Magazine, Science Fiction/Fantasy, Serial

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

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by Mark Yon

Scenes from England

Hello again!

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

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

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


Cover by Richard Hamilton

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

Article: The Languages of Science by Dr. David Harvey

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


Art from the article: Geometry is important!

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


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

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

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

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

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


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

Article: A Fine Pop-Art Continuum by Christopher Finch


Art by Richard Hamilton

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

Solipsist by Bob Parkinson

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

The Men Are Coming Back! by Barry Cole

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


Illustration by Zoline

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Terrific artwork to illustrate the article on the brain.

Article: The Inconsistent Alpha by Dr. Christopher Evans

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

The City Dwellers by Charles Platt

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

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

The Baked Bean Factory by Michael Butterworth

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

Article: Reverie of Bone by Langdon Jones

A page showing some of Peake's imaginative artwork.

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

This illustration seems to sum up this odd story.

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

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

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

Book Reviews

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

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


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

Summing up New Worlds

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

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


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

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

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


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

Until the next!



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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.

EPISODE ONE

With a new companion accompanying the Doctor, the first episode takes the time to introduce Victoria—and any new viewers—to the TARDIS. Don’t worry if you’ve never seen an episode of Doctor Who in your life—this is a great place to jump in.

Victoria and Jamie are also surprised to learn that the Doctor is a little older than he looks. About 450, in fact. I’ll bet he uses Pond’s Cold Cream.

The next adventure goes off with a bang, as a group of explorers blast open an entrance to a long-abandoned city of the Cybermen, eager to uncover the mysteries of their extinction many years ago. However, the expedition won’t be a walk in the park, with one of the party falling victim to an electrified door before the Doctor and company even arrive.

Realising that the group are probably in over their heads, the Doctor agrees to help them out, de-electrifying the door and helping them enter.

In this little pack of adventurers we have Parry (Aubrey Richards), the expedition’s leader and his assistant Viner (Cyril Sharps) providing the archaeological expertise. There’s also the expedition’s financier, Kaftan (Shirley Cooklin), her servant Toberman (Roy Stewart), and her colleague Klieg (George Pastell). In addition, we have a couple of spaceship pilots but they spend most of their time back at the ship and aren’t important.

Inside the complex, the expedition splits off into small groups. Apparently gender roles have stagnated over the last however many years, because the men would be quite happy to leave the women behind because after all, exploring is a MAN’S JOB! The men in this serial, the spaceship pilots especially, are very rude and patronising to Victoria for no good reason, and constantly dismissive of her. Victoria, though literally a Victorian, is having none of it, and forms her own group with Kaftan and Viner.

Victoria’s group soon finds a room designed to ‘re-vitalise’ a Cyberman, while Jamie’s group finds a weird metal mouse with googly eyes. Or caterpillar, as Jamie calls it. But I think it looks more like a mouse. The Doctor later identifies it as something called a ‘Cybermat’, and puts it in Victoria’s bag for safekeeping.

The Doctor and Klieg remain at the entrance, puzzling over a control panel which they believe will open a hatch to the deepest part of the complex. There’s a lot of babble about binary logic which sounds about right to me, but I know absolutely nothing about computers.

Meanwhile, Jamie and his exploring buddy (who I don’t think has a name) make the wise decision to start randomly pressing buttons and pulling any levers they find. It’s no surprise they end up in trouble. They manage to activate some sort of hypnosis machine, which leaves them completely helpless as a Cyberman slides out of the darkness, gun at the ready. There’s a blast of light, and Jamie’s buddy drops down dead.

EPISODE TWO

By the time anyone makes it to them, the Cyberman has vanished, leaving a very confused and distressed Jamie and a very dead explorer. After some experimentation, the Doctor manages to discover that the Cyberman that slid out was nothing more than a dummy, and the fatal shot actually came from behind. It looks like this is a weapons testing area, and Jamie’s buddy was just unlucky enough to be caught in the crossfire. But why were they hypnotised? Is it a trap, or do the Cybermen just like a groovy light-show while they practice their shot?

The group bring the dead man back to the entrance, where Parry decides to call off the expedition. It’s nice to see someone being sensible. Alas, they can’t leave yet—someone has tampered with their ship’s fuel pumps. By someone, I mean Toberman, acting on Kaftan's orders. He's the only one strong enough to do it.

With no choice but to stay, Klieg suggests that they continue their exploration, against the Doctor’s protests. Klieg manages to get the mysterious hatch open, and the men go inside, while the delicate little women stay behind. Of course.

Victoria’s quite insistent on going down with them, but the Doctor convinces her to stay with Kaftan—not for sexist reasons, mind you, but to keep an eye on her. Kaftan couldn’t be a more obvious villain if she tried, so someone had better make sure she doesn’t get up to any mischief. So sure, leave the teenager alone with the scary lady. What could go wrong?

Down in the depths of the complex, the men find a tomb… a tomb of Cybermen. It’s frozen solid, keeping the Cybermen immobile and dormant…but not for long. Klieg gets to work warming the room up, and the Cybermen come to life, much to Viner’s horror.

Viner tries to stop Klieg, but it looks like Klieg isn’t just foolish—he’s malicious. Shooting Viner dead, Klieg continues awakening the Cybermen. There’s nowhere for the others to run, as Kaftan has drugged Victoria and closed the hatch. This was their plan all along, and so far it’s going off without a hitch, as the Cybermen burst from their icy coffins and awaken their leader.

However, there’s something they didn’t take into account. Remember the Cybermat? It’s woken up, and so has Victoria.

