged: Budget Planet, which was pleasant-enough in isolation, but better here, and ditto for Street of Dreams, Feet of Clay.
All along the way are some fascinating philosophical discussions, delivered better than Heinlein ever could. If there's any fault with the story, it's that things wrap up just a bit too quickly. Nevertheless, it's a great yarn, a story that will likely inspire other future tales of galactic hitchhikers. I imagine they won't be as well rendered as this one, however…
As my friend John Boston chronicled last week, the prolific science fiction fan and analyst Alexei Panshin is an expert in the fiction of Robert Heinlein. John does an excellent job in his article of analyzing the complex relationship between Heinlein and Panshin, and he does a great job of digging into the approach Panshin takes to his analysis. If you haven't read John's piece, I recommend you give it a read.
Alexei Panshin's new novel, Rite of Passage, often reads as if Panshin tuned elements of Heinlein's juvenile fiction to reflect Panshin's view of the world, thereby taking the energy and thoughtfulness of Heinlein and giving it a specifically Panshinian spin .
Cover by Leo and Diane Dillon
Heinlein is, of course, known for featuring teen and preteen protagonists in his juvenile space adventures. Panshin follows that element closely, but with an essential twist. Nearly all Heinlein's protagonists are boys. The main character of Rite of Passage is a pubescent girl named Mia Havero, who lives aboard a space ship which is composed of descendents of survivors of Earth's destruction. See, at the time we humans discovered we were going to destroy our world, a generational starship was launched. Mia is part of an undefined generation who only know of Earth from legends shared on the ship.
Over the years the ship has been used to colonize far-flung colonial worlds, with an uneasy and sometimes contentious trade policy existing between the colonies and the spaceship. This contentiousness is exacerbated by the fact that every ship-bound kid is expected to perform a rite of passage around their fourteenth birthday, taking a forced month-long trip to a colony world in order to experience life away from the ship and formally grow into adulthood.
When Mia and some friends are transported to a world that's both highly conservative and highly resentful of the ship, they end up experiencing an adventure that's more than a simple rite. Instead the young adults face real life and death situations. And those life and death situations help trigger the brilliantly nihilistic climax of the book, an epiphany of deep emotional angst which I predict will cause fans to debate this book quite a bit in fanzines this year.
A photo of Mr. Panshin from last September at Nycon.
As I've suggested, Mia Havero is a wonderfully perceptive lead character. Her energy and spirit are as strong as the greatest Heinlein heroes, but what really makes Mia stand out are her intelligence and insights. Panshin cannily has Mia be a student of philosophy, and that philosophic approach informs her actions. Her thoughts on stoicism, for instance, are charming, and, well, here are a few other thoughts which you might enjoy…
I can think of nothing sadder than to know that you might be more than you are, but be unwilling to make the effort.
or
If I had the opportunity, I would make the proposal that no man should be killed except by somebody who knows him well enough for the act to have impact. No death should be like nose blowing. Death is important enough that it should affect the person who causes it.
or
Maturity is the ability to sort the portions of truth from the accepted lies and self-deceptions that you have grown up with.
I emerged from this book deeply impressed by the way Panshin brings his main character and her friends to life. Mia Havero and her friends are unique people, full of dreams, ambitions and intelligent thoughts. They have complicated relationships with each other, with their parents and with their larger society. The characters fairly pop off the page and I know a few girls who remind me of Mia.
Mia is similar to Heinlein's heroes, but only somewhat similar. For instance, she's a highly competent hero who must go on a quest and who is alienated from planet-siders. Readers frequently see those elements in Heinlein's juveniles. But they don't often see characters who have sex, as Mia does. They don't often see the level of empathy Mia shows herself, her friends and the planet-siders. And perhaps most importantly, characters like Mia are seldom on the outside of their societies in Heinlein's fiction.
