Mariner 4, launched November 28, 1964, is on its way to Mars. Shortly after launch, the smart folks at Jet Propulsion Laboratory (some of whom I met last weekend!) determined that Mariner was going to miss its destination by some 200,000 kilometers. So they calculated the nudge it would take to deflect the ship toward a closer rendezvous with the Red Planet. This morning, the little spacecraft was ordered to fire its onboard engines for a 20 second burn, and it now looks like Mariner will come within just 10,000 kilometers of its target!
On the other side of the world, the Soviets have informed the world that their Zond 2 probe, launched two days after Mariner 4, needs no course correction. On the other hand, on Dec. 2, it was reported that the probe is only generating half the power it's supposed to.
Similarly, in the science fiction magazine world, no fewer than three magazines got new editors this year (Fantasy and Science Fiction, Science Fantasy, and New Worlds), and two of them have the same editor with a different name (Amazing's and Fantastic's Cele Goldsmith is now Cele Lalli).
But in Fred Pohl's trinary system of Galaxy, Worlds of Tomorrow, and IF, not only is leadership unchanged, but so is content. Nowhere is that clearer than in the January 1965 issue of IF, which like its predecessors, is an uneven mix of old and new authors, old and new ideas, and generally inferior but not unpleasant work.
In other words, on course, but running on half-steam.
The Issue at Hand
by Gray Morrow
In many ways, this is not the issue Pohl wanted on the news stands. The cover doesn't illustrate any of the contents of the issue; it's supposed to go with Jack Vance's novel, The Killing Machine. But since that story ended up in book print before it could be serialized, it was pulled from appearing in the magazine. Instead, we got the sequel to Fred Pohl's and Jack Williamson's The Reefs of Space, which had the virtue of being an IF-exclusive series and co-written by the editor.
It's a good thing Pohl had it in his back pocket!
Starchild (Part 1 of 3), by Frederik Pohl and Jack Williamson
by Gray Morrow
Hundreds of years from now, the solar system is ruled by the Plan of Man, a computer-led collective in which everyone's lives are ordered, and dissent is rewarded with a quick trip to the body banks for organ harvesting. But out in the stellar outskirts, in the frigid birthplace of comets, the steady creation of matter in the universe provides rich feeding grounds for the fusorians. These cosmic plankton eaters in turn create vast reefs in space, homes to the seal-like spacelings and their predators, the dragonesque pyropods. These reefs have also become shelters for Terran dissidents yearning to be free. The Reefs of Space told the tale of their first human visitors.
Starchild is the story of Machine Major Boysie Gann, a spy sent to Polaris station to suss out traitors to the Plan. He ends up kidnapped to the Reefs and then made a messenger to the Planner, the human liaison with the Planning Machine. Mysteriously teleported back to Earth, Boysie bears with him The Writ of Liberation: if the Plan of Man does not end its attempts to subjugate the free people of the Reefs, the "Starchild" will blacken the Sun…
I was a bit chary of this serial at the beginning. Williamson is a pulp writer from the way-back, and it shows. Pohl can be brilliant, but Reefs was more pedestrian (except for the gripping middle section). But Starchild kept me going the whole way, sort of a Cordwainer Smith "Instrumentality" story, though with less poetry.
Four stars so far.
Answering Service, by Alma Hill
A Boston fan and writer, Hill is new to my ken but has apparently been published since 1950. Service shows us a world where the SPCA has won, cats and other "aggressive" animals are tolerated only in zoos, and mice are overrunning the world without check. One man is determined to reverse this situation.
Utterly forgettable. Two stars.
The Recon Man, by Wilson Tucker
by Nodel
A young man wakes up from an amnesiac coma with a push to his back out the door of a house. Onto a Heinlein moving road he goes, along with dozens of other male commuters to some mysterious labor destination. A spitfire, himself, the other drones are so many zombies. Only the pink jumpsuited women have any personality; they seem to run the show.
The man is harnessed to a machine, tasked with creating bacon by conceptualizing it so it can materialize in front of him. He soon gets bored with this role and makes neckties and carpentry tools instead. This shuts down the assembly line early, and one of the female supervisors takes him home to see what's wrong with him.
Slowly, memories of a fatal car crash, centuries before in 1960, coalesce in the man's mind. How did he get to this strange world? For what purpose? And how long does he have to live?
Recon Man is a neat little mystery with a truckload of dark implications. I liked it a lot. Four stars.
Vanishing Point, by Jonathan Brand
by Gray Morrow
This is the second outing by Brand, his first being a disappointment. He fares better with this one, a space story within a bedtime story (the framing is cute but not particularly necessary) about Earth travelers on the first emissary mission to an alien race.
The place chosen for first contact is a sort of mock-Earth made by the aliens, a beautiful park of a world stocked with all sorts of game. It even has a centenarian, human caretaker. But neither the park, nor the old man, are what they seem.
Not bad. Three stars.
The Heat Racers, by L. D. Ogle
Then we come to our traditional IF "first", the piece by a heretofore unpublished author (or at least an unpublished pseudonym). This one is a vignette about a race of anti-grav sailboats. I think. The motive force and levitative technologies are never really explained.
Another trivial piece. Two stars.
Retief, God-Speaker, by Keith Laumer
by Jack Gaughan
And last up, we have yet another installment in the increasingly tiresome saga of Retief, the diplomatic superspy of the future. This one involves a race of money-grubbing, seven-foot, theocratic slobs, and the diminutive, subterranean aliens they mean to wipe out like vermin. Can Retief establish formal relations with the former while saving the latter?
By the end of the novelette, you probably won't care. This is easily the goofiest and most heavy-handed entry in the series. I think it's time for Laumer to cut his losses.
Two stars.
Summing Up
All told, this month's issue is more "half a loaf" than "curate's egg". The parts I liked were lots of fun, and as for the dreary bits, at least they made for quick reading. I've said before that Pohl doesn't really have enough good material for three mags, but he could have a dynamite pair.
On the other hand, IF is a place to stick new authors and off-beat stories. I just wish they were more consistently successes!
Maybe 1965 will be the year IF gets a mid-course correction…
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Thanksgiving is over, and the holiday season will officially begin tonight with the lighting of the first of the Hannukah candles. After that, it's just a short skip and a jump to that more widely celebrated holiday.
I am, of course, referring to the Winter Solstice.
It is an appropriate season, then, for science fiction's most-read magazine, Analog, to finish its year of publication with a bang. Fantasy and Science Fiction is fond of issuing "All-Star" magazines, in which the majority of the authors are big names. The December 1964 Analog isn't so dubbed, but nevertheless, it's chock full of heavy hitters. Let's take a look!
Armed Assault
by Robert Swanson
Tempestuous Moon, by Joseph H. Jackson
It has been the subject of wives' tales and farmers' almanacs that the phases of the Moon have an effect on the weather. In particular (they maintain), some points in the lunar cycle are likelier to be rainy than others. And now Analog has got a breathless article confirming the folk wisdom. Take that, doubting eggheads!
It's true that (editor) Campbell is notorious for printing the worst pseudoscience pieces, and Jackson's article is mostly blather. However, if his data be accurate, they are compelling. While the phases of the Moon should have no effect on the Earth, per se, they do correspond to geometries between the Sun and the Moon with respect to the Earth. And both of those bodies do have a profound effect on our planet every day in the form of tides. I can conceive that a strong tide, for instance when the Sun and Moon's forces combine to cause Spring Tides, might create lower atmospheric pressures, reducing the amount of moisture the air can hold, causing rains. Neap Tides would have the opposite effect.
Or it could all be garbage. Are there any pieces in reputable journals?
Calhoun the interstellar Med Service man and his adorable pet/assisant, Murgatroyd, are back. This time, they are investigating an impossible plague, one which seems to suppress the immune system rather than directly infecting the body. Worse, this disease kills tormals, the monkey-like race that Murgatroyd belongs to. Since this latter is an impossibility, tormals being immune to all diseases, Calhoun suspects foul play.
by Kelly Freas
I love the Med Service stories. Sadly, they are suffering from the same malaise that has infected all of Leinster's writing to date. It causes him to write only in short, declarative statements, often repeating himself for no reason. Also, this tale's solution is given mostly in exposition, which kills the fun of the mystery.
Still, even substandard Calhoun and Murgatroyd is pretty fun, and the picture of the sick tormal is too cute for words. Three stars.
Shortstack, by Leigh and Walt Richmond
by Kelly Freas
The latest vignette by the Richmonds is an odd one, more a dramatized advertisement for a unique power generator. It uses the heat differential between the top and bottom of a plastic cylinder to drive an engine and also to distill water.
A man trapped out in a wilderness that would give Deathworld a run for its money gets buzzed by an obnoxious tourist. When said sightseer falls out, the hermit takes his skimmer and rides to safety. The moral of the story: don't take what you have for granted, and a stint in the muck might do you good.
Enjoyable, despite the smugness of the ending. Three stars.
