Magazine/Anthology, Serial

[February 28, 1965] Tragedy and Triumph (March 1965 Analog)

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by Gideon Marcus

Casualty of War

Malcolm X was shot on my birthday.

While I was celebrating with friends on February 21, 1965, enjoying cake and camaraderie at a small Los Angeles fan convention, Malcolm X, one of the highest profile fighters for civil rights in America, was gunned down.  At a meeting of the Organization of Afro-American Unity (OAAU), a group X founded, three shooters attacked the 39-year-old father of four (soon to be five), wounding him sixteen times.  He did not survive the trip to the hospital.

Two of the assailants were captured, but their motive is still unclear.  All fingers point to the Black Muslims, however.  After his disillusionment with and fraught departure from the group, X had cause to worry that they intended to rub out a man they thought of as a traitor.  Indeed, X had received a number of death threats prior to the OAAU meeting. 

Elijah Muhammad, leader of the Black Muslims, had to arrive at a rally at New York's Coliseum on February 26 flanked by police protection.  Addressing the large audience, he made clear that he'd come to savage X, not to praise or bury him. 

Malcolm X was a controversial figure.  Whereas Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.'s non-violent methods have earned him almost universal admiration from America (those who fight the old order, anyway), X was a militant Afro-American.  It was only recently that his attitude toward Whites began to soften, the result of a pilgrimage to Mecca, which he shared with many light-skinned Muslims.  Nevertheless, there is no question that the war for civil rights has claimed one of its most important generals. 

As Black Americans prepare for a freedom march from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama, the cynic in me wonders who will be next.

Cheering News

In recent months, that kind of a downer headline would segue easily, if dishearteningly, into a piece on how the latest Analog was a disappointment.  Thankfully, the magazine is on an upswing, and the March 1965 Analog, last of the "bedsheet" sized isues, is one of the best in a long while.


by John Schoenherr

The Twenty Lost Years of Solid-State Physics, by Theodore L. Thomas

Theodore L. Thomas takes a break from his rather lousy F&SF science vignettes to talk about the patenting of the first transistor.  Apparently, a fellow named Lilienfeld worked out the theory long before Shockley et. al., filing a patent as early as 1930!  Yet, Lilienfeld never tried to build the thing, and the invention had no effect on the world save for complicating the filing of later patents by others.  Sad, to be sure, although Lilienfeld had a prolific career otherwise, and I'm given to understand that materials technology was not sufficiently advanced to make the device back then anyway.

Still, it makes you wonder what other inventions lie buried at the patent office, lacking a vital something to bring them into common use.

Four stars.

The Case of the Paradoxical Invention, by Richard P. McKenna

Speaking of inventions that haven't found their era, McKenna offers up a motor powered by the stream of radioactive particles from a decaying source.  The problem is, it appears to be both physically possible and impossible simultaneously.

The math is over my head, and probably over the head of most of Analog's readers, too.

Two stars.

The Iceman Goeth, by J. T. McIntosh


by Leo Summers

Andrew Coe is an iceman.  Years ago, he had his emotions wiped clean, both punishment and societal protection, for Coe had murdered an ex-lover for unfaithfulness.  Now he makes a living with a clairvoyant and telepathy act — except it's no act.  He's the real deal. 

It appears nothing will change the colorless unending cycle of work and sleep, but outside Coe's harshly circumscribed life, the city he resides in is slowly going mad.  Psychotic breaks followed by motive-less murders and suicides have been steadily on the rise.  The police are at wits end as to their cause until a scientists pinpoints their origin to an unexploded dementia bomb, dropped in a war 50 years before. 

To find the thing, Coe will have to have to use his full mental powers, only accessible if he gets back his emotions.

There is a five star story here, one where the drama resides in the decision to restore Coe to his former self.  Coe is a killer; is it worth it unleash one madman on the world to stop a hundred?

The problem is, that's not how McIntosh plays it.  Instead, Coe simply finds the bomb, receives a pardon, gets a new girl, and everyone lives happily ever after.  No mention is made of his past crimes.  We never learn about the woman he killed.  If anything, McIntosh almost seems to excuse Coe's act as forgivable given the circumstances.

Deeply dissatisfying, but God, what potential.  Three stars.

(Have we seen this concept of the iceman before?  It seems awfully familiar.)

Balanced Ecology, by James H. Schmitz


by Dean West

The McIntosh is followed by a tale as delightful as the prior story was disappointing.  On the planet Wrake, the ecosystem is uniquely interdependent.  Among the groves of diamondwood trees reside the skulking slurps, whose primary prey are the ambulatory tumbleweeds, whose seeds are tilled by the subterranean and invisible "clean-up squad".  Other denizens are the monkey-like humbugs, with an annoying tendency to mockingbird human expressions, and the giant tortoise-like mossbacks, who sleep for years at a time in the center of the forests.

Ilf and Auris Cholm are pre-teen owners of one of these woods, heir to a modest fortune thanks to their well-moderated timbering operation.  When greedy off-worlders want to effect a hostile takeover for a clearcutting scheme, do a pair of kids stand a chance?  Not without a little help, as it turns out…

I really really liked this story, almost an ecological fable.  The only bumpy spot, I felt, was the part where the villain revealed his evil scheme in a bit too much of a stereotypical, if metaphorical, cackle.

Four stars.

The Wrong House, by Max Gunther


by Adolph Brotman

Out in the suburbs, they're building giant subdivisions with rows of handsome houses on gently curving lanes.  Many find them charming, but others find them unsettling — like the young woman who confesses (in The Wrong House) to her engineer husband that her home seems somehow "unfriendly."  To his credit, the man takes his spouse seriously and determines to understand why the air duct pipe is warm instead of cool, and just what all those strange electronics installed in their attic might be…

Another good story, maybe a little too pat, but well executed.  Four stars.

The Prophet of Dune (Part 3 of 5), by Frank Herbert


by John Schoenherr

Now we come to the centerpiece of the issue, the sweeping serial scheduled across the first five months of 1965.  In this latest installment, Paul Atreides and his mother, the Bene Gesserit Lady Jessica, fulfill prophecy and become spiritual leaders of the Fremen, the indigenes of the desert planet Arrakis.  Meanwhile, Baron Vladimir Harkonnen, usurper of the Atreides fiefdom on Arrakis, schemes to parlay his control of the geriatric spice melange into rulership of the entire galactic Empire.

There were times when the immense scope and obvious attention to detail threatened to elevate Dune into four star, even classic territory.  And then Frank Herbert's fat fingers got in their own way and gave us such classic passages as this:

Paul heard hushed voices come down the line: "It's true then–Liet is dead."
Liet, Paul thought.  Then: Chani, daughter of Liet.  The pieces fell together in his mind.  Liet was the Fremen name of the Planetologist, Kynes.

Paul looked at Farok, asked: "Is it the Liet known as Kynes?"

"There is only one Liet," Farok said.

Paul turned, stared at the robed back of a Fremen in front of him.  Then Liet-Kynes is dead, he thought.

I guess Kynes is dead.  He's also called Liet.  I thought.

How about this one:

"This" — [Baron Harkonnen] gestured at the evidence of the struggle in the bed-chamber–"was foolishness.  I do not reward foolishness."

Get to the point, you old fool! Feyd-Ruatha thought.

"You think of me as an old fool," the Baron said.  "I must dissuade you of that."

Fool me thrice, shame on Herbert.  The third-person omniscient/everywhere/everyone vantage is clumsy; a better writer could go without such exposition and switching of viewpoints, instead saving it, perhaps, for the times when Paul goes into one of his prescient fugues.

But I do want to keep reading, if for nothing else than to know what happens.

Three stars.

Desiderata, by Max Ehrmann

For some reason, Analog's editor, John W. Campbell Jr., decided to include a set of homilies from the inside of Old Saint Paul's Church in Baltimore, dated 1692.  At first, my atheistic side bridled, but I ultimately found the platitudes refreshing and timeless.

No stars for this entry, for it's not really a tale nor an article.

The Legend of Ernie Deacon, by William F. Temple


by Dean West

Last up, we follow the exploits of Arthur, captain of a two-place merchant ship plying the lanes between Earth and Alpha Centauri.  It's a twelve year trip, reduced to a subjective 18 months thanks to time dilation.  It's still a long time, but Art finds it lucrative and satisfying, trading full-sense movies called "Teo's" for the life-saving medicine, varos.  Legend is a philosophical piece, discussing the morality of preferring a vicarious life to a "real" one (and of facilitating the addiction thereto), and also evaluating the reality of fictional creations whose existence comes to shadow that of their creators (e.g. Holmes over Doyle).

Good, thoughtful stuff, with an ending that can be viewed as mystical or simply sentimental.

Four stars.

Summing Up

The counter to tragedy is hope, and the latest Analog gives me a lot of hope — that the magazine that ushered in the Golden Age of science fiction will rise to former glory (some may argue that the magazine never fell; it has maintained the highest SF circulation rates for decades.) In fact, Analog is the month's highest-rated mag, at 3.3 stars, for the first time in years.

Fantastic followed closely at 3.2; all the rest of the mags were under water:

Amazing and New Worlds both merited 2.9 stars (but the former made John Boston smile, so that's something).  Science-Fantasy scored a sad 2.6.  Fantasy and Science Fiction was a lousy 2.3.  IF, at 2 stars, was so bad that I'm not sorry to stop reviewing it; that harsh task now falls on the shoulders of one David Levinson, whom we shall meet next month.

And February does end with one more bit of tragedy: out of 45 fictional pieces published in magazines this month, only one was written by a woman.

Here's hoping March offers better news on that front, and others.




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Book

[February 26, 1965] Dare to be Mediocre (February Galactoscope #2)

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This second Galactoscope for February involves entries from both sides of the Atlantic.  It also introduces our newest writer, a most interesting Briton who we are most grateful to have; there's so much going on in the UK these days!

Dare by Philip Jose Farmer


By Jason Sacks

I’ve become a big fan of Philip Jose Famer over the years. Which is why I’m frustrated I didn’t enjoy his newest book, Dare, as much as I wanted to.

Like most of you, I became familiar with Farmer when I first read his famous short story “The Lovers.” I was captivated by Famer’s smart prose, his intriguing depiction of love between a human and alien, and most of all by his focus on human emotions while exploring thoroughly unique alien worlds.

Farmer has continued to build that reputation over the last decade, culminating in (at least to me) his imaginative world building with his outstanding 1964 novella “The Day of the Great Shout”,  which was set in his fantastical and intriguing Riverworld. With that story, it began to feel like Farmer was on the verge of taking his next leap forward as a writer, fulfilling the promise he showed during his first fecund period, during the 1950s, when he was nominated as Most Promising New Talent.