In fact, I was also deeply impressed by how well Panshin builds both the shipboard society and the planetside society. Both are complex and intriguing, quite well sketched out for the terse length of this novel. The sclerotic approach to governing the ship, for instance, feels a bit like the sclerotic authorities in many of Heinlein's novels, while the backwards approach of the colonists feels like something out of Pennsylvania Dutch country crossed with fascist war-mongering.
Mr. Panshin accepting his 1967 Hugo Award.
Mr. Panshin has shown that his analysis of Robert Heinlein isn't the only insightful writing he can do. This book is a definite candidate for Galactic Star for the year, and I won't be surprised if Mr. Panshin wins back-to-back Hugo Awards in '67 and '68.
It's been more than a quarter of a century since the Communist Party of the United States ran candidates for President and Vice-President. That was back in 1940, when Earl Browder and James W. Ford were nominated.
They didn't win.
This month, the Party chose Charlene Mitchell and Mike Zagarell for the honor.
Zagarell is technically too young to serve as Vice-President, but I don't think he'll have to face that problem.
Overdue Notice
One month isn't anywhere near as long as twenty-eight years, but the failure of a July issue of Fantastic to hit the shelves of drugstores and newsstands (in June, of course, given the proclivities of the publishing industry) may have caused as much anxiety among readers of imaginative fiction as the lack of a Commie candidate caused in Red voters.
Not to worry. My esteemed colleague John Boston has explained the situation in typically erudite fashion in his latest review of Amazing. I'll wait here while you go take a look.
Ready? Good. Now that we've got that out of the way, let's take a look at the August, not July, issue of Fantastic to see if our patience has been rewarded.
Cover art by Johnny Bruck.
Our first hint that the delay hasn't changed things very much, if at all, is the fact that the cover is once again a reprint from an issue of the popular German space opera serial Perry Rhodan.
We begin in promising fashion with our old pals Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, in another witty and imaginative adventure from the living master of sword-and-sorcery.
Illustration by Jeff Jones.
The two lovable rogues have gotten their hands on some incredibly valuable magic jewels. Each one of them tries to cash in on the stolen goods, making use of different fences.
The Mouser goes to a blind fellow, who has a nubile female assistant. Fafhrd seeks out a woman of mature years, who insists on an intimate encounter before the deal is completed. Suffice to say that things don't work out as they expect.
As you'd expect, this is a beautifully written and highly enjoyable tale. It's a bit lighter in tone that some other stories in the series; an anecdote rather than an epic, perhaps.
As a bonus, the likable character Alyx, created by Joanna Russ, makes a guest appearance. Obviously Leiber approves of the way Russ is influenced by his work, and he has acknowledged this in a gracious manner.
A new writer makes his third appearance in print with this science fiction story. Narrated by a spaceman to an unknown listener over drinks, it tells how an inexperienced crew member got in trouble. It seems he clumsily injured an alien. Put on trial, he is found guilty and punished in a way the aliens can't convey to the humans. He seems perfectly fine, until strange things start happening.
What the aliens did to the fellow is the whole point of the narrative. It's pretty much a puzzle story. For that kind of thing, it's reasonably interesting. It could have appeared in Analog, except for the fact that the aliens aren't shown to be inferior to humans. It's not bad, but not outstanding in any way.
My advice to Mister Tiptree is to keep writing; the man shows promise.
Three stars.
Horror Out of Carthage, by Edmond Hamilton
Here come the reprints. This old-fashioned yarn comes from the September 1939 issue of Fantastic Adventures.
Cover art by Harold W. McCauley.
Our cast of characters includes the manly hero, an older archeologist, and the latter's beautiful daughter. They're on a dig to locate the Temple of Moloch at the site of Carthage.
Illustrations by Jay Jackson.
Right away we're told that the daughter feels as if someone is trying to force her out of her body. It's no surprise, then, when the mind of a woman of the ancient vanished city takes possession of her physical form. Pretty soon our hero's mind goes far back in time to inhabit the body of a Carthaginian man.