Though quickly realising that Kaftan has betrayed the group (in fact, she has Victoria at gunpoint) Victoria tries to warn Kaftan about the rapidly advancing critter. Her warnings go unheeded, and the strange creature attacks, knocking Kaftan out and providing Victoria with a chance to get hold of the weapon, with which she promptly deals with the metal menace. Looks like Victoria is made of sterner stuff than it first appeared!


Admittedly the Cyber-controller is harder to take seriously when its head is shaped…um…like that.

EPISODE THREE

Seeing as he doesn’t have anywhere else to be, the Doctor takes the opportunity to have a little chat with the Cybermen about what sort of dastardly scheme they’re cooking up this time. Turns out this place is a trap for eggheads like Parry and company. The Cybermen are few in number since their disastrous attack on the moonbase, but they’re quite picky about who they want to convert. They want people with a natural aptitude for logic, hence the weird door-opening mechanism. Well, Klieg is certainly logically minded (According to him, anyway. He never shuts up about it.), but rather lacking in common sense.

So of course it’s Klieg that the Cybermen pick to be the leader of this new batch.

Fortunately for Klieg, Victoria managed to get some help back at the entrance (though not without having to contend with the dismissive boneheads piloting the ship), and here comes the captain of the spaceship to rescue them. However, in the chaos as they flee the tomb, Toberman gets left behind.

Out of immediate danger, the group realise that Klieg and Kaftan have their own agenda, and can’t be trusted. So, they decide to lock them away…in the weapon testing room.

The weapon. Testing. Room.

A shiny ha’penny piece for whoever can guess what Klieg and Kaftan do next.

Meanwhile, the rest of the group settles down for a nap. Here we get one of my favourite parts of the serial. Victoria, bless her, lets the Doctor get a little extra sleep on account of his advanced age, and when he wakes up they have a private moment for him to ask her how she is. Understandably, she’s missing her father, but the Doctor assures her that it will get easier not to think about him with time. He’s something of an expert at it.

VICTORIA: You probably can't remember your family.
DOCTOR: Oh yes, I can when I want to. And that's the point, really. I have to really want to, to bring them back in front of my eyes. The rest of the time they sleep in my mind, and I forget. And so will you.

I understand what he means, but there’s something very sad about the way he puts it. And he doesn’t ever bring up his family, so am I to take it that he chooses not to remember? I think there’s a sadness beneath this Doctor’s clownish exterior.

It’s a rare moment of emotional honesty and vulnerability, and I’ll be interested to see how this affects the Doctor-companion bond. We’ve had Doctor-as-parental-figure, Doctor-as-teacher, how about Doctor-as-confidante?

See, I said the new Doctor would open up new avenues of character exploration, and it looks like I’m right.

However, the moment is disrupted with a whole swarm of Cybermats attack! The Doctor manages to deflect them with a live power cable, and delivers the most wonderful line afterwards:

“The power cable generated an electrical field and confused their tiny metal minds. You might almost say that they've had a complete metal breakdown.”

That is painful. I love it.

Remembering the prisoners they oh-so-wisely locked in the weapons room, the group rush to check on Klieg and Kaftan, only for the duo to be already waiting for them..and they’ve got the Cybergun working.

EPISODE FOUR

Klieg takes a shot at the Doctor, but misses, hitting one of the blokes from the spaceship instead. He claims he meant to do that, but I beg to differ. Despite still being held at gunpoint, Victoria insists on helping the wounded man. I think I really quite like Victoria. She’s got a good strong backbone.

Klieg demands to speak to the leader of the Cybermen, who comes out of the hatch with a partially-converted Toberman. Toberman hasn’t been shoved into a tinfoil spacesuit, but the Cybermen have removed his emotions.

Threatening to leave the Cybermen down in their tomb forever, Klieg demands the power to conquer the world. Because what is the point of doing something monumentally stupid and dangerous if your end goal ISN’T to have dominion over the Earth? It’s Villain 101.

The Cyber-controller accepts, and Klieg orders it and the explorers into the revitalising room, keeping Victoria as a hostage.

Yes, he sends a tired Cyberman into the room used to pep up tired Cybermen.

However, this knackered Cyberman is having difficulty climbing into the revitalising machine. Apparently five hundred years of sleep isn’t enough. Fortunately, it’s the Doctor’s turn to leave his common sense at the door, as he gets everyone to help the Cyber leader get into the machine…and then turns it on.

Luckily, Jamie tied a rope around the door so that the Cyberman can’t open it. Gee, it’s a good thing that Cybermen aren’t really strong or that would be woefully inadequate!

Oh. They are, in fact, really strong. Strong enough to punch through the door itself.

Feeling refreshed, the Cyber-controller gives telepathic orders to Toberman, who immediately turns on Klieg. He knocks him out in a single hit as the rest of the group breaks out of the revitalising room.

The Cyber-controller orders Kaftan to open the tomb. She tries to refuse, and shoots at it with her conventional gun. However, bullets don’t work on Cybermen. Cyberweapons work fantastically on fleshy humans, though, and the Cyber-controller strikes her down in an instant.

The Doctor takes the opportunity to appeal to whatever sense of humanity Toberman still has within him. Despite the Cybermen’s tampering, he seems to have genuinely cared for Kaftan, and he’s ultimately still loyal to her. His loyalty runs deeper than his programming, and he turns on the Cyber-controller, easily overpowering and disabling it.

However, there are more Cybermen to contend with. Jamie shoots a couple down as they attempt to emerge from the hatch, but the Doctor has to make sure they all go back to sleep. This time, they won’t be waking up. The Doctor recruits Toberman to help him out, though it does take a fair bit of slow, patient explanation before Toberman understands why the Doctor is asking him to help destroy the Cybermen. It's weird and feels quite patronising. Once he gets the picture, though, he’s quite enthusiastic, if somewhat lacking in subtlety.