Unfortunately, Dare doesn’t quite demonstrate the virtuosity one expects from our current group of budding science fiction masters.

Oh, Dare has elements of uniqueness and sparks of something special. The world Farmer creates is broad and diverse, with clues dropped of the same sorts of cosmic chessmasters who might have created the Riverworld.

The planet Dare is a fantastical place, part utopia and part dystopia, inhabited by a heady and fascinating mix of humans and fantasy-like creatures.

In one of the most interesting twists (which doesn’t pay off in the book) the humans on this planet are the members of the original Jamestown settlement on Earth, who landed in Virginia at the dawn of the era of colonization and then disappeared before the next boatload of Brits landed in America. Farmer answers the lingering mystery of their disappearance in the most science-fiction way possible: these settlers have been kidnapped to that aforementioned alien world, in which they find themselves attempting to survive and continue the way of life for which they left England in the first place.

As happens with every generation, where parents set rules, the children will defy the rules. Love will find its way, even if the love is between two different species.

The other inhabitants of the planet are a curious mix of creatures which seem to emerge from Terran mythology. There are mandrakes and talking dragons and annoying unicorns – a clever running gag of the book paints unicorns as stupid, emotional animals and far from childrens’ fantasies – and a group of satyr type creatures. Naturally the satyrs cavort about in the nude and naturally the human boy falls in love with a female of the species named R’li.

A triple novel?

Dare really reads like three books – or maybe three short stories – under one cover.

The first third of the book dwells mainly on the romance between Jack and R’li. This section is sweet and a bit sexy and reminds me of a variant on “The Lovers”. Much of the middle third of the book shows the humans’ fury at the boy’s indiscretion, and is full of action and intrigue. However, the charm of the first third is tossed away for more of a violent, action-adventure story, and the transition between those two sections happens awkwardly, making the book feel like it’s arguing with itself. In the last third, Farmer takes the plot into more of a science fiction battle territory as a ship arrives and changes everything on the planet.

None of these storylines cohere well with the others. There’s a feeling that Farmer wrote three short stories set in this world and then just grafted them together, never mind that the tone shifts wildly and the book doesn't effectively build to a satisfying conclusion. A reader finishes this book a bit stunned, unsure what to make of the mysterious mélange Farmer has delivered.

More than that, there’s just so much here that feels underdeveloped. I wanted to learn more about the dislocation the Virginians felt, to understand more about the alien society, and to understand what force brought all these creatures to the planet. Unusually for Farmer, this book felt more about the surface and less about the depth, making for a jarring and ultimately frustrating read.

I still hope for good things from Farmer, but Dare represents a step backwards on the road to mastery.

Rating: 2 stars

New Writings in SF 3


by Mx. Kris Vyas-Myall

If you've been a science fiction fan in Britain anytime in the last decade you likely know John Carnell. He was an editor on Britain’s first fanzine, New Worlds, before the war and revived it as a professional fiction venue in the '40s. He then further expanded to Science Fantasy and Science Fiction Adventures, becoming rather like Britain’s version of Frederik Pohl.

However, with the latter shutting down last year and declining sales on the other two titles, Carnell decided to take another leaf from Pohl’s book to move away from publishing magazines and become a literary agent, and to try his hand at publishing original anthologies.

His stated aims in the first publication were as follows:

  • Only publish either original stories or those not likely seen by the vast majority of readers
  • Introduce new short fiction to the general public rather than just science fiction afficionados
  • Introduce new styles, ideas and writers to the genre

I can definitely say he has been successful in the first one and probably in the second, but I am not so sure on the final point.

Firstly, most of the writers had already been writing for New Worlds; the only truly new ones so far have been John Rankine & G. L. Lack. And I would not say this work is that experimental — rather it has been solid in established fields. Ironically these aims seem like they might be being better achieved by Moorcock and Bonfiglioli in their new management of Carnell's old magazines.

What we have had in the previous two issues of New Writings are solid stories of the type we would expect from these writers, even those like Brian Aldiss (whose work I always love). I would never place these works among their top range, but even the lower tier authors brought over from Carnell’s last years on New Worlds are still producing readable work for the first two volumes as well as #3, which I shall now discuss:

The Subways of Tazoo, by Colin Kapp

In our first story we follow an archeological dig as they attempt to uncover an extinct civilization on a hostile world. The story is largely told through rather unnatural conversation, but the way it unfolds and gives us more information about the Tazoon is rather interesting. A low three stars.

The Fiend, by Frederik Pohl

Speaking of Pohl, his influence appears again with this reprint from Playboy (described wonderfully by Carnell as “an American magazine devoted to the broadest of broad policies of masculine appeal”). Here Pohl attempts a dark tale of an interstellar voyage captain’s obsession with a frozen passenger, but comes across as creepy in the wrong way. Two stars for me but one that may appeal to other new wavers.

Manipulation, by John Kingston

The first of two stories by regular Science Fantasy contributor Keith Roberts (under, what I believe is, a new pseudonym) where he gives us a stylish and evocative tale of a man dealing with having psychic powers. This fresh take, whilst not as highly experimental as is being published by Moorcock, represents the closest to the fulfillment of Carnell’s stated aims. Four stars.

Testament, by John Baxter

The return of another New Worlds regular with this vignette on survival in a dying world. These kinds of apocalypses are very much in vogue right now but Baxter manages a deft and memorable work. Four stars.

Night Watch, by James Inglis

A second very short piece in a row. This one treads over some well-worn ground but does it well. A solid three stars.

Boulter's Canaries, by Keith Roberts

In his second story for the anthology Roberts asks, is there a scientific explanation for ghosts? The resulting answer is less satisfactory than other recent attempts. Two stars.

Emreth, by Dan Morgan

This is a story from an old hand returning to SF writing after a four-year hiatus. It has incredibly strong and memorable moments but doesn't tie well enough together for me to get beyond three stars.

Space Master, by James H. Schmitz

Schmitz, as a longstanding and prolific American author, seems like an odd fit to finish out this collection. If you like the kind of work he does you may enjoy this story, I personally do not. Two stars.

In Conclusion

So overall this is pretty much down the middle. None of the stories within seem destined to be all-time classics but none are truly awful; even those I disliked I can see they may well appeal to others. Solid and competent work.

By all accounts these collections have been pretty well received by the science fiction buying public over here, and along with increasing sales on New Worlds and Science Fantasy, it seems like British Science Fiction is in safe hands.

Like Watching a Movie


by Gideon Marcus

Another month, another Ace Double.  This one is designated M-111, and like most of the rest of the books in the series, it offers two mildly interesting adventure stories.  In this case, I felt the writing exceptionally vivid; both books would make good film adaptations, I think.

Fugitive of the Stars, by Edmond Hamilton


by Jack Gaughan

Horne, 1st Navigator on the Vega Queen, makes landfall on the Fringe planet of Skereth.  Skereth is on the verge of accepting an invitation to join the galactic Federation of planets, and they are sending the envoy, Morivenn, to effect the union.  In a back alley on Skereth's capital, Horne and his 2nd Navigator are beset by hoodlums, and the latter crewman is rendered unable to work.  Luckily, an eager-beaver Skerethian named Ardric is a qualified 2nd Navigator.

He's also an anti-Federation agent, and he manages to destroy the Vega Queen, killing most of its passengers and crew before getting away.  Horne is courtmartialed for negligence, but he flees justice before he can be sentenced.  Now on the hunt for Ardric, his goal is to clear his name — and discover what secret makes Skereth is so hell-bent on staying out of the Federation.

If this plot sounds familiar, it may be because you read the novella on which it's based (basically the latter two thirds of the book) came out as Fugitive of the Stars in one of the last issues of Imagination more than seven years ago. 


by Malcolm Smith

Thus, there's no way the title is meant to evoke the current TV show staring David Janssen (The Fugitive, natch).  In any event, Edmond Hamilton (Mr. Leigh Brackett) does a fine job with this riproaring space opera, and the expansion into a full-length novel only improves the story.  The best exchange in the book is this one, while Horne and Morivenn's daughter, Yso, are dogfighting Ardris' goons in hover cones:

Yso: "What's the matter?  Haven't you ever seen a woman fight before?"

Horne: "When I was in the Navy, some of my best men were women.  Are you Navy?"

Yso: "Skereth Planetary."

Three and a half stars.

Land Beyond the Map, by Kenneth Bulmer


by Jerome Podwil

Rollie Crane, a listless dilettante millionaire, had a traumatic experience as a child.  On a road trip through Ireland, his father, using a strange half-map, drove his family's car into a strange alternate dimension.  Therein, the ground heaved with chaos, clanking treaded things chased them, and strange towers bisected the horizon.  All of this lay half-forgotten until the stormy night that Polly Gould arrived at Crane's mansion with stories about a similar map, which had swallowed her former boyfriend and his new love many years prior.

The two decide to return to Ireland and search every antique bookshop until they find the map.  But what will they find when they reach the uncharted zone?  And who is this sinister McArdle character who shows up to warn them off their task?  Worst yet, what are these floating baleful eyes that burn with golden fire and vaporize at a glance?

I have to say that prolific British author Kenneth Bulmer had never really impressed me to date.  Land, on the other hand, is a fun romp.  In many ways, it feels like an Edgar Rice Burroughs story, with little reliance on technology, captivating scenery, and two strong characters who clearly fancy each other but can't confess their feelings until the very end.

Where the tale falls down is the conclusion, in which Crane has no real role.  He watches lots of exciting things happen, but he affects them not at all.  It's a shame and something of a cheat; surely Bulmer could have given Crane and/or Gould something to do at the climax.

So, three and a half stars for a pleasant time whose imagery will stay with you even if the plot doesn't.

(by the way, I've now learned that this story is also a reprint of sorts, an expansion of Map Country from the February 1961 Science-Fantasy.  It seems largely the same — just fuller.)


by Brian Lewis

That's it for February!  March promises to be a light month for books — good thing since we've been flooded with magazines!  Stay tuned…




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Magazine/Anthology, Science Fiction/Fantasy, Serial

[February 24, 1965] Doctors, Hunchbacks and Dunes … New Worlds and Science Fantasy, February/March 1965

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by Mark Yon

Scenes from England

Hello again!

As I briefly mentioned last time, much of this month has been about the country dealing with the death and subsequent state funeral of Sir Winston Churchill. It has felt like the passing of an era – the old guard, admittedly, but an end, nevertheless. It seems to have cast a cloud over everything.

