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

[July 8, 1967] Family lines (August 1967 Galaxy)

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by Gideon Marcus

Royal Families

The news always likes to focus on heads of state, especially when they are flashy or glamorous in some way.  From Princess Grace of Monaco to Crown Prince Akihito of Japan, these leaders are instant idols, somehow more compelling for having the reins (and reigns) of nations even though they presumably put their pants/skirts/obis on the same way as the common folk.

This week scored a triplet of spotlights.  For instance, in the island nation of Tonga, Taufaʻahau Tupou IV was crowned monarch in a ceremony that included a feast of 71,000 suckling pigs!  And that, by itself, tells you all you need to know about the current Jewish/Moslem population of Tonga…

Closer to home, El BJ, chief of the United States, has got his first grandson.  Patrick Lyndon Nugent is the newborn child of First Daughter Luci Nugent (neé Johnson).  There is no word, as yet, whether his toddler status will grant him deferment in the lastest draft lottery.

Finally, junta chairman General Nguyen Cao Ky, the flamboyant leader of South Vietnam since 1965, has decided not to run for President in the upcoming democratic (perhaps) September elections.  Premier Thiệu has been backed by the junta for the top role, instead, with Ky getting the Vice Presidential nod.  It's all a lot of musical chairs, anyway. After all, Ky has asserted that the only politician he admires is Hitler, which tells you all you need to know about the state of democracy in that country (and its current Jewish population…)

Watching Big Brother

Fred Pohl, one of the original Futurians and a pillar of the SF community, has had his hands full for nearly a decade.  After he took over the reins of Galaxy and the newly acquired IF from H. L. Gold, rather than sit on his laurels, he looked for new worlds to conquer.  Thus, Worlds of Tomorrow was launched in 1963.  But juggling three mags (plus a few reprint-only titles) was a challenging job, often resulting in uneven quality and occasionally right-out flubs.  For instance, last year's issue of Worlds of Tomorrow where the pages got all mixed up.

One would think, with WoT going out of publication, that things might be less hectic over at the Guinn Co. mags.  But, in fact, this month's issue of Galaxy is even more higgledy-piggledy, making reading a real challenge.


by Sol Dember

Which is a shame, because there's some quite good stuff in here (mixed with some mediocre stuff, to be sure).  Thankfully, you've got me to be your guide.  Just grab your compass, or you might get lost.

Hawksbill Station, by Robert Silverberg


by Virgil Finlay

One-way time travel is developed in the early 21st Century.  Since humanity is deathly afraid of creating paradoxes, the new portals are used by the totalitarian regime for just one purpose: shipping undesirables into the far past, a sort of Paleozoic Botany Bay.

Hawksbill Station is the one reserved for male subversives, established sometime in the late Cambrian (Silverberg repeatedly gives a date of two billion years ago, but of course, the Cambrian went from about 600-500 million B.C.) Our perspective is that of Barrett, the de facto head of the more than 100 settler/prisoners on the coast of what will one day be the Atlantic Ocean.  It is a community slowly decaying as its denizens age along with no greater purpose in life.  That is, until a new young convict arrives from the future, one who appears to be a government spy…

This is more of a travelogue than a story, and the ending comes on a bit abruptly.  But the characterization, the details, the setting are all so gripping that I tore through the novella in no time, despite the labyrinthine page distribution.

Four stars, and if it ever gets expanded into a novel, it could make five.

Angel, Dark Angel, by Roger Zelazny

In another future-set tale, society is maintained by a sort of corporate Angel of Death who, with the help of ten thousand teleporting assistants, brings death to citizens after they have made sufficient contribution to humanity (and are, perhaps, on the verge of being detrimental).

One noteworthy woman has cultivated the aesthetic race of spirules (depicted on the cover) as an antidote to the cold, mechanistic technology of her time.  A subordinate angel is sent to dispatch her, but things prove more complicated.

This is a middlin' Zelazny story, not an empty poetic suit like some, but not a near masterpiece like some of his other works.  Three stars.

We're Coming Through the Window, by K. M. O'donnell

Throwaway vignette about a fellow who keeps duplicating himself due to time travel and needs Fred Pohl's help to get out of it.

Cute.  Three stars.

Ginny Wrapped in the Sun, by R. A. Lafferty

Ginny seems to be a precocious four year old, but in fact, is actually just a baseline human, maturing at age 4 and going on as an upright monkey.  It's the rest of us who are evolutionary aberrations, having five times as many heartbeats that a creature our mass should have.  Inevitably, Lafferty suggests, we'll all go ape.

This tale doesn't really work, and it's a bit more impenetrable than Lafferty's usual fare.  Two stars.

For Your Information: A Pangolin Is a Pangolin, by Willy Ley

Ley's article on the strange mammal that is neither aardvark nor anteater nor armadillo is interesting, but not much more than you might get from a rather good encyclopedia entry.

Three stars.

9-9-99, by Richard Wilson

Two wizened old characters are determined to settle an old score since both have outlived their wagered death dates, the bet having been made back in the 30s.

Whether it is even possible for them to collect given the state of the Earth in the late '90s is another matter…

Good enough, I guess.  Three stars.


by Wally Wood

Travelers Guide to Megahouston, by H. H. Hollis


by Wally Wood

This is a very long, somewhat farcical account of a 21st Century evolution of the Astrodome, in which domes enclose whole cities.

Pretty dull stuff.  Two stars.

The Being in the Tank, by Theodore L. Thomas

An alien being materializes in the heart of a hellish hydrazine factory and demands to speak to the President.  But is he the real deal?

Forgettable, but inoffensive.  A low three stars.

Hide and Seek, by Linda Marlowe

A childhood game is adapted into a method of population control.  It has shock value, but little else.

Two stars.

The Great Stupids, by Miriam Allen deFord

Mad scientist makes everyone under 50 a mental moron, all in service of a rather lame joke at the end.  DeFord was once one of the stars of the genre, but her light has waned over the years.  Here's hoping she's a Cepheid variable and not a dying dwarf.

To Outlive Eternity (Part 2 of 2), by Poul Anderson


by Jack Gaughan

It is fitting that the final long piece of the issue is a sort of mirror image of Silverberg's novella in terms of strengths and weaknesses.  As we read in last month's installment, the ramscoop colony ship Leonora Christine suffered damage to its decelerators while traveling at near light speed on the way to Beta Virginis.  The solution: to accelerate to terrific velocities instead, plunging through the heart of the galaxy and out into the comparative emptiness of intergalactic space where repairs might be effected.

