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

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by David Levinson

Crossing the road

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

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

The logo for the traffic changeover.

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

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

Turncoats and breakthroughs

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

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

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Magazine/Anthology, Science Fiction/Fantasy, Serial

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

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by Gideon Marcus

End of Summer

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


Ashes in Cambridge, MD


Teachers on strike

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

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

Surely.

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

So goes the nation…

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


by John Schoenherr

Weyr Search, by Anne McCaffrey


by John Schoenherr

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Toys, by Tom Purdom


by Leo Summers

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

A little insight from the author:

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

Basically, it's built around three ideas.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Three stars.

The Judas Bug, by Caroll C. MacApp


by Kelly Freas

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

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

Free Vacation, by W. Macfarlane


by Leo Summers

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

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

Pontius Pirates, by J. T. McIntosh


by Leo Summers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Doing the math

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

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

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

Speaking of books by women…

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

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




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Science Fiction/Fantasy, TV

[September 28, 1967] We have met Divinity, and He is Ours (Star Trek: "Who Mourns for Adonais")

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God is in the Details


by Janice L. Newman

After Star Trek’s incredible second season debut episode last week, we were on pins and needles. Would the episode hold up to the new standard set by “Amok Time”?

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Magazine/Anthology, Science Fiction/Fantasy, Serial

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

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by Mark Yon

Scenes from England

Hello again!

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

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

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


Cover by Richard Hamilton

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

Article: The Languages of Science by Dr. David Harvey

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


Art from the article: Geometry is important!

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


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

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

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

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

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


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

Article: A Fine Pop-Art Continuum by Christopher Finch


Art by Richard Hamilton

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

Solipsist by Bob Parkinson

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

The Men Are Coming Back! by Barry Cole

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


Illustration by Zoline

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Terrific artwork to illustrate the article on the brain.

Article: The Inconsistent Alpha by Dr. Christopher Evans

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

The City Dwellers by Charles Platt

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

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

The Baked Bean Factory by Michael Butterworth

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

Article: Reverie of Bone by Langdon Jones

A page showing some of Peake's imaginative artwork.

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

This illustration seems to sum up this odd story.

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

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

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

Book Reviews

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

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


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

Summing up New Worlds

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

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


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

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

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


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

Until the next!



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Science Fiction/Fantasy, TV

[September 24th, 1967] A Really Cool Story (Doctor Who: Tomb Of The Cybermen)

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By Jessica Holmes

Doctor Who is back for another season, and let me tell you: we’re off to a promising start. The Cybermen are back, we’ve got a new companion, and Patrick Troughton continues to impress in his role. Let’s take a look at Doctor Who in The Tomb Of The Cybermen.

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Science Fiction/Fantasy

[September 22, 1967] (Star Trek: "Amok Time")

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by Gideon Marcus

Back in the Starship Again

The Fall season of television is upon us again.  Some shows from last season did not survive the chopping block: good riddance to Gilligan's Island and It's About Time, genuine tears for the loss of Green Hornet, and shrugs for Love on a Rooftop, Laredo, Occasional Wife, and like that.

One show got a genuine ending: Richard Kimball finally caught the one-armed man, and now he can live a normal life.  At least, until The Invaders get him…


Notice how she keeps her pinky fingers just out of sight…

Other shows were renewed–from the stalwart Gunsmoke to the Mexican…er…African spectacle that is Tarzan.  But let's face it.  The program we were really waiting for was Star Trek, what Analog editor John Campbell called, "the first adult science fiction on television".

Would series star William Shatner make good on his threat to "put more of himself in the role"?  Would new cast member Walter Koenig, as Ensign Chekov, be as endearing as the rest of the crew?  After that dynamite, if not completely consistent, first season (not to mention a summer of reruns that held up remarkably well), would the second season knock our socks off?

I, for one, was not disappointed.  Production pulled out all the stops, most notably with an entire new score provided by Gerald Fried (echoes of which can be heard in his scores for episodes of the 1966 spy show, The Man Who Never Was and in this week's debut episode of Mission: Impossible).  Trek veteran, Joe Pevney, does a commendable job with directing, particularly in the scenes set on Vulcan, Dutch angles conveying the temporary madness of Mr. Spock.  Mainstream science fiction once again contributes a script, this time from the pen of the illustrious Ted Sturgeon.