I turned to the two magazines to try and cheer me up.

The First Issue At Hand

So: which magazine arrived first? The winner was (again)… Science Fantasy.


[Impressive cover this month. Remember the bad old days covers of the Carnell New Worlds era?]

Looking beyond the arty cover by Agosta Morol, I see that the magazine, like New Worlds, now has an Associate Editor. In this case its J. Parkhill-Rathbone (no first name given.) This is, no doubt, to cope with the extra volume created by the magazine going monthly.

Not that that is shown particularly by the Editorial, which even admits that there’s little to say this month and then fills the space by mentioning up-coming works of interest. There’s also an intriguing glimpse into the life of an editor, which involves Kyril, Jim Ballard, Brian Aldiss and some Liebfraumilch.

To the stories themselves.

The Outcast, by Harry Harrison

We start with a big name, the usually wonderful Harry Harrison. He has been here before but in his many guises as short story author, editor and collaborator. It is great to read a longer story. This is one of those “spaceships as cruise liner” type of tales, with a notorious passenger causing unrest amongst the passengers. I guess that it must be akin to being on a holiday with someone like Josef Mengele!

It’s told with the usual Harrison skill, with the occasional plot-point to keep the reader guessing. The protagonist is given a surprisingly nuanced character and is not the monster some would suggest, and by the end the story becomes one of redemption. Solidly thought-provoking, if unremarkable. It’s a good start to the issue. 3 out of 5.

Song of the Syren, by Robert Wells

A story about singing alien plants and the development of bad worker relationships, but also about the trouble women cause in space when surrounded by men. As bad as it sounds, this attempts to tell a mystery plot with misogynistic clichés that I thought went out with the pulps of the 1940’s. For example, “She was a sixth year student, one of the brightest in the unit’s botanical section, but it was an open secret that she would resign when her seven years tour of duty was complete and opt for a mating and reproductive role back in Solar.” Not one of the magazine’s brightest moments. 2 out of 5.

Moriarty, by Philip Wordley

A crime story about the protagonist’s relationship with a female telepathic cop in L.A. The twist here is that the policewoman wants the burglar to hold off from robbing a bank so that she can get a bigger catch, a big-time mobster planning to rob the same bank in a few days’ time. Another predictable story that doesn’t upset things too much. 2 out of 5.

Bring Back A Life, by John Rackham

Peter Raynor is a biochemist who finds himself abducted by a group of VIPs for a secret mission – the Prime Minister has been struck down with Ringer’s Parethis – a brain disease which has only been cured before by accident – before a major political conference in three weeks’ time. Raynor is asked to try and come up with a cure for the PM. The solution appears to be one in the past, so Raynor travels to get it. An adventure story, admittedly fast-paced, that seems rather contrived when you stop to think about it. 2 out of 5.

[Image by the writer]

The Jennifer, by Keith Roberts

What? Another month, another Keith Roberts story? This is the latest from a magazine favourite, an Anita story that was delayed from last month’s issue. If you like the continuing stories of this young teenage witch, described as “shameless” in the banner, I can’t see why you wouldn’t like this one – even with the still-present annoying Granny. This time Anita and Granny Thompson are on holiday at the seaside when Anita meets a mermaid, much to Granny’s disgust. Anita catches a Serpent ride into the sea… and then the story abruptly stops, as if the writer had run out of time and space. I would have liked more, which is the sign of a good story, although I’m going to dock a point for its abrupt end, which makes it feel like more of a story extract than a story. However, like most of these Anita stories, The Jennifer is light and fun, even if Granny still irks me. 3 out of 5.

A Cave in the Hills, by R. W. Mackelworth

Here’s an author you may recognise from the Carnell New Worlds days. He was last seen in the February 1964 issue of New Worlds with The Unexpected Martyr. This is the story of a bored housewife who in a utopian future finds that her boring husband has ended up in debt and in Debtors prison. Her own future is uncertain, dependent on a visit from the Adjudicator. But bigger issues are at play. This is another story of the value of identity and being different from the majority, themes that Mackelworth has examined before, but manages pretty well. 3 out of 5.

Hunt a Wild Dream, by D. R. Heywood

Another new writer. Do you remember recently when editor Kyril Bonfiglioni said that he was a fan of “time-travel safari” stories? Well, this one starts with a safari, at least.

Our hero of the piece is Manfred ‘Mac’ Cullen, known for “bringing them back alive” (which wins points from me, though I’m not entirely sure whether that statement means animals or tourists!) We follow Cullen as he starts a journey into the African grasslands, which suggests that he’s a more complex character than my stereotype might suggest. However, this one just starts to get interesting and then stops. There’s some ruminations on the spiritual beliefs of the local Nandi tribe, that Cullen knows and understands, but as soon as we hear of some murders that may have happened on lands where the locals refuse to go, the story stops, to be continued next month.

Based on what I’ve read here, this could develop into an interesting and scary story or fizzle to nothing. The jury is out, but based on what I’ve read here I’ll give Hunt A Wild Dream a cautious 3 out of 5 so far.

Summing up Science Fantasy

Although this issue of Science Fantasy is more up-beat than the last, I am a little underwhelmed by it. There’s nothing badly wrong – OK, there’s one story that’s really not good – but it’s a solid issue. And that may be the problem. Most of it is entertaining, but there’s nothing here to really grab my attention like the Burnett Swann serial did in previous months. I’m pretty sure that this is another issue that was worth me buying, yet I’ll have forgotten about by the end of the year. The best stories for me are the Harrison, and even that is not the best of his I’ve read, and the Anita story, which has its issues.

So let’s go to my second issue.

The Second Issue At Hand

As the cover heralds, this month’s New Worlds has a couple of well-known authors: J G Ballard and Arthur C Clarke.

This month’s Editorial, I’m pleased to say, is back to the discussion format that we seemed to have lost last month. It’s another call to arms, a rumination that science fiction is moving away from the traditional space exploration story to ones set on Earth and are more involved with inner space – the mind and its “capacities and defects”. It’s an interesting point, and I guess one which makes the British SF increasingly different to the majority of stories I see in the American magazines. It ends with the point that new young writers must look forward and not back as the values of the Sixties are not those of the 1950’s.


[Art by aTom]

All the King’s Men, by B J Bailey

A stand-alone novelette from Barrington J (BJ) Bailey this month. And I liked it very much, up to the end.

In 2034 the Earth has been invaded and peacefully vanquished by aliens, who whilst keeping control over the locals fight against each other over the Earth territories. The story is told by Smith, the human second in command who with Holath Horan Sorn has kept Britain generally peaceful for the alien King of All Britain, although, unsurprisingly, Sorn and our narrator are seen as traitors by many of the native populace.

The story begins with the fact that Sorn has died and there is an impending power struggle to take his place. Smith is bullied by Hotch to take the human’s side and use the disruption to cause chaos for the King, who has relied heavily on the advice of his human advisors to maintain order. It has in the past made decisions that are mistakes that the humans have had to nullify.

At the same time the King is concerned with a war between himself as King of Britain and other aliens who have taken over Brazil. Much of the story is how Smith tries to fulfil the role of Sorn as intermediary between the alien King, who is aware that his thinking is very different to that of Humans, and at the same time Smith struggles to represent the British people, who are constantly fretting under the control of an alien leader.

So why did I really like this one? The setup is intriguing. It’s an engaging mixture of historical ideas (kingdoms, courts, feuding Kings) in a future setting (spaceships, alien art, electric trains), with a character-based tone that I really engaged with. I was going to give this one 4 stars, until I got to the ending, where the author abruptly gives everything up and the lead character basically says “I don’t know what happened.” 3 out of 5.

Sunjammer, by Arthur C Clarke

I really like Arthur’s clarity of prose and this one doesn’t disappoint, although my enthusiasm is tempered by the fact that it is a reprint of a story first published in the USA as a juvenile story in Boy’s Life in March 1964. Sunjammer is the story of a race around the Solar System using spacecraft that use solar winds for propulsion. I really liked it as a good old-fashioned ‘sense of wonder’ story that Clarke is so good at – but it also shows us what was mentioned in the Editorial, that British SF has changed a lot recently and this one is definitely old school. Like I said last month about another old-style story, Sunjammer’s exciting and I enjoyed it a lot, but it is nothing that would be out of place from the magazines of the 1950’s, and it has been printed before. 3 out of 5.

First Dawn, by Donald Malcolm

Here’s the return of an author from the Carnell Era. Donald Malcolm was last seen in the April 1964 issue of New Worlds, the last issue edited by Carnell. I thought that beyond the reach of storms was OK, if nothing special. I liked this one more, though it is a minor piece describing dawn on an ice planet as seen from the perspective of a mole-like alien. It’s nicely done but like Malcolm's last effort nothing to remember for too long. 2 out of 5.

Dune Limbo, by J G Ballard

To say that this story is much-anticipated is an understatement. If you didn’t know already, JG is making an impact not just here in Britain but also overseas with his strange fiction. He is an author that always makes me think and pushes literary boundaries at the same time. I never know what a story of his is going to say, or indeed how it is going to say it!

Dune Limbo is a little bit of a cheat however, as it is an extract from a bigger work. The Drought (also known as The Burning World to you in the US) is due out as a novel later in the year (hurrah!) and Dune Limbo is from the middle part. This is a little disappointing – how do you feel about starting a novel in the middle? – but there is a lengthy summary of what has gone before at the start.

It is obvious early on that Dune Limbo does have some of the usual Ballard-ian themes though. It is basically about a world in decline, where a global drought has changed the world we know. To this Ballard brings his usual types of characters – strange and often unpleasant. This middle part shows us a story of this new harsh environment, with humans hanging on to existence in a world different to our own.

This sounds like the Ballard of The Drowned World and Equinox. But…. dare I say it, Dune Limbo is slightly more straight-forward, perhaps even less challenging than some of Ballard’s other recent work I’ve read. It feels like there’s elements here I’ve read before. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but it means that for me it doesn’t quite have the impact that, say, The Terminal Beach had. Don’t get me wrong – there’s some lovely images created by the prose, for example – but it may not create as much of a stir as some of his earlier work. I liked it, though.

Perhaps it may introduce the author to some new readers previously unfamiliar with Ballard’s work, but I felt a little short-changed as it felt more like an advertisement for his upcoming novel than an actual story. Nevertheless, Ballard’s prose is still seductive, and so for all my grumbles it is still 4 out of 5.

Escape from Evening, by Michael Moorcock

And here’s another story by the Editor. This time it is a novelette from the ongoing series that riffs heavily on the later stages of H G Wells’ The Time Machine. (Well, if you’re going to borrow, why not borrow from the best?)