In this half, event after event conspires to force the Christine to travel ever faster and faster, ultimately spanning the lifespan of the universe and beyond in a matter of months.  The story is told as a series of problem-solving conversations spread out over the weeks, and each character largely exists solely to have these conversations.  Except for the women, of course, who are almost universally hysterics or hangers-on…except for the First Officer who ultimately whores herself out for the good of the crew.

In short, the setup and ideas are really neat, but its a plot outline, not a novel.  And where Poul Anderson does try to characterize, it's with quick stereotypes, and usually not agreeable ones.  As for setting, there really isn't one.  The crew of the Christine might as well be floating heads in blank spaces for all we really get to experience the ship.

Readable, but badly flawed.  Three stars.

Matrix Goose, by Jack Sharkey

Last up, some very familiar nursery rhymes as they might be rendered by robots–after the demise of humanity.  It's cute.  Three stars.


Perhaps my favorite example, art by Gray Morrow

Cross-eyed Kin

And so, Galaxy ends up a largely enjoyable, but unremarkable read — just under 3 stars in ranking.  Perhaps, with the demise of Worlds of Tomorrow further in the rear-view mirror, Pohl will be able to concentrate on (and concentrate the best stories into) his remaining mags.

On the other hand, perhaps he hasn't learned his lesson.  He's got a new magazine is coming out next month…



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Movies

[July 6, 1967] Humour, British-style (Carry on Screaming)

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by Fiona Moore

I’m a lecturer at Royal Holloway University of London, one of two all-female institutions in the group, but I also moonlight in pirate radio. I recently saw the horror/comedy film Carry On Screaming at the second-run theatre in Cinderford while on a recording session in the Forest Of Dean (and I can certainly recommend The Palace Cinema to all travelers on the Journey). And so, since it’s still in general circulation, though it was released last year, I will review it here.

The plot, such as it is, has Detective Sergeant Sydney Bung (Harry H. Corbett) investigating the mysterious disappearances of young women from Hocombe Wood. Bung’s investigation leads him to the Bide-A-Wee Rest Home, residence of the mysterious Valeria and Orlando Watt (Fenella Fielding and Kenneth Williams), their strange servants, and the mummy of an Egyptian pharaoh. A police scientist successfully regenerates a hirsute finger found at the scene of the most recent crime, producing an ape-like hominid identical to the Watts’ henchman Oddbod; a lavatory attendant previously employed by the Watts as a gardener dies under mysterious circumstances; and one of the victims turns up apparently transformed into a shop-window dummy. Bung attempts to entrap the kidnappers by disguising his underling, Detective Constable Slobotham (Peter Butterworth), as a woman; Bung’s wife (Joan Sims), suspecting him of having an affair, follows along and is kidnapped along with Slobotham. The police confront the Watts, only to discover that they are transforming their victims into shop-window dummies. Watt is killed when the Egyptian mummy, revived by a lightning strike, pushes him into one of the vats used in the transformation process. Although it transpires that the victims can be returned to life with the application of electricity, Bung opts to leave his wife in dummy form, and moves in with Valeria.


Orlando Watt rises from the grave


Fenella Fielding is smoking

On the whole, it’s a very silly film. It lacks the coherence of the best comedy films, where a throwaway line or scene will pay off later and the story holds together. Carry on Screaming does have a narrative through line, but it is also full of set pieces and storylines that seem to be only there for the sheer hell of it. Kenneth Williams’ character, Doctor Watt, is dead and needs to be regularly revived with electricity; his hirsute assistant develops a clone; the motivation behind the above mentioned shop-window dummies scheme is never satisfactorily explained. The audience waits in vain for these points to be followed up or explained or linked together. The puns and double-entendres are entertaining (the Egyptian mummy is named Rubbertiti, for instance, and Fenella Fielding’s vampish character takes the line “mind if I smoke?” literally at one point), but only that.


”Admit it, you’re a stereotype!”

Speaking as a women’s libber, I also found myself a little sympathetic for poor old Joan Sims, portrayed as a nagging wife and harridan, but frankly given the generally negligent behaviour of her policeman husband Bung, upbraiding her, going out at all hours and falling into clinches with Fenella Fielding, I thought she had grounds for complaint. In cleverer hands, this hoary trope could have been subverted, but as it is it’s just simply a familiar music hall gag thrown into a modern horror movie. You could probably make a case that the shop-window dummies storyline is some kind of clever riff on the way in which horror movies objectify and silence women, but I’m not sure if this reading is intended or not.


A trip to the gentlemen’s conveniences (actually the South Lodge at Pinewood Studios)

I would definitely recommend this film, though, for television and cinema fans. The gags are full of knowing inside humour about the British horror movie scene, and the contemporary British film and television world generally. There’s a lot of overlap both behind and in front of the camera between Carry On Screaming and the Hammer horror films, notably the cinematographer, Alan Hume, but also Angela Douglas, Fenella Fielding, and Bernard Bresslaw. The fact that it’s filmed in and around Windsor, like the Hammer films, adds to this as well as providing a lot of fun for location-spotters. The film delightedly sends up the horror genre’s fetishization of Victorian and Edwardian classics, with nods to Sherlock Holmes, Doctor Jeckyll, Frankenstein, The Picture of Dorian Gray and The Mummy. The villains’ henchman is named “Oddbod,” conflating British horror quickies with James Bond movies and perhaps suggesting that the latter are trashier than they pretend to be, and the action takes place in “Hocombe [Hokum] Wood”, undoubtedly a slyly derogatory reference to Borehamwood Studios.


”All right, which of us is the most famous TV star?”

There are also playful nods to modern television, with the soundtrack cheekily quoting the Z Cars theme as the police go about their business investigating the disappearances, and the theme from Steptoe and Son as a reminder of Harry H. Corbett’s best-known role. When not quoting well-known television themes, the soundtrack is an on-the-nose pastiche of the sort of over-the-top classical music that usually backs the Dracula and Frankenstein movies. Kenneth Williams’ charismatically camp performance as Doctor Watt has definitely put him on my radar as someone who could easily take over the role of Doctor Who should Patrick Troughton ever decide to hang up his recorder, and indeed Doctor Watt informs us that “Who” is his uncle, or might be, we haven’t seen him in some time (perhaps a reference to the 1965/66 twelve part adventure). Just to bring the point home, Doctor Watt is an expert in regeneration—no doubt a joke about Doctor Who’s change of face last year.