Chekov does not have many lines with which to distinguish himself, but his repartee with Mr. Sulu is engaging.  As for Shatner, well, he definitely brings a few more personal tics to his portrayal of Captain Kirk.  It's a bit more broad, more punctuated a performance.  But he's still enjoyable to watch, convincing in the role.


"So, how did you enjoy working with Mike, Mickey, and Peter?"

That's the technical aspects.  What about the episode itself?  For that, I'll turn to my esteemed colleagues on the panel…

Ancient Rituals and Alien Biology


by Erica Frank

The episode begins with McCoy telling Kirk his first officer has a problem: he's been restless, avoiding meals. Kirk doesn't believe it; Spock is probably just meditating and wishes to avoid human contact. Then they see nurse Chapel ducking away from Spock's quarters as Spock throws a bowl of plomeek soup at her.

Spock is angry enough to be violent. This is shocking to everyone — Chapel, McCoy, Kirk, and the audience.

Has he been dosed with some kind of drug? Perhaps he was exposed to a natural hallucinogen that had the reverse effect of the pollen in This Side of Paradise — one that made him angry instead of happy.

No, he hasn't been drugged; his body is turning against him. The Vulcan mating drive will kill Spock if he doesn't get to his betrothed on Vulcan, with whom he was mind-bonded when they were seven years old.


Young T'Pring, looking every bit as serious as we expect a Vulcan child to be.
Kirk and McCoy accompany him to the ceremony, the Koon-ut-kal-if-fee. When they arrive, they get a shock: T'Pring demands that Spock win her in combat according to the ancient Vulcan rites.

Spock has no choice. He is deep in the plak tow, the blood fever; he must fight for her or die. T'Pring, accompanied by Stonn, chooses Kirk as her champion! Spock objects, but the officiating matriarch T'Pau simply asks, "Art thee Vulcan or art thee human?"

"I burn, T'Pau," he answers. "My eyes are flame. My heart is flame." He may not like T'Pring's choice, but if he cannot walk away, he cannot deny her.

Kirk accepts, figuring he'll roll with the punches, fall down, and leave Spock to his bride. After he agrees to fight, T'Pau informs him that this fight is to the death.


They fight with lirpa, a Vulcan weapon. Kirk, of course, manages to get his shirt torn.

After they disarm each other, McCoy treats Kirk with tri-ox, intended to counter Vulcan's thin air and heat, to make him closer to Spock's equal. They switch to ahn woon, a weighted long belt, and Spock uses his to capture and strangle Kirk… to death.

With Kirk's death, the blood fever fades, and Spock is once more his rational self. Before they leave, he insists that T'Pring explain her choice.

Spock, she says, has become a legend, and she does not wish to marry a legend. She wants Stonn. Kirk does not want her; if Kirk won, he would leave her to Stonn. If Spock won, they would wed… and he would leave, and she would still have Stonn.


T'Pring coldly explains why she made Spock fight his best friend instead of her chosen.

I think T'Pring has vastly underestimated Kirk's potential for spite. If he “won” her by killing Spock, he might haul her in front of a Federation tribunal for arranging the death of a Starfleet officer. He certainly wouldn't leave her to enjoy her boyfriend.

McCoy asks Spock for his orders, since he's in charge now. (I have trouble believing this; if a first officer kills his captain, he just takes over?) They beam back to the Enterprise, where Spock makes plans to resign and turn himself in.

Kirk comes out of sickbay to interrupt him. Apparently, McCoy actually dosed Kirk with something that simulates death. Everyone is fine, and now they can get back to their diplomatic mission.


Spock is overjoyed to see him alive. Because Starfleet needs good captains, of course. Not because it matters to him personally.

Color me unconvinced. What kind of "mate or die" drive vanishes if the one driven defeats his opponent? Why lose interest upon winning? I can only imagine that Spock's use of the mind-meld technique with various humans and aliens has weakened his bond with T'Pring, and that the shock of losing his dear friend completely erased whatever remaining mental bond he had with her.

That quibble aside, this really was fine stuff. "Amok Time" was perhaps the first true Star Trek episode, rather than a random science-fiction story with Trek characters. It built on what we know about the universe and the crew, and showed us a challenge that only they could face—which they resolved in a way that only they would.

Five stars.