The Doctor tries to freeze the Cybermen, but at that moment Klieg shows up, having regained consciousness and followed the pair down to the tomb.

It’s become clear that Klieg and logic are no longer on the best of terms, as the Doctor outlines his vision of a world under Klieg’s control, with everyone thinking exactly like him, and Klieg falls in love with the idea of controlling everyone’s thoughts.

Also, rather than killing the Doctor now and getting it over with, he decides to leave him to the mercy of the Cybermen…who are none-too-fond of the idea of having to take orders from Klieg. One of them kills him, and Toberman pounces on it, wrestling with the metal menace while the Doctor (and Jamie who has just popped up because he needs to have SOMETHING useful to do) put the Cybermen back in the icebox. Toberman wins the fight, ripping out the 'heart’ of the Cyberman, which dies in about as grisly an manner as a mechanical being can, clutching desperately at its chest as foam gushes between its fingers.

With the Cybermen back on ice, the Doctor tampers with the controls at the entryway, planning to electrify the hatch and the control panel in addition to the main doors. However, the Cyber-controller isn’t quite dead yet!

With the Cyber-controller in hot (well…snail-paced) pursuit, the group bolt for the exit, but they can’t shut the doors without electrocuting themselves. Smart move, Doctor. However, Toberman, either not realising the doors are deadly, having no sense of self-preservation, or extraordinarily bravely (pick whichever you prefer), steps in, pushing the huge heavy doors shut. With the doors sealed, they electrify, killing both poor Toberman and the Cyber-controller.

At least everyone else is safe, and the Cyber-threat is dealt with for good.

…Or is it?

Final Thoughts

The Tomb Of The Cybermen is a very exciting serial, great for fans of exploration. It feels sort of like a more futuristic version of that sort of adventure serial about treasure hunters exploring tombs. Long-forgotten ruins, booby traps, ancient horrors best left undisturbed… sounds a bit familiar, doesn’t it? Events move at a good pace, never plodding but not rushing either, with some moments to catch a breath. The part where Victoria and the Doctor had a bit of a heart-to-heart was particularly good. I was really looking forward to seeing the next part each week, and didn’t find any of them to be a slog—just how a serial should be!

However, sometimes characters had to do really, really stupid things to get the plot moving forward. I understand that this sort of adventure story is structured as a cautionary tale on the perils of unchecked curiosity and arrogance, but sometimes the decisions were just extraordinarily dim, like locking the baddies in the room with the super-weapon, or helping the evil robot-human hybrid recharge its batteries.

The characterisation is stronger than usual for Doctor Who stories with large ensemble casts, who usually end up all blending together in my head. That’s not to say that these characters are deep, but at least I can point at Viner and say ‘he’s nervous’, or point at Klieg and say ‘he’s self-obsessed and not nearly as smart as he thinks he is’.

That said, Klieg and Kaftan are a bit too obviously evil for my liking, and have all the subtlety of a tonne of bricks splatting a panto villain.

And then there’s Toberman: the sole black member of the cast, portrayed as subordinate to the others, inhumanly strong, and having almost no thoughts or feelings of his own. Here, we have a repeat of my issues with Kemel, but this time it’s worse. At least Kemel got some characterisation. Toberman is just some unthinking muscle. He’s a plot device used to open doors and lift heavy objects, not a person. The only conversation directed him that isn't an order is a patronising pep talk from the Doctor about how he shouldn’t let himself be enslaved. And then he dies. Heroically, admittedly (if we are generous with our interpretation of events) but it seems we’ve gone from having virtually no ethnic minorities in Doctor Who to having the occasional racist stereotype who doesn’t live to the end of the serial.

A lot of the same comments I had about Kemel also apply here, so I’m hoping that I’m wrong about the pattern I’m starting to see, because I don't like it.

All that said, I did genuinely enjoy The Tomb Of The Cybermen, for the most part. In fact, it has some of my favourite moments in all of Doctor Who so far. If it didn't have the lousy racial politics and unexpected sexism I might go so far as to call it my favourite serial of the entire programme.

4 out of 5 stars for 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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Fashion, music, politics, sports

[September 20th, 1967] Twiggy: Face of the 60s

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by Gwyn Conaway

Back in March of this year, a peculiar teenage girl by the name of Lesley Hornby stepped off the tarmac at John F. Kennedy International Airport in New York City and, predictably, changed the world.


Miss Hornby was “discovered” by Deirdre McSharry by chance and coined her “The Face of ‘66.” She’s since then been on the cover of US Vogue three times in a single year.

At seventeen years old, Twiggy, as she’s more commonly known, has captured the lenses of every camera and magazine in the world. And while many critics claim that she’s taken fashion by storm, I have been awaiting her arrival for some time.

Despite my foresight, I’m no soothsayer! No, I’m simply a fashion historian watching the pendulum of humanity swing ever closer to its amplitude of enlightenment. It’s a dance as old as civilization, and I’ll happily reveal the steps.


Twiggy for Vogue, Summer 1967.

Twiggy is known mainly for her adolescent figure: a straight waist, lanky limbs, big lash-lined eyes, and diminutive chest. These youthful traits are the ideals of revolutionary beauty, and crop up during the political changing of the tides in which the next generation wants to wash away the structures of the past. When these sorts of proportions become mainstream, they signal upheaval that challenges tradition and demands social revolution.


What better indication do we have than the Long Hot Summer of 1967, in which we’ve already experienced over one hundred fifty race riots alone? Pictured here is tension leading to bloodiest challenge to the status quo so far, the 12th Street Riot in Detroit from July 23-28.