Escape from Evening is set in a distant future, where a Moonite decides to go and live on the Earth. Despite the Earth people feeling that he would find their decaying society boring, Pepin Hunchback revels in the fact that Earth is real and not artificial like the Moon and decides to explore his new home. His travels lead him to Lanjis Liho, where we pick up points and meet characters we have heard of before back in the story The Time Dweller in the February 1964 issue of New Worlds. Lanjis Liho is the home of the fabled Chrononauts who (as we found out in the last Chrononaut story) can travel through time at will. Pepin attempts to travel back in time to a place where he would feel more in tune with their world, but there are revelations it would be wrong for me to reveal here.

There are parts of this story I liked, and it is quite different to Moorcock’s last outing – though the use of a character named ‘Pepin Hunchback’ and a ‘Hooknosed Wanderer’ may be borrowing from the classics a little too much for comfort. 3 out of 5.

The Uncivil War, by R J Tilley

Another war story in this issue, of a sort. RJ Tilley’s tale is an attempt to lighten the mood a little as we read of a young reporter’s first visit to the notorious Firkl’s Bar. Whilst there he is regaled with a shaggy-dog story about an old space-dog’s secret mission where miscommunication and bad assumptions almost start a war. Tired and overlong. 2 out of 5.

Articles

Mixed throughout the issue this month. There’s a review by Alan Dodd of the film Voyage to the End of the Universe (isn’t current thinking that there is no end?) and a summary of the latest amateur magazines.

In terms of Books this month, there is only one book reviewed, but as has been the trend of late, the review is in detail. Assistant Editor Langdon Jones has a quote for a title guaranteed to grab your attention – "That Is Not Oil, Madam. That Is Jellied Consomme", a quote from the Introduction of The Weird Ones, a collection introduced by H L Gold, who you may also know as the Editor of Galaxy magazine.

The book surprises with its unusual introduction (and is where the titular quote comes from) but is quite frugal otherwise. Frederik Pohl’s Small Lords starts well but soon becomes no more than ‘readable’, Poul Anderson’s Sentiment Inc. the same, whilst Milton Lesser’s Name Your Tiger is the most readable and perhaps predictably Eando Binder’s dated Iron Man the worst. There’s some wincingly awful quotes to make that point too.

The Letters Pages are a pleasing mixture of praise and complaint. Moans about Ron Goulart’s review of Aldiss’ Greybeard, praise for the move to monthly and monstrous book reviews – and still more argument about Langdon Jones’ story I Remember, Anita (reviewed back in issue 144).

Ratings this month for issue 146 (January 1965). Very pleased with this one. Well done to David Rome, one of the more accessible New Wave stories of late – and we have a tie!

Summing up New Worlds

Another strong issue this month, perhaps the one I have consistently enjoyed most in a long time. There’s the usual eclectic mixture – it is mentioned as such in the Editorial – but it was one of the rare issues where I loved pretty much everything, even the stuff I would normally say I didn’t. No religious preaching, no apocalyptic Armageddons, for a change.

Summing up overall

Whilst Science Fantasy has its moments, the New Worlds issue is a clear winner.

And that’s it for this time. Until the next…

[Come join us at Portal 55, Galactic Journey's real-time lounge! Talk about your favorite SFF, chat with the Traveler and co., relax, sit a spell…]

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Magazine/Anthology, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[February 22, 1965] Theory of Relativity (March 1965 Fantastic)

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by Victoria Silverwolf

(More Than) One Big Happy Family

A lot of dramatic events happened this month, many of them violent and tragic, from a huge earthquake in the Aleutian Islands (fortunately, far away from inhabited areas) to, just today, the murder of civil rights activist Malcolm X.

Although not as world-shattering as other news stories, one incident that caught my eye was the bizarre story of Lawrence Joseph Bader/John Francis "Fritz" Johnson. Why two different names? Thereby hangs a tale.

It seems that Mister Bader, a salesman from Akron, Ohio, vanished during a storm while on a fishing trip on Lake Erie, back in 1957. His wife had him declared legally dead in 1960. Meanwhile, Mister Johnson showed up as a local TV personality in Omaha, Nebraska.


Broadcasting from an ABC affiliate

A guy who knew Bader ran into Johnson, and knew something was fishy (pun intended.) He brought Bader's niece to take a look at him. Sure enough, Johnson was really Bader, now married to another woman. Fingerprints proved the case.

Amnesia or a hoax? The authorities aren't sure. Johnson claims that he has no memory his life as Bader, but other folks point out that he had some problems with the IRS and may have wanted to start his life over. Sounds like a soap opera plot to me. Anybody remember the old radio drama John's Other Wife? Stay tuned!

Two Brothers and One Son

The man with two families came to mind again when I took a look at the American music charts recently. Earlier this month, the Righteous Brothers reached Number One with You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'.


They're not really brothers, so I may be stretching a point until it breaks.

Later, Gary Lewis and the Playboys hit the top with This Diamond Ring. Gary is the son of comedian Jerry Lewis.


I wonder if any of Dean Martin's seven children will have hit records.

Family Affairs

Fittingly, some of the stories in the latest issue of Fantastic involve close relatives, and others feature characters without families of their own.


Cover art by Gray Morrow.

Monsters & Monster-Lovers, by Fritz Leiber

Before we get to the fiction, let's take a look at an article from one of our greatest writers of imaginative tales. The title tells you what he's talking about; the current popularity of all things monstrous. It's a wide-ranging piece, listing many of the notable frightening creations of literature, pondering their appeal, noting that they flourish during relatively peaceful times, and dismissing the possibility that the discoveries of science will eliminate them from our minds. Perhaps the author tries to cover too much ground, but his essay is enlightening, elegantly written, and gave me the names of some classics I need to track down.

Four stars.

The Pillars of Chambalor, by John Jakes


The magazine's only interior illustration is also by Morrow.

Our old pal Conan Junior — excuse me, I mean Brak the Barbarian — shows up again in this issue's lead story. This time he's lost in a desert wasteland, near the ruins of an ancient city. In the time-honored tradition of sword-and-sorcery yarns, a huge monster attacks him, leaving him dying from its venom.

A wicked old man and his sweet young daughter show up. It seems the greedy fellow is after a fabulous treasure within the abandoned city, and needs Brak's mighty strength to open the doors behind which it lies. He'll provide an antidote for the poison if the barbarian swears to perform this service. (It amused me that the plot depends on Brak never breaking his word once he makes a promise, but then feeling free to turn against the old guy once he's opened the doors.)

Complicating matters is the fact that the ruins consist of about one hundred gigantic pillars, each one containing the bodies of the inhabitants of the vanished city, frozen in stone by a wizard. It won't surprise you to learn that they don't stay that way, or that we haven't seen the last of the critter that attacked Brak.

Predictable, but written with vivid imagination, this swashbuckling adventure is a decent way to pass the time. I find Brak a lot more tolerable in short stories than in longer pieces, although I wouldn't want to read a bunch of them at once.

Three stars.

Mary, Mary, by John Baldwinson

Here's a science fiction story that reads like fantasy, from an author completely unknown to me. In the future, folks usually work for fifteen years, saving little or none of their pay, then retire to lives of leisure, supported by a rich and benevolent government. The protagonist has a different plan.

She scrimps and saves, finally leaving her job with enough money to create a garden full of exotic plants from far-flung worlds. Many of these are as intelligent as animals, and some can even move around, acting as servants and watchdogs.

Although she's a loner, spending nearly all her time in the garden, the woman yearns for human company as well. She falls in love with a retired spaceman, and everything seems just fine. Too bad she doesn't realize her floral friends can feel jealousy.

Although the resulting tragedy comes as no surprise, there are some striking images and poetic writing to be found here. Despite the futuristic trappings, this is really a dark fairy tale, full of beings both beautiful and frightening. It reminds me of some of the romantic fables of Robert F. Young, which is OK in my book.

Four stars.

102 H-Bombs, by Thomas M. Disch

There's a lot going on here, so hold on to your hat and I'll try to walk you through it. In a future of constant armed conflict — don't call it war! — all male orphans in the USA begin military training at the age of ten. Our hero is named Charlie C-Company. (He got that last name due to a bureaucratic mix-up when he was inducted into the Army.) At this point, the story's satiric look at the armed forces made me think of Catch-22, a novel by Joseph Heller that came out a few years ago.

Anyway, Charlie is one of the winners of a contest to write an essay entitled "What I Would Do If I Owned the Empire State Building." You see, that famous structure is just about the only thing that survived an attack during this conflict that isn't officially a war. He and one hundred and one other winners — notice the title of the story — are flown to New York New (sic) and, well, things get complicated.

Not only does he make telepathic contact with a girl his own age who is one of the winners, he also finds out the real purpose behind the contest, learns something about himself, and becomes part of a larger, closely related group. The outcome has serious consequences for the whole world.

You get the feeling that Disch knows exactly how clever he is, so this is a story to admire rather than love. It's a real roller coaster of a tale, throwing all kinds of concepts at you left and right, always keeping your attention but making you feel a bit dizzy when it's over. It's worth the ride, anyway.

Three stars.

Look Out Below, by Jack Sharkey

This surreal tale features a main character without family or close companions.  He lives alone, on the top floor of a tall building, in a suite where everything is pure white.   Happy, but a bit lonely, he rides an elevator to the floor just below his own.

The things here are white, but with pale gray pinstripes.  He moves into a suite on this level that isn't quite as luxurious as the one he left.  The coffee, for example — like his food, clothing, and other belongings, it apparently appears from nowhere — is just slightly bitter.

Shortly after returning to the top level, uneasy dreams and yearnings draw him down two floors, where an alluring woman leads him to a crimson-lit place of music, drinking, smoking, and violence.  He soon descends even lower, leading to an enigmatic ending.

This is a very strange story, and not one I expected from the pen of a writer I associate with comedy and adventure.  I expect that I'll be pondering its meaning for a long time.  The author's intent seems to be allegorical, although I can't decipher all the symbols he uses.  The overall effect of reading it is intriguing, but frustrating.

Three stars.

The Headsman, by Irvin Ashkenazy

Like the lead story, this backwoods fantasy features a protagonist who meets an unusual father and daughter. The author isn't exactly new — digging into a pile of old pulp magazines reveals that he had a story published in Weird Tales nearly three decades ago — but he isn't exactly a household name, either.

