Tag Archives: D. G. Compton

[June 17, 1970] (June Galactoscope Part Two!)

BW photo of Jason Sacks. He's a white man, with short light hair, rectangular glasses, and headphones.

by Jason Sacks

Our Friends from Frolix 8, by Philip K. Dick

My favorite author, Philip K. Dick, has a new novel out this month. His previous novel, Ubik, was one of my favorite works by him. Ubik was an explosive look at reality and history and happiness and travel and so much more, one of his rich tapestry books which feels beguilingly simple until you pull back the layers and discover the complexity of the world Dick made.

Dick’s new novel is called Our Friends from Frolix 8. Frolix is not as good as Ubik or many of PKD’s other novels. In fact, Dick mentioned to the fan press that this book was a quickly-written attempt to raise cash in a hurry.

But Our Friends from Frolix 8 is not a bad novel, not at all.

Cover by John Schoenherr

As always, Dick centers his novel around a miserable male protagonist. Nick Appleton is a classic Dickian schlub. He works at the ignoble job of tire regroover, a job his dad had before him, and his grandfather before his dad. But Nick has dreams. No, not for himself. That would be futile in an uncaring world.

Nick has dreams for his son Bobby. As we meet Nick, teenage Bobby is taking the civil service exam in the chance to become an employee of the current Terran government. The government is run by the New Men, evolved superhumans with uncanny abilities to read minds, perform telekinesis, and perform other incredible skills. Bobby has some ability to read minds, so Nick has hopes…

…which are dashed by an uncaring bureaucracy and by the mediocrity of Bobby’s abilities.

In one of the more heartbreaking scenes in a Dick novel, two petty government bureaucrats don’t even bother to look at Bobby’s test scores because they simply don’t care about the boy. The Appletons are Under Men, ordinary people with no ability to advance at all in their society; consequently, there’s just no reason for the bureaucrats to care about this faceless family.

Nick gets more and more angry about Bobby’s fate, in a classic Dickian scene. We feel Appleton’s impotent fury as he literally rages against City Hall to his uncaring wife. As Nick leaves the house to try to figure out how he can help Bobby, Nick begins meeting people who are radicalized to oppose the structure of this impossible world. Through them, he begins to learn about Eric Cordon, leader of the resistance. He soon becomes involved with a group which plans to break Cordon out of government prison.

From there Frolix 8 spins in a few surprising Dickian directions: for one, we meet a council ruler who has the power of telepathy but hates his wife. For another, we spend time with the great Thors Provoni, a man who went into space to learn how to restore Old Men to power and returns to Earth ready to overturn everything that had happened prior to these events. And we witness revolutions and falls from grace and a whole lot of complex existential angst.

This is almost a great novel. Frolix 8 shows all the signs of having been written fast. There are several distracting continuity errors in the book, and this novel demonstrates how Dick often improvises his books rather than working from an outline. That aspect gives this novel the feeling of veering from one storyline to the next, seldom pausing to consider what happened or to give context.

But in its tale of a perversely arranged society, in its tale of a simple man whose smallest dreams are thwarted, in its wildly imaginative tale of Thors Provoni, this actually is a pretty good Dick novel. I found myself upset when Nick was upset, found myself raging mentally about his family's raw deal, and found myself grooving on the way PKD seems to pinball from one idea to the next, scarcely giving me the chance to catch my breath.

Even average Dick is pretty great.

4 stars.


A young white man with short hair wearing a navy P-coat, blue polo collar, and green t-shirt.
by Brian Collins

Until a couple years ago, I had no idea who D. G. Compton was. I don't keep up with the British writers as much as I ought to; you could consider it an unconscious tendency, sprouting from the Irish part of my heritage. But Compton has written about one novel a year over the past five years and one or two have fallen through the cracks. I have yet to read Synthajoy or Farewell, Earth's Bliss, but I do have his latest, The Steel Crocodile. This is a ponderous and only nominally SFnal novel, but these qualities are mostly to its advantage.

The Steel Crocodile, by D. G. Compton

Cover art by Diane and Leo Dillon.