Kenneth Williams, camp comedy icon

Arguably, there is also a subversive political element to the film as well. With growing tolerance of homosexuality in British society and calls for sodomy to be decriminalized, it’s possible to see a message of normalization in jokes like the one where Jon Pertwee, as a police scientist, apparently finds homosexuality in his guide to early hominids (“Homo… Homo… Homo…” [long pause] “Wrong homo!”), or the exchange “Why should a man be dressed as a woman?” “I don’t know, perhaps his parents wanted a girl!” reflecting current debates in medicine about the causes of homosexuality and sex-change patients. Lines like “I hate these law-abiding people, why can’t everyone be horrid like us?” also take on a double meaning when one considers the laws still on the books. Camp Kenneth Williams, well known for playing homosexuals on such venues as Round the Horne, steals the show as a charismatic villain one secretly hopes will get away with it all in the end. While on the face of it, one long sequence takes place in a public toilet seemingly for no reason other than to make childish jokes about bathrooms and voyeurism, it’s also possible to see it as a celebration of cottaging: the idea that strange and sexual things take place in secret in the conveniences, with the police unable to find or arrest the culprits, is a little more on the nose since the Wolfenden Report.


Jon Pertwee reflects on the many meanings of the word “homo”.

Carry On Screaming isn’t a game-changing movie, but if you’re in the know, it’s a lot of fun. Although it’s not really progressive from a women’s lib point of view, it’s surprisingly outspoken on the subject of homosexual rights. The Carry On team are definitely capable of better, but it’s still not a bad addition to the series.



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Magazine/Anthology, Science Fiction/Fantasy, Serial

[July 4, 1967] Angels and Demons (August 1967 IF)

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by David Levinson

The angels of our better nature…

It all started in January with a day of music and speeches called the Human Be-In in San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park. Young people came from all over, and as many as 30,000 people attended. When spring break rolled around, more and more descended on the city’s Haight-Ashbury district and other places around the Bay Area. Alarmed by the growing “hippie problem”, the Mayor and Board of Supervisors tried to stem the tide, but only drew greater attention to the mass migration. The trickle has become a flood, and tens of thousands of “flower children” have come to San Francisco. In response to the city’s inaction, various groups and organizations formed the Council for the Summer of Love, creating a free clinic and helping newcomers to find food and housing.

The official poster created by Bob Schnepf

Music is important to the youth movement, and two events in the Bay Area proved very popular. On June 10th and 11th, radio station KFRC held the Fantasy Fair and Magic Mountain Music Festival in the Cushing Memorial Amphitheater on Mount Tamalpais in Marin County, with all proceeds going to the Hunter’s Point Child Care Center. Bands from the region and farther afield performed on two stages, while visitors could also wander through the arts and crafts fair in the woods around the theater. Some of the bigger names included Dionne Warwick, the Byrds, Jefferson Airplane and the Doors. The event appears to have gone off without incident.

The festival was delayed one week due to bad weather.

One week later, the Monterey International Pop Festival took place down the coast. Inspired by the Monterey Jazz Festival and the Big Sur Folk Festival, this brainchild of John Phillips (of the Mamas and the Papas) and record producer Lou Adler was put together in just seven weeks. There was some overlap with the Fantasy Fair (Jefferson Airplane and the Byrds, for example), but there were some really big names as well, such as Simon and Garfunkel, the Animals, the Who, and of course the Mamas and the Papas. Sunday afternoon was given over to sitar player Ravi Shankar. The Who and Jimi Hendrix were afraid of being upstaged by the other, so they flipped a coin. Hendrix got to go second on Sunday evening, and after the Who finished their set by smashing their instruments, Hendrix topped them by setting his guitar on fire, smashing it and tossing the pieces into the audience.

This poster is a good example of the new psychedelic art style.

Summer officially begins with the solstice, when the sun reaches its northernmost point. In the pre-dawn hours on the 21st, a thousand or so hippies climbed the Twin Peaks in the heart of San Francisco to greet the sunrise with chants, drums and incense to inaugurate their hoped for Summer of Love. The sun even managed to burn through the fog around 7:00. Whether it really will be a summer of love or another long, hot summer like last year remains to be seen.

Hippie Randall DeLeon greets the sun and makes the front page of the San Francisco Chronicle.

… and the demons of our worst

This month’s IF is full of demons: personal, metaphorical and literal. But first, editor Fred Pohl makes the death of Worlds of Tomorrow official. The problem was distribution. Not enough news stands carried the magazine, and digests (unlike the slicks and their high ad rates) can’t get by on just subscription sales. So some of the features exclusive to Worlds of Tomorrow have been rolled into IF and the price is going up, both of which are reflected on the cover.

That’s not quite how black magic works in the new Blish novel, but it ought to be. Art by Morrow

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Science Fiction/Fantasy, TV

[July 2, 1967] An Explosive Ending (Doctor Who: THE EVIL OF THE DALEKS [Part 2])

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By Jessica Holmes

When we last caught up with the Doctor’s adventures, we left him in the clutches of the Daleks, forced to help them discover the 'Human Factor' for their own ends. Jamie has become an unwitting lab-rat, with the fate of young Victoria Waterfield–and perhaps humanity itself–hanging in the balance. Let’s see how things turn out with the conclusion of The Evil Of The Daleks.

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Magazine/Anthology, Science Fiction/Fantasy, Serial

[June 30, 1967] Bad trip (July 1967 Analog)

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by Gideon Marcus

A time to laugh, a time to cry

It's been something of a rocky week.  A few days ago, Israel unilaterally announced that it was annexing all of Jerusalem, which had been de facto split after the 1948 war , and which de jure was supposed to be an international city.  The good news is, the government promised to integrate the Jewish and Arab halves peacefully, and so far, it looks like they are trying to do just that.  Still, the move is drawing condemnation from the world (strangely, I don't recall hearing aspersions cast against the Jordanians when they took half of the city…)

In sadder news, actress Jayne Mansfield was in a fatal car crash not far from New Orleans.  You may remember her from Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter and other films and TV shows.  She'd earned a reputation as a budget Marilyn Monroe, but from recent performances, it was clear her talent ran deeper than that.  The only bright spot is that her three children, also in the car, escaped with minor injuries.

And in the You-gotta-laugh-or-you'll-cry department, Beach Boy Carl Wilson was set free after being tried for draft evasion.  Seems being a conscientious objector works for some people, but not others.  Witness one Muhammad Ali.  Let me know if you can tell me what's different about the two cases.

All ahead, half speed


by John Schoenherr

Meanwhile, this month's Analog is not so much ups and downs, but a straight shot.  Sort of like Route 99 to Sacramento–easy going, but a dull drive.

The Man from P.I.G., by Harry Harrison


by John Schoenherr

First up is an unusual interstellar fixit story in the Retief or Chris Anvil mold.  Bron Wurber, pig herder, arrives on a remote world in the middle of a crisis.  Its governor had just sent out a distress call about the mysterious plateau just outside of town that not only appears to be haunted, but is fatal to any who explore it.  Bron seems the most unlikely of support…until he reveals he really is a government agent, and the pigs are of the one-ton, super-intelligent variety.  With the help of his porcine aides, Bron cracks the case and saves the day.