The Birds and the Bees are not Vulcan


by Andrea Castaneda

It’s something to behold: a stoic man in his most vulnerable state. For the first time in the series (at least, without the interference of a spore or mickeyed water), the audience sees Spock’s steely veneer crack. He dashes soup across the room, verbally accosts his crewmates, and even undermines his captain’s orders. Yet his insubordination is revealed to come from a great source of anguish for the Vulcan. The anguish from having to suppress a biological drive, and being unable to tell anyone about it.

Now, I am no Vulcan. My blood does not “burn” and I am not compelled to return to my birthplace to spawn. But the fear, shame, and guilt he experiences– for something he has no control over– was something that deeply resonated with me, especially in my teenage years.

I’ll spare you the details, but my "birds and the bees talk" was nothing short of excruciating. “Don’t do this,” and “don’t do that”, lest you will be seen as a fallen woman. Any further questions I had regarding such an “uncouth” topic were treated with either avoidance, reluctance, or disgust. I shan't disclose how I cope with my nature now, as it is– to quote the vulcan– “a deeply personal thing”. However, what I will say is that my parents' fumbling attempts at sex-ed negatively impacted me growing up. It taught me to never speak up about “shameful” things, which in turn led me astray in many situations. I am relieved to see today’s youth has become more open and matter-of-fact regarding such topics. But there are still many who wish to hide behind old attitudes. Like the Vulcans, who seem partial to the same provincial mindset of my grandmother. I understand that there can be “logic” in knowing when to be prudent about such things. But considering how their biology can prove lethal when untreated, both to themselves and to others, where is the logic in choosing to avoid this topic altogether?


T’Pau explains nothing to Kirk before handing him a blade and telling him to fight his best friend.

The way I see it, regarding both the Vulcans and us humans, it is an exercise in futility. We want to feel safe and secure, and the only assured way to do so is to master nature and our own bodies. But it is hubris to think that a strong enough will can override mother nature. Our bodies will fail us, in one way or another. And the only way to conquer that fear is to confront it head on. The way to start is to name what ails us.

Of course, Vulcans and the world of Star Trek are not real but rather created by our human men– and at least one woman– here on earth. This epsiode leaves me asking why the writers, who wish to portray an idealized future, still feel that discussing sex is a terrifying prospect? [q.v. "Charlie X" (Ed.)]

Still, apart from my quandaries, this episode delivered a compelling story. It included wonderful details that upped the stakes, gave us a look into the enigmatic Vulcan culture and the politics of the federation. Season two starts by hitting a home run and I sincerely hope it continues this momentum.

Five stars.

POST-MODERN LOVE


by Joe Reid

Something old.

Something new.

Ritual combat.

Something blue.

Most of these are considered tokens of good luck.  The illogical creatures that we humans are, we rely on good luck charms, because of all the lying, trickery, bribery, and violence that we employ to convince other people to marry us doesn’t seem to be enough to make our unions last.  According to the U.S. Department of Health, Education, and Welfare, last year (1966) there were 1,857,000 U.S. marriages.  The same year 499,000 divorces happened.  The number of divorces for last year is 26% of the number of marriages.  With tallies like these, it’s obvious that we need help.

Along came the exciting first episode of the 2nd season of Star Trek to show us how beings who value logic and reason engage in the act of marriage.  How, you ask?  They do it with lying and trickery, and of course, violence.

“Amok Time” is the name of this week’s episode of Star Trek.  I want to start off by saying that it was splendid looking!  From the futuristic space outfits to the details in the props.  I was flown off to another world!


Silver future fashion

The show starts out with the Vulcanian (or Vulcan), Mr. Spock, behaving in a “most illogical” way.  He acts like a brute, breaking dishes and yelling at everyone.  Even Captain Kirk gets an ear full.  Through the course of the tale, we learn that Mr. Spock lost all his logic and control because of a Vulcan biological stage which causes him to burn with desire.  For what?  The same thing that the men of our day desire.  A girl.  Our calm and honest Mr. Spock becomes loud and irate.  His indiscretions extend to lying to the new Russian kid to send the Enterprise to Spock’s home planet of Vulcan.  He lies so badly that he doesn’t even remember that he lied!  How many of today’s guys and gal’s tell zingers to friends, family, each other and even priests, to get to that someone they desire the most?

