Magazine/Anthology, Science Fiction/Fantasy, Serial

[July 10, 1968] Back in the Saddle Again (August 1968 Galaxy)

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by Gideon Marcus

Not F-UN

Bjo Trimble, a superfan from the wayback, put together a fan shindig in Los Angeles last weekend.  Called F-UN Con, it is not only an SF convention, but it's also the first Star Trek convention, with a whole day of programming dedicated to the show.

This article is not about F-UN Con.

Why did we fly to the Bay Area this past weekend rather than trundling up to L.A., which is closer?  Well, we know the gang in 'Frisco, and they've been putting together informal conclaves every year.  We couldn't very well shuck tradition just for a new event, even if it's nominally in our back yard.

It was a good decision.  For one thing, they had a bit of Star Trek up there–this lovely reproduction of the captain's chair.

And now that The Prisoner is showing in the States, we're getting some lovely costumage, too!

Speaking of traditions that are worth upholding, the latest issue of Galaxy feels like a return to the quality of yore.  Usually, magazines pack their summer issues with their least impressive offerings, but such was not the case this time around.  Take a trip with me!


by Vaughn Bodé

Among the Bad Baboons, by Mack Reynolds


by Vaughn Bodé

Mack Reynolds continues his stories of life under "People's Capitalism" in the '80s, this time focusing on the last of the Bohemians, living in the decaying ruins of Greenwich Village.  With most of the country now on the dole, and white flight having been taken to its logical extreme, the cities are now all but abandoned, save for the "babboons"–lawless squatters–and the "hunters", who go downtown to shoot for thrills.

This story is more a vehicle for philosophical discussion than plot, and I found the end a bit distasteful.  That said, there are some fascinating suppositions in this tale.  One is that the current regime, in which prospective authors send their manuscripts to editors, who then publish them through traditional channels, will be supplanted by a revolutionary new process.  In the '80s, any author can take their novel (or story, or artwork) to a computer and have it stored for infinite reproduction.  These reproductions can then be read on a tv-phone (or in the case of art, facsimile duplicated).

This means that anyone can be a writer or an artist, and anyone can appreciate any work, any time.  And since everyone is on the dole anyway, why not be an artist or a writer?  Well, it does mean there's a lot more competition, and it's harder to become a phenomenon, but on the other hand, there's no barrier to entry.

Now, Reynolds assumes most people won't want to be artists, and they will be content to watch 24 hours of television a day while tranked up on cheap drugs.  Maybe he's right.  But as someone who already publishes nontraditionally (what is Galactic Journey and The Fantasy Amateur Press Association if not decentralized publishing), it's an exciting prospect.

Three stars, for the ideas, if anything.

Going Down Smooth, by Robert Silverberg


by Brock

Silverbob puts on his best Ellison impression with this tale of a therapist computer gone nuts listening to neurotic patients all day.

It's not bad, but it doesn't go anywhere.  I'd stick with the original.

Three stars.

A Specter is Haunting Texas (Part 2 of 3), by Fritz Leiber


by Jack Gaughan

I really had not been looking forward to this second installment of Leiber's tale.  Last time, as you recall, a spaceman-actor had landed in post-apocalyptic Texas (now ruler of all North America save the two Black republics in the southwest and southeast) to 1) perform in a short tour and 2) make good on a pitchblende claim in the Yukon.  The eight-foot tall, cadaverous, cybernetic thespian was recruited in a hit on the current President of Texas, whereupon he escaped to join causes with the revolutionary Mexican underclass.

It was all a bit silly, and while I appreciated what Leiber was doing, it didn't quite resonate with me.  This time, however, the needle fell into the groove.  As Chris Crockett La Cruz assumed the role of La Muerta, spurring the downtrodden Mexicans with promises of Vengeance and Death, Leiber's writing took on sublime proportions. The way he navigates the line between satire and seriousness so deftly, with such beautiful language and characterization, even as the characters are all caricatures, is an accomplishment for the ages.

Five stars for ths installment.

For Your Information: In Australia, the Rain …, by Willy Ley

The topic for this month's non-fiction piece is an interesting one: the artificial lakes, rivers, and resulting hydropower systems of Australia.  The presentation, however, leaves much to be desired.  I want to know the impact of these developments, both on settlement and on the environment, not be given pages of details of their precise geographical location.

Three stars.

The Time Trawlers, by Burt K. Filer


by Dan Adkins

A thousand years from now, humans will fish the future just as they now fish the seas.  As the solar system's population grows to number into the quadrillions, our race must pluck planets from 30 billion A.D. to plunder them for their resources.  An 18-year old fisherman with "the knack" for finding rich worlds, decides he doesn't want to do it anymore after seeing what the process does to already-inhabited planets.  He embarks on a one-man crusade against the practice, hatching a novel scheme to bring it to an end.

Never mind the silliness of the premise, or the fact that culture looks pretty much like 20th Century Earth in the tale.  It's a good story, well-told.  Sure, it feels a bit like early vintage Galaxy, but I like that era!

Four stars.

The Star Below, by Damon Knight


by Jack Gaughan

Thorinn, that diminutive traveler introduced in The World and Thorinn and later in The Garden of Ease, has returned.  This time, he has stumbled across an enormous warehouse filled with all manner of wondrous items.  From rich garments to strange engines to a talking box, all are marvels to the medieval-minded explorer.

Of course, it's at this point that our suspicions are confirmed that the myriad of worlds Thorinn passes through are all parts of a giant generation ship, this being the cargo hold.  What makes this segment so compelling is the description of these (to us) more-or-less familiar items to a man with no conception of technology.  The interactions between Thorinn and the little computer, particularly the way the box learns English, feel very natural.  I only wish Thorinn could have taken the box with him; it'd make an interesting companion.

Four stars.

HEMEAC, by E. G. Von Wald


by Joe Wehrle

Long ago, the robots took over the human power plants, and they also claimed a number of human hostages, who they began to educate in their own, logical images.  But the robots are breaking down, and the "renegade" humans are pounding at the gates.

What is HEMEAC, a teenaged robot-trained youth supposed to think when his teachers all start behaving erratically and the wild people defile the sacred halls of cybernia?

This is another tale with a classic (i.e. '50s) sense to it.  I particularly enjoyed the rendering of the robots, and HEMEAC's not-entirely-successful attempts to make rigid his thought processes.

Four stars.

Missed it by THAT much

Put it all together, and you get an issue that soars almost to four stars in quality–surely to contend for the best magazine of the month.  It's reads like this that keep me going, and also cause me to commend editor Pohl for keeping the proud publication on an even keel.  I know some disagree with his lambasting of the New Wave (and, indeed, Pohl is not averse to printing examples of it), but I think there is value to the continued production of novel, interesting, but also conventional SF prose.

I can't wait for next month!




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Fashion, music, politics, sports

[July 8, 1968] Let the Sunshine In (Hair: The American Tribal Love-Rock Musical)

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by Erica Frank

Hair is a rapturous celebration of free love, higher consciousness, sexual adaptability, racial integration, and anti-authoritarianism. It's a critique of political corruption, the tragedies of war, and religious oppression. Also there is nature-based spirituality.

Hair is a debauched glorification of sex, drugs, perversion, profanity, and rebellion. It mocks public service, patriotism, and the church. Also there are fart jokes.

Pick one. Or take two; they're cheap. Everyone's got an opinion and none of them are the "real truth" about this complex and colorful stage production.

Note that the more positive description involves more words. It's easier to say something is bad–depraved, degenerate, vile, corrupt, and so on–than to praise something that doesn't fit into the established storytelling patterns of the day. And this musical–and its album–steps well off the common path to get its points across.

It's transcendental meditation versus the implacable forces of orthodoxy, and the prize at stake is the souls of a swarm of young people hanging out in Central Park.

Hair album cover

The cover is so striking you might not realize that the hair is not an artistic cloud-of-lightning addition–that's Steve Curry, who plays Woof in the Broadway cast.

Talk About Your Plenty, Talk About Your Ills

The music is incredible. From the opening "Aquarius" with its drumbeats and slow crooning that suddenly shifts to a cascading list of delightful assumptions of what the new era will bring, to the lascivious "Sodomy," to the jubilant "I Got Life," to the poignant "Easy to be Hard," the songs compel emotions with a shifting array of perspectives. The titular "Hair" is rebellious without hostility; "Don't Put It Down" is irreverent without contempt; "Three-Five-Zero-Zero" is stark and accusatory; "Good Morning Starshine" is bright and hopeful.

It's easy to get caught up in the music and miss the message–after all, the message is multi-directional and possibly contradictory. There's no one single theme I can point to and say, "this, this is the true message of Hair."

A scene from a performance last year, before the play hit Broadway.

It's anti-war, anti-draft. Those parts are simple enough. But it doesn't talk about war's influence on communities or even society–it talks about deaths of strangers happening far away, and young men who are afraid or (not unreasonably) unwilling to march off to fight and possibly die. This is not like Mark Twain's War Prayer; it's not a reminder that one side "winning" means another side enduring sorrows and agonies. This is instead, a view of war from the perspective of confused teenagers: A lack of comprehension why anyone would want to fight when the world seems on the verge of so many social and spiritual breakthroughs, when there is so much beauty and bliss and they could be partying instead.