P.I.G. works as an action-adventure story, and if you can get past the "as you know" explanations of why pigs are better than dogs (and who can argue with that? But cats beat them both…) then you'll enjoy yourself.  The piece does not work as a whodunnit, though.  Harrison has to explain the characteristics of the culprit at the end of the tale rather than dropping clues throughout.  I have to wonder if I missed a setup story somewhere.  Alternatively, this may be the first in a series, and the next one will thus be better prepped.

Three stars.

Compound Interest, by Christopher Anvil


by Kelly Freas

A couple of months back, we got a story about a troubleshooter who helps establish the sapience of an indigenous race of cat people, thus frustrating the commercial schemes of a settling corporation.

This tale rather unnecessarily retells the same story, but from the point of view of the commercial types.  Anvil adds a silver lining at the end of the story, depending, of course, on psionics (this being John Campbell's mag, after all).

The first story was decent.  This was is rather pointless.  Two stars.

Annual Report, by Listening Inc.

Instead of contracting a science writer this month, Campbell just borrowed a catalog from an outfit called Listening Inc.  They make all kinds of interesting sonar/listening gear, including stuff for talking to dolphins.

There's not a lot there, but it's interesting.  Three stars.

Aim for the Heel, by John T. Phillifent


by Kelly Freas

Accompanied by the most striking art of the issue, Heel is the story of an international agent whose job is to facilitate, but not directly cause, the assassination of otherwise unreachable criminals.  He does it by researching his targets, and then maneuvering them into a situation whereby they end up dead at their own hands.

It's somewhat gray, morally, rather like the season of Mission: Impossible we just watched.  It also delights a bit too much in what it does, to the point of being lurid.

But it is readable.  Three stars.

Something Important, by E. G. Von Wald


by Rudy Palais

I liked this one, about a disabled alien ship that sends out a distress call, and the communications team that cracks the code to effect a rescue.  There's not much to it, but the message (no pun intended) is nice.

Three stars.

Computer War (Part 2 of 2), by Mack Reynolds


by Kelly Freas

Last issue, we were introduced to the autocracy of Alphaland, which had just gone to war with its rival, Betastan, and run into difficulties.  The Betastani refuse to fight fair, retreating from their cities, only using subs for naval engagement, and using thousands of agents to create havoc within Alphaland.  As a result, Alphaland, despite computer predictions to the contrary, is on the verge of collapse.

Reynolds likes to cloak history lessons in the guise of fiction.  Sometimes he's successful at the task, and sometimes it feels like he's submitting a series of essays with a thin veneer of plot around them.  This latest effort is the latter.  The characters are cardboard, although the lessons have some applicability to our current quagmire in Vietnam.

A low three stars.

Bite, by Lawrence A. Perkins


by John Schoenherr

Lastly, an unpleasant tale of an unpleasant doctor who contracts rabies, and the unpleasant choice another doctor has of deciding whether it's worth treating him or not.

I didn't like it.  Two stars.

Traffic statistics

Not only did this month's Analog score a rather peaked 2.7, but there is a smug sameyness to every story, as if each one was pressed through the Campbell machine and laminated with a greasy coating.  The other mags this month, such as there were, weren't much better though.  Fantasy and Science Fiction and IF also scored 2.7, and only Fantastic (3.2) and New Worlds (3.5) were better, the first comprising mostly reprints, and the latter a half-size mag.

All told, you could take all the good fiction and fit it in one decent-sized digest.  Two of the 30 new fiction pieces were by women, both of them quite short.  I guess it's no surprise that the action is in SF novels these days.

Still, I like my magazines, and I hope they get their act together.  Otherwise, this is going to be one throughway most folks will want to turn off from.



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Science / Space Race

[June 28, 1967] Around the World in Two Seconds (Our World Global Satellite Broadcast)

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by Kaye Dee

I love how our world is drawing closer every day to some of the amazing futures that science fiction has spread before us. I’ve written before about the importance of satellite communications in connecting this divided planet. Just two days ago, 24 countries around the globe were linked together in the first world-spanning live satellite broadcast, titled – appropriately enough – Our World.

Our World's visual symbol incorporates a modernised version of da Vinci's "Vitruvian Man", with arms encircling the globe, and vertical and horizontal lines representing longitude and latitude

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Magazine/Anthology, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[June 26, 1967] Change is Here (New Worlds, July 1967)

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by Mark Yon

Scenes from England

Hello again!

It’s been a while, but I’m pleased to finally receive a copy of the new New Worlds. (Note: no longer with sf impulse.)

And it is new, and different.

The first noticeable change was heralded by the slap of the magazine landing on my doormat. Clearly designed to compete with the big glossies on the newsagent’s shelves, New Worlds has changed from the paperback size (7 inches x 4 ½ inches) to something that is 11 inches by 8 ½ inches. It reminds me of that change that Analog Magazine tried a couple of years ago.

As fellow Traveller Kris explained back in March, the magazine now has funding from the UK Arts Council – the rumours seem to suggest somewhere in the region of £120 000. So we now get bigger (in size, if not in the number of pages) and glossier, determined to impress. But is it enough? Let’s go to the issue!

Another change. The “Editorial” has now become the “Leading Article”. Presumably this is to let other writers than the editor Mike Moorcock to do some of the writing. This issue states that the article is by Moorcock with “editorial contributions and assistance from Thomas M. Disch and (Mrs Moorcock) Hilary Bailey” on the contents page.

Other than that, the message is pretty much the usual – change is here and this magazine reflects that change. There is an emphasis on social change and the social sciences, “imperfect as they are” being the new place to go to examine the human condition as it is – and by looking at the past how the human condition has changed. To do this, the writers cover a broad range of ideas, from Victorian melodrama to religion, Freud, Kafka and Viet Nam. All good stuff and thought-provoking, not to mention controversial – I suspect Analog readers might have something to say on the matter!

Really though, it is the usual ideas that we’ve seen in recent Editorials in New Worlds, albeit for a potentially new audience.

Illustration by Zoline

Camp Concentration (part 1 of 4) by Thomas M. Disch

And so to this month’s big event story.

The story is told in a diary format. As the narrator, Louis Sacchetti, begins his tale we discover that he is in Springfield prison with a five year sentence for being “a conchie”, a conscientious objector to the war the US is fighting. (There are deliberate parallels here with Viet Nam, I think.) Without warning, writer Sacchetti finds himself being taken from Springfield to Camp Archimedes, where he is to be an observer and write as if to an outsider what the Camp is like. He is well looked after, although the reason for this is initially unknown.