We then witness Spock, Kirk, and Dr. McCoy on Vulcan, where we see a bridal party with a wise matronly leader. Also Spock’s soon to be wife, T’Pring, and a bunch of big soldier types that are guards. One thing stood out to me during this scene.  “Why isn’t the girl that Spock is supposedly marrying carrying on the same way that he is?”, I wondered.  She was as placid as still waters.  We all know what they say about still waters, and it isn’t long until we are shown the depths of trickery that T’Pring is willing to sink to.

We’ve all heard stories of friends who come to blows over a girl.  So why and how would people in an advanced future society based on reason and logic descend to fisticuffs over a female?  Why?  Because she wanted them to.  She manipulated friends to fight, not because she loved one of them, but because she didn’t love either of them, and it served her true purpose to have one eliminated.  In the end we learned that even though Spock was driven insane with passion for T’Pring, she didn’t want him at all.  She went through all the pomp and circumstance just to create a situation where she wouldn’t have to be with Spock.  Even if it cost him or Kirk their lives.  Which it just might have.

So, what is the current day parallel of T’Pring’s trickery?  From Cleopatra to Mata Hari, some ladies have only wanted a man that they can control.  Even today they are willing to say and do anything to get that.  “Amok Time” showed a wife that was willing to destroy Spock to get Stonn.  A shell of a man that she can lead.


T’Pring rejects Spock.

One of the reasons that I find Star Trek so special is because, even though it takes us to strange new worlds, at the end of the day what we find on those worlds is ourselves reflected back at us.  The situations in this episode were barely exaggerated reflections of the kind of people that we are and become when engaging in modern love.

5 stars

A Queer Episode


by Jessica Dickinson Goodman

This is perhaps my favorite episode of Star Trek so far; as Erica says, it may also be the first truly Star Trek episode of the series. A braided narrative of complex alien marriages, fraught male friendships, and taboo-filled – and taboo-breaking – reproductive rituals? Sign me up.

Last Spring, I reviewed a CBS "documentary" called "The Homosexuals," , noting that "There is something profoundly queer in enjoying science fiction and fantasy." I found this episode delightfully queer (meaning "odd" or "unusual", of course), each strand of the narrative challenging norms and assumptions in different ways.

The first queer thread in the episode was the Vulcan concept of marriage, starting with a wedding ritual that Spock says is "Less than a marriage but more than a betrothal." It is an in-between thing, this ritual we see, with some of the romantic declarations one might find at a regular church wedding, but also some theatrics and roles that have no analog to American marriage customs. One thing which stuck out to me was the queerness of the officiant, if we can call T'Pau that, being a woman. Sure, in Sweden and Norway, there are women conducting marriages, as well as in a precious few Presbyterian and Baptist churches (I have not heard of any women rabbis or imams, but I am open to correction). But amongst the more high-church, smells-and-bells Christian denominations, even the fairly open-minded Episcopal Church isn't allowing women further than the deaconate (and that is being debated today at General Convention LXII in Seattle; one hopes for more progress on that front). As it stands, a woman overseeing a highly formal wedding is pretty science fictional for most viewers.

The second queer thread was the intense relationships between Spock, Kirk, and McCoy. In a short television set hour, we saw these men throw themselves at each other; violate orders; disregard medical protocol; lie to diplomats of an allied planet to protect each other; fight to insert each other into the sacred rituals of a secretive culture; and lest we forget, roll around in the dirt ripping their clothes up. In our world, I see men often forced into stoicism, criticized for exhibiting any strong emotions other than anger (or perhaps enthusiasm for sports), for getting too involved as a father, for expressing affection toward each other. In that context, it was a balm to see Spock's beatific smile at Kirk's survival, McCoy's tenderness and protectiveness towards Kirk's "dead" body, or Spock's simple but powerful defense of his friends: "They are not outworlders. They are my friends. I am permitted this." One might hope for a day when all people are "permitted" this.