Eras such as ours set aside the domestic feminine figure with child-bearing hips and gentle curves in favor of androgyny for the express purpose of rebelling against standards young people no longer have faith in. Anti-beauty, as it were, pushes society to view women as more than the dichotomy of the Gibson Girl they’re often prescribed (combining two female archetypes: the voluptuous woman and the fragile lady rolled into one woman).


Thérésa Tallien was known for cutting her hair in celebration of Marie Antoinette's execution and foregoing undergarments and sleeves. She also wore cothurnus, or Greek sandals.


Louise Brooks is credited with introducing the sleek bob worn by so many Flappers in anti-prohibition America and also celebrated her sexual power in a modern world.

Twiggy joins the ranks of women such as Thérésa Tallien of the French Revolution and Louise Brooks of 1920s Hollywood fame. Not only do these revolutionary beauties reflect the daring spirit of their times, but also the search for truth. As miniskirts and monokinis find popularity, I’m reminded of the Neoclassical era, in which revolutionary women hung up their stockings and went bare-legged in thin muslin gowns to reflect the bareness of truth through nudity. And as drugs such as LSD gain influence in art, I have deja vu of the Dadaists, who sought to unravel reality after The War to End All Wars.

From my high vantage point, the arrival of Twiggy has been expected for quite some time. In fact, it would be more surprising if Miss Hornby hadn’t risen as the star of the 1960s. Now that she’s taken up the mantle of revolution, I suggest we all prepare for cultural turbulence. The voice of the generation has spoken.




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Magazine, Science Fiction/Fantasy

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

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by Gideon Marcus

Vicious Varangians

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

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

Something to cheer about

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


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

Home the Hard Way, by Richard McKenna

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

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

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

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

The Inner Circles, by Fritz Leiber

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

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


Speaking of Leiber…

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

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

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

The Power of Every Root, by Avram Davidson

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

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

Corona, by Samuel R. Delany

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

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

Three stars.

Music to My Ears, by Isaac Asimov

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

And I have both a math and a music degree!

Two stars.

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

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

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

Three stars.

Time, by L. Sprague de Camp

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

Three stars, I guess.

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

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

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

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

Praise be to Odin!

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

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


by Gahan Wilson

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

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

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




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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, 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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Book, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[September 10, 1967] Women's liberation! (September 1967 Galactoscope)

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I have lamented for some time that we've been at a nadir of female participation in our peculiar genre.  If this month's clutch of books be any indication, that trend is finally reversing, to the benefit (for the most part) of all of us science fiction readers!


by Victoria Silverwolf

Wordplay

Two new science fiction novels arrived this month with one-word titles that don't show up in my dictionary. No doubt that's meant to intrigue the potential reader, and create the sense of strangeness associated with much SF. Let's take a look at them and see if we can figure out what the titles mean.

Restoree, by Anne McCaffrey


Anonymous cover art.

Sara is a very ordinary young woman, maybe a little less content with her life than most. She considers herself unattractive, and is particularly sensitive about her large nose. She runs off from an unhappy home to take a job in New York City.

While walking through Central Park one night (not a wise thing for an unaccompanied woman to do, I'd think) she is abducted and taken aboard an alien spacecraft. The opening of the novel is a chaos of strange and disturbing sensations, so we don't really figure this out for a while, but it becomes clear later.

In a way that isn't explained until late in the book, she winds up in a
new body. For some time, she's in a dazed, zombie-like condition, only slowly coming to full awareness. The good news is that she's beautiful, with golden skin and a perfect nose. The bad news is that she's enslaved as a sort of nursemaid to a fellow in a mindless state.

Eventually, she figures out that the fellow has been drugged into catatonia by the bad guys. She helps him return to normal by reducing the amount of drugged food he consumes. The two escape from the hospital/prison and a tale of palace intrigue and space opera adventure begins.

The plot gets pretty complicated, and there are lots of characters with odd names, so I got lost at times. (The drugged man's name is Harlan, by the way; a reference to one of the author's fellow writers? Anyway, he's got the only name I've ever seen before, other than the heroine's.)

Suffice to say that Sara is on another planet, although the inhabitants are completely human. Harlan is the Regent for the planet's young Warlord. The bad guys drugged him, faking it as insanity, in order to control the government in his place. Add in aliens that Harlan's people have been fighting for millennia and rival factions for the throne. A further complication is that Sara has to hide the fact that she's a restoree (there's that word!) or she is likely to be killed as an abomination.

Besides all this science fiction stuff, there are a lot of romance novel aspects to the book. The beautiful, virginal heroine and the dark, mysterious hero fall in love, finally consummating their passion in sex scenes that are far from explicit. I also found a fair amount of subtle humor in the novel, as if the author has her tongue firmly in her cheek. What the evil aliens do to the people they capture stirs in a bit of gruesome horror as well.

The characters, for the most part, are either all good or all bad. The only ambiguous one is the brilliant physician who gave Sara her new body, in the forbidden and universally reviled procedure that made her a restoree. (If he hadn't, she would just be dead.) He does seem to be genuinely concerned with healing the afflicted, but he also works with the bad guys.

Kind of a silly book, really, but mildly entertaining if you turn your brain off. It's the author's first published novel, so let's just say that she shows promise.

Two stars.

Croyd, by Ian Wallace


More anonymous cover art.

The explanation for the title is simple enough; Croyd is the hero's name. He has no other, as far as I can tell.

Croyd is some kind of agent for the galactic government. He is also a Van Vogtian superhuman, with a brain that allows him to do things like go back and forth in time. While waiting to hear the details of his latest assignment, he saves a lady in distress from an abusive man.

There's a lot more to the woman than he realizes. It seems that an alien from another galaxy, bent on conquering the inhabitants of the Milky Way, has her mind inside the woman's body. Next thing you know, her mind is inside Croyd's body, and his is inside the woman's.