The main character is an art dealer who goes deep into the wilds of Appalachia in search of priceless antiques. You see, a uranium prospector's journal indicates that the remains of a very old community exist way back in the hills. Did I mention that the prospector's headless body was found with his journal? That little fact, plus the title, should give you a clue that this is a horror story.

Anyway, the dealer locates the only two people who live in a ghost town in the mountains, a self-proclaimed preacher (and moonshiner) and his attractive but simple-minded daughter. After a lot of arguing and negotiation, the hillbilly tells the dealer how to get to the lost community. It was settled by supporters of Cromwell who fled to America at the time of the Restoration. (If nothing else, I learned something about English history from this story.)

The dealer finds the place and has a lot of spooky experiences. At the end, we discover the true nature of the hillbilly's daughter, and you can probably guess what happens to the dealer.

The plot involves many kinds of supernatural events, not all of which make sense. I also have to question the fact that there's apparently active volcanic activity in the Appalachians. The hillbilly and his daughter are old-fashioned stereotypes, and there's an unpleasant touch of racism in the suggestion that there's something weird about them because they're of mixed ancestry.

(As an inhabitant of Tennessee, where this story takes place, I have to mention another implausibility. The hillbilly and his daughter consistently address the dealer as y'all. Anyone who has lived in the American South for a length of time knows that this very useful word is the second person plural, and would never be used to refer to a single individual.)

As a parting note, let me contrast the weaknesses of this tale with the excellent backwoods fantasies of Manly Wade Wellman, found in his collection Who Fears the Devil?, which happens to win a glowing review from Robert Silverberg in this issue's book column.

Two stars.

The Man Who Painted Tomorrow, by Kate Wilhelm

This writer has appeared in genre magazines for nearly a decade — her first story was also in Fantastic — but is probably better known for being married to Damon Knight.   That may change some day, because she brings us an interesting and unusual tale that displays a great deal of imagination.

The main character's mind is pulled into the far future now and then, where he inhabits one of the four-armed bodies of the people of that time.  They bring him there to paint pictures of his present, with the help of a robot.

His main qualification for this task is the fact that he can draw very accurately, but without artistic creativity, which would distort the reality of his renditions.  His paintings become part of a museum, where other works depict humanity's history from the prehistoric past to what would be the protagonist's future, but the distant past of his hosts.

Eventually the man learns something about the world of the future, and a mysterious door that holds a secret his hosts try to keep hidden from him.  The ending brings present and future together, with both tragedy and hope.

The author has a gift for creating believable characters, which adds realism to the speculative aspects of the plot.  The conclusion may not be a total surprise, but it brings the sense of a fitting resolution.

Four stars.

It's All Relative

For the most part, this was an enjoyable issue. One of the stories wasn't very good, but I suppose every family has a black sheep.


The woman on the far right is Marilyn Munster. As you can see, she doesn't quite fit with the rest of her family, poor thing.

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Science / Space Race

[February 20, 1965] Twice as nice (Ranger 8)

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by Gideon Marcus

Last time, I talked about how America's space program has reached a level of reliability that you can…well…rely on!  Three days ago, at 1:05 PM EST, February 17, 1965, the eighth in the Ranger moon probe series took off successfully from Cape Kennedy.

Really, a Ranger has three launches.  First, the Atlas-Agena launched Rancher from the surface to a "parking orbit" 115 miles above the Earth.  Fourteen minutes after that, the Agena upper stage fired again for 90 seconds, changing Ranger's orbit such that its trajectory would intersect with the Moon.  Finally, the next day, Ranger executed a mid-course burn, firing its onboard engines for 59 seconds.  Now, instead of missing the Moon by 1,136 miles, it was set to hit Mare Tranquilitas at 4:57 AM EST, February 20.

That target, one of the darker areas of the Moon known as a "sea", was not easily decided upon.  Since Ranger 7 had impacted the Sea of Clouds, some scientists wanted Ranger 8 to hit a different kind of lunar terrain, perhaps the highlands further north.  Others were keen on exactly duplicating Ranger 7's mission so as to have two sets of data they could compare.  Ultimately, however, program manager George Mueller chose a target that would be support the Apollo mission — a flat area close to the equator.

Ranger 7 had started started its footage just ten minutes before impact.  Ranger 8, on the other hand, started shooting 23 minutes before the crash so that its first images would match the resolution that could be gotten from the best Earth-based cameras.  The moment of truth was a tense one — Ranger 6 had died right at the moment it turned on its TV cameras.

But Ranger 8 performed beautifully, taking a broader swath of photos than its predecessor and revealing an unprecedented wealth of information on the lunar surface before it kamikazed into the Sea of Tranquility at just under 6,000 mph.  Before its demise, it had returned 7,000 photos of the lunar surface.

At first blush, it doesn't look like we've learned much new.  The pictures Ranger 8 returned might well be swapped with those from Ranger 7 and none would be wiser.  On the other hand, it is nice to know that the Seas of the Moon are consistent.

What we still don't know is how safe the Moon is to land on.  Drs. Urey, Kuiper, and Whitaker all believe the lunar soil will hold a spacecraft, the latter two saying that the Ranger data say the Moon's dirt is something like crunchy snow in texture.  But it won't be until the soft-landing Surveyors start going to the Moon next year that we'll have real answers.

Originally, there were going to be up to seventeen Rangers.  However, the lack of success of earlier missions, and the fact that new spacecraft in the form of Lunar Orbiter and Surveyor will be online shortly, has reduced the remaining Ranger missions to just one.

As a result, it is likely that Ranger 9 will be given a more purely scientific mission, perhaps to some place no Apollo crew will visit.  Either way, given America's current track record, and that of Ranger, specifically, we can all hope it will be a crashing success!




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Science / Space Race

[February 18, 1965] OSO Exciting!  (February 1965 Space Roundup)

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by Gideon Marcus

Remember the early days of the Space Race, when launches came about once a month, and there was plenty of time to ruminate over the significance of each one?

Those days are long past, my friends.  Like every other aspect of this crazy modern world we live in, the pace of space missions is only accelerating.  Just look at this grab bag of space headlines, any one of which might have been front page news just a few years ago:

Staring at the Sun

Three years ago, NASA launched the first of its "Observatory Class" satellites, the 200 kg Orbiting Solar Observatory (OSO).  Its mission was unprecedented: to get the first long-term observations of the Sun in all of the frequencies of the electro-magnetic spectrum, not just the narrow windows visible from the Earth's surface.

For two years, OSO gazed at the Sun with its thirteen instruments, dutifully reporting its findings to the ground.  The observatory revolutionized our understanding of our neighborhood star, particularly in finding the correlation between solar flares and the little microflares that precede them. 

OSO 1 went silent last May.  Like nature, NASA abhors a vacuum — at least one without satellites floating through it!  So on February 3, 1965, OSO 2 sailed into orbit to pick up where its predecessor had left off.

The new observatory only has eight instruments, but given that the weight of the craft is similar to that of OSO 1, I have to believe the new load-out is intentional.  Moreover, OSO 2 has some neat developments.  Its Ultraviolet spectrometer, Solar x-ray and UV telescope, and White-light coronagraph are all mounted on the "sail" of the spacecraft, and they can scan the disk of the sun from end to end, like a TV camera.  That should allow for more precision in the measurements.

Also, OSO 2 has a digital telemetry system rather than the analog FM system of OSO 1.  Digital systems are far less prone to error, and more information can be sent over any given length of time.  The new system can dump 3 million bits of data in just 5.5 minutes.

Finally, OSO 2 is smarter — it can accept some 70 commands from the ground instead of just 8.  Just what NASA scientists do with those commands, I don't know.  Maybe OSO brews great coffee.

The most important thing about OSO 2 is the timing of its launch.  Every 11 years, the Sun completes an output cycle, warbling from active to inactive status.  1965 is the Solar minimum, and this year marks a concerted international effort to watch the Sun from many different vantage points to take advantage of the opportunity.

You can bet OSO 2 will have some interesting data for us come 1966!

Requiem for a Vanguard

Hands over hearts, folks.  On February 12, NASA announced that Vanguard 1 had gone silent, and the agency was finally turning off its 108 Mhz ground transceivers, set up during the International Geophysical Year.  The grapefruit-sized satellite, launched March 17, 1958, was the fourth satellite to be orbited.  It had been designed as a minimum space probe and, had its rocket worked in December 1957, would have been America's first satellite rather than its second.  Nevertheless, rugged little Vanguard 1 beat all of its successors for lifespan.  Sputniks and Explorers came and went.  Vanguards 2 and 3 shut off long ago.  Yet the grapefruit that the Naval Research Laboratory made kept going beep-beep, helping scientists on the ground measure the shape of the Earth from the wiggle and decay of Vanguard's orbit.

The satellite's cry had slowly become weaker as its solar cell-charged batteries failed.  Finally, some time last year, Vanguard could be heard no more, though NASA kept listening for several more months.  It's not all sad news, however: Vanguard 1 will remain in orbit for hundreds of years more, and it can still be optically tracked.  That means it still has a long, useful life ahead of it, even now that it is mute.

Whole World in its Eyes

Here's a little TIROS tidbit.  Remember TIROS 9?  The first weather satellite launched into a polar orbit so it can see the whole Earth once a day as the planet rotates underneath?

We now have the very first picture of the world's weather.  It won't be the last:

The joys of being regular

There was a time when space was a hit-and-miss affair.  Seemed every time I opened the paper, there was news of yet another rocket blowing up.  These days, we can practically take success for granted.  Ranger 7 broke a six mission losing streak, the first two Gemini launches went swimmingly, TIROS has gone nine for nine.

Similarly, the Saturn 1 rocket, the biggest booster ever made, has had an impeccable launch record.  The lift-off on February 16 kept the streak going; the eight engine monstrosity delivered what I believe is the biggest satellite ever to be put into orbit.

Called Pegasus, it is an enormous cylinder with giant panels affixed to either side.  The panels occupy some 2300 square feet, and their job is to measure the density of micrometeoroids in orbit over the course of a many-year lifespan.

It sounds pretty mundane when you reduce the mission to its bare essentials.  Pegasus is like a big fly-catcher, spending its orbit running into space rocks.  But it's not the experiment that's so exciting, but the idea that we can now loft giant structures with a single launch.  Imagine that Pegasus was actually a space station module, and that it's wings were solar panels.  Now imagine assembling a few of them together using a maneuverable spacecraft, perhaps a Gemini derivative…

Yes, America is just on the edge of being in the space construction business.

Scenes to Come

Yesterday (February 17, 1965), the eighth Ranger blasted off from Cape Kennedy, destination: Moon.  If we've truly reached an era of reliability, we can expect the craft to hit its target on the morning of the 20th.  Stay tuned — you'll read about it here first!