The third queer thread was the deeply taboo – to Spock at least – topic of Vulcan reproduction. As Andrea points out, the conversation between Kirk and Spock on this topic is deeply, and to me comically, awkward. But it also lit my imagination on fire, like all good science fiction and fantasy does. What does Spock mean when he analogizes his species' form of reproduction to spawning salmon? Is it just the traveling aspect, or does he have some kind of roe sacks hidden under his greenish-skin? And what does it mean for an entire society of beings who prize emotionlessness, and call it "logic" , to have every single member of it engage in a "time of mating" which is a "madness which rips away our veneer of civilisation"? It is queer both because this approach to reproduction exists at an oblique angle to our own human conceptions of it, but also because it deeply challenges our own assumptions about how other intelligent lifeforms might structure their societies, pick their bed fellows, and understand both their and our families and worlds.

A few of us here wrote stories, cocktail recipes, songs, articles, games, and drew art for a summer fanzine Gideon organized called The Tricorder, touching on the strange and wonderful worlds that Season 1 of Star Trek had given us to play in. With all of these new, queer threads to unwind and reknit into new creations, I can't wait to see where Tricorder #2 might take us.

Five stars.

Speaking of Star Trek, it's on TONIGHT!  By all the Ghods, it looks like an interesting one…

Here's the invitation!

Also, copies of The Tricorder are still available — drop us a line for details!



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Magazine/Anthology, Science Fiction/Fantasy

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

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by Gideon Marcus

Vicious Varangians

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

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

Something to cheer about

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


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

Home the Hard Way, by Richard McKenna

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

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

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

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

The Inner Circles, by Fritz Leiber

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

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


Speaking of Leiber…

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

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

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

The Power of Every Root, by Avram Davidson

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

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

Corona, by Samuel R. Delany

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

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

Three stars.

Music to My Ears, by Isaac Asimov

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

And I have both a math and a music degree!

Two stars.

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

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

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

Three stars.

Time, by L. Sprague de Camp

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

Three stars, I guess.

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

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

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

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

Praise be to Odin!

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

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


by Gahan Wilson

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

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

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




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Science Fiction/Fantasy

[September 16, 1967] A quick tour round the Fan Hugos

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by Alison Scott

You will have to make, I fear, some allowances for your fanzine correspondent, recently returned – as reported only a couple of days ago by the Traveler – from the World Science Fiction Convention.

The Fan Hugos – not, thank goodness, the Pongs – were awarded for Best Fan Writer and Best Fan Artist as well as Best Fanzine. They instantly caused controversy because Jack Gaughan won for both Best Professional Artist and Best Fan Artist. However, Gaughan is a prolific and generous fan artist, contributing covers and interior illustrations to many fanzines, as well as doing fine professional illustrations. It seems to me that it is possible for someone to produce both fan and professional work in the same year. But we are reliant on the voting fans to not confuse the two, or to vote purely based on 'name' quality.

Alexei Panshin's win for Best Fan Writer surely reflects the publication of his critical book Heinlein in Dimension over the previous year, primarily in one of the nominated fanzines, Riverside Quarterly. This book has had a strange history; Panshin wrote it under contract but on reflection (and perhaps worry of a suit from the subject of the book) the publishers decided not to go ahead with it, so he published it in sections in fanzines, predominantly RQ. This only counts as fan writing by the narrowest of margins, but it is fine work and it's not surprising the Hugo voters saw fit to reward it.

Meanwhile, I have brought back to London a veritable heap of fanzines, and by a happy coincidence every fanzine that was nominated for a Hugo last year has continued to publish. They have all, in the wake of their nominations, mentioned the possibility of the fanzine Hugo being renamed the Pong, and unsurprisingly none of them were in favour of it.

NIEKAS 18, Spring 1967, edited by Ed Meskys and Felice Rolfe


Cover of Niekas 18, by Warren Preston

NIEKAS won Best Fanzine for 1966. This issue is notable chiefly for the variety of material on offer. You might call it uneven. The lead article here, from Ben Solon, aims to directly counter Panshin's reading of Heinlein. It is not, I think, as compelling an argument. The fanzine continues with a pun-filled faanfiction story. Faanfiction, as distinct from fan fiction, is fiction about science fiction fandom. Most of it does not repay careful reading, and some of it does not repay reading at all. There is a reprint of John Brunner's address to Tricon, a strange mixture of industry anecdotes, Brunner's customary self-aggrandisement, and a passionate call to action for science fiction to be, well, better. More challenging, more speculative, and more daring.