Sweet Dreams, Sweet Princes (Part 3 of 3), by Mack Reynolds
by Robert Swanson
We return to the world of the early 21st Century, where society has stratified into stagnancy: in both East and West, the top 1% rule everything, the bottom 90% are jobless and tranquilized, and only the middle 9% have any real agency. Last time, Estruscan professor and gladiator-extreme, Denny Land, had just won a tripartite contest over custody of a Belgian scientist who had invented anti-missile missiles, something with the potential to destabilize the world.
But when the Americans go to pick up the scientist, he has disappeared! And rather than express disconcertment, Land's boss, Joe Mauser seems almost unsurprised…
Land goes back to his old school with a promotion and bump in caste, but he can't hide his frustration and disenchantment. Reenter Bette Yarborough, who recruits Land into the Sons of Liberty to try to upend the whole rotten world order. And then comes an even unlikelier ally in the cause — former foe and Sov-world agent, Yuri Malshev. Together, can the three create a revolution?
And what if the revolution has already happened, and nobody knows?
This installment was the most engaging, well-paced and thoughtful, though there may have been one too many wheels within the wheels. Perhaps a Part IV would not have been amiss. I was grateful that Bette turned out not to just be a love interest (though more than one female in the universe would have been nice). If anything, Denny and Yuri had more chemistry…
Anyway, four stars for this segment. Call it three and a half for the novel as a whole. I appreciate that Reynolds is willing to make "if this goes on" predictions. I wonder how right he will prove to be…
An alien astronaut crash lands on the shore of an Adriatic village. Injured and barely conscious, he is taken to a local scientist for help. But can an effective treatment be developed in time?
This simple story is given depth and emotion by the unusually talented Harrison, who will probably get my nomination for one of the year's best authors. Four stars.
In Israeli's Negev desert, a scientist wrestles with his conscience — and his superior — over the the new bomb he's invented. On the one hand, it will give the little Jewish state inordinate power; on the other hand, power never remains exclusively owned for long.
An interesting think piece whose title has a double meaning. Three stars.
High Marks
Well, color me surprised! Analog, normally a disappointing performer, scored a respectable 3.2 stars — second only this month to the superlative Galaxy (3.6). Science Fantasy and Worlds of Tomorrow both scored an even 3 stars, largely thanks to better-than-average long pieces balancing out less impressive small ones.
And on the negative side of the ledger, we have a lackluster IF (2.8), a still-Davidson weighted Fantasy and Science Fiction (2.6), and Cele G. Lalli's mags did worst of all: Fantastic got just 2.3 stars, and Amazing broke the two barrier, scoring a jaw-dropping 1.9. What happened?
Women published just 5 and a half of all the stories in magazines this month, all of them very short. Betty Friedan would be rolling in her grave, and she's not even dead!
Ah well. 1965 approaches, a chance to wipe the slate and start anew. But before then, you will want to see our Galactic Stars awards when they come out in a few short weeks! Then you won't have to wade through the dross to get the gems — we'll have done the work for you.
Happy Holidays!
[Come join us at Portal 55, Galactic Journey's real-time lounge! Talk about your favorite SFF, chat with the Traveler and co., relax, sit a spell…]
Politics seems to have calmed down a little after the shock election result last month. Mr. Wilson seems to be intent on trying to change the laws created by 13 years of continuous Conservative rule. Although he’s only been in office for just over a month, it is noticeable that there are changes, but at the same time obvious that major change isn’t going to happen straight away. Nevertheless, there has already been a vote to suspend the death penalty for murder in Britain, which should happen in 1965. I suspect that we will see more and possibly even bigger changes in the next few months.
In music, I’m pleased to let you know that after I wrote last time, Sandie Shaw has been replaced as Number 1 by…. the return of Roy Orbison and Oh Pretty Woman.
I really like it, so I am pleased.
Perhaps it is only fair that we see some quality American acts in our charts in return for our British exports. I understand that you’ve recently had a deluge of British acts hoping to emulate the success of The Beatles, including another Brit favourite, The Rolling Stones, who were on the Ed Sullivan Show a couple of weeks ago. Their singer, Mick Jagger, had a few moves to show you!
At the cinema I am pleased to write that I have had a stay of execution regarding the musical My Fair Lady. As sometimes happens, the trailers led me to believe that the movie would be here in the next couple of weeks. I now understand that the film will be appearing at my local Odeon in January. The good news then is that it gives me more time to come up with an excuse to avoid it, hopefully.
As we always go as a family to see a 'movie for Christmas’, it looks like the movie we will see as a family this year will be Father Goose, starring one of my favourites, Cary Grant.
Looks like quite a different role for Cary…
On the television the genre pickings have still not been many. I am still enjoying most of Doctor Who, and Jessica’s excellent reports on that series’ progress need no further comment from me, but my latest find this month has been another popular series for children. I am quite surprised how much I have enjoyed its undemanding entertainment, as Gerry Anderson’s Stingray has been shown on ITV. Be warned though – it’s a puppet series! Nevertheless, its enthusiasm and energy, combined with great music in a wonderful title sequence has made this unexpected fun. I understand that it has been entirely filmed in colour, although like the majority of the 14 million British households with a television, we’re forced to watch it in good old black-and-white.
The Issue At Hand
Just to reinforce the mythical theme, this month’s cover of a Bronze Centaur is quite striking and would not perhaps be out of place on the front of a History magazine. It is, of course to do with the second part of Thomas Burnett Swann’s serial, The Blue Monkeys (started last issue), of which more below.
The Editorial, like the snippet in New Worlds last month, extols the virtues of Brian Aldiss’s new novel Greybeard. I haven’t got a copy yet – Christmas is coming! – but I must admit that I like what I’m hearing.
The Editorial also seems to rate Charles Harness’s The Paradox Men as a superior Space Opera, although it has been around a while. I understand Brian Aldiss likes it a lot, and it sounds like it could be my sort of thing as well. Let’s hope that Santa is kind this year.
Other than that, the Editorial makes a valid point about not labelling book covers with “A Science Fiction Novel”, as if it is something to be ashamed of, and finishes with the good news that Science Fantasy may soon go monthly. Sales must be up, then.
The second part of this serial tells us what happens to teenage Thea and Icarus now that they are under the care of Eunostos, the Minotaur. This part of the story is written from the perspective of Eunostos. It appears that taking Thea and Icarus into his world has not been easy. Much of this part is about how bringing up Thaea and Icarus has changed his world, firstly by affecting Eunostos’s relationship with his friends Moschus the Centaur (presumably the cover star this month) and Zoe the Dryad and then when Icarus is coerced into bed by Amber the Thria. There’s some history – we are told how Eunostos knew the children’s parents and has been in the background of their lives since they were born, for example. The story ends when we discover what Ajax plans to do to get the children to return to the human world, which will no doubt be concluded in the final part next month. I really like this reinterpretation of ancient myths. The style is engaging and written in a wryly amusing manner throughout which appeals to my own sense of humour. What is still surprising is how adult in tone the story is – much of this is about getting the teenagers into bed, which was a little disconcerting, but on the whole this one reads as effortlessly as last month. So, like last time, 4 out of 5.
Room With A Skew, by John Rackham
To lesser things, now. The last time I read a John Rackham story was in New Worlds with his story Crux in November 1963, although he was in Science Fantasy in the July/August issue. This is a light story about the things mad inventors create – in this case, a means of creating extra space in a flat by accessing the fourth dimension. Doctor Who would not have this problem! It is a one plot idea that is better than the pun-ish title suggests, but really is just an amusing space-filler. 3 out of 5.
EJ Carnell – A Quick Look, by Harry Harrison
It’s nice to see the return of Brian Aldiss’s friend, editor and author Harry Harrison in this issue, although the subject matter of his non-fiction article is something less palatable to my tastes – recently departed New Worlds editor John Carnell. Despite my own personal grumbles about the poor last few issues of New Worlds, there’s no denying that John has had an impact on British SF and it would be wrong of me to not appreciate that, but really this is nothing more than a sycophantic promotional post for him. 3 out of 5.
The Charm, by Keith Roberts
Very pleased to see the return of this writer, who impressed me in the last issue. The Charm is another ‘Anita’ story, about the “very lovely but rather inexperienced” teenage witch finding her feet in a modern world. Think of her as a sexualised Sabrina the Teenage Witch (from Archie’s Mad House). This does involve her *cough* ‘finding experience’ in this story by being firstly captured by a witch-hunter and then going to bed with him. Using a witch’s power to make it work, the two use a Time Charm to travel backwards in time, where it all borrows heavily from H G Wells. The end of the story is a bit abrupt but generally Anita’s as amiable as she was last issue, albeit still with the annoying Granny. “I’m allus the same…” the Granny says. Quite. Whilst Anita as a character is an alluringly engaging enigma, and there’s not really a great deal to this story, The Charm is an entertaining read. 3 out of 5.