War Is Not Healthy for Children and Other Living Things

Sheila leads the tribe in chanting for peace and freedom. Claude denounces his parents for coupon-clipping and wanders the streets looking at daffodils. Hud quotes Muhammad Ali from the New York Times last year, saying, "The draft is white people sending black people to make war on yellow people to defend the land they stole from the red people."

Muhammad Ali and friends at the Houston courthouse after he refuses to be drafted

Muhammad Ali and friends leaving the Armed Forces induction center in Houston after Ali refused the draft – April 28, 1967. | AP

There is something very true about that. And yet it is also facile, a simplification of a complex political situation. It boils the draft down to "why is this wrong for me" without consideration of why one nation might take up arms on behalf of another.

I do not think the US should be in Viet Nam at all, and we certainly shouldn't be drafting soldiers to send there. But my reasons for these beliefs are not discussed in Hair, which is focused on its "haggle of hippies" and their interests, which do not include political theory.

The play is obviously, overtly anti-racist. It denounces segregation and discrimination, speaks out against the white historical practice of "colonizing" by killing anyone who get in their way. But it does so by having black characters proudly claim the slurs thrown against them as badges of honor, by showing native peoples as "noble savages," insightful and wise but speaking with broken English. It does not show that some black people are uncomfortable with gutter slang, and would like to be lawyers, doctors, or professors, rather than street dancers and "President of the United States of Love." It does not show that some people hold all Americans, not just "the Establishment," in contempt. It celebrates white girls dating black boys and vice versa; there's no equal jubilation over black people who want nothing to do with the communities of their historical oppressors.

It's not inaccurate so much as it's incomplete, showing only narrow aspects of multi-faceted problems, a view so limited it could reasonably be called deliberately misleading. It preaches that peace, love, and tolerance can overcome all conflicts, settle all disagreements, glossing over any disputes that have their roots in limited resources or incompatible cultural differences.

The Politics of Ecstasy

It would be easy to dismiss the play as a performance of Timothy Leary's admonition to "Turn on, tune in, drop out," and to say the "core" message is "ignore all the rules; just enjoy yourselves."

Poster fort Human Be-In in 1968

Poster for the Human Be-In at Golden Gate Park in 1967.

And while there's plenty to support that claim–lots of sex and drugs and, every time things get a bit too serious, Berger makes crude jokes–there's something deeper as well. The hippies wrestle with politics, survival, and their sense of self. They try to find their own identities in a community that's aggressively cooperative, in contrast with the large society that seeks to erase them.

For all the fun and festivities, there is a dark undertone that cannot be banished by any amount of song and merriment. As the story pushes toward the conclusion Claude fears so deeply, he is left with the awareness that, while his community will share his joys, they don't know how to lessen his worries or sorrows. We, the audience, are stuck also realizing that these cheerful, carousing people, who hug freely and seem devoid of jealousy or malice, are fighting an unwinnable battle against forces they do not wish to comprehend, because even naming the foe would lose the innocence that allows their tribe to exist at all.

Five stars. The highs are lively and charming, and the lows are breathtakingly bleak.




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Book, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[July 6, 1968] 2001: A Space Odyssey: more than just a film?

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With New Worlds magazine currently in creative limbo, I’ve found myself with time on my hands this month. The good news then is that I’ve been able to use this time in getting hold of an early copy of a book I’ve been wanting to read for ages from one of my favourite authors – 2001: A Space Odyssey.

You may have seen or at least heard of the movie – I still haven't seen it, sadly – but what about the book?

This one is special, as the cover clearly states. This is a novel, not a novelisation. Unlike a novelisation, which is usually based on the already-written script, the plot of this novel is a collaboration between the film director Stanley Kubrick and SF author Arthur C. Clarke.

Arthur C. Clarke (left) and Stanley Kubrick (right) on the set of the movie.

I know that films often change between novel and script, so I’ll be interested to see how similar they are. I’ve been told that an early version of the novel was put together as long ago as 1964, before any film was in the can, but at the moment I have no idea how similar the finished novel version is to the earlier version of the novel – or indeed to the film!

OK. To the book then. It begins with something that I can imagine as a voiceover in a movie, with rather attention-grabbing prose:

“Behind every man now alive stand thirty ghosts, for that is the ratio by which the dead outnumber the living. Since the dawn of time, roughly a hundred billion human beings have walked the planet Earth.”

Typical Clarke – one of those ‘wow’ facts that create a sense of wonder and give a context before getting to the meat of the plot. It sets the scene for the first part of the book, where we meet Moon-Watcher, a man-ape from the ‘Dawn of Time’, thousands of years ago.

Moon-Watcher’s life is pretty straightforward, then, even if life is hard – he hunts with his tribe, he eats, sleeps, and he mates, but occasionally will look up at the stars and the Moon and wonder about bigger things. Daily foraging has variable results, usually for the worst. We are never allowed to forget that Moon-Watcher can be hunted by other animals as well as hunt himself.

One night a mysterious slab of rock – the “New Rock” – appears in the group’s valley. Moon-Watcher touches it but as it is not food, it is pretty much dismissed by him and the rest of his group. However, at this point we get a glimpse of the fact that it is an alien machine. The following day the slab sends out a sound, which immobilises the group who are investigating the rock.
Moon-Watcher and his tribe, from the movie.

Although they do not realise it themselves, the monolith tests the man-apes and educates them. The effect on Moon-Watcher in particular is profound. He kills a leopard and then leads a fight against a rival group, the Others, using weapons.

The book then abruptly moves forward a few hundred thousand years and we find ourselves observing Dr. Heywood Floyd, Chairman of the National Council of Astronautics on a trip to the Moon. Journeying to the Moon seems as straightforward as me or you climbing onboard an airliner.

At this point we are in traditional Clarke-writing territory. The prose is in the usual calm, even detached manner of Clarke’s usual text. It is straightforward, direct and yet suffused with typical Clarke wry humour, such as his description on how to use a space toilet!

A startlingly good image of "Man on the Moon". (From the movie.)

Floyd is on the Moon is to see at first-hand an object known as TMA-1 discovered by the Americans in Tycho Crater. And here we seem to have a recycled idea. TMA-1 is an alien artifact that Floyd and his team are trying to determine the identity and origin of. Looking through my Clarke stories, I find that this is similar to the story Sentinel of Eternity, published in 1953, which describes a similar event on the Moon. It’s clearly an idea that appealed to both Kubrick and Clarke, as if an idea’s good, it’s worth using more than once, right?

Much is made of the point that there is clearly tension between the U.S. and the Soviet sections of the Moon base. Outposts are being denied outside communications with Earth, and political tensions mean that outside the scientific community missiles are being primed between the U.S., the Soviets, and the Chinese. (Oddly though there is no mention of British involvement. Perhaps Peter Sellers in Dr.Strangelove has put them off?)

Throughout all of this part, Clarke describes the practicalities of a Moon-living lifestyle, how people travel, work and eat as this “first generation of the Spaceborn”. This sort of thing is Clarke’s bread-and-butter, and he clearly relishes spending time describing and explaining what this future Lunar lifestyle is like.

Floyd’s arrival at the object leads to it reacting. A message leaves the object and travels out to the stars.

The story then leaps forward a few more years, to what is presumably the year 2001. The actions of the object have led to a galvanising of efforts from Earth. The result is the Discovery, a spaceship built and sent to Saturn after the detection of another magnetic anomaly, obviously named TMA-2.

The Discovery. From the movie.

Most of the crew are in suspended animation for the journey that will take months. We focus upon the two astronauts left awake at this point in the story, Frank Poole and Dave Bowman. There is also the HAL-9000 computer, running all of the day-to-day mechanics of the ship.

The 'eye' of the ever-so-polite but flawed HAL-9000, from the movie. Are Kubrick and Clarke trying to tell us something of British manners?

All seems well. Life on board the spaceship seems actually quite boring and repetitive.

The fly in the ointment is that the never-failed supercomputer begins to act badly. Initially unbeknownst to Bowman and Frank Poole, HAL switches off the life support of the crewmembers in suspended animation, thus killing them. Eventually faults become more noticeable to the two crew, and when Poole is sent outside the ship to fix a communications antenna that doesn’t need fixing, they become aware that their infallible computer may be making errors.

The consequences of this are huge. As an artificial intelligence, HAL realises that the two men know that something is wrong and takes steps to deal with it. In the end, as Discovery approaches TMA-2 at Japetus, Bowman has to take a leap of faith and leave the ship in order to take a closer look at the anomaly. This leads to a Bowman taking a journey through the Eye of Japetus and the ambiguous ending of the novel:

” Then he waited, marshaling his thoughts and brooding over his still untested powers. For though he was master of the world, he was not quite sure what to do next.


But he would think of something.“

The full wraparound dustjacket from New American Library. Artwork by Robert McColl.

First of all, on finishing the book, I can see that this is clearly a Clarke novel. His practical descriptions of the spaceships, transport and the Moon base feel like they are straight out of his own British Interplanetary Society handbook.