John Brunner addresses Tricon, by Jay Jay Klein

Otherwise here we have a partial glossary of Middle Earth, a relatively dull overview of SF in Denmark that could have done with an edit, and then, tucked in at the end, the transcript of a half-hour telephone call with JRR Tolkien by Harry Resnik. Resnik explained that he had agreed to have transatlantic tea, and set the call, and the recorder, for 11am Eastern, 4pm UK. The interview, one of the most detailed yet given by the Lord of the Rings author, is followed up by an equally illuminating Tolkien Society discussion. Startling, but well hidden.

Australian Science Fiction Review 11, August 1967, edited by John Bangsund


"Cordwainer Smith illustration" by Steve Rasmussen from ASFR 11

Such a contrast from NIEKAS! ASFR is a serious critical fanzine with only the slightest fannish side. The editors had an article in preparation about the works of Cordwainer Smith. When the man behind the pseudonym, Paul Linebarger, died last year they decided to go further. Linebarger/Smith's death has not been covered by the Journey as far as I can see, but he was a great loss to our field. He leaves a fine if limited oeuvre, and this fanzine features a detailed obituary by a man who knew him well, a critical consideration of the work, a conversation by the authors of those two pieces, and a bibliography. ASFR 11 also features an index to the first ten issues of ASFR; Harry Warner Jr. is on record as quipping it's about time someone produced an Index to the Indices, a sentiment I understand entirely. But the value of indices of this kind in helping us locate articles and information is invaluable.

Lighthouse 15, August 1967


Cover of Lighthouse 15 by Jack Gaughan

Ben Solon writes in the letter column "a fanzine of this size and quality seems to inhibit as much comment as it inspires". This fanzine is very good. The pieces hang together far better as a whole, and their general quality is higher than those in, say NIEKAS. It is also far more fannish, with multiple articles that provide insight into the life, and not merely the reading habits, of the authors. Most of those authors are professionals; Carr is well-connected and persuasive. Lighthouse is at its best when it is at its most personal. A well-researched article by Fritz Leiber about the Anima Archetype in science fantasy is less beguiling somehow than an amusing travelogue by Samuel R Delany. And how enticing is the home life of Terry and Carol Carr, as seen through the lens of their fan writing? This would have my vote.

Yandro 172, June 1967, edited by Buck and Juanita Coulson
Yandro 173, August 1967, edited by Buck and Juanita Coulson


Cover of Yandro 173 by Cynthia Goldstone

Yandro 172 (June 1967) and 173 (August 1967) are bundled wtih a flyer advertising the Pan-Pacificon bid to hold the 1968 World Science Fiction convention in both Los Angeles and Tokyo! This would be very exciting but I am not at all sure how it would work, the flyer does not explain, and in any event this bid did not win and next year's World SF Convention will be Baycon. Linked to this is a flyer for the Trans-Oceanic Fan Fund, aiming to bring Japanese fan Takumi Shibano to the World SF Convention. Yandro – a much shorter and more frequent fanzine than some of these – normally features news, reviews and letters, together with one or two longer articles. In 172, the long article in this issue consists of a round-up of the current state of Swedish science fiction fandom from Bo Stenfors. This is fascinating stuff and I hope that the Journey can attract a Swedish correspondent soon. More unusually, 173 gives a great deal of space to Star Trek, with a bibliography by Ruth Berman covering almost every serious and trivial article about the show and its leads. She remarks that far more attention is given to Shatner and Nimoy than to the creators or to the actors in more minor roles. "There are no articles about Gene Roddenberry, who chiefly deserves credit for Star Trek… yet the various articles on the actors and the show… show him as a man of integrity and humor". Yandro's essential for news and updates but there are better fanzines here.

Habakkuk, Chapter II, verse 3, February 1967, edit by Bill Donaho


Cover of Habakkuk Chapter II, verse 3 by Steve Stiles

In most of these fanzines you would scarcely know that the United States is at war with Viet Nam. But Habbukuk has columns from the recently drafted Steve Stiles, now in basic training, and Colin Cameron, exploring the upsides and downsides of life in the army on active service. Otherwise this issue has a long editorial from Donaho. It is tedious on the matter of the parties he has attended recently, which are clearly more exciting to attend than to read about. It perks up, however, when he tells of officiating at what the papers called an 'LSD wedding'.

It has been a while since this issue came out; there were two in 1966 so hopefully we'll see another one soon.