Matthew and Abigail Oliver have hit a snag in their marriage, or rather a few related snags. Matthew is a sociology professor who takes a job working for the Colindale Institute, an international institute of scientists responsible for controlling (advancing as well as sometimes restricting) scientific discoveries in Britain and mainland Europe. The Colindale has come under fire from the CLC (Civil Liberties Committee) over ethical quandaries, including corruption within the institute. One of these CLC guys, Edmund Gryphon, was an old college buddy of Matthew's, and so Gryphon wants Matthew to find out what he can about the Colindale once he's inside. Mere hours after their meeting, police find Gryphon dead—apparently murdered with a laser weapon. The news is a shock to the Olivers, not least because Abigail used to have romantic feelings for Gryphon. Abigail herself is a devout Catholic while Matthew is basically an agnostic, the latter admitting that his faith in the God of Abraham is weak, and also filtered through his wife's genuine devotion. Without Abigail, Matthew would not believe in God.

We're met with a murder mystery in the first chapter, but it turns out that John Henderson, Matthew's predecessor at the Colindale, also died under suspicious circumstances. We have two deaths, as if we're in a detective novel—only there's no detective, no Sherlock Holmes or Philip Marlowe on the case. We do eventually get answers as to who or what killed these men, but Compton is far less interested in solving his own mystery than observing the slowly crumbling relationships of the characters involved in said mystery. The novel is structured such that we alternate between Matthew and Abigail's perspectives, from scene to scene, showing that despite their marriage appearing happy on the surface these are two very different people with different ideas as to what might be happening at the Colindale. Abigail's plot is complicated by her younger brother, Paul, being a wide-eyed revolutionary who has rejected both Matthew's company-man attitude and Abigail's Christian pacifism. These are characters with conflicting loyalties; in other words, they're a lot like real people.

I don't recall there being a given year for the events of the novel, but The Steel Crocodile could just as likely take place a decade from now as anywhen. Compton's near-future Britain is troubled—maybe only slightly more than the Britain of today. There is, of course, a big and very SFnal threat, in the form of the Bohn 507, a super-computer housed at Colindale headquarters. The Bohn is not akin to HAL 9000, but rather is shown to be little more than a tool for the Colindale's director and his dreams of producing what I guess I could describe as a surrogate for God. Ah yes, a computer thinking itself God, I'm sure we haven't heard that one before; but the same time, the point of the Bohn is not to develop a God complex but to provide what all the religion and ethics classes in the world could not. Much like how The Steel Crocodile is a detective novel without a detective, the world of the novel is undoubtedly a Christian one—only God is nowhere to be found. He seems to have gone out for lunch. This is a problem that disturbs Abigail, naturally, although despite SF's tendency towards atheism (or at least indifference at the idea of the Biblical God), Compton does not make light of Abigail's beliefs or taunt her for it. Abigail is indeed one of the best female characters I've read in an SF story as of late, by a considerable margin.

There is also, unfortunately, the sense that The Steel Crocodile does spin its wheels occasionally; at just over 250 pages it could have been trimmed here and there. There is also the sense, between all the internal monologuing (which there is a lot of) and the debates between characters, that Compton really wants his novel to be About Something; luckily for him, it is. We rarely get religiously serious SF novels (Walter M. Miller's A Canticle for Leibowitz, James Blish's A Case of Conscience and more recent Black Easter, plus a few others), but if Graham Greene were to write an SF novel (it's possible, but unlikely), it would look something like The Steel Crocodile. I would say, as someone who is not a Catholic or even a Christian, that this is a high point of praise.

Four stars.