Not Me, Not Amos Cabot!, by Harry Harrison
And here’s Harry returning, this time to write fiction. I enjoyed this more than his non-fiction article. Not Me, Not Amos Cabot! tells the story of a grumpy old curmudgeon who when he receives a glossy magazine in the post with the cheery message that he is about to die – and is he prepared for it? – is determined to prove the magazine wrong. It’s all a bit Twilight Zone, emphasised by the fact that it seems to be set in New York rather than, say, London. I get the impression that it’s meant to be a parody of advertising, an exaggeration of what can happen in today’s commercialised world, but it all sounds quite possible to me. Entertaining enough. Harrison’s gently humorous writing style carries a story that’s actually not very original. 3 out of 5.
The Madman, by Alistair Bevan
A writer new to me. Like Harrison’s story, this is another one about an old man, set in the future. This centenarian upsets his family and his neighbours for saying how much better things were in the past, to the point that he is regarded as insane and incarcerated into a Sector Asylum for causing disruption. I guess that the message is that the future’s not what it’s supposed to be, but we should spend our time looking forward, not back. There is little value in the old – something I suspect historians and archaeologists may disagree with. 3 out of 5.
Joik, by Ernest Hill
After his appearance in last month’s New Worlds, Ernest returns with a poor novella that’s about a dystopian future where African people rule the planets. In the Rationale (what that actually is is unclear) any idea of beauty is severely dealt with. It’s basically Big Brother but where the dictator is black, not white. Imagine, for example, a British Empire run by the oppressed, not the oppressors.
To give it a futuristic feel, not to mention New Wave anxiety, there’s artificial intelligence and spaceships but also metaphysical angst, weird dream states and torture. The plot, for what it is, is an investigation where Dadulina’s partner, Tantor, has disappeared. We discover that Dadulina has actually been arrested and tortured. This appears to be to do with Joik, the means of travelling around the universe, although it all rather disappears up into some sort of metaphysical mess. Obviously, this also involves taking narcotics to gain the full experience of whatever it is they are experiencing, from which I emerged confused and decidedly uninterested.
I can see why some readers might like it. It’s determined to be edgy and controversial (Drugs! Sex! Race!), creates words to make it sound like the dialogue of the future and has a fast pace. However, for me its drug-induced navel-gazing all seemed a little dull. One of those where you have to be there to gain the full experience, I feel. 2 out of 5.
One of Those Days, by Charles Platt
We finish this issue with a minor story about a character having a miserable existence in a hotter future climate, who having complained about the noise, the hot weather and his wife and children, then dies. Seems a bit pointless, other than a chance to moan about domestic life for the future male. I was almost tempted to think of it as a Ballard-ian parody, but that would give the story more value than it deserves. There’s not a lot to fuss about over here. We finish with a whimper. 2 out of 5.
Summing up
This is a tough one to summarise, as it is an issue that I both enjoyed and I got frustrated by. It starts well, but seems to run out of steam by the end. Overall though, I’m pleased to say though that, despite my grumbles, there’s a lot in this issue of Science Fantasy that I’ve enjoyed, and it is still more enjoyable than the last New Worlds. Despite both issues having stories that are quite depressing, Science Fantasy is just more engaging for me. I think I am still enjoying the variety and range of the stories more with Science Fantasy than I am with New Worlds.
The bottom line is that when I have finished reading the two magazines, I remember the stories from Science Fantasy much more positively than the ones in New Worlds. Where New Worlds does score is that it seems to be more determined to experiment with form and style whereas Science Fantasy is more about just telling a story. At the moment though, for me plot is winning over form. It’ll be interesting to see if this continues into 1965.
I should be back to a new issue of New Worlds next month. Until next time… have a great Christmas!
UK Beatles fans, of which there are many, have been sent a Christmas greeting from the Fab Four on flexidisc.
[Come join us at Portal 55, Galactic Journey's real-time lounge! Talk about your favorite SFF, chat with the Traveler and co., relax, sit a spell…]
First and foremost, I wanted to thank all of my fellow travelers for being on this Galactic Journey with us. It's hard to believe we've been chronicling science fact and fiction (and so much more) for over six years now!
Second, I want to doff my hat in memory of an event that pummeled the nation exactly one year ago. I don't think any of us have any difficulty remembering the terrible events of Dallas that day. But shortly thereafter, as Beatlemania was sweeping the nation in the wake of the Fab Four's appearance on the Ed Sullivan show, the dark part of my brain came up with a way that November 22, 1963 could have been even worse.
As a special present to all of our loyal fans, I present to you Sad All Over, a short story that takes place today, November 22, 1964…but in a divergent timeline. I don't know if "enjoy" is the right word, but I hope it interests you and stimulates discussion!
Citizens of the Big Apple now have a new way to travel between Staten Island and Brooklyn, with the official opening of the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge. The structure is named for the Italian explorer Giovanni da Verrazzano, said to be the first European to sail into the Hudson River, way back in 1524. It is the longest suspension bridge in the world, spanning a little over four-fifths of a mile.
Note to proofreader: The name of the bridge has one z, the name of the man has two. Go figure.
More than five thousand people attended the opening ceremony on November 21st, including New York City Mayor Robert Ferdinand Wagner II and New York State Governor Nelson Rockefeller. Even President Johnson supplied a congratulatory speech.
The official motorcade crossing the bridge after the gold ribbon was cut. I don't think they had to pay the fifty cents that you or I would have to pay to get across.
If you'll allow me to stretch a metaphor to the breaking point, popular music can serve as a bridge between people of differing backgrounds, something we Americans could use during these times of racial strife. Case in point, as Rod Serling might say, is the fact that the Motown hit Baby Love, by the trio known as the Supremes, has been at the top of the US charts all month, and shows no sign of going away any time soon.
That makes the Supremes the first Motown act to reach Number One twice. Don't believe me? Ask any girl, or boy for that matter, who listens to Top 40 radio.
Appropriately, the latest issue of Fantastic features a lead novella about crossing the immense gap between the stars.
Why? To Get To The Other Side
Cover art by Lloyd Birmingham.
The Unteleported Man, by Philip K. Dick
All interior illustrations in this issue by George Schelling.
Rachmael ben Applebaum is a man with some serious problems. His father recently died, apparently by suicide. (There are hints that this may not be the case, but the question is never resolved.) Rachmael inherited the family business, which happens to involve faster-than-light starships. Not much faster, however; it still takes many years to reach their destinations.
Applebaum Enterprises is in ruins, because the rival company Trails of Hoffman has control over teleportation technology that reduces the travel time to minutes. In this future overpopulated world, millions of people have already paid a small fee to be zapped to Whale's Mouth, a planet orbiting the star Fomalhaut. The teleportation machine only works one way, so nobody has ever returned. The sole evidence for what things are like on Whale's Mouth comes via broadcasts from the planet. They make the place sound like a paradise compared to Earth.
Two minor characters in the story, considering a long-distance move.
Trails of Hoffman deliberately became a major stockholder in Applebaum Enterprises, so Rachmael now owes them a huge debt. They also have the legal right to ownership of the only starship he still possesses. Desperate to find out what's really happening on Whale's Mouth, he engages the services of Listening Instructional Educational Services, derisively known as Lies, Incorporated. Despite the name, the organization is actually interested in the truth. They serve as a private espionage agency for their clients.
What follows is a complex tale of plots and counter-plots, involving not only the groups I've noted above, but the United Nations, which is now a powerful world government, dominated by a reunited Germany. After many adventures that could have come out of a very strange, futuristic James Bond novel, Rachmael manages to set out alone on his starship, willing to spend eighteen years getting to Whale's Mouth and another eighteen years on a return flight to Earth. Meanwhile, Trails of Hoffman, Lies Incorporated, and the UN have their own plans, not to mention the folks on Whale's Mouth.
As usual for this author, there's a complicated background, plenty of twists in the plot, and multiple viewpoint characters. Also typical is the fact that things are not always as they seem. It's obvious from the start that Whale's Mouth isn't the Utopia it claims to be, but it's also not quite what Rachmael fears it might be. One of the organizations mentioned above seems to be an enemy, but turns out to be an ally. Even the title of the story is misleading.
As I've hinted, the story has the flavor of spy fiction, mixed with a lot of science fiction concepts. Although the mood is serious, even grim, there's a touch of satire and absurdity. (One character fears losing his job to a trained pigeon.) The plot always held my interest, and the characters are intriguing. (Some meet with sudden, unpleasant ends, so don't get too attached to them.)
See what I mean?
My one quibble is that the novella stops in an open-ended fashion. Perhaps the author intends to expand it into a novel.
Four stars.
I Am Bonaro, by John Starr Niendorff
Here's an odd little story by an author completely unknown to me. A disheveled old man stumbles out of a boxcar, unable to speak, wearing a sign around his neck, bearing the words in the title. He wanders around, holding out a sponge to everyone he meets. Flashback sequences reveal his miserable childhood, when he developed the power to change himself into anything in order to escape his tormentors. The end explains his current condition, and the reason for the sponge. The whole thing is weird enough to be worth a look.
Three stars.
IT, Out of Darkest Jungle, by Gordon R. Dickson
Written in the form of a screenplay, this is a spoof of bad science fiction monster movies. You've got the young, handsome scientist, the beautiful assistant who loves him, the older scientist who makes an amazing discovery, and the monster. It's all very silly, and almost too close to what it's making fun of. (It makes me feel like I saw this thing on Shock Theater.) Readers of Famous Monsters of Filmland may get a kick out of it.