Trumpet 5, April 1967, edited by Tom Reamy


Interior illo from Trumpet 5 by Rob Purim

This is a fantastically well-produced offset litho fanzine full of good clear photos of fans taken at Tricon. It's a delight to see pictures of so many of the folks whose fanzines I've been enjoying.

It's only slightly marred by an entirely nude photo of a woman, devoid of SF content, fantasy content or clothes, on the contents page. Fan artists and photographers; think before doing this, and don't confuse erotica with science fiction, even if we often buy them both in the same bookshops.

The rest of the content, while beautifully produced, largely leaves me cold. There is SF and faanfiction here, and a lengthy deconstruction of Doctor Strangelove by Richard Hodgens that takes rather too long to say rather too little. I very much enjoyed the cartooning of Rob Pudim in this issue but overall I would have to say that Trumpet is a triumph of production values over content.

Riverside Quarterly Volume 3, No. 1, August 1967, edited by Leland Shapiro


Cover of a previous issue of Riverside Quarterly by ATom (Arthur Thomson)

The 1966 issues of RQ had concluded Alexei Panshin's deconstruction of Robert Heinlein, Heinlein in Dimension. Jack Williamson's thesis on HG Wells is thin gruel by comparison, though careful, thoughtful stuff. Writing in Australian SF Review, John Bangsund describes Riverside Quarterly as "a bit too serious for my liking", and I am pretty sure that his enthusiasm for serious consideration of science fiction is way greater than mine. However there is a lot of interest here; in particular, for fans of SF poetry, there are a dozen poems here, some very good.

All of these fanzines have deep, interesting letter columns, where some of the great SF writers and fans of the day engage with the serious and less serious topics raised. Many of the correspondents write to several, or all, of these fanzines, and you can see the most important topics of our age being worked through in real time.

Overall, what does this crop of finalist fanzines and their contributors tell us about the state of science fiction fandom here in 1967? I would argue that it shows that it is in great health. The willingness of professional writers and artists in the field to contribute to, and engage with, fanzines can only be good for the development of the art and craft of science fiction. And, as they have done for half a century, fanzines remain a great way for fans to understand not just the genre, but the profession. And the three Hugos for fan activity will give us a chance to celebrate and reward the best of them.

(Thanks to FANAC, without whom this article would not have been possible)



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Magazine/Anthology, Science Fiction/Fantasy

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

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by Gideon Marcus

The deuce, you say!

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

Well, he's right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


by Gray Morrow, illustrating Transmogrification

A long slog

Damnation Alley, Roger Zelazny

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

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


by Jack Gaughan

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

Three stars.

Poulfinch's Mythology, Poul Anderson


by Virgil Finlay

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

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

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

Two or three stars, depending on your tastes.

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

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

Three stars.

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


by Gray Morrow

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

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

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

Three stars.

Understanding, George O. Smith


by R. Dorfman

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

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

A Galaxy of Fashion, Frederik Pohl and Carol Pohl

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

Galaxy Bookshelf, Algis Budrys

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here's the invitation!



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Book, TV

[September 12, 1967] Heavens Above!  (The Fifteenth Pelican and The Flying Nun)

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by Victoria Silverwolf

Birds of a Feather


Cover art by Arthur J. King.

The Fifteenth Pelican, by Tere Ríos

Tere Ríos is the name used by writer Marie Teresa Ríos on her books, such as An Angel Grows Up (1957), Brother Angel (1963), and the one under discussion, which came out last year. I haven't read those other two, but the titles suggest that they might have something to do with the author's Catholic faith, which is also reflected in her newest work. (Even the cover artist, who also supplies several interior illustrations, is a Catholic priest.)

The Fifteenth Pelican is a whimsical tale about Sister Bertrille, a nun newly arrived at a convent in Puerto Rico. The most notable thing about Sister Bertrille is that she is tiny; four foot ten and weighing only seventy-five pounds.

The nuns wear large hats that look like wings. Given the fact that Puerto Rico is very windy, you can probably already see where this is going.

While hanging laundry on the roof of the convent, a gust of wind lifts Sister Bertrille into the air. At night, she has what she thinks of as dreams of flying with a flock of fourteen pelicans. (Hence the title.) In fact, she is really soaring through the air with them.

During one of these nocturnal excursions, she lands at a hush-hush military base. Suspected of being a spy, Sister Bertrille has to prove that she just flew in by accident.