He meets fellow prisoners George Wagner and Mordecai Washington, the nominal leader of the prison inmates, and Doctor Aimee Busk, who explains that George is part of an experimental group at Camp Archimedes attempting to enhance intelligence.

Sacchetti meets more of the prisoners. Like in some bizarre alternate version of a WW2 prisoner-of-war film, Sacchetti agrees to help set up a theatre production by the prisoners, that of Marlowe's Faustus. During the performance George becomes violently ill. Mordecai explains to Sacchetti that it is a side-effect of being given Pallidine, a drug that rots the brain and gives the person months to live whilst hopefully improving intelligence.

The drug enhancement made me think that Camp Concentration is like Daniel Keyes’s Flowers for Algernon, but for a more grown-up, more worldly-wise and drug-aware audience. The whole story (so far, anyway!) is dark, unsettling and decidedly adult, more Aldiss than Asimov. Filled with cultural and literary references, we are a long way away from the traditional space opera here, although I can see that this nearly continuous name-dropping may be wearisome in the long-term.

Last time, in the "Up and Coming" advertisement for this issue,  Moorcock declared Camp Concentration to be the finest sf novel we have ever published. I was a little wary of the hyperbole, personally, but I must admit that this is actually pretty good, a more contemporary version of Orwell’s nightmarish autocratic vision in 1984, perhaps.

It’s not always easy reading, and some of the language used is quite shocking and not for everyone, but this is big, bold science fiction and a story for our modern times. I can’t wait to see where it goes next. 5 out of 5.

The Death Module by J. G. Ballard

Appropriate illustration for the cut-up world of J. G. Ballard. Illustration by Douthwaite.

Leading the British sector of the so-called New Wave, where would we be without a contribution from England’s “Mr Chuckles”, J. G. Ballard? Irony aside, this is typically anti-utopian stuff made up of the usual cut-up snippets and dense yet precise prose we expect from Mr. Ballard.

Regular readers of his work will find characters from previous work reappear – Karen Novotny, Coma, Kline, Xero, Ralph Nader, J. F. Kennedy, Harvey Oswald – now joined by the three dead (and thankfully unnamed) astronauts of the recent Apollo disaster, though to what exact purpose is under debate. Images of sex, pornography and crashing vehicles proliferate in this collage of moments. As baffling as ever, fans will appreciate more of the bleakness and the dour mood that typically suffuse Ballard’s work. Intellectually disconcerting. 4 out of 5.

1937 A. D. ! by John T. Sladek

John Sladek has been appearing a lot in the British magazines lately. Whilst not quite as noticeable as Disch or Zelazny, he has been known to be creating readable stories of interest. This is another one, a time-travel story that in its setting and lighter tone has the feel of a Bradbury rather than a Wells – or perhaps a Clifford Simak. Amusing and well done, if nothing really new. 3 out of 5.

Article: Sleep, Dreams and Computers by Dr. Christopher Evans

This heralds the return of science articles to New Worlds. Dr. Christopher Evans is known here for his articles on computers. He’s not Isaac Asimov, admittedly, but his article on computers, sleep and machine intelligence (they are connected here!) is accessible and written in a prose that is not intimidating. 4 out of 5.

The Heat Death of the Universe by P. A. Zoline

Zoline is perhaps known for her art – there is some of it in the magazine! – but here her prose “does a Ballard” and is presented in small, easily digestible chunks. 3 out of 5.

Not So Certain by David Masson

The return of David Masson brings me mixed feelings. When his work is good, it is very, very good – see his story Traveller’s Rest, for example, back in the September 1965 issue.

However, some of his more recent stories have been less impressive – often still ambitious, but for me lacking something.

The good news is that I enjoyed this one a little more than some. Not so Certain deals with one of Masson’s interests that has appeared in his stories before – that of linguistics and syntax. It is pleasantly complex, although overall the story feels like a lecture, heavy on its didactics. As a result, it is rather like Ballard’s work to me – complex, intelligent and yet rather mystifying. There’s some effort made here, but it does feel rather dull, with a cop-out ending. 3 out of 5.

Article: Expressing the Abstract by Charles Platt

The first page of the Escher article, showing how the magazine is taking advantage of its new quality printing and bigger layout. 

And talking of lectures, here’s an article from the magazine’s newly-employed Art Director (you may also remember him for his prose too!) that examines the work of abstract artist E. M. Escher. This accounts for the eye-catching cover this month, but also explains that – wait for it! – there is more to Escher than meets the eye! (Sorry.) An interesting and enlightening article, that I suspect is here because it fits the wider brief given to the magazine by the Arts Council. 4 out of 5.

The Soft World Sequence by George MacBeth

Poetry. Glass eye in groin. Cucumbers. 2 out of 5.

In the House of the Dead by Roger Zelazny

Lyrical Fantasy from Roger. Strange, gruesome, experimental dream-like images… the sort of thing now expected from the New Wave. An apocalyptic tale of gods and Masters, it is more obtuse than most of the recent material I’ve read of his. Thus, I liked this a little less, but it is still quite good.  4 out of 5.

Book Reviews

Brian Aldiss continues to provide book reviews in this new New Worlds. This month, Brian has two descriptions of non-fiction books about the Hiroshima atomic bomb and a discussion on the consequences of such an event. Douglas Hill reviews Judith Merril’s The Year’s Best S-F, 11th Annual Edition. James Cawthorn (here as “J. Cawthorn”) reviews Samuel R. Delany’s The Einstein Intersection, Roger Zelazny’s Four for Tomorrow, Philip K. Dick’s The Man in the High Castle and Robert Bloch’s collection, Pleasant Dreams / Nightmares, amongst others.

I like the more in-depth reviews, with Aldiss clearly the star of the show this month – even if they’re reviews of books I’m not tempted to read or buy myself.

Another change – there’s a little potted history of all of the contributors at the end of the magazine. I liked it – it’s a nice classy touch, and introduces the authors to those who may not know them from previous incarnations.

Summing up the new New Worlds

If I had to predict what I thought the new New Worlds would be like, this issue would be it. A wide-ranging mixture of science articles, articles on art, book reviews, poetry and yes, some science fiction, but a literary science fiction that is of “the now”, rather than something that harkens back to the past.

Comparing this to earlier Moorcock issues and especially the John Carnell era issues of a mere couple of years ago, this is a revelation, although regular readers may feel that this is what we’ve been leading up to.

More importantly, I think that this issue is the closest we’ve got so far to Moorcock’s vision for New Worlds. It is eclectic, abstract, big, bold and experimental. I feel that this issue is designed to show everyone what a science fiction magazine can offer – and, in my opinion, it mainly delivers. Ballard is Ballard, whilst the Disch is designed to shock – and does a pretty good job.