The woman's mind is still inside her body as well, so she and Croyd share it as they track down the alien who stole Croyd's body. Meanwhile, a gang of beatnik terrorists are planning to send the asteroid Ceres crashing into Nereid, one of Neptune's moons, where there's a government base. The alien in Croyd's body has to deal with this, to convince people that she's really Croyd.

Things get really complicated. There are alien agents among the government staff, with the ability to hypnotize people into turning against humanity. There's another group of aliens that wants to destroy the entire Milky Way rather than conquer it. Both Croyd in the woman's body and the alien in Croyd's body have to fight their nefarious scheme. There's even a second Croyd mind that shows up inside his purloined body. This one is a stupid brute, intent only on animal pleasures.

With all this going on, and characters rushing back and forth in space and time, this is definitely a wild roller coaster ride. I didn't believe any of it for a second. If McCaffrey's book often has the feeling of a stereotypical woman's romance novel, with science fiction trappings, Wallace's frequently seems like a stereotypical men's adventure novel, with the same decorations.

Two stars.


by Mx. Kris Vyas-Myall

With the New Wave such a strong force in British science fiction at the moment there is a real blurring of the boundaries of what is speculative and what is literary experimentation.

6 Covers: Squares of the City, Greybeard, The Assassination Weapon, The Magus, The Third Policeman, The Master and Margarita
Science fiction or experimental literature? Which is which?

If they had not come of Science fiction publishers and\or from science fiction authors would we consider Squares of the City, Greybeard or Ballard’s cut-up tales to be speculative? By the same token if Fowles’ Magus, O’Brien’s Third Policeman or Bulgakov's The Master and Margarita had been published as Ballantine Paperbacks from Cordwainer Smith or Daniel Keyes, would they be on the Hugo Ballot?

This leads into probably one of the most interesting edge cases of recent years, where the author says she had no intention of writing science fiction but it is hard for the SF community to see it as anything else:

Ice, by Anna Kavan

Cover of Ice by Anna Kavan

In contrast to some recent writers, Kavan’s move into the speculative realm is not as much of a leap. She has been writing since the twenties and her works have often made use of experimental and surrealist techniques, commonly looking at madness and incarceration.

As anyone who has read the stranger side of science fiction, such as Philip K. Dick, these kind of ideas are often played with in the speculative space. However, in this work it definitely feels like she walks over the 49th parallel into SFnal Canada.

In Ice we follow our unnamed protagonist (no one has names here) through a world where society is collapsing under the weight of a frozen disaster. Our narrator seems to be in pursuit of a young woman near the start but the full motivations remain obscure as, even though written in the first person, it is narrated in a very matter of fact style.

In many ways this reminded me of Ballard’s elemental apocalypses, where The Drowning World flooded the world and The Drought boiled it, this one has frozen it. And all involve the characters moving through the disaster riven Earth in a dream-like state, as we get to see insights into their state of mind.

However, where Ballard does more direct exploration of his inner-space, Kavan keeps everything very cold and clinical, written in sharp fragments such as this description of the aftermath of a rape:

Later in the day she did not move, gave no indication of life, lying exposed on the ruined bed as on a slab in a mortuary. Sheets and blankets spilled on to the floor, trailed over the edge of the dais. Her head hung over the edge of the bed in a slightly unnatural position, the neck slightly twisted in a way that suggested violence, the bright hair twisted into a sort of rope by his hands.

There is no mention of our narrator’s feelings on this, it is treated in a disassociated manner, as if he is outside the events being described. This in itself gives us insight, but predominantly by the absence of explanation than by the paucity of it.

Yet, it remains dreamlike in another way, for it follows through in a manner that feels coincidental and directionless. They move between scenes in a way that often led me to look back if I had missed anything. In addition there are regular hallucinations throughout, meaning that we have extra questions as to the reality of what we are seeing.

But I believe this is the point: we are meant to feel isolated and abstracted, just as the protagonist does. To see what we as the reader are appalled and terrified by this world, yet we see someone completely numb to it all as our guide.

I could take you through various sections but really it is one of those books you need to experience, to delve into the atmosphere and feelings (or rather lack thereof) in order to truly understand.

A very high four stars.


by Gideon Marcus

Bringing up the Rear

Ace Books, regular as clockwork, releases a monthly double dose of adventure in the form of the luridly composed Ace Doubles.  In the past, these bundled short novels had a reputation for being rather shallow and adventure-focused, while also being subject to the mercurial editorial whims required to ensure the stories fit in the prescribed lengths.  Over the last few years, however, these volumes have become some of my favorite sources of entertainment, and they've launched the careers of many a new and promising author.  This time around, we've got a veteran paired with a newcomer:

The Winds of Gath, by E.C. Tubb

Earl Dumarest awakens from cold sleep several days prior to his destination.  He is one of the fortunate ones: 15% of the interstellar travelers who take Low Passage on a starship never revive.  But Dumarest's luck ends there–instead of being dropped off at Broome, he must debark on the hell planet of Gath.  On that tidally locked world, the Low Passage travelers are trapped without sufficient funds to leave, exploited by the Resident Factor of Gath despite the efforts of the local enclave of the Church of Universal Brotherhood.

What fuels the economy of this blighted planet?  It is the winds that blow from the baked day side to the frozen night side.  As they whistle along twilight mountain ranges, they set up resonances in the human mind, facilitating all manner of hallucinations: some pleasant, some insanity-inducing.

This natural phenomenon is the least of Dumarest's troubles as he has been plopped down into a budding conflict between the Matriarchy of Kund, the cruel Prince of Emmered, and other miscellaneous galactic forces. Can he thread the needle before the looming tempest envelops them all?