However, as much fun reading about these details is, the emphasis of the novel on the big picture is also typically Clarke-ean. It is about ‘the big picture’, to which the characters are but a minor part in a story covering millions of years.

I liked the fact that HAL the computer is clearly not just a machine but also a character in the novel, but it did make me think whether HAL as a misfunctioning computer is a plea by Clarke not to blindly accept technology? Or perhaps the point is being made that for all of HAL’s sophistication and intelligence, humans are better?

I understand that there has been a lot of discussion about what the end of the movie means, because this ending creates a lot of unanswered questions. It seems to have taken on an almost mystical status by film-watchers. To me, the main point of the novel 2001 seems to be about human evolution, albeit evolution uplifted by an alien (a link to Clarke’s novel Childhood’s End, perhaps?)

This sounds like perhaps this is a benevolent action. Clarke being Clarke, it seems (although that it is not clear) that it is for the greater good, some altruistic act, “passing it forward” as Robert Heinlein says.

2001 may be seen as a plea for tolerance. Clarke’s distaste for war and violence is palpable throughout, although perhaps seen as a necessary evil. What the books seems to be telling me is that for all of our Earthly political and ideological divisions, the fighting and war and even the social inequality, Clarke (and presumably Kubrick) have taken what is the best of Humanity and shown us in 2001 that as a collective race we can be bigger, better and something more than what in context can be seen as our petty squabbles. There are no nasty villains here – even HAL has a twisted logic for his actions. Actually, the characters – even HAL! – are unfailingly polite to each other, even when they disagree, for we are looking at higher morals and ideas here instead.

To get there though will not be easy. Do we as a race need someone, or something, to hold our hand in order to not make mistakes and improve for the greater good? I got the feeling at the end that this was not only right but necessary for human evolution, and that Clarke (and/or Kubrick!) feels that we are on a long journey of advancement through time – an odyssey of the highest order.

But the actual reasons for these events are unknown. We do not know why the aliens are doing this – is it altruistic, or is there some other reason for it? Are we naïve to think that this is possibly good? Are such actions to enslave us or free us?

Clarke deliberately leaves it open for us to ponder upon, like Moon-Watcher, wondering what comes next. There is no clear, happy ending, instead the dawning of a new age. There are as many questions raised as answered. And in that respect, I think that the ending is entirely appropriate.

It is perhaps this idea that makes 2001 Clarke’s best and most ambitious work to date. This is not the mid-life crisis opinions of a venerable SF writer set in a novel. (I’m looking at you, Stranger in a Strange Land.) 2001 is definitely not New Wave, nor fancy in style, it does not test or break the boundaries of literature, science fiction or fiction.

Those who dislike Clarke’s minimalist characterisation and his low-key, understated and sardonic style will not be swayed into praise by reading this book, although I loved it. The big (and frankly amazing!) images are left to the big screen via Kubrick, whilst Clarke gives us the nuts-and-bolts story, a big story told in such a matter-of-fact manner that the future seems possible and cautiously optimistic. I can accept that this view may be a little simplistic and naïve. I’m fairly sure that writers such as Samuel Delany will find little here that relates to them or their writing.

But for me 2001 (the novel, at least) is typical Clarke, in that in its own understated way it gives us a practical future against an epic timeline and at the same time has a distinctly humanitarian plot and a lot of unanswered questions.

Perhaps most of all, 2001 poses the ultimate science-fictional question, “What if?” This is clearly a long way away from the exploding planets and speeding spaceships of Space Opera that many of the general readership perceive SF to be. It is a sign of quality that it is a book I have had to think about – a lot – since I finished reading it. I haven't seen the film yet (although I know that some of my esteemed colleagues have!), but if the film is anything like this, I suspect I will enjoy it also.

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Movies

[July 4, 1968] Youth Is Wasted On The Young (Wild In The Streets)

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by Victoria Silverwolf

Independence Day

It's fitting that this article should appear on the Fourth of July, when we here in the USA celebrate the American Revolution, because I'm going to take a look at a film dealing with another kind of rebellion.

Thank You, AIP

Speaking of American, the American International Pictures company (how's that for a segue?) is responsible for releasing many of the low-budget, teen-oriented films that I rush out to see at my local drive-in. Whether they be Roger Corman's loose adaptations of stories by Edgar Allan Poe, silly beach movies, or motorcycle melodramas, good old AIP provides the kind of lowbrow entertainment I crave.

Naturally, my attention was riveted by a poster for a coming attraction that appeared on the wall of the theater's snack bar.


Suggested for mature audiences, and thus sure to draw in the young folks.

The title suggests another biker flick, but the poster (and the trailer) indicate something unusual. Intrigued, I decided to do a little research.

The teeny-tiny line on the poster stating written by Robert Thom (that's how they treat writers in Hollywood) led me to an issue of Esquire from about a year and a half ago.


Scantily clad young lady on the cover? Must be a science fiction magazine.

The movie is based on Thom's own short story The Day It All Happened, Baby, which appeared in the December 1966 issue.

Does this literary background lead to something more sophisticated than, say, AIP's classic Beach Blanket Bingo? Let's find out.

Meet Max Frost

Right away, we get our antihero's background, from before his birth to adolescence. The first thing we hear is his mother-to-be saying that she doesn't want a baby. Little Max Flatow is born anyway. We hear his mother shouting at him for fooling around with a little girl. We see the furniture in his house covered with plastic.

Teenage Max rebels by destroying the furniture and blowing up the family car with homemade dynamite. After this dramatic scene, we find out the name of the movie we've been watching.


Oh, it's not Gone With the Wind.

A few years later, twenty-four-year old Max has changed his name to Max Frost. He's a rock star now, and a multimillionaire surrounded by a retinue of young folks. The film implies that his popularity makes the Beatles look like small potatoes.


Christopher Jones as Max Frost, doing the thing that makes him an object of devotion to everyone under 30.

Max's mother happens to see her estranged son on TV and recognizes him at once. Instead of resenting her rebellious child, she's proud to be the parent of a smashing success.


Shelley Winters as the mother, entranced by her son's performance.

By the way, the other members of the band are an interesting bunch. One guy is a super-genius who takes care of Max's financial situation. Another has a hook for a hand. A third happens to be a gay man, and the film avoids stereotyping him.


There's also this fellow, an anthropologist called Stanley X. He's played by a young actor named Richard Pryor. I understand he does stand-up comedy as well. You may have seen him on an episode of The Wild, Wild West.

A liberal Democratic politician is running for Senator. His major issue is lowering the voting age to eighteen. Max agrees to appear at one of his rallies.


Hal Holbrook as the candidate. He won the Tony Award a couple of years ago for Best Actor in a Play, based on his performance in the one-man show Mark Twain Tonight!, and got the Emmy last year for repeating the role on TV.

Max surprises him by singing the groovy song Fourteen or Fight. Eighteen just ain't good enough!

(Like all the songs in this film, it's pretty darn catchy. Most of them relate directly to the plot, too.)

The candidate convinces Max to compromise by changing the bellicose Fourteen or Fight to Fifteen and Ready (which loses the alliteration, unfortunately.)


Front cover news!

Max also agrees to tell his millions of fans to avoid violence at the gigantic rallies held for the candidate. (Cue stock footage of real demonstrations full of young people.) Well, you know what the road to Hell is paved with.


A police officer fires his weapon during a riot.

Twelve people die in the ensuing violence. This leads to the best song in the movie, a hauntingly prophetic number called The Shape of Things to Come (with a nod to the novel of the same name by H. G. Wells.)


The cover of the first edition. Who knew Max Frost read classic science fiction?

After the tragedy, the candidate is elected by a landslide, and states rush to lower the voting age.

As luck (and the script) would have it, an elderly congressman dies of cancer. Max's girlfriend just happens to reside in the deceased representative's district, and is barely old enough to run for office. With the help of Max's overwhelming power over the newly enfranchised teens, she wins the vacant seat.


Diane Varsi as ex-child actress, nude model, and perpetually stoned member of Congress Sally LeRoy. She was nominated for an Oscar as Best Supporting Actress in 1957's Peyton Place.

Meanwhile, Max's mother transforms herself to resemble one of her son's followers.


Shelley Winters, hippie chick.

If you think this has been an improbable series of events, wait until you see what happens next.

In their continuing effort to put political power in the hands of the young, Max and his minions dose the members of Congress with LSD. In the chaos that follows, the age requirement for being President is lowered far enough to allow the unstoppable Max to run for the highest office in the nation.


Not a surprise, if you saw the poster.

Ironically enough, Max runs as a Republican. The Grand Old Party knows that young people are in control now, and they want a winner.


To nobody's surprise, Max wins every state except Hawaii. Note the image of Eisenhower behind him.

In one of her many chameleon-like transformations, Max's mother turns into the perfect President's mother.


Winters chews the scenery, in appropriate fashion, throughout most of the film. In this scene, however, she is wonderfully elegant and refined. It's really a fine performance.

The Senator who got elected with Max's help — remember him? — realizes that the rock star is mad with power, and is well on his way to becoming a dictator. He takes desperate measures.