Two stars.
They're Playing Our Song, by Harry Harrison
In this very short story, a quartet of long-haired rock 'n' roll musicians, pursued by screaming teenage girls, turn out to be something other than ordinary superstars. This broad parody of the Beatles has an ending you'll see coming a mile away.
As the blurb suggests, sensitive readers may wish to skip this story.
The title character believes that alien invaders take the form of animals. He thinks he can detect them, because their behavior is slightly different from that of ordinary animals. He uses very disturbing methods in his quest to discover the truth. The conclusion is predictable.
I have to confess that there's a certain horrifying effectiveness to the narrative, but it's not one that most readers will enjoy.
Two stars.
Merry Christmas From Outer Space, by Christopher Anvil
Told through letters and interstellar messages, this is a comedy about Earthlings and aliens. Two rival extraterrestrial forces are hidden on Earth. One places a mind-disrupting device near the other's location. It turns out that the thing was pointed the wrong way, leading to a series of confused messages between a writer and a science fiction magazine.
I guess this is the machine that causes all the trouble.
You could easily take out the stuff about the aliens, and wind up with a mundane farce about miscommunication. Unless you find back-and-forth exchanges about payment and cancelled checks to be funny, I doubt you'll be amused.
Could this be the author having his story accepted by the editor?
One star.
Worth Paying The Toll?
OK, so this isn't the right bridge. Sue me.
By coincidence, a copy of the magazine costs just as much as crossing the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge. (I doubt toll collectors will accept it instead of cash.) Making an analogy between the two, I'd say that the structure starts off strong enough, but the quality of the architecture drops off rapidly after that, ending with a big splash into a metaphorical ocean of poor-to-mediocre stories.
Of course, things could be worse, if you happened to be crossing the Tacoma Narrows Bridge on November 7th of 1940.
The hopeful beginning.
The tragic end.
Let's just be thankful that reading a bad story isn't as dangerous as crossing a poorly designed bridge.
Way back in March 1962, Robert Mills left the editorship of The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction. He turned over the reins to a writer of repute, a man who had published many a story in this and other mags: Avram Davidson.
It seemed auspicious — after all, who better for the most literate of SF periodicals than one of the more literary authors in the genre. Instead, the last two and a half years have seen the decline of the once proud magazine continue apace. Certainly, there have been standout stories and even issues (for instance, Kit Reed's To Lift a Ship came out in that first Davidson issue — and I liked it so much, I included it among the fourteen stories in Rediscovery: Science Fiction by Women (1958-1963).
But successes aside, F&SF is mostly a slog these days, filled with uninspired and/or overly self-indulgent stories. The only thing that kept my going was the rumor, confirmed this Summer, that Avram had decided to give up the editorship to focus more on his writing. And so, we have this month's issue, the first in what may be called "The Ferman Era".
Mind you, I'm sure most of the stories were picked by (and certainly submitted to) Davidson, so I don't expect miracles. Join me on the tour of the newest F&SF, and let's see what, if anything, has changed!
For the most part, Ed Wellen is a mediocre writer, mostly turning in lamentable stuff, occasionally contributing acceptable though not brilliant fare.
This time around, we have the story of an alien who poses as an Aztec at the time of Montezuma. His goal is to become a thrice-sold slave so that he can ultimately be the blood sacrifice made every 52 years. It's all part of an elaborate prank on the indigenes, which is explained in the story's last page.
Despite the seeming light nature of the plot, it's actually rather humorless, a sort of "you are there" piece on the Aztecs. Something one might sell to National Geographic, but with a veneer of SF to make it salable to F&SF. I vacillated between three and two stars; there are some nice turns of writing in there, lots of historical detail, but the whole thing was more tedious than enjoyable. It certainly lacked the charm of the Aztec-themed serial that recently came out on England's Doctor Who.
Mr. Lafferty often turns in fun, whimsical tales. But this one, about a mad-eyed fellow who claims to have invented anti-gravity, and who makes disappear the corporate bigwigs who dismiss his claims, doesn't really go anywhere. There're some vivid scenes, some Hitchcock Presents-type horror, and then roll credits.
An ending would have been nice. Two stars.
Plant Galls, by Theodore L. Thomas
Our resident scientific "expert" waxes rhapsodic about stimulating plant galls (think vegetable callouses) with new carbohydrate sprays. Imagine! Like magic, all you have to do is spray a field and you get a giant, cancerous mass of food!
Except Mr. Thomas has forgotten about the second law of thermodynamics — it takes resources to make the spray, doesn't it?
One star.
From Two Universes …, by Doris Pitkin Buck
Of Univacs and Unicorns, which have never met. This poem is the seed for an F&SF-sponsored context: write a story involving both, and you might win $200!
Three stars, I guess.
On the Orphans' Colony, by Kit Reed
Abject loneliness can make one do crazy things. On a hostile world, a young orphan opens the barred doors of his commune, seduced by the maternal sirensong of an otherwise repulsive being. But what horror has he unleashed upon his barracks-mates?
Vivid. Three stars.
Wilderness Year, by Joanna Russ
After the bomb, the sub-surface survivors only go above ground as a rite of passage. Of course, they are given the most advanced devices to ensure their safety.
This is a throwaway joke tale, which the punchline nicely arranged to occur at the top of the page turn where it can be most effective. Certainly not the best Joanna Russ can offer, but not bad.
Three stars.
Somo These Days, by Walter H. Kerr
A poem about sensory deprivation becoming the new, hip rage with all the kids. I imagine it's a commentary on how our teens are plugged into their transistor radios these days, ignoring the outside world.
Silly. Two stars.
A Galaxy at a Time, by Isaac Asimov
Strangely uncompelling piece by Dr. A about close-packed galaxies wracked by mass supernovae. It just didn't grab me like his articles usually do.
Three stars.
Final Exam, by Bryce Walton
A variation on the Last Man/Last Woman cliche. In this one, Last Man doesn't want to commit until a battery of psychological tests determines the potential pair's compatibility.
Forgettable: 2 stars.
The DOCS, by Richard O. Lewis
This would-be Lafferty tale is about a guy whose attainment of multiple doctorates is undercut by his lack of empathy. Facile, with a dumb ending.
Ah, but almost half the book is taken up by a gem. The Fatal Eggs is a reprint from the early days of the Soviet Union, an arch piece about a scientist who discovers a mysterious red ray. Said ray not only stimulates the reproduction of animals, but the resulting creatures are fearsome and enormous.
I would not have thought that a 40 year-old piece, translated from Russian, could be so compelling, so colloquially humorous, and delightfully satirical (and thus banned, though our Soviet correspondent, Rita, also read and enjoyed it).
Definitely a four star piece, and I am sad to learn (at the very end) that this is a condensed version! With Bulgakov's story, the journey is as fun as the plot, and I would have enjoyed more comedic scenes of life in 1920s Russia.
Four stars.
All things must pass
Well, we made it. On the one hand, half of this month's issue represents a nadir for the magazine. On the other, The Fatal Eggs is wonderful. On the third hand, it's an aged reprint. Well, any constipation requires time to relieve itself. I'm willing to give Joe Ferman, our new editor (and the owner's son) a chance to prove himself.
How about you?
[Come join us at Portal 55, Galactic Journey's real-time lounge! Talk about your favorite SFF, chat with the Traveler and co., relax, sit a spell…]
Hello again, everybody, and welcome back to our adventure through Time and Space on Doctor Who! This second series is off to an excellent start, courtesy of Louis Marks, and I can’t wait to tell you all about it. In excruciating detail, no less. Let’s get stuck in to Planet Of Giants, shall we?
PLANET OF GIANTS
AWOOOGA, AWOOOGA. We’re barely a minute in and already things are going wrong aboard the good ship TARDIS. As the Doctor brings her in to land, the doors start opening by themselves. Fortunately, the companions manage to get them closed and they land safely. Or do they? The Doctor is very agitated about the doors opening, but doesn’t do a good job of explaining what it is that’s bothering him. Something strange is afoot, that’s for sure.
Something very strange indeed, as the Doctor sincerely apologises to Barbara in case he was rude to her under pressure. Goodness, he really has mellowed out, hasn’t he?
However, when they try to look outside with the scanner, it blows up, as if it were trying to display something ‘too big for its frame’. Pardon? I am quite certain that the Doctor is a bit more than 12 inches tall, yet Bill Hartnell has yet to explode out of my television screen in a shower of glass.
Oh, and apparently the reason that the doors opened during landing was the ‘space pressure’ being too high. No, I’m not sure what that means either.
Still, it’s all over now. Time to see what sort of planet we've landed on.
A rocky one, by the looks of it. So far, so normal.
And then Barbara finds a dead earthworm. Sound ordinary? You haven’t seen the size of it.
A few moments later, Ian and Susan come upon some massive ant eggs, followed by a giant dead ant.
I think we can guess what’s really happening on this so-called 'planet of giants'.