Whilst many of the authors are those we have read before, Moorcock clearly picking favourites to highlight the potential of his magazine, the presentation of a package of diverse material makes it seem new. It feels deliberately determined to prod, cajole and create controversy. You may not like everything here (and I didn’t!), but I think that that is the point. Is it science fiction and fantasy for the masses, though? Time will tell.

For me, Mike has impressed with this issue – now all he has to do is keep up this quality on a regular basis.

Until the next!



 

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Movies

[June 24, 1967] Oh no, not again!  (The James Bond movie, You Only Live Twice)

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Join us today, June 25, at 11:45 AM Pacific (2:45 Eastern) to see the very first, round-the-world broadcast: "Our World", featuring the premiere performance of the Beatles song, "All You Need is Love" (and a whole lot more!)


by Lorelei Marcus

My father and I took a trip to downtown Escondido last Friday to stroll and see the sights. Our first destination was the public library, a pleasant establishment my family visits often. That day, however, we were there for more than just books.


The Escondido Public Library

You see, Escondido is an old town for California, dating back to the previous century. While the sleek Main Street with its boutiques and shops is grand and all, father and I, travelers that we are, were out to discover some history. We made our way to the back corner of the library, full of dusty filing cabinets and drawers, and began rummaging through stores of old maps, newspaper clippings, and photographs in search of adventure. Soon after a kindly librarian came up to us and explained that there was a historical district just down the street. With a sheepish 'thank you' and 'farewell', we left to pursue the lead.

The expedition was a success. We saw a number of buildings from the twenties and before. The nearly Victorian architectures contrasted interestingly with some of the newer sites, including a very modern house of worship built just two years ago.


Escondido School District office building


In front of the Christian Science church


The brand new Methodist church


The El Plantio plant store!


Among the plants.


Lasagna break!


Modern works of art

The trip made me appreciate a little more the wonderful beauty of old things, and the amazing persistence of art, as we continue to remember and admire things long after their creation.

Fool me Thrice…

This week I watched the newest Bond film, You Only Live Twice , at its premiere. I can only hope that the philosophy of art preservation and adulation does not apply to this film in years to come.

I didn't have high hopes for the movie, particularly after the disaster that was Goldfinger (and previously, From Russia with Love). Yet with the setting being Japan, and our last trip several years behind us, the propect was too good to refuse.

And now there are two hours of my life that I'll never get back.

I will concede You Only Live Twice is the best of the Bond films (at least the ones I've seen), and I mean no disrespect to Roald Dahl who adapted the screenplay. However, the story takes some real squinting to hang together properly, and occasionally the only solution is to close your eyes altogether. Allow me to explain:


And pay attention.

Imagine it's 1966, the midst of the Cold War, and your goal is to get Russia and America to go to war with each other. You have a large budget and a small army of expendable workers. What are a few ways you might get the two superpowers to turn things hot? Do you have an idea in your head? Maybe two or three? Alright, now I'll tell you how Spectre decided to do it.

Step one: Design and construct a spacecraft capable of upright takeoff and landing (something which no nation in the world has ever managed), and large enough to contain another spacecraft.


It goes up and down. Spectre would make more selling this design to the highest bidder.

Step two: Construct an underground facility/launchpad to house said spacecraft.


Complete with Disneyland monorial.

Step three: Launch the spacecraft during American and Russian space shots, align the craft with other ships in orbit, and use the Spectre ship to retrieve American or Russian crafts in overly dramatic fashion.


Reusing Cronkite's Gemini simulation set, apparently.

Step four: Keep the astronauts as prisoners, not to interrogate or hold for ransom, or anything really. Maybe they make nice pets?


New pets for Spectre.


Spectre's current pet.

Step five: America and Russia blame each other for the stolen spaceships and go to war.


At a special session of the Security Council, both the U.S. and U.S.S.R. blame the U.K. for its lousy film franchise.

How simple! And elegant! And economically efficient! I can't think of a single thing that could go wrong!

I think I've made my point here, so let's move on.

Plots in the Hole

Spectre, with the priority of theatrics over efficiency, go through with their evil plan. MI6 tracks that the shots are coming from Japan and send their 'best man' for the job, James Bond himself. On his arrival, Bond has a run in with the charming Aki (Akiko Wakabayashi), who turns out to be the assistant of Tiger Tanaka (Tetsuro Tamba), leader of Japan's spy organization. One thing this movie does do right is having an ensemble of likable characters. James Bond is an insufferable character as it is, and Sean Connery is particularly weak in the role. The charisma of his co-stars alone was what kept me invested through most of the movie.


Wakabayashi and Tamba try once more to explain the script to Connery.

Of course Aki is killed off halfway through, just to make sure my opinion of the film doesn't get too high. She is replaced by a pretty girl from a fishing village who poses as James Bond's wife. Her special skills include having the personality of a cardboard sheet, and being able to hike an entire mountain in a bikini.


Talent!

But when Bond isn't throwing himself at anything with breasts and legs, he's taking credit for other people's work in saving the world. After he infiltrates Spectre's super secret volcano base, Bond gets captured trying to pose as one of their astronauts. Luckily, his friend Tiger shows up with an army of one hundred ninjas to rescue him and take Spectre down.


Ninjas!

An intense battle ensues, and Bond manages to press the self-destruct button for the Spectre spacecraft just in the nick of time. (That is, when it's right next to the Gemini spaceship in orbit. I'm sure that explosion will have no repercussions.) The day is saved, Spectre's plan foiled, etc., etc. Hooray.


"Houston! Something just hit us in the….[crackle]"

I can only imagine the masterpiece this could have been if it weren't a James Bond movie. The cinematography and special effects were both phenomenally gorgeous. The music was good, the setting was fun (and to some degree familiar), and most of the acting was good, too. For the first half I actually felt like I was watching a fairly interesting spy flick, despite its star.


The scenery didn't hurt, either.

But then it stumbled and fell into the pitfalls of the franchise. So long as Bond remains a womanizer whom every pretty girl falls for (despite his incompetence and frankly, ugliness); so long as death has no consequence and people are killed for cheap drama left and right; so long as the villains and their plots make no sense whatsoever and should fall apart the second they're set in motion; so long as all of these things remain staples of the James Bond tradition, I doubt I will ever appreciate a James Bond movie.

But perhaps just as the bright colors on the sophisticated Escondido houses were once seen as gaudy, this film will rise from the ashes as a historical classic for the ages. Or maybe it's just schlock. Only time will tell.

Out of all the Bond movies, three stars. Out of all the media I've ever seen, two stars, one for Tiger and one for Aki.