A failed assassination attempt. Given recent events, this is a particularly disturbing scene.

It's at this point that the film really bares its teeth. Max declares that all Americans must retire at the age of thirty. When they reach thirty-five, they are forced to relocate into concentration camps, where they are kept docile with LSD.


Welcome to Paradise.

And for those reluctant to go? Max has stormtroopers ready to deal with that.


Note the peace sign instead of a swastika.

Guess who winds up in the camp with other older folks?


No one is safe.

The movie ends with a final scene that implies things will only get worse.


The end?

This is a biting satire, worthy of Sheckley at his most cynical.  At first, the viewer is tempted to sympathize with Max's acts of rebellion against a smothering mother and a society that sends young men to war but doesn't let them vote.  After all, he becomes rich and famous; isn't that the American dream?  Once he becomes President, however, he reveals himself to be a monster.  It's the old, old story.  Power corrupts.  The final scene provides a chilling bit of dark irony.

And hey, the music is far out.  Dig it, baby, before you get too old.

Four stars. 


And read the book!




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Magazine/Anthology, Science Fiction/Fantasy, Serial, Uncategorized

[July 2, 1968] What’s the Point? (August 1968 IF)

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by David Levinson

The appearance of doing something

One of the German Empire’s colonies before the First World War was German South West Africa, nestled between what are today South Africa, Angola, and Botswana. After the war, South Africa was granted a mandate over the colony by the League of Nations, similar to Britain’s control over Palestine or France’s over Lebanon and Syria. The League was dissolved in 1946 and replaced by the United Nations. In general, mandates were intended to be replaced by United Nations Trusteeship, and the General Assembly recommended that South West Africa be one of those, however South Africa refused. In 1949, South Africa declared that it was no longer subject to U.N. oversight where South West Africa was concerned, as they began to extend their apartheid system into the former colony. The following year, the International Court ruled that the U.N. should exercise supervision in the administration of the territory in place of the League, but South Africa rejected the Court’s opinion and has refused any involvement by the U.N.

A political cartoon from after the First World War.

Independence movements have swept through Africa over the last decade, and as I noted in January of last year, South West Africa is not immune. The predominant organization is the South West Africa People’s Organisation (SWAPO), and they have been lobbying the U.N. for several years. In 1966, the General Assembly terminated the mandate, giving the U.N. direct supervision of the territory. Last year, they established the United Nations Council for South West Africa to administer the territory until independence. South Africa remains recalcitrant. And so, on June 12th, the Assembly approved Resolution 2372, which, in accordance with the wishes of the people as represented by SWAPO, changed the name to Namibia. Well, that, some finger-wagging at South Africa and the nations supporting the illegal occupation of Namibia, and a request that the Security Council do something to get South Africa out. Don’t hold your breath.

Sam Nujoma (r.), President of SWAPO, shakes hands with Mostafa Rateb Abdel-Wahab, President of the Council for Namibia

Noir, nonsense, and the blatantly obvious

The stories in this month’s IF range from the patently obvious to those that leave the reader wondering why the author bothered. There are a couple of mildly entertaining stops along the way, and the high point may surprise you (even if it is more molehill than mountain).

Supposedly for Rogue Star, which doesn’t have a starship crash. Or this many characters. Art by Chaffee

Continue reading [July 2, 1968] What’s the Point? (August 1968 IF) →

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Magazine/Anthology, Science Fiction/Fantasy, Serial

[June 30, 1968] Hawk among the sparrows (July 1968 Analog)

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by Gideon Marcus

It's all in who you know

This month, the legendary Earl Warren, former governor of my state of California, and Chief Justice during one of the Supreme Court's most dramatic eras, announced that he was stepping down.  No sooner had he done this that President Johnson tapped Abe Fortas, Associate Justice since 1965, for the chief position among the top black-robes.

Fortas and LBJ go way back, all the way to 1948's Texas Democratic primary for Senator, when the young lawyer successfully won a legal challenge to LBJ's victory.  Since then, their stars have been interlinked.  Some of Fortas' fellow justices (and many newspapers) suggest that the Justice and the President's relationship is a bit too chummy.  Still, Fortas has been a good, liberal judge, and he'd probably be a fine Chief Justice.  Sometimes the good ol' boy network doesn't hurt anybody.

This segues nicely into my review of this month's issue of Analog.  Campbell, like many SF magazine editors, has a stable of reliable authors.  This means he always has work of a certain quality to fill his issues.  It also tends to crowd out new talent.  This results in a kind of conservatism, and often a bit of mediocrity.  This month, however, things work out a bit better than average.

Let's take a look!


by Kelly Freas

Familiar faces

Hawk Among the Sparrows, by Dean McLaughlin


by Kelly Freas

Howard Farman is the pilot of the Pika-don, a cross between the SR-71 hypersonic recon plane and the VTOL "Harrier" (which is about to enter British service).  On a mission to monitor a French weapons test, some scientificish gobbledegook happens, knocking Farman back in time to 1917–the midst of The Great War.  Sort of a reverse of the Twilight Zone episode, The Last Flight.

Once there, he finds himself ensconced with a French fighter squadron.  They are being trounced by a German Ace.  Eighty men died trying to break his spree, but no one can stop the bloody Red Baron of Germany.  Actually, it's not Richtofen; it's a fictional(?) #2, for whom there is no canine counterpart.

Farman is convinced that he can turn things around if he can just get his advanced fighter off the ground, something that will require building a whole industry of jet fuel production.  And even once he manages that, his missiles and radar won't track the wood-and-canvas Fokkers of the enemy.  What to do?

This is a very pleasant story, quite readable.  It does have a few holes big enough to ram a Nieuport through.  For one, it is most unrealistic that a man from 1975 with ten thousand flight hours would have no understanding of propeller planes.  You can't get Air Force wings today without first racking up dozens of hours in simple prop aircraft, and Farman must have first gotten commissioned before or around 1968.  Maybe if the jet came from some time in the 21st Century, it'd be more plausible (though I can't imagine ever starting fighter jocks on jets–that's a recipe for disaster).

The second hole is that Farman is oblivious for far too long of the effects of the jet wash, something with which he should be intimately familiar.

Finally, while I appreciate the nod to logistics, what with Farman needing to manufacture kerosene for his plane, it strains credulity that a super-advanced jet could reliably fly after several months in a field with no maintenance.

Four stars, but it is clear that McLaughlin (who has been AWOL from Analog since 1964) does not have a strong aviation background.

Null Zone, by Joe Poyer


by Kelly Freas

How does one stop the Ho Chi Minh trail, when it is really a vast network of mini-trails with far too many branches to interdict?  By building a highway of nuclear waste across it, of course!

Joe tells an engaging story, with the spark of color with which he always imbues his technical pieces.  But I can't imagine the logistics of transport/production make this a feasible possibility, never mind the humanitarian aspects.  Does editor Campbell ever mind the humanitarian aspects?

Three stars.

"To Sleep, Perchance to Dream … ", by W. C. Francis


by Kelly Freas

Alright, there's always an exception that proves the rule.  I've never heard of Francis before, so I guess Campbell did save a slot for a novice.

On the way to the stars, a spaceman in stasis finds himself lost in an increasingly convoluted nightmare.  Is this part of the process, or has something gone off the rails?

Reading this story was akin to hearing someone tell you about the dreams they had last night.  It's usually fascinating for the teller and dull for the audience.  The ending to the tale, however, pulls this piece into the low three star range.

Winkin, Blinkin and πR²?, by R. C. FitzPatrick


by Kelly Freas

I think this one takes place in the same setting as The Circuit Riders from six years back.  Cops are using emotion detectors to track down a gang of bank robbers.  For the most part, the criminals keep their cool, but every so often, their ring-leader blows his stack, and it pops up as a blip on a scope at police HQ.

Kind of a dull tale, this police procedural, with a lot of casual grousing and bickering in lieu of characterization.  Probably the worst piece in the mag.

Two stars.

Icarus and Einstein, by R. S. Richardson

Analog's resident astronomer offers up a science fact piece about the Earth-grazing (comparatively) asteroid of Icarus.  The bulk of the piece is on how the mile-long hunk of rock could be used to test General Relativity, in the same way Mercury has been.

It's a fascinating topic, though Richardson fails to explain why General Relativity affects orbits. This is a common failing of all works on the topic, mainly because the explanation is not particularly simple to relate.  Well, maybe it's not.  Let me try:

There is a Special Relativity variant of Newton's law of motion, in which a bit (expression) is added to the equation to factor for an object's proximity to the speed of light.  It can generally be omitted at the low speeds we're used to since the speed of light is on the bottom of that fraction, and thus, it comes out pretty close to zero most of the time.

Similarly, with General Relativity, in addition to the effect of gravity being equal to the proportion of the masses of two objects divided by the square of their distance, there's an additional expression that factors in the warping of space by the gravity of a mass, which gets higher the closer one gets to it.  As in the Special Relativity equation, the value of this expression is usually close to zero.  But when the object is as massive as the Sun, and the other object gets really close, it becomes significant.

There.  That wasn't so hard.