Truth be told, I was not expecting much from E.C. Tubb, a writer who almost invariably merits three stars.  Even more so as the story reminded me strongly of Dune, with its sweeping setting, frequently shifting viewpoint, and its almost mythological character.  The problem, of course, is that Dune was also a three-star tale for me.

So I was quite surprised that this tale grabbed me by the throat and did not let go until I finished, quite soon after I started.  I think the main reason Tubb succeeds where Herbert does not is that Tubb can write!  There are few wasted words, and his prose is sensual and visceral (perhaps he overuses "blood-colored" a touch; crimson would do occasionally).  If Dumarest is a bit too superhuman, he is at least consistent in his abilities, and the limitations thereof.  And such a vividly drawn world–it is clear that Dumarest will have more adventures in the future.

Four stars

Crisis on Cheiron

Carl Race is a Federation junior ecologist brought into investigate an agricultural blight on Cheiron.  The garden-like world is home to a race of primitive but industrious centauroids working with the private enterprise Consolidated Enterprises (humorously abbreviated to "Con En").  There is concern that Con En caused the global catastrophe, which threatens the planet's legume and honey industries, potentially destroying the entire ecosystem.  Should Con En lose its contract to trade with the Cheironi, its rival, Trans-Galactic, will swoop in.

Very quickly, Carl, with the assistance of a human teacher, Marcy, and a precocious Cheironi teen, Nubi, determine not only that the blight is artificially caused, but that there is a nefarious conspiracy involved.  Much rushing around, near-miss assassinations, chase scenes, scientific explanations, and spelunking ensue.  Don't worry–it's got a happy ending.

Author Juanita Coulson is probably better known to the world as half of the editing team of Yandro, a prestigious fanzine that has garnered nearly a dozen Hugo nominations and one win.  This is her first foray into novel writing, and she's not nearly as polished as Tubb.  The first 20 pages are quite rough sledding, and probably could have been pared down to perhaps a page.  In fact, the whole first third is quite padded, and I have to wonder if this was an editorial decree to fill space (this particular Ace Double has very compressed pica, resulting in more words per page).  But I stuck with it, and ultimately I found the book to be decently enjoyable.  It feels pitched at a much younger audience, what was once called "juvenile" and is now coming to be termed as "young adult".  You will probably guess the phenomenon that is the culprit before it is described, but that's fine.  One should be able to solve a mystery from the clues provided.

I appreciate that Marcy is vital to the plot and Carl clearly finds her attractive, but no romance develops between the two leads.  The aborigines are depicted as equals to humans (with good and bad examples of the species), which I would expect as Coulson has been a strident civil rights booster since her college days in the early 1950s.

So, three stars, and congratulations Juanita!



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Science Fiction/Fantasy

[September 8, 1967] New York, New York!  (the 25th World Science Fiction convention)

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by Gideon Marcus

It's a wonderful town

That truly was the Week That Was.  Once again, the annual convergence of the world's fen was tremendous fun, made all the sweeter for the fact that the Journey clan was there in force.


Me, Lorelei, Fiona Moore, Alison Scott, and Erica Frank


Janice L. Newman and Marie Vibbert

Held at the New York Statler Hilton, NyCon 3 may have been the biggest World Science Fiction convention yet, with more than 1000 people attending.

Our guest of honor this year was Lester del Rey, who recently came back to the fore of science fiction with a host of new stories.

The lines for registration were long, but that also gave us the chance to see our friends who attended…including the lovely Tom Purdom (whose I Want the Stars impressed us so a few years back).


From Fanac


From Fanac


A Gemini astronaut?  No!  A Hugonaut!

The Exhibit Hall was full of goodies, including back issues of anything I missed.  Ever wonder how we maintain our encyclopedic knowledge of things SFnal?  It's thanks to dealers like these who offer classic fiction as wares.


From Fanac

From Fanac

Beautiful works were on display at the art show (and you'll note that Star Trek already features prominently:


From Fanac

Manhattan women are all dressed in satin, so the fellows say

The Masquerade was a gas, as always.  This one included a fashion show put on by Carol Pohl themed "Galaxy of Costumes", imagining clothes of the future.  It ties in to a short piece in this month's Galaxy (edited by Fred Pohl).


From Calisphere and Fanac–Lin Carter and Carol Pohl


From Fanac–Betsy Wollheim


From Fanac—Trek costumes galore

The Bronx is up and the Battery's down

The centerpiece of the event was, of course, the fanquet.  Some 850 folks gathered in the dining hall (a couple hundred relegated to the cheap seats in the balconies) to hear the results of the Hugo votes.  Much to Isaac Asimov's chagrin, Harlan Ellison was invited to do the EmCee-ing for the occasion, something he did with great humor, but not a little longwindedness.

Of course, Dr. A was busy much of the convention trying (and failing) to play peacemaker between Harlan and Judith Merril.  Apparently, Harlan had inserted a caricature of Judy in an episode of The Man from U.N.C.L.E. he wrote, and she is suing him for defamation of character or something like that.  She actually served Harlan a summons at the con!


From Calisphere and Fanac

Other folks who spoke at the fanquet were Bob Tucker (creator of Hoy Ping Pong, after whom the new fan awards were almost named) and, of course, Lester.  Poor Lester was relegated to the end of a very long program, and thus had to rush through his speech.


From Fanac


From Fanac

And now, we turn to what you're most eagerly awaiting–the results!  Buckle in; there's a lot to report.