The big problem is that Carthage is about to be wiped off the map by invading Romans. (The two folks from the doomed city came forward in time to escape that fate.) Can the hero find a way to save his beloved from being sacrificed to Moloch, and return to his own time with her? Come on, you know the answer to that already.
War, with elephants.
This is a typical old-time pulp adventure story, with characters who are walking archetypes. It's got some vivid scenes, so it's not boring. Carthage is constantly described as a wicked, barbaric place. That sounds more like Roman propaganda than accurate ancient history, but I'm no expert.
The July 1948 issue of Amazing Stories supplies this unusual work.
Cover art by Arnold Kohn.
A mysterious entity sends a musical note from an ethereal realm to the material world. In mundane reality, a man strikes up a conversation with an airline stewardess. They are obviously attracted to each other, but eventually go their separate ways.
Illustration by William A. Gray.
This is a very strange story, and I have described it badly. The author creates a highly detailed mythological background, much of it difficult to comprehend. I'm not really sure what he's getting at. Did the musical note cause the pair to fall in love?
I found this peculiar tale rather haunting, if confusing. It's definitely not the same old thing, anyway.
Three stars.
When Better Budgies Are Built, by Bryce Walton
The November 1952 issue of Fantastic Adventures is the source of this futuristic farce.
Cover art by Robert Gibson Jones.
The narrator is a vacuum cleaner salesman. He gets pulled into the future by a guy using a forbidden time machine. It seems that two rival merchandisers, the only ones left in this new version of the USA, are about to start selling gizmos that will supply everything that anyone could want, for a price. The problem is that one of the corporations has an army of robots who are able to sell anything to anybody.
Illustration by William Slade.
What makes this even more alarming is the fact that the head of the company is a would-be dictator planning to use the robots to sell people on the idea that he should be their leader. In exchange for a piece of future technology that will make him rich when he goes back to his own time, the narrator figures out a way to defeat the irresistible robot salesman.
Pretty silly stuff, really. The plot depends on the robots being absolutely perfect at selling merchandise and ideas, without any clue as to how they do this. We don't get to find out what the narrator earns for his service, either.
The ending makes use of a stereotype about women that is more goofy than offensive.
This two-fisted, he-man yarn comes from the October 1948 issue of Amazing Stories.
Cover art by James B. Settles.
A Cro-Magnon runs away from his tribe after a fight with the bullying leader. He witnesses a sphere arrive and discharge two men and a woman. After saving the trio from a wolf, he jumps into the vessel to escape a sabretooth tiger. The four go off to another planet.
Illustration by J. Allen St. John.
The folks on this world are under attack by green monsters. The Cro-Magnon defeats the creatures easily, while the effete males around him cower in fear. Naturally, the woman is instantly attracted to his manliness.
The author is obviously trying to promote the idea that men should be fearless warriors. The Cro-Magnon's contempt for the decadent males surrounding him is evident, and the author appears to share it.
Even if I ignore all that, as an adventure story it failed to hold my interest. There are parts of it where there seems to be something missing; one scene jumps to another without any kind of transition.
Here's a tale of paranoia from the March 1955 issue of Amazing Stories.
Cover art by Ed Valigursky.
A guy gets fed up with everything being fake. He goes on and on about this, until his exasperated wife calls in a buddy to talk some sense into him.
Illustration by Virgil Finlay.
The two fellows argue about stuff being phony for a while. The guy reveals what he thinks is behind all these ersatz things. There's a twist ending you'll see coming a mile away.
Definitely a one idea story. It's like one of Philip K. Dick's what-is-reality tales, with all the subtlety and complexity surgically removed. Or maybe it's more like a clumsy version of Robert A. Heinlein's famous solipsistic nightmare They.
This screwball comedy comes from the September 1950 issue of Fantastic Adventures.
Cover art by Robert Gibson Jones.