Anyway, the problem with the article isn't the content, but the presentation.  I understood it, but I also majored in astrophysics.  I suspect most people will scratch heads in confusion.  Which is a little weird; Richardson is usually better than that.

Three stars.

Satan's World (Part 3 of 4), by Poul Anderson


by Kelly Freas

If you recall the last installment of this serial, merchant captain David Falkayn and his raccoon-like associate, Chee Lan, had arrived at the mysterious world of Satan.  The planet had been in a deep freeze for eons, but now it is approaching its hot sun, and its cryosphere is evaporating, uncovering a bonanza of valuable minerals.  But 23 alien warships have suddenly also appeared, and a confrontation is inevitable.

When it occurs, Falkayn is surprised to find that Latimer, one of the five shareholders for Serendipity Inc. (the knowledge brokers that have become a linchpin of the galactic economy), is working for Gahood, a member of the minotaur-like race of aliens called the Shenn.  The Shenn are using Serendipity as a kind of fifth column, and they are the first real threat to the Galactic Commonwealth.

Some genuinely thrilling scenes ensue.  I particularly liked the evocative bit where Falkayn's ship, the Muddlin' Through, careens through the stormy atmosphere of Satan, 19 robotic destroyers in hot pursuit.  I kept thinking, "You can't find this kind of imagery anywhere but in books.  Movie technology just can't capture such magic the way the printed word can."

But just as I was about to give this segment a four on the Star-o-meter, the last five pages brought back the bawdy merchant Van Rijn and the collossal bore, Adzel, along with five pages of expositional writing.

Back to three it goes!  Conclusion next month.

Leveraging human capital

I don't say this too often, but thank goodness for Analog!  Clocking in at 3.1 stars, it and Fantasy and Science Fiction (3.3) are the only mags that ended above the 3 star line.

The other mags included IF (2.9), New Worlds (2.7), Galaxy (2.6), and Amazing (2.5).

You could fit all of the above-3 stuff in a single magazine (wouldn't that be nice?) And women accounted for just 2.6% of all the new material–that is to say, thanks to Carol Emshwiller and F&SF from keeping this month from being a stag shut-out.

Another reason to look beyond plowed pastures for talent–we might get more stories by women-folk in our mags!




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Science / Space Race

[June 28, 1968] Classified Communications (IDCSP Satellite Constellation)

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by Kaye Dee

An advantage of previously working for the Weapons Research Establishment in South Australia is that I am still able to get information (of the unclassified variety, of course) about defence space programmes from my former colleagues. This is particularly helpful when I’m writing about space projects that are not getting a large amount of press coverage here in Australia.


One such project is the Initial Defence Communication Satellite Programme (IDCSP), the United States’ first global military communications network. The most recent IDCSP launch took place on 13 June with the launch of eight satellites on a Titan IIIC rocket, bringing the total number of satellites in the constellation to 27.

The Advent of Defence Satellite Communications
The very first experimental communications satellites were created by the U.S. armed forces. Project SCORE was jointly developed by the U.S. Air Force and communications company RCA, while the first active repeater comsat, Courier 1-B, was developed by the U.S. Army Signal Corps. I think we can be sure that these early satellites satisfactorily carried out classified experiments in secure defence communications, as the first planned military satellite communications network, Project ADVENT, commenced development in February 1960.

Diagram of the proposed ADVENT satellite in orbit

ADVENT intended to place several large, three-axis stabilised, heavy satellites in geosynchronous orbit (with one of its ground stations planned to be located in the Australian Trust Territory of Papua New Guinea). However, this extremely ambitious programme soon fell behind schedule and saw costs balloon out to twice the original estimates, leading to its cancellation in 1962. It’s perhaps not surprising that the ADVENT programme faced difficulties in developing its satellites – even six years later, an operational three-axis stabilised satellite has yet to become reality.

The engineering test vehicle for the ADVENT satellites under construction

Enter IDCSP
Following ADVENT’s cancellation, the U.S. Air Force embarked on a new satellite communications system as a replacement. Originally called the Interim Defence Communications Satellite Programme, it has since been renamed as the Initial Defence Communications Satellite Programme. IDCSP is intended to be the first stage in the longer-term Defence Communications Satellite Program (DCSP), which is being managed by the Defence Communications Agency.

Commenced in 1962, the IDCSP is designed to be significantly cheaper than ADVENT by using a constellation of small, much simpler satellites. The original plan was for a constellation of 24-30 satellites, placed into Medium Earth Orbit using ten Atlas Agena rockets. In October 1963, the programme was placed on hold while the Pentagon investigated renting satellite communications capability through the INTELSAT system, but this idea was abandoned in mid-1964 and Air Force resumed work on the IDCSP.

Doing the Heavy Lifting
As it happened, the delay worked to the IDCSP’s advantage. By 1964, the development of the U.S.A.F.’s heavy-lift Titan IIIC offered the possibility of lofting up to eight satellites per launch. This has meant that the total number of launches required to establish the constellation, and thus the overall cost of the programme, has been greatly reduced. It seems that the Pentagon decided to negotiate “free rides” on early Titan IIIC development launches, although this earned some censure from Congress for risking the success of the programme with launches on an unproven vehicle just to keep costs down! Fortunately, it has been a risk that has largely paid off.

The Air Force decided to develop the Titan III family so that it would have a heavy launch capability independent of NASA’s Saturn rockets. The Titan III vehicles are derived from the Titan II I.C.B.M., that was also the basis of the Titan launch vehicle used for NASA’s Gemini programme. The core of the Titan IIIC is a modified two-stage Titan II, structurally strengthened to accommodate heavier payloads and additional stages. The launcher has two strap-on solid rocket boosters and an additional upper stage with engines that can be restarted, known as the Transtage.

The 25 ft long Transtage uses a pair of Aerojet AJ10-138 engines that are similar in design to the larger engine that Aerojet is developing for the Apollo Service Module. These engines enable the Transtage to put heavier payloads into much higher orbits than the Atlas Agena rocket originally selected for IDCSP. This means that it can place as many as eight IDCSP satellites at a time into sub-synchronous orbits (more on that below) of around 21,000 miles.

The complex requirements for the preparation and launch of a Titan III and its payloads has necessitated the construction of a totally new facility at Cape Kennedy, with three pads, designated Launch Complexes 40, 41 and 42 (this last not yet built). There is also a new Vertical Integration Building (VIB), which can support the simultaneous assembly of up to four Titan III core vehicles. It also contains the Titan III launch control centre.

Keep it Simple
The IDCSP satellites have been designed to avoid the development delays that come from being too technologically ambitious – the kind that sealed the fate of ADVENT. Every satellite in the constellation is an identical spin-stabilized, 26-sided polygon, 34in in diameter. The 100lb satellites are covered with solar cells and have been deliberately kept technologically very simple: they have no back-up batteries or on-orbit command systems. Without command systems, they are virtually “jam-proof” and cannot be moved off orbit by false commands sent by an enemy.

Each satellite has a single 3.5W X-band transponder with a 26 MHz bandwidth. It can handle 600 voice channels or 6000 teletype signals. While the designers have planned for these initial satellites to be operational for three years, they are equipped with an automatic “kill switch”, which is intended to deactivate them after six years in orbit, so that they will not produce any signals that would interfere with more advanced future replacement satellites.

As the small satellite’s transponders are low powered and use a low-gain antenna, the present ground stations are comparatively large, but there are plans for future, smaller mobile ground stations.

“Sprinkled Across the Sky”
One of the few local newspaper articles that I saw about the launch of the first batch of IDCSP satellites described them rather poetically as being “sprinkled across the sky” when they were first released into orbit from the Titan IIIC Transtage. Six hours after launch, the deployment truss on which the IDCSP satellites are mounted enables the satellites to be dispersed one-by-one into orbit, over about 3 minutes. As they are released, the satellites drift apart as they move into orbit.

Because they are not quite in geosynchronous orbit (orbiting at the same speed the Earth rotates, which would "fix" them in the sky), the satellites drift randomly at approximately 28° per day, over time forming a ring of satellites approximately evenly spaced above the Earth's equator. This sub-synchronous orbit has the advantage that the failure of one satellite would not leave a major gap in coverage; at least one other satellite of the constellation would always be visible to an Earth station if one failed. 12 satellites were considered the minimum necessary to provide full coverage, so the current constellation has plenty of redundancy even if several satellites fail. The daily movement of the satellites makes them difficult to track, which also helps to make them more secure against enemy interference.


What are they for? Ssshhh, it’s Secret!
The IDCSP constellation is designed to provide the U.S. military with swift, jam-resistant radio links to its forces in South Vietnam and elsewhere around the world in times of crisis. The satellites enable 24 hour-a-day contact between the Defence Department in Washington and forces in the field. While the IDCSP programme is publicly acknowledged, the satellites are reserved for secret and sensitive command-and-control communications. Routine administrative and logistical messages are relayed by INTELSAT satellites.

IDCSP ground terminals have been installed at American bases at Saigon and Nha Trang, and rumour has it that there have already been experiments with sending high-resolution photographs from Saigon to the Pentagon via satellite, enabling rapid battlefield analysis. In addition to the two ground stations in South Vietnam, there are six other IDCSP ground stations, including in the U.S. and Britain.