Best Novel

The Moon is a Harsh Mistress by Robert A. Heinlein [If Dec 1965,Jan,Feb,Mar,Apr 1966; Putnam, 1966]

Nominees

Babel-17 by Samuel R. Delany [Ace, 1966]
Too Many Magicians by Randall Garrett [Analog Aug,Sep,Oct,Nov 1966]
Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes [Harcourt, Brace & World, 1966]
The Witches of Karres by James H. Schmitz [Chilton, 1966]
Day of the Minotaur by Thomas Burnett Swann [Ace, 1966]

We were sad last year when it appeared Moon would miss its chance on a technicality.  It's only a shame that this is the year it won given the strength of the Delany.  Algernon was a Galactic Star winner and Magicians a nominee, so their appearance on the ballot is not a surprise.

On the other hand, The Witches of Karres is an expansion of a 1949 Astounding story, which, of the Journey staff, only David read (it did not impress him).  Day of the Minotaur was a fine book, but it came out in '64-'65 as The Blue Monkeys, so it really didn't belong on this year's ballot.

Best Novelette

Winner: “The Last Castle” by Jack Vance [Galaxy Apr 1966]

Nominees

“Call Him Lord” by Gordon R. Dickson [Analog May 1966]
“Apology to Inky” by Robert M. Green, Jr. [F&SF Jan 1966]
“The Alchemist” by Charles L. Harness [Analog May 1966]
“An Ornament to His Profession” by Charles L. Harness [Analog Feb 1966]
“The Eskimo Invasion” by Hayden Howard [Galaxy Jun 1966]
“The Manor of Roses” by Thomas Burnett Swann [F&SF Nov 1966]
“For a Breath I Tarry” by Roger Zelazny [Fantastic Sep 1966]
“This Moment of the Storm” by Roger Zelazny [F&SF Jun 1966]

At last, the Hugos are taking a page from our book and subdividing the shorter length prose by length.  We're also pleased to see how many nominees they accepted.  According to Ted White, the NyCon Committee included all the stories above an obvious cut-off threshhold (they got nearly 300 nominating ballots this year, as opposed to the ridiculous ~60 of last year).  And so, a broader cross-section of stories are being recognized. 

On the other hand, one wonders if the voters simply threw darts at their magazine collection to determine the contestants.  The UK magazines are not represented at all.  That the Vance won is not upsetting.  It's an excellent story, and I consider it better than the Swann (which is still quite good).  Zelazny is here twice because he makes a specialty of writing stories that will be nominated for Hugos.  Breath was better than Storm, but that they're both here isn't a problem.  Call Him Lord was generally liked but not loved among the Journey staff.  Ditto, Ornament (though I quite enjoyed that one).

But then you've got Hayden Howard's Esk novella (feh!), Apology to Inky (phew!), and the execrable The Alchemist (by Harness, who did Ornament).  Thus, a full third of the nominees in this category are kaka.  Not even tolerable, but just lousy.  And even though we had a full 21 Star winner and nominees, only 4 of the Hugo nominees overlapped.  This is what happens when the general audience doesn't read the British mags or the SF anthologies…

Short Fiction

Winner: “Neutron Star” by Larry Niven [If Oct 1966]

Nominees

“Man in His Time” by Brian W. Aldiss [Who Can Replace a Man?, 1966]
“Delusion for a Dragon Slayer" by Harlan Ellison [Knight Sep 1966]
“Rat Race” by Raymond F. Jones [Analog Apr 1966]
“The Secret Place” by Richard McKenna [Orbit #1, 1966]
“Mr. Jester” by Fred Saberhagen [If Jan 1966]
“Light of Other Days” by Bob Shaw [Analog Aug 1966]
“Comes Now the Power” by Roger Zelazny [Magazine of Horror #14 Winter 1966/1967]

I am going to go out on a limb and say none of these stories should have been on the ballot, each for different reasons.  Granted, Light was pretty good (the sequel is better), and my fellow travelers liked it quite a lot.  On the other hand, the Analog readership universally rated the story the worst of that issue.  If they didn't vote for it, who did?

And I didn't read the Zelazny (none of us did) so I can't comment on that one. 

But the Saberhagen is one of the weakest of the Berserker sentient space ship stories, and the Niven is definitely the least of his Bey Schaeffer era stories (why didn't readers choose the superior At the Core?).  The Ellison is routine, as is the Jones.  I suspect McKenna's story is only there as sort of an eulogiac honor since he died in '64 and this was one of his last pieces (unfinished, at that).

That leaves the Aldiss, which to its credit, did get nominated for the Galactic Star…in 1965.  Just because it got collected into a book last year shouldn't make it eligible again.

Phooie.

Best Dramatic Presentation

Winner: Star Trek – “The Menagerie” (1966) [Desilu] Directed by Marc Daniels; Written by Gene Roddenberry

Nominees

Fantastic Voyage (1966) [20th Century Fox] Directed by Richard Fleischer; Screenplay by Harry Kleiner; Adaptation by David Duncan; Story by Jerome Bixby & Otto Klement

Star Trek – “The Naked Time” (1966) [Desilu] Directed by Marc Daniels; Written by John D. F. Black

Fahrenheit 451 (1966) [Anglo Enterprises/Vineyard] Directed by François Truffaut; Screenplay by Jean-Louis Richard and François Truffaut and Helen Scott; based on the novel by Ray Bradbury

Star Trek – “The Corbomite Maneuver” (1966) [Desilu] Directed by Joseph Sargent; Written by Jerry Sohl

The fanzines have been full of discussion regarding this year's Dramatic Presentation Hugo.  Several years ago, the awards were changed so that only episodes could win rather than shows.  This was to keep Twilight Zone from juggernauting over everything several years running.