That's about all there is to this slim little book. There's some stuff about Sister Bertrille's work with the orphans at the convent, but that has nothing to do with the plot. It's made absolutely clear that Sister Bertrille's flight is not miraculous, but simply a matter of aerodynamics. We're told more than once that if lift plus thrust is greater than load plus drag, the result is flight.

I, for one, don't believe that a strong wind is enough to allow a seventy-five pound woman to fly, even with the help of wings on her head. Nevertheless, I suppose the attempt at a rational explanation makes the book science fiction rather than fantasy.

Like Sister Bertrille herself, The Fifteenth Pelican is as light as a feather, a bit of fluff best described as cute. I suspect it would quickly be forgotten, were it not for the fact that some television executive got ahold of it, and thought it would make a good series.

Gidget Goes To San Juan

Actress Sally Field, not yet twenty-one years old, got her start while still a teenager in the title role of the television series Gidget. By my count, she's the fourth actress to play the part of the petite surfer girl, after Sandra Dee, Deborah Walley, and Cindy Carol. (Yes, I know too much about beach movies.)

The series lasted only one season, but it became something of a hit during summer reruns. Eager to provide their young star with a new situation comedy, the folks at Screen Gems came up with something. It wasn't called The Fifteenth Pelican.

Field plays the part of Sister Bertrille. We're still at the same fictional convent in San Juan, Puerto Rico. It's still really windy, and she still wears the big hat that looks like a pair of wings.

Field isn't quite as small as the character in the novel. She's about five foot two (but without eyes of blue) and is said to weigh ninety pounds. That makes her ability to soar in the wind even more unlikely, but that's television for you.

The pilot, which aired last Thursday, had a one-hour time slot. I think the show will normally be a half-hour series, which is typical for an American situation comedy. It was narrated by a new character, Sister Jacqueline, played by Marge Redmond. She recently appeared as a nun in the movie The Trouble With Angels, so I guess it's typecasting.

She's a friendly, down-to-earth type, who supplies wry commentary throughout the pilot. At her side is Sister Sixto, played by Shelley Morrison. She's a Puerto Rican nun who provides comedy in questionable taste with her mangling of English idioms.

Unlike the rather meek character in the book, the TV version of Sister Bertrille is a perky, outgoing, slightly rebellious sort. We're even told she spent time in jail for participating in a free speech protest.

She quickly tries to improve conditions for the young orphans at the convent by holding concerts and such. (This subjects the viewer to a cloyingly sweet song, which we'll suffer through twice. Believe me, it makes the saccharine songs in The Sound of Music sound like rock 'n' roll.)

This newfangled way of doing nun stuff earns the disapproval of the head of the convent, Reverend Mother Superior Placido, played by Madeleine Sherwood. She's a stern, old-fashioned type. Needless to say, she's not very happy about the fact that Sister Bertrille takes to the sky now and then.

As in the book, Sister Bertrille accidentally lands at a secured military base, and has to answer a lot of awkward questions. That's cleared up pretty quickly, leaving some military types befuddled.

More important is a subplot not found in the novel. Sister Bertrille keeps running into a new character, Carlos Ramirez, played by Alejandro Rey. He's a playboy who runs a discothèque/gambling den. Sister Bertrille first encounters him when she winds up on his yacht full of bikini-clad beauties, where Ramirez is busy trying to seduce one of them into spending the weekend with him.

This adds a tiny bit of sex appeal to an otherwise squeaky clean series. Given the fact that the Catholic Church provided technical advice for the pilot, I don't think we're going to see romantic tension between Sister Bertrille and the fun-loving bachelor.

Anyway, Ramirez owns a piece of land that the convent could use for a new school, but he doesn't want to donate it. When Sister Bertrille flies by his private airplane as he's on route to a weekend getaway with yet another gorgeous girlfriend, he thinks it's a religious vision and gives up the land.

The whole thing is very silly, of course. It takes the gentle whimsy of the book and turns it into broad comedy. Like many American sitcoms, it's ruined by an obnoxious laugh track. The hour-long pilot (forty-odd minutes without the commercials) really drags. Maybe it'll be more tolerable cut down to a half-hour (twenty-something minutes) next time.

Or you could turn off the television and listen to KGJ for all the hits, all the time!




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