Building the IDCSP Satellite Network
The first batch of seven IDCSP satellites was launched from Florida on 16 June 1966, as the payload of the fourth Titan IIIC. In addition to the communication satellites, an eighth satellite, structurally based on the IDCSP satellites and designed to test an experimental gravity gradient stabilisation technique, was also flown. Communications tests were carried out between ground stations in New Jersey, California, England and Germany.

Unfortunately, the second set of eight IDCSP satellites was lost on 26 August 1966 due to the failure of the fifth Titan IIIC’s payload fairing. A replacement set of eight satellites was sent into orbit on the seventh Titan IIIC, on 18 January 1967, followed on 1 July by a further four IDCSP satellites. IDCSP 19 was another experimental satellite, also known as DATS (Despun Antenna Test Satellite), designed to test a more efficient electronically despun antenna platform.

The most recent launch, on 13 June, has come almost exactly two years after the first satellites in the network were put into orbit. Its eight satellites are the final ones to be added to the system, which is now considered to be “operational”, rather than “experimental”.

Britain Follows Suit
Britain has taken an interest in the operation and performance of the IDCSP satellites, as it intends to launch its own military communications satellite soon, to provide military communications across the British Commonwealth. Skynet has been in planning since 1962, with the U.K. deciding on an initial satellite in geostationary orbit over the Indian Ocean, to support force deployments east of Suez. Skynet is considered to be more advanced than IDCSP, as it will have a transponder with two channels, allowing communications between two types of ground station.

Model of a Skynet 1 satellite

Britain was invited to participate in IDCSP in 1965, and the Marconi company built a ground station at its facility in Christchurch, Hampshire, to conduct experiments with the first batch of IDCSP satellites when the U.S. was not using them. Nine ground stations have been planned for Skynet, which are also able to communicate with the IDCSP satellites. These stations will be able to send secret military communications to a large number of locations within the British Commonwealth.

The U.S. Philco Ford company, which developed the original IDCSP design, was contracted to build the first-generation Skynet 1 satellites (of which there will be two). The Marconi company is assisting with this work so that the U.K. will develop the expertise needed to build the Skynet 2 series satellites. Unlike the IDCSP constellation, Skynet satellites will have an on-board manoeuvring system so that they can be kept on station, or moved from one location or another.

With the United States and Britain developing defence communications satellite systems, it's virtually certain the USSR will be doing the same – if it does not have an operational network already (perhaps some of those mysterious Kosmos satellites whose purpose in orbit is unknown?) Since reliable communications are vital to any military operation, it's not hard to imagine that defence comsats like IDCSP and Skynet could become the first casualties in any future superpower conflict…








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Magazine/Anthology, Science Fiction/Fantasy, Serial

[June 26, 1968] To far off lands (July 1968 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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by Gideon Marcus

Points East

It's been so very long since I could offer a travelogue from my favorite of countries, Japan.  But now, after four years (and a stop at the Fotomat to develop pictures), I finally have a dual treat for you–vacation slides and a review of the latest issue of The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction!

But instead of dumping either of them on you all at once, how about we take a simultaneous trip, both to the Orient and to vistas even further off?


by Jack Gaughan

For this article, I have the invaluable assistance of Mr. Brian Collins, a fellow 'zine editor with a penchant for pain.  To wit, after reading this month's issue, he offered to take a stab at the lead story.  As I have no qualms with anyone stabbing Piers Anthony, here goes…

Sos the Rope (Part 1 of 3), by Piers Anthony


by Brian Collins

Piers Anthony has appeared here and there over the past few years without making much of a fuss, with his first SF novel, Chthon, being decidedly uncontroversial among the Journey people (read: everyone I know hates it). That was last year, and now we already have the beginning of his second SF novel, Sos the Rope, which Ed Ferman introduces as a “successful” contest novel “of superior quality.” I don’t wish to call Ferman a liar, but I shiver to think of what the standard must be for contest-winning SF novels for this to be deemed a success.

The premise is simple—too simple. It’s been a century since a nuclear holocaust apparently sent mankind back to its early hunter-gatherer ways, with “society” being reduced to mostly roaming tribes with little hotspots of civilization maintained by “the crazies,” people who somehow retain the ways from before the holocaust. We start with a duel between two warriors, both named Sol, who fight in a circle to see who gets to keep both the name and the right to use all the standard weapons of combat. The loser is thus named Sos, and he becomes not only weaponless but Sol’s (the winner’s) servant; but it’s not all bad, for Sol is not some wandering rogue but a man with a vision, as he wants to build an empire from scratch. A nameless woman who witnesses the duel joins the two and, in a rather haphazard ceremony, becomes Sol’s wife and takes the name of Sola, as is the custom. Apparently people here can change names the way one changes pairs of shoes.
Thus the story starts as something of a road trip narrative that at first sounds like it may be adventure fantasy a la Conan, but is actually science fiction—although Anthony puts in the minimum effort to justify the setting. We also have a lust triangle (I wouldn’t say love, for any reasonable person can’t suppose that Sos and Sola are in love) as Sos and Sola are clearly attracted to each other, but Sola wants Sol’s title while Sol has no affection for Sola. We find out at one point that indeed Sol can’t satisfy his wife as he’s all but said to be a eunuch. “Sol would never be a father. No wonder he sought success in his own lifetime. There would be no sons to follow him.” This does not stop Sos and Sola from eventually doing the dirty deed and the latter getting very pregnant. I continue to suffer.

My experience with Anthony up to this point was basically nil (though, of course, my friends at the Journey tell me stories), but I can already sense a profound distrust of women running through his writing. The way marriage works in the novel’s world is that women literally do not have names and presumably no property rights unless hitched to a man, whereupon they take their husband’s name with just a letter added to it. There is no signed contract, and marriage can be made and ended upon the exchanging of a bracelet. This notion of wife-as-property went out with the Dark Ages, but Anthony has revived it so as to a) generate conflict, and b) give us an excuse to view female characters through the lens of someone who might as well be picking out clothes in a store. There is much ogling at Sola’s physique, including a couple situations where she shamelessly tries to seduce Sos.

The battle circle scenes are not even strikingly written. By the time we get to the climax, where Sol, in recruiting men for his empire, is about to take on a massive brute named Bog (all the men seem to have monosyllables for names), I struggled not to put down my issue and do something better with my life. However, because I feel Anthony can do (and maybe has done) worse, I’m inclined to give this installment a generous 2 out of 5 stars.


by Gideon Marcus

The above was actually written before we went to Japan.  On the 10th, we took off from Los Angeles, the Boeing 707 we flew in now a nostalgic experience rather than a new one (we're so spoiled!) Because of our speed, we were in daylight the entire time, and yet, when we landed at Haneda Airport in Tokyo, it was already the next day thanks to the international date line.

Just in time for me to read this story about a completely different kind of trip…

The Psychedelic Children, by Dean R. Koontz

The effects of LSD are still relatively unexplored.  Some believe that the psychedelic effects of a "trip" suggest the unlocking of psionic potential.  And what if that psionic potential was inheritable…

It is the near future, and Laurie, Frank's wife, is having an episode.  Her psi powers come in waves; when they peak, they must be channeled outward in a fiery blaze lest they destroy her.  So Frank drives her out to the countryside (furtively, for the psi-capable children of Acid-droppers are all sought by the authorities) so Lauren can vent her energies.

The next day, a patrolman and his robot assistant show up at their door…

Koontz paints a vivid world in a few deft strokes, creating a memorable story with a nice ending.  Koontz is still a bit new, and it shows in some awkward turns of phrase and a less than expertly rendered final act.  Nevertheless, it's a good story, both SFnal and fantastic.

Four stars.

We spent our first week in Tokyo, down by the harbor in the Hamamatsuchou area.  Tokyo is different from other metropolises–from the air, it's an endless cityscape, and on the ground, it seethes with activity.  Commuters rush by in endless streams, on foot and by train.  It should be oppressive, but the fundamental politeness and regimentation of Japanese society, at least in the urban areas, somehow makes it all bearable.  It's much different from, say, the noisy stink of New York City or the sprawling gray of Los Angeles.

Speaking of regimentation and programming…

Key Item, by Isaac Asimov

I was prepared not to like the Asimov story as his best fiction-writing days seem long behind him, and they now tend to be gimmick-ended vignettes.  But this one, in which a scientist figures out why a sentient MULTIVAC computer has stopped answering requests, was pretty gratifying–and most surprising.

Four stars.

Tokyo also distinguishes itself from other cities in its random beauty.  Personal space is at a premium, and so Japanese people decorate everything with thought and an aesthetic eye.  Even storefronts and random streetscapes become scenic.

Ultimate Defense, by Larry Brody

If the last story dealt with a mechanical brain, Ultimate Defense features a bionic wonder, a genetically engineered super human.  Jarvis Raal is under suspicion of murder, and it is up to a harried public defender to get him off.  How he does so involves an interesting twist on the subject of race.