Ominous music builds as Ian comes upon a gigantic matchbox. Prepare for me to gush over the set design quite a lot over the course of this article. It really is very good and creative, and there has been a definite step up in quality, boding well for the rest of the series. That, or they spent all the budget on Planet Of Giants, and the rest of the series will be taking place in my back garden.
And the points go to Susan for working out what’s going on first: this isn’t a planet of giants after all. They’ve shrunk!
So, the rock formations? Paving stones. They’re between the paving stones on someone’s charming garden path. Basically, when the doors opened during landing, the space pressure made the TARDIS and all its occupants shrink… or something. No, I don’t buy it either.
But then everything goes dark and there’s a thunderous sound, as a man walks overhead on the garden path. Susan runs to hide, but when she comes out, Ian is nowhere to be found. He fell inside the massive matchbox. And he’s stuck inside!
Watching William Russell fling himself from side to side to simulate being jostled about in the matchbox is hilarious but slightly undermines the drama of the situation.
Oh dear. Mr Regular-Sized-Human (or, as he’d probably prefer, Farrow) has a cat. That might be a bit dangerous. What also might be dangerous is the scientific research he’s involved in. Something involving a powerful insecticide, one so powerful it’ll kill absolutely everything it touches that isn’t a plant.
Naturally, he’s withholding approval on the project on account of the risk to the ecosystem. However, the financier of the project, a man called Forester, stands to lose an awful lot of money if this doesn’t go through. Farrow, however, isn’t budging.
So, what’s a man to do? He pulls a gun, that’s what.
Now we have the first indications that the dealings going on at full scale are going to be important to the Doctor and his companions, as a dead insect drops out of the sky, carrying with it a strong chemical whiff. And Barbara raises a pertinent question: can whatever’s killing the insects kill them too?
They don’t have long to worry about that, as they hear the sound of a distant cannon. Well, that’s what it sounds like to them, anyway. A few minutes later, they come across Farrow’s lifeless body, and as the Doctor notes, there’s a whiff of gunpowder in the air.
I have to say, we’re off to a great start. Creative set design and cold-blooded murder in the first twenty minutes of story. And, what’s more, a cute little enormous kitty just showed up. What’s not to love?
DANGEROUS JOURNEY
Not to worry, folks. The Doctor and Ian know just how to avoid being eaten by a gigantic housecat. You just stay still until it gets bored and wanders off. I’ve never had a cat before, but that sounds about right.
You know what I'd like to see? A planet of giant cats.
The companions wonder if they should do something about the whole murder problem, but the Doctor points out they’re tiny and it’s not as if they can do anything right now.
Along comes an enormous leg to imperil them, and Ian and Barbara make a break for the closest shelter they can find: Farrow’s briefcase.
Up at normal scale, Forester has been joined by a scientist. He’s got a white lab coat and everything, because I suppose scientists dress like that all the time. Forester tells him that it was an accident, but the scientist isn’t fooled, concluding upon examination of the body that Farrow was shot through the heart from some feet away. There are no powder burns around the bullet hole.
Neither of them are too upset about the death of an innocent man, though. The scientist, Smithers, is more upset that this means he’ll have to scrap the research.
Smithers does have a somewhat noble motive, though. He wants to save people from famine, which is very commendable of him. Thing is, if you go wantonly killing every single living thing that isn’t a plant in your field, you’re really just sowing the seeds of a future famine that’ll be far worse. I’d think a scientist would know that, especially one specialising in research into pest control with regards to agriculture.
The men head into the lab, taking Farrow’s briefcase with them, before heading out to hide the body. Ian and Barbara don’t enjoy the ride much. In Barbara’s words, it’s worse than the Big Dipper. I have to admit, as much as I like the Big Dipper, it is a rather rough ride. Grand National (the rollercoaster, not the horse race), on the other hand, is a must-do if you ever happen to visit Blackpool.
To be fair, bumps and bruises do tend to happen when you ride the Big Dipper.
The Doctor and Susan emerge from hiding, and seeing the briefcase gone, realise that it must have been taken inside. The Doctor attempts to climb into a drainpipe, finding that it stinks to high heaven of the stuff on the dead insects. So of course they decide climbing into it is a great idea. Um, guys? Does the phrase ‘toxic fumes’ mean anything to you?
Inside, Ian and Barbara come upon some enormous grains of wheat that are covered in some sticky stuff. Not knowing what the sticky stuff is, Barbara goes ahead and touches some of it. Smart.
You'd think after the debacle with the Aztecs, Barbara would refrain from picking up everything she sets eyes on.
Ian has a good idea about using the paperclips in the briefcase to make a chain they can climb down, and hopefully make it back to the others. Barbara would like a look in the briefcase for herself, as her suspicion grows that her hands are covered in insecticide.
Meanwhile in the pipe, the Doctor is regretting every single decision he’s made in his life. It’s not as bad as it could be, though. The chemical runoff from the lab has corroded the inside of the pipe, so there’s plenty of hand and footholds.
Back in the house, as Ian struggles to get the briefcase open, a housefly turns up behind Barbara. It’s quite a lifelike puppet, with moving joints and everything. Barbara sees it, and faints, though it’s not clear if it’s the sight of the bloody big fly or the symptoms of poisoning setting in.
Imagine a planet of giant insects, though. I'd be having nightmares for weeks.
Meanwhile, Smithers and Forester have hidden the body, though Smithers is very upset with Forester for involving him in this whole sordid business.
Susan and the Doctor make it up the drainpipe and emerge at a plughole which is really pretty neat. We haven’t had so many unique sets before, I’m sure of it.
Incy Wincy Doctor climbed up the water spout…
Barbara wakes up from her fainting spell, to be told by Ian that the fly flew off, then landed on the seeds and died instantly. Well, that doesn’t bode well. Barbara, now might be a good time to tell Ian about the fact you touched them, too.
But that’ll have to wait, as they hear Susan calling from the sink, and begin climbing down the plug chain towards her and the Doctor.
Outside, Smithers and Forester have just finished mopping up the blood. Now it’s time to wash their hands.
Uh-oh.
Hearing the men coming, Ian and Barbara climb back up the chain, and the Doctor and Susan start heading down the pipe.
Smithers notices the dead fly, and gets excited about how effective the insecticide is, and we get into a scene which did seem a bit inconsistent to me. Forester says something about Farrow lying about the effects of the insecticide in the report, which I don’t quite understand. I thought Smithers and Forester were on the same page about Forester killing Farrow to prevent him revealing the destructive truth of the formula and putting an end to the project. Unless Smithers thinks his work is perfectly sound, and Farrow was going to turn in a false report for his own gain? I don’t know.
The point is Forester is going to doctor the report.
Meanwhile, Farrow fills up the sink and washes his hands, while the Doctor and Susan cower in the drainpipe below.
And then he pulls the plug.
CRISIS
Ian announces to Barbara (and the viewer) that the tap has been turned on with the Doctor and Susan still being in the sink. Thank you, Ian, we can see that.
Barbara fears the Doctor and Susan have drowned, so she and Ian go to find out.
Not to worry, Barbara. It turns out that the Doctor and Susan were hiding in the overflow pipe, so managed to avoid the deluge, and out they pop, reuniting the gang at last. I swear this lot get separated so often they should make a habit of holding hands everywhere they go. Or perhaps the Doctor should put his companions on a leash.
Down came the rain and washed poor Doctor out…
The sink set is my favourite from this serial. It’s quite simple, but the layout makes for some really cool looking shots, and it’s a very good replication of a kitchen sink.
Forester finishes doctoring the report, and puts in a call to Farrow’s department in Whitehall, pretending to be the dead man. However, the operator on the other end doesn’t seem convinced.
Now is not the time to be making a prank call, Mr. Forester.
Our companions continue their trek across the lab and come across a notepad, upon which is written a chemical formula. Could it be the pesticide? Barbara suggests that knowing what it is might help them find a cure for it. Nobody else sees the value in curing it if they can simply prevent it from being used, as Barbara still hasn’t told anyone about her predicament. It’s rather pertinent information, Barbara. I suppose she doesn’t want to make a fuss. That’s… very British of her. I’m so proud.
The notebook is too big to read, so they map it out into Susan’s own notebook, and discover, after a bit of chemistry talk that goes over my head, that the insecticide doesn’t wear off or weaken over time. Meaning? Once you put it on a field, there it’ll stay. Forever. Seeping into the soil, into the groundwater.
To say that would be a disaster would be an understatement. Apart from the ecological collapse that would ensue, imagine eating food contaminated with a pesticide this deadly. Even touching contaminated produce would slowly kill us.
At the sound of all this, Barbara gets quite agitated, but she still, for some reason, doesn’t tell the others. Come on, Barbara. They might start getting their bums in gear if you mention the teensy little fact that you might be about to drop down dead.
It’s not as if the others haven’t noticed. They ask her if she’s all right, but she just brushes them off. It’s a bit of a contrived way of ramping up the tension. At least, I assume that’s the intention. Can’t we have the tension ramped up with everyone being tense and worrying if they’ll manage to get Barbara back to full-size before her itty-bitty insect-sized body goes kaput?