The result was a three-way split that threatened to give the Hugo to something that wasn't Star Trek.  While the fan community is somewhat split on the new science fiction show (for instance, Ted White and Alexei Panshin don't care for it), for the most part, fen dig it.  Thus was created a campaign to vote for the one episode that had the creator's name attached to it.  As it turns out, Menagerie was also a pretty good episode.  It's the one I picked even without prompting from Juanita Coulson.

So hooray for our side.  But once again, it's a pity that UK and German shows don't get on the ballot.

Best Professional Magazine

Winner: IF Science Fiction ed. Fred Pohl

Nominees

Analog Science Fiction and Fact ed. by John W. Campbell, Jr.
Galaxy ed. by Fred Pohl
New Worlds ed. by Michael Moorcock

Apparently American readers do read the UK mags.  I wonder how New Worlds ended up here, but none of the stories from it (or its sister/Siamese Twin Science Fantasy) did.  Folks continue to be more impressed with IF than we are, but perhaps they are rewarding the magazine for its standouts.  It does have them.

If you're wondering why The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction isn't on here, it's because one of NyCon's co-chairs (Ted White) is an assistant editor there.  Head cheese Ed Ferman decided it would be a class act to withdraw its eligibility.  Ted says the magazine placed third in nominations.

Best Professional Artist

Winner: Jack Gaughan

Nominees

Frank Kelly Freas
Gray Morrow
John Schoenherr

This year, it was all SF mag artists without folks from the world of (solely) book covers.  I'm very surprised to see Gaughan take the nod as he is my least favorite of these four.  I also read in a 'zine a couple of years back that he's somewhat prickly in person [Ted White has since written to tell me he's actually quite nice).  But he does have a distinctive style, and perhaps he had enough devotees to put him over the top.  Also, Schoenherr hasn't had a dramatic sand worm to illustrate in many months…

Best Fanzine


From Fanac

Winner: Niekas ed. by Edmund R. Meskys and Felice Rolfe

Nominees

Australian Science Fiction Review ed. by John Bangsund
Lighthouse ed. by Terry Carr
Yandro ed. by Robert Coulson and Juanita Coulson
Habakkuk ed. by Bill Donaho
Trumpet ed. by Tom Reamy
Riverside Quarterly ed. by Leland Sapiro

A ha — this may explain the Gaughan win.  Niekas is a nice big genzine, and Jack did the cover for the last '66 issue.  The winner and four of the noms were also Galactic Star winner/nominees, so all is right with the universe.  Trumpet didn't get on our slate, but it is an attractive 'zine with semi-pro print quality.  Habakkuk is a worthy pick, too, something like Niekas and RQ.  ASFR is devoted to reviews, and they do a lof of them, some large, some small.

It is worth noting just how fundamental these magazines are to the genre, and why it's a good thing fan concerns were not relegated to the ghetto called "Pong".  Each of these 'zines, and the dozens more besides (not to mention Galactic Journey!) constitute the connective tissue for speculative fiction.  With insightful analysis, thriving letter columns, poetry, stories, and news, the 'zines often provide more entertaining fare than the pro mags (recognizing, of course, that the 'zines would have no reason to exist were it not for professional publications).

So huzzah for 'zines, hooray for these 'zines.  (And please vote Galactic Journey! for Best Fanzine next year–thanks to all those who nominated us this year!)

Best Fan Writer

While the Journey (once again) did not win the Best Fanzine Award, one of our illustrious writers did take home the first Best Fan Writer Award!  I am, of course, referring to Alexei Panshin.


From Calisphere

Winner: Alexei Panshin

Nominees

Norm Clarke
Bill Donaho
Harry Warner, Jr.
Paul J. Willis

Apropos of my last comments, I am delighted to see the fan categories expand to three.  Some may find this a bit self-indulgent, or that the proliferation of Hugo categories is a bit overwhelming.  I feel that, as our field grows, the awards must grow, too, allowing more to be recognized for the good work they're doing.

Panshin appears in lots of places, from RQ to Yandro–and, of course, the Journey!  Bill Donaho is best known for Habbakuk.  I know Warner, the "sage of Hagerstown" (where my mother-in-law lives) from his letters and FAPA contributions.  I know the Willis brothers live in Virginia, but I can't remember what they've worked on.  Norm Clarke is another FAPAer, and I think I've caught his contributions to other 'zines.

I am surprised not to see Juanita Coulson or Steve Ashe or Ted White on this list, but Steve is new to helm of Science Fiction Times, Ted White is a filthy pro, and Juanita just became one, too, so maybe that's why.  Also, Coulson took home half a Hugo last year for running Yandro. 

Best Fan Artist


From Calisphere


From The Hugo Awards

Winner: Jack Gaughan

Nominees

George Barr
Jeff Jones
Steve Stiles
Arthur “ATom” Thomson

Alright, perhaps it wasn't Niekas that got Gaughan the pro Hugo nod because he also got the fannish art Hugo!  I feel bad for not being immediately conversant with the other names, even as they faintly ring bells.  I will pay closer attention to credits henceforth.

That said, I shall continue to plump for The Young Traveler, as I feel she is the most worthy fan artist!

In the light of day, our only day

After the big show, there was still fun to be had, particularly in the bars and room parties.  For some, these are the only part of the convention that matter!  On the other hand Janice and I are on the other side of 39 (not far, mind you… just a matter of days), so we generally went to sleep early.  But not always!


From Fanac

Finally, it was back to Idlewild…er…Kennedy aiport for a 707 jaunt back home.  Thank goodness for those new pneumatic headphones!  They helped take my mind off the reek (or "pong", as the UK folks say) of the ever present cigarette smoke we were trapped inside with.

Hope you enjoyed this report!  And stay tuned for next year's: San Francisco won the bid for the 1968 Worldcon, which means it'll be a local trip!

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55 years ago: Science Fact and Fiction