I love the way Brody hints at an integrated future (a necessary underpinning of the story), and the story's conclusion is a lovely jab at centuries of bigotry.  My only complaint is stylistic: Brody ends every other paragraph with a punchy, one-line, standalone.  It lacks effectiveness in the repetition.

Four stars.

After five lonely nights in Tokyo (all of our friends in the capital had moved away or drifted out of sight since our last visit), we made our way on the Shinkansen for the first time in four years.  It's still as thrilling an experience as ever, zooming past the countryside as fast as a Cessna can fly.  Our destination was Nagoya, a rather ugly, industrial city in the country's center.  After Tokyo, it looked curiously American with its Western-style grid of streets designed by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers.  It was the least we could do after flattening the city during World War 2.

However, the urban sprawl of Nagoya was in some ways lovelier than Tokyo for the people who live in it.  The Chubu/Osaka region is home to the greatest concentration of friends in Japan, both foreign and indigenous.  After meeting up with Jen and Dan, two professors who work at Nagoya University (Dan is half-Japanese, Jen is full Minnesotan), we got a call from Nanami, whom you may remember from our previous Japan-based articles and her appearance on The Journey Show.

Well, not only had she recently gotten married, but her husband and she had formed a jazz duet.  They invited us out to a coffee shop to watch them perform, and they were just terrif.

The ability to go all over Japan at great speed, manifesting almost at will, calls to mind the next story…

Remote Projection, by Guillaume Apollinaire

This ancient, translated piece starts off as one kind of thing and ends up very much another.  A messiah, calling himself Aldavid has appeared simultaneously throughout the globe.  Though he simply prays and gives sermons, his effect is electric.  Jews start emigrating en masse to Palestine, Jewish bankers are incarcerated so that they cannot empty their coffers in the support of Zionist goals, and gentiles grudgingly concede that they might have backed the wrong horse 2000 years before.

So it's a religious fantasy, right?  Then why does the messiah look suspiciously like a no-good-nik con artist, murderer, and crackpot inventor that our narrator character recalls from earlier life?  The end of the tale is all science fiction (well, scientific romance; we didn't have "scientifiction" yet), and pretty prescient.

Three stars; four if the old style tickles your fancy.

It is said that being invited into the home of a Japanese family is quite the honor for a Westerner.  Well, we were more than honored when Nanami and her husband, Tomoki, insisted we join them for a home-cooked meal of okonomiyaki at their lovely little house.  Afterwards, we had an impromptu jam session.  I sang Kyu Sakamoto's Ue wo muiteru arukou, which you know States-side as Sukiyaki (Nanami had ended their jazz concert with the song, too.) It was an absolutely sublime experience.

Speaking of sublime…

The Sublimation World, by John Sladek

John Sladek offers up this pastiche of a certain New Wave pioneer (the story is ostensibly by a J. G. B??????) If you've read any Ballard, and especially if you've read a lot of Ballard, you will see that Sladek skewers him with absolutely convincing parody.  After all, imitation is the sincerest form of mockery.  Yet he also manages to tell his own tale and put his own spin on things.  Brilliant stuff.  I read it aloud to Janice immediately upon finishing it, and it was difficult to avoid breaking up.

Five stars.

Nanami's pad wasn't the only place we ate well.  One morning in Nagoya, I found a little restaurant serving soba.  And not just soba, but cold soba.  And not just cold soba, but cold soba with fried onion on top.  WITH a side of curry rice.  I can tell you, I didn't eat lunch that day!

That was food for my stomach.  Now, how about some food for the mind?

Little Lost Satellite, by Isaac Asimov

Dr. A's first fictional story was Marooned off Vesta, so it is appropriate that he finally do an article about the titular asteroid.  He doesn't have too much to say because there isn't much to be learned from a point of light–the best we can resolve the tiny object with terrestrial telescopes.  He does make some rather half-baked theories as to the origin of Vesta and other asteroids, suggesting they might be former moons of the big planets, their rotation rates indicative relics of the worlds they once orbited.

Mostly, we're left with questions.  Three stars.

Beyond Words, by Hayden Howard

Last up, we have the fellow whose Esk tales in Galaxy started promisingly, meandered terribly, and ended…decently.  The fellow can write, sometimes.  And indeed, he does a decent job with this story, about a fellow who went into the desert to revert to language-less savagery.

But when you can't speak anymore, how can you defend yourself against a murder charge?

Three stars.


by Gahan Wilson

Heading for home

And so, 12 pleasant vacation days and 130 pages of F&SF go by.  Aside from the disappointing beginning, which I thankfully didn't have to read, the magazine definitely compelled me to return to F&SF next month.  Just as we fully intend to return to the lovely land of Japan next year, this time.

Mata ne!  (until next time!)




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Fashion, music, politics, sports

[June 24, 1968] Martin Luther King Jr. and the Fashion of Neighborly Protest

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by Gwyn Conaway

The tragic assassination of civil rights leader Martin Luther King Jr. in April left America reeling. Images of his final march through the streets of Memphis have been presented everywhere, his apparition and his voice still echoing through American society now, and surely for generations to come.

This, of course, includes his movement’s fashion.


King upon his arrival in Memphis in March of 1968.

When you see photographs of King standing behind a microphone, or especially linked arm-in-arm with his collaborators, you might see nothing special. Three-buttoned suits in grey, black, brown, and navy. Pressed white dress shirts dressed with narrow silk ties and tie pins. Freshly brushed fedoras and homburgs. To many of us, this fashion is commonplace in America. This is the uniform of company men and Hollywood.

Which is exactly the point.


King flanked by Reverend Ralph Abernathy (right) and Bishop Juian Smith (left) in his last march in Memphis in March.

Let me interrupt myself here to say, if you haven’t perused my recent critique of Vogue and its use of women as decor for an escape from the instability of Western life, I humbly urge you to read it as a prelude to the topic of neighborly resistance I will introduce now. For in all things, fashion and beauty have purpose. In the case of Vogue in my last article, propriety is used as a tool to control the expectations of women, while here, we will see propriety used as a tool of protest.

In resistance fashion, there are two prevailing trends that exacerbate the divisions of society and define the identities and ideals of those pursuing a better world: one of negotiation, and one of force. Force is easy to recognize, often taking on militaristic elements of dress, such as the Black Panthers with their berets and leather jackets, or constructing a mystique of terror, such as the Ku Klux Klan with their pointed hoods. Negotiation, however, is difficult to separate from polite society. The message is, “I am your wife, your friend, your colleague. I am just like you.”

This approach makes the militaristic response to King’s peaceful protests all the more jarring. Black men and women dressed for church, walking the streets peacefully are met with primarily white servicemen and police officers with rifles, helmets, and combat boots. Rather than a potentially dangerous movement, cameras capture the dignity of Black America as it meets a terrified government at the end of a rifle barrel.


Black men and allies protest peacefully in Memphis this April in clean-cut suits, dress shoes, and ties as if attending a job interview for equal rights while the National Guard's response appears alarmist with guns raised and tanks rolling down the streets.

This isn’t the only time in history that we’ve seen this subtle but effective tactic in the pursuit of change. The suffrage movement of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries also faced threat of violence and harsh criticism. Women across the Western world were caricatured by cartoonists, politicians, and journalists as brutish and ugly for their pursuit of the right to vote. Perhaps most insidious of the stereotypes was the thought that they were uncaring and selfish mothers, unfit to raise children. Suffragists fought back against these insulting depictions through hunger strikes, riots, diplomacy, literature… and by how they dressed. By the turn of the century, the movement realized they had a public relations problem.

Thus began the image of the beautiful, patriotic, charismatic “suffragette,” a term that had previously been used to belittle the movement.


A postcard entitled "Sermon of Stones!" in which a suffragist from the turn of the century is depicted as mannish, violent, and improper.


Walt Disney's 1964 production of Mary Poppins depicts suffragettes in the late 1910s, at which point they won the battle for voting rights in America (1920) and the United Kingdom (1918). The song "Sister Suffragette" was performed by Glynis Johns as Winifred Banks, Hermione Baddeley, and Reta Shaw.

Though critics of King’s tactics within the Black community claim he’s accepting standards of white American culture rather than lifting up their own, the truth is more complex. Our identities are literally worn on our sleeves, and while the Black Panther Party may be the most recognizable civil rights group, the image of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference is just as powerful. Whether bombastic and rebellious or gentle and assimilated, fashion proves to be a powerful tool for identity, politics, and change.

I look forward to meeting my new neighbors, sooner rather than later.




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Movies

[June 22, 1968] The Devil, you say (Rosemary's Baby)

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by Amber Dubin

It seems appropriate to mention expectations when discussing a film with such a pregnant subject matter (pun intended). Mine were fairly low to start because I am not a fan of horror movies. This is because the scares from horror films usually suffer two major foibles: the ridiculous and the cliché. Outside of Halloween festivities, I have little patience for silly looking, poorly costumed monsters. I also dislike when a film relies too heavily on violent/grotesque imagery to get a rise out of its audience. It was through this biased lens that I viewed Rosemary's Baby; though I went in expecting disappointment, predictability and lack of inspiration or fear, I was proven wrong on all counts. Rosemary's Baby has a spine chilling relatability that creeped into my psyche and won me over, despite my pessimistic attitude toward it. It has the uniqueness and incontrovertibly high quality writing that give it all the makings of a timeless horror classic.