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Magazine/Anthology

[February 16, 1965] Return to a Quagmire (March 1965 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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by Gideon Marcus

Sliding Downhill

In the twenty years since the beginning of the Cold War, there have been many potential flashpoints between East and West.  In 1950, Chinese-backed North Koreans almost took the entire Korean peninsula in a see-saw, later stalemated, conflict that lasted until 1953.  Berlin twice became the hot spot — during the 1948 blockade and after the building of the Wall in 1961.  Cuba, too, has been a fraught locale, with the 1959 Communist takeover followed by the disastrous American-backed invasion in 1961 and then the near-calamitous Missile Crisis of 1962.

And then there's Vietnam.

Formerly part of French Indochina, the region has been divided into two roughly equal halves since 1954, when Ho Chi Minh's Viet Cong threw off the colonial yoke in 1954.  Since then, the Communist North has engaged in both insurgent and conventional tactics against the South.

Of course, the United States has backed South Vietnam despite it being a rather corrupt and authoritarian state that, for the past two years, has seen a revolving door of junta leaders running the country.  American involvement included air support and "military advisers", our presence including about 20,000 troops, all told. 

And then came the Gulf of Tonkin incident last August, in which American naval vessels reportedly were attacked off the coast of North Vietnam.  That opened the door for a flood of American air strikes, including into neutral Laos to bomb the "Ho Chi Minh" supply trail.

It was perhaps inevitable that the Viet Cong would hit back, first with a bombing of an American billet in Saigon last month, and now, on February 6, with a mortar attack on Camp Holloway, near Pleiku in central South Vietnam.

8 soldiers died in that attack, more than 100 were injured, and there was extensive damage to American equipment.  In retaliation, the U.S. launched Operation Flaming Dart, yet further intensifying the air war.  Wives and children of American personnel were ordered to leave Vietnam, Hawk surface to air missile batteries were set up at the airbase in Da Nang, and a general escalation of the conflict appears inevitable.  Publications, from the conservative Chicago Tribune to liberal LIFE Magazine, are clamoring for direct involvement.

That means American troops abroad, and anyone between 18-25 not currently enlisted in the military better start reconsidering their plans for the next few years.  People like my nephew, David, who just turned 23.  He's married, has a young son, and goes to UCLA, so perhaps he's safe.  For now. 

In any event, the papers are full of Vietnam news these days, and the voices against escalation are being drowned out by the hawks. 

It looks like we're about to slide, slow-motion-wise, into another Korea.  Call me an iconoclast peacenik, but I'm registering my protest early.  This won't end well.

No Relief in Sight

For those hoping that the latest issue of Fantasy and Science Fiction would offer a respite from the world's glum news, I'm afraid I have to disappoint you.  The return to form we rejoiced in last month quickly fizzled.  This month's mag is a dud:

The Doors of His Face, the Lamps of His Mouth, by Roger Zelazny

In the sultry oceans of Venus resides a leviathan of a fish, a kind of mammoth angler called "Ikki".  Bane to boaters, menace to fisheries, Ikki has been the target of big game hunters and professional exterminators.  None have succeeded.

Rich dilettante Jean Lucarich is willing to pick up where others have left off, driving a 10-acre raft equipped with tranquilizer harpoons and giant cages off in search of the modern day Moby Dick.  So keen is her desire that she has hired her old flame, a deep sea adventurer, to be a baiter.  His job is to lure the Ikki in range of Jean's craft…and capture.

Persons who are more familiar with literary fiction can probably tell me what style Zelazny (the author) is going for.  I found it overwrought and, in places, difficult to parse.  But what bugged me the most was the utterly archaic (virtually Burroughsian) rendition of Venus.  Zelazny's version of the Planet of Love is kinda warm, rather than 800 degrees Fahrenheit.  Its day is roughly like an Earth's day, rather than 250 days long.  The air is breathable, the water potable. 

I nitpick because there's no way that the author doesn't know his Venus is wrong.  Mariner 2, first interplanetary probe, finished its mission two years ago.  It was in all the papers.  Indeed, the story would have been more palatable had it taken place on Earth, say, in some remote corner of the Indian Ocean.  It might even have been so, originally — some reject planned for Collier's or some other mainstream mag.

Anyway, it's not bad, but it's not really SF, and I found it too consciously literary.  One Bradbury is quite enough.

Three stars.

Final Appeal, by J. H. Brennan

This first piece by the Ulsterian Brennan involves the quest for justice when the judges are all automated.  It's one of those pieces that requires such an implausible development of technology (in this case, no human involvement at all in the rendering of judgment) that the "clever" solution falls flat.

It doesn't help that the solution, itself, while it may appeal to the mainstream of society, will be distasteful to a more free-thinking sort.

Two stars, and only because it kept me along for the ride until the inevitable disappointment (which came about a page too late).

Essentials Only, by Jack Sharkey

An absent-minded professor accidentally opens up a portal to a virgin alternate-Earth.  He invites his friend to join him for a lifetime of simple pleasures, but of course, they need to bring their girlfriends.  And their girlfriends insist on some modicum of civilization.  And that includes certain, essential people.  And their possessions.  And more luxuries, just in case.  And so on.

Jack Sharkey varies between mildly impressive to (more often) rather dreadful.  But this story is pleasantly droll, inoffsenive.

Three stars.

The End of Eternity, by Ernesto Gastaldi

According to F&SF's new editor, Joseph Ferman, the state of Italian SF is pretty poor: mostly send-ups of cliches we abandoned in the Pulp Era.  But, Ferman promises, this imported tale (translated by Harry Harrison) is something different.

He's wrong.  End takes place in modern day Rome on the eve of its nuclear destruction.  The bomb that will destroy it, scientists say, is so powerful that the space-time continuum might be ruptured.  By the way, the protagonist is named "Romulo", and the story is redolent with reminders of the antiquity of the city.  Can you guess what will happen?

Two stars for this Italian version of the creation myth.

Tripsych, by Ron Smith

Ferman praises Smith for his satirically broad rendition of three hoary SF ideas in as many vignettes.  However, the world doesn't need more bad stories, even if their badness is intentional.

Two stars.

Illusion, by Walter H. Kerr

In 1951, J. T. McIntosh wrote Hallucination Orbit, the definitive tale on cracking up while on solitary assignment in space.  Kerr's poem is on the same topic and compares unfavorably in all respects.

One star.

Better Than Ever, by Alex Kirs

There's a movie playing "over there".  It takes a month to watch, and no one can tell you what it's about.  But those who see it come back…changed.  More mature, no longer plagued with their frailties and foibles.  Better, one might say.  An adman named Clinton is one of the last, stubborn holdouts, increasingly alienated as everyone he knows, one by one, goes to see this movie. 

This is his story.

Well, sort of.  Nothing much happens in this short piece, mostly just a portrait of social isolation — an isolation Clinton refuses to remedy with the obvious solution.  Can you blame him?

Anyway, it's a fair piece, I guess.  Probably some kind of metaphor.  I don't know. 

Three stars, sure.

Oh, East is East and West is East, by Isaac Asimov

In a recent Analog, editor Campbell included a geographical quiz: which states of the U.S.A. are the farthest North, South, East, and West?  It's kind of a trick question since it hinges on the fact that Alaska straddles the 180th meridian and, thus, is both the farthest East and West (and North, but that's obvious to anyone who's read the paper since 1959, when Alaska became a state).

I got the answer right, but then, my first book was an atlas.  The Good Dr. A. got it wrong, and thus produced an article to explain why he was really right.  It's cute, but it doesn't tell you any more than a decent map would. 

Three stars.

Ado About Nothing, by Bob Ottum, Jr.

There is a wall at the end of the universe posted with a sign that says that nothing exists beyond the wall.  If you don't believe it, put a quarter in the wall and look through the peephole for yourself.

It's a silly vignette, but it appealed to the former editor, Avram Davidson, whose collected materials Ferman is apparently still depending on.

Two stars.

Uncollected Works, by Lin Carter

If 50 million monkeys at 50 million typewriters could eventually produce the works of William Shakespeare, what could a computing machine with infinite monkeys worth of random creative capacity produce?

Lin Carter has been around for a while, at least in SFF and Lovecraftian fandom circles, but this is the first story of his I've run across.  Told from the perspective of an old literary critic, given to sentimental verbosity, it's a charming piece.  It doesn't make a lick of sense, but it's charming.  I feel like a little more thought could have made the scientific conceit more plausible, which would have then made the story more effective.

Three stars, anyway.

Maiden Voyage, by J. W. Schutz

Thankfully, the end of the issue is the bright spot.  Schutz, currently American Consul General in Tangiers (Morocco), offers up this novelette in epistolary, detailing a scientific mission to Mars in the mid 2030s.  Refreshingly, it stars a woman, and in a chatty, engaging style, describes the rigorous training, arduous journey, and perilous events that she endures. 

It's straight science fiction, more what I'd expect from Analog than F&SF these days, and I enjoyed it.  Bravo, especially for a first effort.

Four stars.

War Report

Both Vietnam and F&SF have been troubled spots for some time, with only isolated moments of hope to keep us going.  I guess the question is this: do we continue to throw good money after bad?  Maybe we should stick both out for another year and see what happens.  If neither improves, maybe it's time to pull out, at last…




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Fashion, music, politics, sports

[February 14, 1965] How I Found Love in the Vorpal Gallery (A Valentine for M. C. Escher)

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[The current "in" thing is Op Art, the manipulation of our visual sense in the two-dimensional plane.  Perhaps no artist is more representative of this movement than M. C. Escher, and no day is more appropriate for a love letter to said artist than Valentine's Day…]


by Victoria Lucas

A Fine Romance

It was simple. I walked into a room and there was this man.  Well, not exactly the man himself, but there are self portraits. It was still love at first sight.

M. C. Escher with curved glass
Maurits Cornelis Escher

I think I wrote about working on Battery Street in San Francisco, 633, as a matter of fact, for the capitalist taskmasters U.S. Leasing Corp.  (I'm kidding–I'm not that far left. But I don't like what they do to people who can't make payments on their rented cash registers.)  From that debt factory, just a 7-minute walk up (north on) Battery takes me to 1168 and a little gallery established in 1962.

The Vorpal Gallery

Named after the "vorpal" blade in Lewis Carroll's poem "Jabberwocky," Vorpal Gallery represents many artists, but I have eyes only for M. C. Escher.  Well, maybe I do glance at the other artists represented–occasionally, after I've had my fill of the master after work or at lunch break.  I pounce on any new work and gulp it in, forgetting about food.