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Science Fiction/Fantasy

[June 22, 1967] The Pong Arising from the World Convention

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by Alison Scott

Something is rotten in the science fiction fandom community. And its name is Pong.

I recently came into correspondence with Gideon Marcus, founder of Galactic Journey. I took him to task for the lack of fanzine reviews and commentary in his ‘zine–a shocker in such an otherwise comprehensive overview of our modern world of science fiction. He suggested that there was an obvious remedy to that omission. And so, I find myself dragooned into the position of “Associate Writer” for the Journey. You’re welcome.

Although I’m based in London, I’m fortunate enough to trade with many fan editors around the world, and hope to share with you some of the topics that are exciting fans this summer, and that are mentioned in the fanzines arriving in the post each day. And one topic,in particular, has consumed the thoughts of SF fans across the globe–the idea that the fan Hugos will be separated from the “real” Hugos and given their own name.


A section of the Hugo Award Nomination ballot for 1967, with a torn paper edge at the base.

Tucker’s Folly

How many of you remember Hoy Ping Pong? I am not sure how familiar that name will be to the readers of the Journey. Hoy Ping Pong – “The Chinese Buck Rogers” – was a pseudonym used by Wilson ‘Bob’ Tucker in the 30s and 40s for much of his humorous fan writing, such as his “Report of the 196th Convention”, which you can read as a featured letter in Wonder Stories, November 1934, if you can find a copy. Tucker dressed up as Pong for the first convention masquerade at Chicon in 1940, though I have been unable to find a photo of this event. Over the years there have been many occasions in which Tucker appeared in place of Pong, or where Tucker wrote an appreciation of Pong or vice versa. Japes of this kind were commonplace amongst early fans. And in Tucker's case, as appreciated (or not appreciated, depending on who you ask) as the Chinese characters we keep seeing being played by British actors in Doctor Who. [or Mickey Rooney's turn as Yunioshi in Breakfast at Tiffany's (ed.)].

Tucker will perhaps be best known to Fellow Travelers as an author and critic. Perhaps one of you has found your name “Tuckerised” as a character in one of his sadly infrequent novels. But those of us who follow fanzines will know that he is one of the very first and most energetic fanzine fans, and instrumental in the flourishing of fanzines and therefore of science fiction fandom itself. Sadly, Tucker has not published an issue of his fanzine, Le Zombie, since 1958. And so therefore (perhaps not so sadly) we have not seen so many outings for Hoy Ping Pong, or any other of Bob Tucker’s Pong-based pseudonyms, such as John W Pong Jr and Horatio Alger Pong. And as such, they are drifting into obscurity.

Until now. Here we are in 1967, and Ted White, from his lofty position of power as chairman of NyCon 3, this year’s World SF Convention, has decided that the time has come to expand the existing Best Fanzine Hugo. I think that many of we actifans would welcome additional awards for Best Fan Writer and Best Fan Artist. However, the NyCon 3 committee – and I think we must assume this is mostly Ted – decided to unilaterally create a new class of awards, the Fan Achievement Awards, by analogy to the Science Fiction Achievement Awards, and to nickname them the “Pongs”, by analogy to the “Hugos”.


Ted White at last year's Worldcon (Tricon).

It is entirely a matter for the committee of the current World SF Convention to decide which Awards are made. From time to time, fans have suggested that this should be more formalised, but those attempts have never lasted for more than the current year, as each new committee puts their own stamp on the Convention. So this year, as Buck Coulson writes in *Yandro* #169, “[Ted] scorned to use manipulation, propaganda, persuasion or even tact; he just came out, open and aboveboard, with his coup.” But as we see below, Coulson – for whom White is a regular columnist – was not actually averse to the idea.

Back and Forth

Fan editors as a whole, however, have not been pleased, to say the least. Following general grumblings, the *Double:Bill* editors, Bill Bowers and Bill Mallardi, wrote to five influential faneds. Three wrote back rapidly to agree with the Bills’ view that these awards should be Hugos; one replied verbally, and only one dissented – Buck Coulson, who as the Bills archly point out, already has a Best Fanzine Hugo.

Tom Reamy goes further, and suggests that, “We should outlaw such changes on the whim of the half-dozen who just happen to be the con committee. Any change the committee wants to make should be voted on by the membership and stop all this nonsense.” That might be a step too far; one can easily see how these arrangements could quickly become an unwieldy bureaucracy.

Despite the nomination form listing this as a done deal, and not containing any opportunity for comment, a quarter of the returned ballots argued that the awards should be named Hugos instead, and the idea of the Fan Achievement Awards be forgotten. The Convention committee did not follow that advice. Instead they reported that three-quarters of ballots supported the Pongs – quite the prevarication given that they were merely those that had not actively complained.

Although Tucker is much beloved as the “first fannish fan”, even some of the people who think that the Fan Achievement Awards are a fine idea are not persuaded that the best nickname for them would be the Pongs. Offense concerns aside, Hoy Ping Pong, and Tucker’s many other Pong-related pen names, are only known to dedicated fannish fans. Pong himself seems to exist primarily as Tucker’s alter ego; if the ‘Chinese Buck Rogers’ had adventures, we never learn of them. Many of the fans who have commented on this little furore have found the choice of “Pong” to be baffling.


Wilson Tucker in his younger years

Some of the fans who do support the move do so for the most cynical of reasons. They argue that the Best Fanzine Hugo has already been debased as a result of one or more winners who are to their minds unworthy. Therefore, why not start again with a new set of awards, which, while nominated and voted for by the same imperfect Convention members, will no doubt deliver a far better outcome? I trust most of you will be able to spot the flaw in that argument. 

Finally, it may only be here in Britain where the word “pong” means a peculiar and off-putting smell, but that seems to me to be another excellent reason why we would not want our highest awards for fan activity to be called after one. The ‘Hugos’ are traditionally a stylish and weighty rocket ship, redolent of, well, the future. Let our imaginations not trouble us too much with thoughts of what a ‘Pong’ award might look like.

Let Bye-pongs be Bye-pongs

Regardless of our feelings about the Pongs, it is time for everyone who is a World SF Convention Member to vote for the Hugos, including for what I hope will be the Best Fanzine, Best Fan Artist and Best Fan Writer Hugos. Although there is not space for it on the form, I suggest that you take the opportunity to make your feelings clear when you mail in your vote.

This is not just an academic exercise! Our own dear Galactic Journey is a nominee for Best Fanzine for the fourth time [at least, so we were told–I can’t find us on the ‘67 Hugo ballot…(ed)]. Would we be content to win a Pong, rather than a Hugo? Nobody does fanzines intending to win awards, but if we were to win, the Traveler and company would need to decide whether to accept our Pong, or turn it down as many faneds are suggesting.