A nutty scientist uses a gizmo to remove an actor's head, as far as anybody can tell. Apparently he can still talk and breathe and such. He tells the actor to get a job without his handsome face within a month, or stay that way forever.
Illustration by Robert Gibson Jones also.
The actor's head is stored, in some way or other, like a photographic negative. Only pure alcohol can make it go back to normal. Let's just say that beer and a cat are involved in the ridiculous climax.
This thing is even more of a lunatic romp than I have indicated. The nutty scientist does all kinds of impossible things, from teleportation to literally flying.
Of possible interest to fans of pure wackiness.
Two stars.
The Wrong People, by Ralph Robin.
Yet another comedy, from the November/December 1953 issue of the magazine.
Cover art by Vernon Kramer.
A married couple who pretty much dislike everything, including each other, inadvertently conjure up a being from somewhere else in space and time. The creature is friendly enough, it seems, even if it scares the daylights out of the humans at first.
Illustration by Ed Emshwiller.
After they calm down, they think it's some kind of genie or something, ready to offer them whatever they want. This misunderstanding doesn't end well, leading to a shockingly gruesome conclusion.
There seems to be a touch of satire here, although you have to dig deep to find it. The sudden change in mood at the end really threw me for a loop.
Two stars.
Edgar Rice Burroughs' The Princess of Mars, by Charles R. Tanner
The author retells the story of ERB's famous novel in the form of a humorous poem.
Illustration by Jim.
I found it too sophomoric for my taste in literary spoofing. I may be prejudiced, as I am not a fan of Burroughs.
One star.
Worth Waiting For?
This issue started off well, but quickly sank into mediocrity and lousiness. Amazing and Fantastic seem to have reached the bottom of the barrel when it comes to reprints. Too much thud-and-blunder adventure, too much stupid comedy. It's enough to make you sick.
Cartoon by Frosty, from the same issue as Ralph Robin's story.
A few years ago, when I was reading a lot of fanzines, I came upon an article impudently titled Heinlein: By His Jockstrap, concerning attitudes towards sex in the works of Robert Heinlein. Wow! This SF fandom is pretty racy! Or so I thought. Not everyone appreciated that article, though, starting with Mr. Heinlein.
Alexei Panshin
The article’s author, Alexei Panshin, was a budding SF writer himself, having a few months earlier published the impressive Down to the Worlds of Men in If. Since then he has published more stories of varying merit, and a just-published novel, Rite of Passage, which on a first and superficial reading seems quite impressive—and, not at all ironically, quite Heinleinesque. He also published more articles about Heinlein in fanzines. You’d think the guy was working on a book.
And of course he was. But it’s more complicated than that.
The Pioneer by Invitation
According to Panshin, in another fanzine article, this one in the April 1965 Yandro, he was solicited by Advent: Publishers in 1964 to write a critical study of Heinlein’s fiction. Advent publishes books about SF, such as Damon Knight’s In Search of Wonder, James Blish’s The Issue at Hand, and the symposium The Science Fiction Novel: Imagination and Social Criticism. The proposed book would be the first book-length study of any writer from within the SF ghetto. Panshin accepted and got to work. He wrote to Heinlein, introducing himself, stating he was planning to write a book better than the “Jockstrap” article, and asking some questions about his life and work. There was no response—to Panshin, anyway.
Panshin also wrote to a number of others about Heinlein, later learning that Heinlein had been angered by these letters, and had seemingly discouraged the recipients from responding. In any case he got few responses. One who did respond was the widow of Sergeant A.G. Smith—the dedicatee of Heinlein’s Starship Troopers—who offered to let Panshin see Smith’s correspondence with Heinlein.
The 800-Pound Gorilla
Heinlein was furious, and ultimately wrote Advent a letter, which Panshin has seen and which he describes as attacking his qualifications to write the book, accusing him of employing ungentlemanly, unethical, and in part dishonorable and illegal means of gathering material, and forbidding Advent to quote from Heinlein’s copyrighted works, use his name or picture, or do anything else requiring his permission. He refused Advent’s offer to review the manuscript pre-publication, and reserved the right to sue or bring criminal action as appropriate if the book were published.