A photo portrait of Winona Menezes. She is a woman with light-brown skin, long black curly hair and dark eyes. She is smiling at the camera.
by Winona Menezes

Time and Again, by Jack Finney


Jacket design by Vincent Ceci / Push Pin Studios

I know we’ve all read what feels like a million stories about time travel, but Jack Finney’s latest novel, Time and Again, strips the genre to its skeleton and assembles a different sort of story around it, one that presents a compellingly alternative way to tell a story driven by time travel. Si Morley, a sketch artist working in advertising in New York City, is jolted out of his respectably ordinary life by representatives from a top-secret government project. He has been determined to be the perfect specimen to test a truly surreal hypothesis: that if given enough training, and with a little push from hypnotic suggestion, it might be possible for a person to force themselves back to a specific point in time through willpower alone. To my surprise, this actually works, and Si finds himself trying to navigate the NYC of 1882 in order to solve a decades-old mystery.

Every author who uses NYC as a backdrop at least attempts to pin down a likeness of the city true to their own perceptions, and no good likeness is ever the same as another, but somehow they all feel accurate. I think it's endlessly fun to experience how yet another writer is going to bring to life such a multitudinous city, and here we get two! Finney produces a modern-day NYC that feels suffocatingly huge, a giant on the verge of collapsing under the weight of progress. By contrast, his 1882 NYC is a near-perfect tableau of glittering galas and horse-drawn carriages.

I am not the sort of person to be easily convinced to romanticize New York in the 1800s – the smallpox and smell of horse manure alone is enough to remind me how grateful I am to live in a more comfortable age. But Si has an artist’s eye, and Finney brings his perspective to life so vividly that I really felt like I was seeing this old world through him with no time to dwell on any annoying practicalities. The book is beautifully illustrated with Si’s sketches and photos, and the way he sees the old New York makes a perfectly romantic backdrop for a well-paced mystery.

Absurdly, the book chooses not to elaborate almost at all on the mechanism of time travel, audaciously rejecting the fancy machines and sciencey jargon of other works in the genre. When the explanations I was waiting for did not come, I realized that the story was asking a lot more of my imagination than I was used to. It almost feels too dignified to dirty its hands with pseudo-technical exposition, leaving more room to explore the philosophical and ethical concerns that crop up in the process of trying to engineer human history. If time travel were invented today, exciting as it would be, I do actually think I would be less concerned with how it was made possible and more worried about those with access to it running amok through the past trying to tweak things in their own image. At the very least, I hope that whoever gets to time travel first reads this book and fancies themselves a Si Morley.

Five stars; this one made a believer out of me.


[New to the Journey? Read this for a brief introduction!]


Follow on BlueSky

[April 16, 1968] Tripods and Others (April 1968 Galactoscope)


by Victoria Silverwolf

Chalk and Cheese

I recently read two new science fiction novels by British authors that are otherwise as different as they can be. One takes place in the very near future. The other is set centuries from now. One never leaves England. The other ventures into interstellar space. One uses an experimental narrative style. The other is told in a traditional manner. One is New Wave, the other Old Wave. Let's take a look at both.

Bedlam Planet, by John Brunner


Cover art by Jeff Jones.

Before the story starts, unmanned probes discovered a habitable planet orbiting Sigma Draconis. A team of four explorers went to check it out. Everything seemed hunky-dory, so three big starships carried a bunch of colonists there. They named the planet Asgard.

One ship was to be used for raw materials. Another was to be kept intact, in case the colonists needed to get out quick. The third was supposed to carry our hero, one of the original four explorers, back to Earth.

Disaster struck when an error in navigation caused one of the ships to crash into Asgard's moon. Our protagonist, a born wanderer, is stuck on Asgard, a reluctant colonist who doesn't fit in with the others. While off on his own, he is stung by a local critter and spends several days hallucinating.

Meanwhile, a microorganism native to the planet gets into the bodies of the colonists, leading to vitamin C deficiency and thus scurvy. For various reasons, the only permanent solution to this medical problem is for folks to start eating local foodstuffs, not yet known to be completely safe. Half a dozen colonists are selected at random to test native foods.

When our hero returns, he finds the six people locked up, apparently insane and guilty of sabotaging the colony. The other colonists are in a very bad state, barely able to take care of their basic needs and unwilling to make even very simple repairs. Can one man whip them into shape, solve the vitamin C problem, figure out what happened to the six insane folks, and save the colony?