The slow boil of discomfort begins as we open to an off-putting lullaby, mournfully serenading the viewer as we zoom into a gloomy, dismal, old city skyline. The first couple of scenes increase the viewer's sense of unease by limping along at a clunky and awkward pace into a world that just barely makes sense. The young newlywed couple at the center of the story, Rosemary (Mia Farrow) and Guy Woodhouse (John Cassavetes), are introduced as they enthusiastically acquire an apartment even though it's clearly run down, overstuffed and not move-in ready at all. Their reactions continue to be disjointed from reality in the subsequent scenes as we are introduced to their old and new friends. They proceed to have very awkward and/or inappropriate conversations with each of them, starting with Hutch (the family friend who brings up some very odd subjects over dinner) and ending with a first meeting with their neighbor Terry (who wastes absolutely no time launching into her sordid past of drug abuse with someone she has not even known for a full hour over laundry with Rosemary). The couple proves to have similar lack of social grace around each other, when their first night they spend at their creepy new apartment, they are eating off a blanket on the floor because they have no curtains or furniture and Rosemary awkwardly declares, "Say! Let's make love" completely apropos of nothing. Personally, I think the subsequent silent disrobing and intertwining of bodies to be not only shocking, but (and deliberately) decidedly un-sexy.


Not the models for marital bliss

It comes to pass that all this awkwardness is by design, as it serves to innure the viewer for strangeness that piles on with every scene and every new character introduced. Like the proverbial frog that gets cooked alive in slowly boiling water, both Rosemary and the viewer are slowly made comfortable with painfully uncomfortable circumstances, and we don't realize what's happening until it's too late.

In the first shock of the movie, the couple go on a late night stroll in order to avoid over-hearing what sounds like chanting coming through the paper-thin walls. As they return from their ramble, they are shocked to find a crowd surrounding the bloody corpse of Terry, the overly chatty girl Rosemary met earlier at the laundry. The elderly couple that Terry was living with react normally to her sudden "suicide" at first: expressing shock and grief when they introduce themselves to the Woodhouses as their neighbors, the Casavets. The next day, however, when Mrs. Casavet appears at Rosemary's door, her behavior is anything but normal. The older woman barges into Rosemary's place and goes through it like she owns it, speaking in nonsensical run-on sentences that are off putting and yet Rosemary doesn't react at all. Yet most unnerving is when she casually mentions having Terry cremated and bequeaths Rosemary with Terry's foul-smelling "good luck charm" that must not have been lucky enough because Terry was still wearing it when she died.


Dead women's necklaces make great house-warming gifts

It is with this bizarre house-warming gift that the Casavets begin their campaign to integrate themselves into every waking moment of Rosemary and Guy Woodhouse's lives. Guy is initially reluctant to even meet them, but once he and Mr. Casavet bond over cigars they become fast friends. Bizarrely, Guy becomes so close with the septuagenarian at one point that he begins going over their neighbor's house even without Rosemary with him. It is important to note here that, for me, the most upsetting part about this movie is the way the Woodhouses talk to each other. Like many couples, they at first appear to be hopelessly in love, but as you get to know them throughout the film, their relationship is rotten to its core. Guy proves himself to be a selfish, mean, horrible man. Rosemary, in her desperate attempt to justify her continued adoration of him, consistently makes excuses for his bad behavior. The most egregious example of this dynamic comes when they decide to start trying for a baby (basically so that Rosemary will have something to do when Guy is off auditioning for roles). By apparent coincidence, the first night they are set to start trying, Rosemary's neighbor gives her a homemade dessert that makes her almost collapse afterwards.


If you ever find yourself waking up like this, it's time for a divorce

The following night Rosemary is in a fitful sleep where she dreams of being assaulted by the devil while all of her neighbors stand around her naked and chanting. She wakes up naked and sore with her back scratched up and when questioned, her husband says he 'didn't want to miss the baby-making night.' I had an almost identical level of revulsion as Rosemary when faced with the realization that her husband would take such liberties over her body without her knowledge or consent. It turns out that night marked the conception of a very difficult pregnancy, one which not only sees the steep decline in their marriage, but also Rosemary's sanity and health, while she slowly becomes completely subjugated by the incessant presence of the Casavets in her life. Bounced between her husband and her intrusive neighbor, her self-esteem is whittled down to nothing as she is constantly insulted and isolated from her own family and friends. Her husband refuses to look her in the eye for weeks, and when she gets an adorable haircut to feel more fashionable, the first thing out of his mouth is "You look horrible! This is the worst decision you've made." Ever the non-supportive, selfish man she married, Guy uses her new "hideous" hairstyle to ignore her even more as her pregnancy progresses, throwing himself into his acting career as if nothing else matters.


Despite being thoroughly mod, this look deeply displeased Rosemary's husband

Rosemary's husband and neighbors add insult to injury when they convince her to change the doctor she goes to for regular check ups, and he repeatedly ignores her pleas for help when she has unusual pains, telling her every concern she has is in her head. At one point, she rebels, throwing a huge house party with friends she hasn't seen in years, against the wishes of her oppressors. Her friends are appropriately horrified to see what she looks like, seeing how pale she is and how sunken her eyes. Breaking down into tears, she confesses that she's been in horrible pain since the beginning of her pregnancy and can't believe this level of agony is normal.

Her friends literally lock her husband out of the room and validate all of her fears, telling her how her husband and Doctor are treating her is not at all normal and she needs to get out of there as soon as possible. It appears to already be too late, however, as when the pain lessens the next day, she second-guesses her friends and settles into the routine set by everyone else in her life. The way this party resolves reveals itself to be the first in a trend of stranger and stranger happenings in the background of Rosemary's pregnancy. Little by little, every contradictory voice in her life is silenced, beginning with the party go-ers and ending with Hutch the family friend from the beginning.


A desperate call for help that goes unanswered

Hutch's re-entry into Rosemary's life triggers a headlong fall down a rabbit hole of conspiratorial theories and occult explanations for the increasingly bizarre behavior of Rosemary's doctor, neighbors and husband. Within hours of his visit to Rosemary's house, he vows to do research on her neighbors and then almost immediately falls into a coma he never wakes up from. Speaking from beyond the grave, he wills her a book about witches, filled with secret messages implying that the Casavets belong to a well established coven that's been in the area for ages. Thus ensues a Rosemary's frantic bout of research, which leaves the viewer wondering whether she's actually figuring out what's going on or completely losing her mind.

The moment of truth comes when she finally presents her findings to a new doctor, only for him to turn her over to the custody of her original doctor and her husband, as a raving lunatic. She is instantly proven right in her suspicions, though when she gets home and the entire coven is in her apartment and descends upon her, pinning her to her own bed by sheer force of numbers. Horrifyingly, she is induced into a coma by her mad-scientist doctor, and when she wakes again she is told she birthed and lost the baby. Because she rightfully believes no one around her at this point, she starts deceiving her captors by pretending to take the "medicine" they feed her and feigning ignorance as to why they take her breast milk "to be thrown in the trash." After days of placating them, she arms herself with a huge kitchen knife and follows the crying noises she's been overhearing sporadically through the walls. She finds an entrance to the neighbor's apartment in the back of one of her closets and stumbles into a room full of people gathered for a baby shower that she wasn't invited to.


Mia Farrow out-doing herself

In the performance of a lifetime, Mia Farrow approaches the black curtained bassinet adorned with an upside down cross in the center of the room. Leaning over its side, her eyes absolutely bulge out of their sockets in an expression of pure, abject terror. Recoiling, she screams, "what did you do to its eyes?!" The gathered crowd enthusiastically exclaim that her child has its father's eyes and erupt into a cacophony of "Hail Satan"s. Dazed, Rosemary stumbles around the room, receiving no comfort from the callous scheming coven as they alternatively mock and jeer at her. Her husband even has the nerve to come up to her and tell her why he signed them up to this whole situation, explaining that "it'll just be as if you lost the baby" and "this will be so good for my career." I believe Rosemary speaks for all of us by promptly spitting in the man's face and shutting him up. In the end, she tentatively approaches the bassinet again because one of the other party guests is shaking it too hard and causing the infant within to cry. You can see the heartbreaking mixture of confusion, fear and motherly love play across Rosemary's face as she resigns herself to some level of acceptance of this situation and the same creepy lullaby that began the film croons over us as we fade to black.


A movie for the ages

This film had so many iconic moments and scenes. If this isn't Mia Farrow's break-out role, then I know nothing of quality acting. I expect great things from her in the future. The script, score and plot were also a cut above. I began my viewing thinking it bizarre and ungrounded and within 15 minutes, I was enthralled, on the edge of my seat and just as anxious to find out what fresh Hell Rosemary was going to be subjected to, even as I was disgusted and disturbed by what she had already endured. Rosemary's Baby is a true tribute to the horror genre and made a believer out of this skeptical critic.

5 stars.




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55 years ago: Science Fact and Fiction