Advent, successfully intimidated, then backed out and sent Panshin a $50 kill fee, leaving him with a completed book and nowhere to go with it. His efforts to find a way to smooth things over were futile. Panshin concluded his Yandro article by quoting the man himself:
“FARNHAM’S FREEHOLD, page 88: ‘ . . . a book need never die and should not be killed; books were the immortal part of man. Book burners—to rape a defenseless friendly book.’ ”
So, what to do? What Panshin did do was to break out portions of his book manuscript (some with substantial revisions) and submit them for publication in various fanzines, mostly the solemn and prestigious Riverside Quarterly. Not surprisingly, after having all this impressive material published in a short period of time, Panshin last year received the first Hugo Award for Best Fan Writer.
Meanwhile, Advent had a change of heart. After Panshin’s award, and also after it reorganized from a partnership to a corporation (thereby protecting the former partners, now owners, from personal liability), it would publish Panshin’s book after all. And now we have it.
The Book
by Alex Eisenstein
So what exactly do we have? It’s impressive within its (self-imposed) limits. It is a work of genre criticism, explicitly in the vein of Knight’s In Search of Wonder, which is cited repeatedly. It makes no effort to connect with the wider (some might say narrower) world of mainstream literary criticism. Panshin obliquely justifies his genre focus by conceding that SF is “minor,” but “not because it is essentially trivial, like the endless number of locked-room mysteries, not because it is bound forever to repeat a single form, like the sonnet or Greek drama, and not even because most of its practitioners are second-rate or worse, though most of them are.
“Even the best science fiction is minor to the extent that most people are not prepared intellectually or emotionally to accept it.”
So there! Fans are slans! But seriously, this proposition provides at least a fig leaf of a basis for treating SF as its own discrete literary territory, though no one is required to agree.
Panshin then proceeds, year by year and story by story, to summarize and comment on all of Heinlein’s SF, and some non-fiction items, from the beginning through The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress. This material is divided into “The Period of Influence” (1940-42), “The Period of Success” (1947-58), and “The Period of Alienation” (1959-67). These take up over half the book.
It sounds deadly, but it is not; the length of the comments is proportional to the interest of the works and what Panshin has to say about them. They get longer as he gets closer to the present, appropriately, since as he demonstrates, there’s a lot more wrong with the more recent books than many of the older ones. Panshin is a plain and succinct enough writer that this long exercise mostly retains its interest and does not become wearying, at least to my taste.
Some of Panshin’s judgments are initially startling. He says of The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress—widely welcomed, after several weak books, with cries of “Heinlein is back!”—that it “has its interest, but it is not as a novel. It is as a dramatized lecture.” To start, he concedes: “Line-by-line, it is fascinating reading” and “less flawed by sermons and constructional weakness” than his other recent books. But he goes on to nail the book’s sentimentality, lapses of logic, and deficiencies of style (Panshin knows Russian and doesn’t think much of the “babu-Russian” in which the narrator thinks and speaks). If (like me) you have reread this book and found it less captivating the second time around, Panshin tells you why, if you haven’t figured it out yourself.
Among many other judgments, Panshin thinks Beyond This Horizon and Have Space Suit—Will Travel are Heinlein’s best works, a view I suspect doesn’t command a majority among Heinlein readers. (“Only a misanthrope could dislike Have Space Suit—Will Travel,” he says. Calling Dorothy Parker!)