The group decides to make an attempt at using the phone. For some reason. It struck me, as I was brushing my teeth later that night (sorry, I’m feeling a bit slow on the uptake lately), that it’d be quicker to just go back to the TARDIS, get back to proper size, and then use the phone to get the authorities.
I don't know what they were expecting.
Then again, the sight of everybody bellowing down the phone, loudly and slowly like a Brit in Benidorm trying to order some sangria, is pretty funny.
It doesn’t work, of course. Worse still, Barbara isn’t doing well at all, and she collapses. She comes around before Ian comes along, but the game’s up. She tries to tell him that she’s fine, but he grows suspicious when she won’t let him touch her hands or her handkerchief, and then she passes out again. Sniffing the handkerchief, the Doctor realises she’s suffering from the effects of the insecticide.
Barbara comes around just in time for a good scolding from the Doctor for not telling anyone sooner. Thank you, Doc. I was about to climb into the screen and tell her myself. However, Barbara won’t let the others take her back to the ship until they’ve put a stop to the insecticide threat. Now, that’s very nice and noble and all, but I think it’d be a lot easier at full-scale, don’t you?
Speaking of full-scale, Forester and Smithers are finishing up their dirty business, when Smithers says he wants to go back to the lab and have another look at Farrow’s notes. Behind his back, Forester pulls the gun out again, and loads it.
Back with the companions, the Doctor and Ian are being wonderful role models for children, by which I mean they decide to start a fire in order to draw the attention of the neighbours. The Doctor quite literally giggles and rubs his hands with glee at the thought of a bit of arson. I love him.
A call comes through for Farrow, but all is not as it seems, as the operator has Farrow’s superior listen with her as Forester ‘hands over’ the phone to Farrow. The pair of them agree that it sounds like he’s just impersonating Farrow.
The group are working on their arson plan. They’ve found themselves a gas tap, so now all they need to do is find a way to light it. Ian enlists Susan to help him strike a match, not an easy task when said match might as well be a battering ram.
And I struggle to get a normal match lit.
The plan’s simple enough. The Doctor has spotted a pressurised flammable canister nearby the gas tap. If they light the gas, the can will heat up, and eventually explode. The difficult part will be getting far enough away from the can before it goes boom.
While they’re doing that, Forester finally admits to Smithers the full truth of why he murdered Farrow— with a gun pointed at his chest. Looks like he’s tidying up all the loose ends.
The companions take cover, and the two men come back into the lab just as the can blows, scattering shrapnel in Forester’s face. With Forester blinded, Smithers grabs the gun, which is promptly taken from him by the police constable who has just materialised. Did the operator call him? I can only assume so, but that was a bit quick, wasn’t it? Or did he just hear the can explode? Pretty convenient that there was a passing bobby.
As the companions make a break for it, the Doctor grabs one of the contaminated seeds, wrapping it in his cloak to ensure he doesn’t poison himself. The group get back to the TARDIS without any trouble, and the Doctor sets about restoring them to proper size, Ian watching in amazement as the seed the Doctor brought appears to shrink before his very eyes. Of course, the seed isn’t shrinking— they’re growing.
Now at full size and having managed to get a good drink of water, Barbara does seem to be doing better. Gee. That’s just a bit convenient. The scanner’s still broken, though, so who knows where they’ll end up next?
I wish I could cure all my illnesses with a sit down and a nice glass of water.
Final Thoughts
So, here we are, at the end of the first serial of the new series.
I can’t help but think that this story would have been over in five minutes if Barbara had just told everyone about the pesticide on her hands. They could have just gone back to the TARDIS to fix their size problem, then given the police a quick ring. Barbara healed, day saved, devastating environmental disaster averted. Easy.
That issue of the plot being over instantly if everyone used their brains aside, this is a very enjoyable serial. I found the three episodes to be just the right length for this story. The three-act structure is tried, tested, and approved by generations of storytellers. An issue I found with the previous series of Doctor Who was that the serials were sometimes quite poorly-paced, with some of them overstaying their welcome by an episode or two. Planet Of Giants, however, keeps up a lively pace all the way through, with no filling.
We’ve also seen a pretty excellent demonstration of the phrase ‘the road to Hell is paved with good intentions’. It applies pretty well to Smithers. Not so much with Forester. But with Smithers, yes. In his hopes of ending famine, he became an accessory to murder, and almost poisoned all our farmland.
Also, perhaps the most important factor for why I like this serial: it’s fun. Everybody wrestling with comically-oversized household objects is funny, there’s a bit of ick-factor with the giant bugs, and we’ve also got a serious murder drama subplot with an environmental twist!
It’s a scarily plausible story, tiny people aside. Modern pesticides can, and have, saved millions of lives from their boost to crop yields, but at the same time, it’s important to be careful that we’re using them safely and responsibly, with proper oversight (q.v. the troubles with DDT, and the issues brought up in Rachel Carson's Silent Spring). Honesty and integrity won out on Doctor Who, but will the same be true for us? I don’t know.
4 out of 5 stars
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November 11 used to be the federally mandated holiday set aside for the honoring of World War I veterans. After "The Great War" was eclipsed by later conflicts, the day's scope became more general, dedicated to veterans of all wars. And so, parades like this one in Walla Walla, Washington, featuring soldiers from as far back as the Spanish American War, have become an annual tradition.
Of course, in Las Vegas, it was a day like any other. Well, the show must go on…
It is no surprise that, given this particularly bloody century (which saw the American Civil War, two world wars, the Korean War, the Russian Civil War, the Spanish Civil War, the Chinese Civil War, etc. etc.) that war is a perennial theme in science fiction. But where war was once portrayed in a patriotic light, or at least, merely as an exciting backdrop for adventure, we are now starting to see a decidedly cynical tinge to modern SF war stories.
The biggest military science fiction hits of the last five years run the gamut from novels like Heinlein's ultra-jingoistic Starship Troopers and Dickson's Hornblower-esque Dorsai! at one end, through the more nuanced "Joe Mauser" series by Reynolds and the latest Starwatchman, by Bova, to anti-war pieces like Dickson's Naked to the Stars.
But there has never been such a biting, such an accurate, and such an eminently readable satire of the veteran's experience as Harry Harrison's new novel, The Starsloggers.
Bill, a backwoods hick with dreams of becoming a Technical Fertilizer Operator, is shanghaied into This Man's Space Navy. Thus ensues months of grueling, dehumanizing boot camp under the merciless lash of the fanged Drill Sergeant, Deathwish Drang. But these torments are as nothing when the entire training division is drafted into an all-out war against the saurian "Chingers", whose greatest offense is that they exist.
Bill is pressed into serving as a fusetender, sweating profusely while he watches for the big red band on the six-foot weapons fuse to turn black, and then replacing it with another monstrous device. It's a position that normally takes the better part of a year to learn the intricacies of, but needs must, and somehow Bill and his brood learn the ropes in about fifteen minutes.
Along the way, Bill meets such notable characters as "Eager Beager", a perennially smiling chap who loves to shine everyone else's boots; Tembo, a proselytizing zealot who refuses offers to muster out; a nameless ship's chaplain who doubles as the laundry officer…and on and on. All of them are ridiculous, yet strangely plausible.
Ultimately, Bill ends up in a Southeast Asia analog, fighting to preserve a 10-mile square postage stamp of land against a limitless enemy in the foggy jungle. This is the kind of story where the protagonist is punished for bravery and rewarded for self-interest, and suffice it to say, by book's end, The Starsloggers earns the ironic subtitle: Bill, the Galactic Hero.
Satire is hard. Comedic satire is harder. It's easy for a story to devolve into silliness, and it's harder still to maintain the joke and readability throughout novel length. Harrison manages to lambast every sacred cow in the military barn, all while making a story with just enough reality and interest to keep the pages turning.
The Starsloggers should be required reading for anyone who reads Starship Troopers, if anything to keep too many Eager Beagers from enlisting. Five stars.
In this, Norm Spinrad's second appearance outside of Analog, a death-defying mercenary is hired to explore an alien dome that has mysteriously appeared on Earth. Nine men have gone in before; none came out. Can the mercenary survive the strange geometries and lethal traps of the dome? And what will he be when he comes out?
An interesting piece, though perhaps 20% too padded and without a great deal of consequence. Three stars.
Ballad of the Interstellar Merchants, by Sheri S. Eberhart
The third poem from this author; a pleasant 24th Century space shanty. I imagine someone will put music to it and we'll hear it at Westercon next year. Three stars.
For Your Information: The Rarest Animals, by Willy Ley
The latest from Veelee, the good German, is a piece on endangered species thought to be extinct…but aren't! It's quite good, except it just abruptly stops without any kind of conclusion. I hope he didn't have a heart attack at the end!
One of the genre's newer lights offers up this silly little piece, about virgin sacrifice and turnabout. It's worth a chuckle. Three stars.
A Man of the Renaissance, by Wyman Guin
Last time we saw Wyman Guin, he offered up a political piece set in a delightfully unique world. With Renaissance, the author has outdone himself.