Another Kind of Relativity

To introduce you to this man's work, here, for instance, is "Relativity," about which the artist wrote, "In this picture three gravitational forces operate perpendicularly to one another. Men are walking crisscross together on the floor and the stairs. Some of them, though belonging to different worlds, come very close together but can't be aware of each other's existence."


Relativity, by M. C,. Escher

Going Dutch

Born in the Netherlands, Escher became a graphic artist who made mainly lithographs, mezzotints, and woodcuts, but also carved three-dimensional objects.  (See below.)


Escher's Sphere with Reptiles, from 1949

Escher's work is mathematics made visible.  No formulas, just breathtaking elegance, beauty, simplicity.  He works with space-filling forms, like his spheres and tessellations.  He loved Italy for its landscapes and warmth, lived and worked there for many years.  However, although he had no politics to speak of, he felt forced to leave Italy when, after meeting and marrying a woman in Siena, and having a son, he couldn't stand the sight of his son wearing a school-mandated fascist uniform in the 1930s.  (They moved to be near his wife's family in Switzerland.)

Transforming the World

No subject is too humble or too fantastic for this man.  No matter how you orient this image of a puddle, it works to reflect and refract the world.


Escher's puddle, 1952

I want to continue to see the world through his eyes.  I'm not sure one lifetime is enough for that.

Find Your Own Puddle

In any case, whether you want to fall in love or not, I suggest you find a room or a book or a card with images by this Maurits Cornelis Escher who was fascinated by repeating patterns and impossible views.  I've found mine.




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Magazine/Anthology

[February 12, 1965] Mirabile Dictu, Sotto Voce (March 1965 Amazing)

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by John Boston

It’s an age of minor miracles.  Nothing to shout about, but last month’s pretty good issue of Amazing is followed by another one that’s not bad either. 

The Issue at Hand


by Gray Morrow

Greenslaves, by Frank Herbert

This March issue opens with Frank Herbert’s novelet Greenslaves, a rather startling, if not entirely amazing, performance.  In the future, Brazil and other countries are making war against insect life, since it’s a disgusting reservoir of disease and a source of damage to crops.  (The U.S. is an exception, owing to the influence of the radical Carsonists; the reference is presumably to Rachel, not Kit or Johnny.) But the campaign seems to be backfiring, with insects mutating, and epidemics.  The events of the plot are cheerfully bizarre, but the message is similar to that of the more ponderous Dune epic: attend to ecology.  Things work together and if you mess with the balance, you may harm yourselves.


by Gray Morrow

Unlike the more dense and turgid Dune serials, though, this story is crisply told and moves along quickly and vividly to its point.  It also recalls Wells’s story The Empire of the Ants—not a follow-up or a rejoinder, but a very different angle on the premise of that classic story.  Four stars for this striking departure both from Herbert’s and from Amazing’s ordinary course.

The Plateau, by Christopher Anvil

The ground gained by Herbert is quickly given up by Christopher Anvil’s The Plateau, which if it were an LP would have to be called Chris Anvil’s Greatest Dull Thuds.  Actually, my first thought was that it should be retitled The Abyss, but then I realized it is over 50 pages long.  Maybe—following our host’s example in discussing Analog—it should instead be called The Endless Desert.  It’s yet another story about stupid and comically rigid aliens bested by clever humans, which no doubt came back from Analog with a rejection slip reading “You’ve sold me this story six times already and it gets worse every time!”


by Robert Adragna

The premise: “Earth was conquered. . . .  At no place on the globe was there a well-equipped body of human combat troops larger than a platoon.” Except these platoons seem to have an ample supply of mini-hydrogen bombs and reliable communications among numerous redoubts at least around the US, as they bamboozle the aliens in multiple ways, including a cover of one of Eric Frank Russell’s greatest hits: making the aliens believe the humans have powerful unseen allies on their side.  The whole is rambling, hackneyed, and sloppy (late in the story there are several references to the aliens as “Bugs,” though they are apparently humanoid, and then that usage disappears for the rest of the story).  Towards the end, a sort-of-interesting idea about the nature of the aliens’ stupidity emerges, leading to a moderately clever end, though it’s hardly worth the slog to get there: it’s the same sort of schematic thinking that Anvil typically accomplishes in Analog at a fifth the length or less.  So, barely, two stars.

Be Yourself, by Robert Rohrer

Robert Rohrer’s Be Yourself is a little hackneyed, too, but at six pages is much more neatly turned and much less exasperating and wearying than the Anvil story.  Alien invaders have figured out how to duplicate us precisely; how do we know which Joe Blow is the real one?  No one who has read SF for more than a week will be surprised by the twists, but one can admire their execution.  Three stars.

Calling Dr. Clockwork, by Ron Goulart

Ron Goulart’s Calling Dr. Clockwork is business as usual for him, an outrageous lampoon, this time of hospitals and the medical profession.  The protagonist goes to visit someone in the hospital, faints when he sees a patient in bad condition, and wakes up in a hospital bed, attended by various caricatures including the eponymous and dysfunctional robot doctor, and it looks like he’s never going to get out.  Three stars for an amusing farce, no longer than it needs to be.

Wheeler Dealer, by Arthur Porges

The difference between an amusing farce and a tedious one is limned to perfection by Arthur Porges’s Wheeler Dealer, in which his series character Ensign De Ruyter and company are stranded on a nearly airless planet inhabited by quasi-Buddhist humanoids with giant lungs who can’t spare time to help the Earthfolk mine the beryllium they need to repair their ship before they run out of air.  Why no help?  Because the locals are too busy spinning their prayer wheels.  So De Ruyter shows them how to make the wheels spin on their own and thereby gets the mining labor they need.  Porges, unlike Goulart, is, tragically, not funny.  The story (like the previous De Ruyter item, Urned Reprieve in last October’s issue) is essentially a jumped-up version of a squib on Fascinating Scientific Facts that you might find as filler at the bottom of a column in another sort of magazine.  It does not help that the plot amounts to the simple-minded offspring of Clarke’s The Nine Billion Names of God.  Two stars.

The Man Who Discovered Atlantis, by Robert Silverberg

Robert Silverberg provides another smoothly readable and informative entry in his Scientific Hoaxes series, The Man Who Discovered Atlantis, about Paul Schliemann, grandson of Heinrich Schliemann, discoverer of the buried city (cities) of Troy.  The younger Schliemann wasn’t able to accomplish much on his own, so he exploited the fame of his grandfather to perpetrate a hoax about the discovery of Atlantis, or at least of its location and confirmation of its existence.  Silverberg succinctly recounts the origin and history of the Atlantis myth as well as the charlatanry over it that preceded Paul Schliemann’s, and suggests that had Plato known what would come of his references to Atlantis, he probably wouldn’t have brought it up.  Four stars.

Summing Up

So . . . two pretty decent issues of this magazine in a row!  One very good story, two acceptable ones, and quite a good article, and the other contents are merely inadequate and not affirmatively noxious.  Do we have a trend?  One hopes so, but . . . promised for next month is another of Edmond Hamilton’s nostalgia operas about the Star Kings.  We shall see.

[Come join us at Portal 55, Galactic Journey's real-time lounge! Talk about your favorite SFF, chat with the Traveler and co., relax, sit a spell…]




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Fashion, music, politics, sports, Magazine/Anthology

[February 10, 1965] A Gay Old Time (March 1965 ONE, February-March 1965 The Ladder, March 1965 Drum)

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by Erica Frank

As I've been looking into news and literature sources away from the beaten path, I've run across several magazines that aren't likely to show up on your local newsrack: They're published by homophile organizations. They face tremendous prejudice and sometimes outright bigotry, despite their focus on nothing more objectionable than human relationships.

The term "homophile" was first proposed by Harry Hay, one of the founders of the Mattachine Society. It is widely used by gay rights groups to indicate that their identity is not centered around sex. However, the terms homophile, homosexual, gay, and lesbian are all used frequently throughout the periodicals.

ONE was created by members of the Mattachine Society and has been published since 1958. The Ladder is from the Daughters of Bilitiis, a lesbian organization; it's been around almost as long. Drum is the newcomer that began only last year, published by the Janus Society; it has a less serious approach, with more light-hearted content. All three have a letters section and book reviews, which I will cover at the end.

ONE: The Homosexual Viewpoint

One Incorporated is "A non-profit corporation formed to publish a magazine dealing primarily with homosexuality from the scientific, historical and critical point of view." A few years ago, it won a landmark lawsuit, establishing it as not obscene material, and therefore legal to send through the mail.

Cover for ONE, March 1965

ONE has the highest production values of the three magazines I found. The text is neatly set in two columns for main articles and it has both photographs and line art. It has a mix of content types: interview article, fiction, poetry, news, and essays. It also has book reviews. All of them have news and book review sections, as any misunderstood and often-persecuted group needs both an awareness of how society treats them and an understanding of their own communities.

Interview with Elmer Gage, Mohave Indian

Mr. Gage is known as a homosexual in his local community, and they accept him. His photo, instead of showing him making the beaded belts he sells to tourists, or at home with his grandmother, is a publicity picture of him in his Bird Dancer outfit. He wears it for ceremonial dances and sometimes for lectures at universities, but it's not what he wears at home. (Of course not. Shakespearean actors may be portraying traditional British cultural entertainments, but nobody expects them to wear Renaissance-era garb all the time.) Despite the hardships he faces, he is at peace with himself; he says life is "too short to spend your time being something you don't want to be… I'm true to myself and my own nature."

Uncomfortable Fiction, Poetry

The short story, "Somebody Else All of a Sudden, Somebody New," by K. O. Neal, is short, and not an easy read. It involves Jeffy–probably a teenager–and a man called "Old Rocker," who pays him for sex: usually a silver dollar, but two dollars this time. (There are no prurient details in the story.) I'm left wondering if Old Rocker would seek other partners if doing so didn't risk arrest or even murder.

The poem that follows the story, "Lines for the almost gone," is not any less distressing. It's directed to either someone dying or someone on the edge of suicide. The other poem in this issue, "frankincense: three letters to c" by Abel Jones, reminds me of both e.e. cummings' style, with few capital letters and broken lines arranged carefully on the page, and Ginsberg's "Howl," with a mix of evocative imagery and coarse irreverence.

Poetry excerpt: in My yellow room surrounded by empty shoes and horrid unfiltered cigarettes that i smoke for your sake Charlie / when you die i iwill sing for you requiems in our common grave-house
I'm sure this poem is deeply meaningful to someone, but that someone is not me.