Panshin uncontroversially thinks Heinlein’s best work was done during his middle period, when “he was in solid control of his writing tools and nearly everything he did was first rate.” However, his pick for the five best books of this period are all juveniles, while he dismisses the Hugo-winning Double Star as “good light entertainment, but no more than that,” since Heinlein doesn’t provide a more detailed account of the workings of the political system in which his protagonist is working. He says the generally well-regarded By His Bootstraps is “tightly constructed, as intricate as a bit of musical comedy choreography, and arrives at a destination”; but it lacks “anything to get your teeth into”; and, later on, he describes it as “neatly composed, if completely empty.” Continuing the latter theme: “Delilah and the Space-Rigger . . . is a smoothly-written but empty little bit of nothing about women breaking into previously all-male space jobs.” I hope Betty Friedan is not a Heinlein reader. But whatever you think of Panshin’s opinions, he has his reasons and generally shows his work (the “Delilah” comment is an exception).
After slicing Heinlein’s work horizontally by time, Panshin slices it vertically by substance and method, with chapters labelled Construction, Execution, and Content. (There’s also a short chapter on Heinlein’s non-fiction—if you were curious about Who Are the Heirs of Patrick Henry?, here’s your chance.) In these chapters he makes a number of observations about Heinlein’s modus operandi, of which some are quite acute while others seem a bit wandering and/or pointless.
For example of the latter, under the subhead Attitude is a several-page digression-filled discussion of whether Heinlein’s works are realistic or romantic (realism wins, mostly). The discussions of Context and Characterization are more fruitful. Panshin says, “Characterizing situations has always been one of Heinlein’s strongest points, and I think it is safe to say that he has always done better with developing his societies than he has with developing individual characters.” Further: “Heinlein in general has preferred to show how things work in such consistent detail that his societies speak for themselves; they don’t need to be explained or justified.” He illustrates this point with an extensive discussion of the building of The Menace from Earth, in what is likely the most sustained attention that story has ever received. He concludes: “Heinlein has by and large been able to build complex, consistent societies, the complexity coming from individual elements that fit together at the same time that they are used to further the story action,” this time taking Beyond This Horizon as his text and making a good case for its merits, at least in that regard.
Concerning characterization, he says: “Heinlein’s characterization has not shown the variety that his contexts have, but in a way this makes very good sense. Basically, Heinlein has used the same general characters in story after story, and has kept these characters limited ones.” And here we arrive at territory that most Heinlein readers will find familiar. “There is one unique and vivid human Heinlein character, but he is a composite of Joe-Jim Gregory, Harriman, Waldo, Lazarus Long, Mr. Kiku, and many others, rather than any one individual. I call the composite the Heinlein Individual. . . . It is a single personality that appears in three different stages and is repeated in every Heinlein book in one form or another.
“The earliest stage is that of the competent but naïve youngster. . . . The second stage is the competent man in full glory, the man who knows how things work. . . . The last stage is the wise old man who not only knows how things work, but why they work, too.” Other characters are barely individualized. “Their most striking feature is their competence, reflecting that of the Heinlein Individual.” “After this small circle, Heinlein ordinarily relies on caricature, and he has a number of set pieces which he produces as needed. One is that of Whining, Useless, Middle-Aged Mama. . . . Matching this is the Pompous Male Blowhard. . . . A third is the Nasty Young Weasel. . . . Further caricatures could be named, but let’s stay with those.”
Fair cop! But, says Panshin, this is all fine. “Heinlein’s characters, it seems to me, are clear if not striking, and for his purposes this is probably enough. . . . Heinlein has concentrated on developing unfamiliar contexts for his stories; if he were to populate these contexts with wild characters, the result might seem chaotic.” Note the similarity to C.S. Lewis’s observation, in his 1955 lecture On Science Fiction, recently published in his Of Other Worlds, that “[t]o tell how odd things struck odd people is to have an oddity too much. . . .”
There is much more about the what and how of Heinlein’s work, of varying interest and cogency, but you should read it yourselves; you will anyway, later if not now.