The story is set on a water world, on whose oceans float islands of vegetation-lashed pumice. Their dwellers are reduced to a resource poor and medieval existence. But one latter-day Leonardo, Master of the Seven Arts, would risk love, limb, and life to effect a daring plan: to bind three small land masses together. To accomplish this, he must overcome prejudice and adversity, and plain, hide-bound stubborness.
Renaissance starts a little choppily, confusing since the context only comes gradually, and I found the combat scenes a little inexpert. But everything else, particularly the worldbuilding, is simply marvelous. I tore through it in no time…and then found myself trying to figure out how to make a wargame out of the setting!
Four stars.
Let Me Call Her Sweetcore, by David R. Bunch
Bunch, of course, is best known for his tales of Moderan, where humanity has become increasingly roboticized. Sweetcore seems to take place in an adjacent universe; it is a love story about an old man, his overly emotional robot, and the girl robot whom it falls in love with.
I both appreciated the story's juxtaposition of the maudlin machine and its emotionless master, while at the same time being annoyed with the stereotypical portrayal of love and marriage.
We end with another robot story, which is also a war story. Sam, a sentient Mark I machine assigned to a small moonbase, is left behind when the scientific team is recalled to Earth. Shortly thereafter, the planet flares into myriad pinpoints of brilliance before going dark. Now Sam is truly alone.
The first half of the piece, where Sam becomes fully actualized after reading the base library, is quite compelling. But the latter half, in which Sam looks for humanity's remains in vain, deduces that we were destroyed by Wellesian aliens, and leads a galactic crusade to punish them, is both redundant and revealed in the story's prologue.
Sadly, this reduces what could have been a four star story to readable three.
Yin's Yang
I lamented that this month's IF was decidedly subpar, and per Victoria Silverwolf, Worlds of Tomorrow wasn't much better. But Galaxy, the old warhorse of Editor Fred Pohl's stable, remains a sterling example of how to do science fiction right. Just the Harrison and the Guin would have made a full, 4.5 star issue of F&SF. It's ones like these that have kept me a faithful subscriber for 14 years, and I don't see myself bugging out any time soon.
[Come join us at Portal 55, Galactic Journey's real-time lounge! Talk about your favorite SFF, chat with the Traveler and co., relax, sit a spell…]
You may recall that the first month of the second season of The Outer Limits marked a big shift in the series, not just because the show experienced a number of major changes behind the scenes, but because the program only produced one truly memorable entry, The Soldier. Has the show returned to greatness or even surpassed expectations since we last met? Join me for a closer look at the latest from The Outer Limits.
Demon with a Glass Hand, by Harlan Ellison
Demon with a Glass Hand marks Robert Culp’s third appearance on The Outer Limits, after his previous roles in The Architects of Fear and Corpus Earthling. The third time is absolutely a charm. In this episode, Culp transforms into Trent, a man who recalls nothing of his past, but in the present is being pursued by human-like extraterrestrials called the Kyben.
The Kyben are after Trent to gain possession of his glass computerized hand, which “holds all knowledge.” His hand speaks, providing guidance to Trent to help him avoid capture. The Kyben already possess three of his fingers, which Trent needs in order to collect more information about his past. Along the way, he meets and is helped by a charming seamstress, Consuelo Biros, played by Arlene Martel of The Twilight Zone episodes Twenty Two and What You Need.
Harlan Ellison has done it again. Just like with The Soldier, Ellison‘s writing has helped The Outer Limits dive much deeper into science fiction. Ellison combines a lot of different things that, in the hands of a less skilled writer, might not work as well as they do here. The episode has an interesting premise, drama, action, and just a little bit of everything. Culp and Martel deliver spectacular performances. Back in the director’s chair is Byron Haskin, director of The War of The Worlds (1953) and this summer’s Robinson Crusoe on Mars.
I do have one complaint, though, which is that the makeup and costumes for the Kyben (essentially mime foundation, raccoon eye shadow, and white body suits) look very uninspired, especially after all the intricate makeup and elaborate costumes used to create different creatures last season. One thing that Demon with a Glass Hand certainly has going for it, however, is its location. Los Angeles’ Bradbury Building, which was also used in the noir classic D.O.A. (1949), heightens the episode’s film noir atmosphere. The special effects and the musical score are great, and everything is topped off with an interesting twist at the end. Demon with a Glass Hand has a cinematic quality to it, which is why it earns four and a half stars.
Cry of Silence, by Robert C. Dennis
Andy (Academy Award nominee Eddie Albert) and Karen Thorne (veteran actress June Havoc) take a trip from their current home in the city to the small town Wild Canyon to get a look at a property that they are considering purchasing. While driving, their convertible hits a large rock, leaving the couple stranded. As Andy assesses the damage, Karen falls down a hill and injures her ankle. Andy is unable to carry his wife back uphill to their car. Karen, being the more perceptive one in the relationship, begins to notices that some nearby tumbleweeds seem to be closing in on them. Andy expresses doubt, until the tumbleweeds begin to randomly fly at the them despite there being no wind. Karen fears the tumbleweeds are controlled by some kind of “force.”
Andy and Karen decide to build a campfire for the night, which is spotted by a man named Lamont, performed by character actor Arthur Honeycutt (The Twilight Zone’s The Hunt). Lamont invites the Thornes back to his farmhouse. He tells them that since a recent meteorite fall, the number of tumbleweeds in town has dramatically increased, his livestock have disappeared, and his telephone and electricity have stopped working. Lamont suspects that “there is a malignant intelligence in the weeds” and it will prevent any of them from leaving the canyon. Is it a demonic presence, or simply extraterrestrials too alien to effectively communicate?
What Cry of Silence lacks in artistry, it almost makes up for in charm. With its menacing tumbleweeds and killer flying bullfrogs, Cry of Silence is probably (unintentionally!) the funniest offering of the series thus far, even though I know Controlled Experiment attempted (deliberately) to add a little humor into the often dark and serious show. This entry does succeed in creating a few genuinely spooky moments, especially as the characters lock themselves inside Lamont’s farmhouse and the being from space begins to possess Lamont's body, but its just hard to sustain the terror for long when people are being stalked by tumbleweeds, and eventually rocks and frogs. The episode’s weak writing is improved a little by actors who play their roles with conviction, sometimes a little too much conviction. Objectively, it is not the greatest episode, but it can be fun, so two and half stars for Cry of Silence .
The Invisible Enemy, by Jerry Sohl
Adam West (Robinson Crusoe on Mars) plays Major Charles Merritt, who with his fellow astronauts, set out on an expedition to Mars to determine what became of a crew that landed on Mars three years earlier but never returned to Earth. It has been assumed that some kind of ghost is the only explanation for the last group’s disappearance. But when the latest crew arrives, they discover something that swims towards them from underneath the planet’s sandy surface, like “a blood-thirsty shark in the ocean.” To make matters worse, it turns out that there is not just one creature, but an entire “army of them.”
The Invisible Enemy is so very slow. Most of its characters are not terribly smart or likeable. There were also a number of weak performances by otherwise decent actors. Scientifically, The Invisible Enemy has quite a few problems. I got a kick out of things like one of the astronauts saying that helmets are not needed on Mars.
That said, this installment of the series is incredibly atmospheric. Kenneth Peach’s photography of the exterior shots of Mars’ surface combined with the set design, sound effects and the screeching violins in the musical score make for some beautifully eerie moments. But all of that comes crashing down the second that one of the growling space fish comes swimming by with their ridiculous claws extended out of the sand. Sure, they are not quite Creature from the Haunted Sea (1961) bad, but pretty bad. Two stars, mainly for the production design and art direction.
Wolf 359, by Seeleg Lester
Wolf 359 is the story of scientist Jonathan Meridith (Patrick O’Neal of The Twilight Zone’s A Short Drink from a Certain Fountain), who has recreated a smaller version of much larger existing planet “eight light years away” in his lab. Jonathan calls it Dundee Planet. Time moves faster on Dundee: from a primordial state, the planet experiences changes in weather and begins to show signs of life. Its new form life begins evolving at a fast rate and even senses when others are watching it.
Jonathan is excited to be able to “watch evolution at work.” However, his wife, Ethel (Sara Shane of Douglas Sirk’s Magnificent Obsession (1954)) calls the creature “pure evil.” Eventually, Jonathan pushes away his wife and lab assistant rather than “expose them to the dangers of this creature.”
Wolf 359 is not the first nor best episode of The Outer Limits involving a scientist speeding up evolution, but it is interesting, even if it is not entirely successful. The episode is generally nice to look at and had some decent performances. It certainly has an odd if less than effective creature, which resembles a floating white glove. The writing is not quite strong enough to carry such an ambitious concept. Wolf 359 is worth the watch, but not quite good, so two and half stars.
Prognosis
The Outer Limits is not quite firing on all cylinders, but it has improved a little over the course of the past month. Looking back at it, there was the terrific Demon with a Glass Hand, Cry of Silence was amusing, The Invisible Enemy often looked great but lacked substance, and Wolf 359 almost had something. All in all, most episodes were intriguing, even if they were not as strong as they had potential to be.