Transvestites: Not the same as gay

The article "Silks and Satins" by Charles Elkins is a plea for understanding. Men who wear traditionally women's clothing are not a unified group, nor are they all either gay or straight. Some would prefer to wear dresses and heels in public and be accepted as women; others only want them for bedroom activities. They are often very lonely, rejected even by other fringe communities, and told by psychiatrists that they should repress their harmless interest in looking and feeling feminine. I say: if someone wants to wear a silk dress and heels in public, let them. As Jefferson said, "it neither picks my pocket nor breaks my leg."

This and That

It also has a "news and views" column, "Tangents," which is a roundup of short synposes: Homosexuals in the media (a British tv show about lesbians on January 7th, Macleans magazine planning an article about them in the future); cops falsely accusing political candidates of homosexuality in California; one of Freud's theories about Leonardo da Vinci's homosexuality has been debunked. (Whether da Vinci was homosexual is unknown, but if so, it wasn't proven by a childhood memory of a vulture.)

picture of kittens in button-up shoes, and caption "High button shoes are old fashioned! But the so are many concepts of reasoning toward homosexuality.
Is that Puss in Boots?

The Ladder: A Lesbian Review

The Daughters of Bilitis is "a women's organization for the purpose of promoting the integration of the homosexula into society" by education, participation in research, and promotion of changes to the penal code."

Cover for The Ladder, Feb-March 1965

The Ladder's production quality is the lowest of the trio. Most of it is typed, and the text isn't always aligned evenly with the headings. There are no photographs and no line art. Still, it contains solid news articles (impressive, as it does not rely on a clippings service) and thoughtful essays.

Homophile Activists

This issue has several articles about public events. One called "After the Ball…" about the police raid on a New Year's Eve costume ball organized by the Council on Religion and the Homosexual, comprised of members of six homophile organizations. The police harassed attendees and photographed most of the 600 guests, and when they were told they needed a warrant to enter, they arrested the four people trying to stop them.

Attendees of the SF New Year's Eve ball
While the police were attempting to intimidate, they did capture some amazing pictures. Picture from Lewd & Lascivious.

The other activism news was not as well covered in newspapers: Last December in New York, Dr. Paul R. Dince gave a lecture entitled "Homosexuality, A Disesase." Four picketers showed up to protest, handing out free homophile literature and holding signs saying "WE REQUEST 10 MINUTES REBUTTAL TIME." They made their request to the chairman of the forum – and it was granted!

After the lecture, during open questions, one of the picketers was allowed 10 minutes with a microphone. He pointed out that "experts" have contradictory theories about homosexulity. He mentioned they mostly study unhappy individuals, and they start with the assumption that homosexuality is a disease. (It's easy to "prove" something you already believe.) He also noted that most people in the "disease" camp say little against scams that charge ridiculous fees, claiming they will "cure" homosexuality. After the protesters received great applause, Dr. Dince conceded some of their points.

The E.C.H.O. (East Coast Homophile Organizations) report is five pages about the recent conference in Washington, D.C. This issue holds Part Four: "Act or Teach," based on recordings of the event. In this part, Dr. Franklin Kameny pointed out the flaws in approaching the public with information instead of demands for change. He said it is naive to assume information will overcome prejudice, but that when new laws establish civil rights, "public sentiment has then attempted to accommodate itself to the new situation."

Dr. Koneitzko disagreed with him, saying that acceptance from communities and churches is more important than technical legal rights. Kameny does not disagree, but he says that the acceptance will come after the laws change, not before.

Dr. Frank Kameny in a suit
Dr. Franklin Kameny, a WWII veteran who was fired from his post-war job in the Army Map Service because of his orientation. Photo circa 1956.

Essays and Poetry

"I Hate Women: A Diatribe by an Unreconstructed Feminist" is a rant about the repulsiveness of meek, timid, compliant femininity. The compelling title is rather tongue-in-cheek: The author, of course, does not hate women, since she is a lesbian. She hates, however, the notion that all women are destined to be servile wives and mothers, and decries that those who want a different path are often sent to a psychiatrist to "Find Out Why she Rejects the Feminine Role."

She goes on to talk about the risks of over-population, and quotes Arthur C. Clarke from the 1958 Harper's Magazine article, "Standing Room Only":

…the time may yet come when homosexuality is practically compulsory, and not merely fashionable. It will indeed be a piquant paradox if— in the long run and taking the survival of humanity as a whole as our criterion— this controversial instinct turns out to have a greater survival value than the urge to reproduce.

The other essay is considerably less angry. "To Tell or Not To Tell," by Vern Niven, is a short article about wrestling with secrecy, about the choice of whether homosexuals should tell their parents about who they love, or could love. The author says most parents can be accepting, but it may take some effort to prepare them for the truth. She encourages readers to be honest with their families. This can bring support and welcome for both themselves and partners, especially important when they consider their relationship a marriage.

The essays, while subjective, are directed to a broad audience. The four short poems seem more targeted in their appeal. Two have strong nature imagery; one is religious; one relates to music. None of them are overtly lesbian: they do not mention gender at all. But they are lyrical and intense, with hints of secrets being shared between the authors and readers.

And you, my subtle friend
Come counterpoint,
Offer me softly
          of your melodic
Talents.

The tone of The Ladder is down-to-earth and almost wistful; the articles are laced with hope and perseverance. Not all of the homophile magazines are so sober.

Drum: Sex in Perspective

The name is inspired by a quote by Thoreau: "If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music he hears, however measured or far away."

Cover for Drum, March 1965

I saved the fun one for last. Drum has more lively content than the others: the longest article is the 12-page "Beginner's Guide to Cruising," which is as much playful as informative. Indeed, its very first news article includes a picture of Tony Sabella kissing Robert Kennedy.

The caption reads: "A group of New York lawyers is studing the possibility of having sodomy charges brought against Senator-elect Robert Kennedy for allegedly committing a public indecent act in the Fulton Fish Market to demonstrate the importance of Penal Law reform."

Tony Sabella kissing Robert Kennedy
Is a public kiss between men acceptable as long as neither of them is believed to be gay?

Dating Guide

The feature article, "The Beginner's Guide to Cruising" by George Marshall, bypasses any question of inner speculation or the gay identity within a heterosexual community. It is focused on a single goal: sexual conquest. While the methods described border on predatory, it is clear that the purpose is great fun for both men involved; this is not a primer for seducing people who aren't interested.

It spends some time discussing which men should not be pursued: Those who are "superbly dressed," as they are more interested in themselves than you; those wearing very tight slacks, indicating bitterness and a lack of feeling; those with white shirts and pastel pants, who will take you to court if things go badly; those with political causes, who will involve you in their mania; those who are drunk or drug addicts, who are, at best, walking complications.

It gives several possible approaches to avoid clichés like, "Care for a coffee?" It then goes on to discuss socializing after an introduction at a party, how to convince him you are a clever conversationalist (mostly by agreeing with him), and the importance of setting a future meeting date. While the tips in the article are very much focused on gay men who are seeking other gay men, they are the same methods used by salesmen and politicians: know your target, make yourself interesting, follow through with more contact.

Spy Stories

"I Was a Homosexual for the FBI" (by P. Arody) is a short article crammed full of hilarious stereotypes. It is ostensibly by someone who saved the country from "the deadliest conspiracy ever to rock the United States": To convince straight people that gays are really no different from their neighbors. The author had access to the FBI's extensive resources, including the Homo-o-dors that smell "suspected perverts" and flash a lavender light on detection. His "training" included "how to talk with a lisp" and "how to swish when walking, drink like an alcoholic, and organize orgies." (If the FBI knows how to organize orgies, I demand it release that information to taxpayers!) The result of all that hard work: "we caught every homosexual in the entire country and now all twelve of them were on trial!"

In keeping with this month's unstated "super spy" theme, we have several pages of artwork showing Harry Chess, that man from A.U.N.T.I.E ("Agents' Undercover Network To Investigate Evil) and his team. This is an an obvious play on the new Man from U.N.C.L.E spy-thriller tv show.

Harry Chess - line art
Not shown here: his sidekick "Mickey Muscle," their informant Big Bennie, girl bartender, and villain Lewd Leather, the leader of M.U.C.K. (Maniacal Underworld Control Corp).

The puzzle is probably not connected to the spying, since one was included last month, and another will be shared next month. The "cryptogayme" cipher is a nice stretch-your-mind exercise in a magazine mostly devoted to casual enjoyment.

Cryptoquiz puzzle
The solution will be in next month's issue.

Pretty as a Picture

Speaking of casual enjoyment… the "Portfolio" covers four pages of the magazine: Full-page photos of young men wearing very little clothing. The portfolio is accompanied by ads from the photographers: $6 sent to an address in Germany will get you 8 black and white photos of two models, or 6 color slides. Alternately, $1 sent to a post office box in Detroit will get you "samples," which presumably will contain information on how to order more.

"More like this" is a recurring theme in all three magazines. Each contains contact information, mentions of homophile organizations (Drum has a full page listing more than 20 of them), and letters from the community.

The letters columns are compelling. Over and over, they say: Thank you. Thank you for helping me understand myself, my community. Thank you for helping me understand the truth about my loved ones. Thank you for showing me we can fight for better acceptance, for the rights our heterosexual neighbors take for granted.

The book reviews, while useful enough on their own, showcase one of the problems all homosexuals face: There is so little representation of them in literature and movies that they must accept any depictions of their existence as other than "evil" or "perverted" as a benefit. Books that draw on stereotypes are approved if they are not too inaccurate. Those that are well-written, in which the only homosexuals are background characters, are still recommended. This is a community eager to see their reality in print, and each of the magazines provides that to its audience.

Not So Different

The real truth shown by these magazines is this: These people are not so different from everyone else. Some gay men, like some straight men, go "cruising" for casual partners. Some gay men, like some straight men, would rather find a single person for a long-term committed relationship. Lesbians, like straight women, chafe under legal and social constraints. Lesbians, like straight women, fall in love and hope their trust will not be betrayed. Homosexuals, like heterosexuals, worry about what their families think of their career choices, their hobbies, and their partners.

With all these revelations of homophile lives and interests, the biggest discovery is that they are just people: some shallow, some passionate, some thoughtful, some clever, some angry, some shy. If they have an agenda, it's to be allowed to live and love in peace, just like their neighbors.

[Come join us at Portal 55, Galactic Journey's real-time lounge! Talk about your favorite SFF, chat with the Traveler and co., relax, sit a spell…]




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55 years ago: Science Fact and Fiction