I should mention that the hero's hallucinations, as well as those of the six colonists who eat local foods, take the form of folklore from their individual cultures. A Greek woman, for example, imagines scenes from Greek mythology. A detailed description of these hallucinations is probably the most interesting and original part of the book.

The explanation for what's going on didn't fully convince me; it got a bit mystical for my taste. What is otherwise a problem-solving SF story that wouldn't be out of place in the pages of Analog flirts with things like racial memory. I'll give the author credit for having major characters of both sexes and multiple ethnicities.

Three stars.

Synthajoy, by D. G. Compton


Cover art by Diane and Leo Dillon.

It's nearly impossible to provide you with a simple synopsis of this novel, because it's narrated in a nonlinear fashion. In addition to that, the narrator may be insane, spends most of the day in a sedated condition, and is subjected to a form of therapy/punishment that definitely messes up her mind.

The narrator is the wife of a obsessive scientist, now dead. With the help of a brilliant electronics engineer (later the wife's lover, and also dead), he came up with a way to record the sensations experienced by one person and to allow another to share them. Originally used as therapy, it becomes a form of entertainment as well.

We slowly learn that the narrator has been convicted of a crime, and that she is subjected to mental recordings designed to make her contrite. With multiple flashbacks, some going all the way to the narrator's childhood, we see how the device was invented, how it was used, and how it was corrupted. We also receive varying accounts of how the two men died.

Alternating with these memories, which may be distorted, the narrator also relates events happening to her in the present. Her relationship with the Nurse and the Doctor is a complex one, with hidden motives everywhere.

This is a difficult book. Besides jumping back and forth in time, often from one sentence to the next, the text frequently breaks off in the middle of a line. Events are not only narrated out of order, but also retold in a completely different way. It's impossible to discover the real truth.

Despite the effort required on the part of the reader, and the inherent ambiguity of the work, this is a fine novel. The author happens to be male, but he writes from the point of view of a woman in a completely convincing manner. If you're looking for light entertainment, seek elsewhere. If you want to discover that science fiction can be serious literature, you're in the right place.

Five stars.



by Mx. Kris Vyas-Myall

The Tripods (The White Mountains, The City of Gold and Lead, The Pool of Fire) by John Christopher

The Covers of the Original Three Tripods Novels

H. G. Wells’ War of the Worlds casts a long shadow over the science fictional world. Whether fans see it as using invasion literature as a satire on imperialism or just an atmospheric horror tale, know it from films, radio or magazines, it is one of the core works of SF.

War of Worlds book cover, magazine cover and film poster

But what if Wells’ Martians came not to exterminate but enslave?

Whilst not officially a sequel to War of the Worlds, it is hard not to read it as anything else. In this version, the Tripods came and conquered more than a century ago. After millions were killed in the war what remains of humanity lives in a feudal society under their tripod overlords. Once people reach the age of 13, a metal “cap” is put into their head which ensures their compliance with the alien commands.

Will Parker, from a Southern English village, meets a vagrant who tells him of the location of free humans. Together with his cousin Henry they journey to The White Mountains, to both learn more of The Tripods, and to fight against them.

At their heart these are juvenile adventure stories, a cross between Ian Serallier’s Silver Sword and Andre Norton’s SF tales. However, juvenile should not be taken to mean shallow or hollow. These are dark tales of children trying to survive in an oppressive society.

The highlight for me is the second book, where we get to see life in a Tripod city and Will is treated as a pet by one of the aliens. It is insightful, vivid and very disturbing.

These do have one flaw and that is found in the final book. Christopher wants to tie up the trilogy in these short books and the ending feels incredibly abrupt and light, given what we see in the others. However, there is still much to enjoy here and worth checking out.

I actually feel the limitations of having to write for a younger audience benefit Christopher. He is forced to remove his tendency for gratuitous shock scenes for the sake of it, nor did I notice any of his usual prejudices against the Celtic nations of the British Isles. If he sticks within this field, I will willingly pick up more of his books.