Is it enough to warrant renewal?
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The festivities continue, albeit muted, at the University of California at Berkeley, where the administration continues its clumsy and tone-deaf standoff with students and some faculty who are demanding rather ordinary political rights in the public places of what amounts to their home town. From this distance, it seems the administration is unable to let go of its usual habits of exercising authority in order to deal with the rather concrete issues raised by the students (whose cause now has a name, the Free Speech Movement), practical resolution of which really should not be difficult. The FSM’s view of its own righteousness creates another sort of rigidity, no doubt strengthened by the American Civil Liberties Union’s announcement that the disputed restrictions violate the First Amendment and that the ACLU would intervene on behalf of the students who were suspended.
For example, last month’s demonstration around and on top of the police car was resolved with an agreement to establish a committee to discuss and make recommendations about campus political behavior and its control. So the administration proceeded to name the members of the committee without consulting with the FSM, which responded that the committee was illegitimate and should be disbanded. The committee went forward anyway and heard a procession of witnesses telling it that shouldn’t exist. This argument was settled within a couple of weeks with an agreement on the membership of an expanded committee. One wonders why that conversation couldn’t have been had in the first place, avoiding the antagonism and waste of time.
Meanwhile, University president Clark Kerr made a speech at the Chamber of Commerce in which he said “Students are encouraged, as never before, by elements external to the University.” A few days later, he said at a news conference that he believed some of the demonstrators “had Communist sympathies.” Where have we heard that before? It’s the standard line of the southern segregationists: we didn’t have any problems until the Communist-inspired outside agitators came, and just the thing to say about people with whom you are supposedly trying to make peace—some of whom just returned from contending with the southern segregationists.
On the substance of the dispute, the university’s explanations for its positions sometimes read like self-parody, like this statement by the Dean of Students: “A speaker may say, for instance, that there is going to be a picket line at such-and-such a place, and it is a worthy cause and he hopes people will go. But, he cannot say, `I'll meet you there and we'll picket’.”
The FSM, for its part, has continued to threaten a return to civil disobedience if it didn’t get some concrete results from its demands, and held a rally on November 9. Some students resumed staffing tables to solicit funds and members for their causes, the practice that started this controversy. The University then dissolved the agreed-upon joint committee, an action denounced by FSM. And there, more or less, things stand.
The best judgment on the management of this dispute is probably the one pronounced by Casey Stengel to the 1962 New York Mets: “Can’t anyone here play this game?”
The Issue at Hand
By Robert Adragna
One might seek refuge from this tedious stalemate in the December Amazing, but one would be disappointed. The issue features a “complete short novel” which exemplifies the literary philosophy “Got no ideas today, but I’ll throw some random crap together and make it move fast enough and nobody will know the difference.”
The featured story is Keith Laumer’s The Further Sky, in which the disgusting and ill-tempered reptilian Niss are the honored guests (actually, the secret conquerors) of the pusillanimous Syndarch dictatorship of Earth. Our hero Ame, after being treated contemptuously by a Niss, is visited by a very old guy talking about their Navy days together (which didn’t happen). The old guy is also the one who just stole a scout spaceship from Pluto, and he boasts about killing Niss. Ame helps him sneak away when some Niss and Syndarch types come looking, and later finds him dead. But very much alive is Jimper, a foot-high character adept with a tiny crossbow who says he’s an ambassador from the King of Galliale—er, where?—and he is, or was, with Jason, the deceased senior citizen.
Ame and Jimper have to flee, since Syndarch and Niss are after them, so Ame befuddles a few functionaries, swipes a Syndarch spaceship, and they head for Pluto by way of Mars. On Pluto they crash-land and struggle across the mountain ice, just ahead of Niss pursuers, and there it is, the portal to Galliale, a sunny and bucolic land of more little people—but whose king, the ample Tweeple, the Eater of One Hundred Tarts, does not know Jimper despite his being an ambassador.
The king says Ame has to go into the nearby tower to slay the dragon, and Jimper comes with him, and there’s no dragon but there is a glowing cube which proves to be a portal to yet another world, and when the dragon (more like a giant centipede) shows up, they flee through the portal, where godlike four-dimensional beings, one of whom calls them fleas and wants to dispose of them, inform them that they are in the Andromeda galaxy three million years in their past, and explain the time travel gimmick that has been obviously in the wings all along, as well as the relationship among all the various species of beings involved (some of whom I have not bothered to name), and they materialize a spaceship for Ame and Jimper that will get them home at the right time, and don’t the Brits have a phrase for this sort of thing? Oh, right—“load of old bollocks.” One star for tiresome and unconcealed cynicism in the service of a word count.
The Quest of the Holy Grille, by Robert F. Young
By Robert Adragna
Speaking of tiresome loads, Robert F. Young is back with The Quest of the Holy Grille, one of a series, or cluster, or infestation, of stories about sentient automobiles. This one begins, “Housing had never been one to go chasing after girlhicles,” and there’s much more about girlhicles and boyhicles, who collectively make up manmobilekind, and towards the end there is some discussion of whether one of the characters is a virginhicle. This goes on for 31 pages. Pffft! Begone! One star.
The Last of the Great Tradition, by James R. Horstman
The short stories are by no-names, or worse. James R. Horstman has no prior genre appearances, and his The Last of the Great Tradition is a well enough written but rather obvious satire of a snake-oil salesman who switches to the Wisdom of the Flying Saucers line, and receives poetic justice. He is assisted by his servant (sic) George Washington Carver-Spokes, who speaks in cliched dialect of the sort that I hoped had gone out with Irvin S. Cobb (1876-1944, and good riddance). Two stars and a bad taste in the mouth.
The Day They Found Out, by Les Dennis
Les Dennis, another newcomer, contributes The Day They Found Out, a vignette about Recognition Day, on which all the kids are supposed to bring their pets to school so they can receive a lesson in what real life is about. It would be shocking if it weren’t so obvious. This guy probably read The Lottery by Shirley Jackson and thought, “Hey, I can do that too.” Well, not really. It’s capably enough done for what it is, so two grudging stars.
The above-mentioned “worse” is Arthur Porges, who could justly be said to have extinguished himself in his prior appearances. Porges is back with The Moths, which attempts to carry a little more weight than his previous trivialities, not very successfully. A disgraced and alcoholic entomologist who is dying of cancer in his hovel encounters a rare moth which proves to be a mutant, absorbing energy from a flame rather than being destroyed. Fade to not very interesting symbolism. Two stars, being generous.
Philip Jose Farmer: Sex and Science Fiction, by Sam Moskowitz
Sam Moskowitz’s new “SF Profile” is a departure. Titled Philip Jose Farmer: Sex and Science Fiction, it features a writer with no work from the ‘30s and ‘40s for Moskowitz to dwell excessively on, and purports to be a subject matter survey as well as an author profile. It starts off by dismissing the observations on the subject by scholar G. Legman (no sex in SF except in the chambers of mad scientists) as accurate enough but dated, since he stopped looking in 1949. But now here’s Farmer! Whose first published SF was the 1952 novella The Lovers, featuring an affair between a human male and an alien female with an insectile life cycle (book version not published until 1961 by the reasonably intrepid Ballantine Books). Moskowitz notes a modest bump of sexual subject matter immediately after The Lovers, but then says maybe things were going that way anyway (citing earlier examples), but before that the genre magazines were pretty puritanical (but here are the exceptions, some quite amusing), and what there was of sex in SF appeared in hardcover books.
Why this reticence? “The answer most probably is that science fiction is a literature of ideas. The people who read it are entertained and even find escape through mental stimulation.” Oh . . . kay. Moskowitz then moves on to a brief account of Farmer’s somewhat ill-starred life (he had to stop writing and take a job at a dairy, publishing next to nothing during the late 1950s), ending with an unusually sharp summation of his strengths and weaknesses as a writer. Surprisingly, this turned out to be one of Moskowitz’s better articles. Four stars.
Summing Up
Well, that was pointless, wasn’t it? The fiction is all well below the waterline, with the longer stories by bigger names half-buried in the muck. The only thing worth reading is the Moskowitz article (except for Robert Silverberg’s book reviews, which roll along in unassuming excellence). Next month we are promised a “powerful” novel by Roger Zelazny, which might be worth waiting for, and a “rollicking” Jack Sharkey story, which—oh, never mind.
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![[November 17, 1964] A Continuing Adventure In Space And Time (<i>Doctor Who</i>: Planet Of Giants)](https://i0.wp.com/galacticjourney.org/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/641117bigdeadbloke.jpg?resize=672%2C372&ssl=1)
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![[November 13, 1964] Beat the Devil (<i>The Outer Limits</i>, Season Two, Episodes 5-8)](https://i0.wp.com/galacticjourney.org/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/641113a.jpg?resize=672%2C372&ssl=1)
![[November 11, 1964] Unloading (December 1964 <i>Amazing</i>)](https://i0.wp.com/galacticjourney.org/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/amazing-6412-cover.png?resize=493%2C372&ssl=1)