Panshin sums up in the chapter titled “The Future of Heinlein”—not what Heinlein will do, but how he will be regarded, based on his work to date. Here, however critical Panshin has been, his bottom line is unequivocal: “It is clear right now that even if his career were to be over, Heinlein would retain a historical place in company with Wells and Stapledon.” That’s because, first, of “the storytelling techniques that Heinlein developed and that have been generally copied within the field”—mainly the shift he exemplified from the basically speculative to the basically extrapolative, which by the way is what killed off the “sense of wonder” mourned by some. “Heinlein’s insistence in talking clearly, knowledgeably, and dramatically about the real world destroyed forever the sweet, pure, wonderful innocence that science fiction once had. . . . In a sense, Heinlein may be said to have offered science fiction a road to adulthood.”
Second, Panshin says, SF has mostly “concentrated almost as a matter of course on the atypical situation, the abnormal, the extraordinary. It has never been willing to stand still and examine the ordinary person functioning normally in a strange context. . . . We want variety in our fiction, to be sure, but the future is already strange.” Heinlein, says Panshin, “is the one science fiction writer who has regularly dealt with the strange-but-normal.” That’s a considerable exaggeration, but the more-than-a-grain of truth is that Heinlein has paid more consistent non-satirical attention than almost anyone else to the mundane details of life in his future and extraterrestrial settings, and it’s one of the more attractive and influential aspects of his work.
Panshin says he wouldn’t be surprised if Heinlein’s reputation is ultimately similar to Kipling’s. Maybe so. My own suspicion is that Heinlein’s reputation will diminish over the years, especially if he continues moving in the direction of his most recent works. Panshin is right to predict that SF is “likely to receive increasing amounts of serious critical attention and regard” going forward, but I suspect that it is the growing sophistication and competence of its practitioners by the standards of general literature that will drive such a change. It is those newer writers who will garner the broader recognition, and those they have learned from, like Heinlein, will be largely forgotten except by the remaining hard-core genre enthusiasts.
Summing Up
Heinlein in Dimension is not a great book, but it is a pioneering one, with much of interest and value, and is well worth reading, shortcomings and all. Four stars.
![[August 2, 1968] Dreams and Nightmares (September 1968 <i>IF</i>)](https://galacticjourney.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/07/IF-1968-09-Cover-672x372.jpg)
Red Guard rebels march in Shanghai last year.
Those are supposed to be radiators, not rocket thrusters. Art by McKenna![[July 31, 1968] No easy answers (August 1968 <i>Analog</i>)](https://galacticjourney.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/07/680731cover-672x372.jpg)
![[July 28, 1968] Once Upon A Time, Or Maybe Twice… (Yellow Submarine)](https://galacticjourney.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/07/680728poster-672x372.jpg)
![[July 26, 1968] A lost pair of hours… (<i>The Lost Continent</i>)](https://galacticjourney.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/07/680726poster-672x372.jpg)
![[July 24, 1968] Peter Cushing and the Women (<em>Frankenstein Created Woman</em> and <em>The Blood Beast Terror</em>)](https://galacticjourney.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/07/680724posters-601x372.jpg)
![[July 22, 1968] Shades and Shadows (August 1968 <i>Fantasy and Science Fiction</i>)](https://galacticjourney.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/07/680722cover-664x372.jpg)
![[July 20, 1968] Beloved Institutions (<i>Orbit 3</i> and <i>Famous Science Fiction</i> #7)](https://galacticjourney.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/06/Orbit-title-672x372.jpg)
![[July 18, 1968] Sweet and Sour (July 1968 Galactoscope)](https://galacticjourney.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/07/680718covers-672x372.jpg)
![[July 14, 1968] Long Time No See (August 1968 <i>Fantastic</i>)](https://galacticjourney.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/06/COVER-2-672x372.jpg)
![[July 12, 1968] The Pioneer and the Gorilla: <i>Heinlein in Dimension</i>, by Alexei Panshin](https://galacticjourney.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/07/heinlein-in-dim-261x372.png)