Will the NyCon3 committee relent, and award Hugos rather than Pongs to the best fanzine, fan writer and fan artist of the year? Watch this space.

Thanks to Fanac for source material, and to Mark Plummer who additionally provided useful material from his own collection.

[Per the latest ‘zines, it does appear the Nycon Committee has relented, and the “pong” will go the way of the dodo. Thank goodness! (ed)]



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Magazine/Anthology

[June 20, 1967] Yours sincerely, wasting away (July 1967 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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by Gideon Marcus

When I get older, losing my hair

Age afflicts us all.  I remember once having a beautiful mop of curly hair with a line that was two inches from my brows.  Now, the front is racing toward the back, and my only compsensation is the flourishing stuff coming out my ears.

Of course, people age in different ways.  Robert Preston sang in last year's musical hit, I do! I do!–"Men of forty go to town. Women go to pot," but in my experience, it's quite the opposite. I'd like to think that I'm "entering my prime," but who knows?

Science fiction magazines are going through a midlife crisis, too.  The oldest of them, Amazing, turned 41 this year.  But is it "delightfully witty" and "wise"? Has it "stood the test of time"?  In fact, the magazine that Gernsback built is consistently the lowest rated of the SF digests, packed mostly with cheap reprints.  How about Analog, neé Astounding, rapidly approaching its Jack Benny birthday (he's eternally 39, you see)?  Well, I suppose it depends on whom you ask, but I think it's safe to say that Campbell's mag is definitely in a rut, fossilized into the features it had some fifteen years ago.

Even the newer crop has had a stormy adolescence.  Galaxy is 17.  Once a brilliant child, it is now an often insipid teenager.  If it stays this staid, it may not make it to voting age.  And how about Fantasy and Science Fiction, which just left its minority this year?  The venerable mag, the most literary of its kind, has had an unstable family life, with revolving editors through its teen years.  As a result, the wrinkles are already showing in this 18 year old.

Ed Ferman seems to be aware of his institution's aging.  Indeed, this month's issue, which begins and ends with (and devotes half its words to) the subject of growing old, seems a deliberate acknowledgement of the predicament.


by Jack Gaughan

The Day Before Forever, by Keith Laumer

Steve Dravek, late a denizen of the 20th Century, finds himself on a street near the end of the 21st.  Only shreds of memory remain, enough to give him a sense of identity, but no idea how he arrived in the future (young again, when he had been middle aged) nor why the black uniformed mooks of Eternity Incorporated (ETORP) are after him.

After being beset by "the lowest of the low" in a park, he is apprehended by "Jess", self-proclaimed "highest of the low", for purposes unknown.  Dravek uses force and wit to turn the situation around, making Jess take him to the heart of ETORP's facility on Long Island in pursuit of the truth…and himself.

Forever uses the latest gimmick everyone seems to have latched onto lately: cryonics.  That's the idea that one can be flash frozen before death in the hopes that any malady one is suffering from can be cured in the future.  Fred Pohl, editor of Galaxy and IF has gone into it in a big way, but now it's showing up here, too.

Anyway, there are more twists and turns than a new Los Angeles freeway interchange, and a lot of it gets explained in the end rather than shown as the story goes, but it's a readable potboiler, the kind Laumer can crank out in his sleep.

Three stars.

Balgrummo's Hell, by Russell Kirk

60+ years ago, Laird Balgrummo was sealed in his decaying manor house after committing an unspeakable crime against humanity and nature.  Now the world is waiting for him to shuffle off this mortal coil…save for Horgan, a greedy thief who would rob Balgrummo of his fortune of paintings while he sleeps.

Except Balgrummo sleeps not.  He lurks.

There are no surprises in this story, which reads like something out of Weird Tales' early days.  But the telling is delicious. 

My favorite story of the issue: four stars.

Alter Ego, by Hugo Correa

If you could make an identical new you, one unhindered by all of your life's wrong choices, who would be the better person?  You, or the android duplicate?

More a philosophical piece than science fiction, I found it stayed with me.  Three stars.

Encounter in the Past, by Robert Nathan

On the other hand, Nathan's story of the rediscovery of a Mesozoic human civilization doesn't make a lot of sense.  I reread the short piece a few times, and I still can't make heads or tails of it.

Two stars.

The Master's Thesis, by David Madden

Worse still is this pointless piece about a Professor Swinnard and the young man who insists on afflicting him with his master's thesis.  The story goes 'round in circles as Swinnard is increasingly disarmed and discomfited by the student's rudeness and the haste with which he finishes his project…yet I am at a loss to understand whence stems the horror, nor what the final thesis is actually about.

Am I stupid?  Is the point obvious to anyone else?

One star.

Flight Between Realities, by Doris Pitkin Buck

Buck's poem from the standpoint of an omniscient being sipping her sherry is a bit hard to parse, but seems to be of great moment.

Three stars.

The Sea Monster and the Mayor of New York City, by Gahan Wilson

On the perils to a monster's digestion due to the consumption of a fraught metropolis. 

Frivolous.  Two stars.

Twelve Point Three Six Nine, by Isaac Asimov

The Good Doctor explains the foolishness of associating significance to chance juxtapositions of numbers by creating his own, tying together the relation of the lunar and solar calendars to the Bible.

It's cute, and I found some of the historical bits interesting.  Three stars.

The Vitanuls, by John Brunner

In the early 21st Century, the birthrate has slackened.  But new births are not unknown, and as a kind of medical immortality is introduced, more and more babies are born healthy but vacant.  Void of intellect or animus.  Could there be a connection?

This story has a lot of problems.  Not only is the piece structurally flawed, telegraphing its ending from the beginning but taking forever to get there, but it also doesn't seem to understand how souls work.  Set in India, there is much reference to Hindu reincarnation and such.  But the story suggests that there is a limited number of human souls, and by cheating death, we're robbing the young of life. 

I'd always understood that, per Hinduism, animals and plants and…everything…had souls, all of which could serve in a human form.  Even if that were not the case, I think Brunner's math is off.  Yes, it's true that half of the people who've ever lived are alive today, but if the living outnumber the dead, it won't be because of immortality, but simple birthrate.  And does the store of human souls grow over time, or was it fixed, like the memory store of a mainframe, at a specific number deemed sufficient a million years ago, but now inadequate?

Two stars for this poorly thought out shock tale.

Will you still need me?  Will you still read me?

I understand summer is when magazines put out all their inferior stuff since readership is at its lowest ebbs during the dog days.  Still, if this latest issue (which scores just 2.7 on the Starometer) be any indication of where the magazine is headed, quality-wise, I have distinct concerns that it may never make it to the ripe old age of 64…


by Gahan Wilson



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55 years ago: Science Fact and Fiction