Four stars



by Blue Cathey-Thiele

Ace Double H-56

Pity About Earth, by Ernest Hill

Pity About Earth introduces us to Shale, a callous, ambitious, often downright cruel man. He and Phrix, his alien assistant, work for the god-like Publisher, in advertising. His ship is automated, as is the rest of the universe. A mistress of his plots with a competitor, and Shale is forced to escape into a labyrinth. There he encounters cages inhabited by humans who have been conditioned to prove concepts in torturous and deadly ways. Shale feels no sympathy, up until a human-ape hybrid named Marylin catches his attention. He is strangely compelled by her. She helps him to escape the maze, and later, the planet.

Despite being a Groil, Phrix has been promoted to Shale's old position. In one of many instances where Marylin tries to redirect Shale from violence, she protects Phrix by setting Shale to go to Asgard, fabled home of the Publisher.

Upon reaching Asgard, they find the long dead remains of the Publisher. In his place is Limsola, a woman who has been gaining the secrets of Asgard executives just before their deaths. Shale is distracted by her allure, breaking Marylin's heart as he was the first being to show her a shred of care. Limsola encourages Marylin to Publish, to change the rules. Marylin confers with Phrix about how change could happen, and she takes up post as the new Publisher. On his homeworld, Phrix follows her lead, and together they begin to breathe life back into a world that had become frozen.

The world of the Publisher is automated to the point of inaction. Life is casually thrown aside even while there are means to prevent suffering. Advertising is a key function yet items only exist to *be* advertised. Phrix tasks himself with upending an entire universe. It is not a matter of ethics to him, only what is and what could be. Marylin has only abstract knowledge, no personal experiences, and yet she has more compassion and care than any other character.

Shale is hardly unique in his views, unwilling or unable to look beyond himself and care for others prior to meeting Marylin, and even after he begins to have some sense of shared "humanity" it is brief and confuses him. There is a special horror in his blasé approach to the labyrinth of experiments, food made of humans, and sexual violence. He doles out death and the dead are simply out of luck. He is a deeply unlikable protagonist; Marylin and Phrix provide far more engaging points of view.

I can't say I enjoyed it, but it left me with thoughts to chew on.

3 stars

Space Chantey, by R.A. Lafferty

Captain Roadstrum plays the part of Odysseus in a loose adaptation of The Odyssey. Along with Captain Pucket, he and the crew of hornet-men visit planets that serve as analogs to the islands on the way home from Troy. Roadstrum is not some wise general, he survives via luck, sheer force of will, and the rare moment of inspiration. Margaret the houri and Deep John the "original hobo", myths in their own right, join the crew.

Roadstrum finds Valhalla, where his crew feast and fight and die, all to rise up ready to fight again the next morning. Upon leaving, the crew have their tongues cut out and grow themselves replacement organs- Roadstrum opts for a forked tongue, which grants him clever speech. They speed through twenty years while being sucked into a black hole, escaping via a recently installed button that reverses time.

Helios' cows are replaced by an asteroid belt orbiting a sun, though that doesn't stop the crew from capturing and *eating* one of these asteroids like a prize calf.

Roadstrum takes over for Atlas, not carrying the physical weight of the world but perceiving existence in its entirety, as anything he drops his attention from ceases to exist.

The crew complains about the size and quality of the hell planet they've been sentenced to for their crime against Aeaea, a version of the witch Circe, before breaking out.

Roadstrum is in no great hurry to get home, and we don't even get the name of his wife or son (Penny and Tele-Max) until the last 15 pages.

There is a degree of self-awareness to both the story and Roadstrum himself, moments when he recognizes that he is acting out a story that has happened before, or even actions he seems to remember. He makes a determined break from repeating actions at the close of the book, choosing not to settle peacefully with his wife and son as the former version of Odysseus did, but to fly off toward more adventure.

Although Space Chantey, like Pity, has characters eating other people, casual killing, and brutality, it's in the format of a tall-tale and with barely half the gritty detail as the first book of this Ace Double. Even the characters who are dying often take it as a bit of a joke. Indeed, this book reads more as a folk story with space-travel trappings than science fiction. Characters die and return with little or no explanation, survive impossibilities and contradict themselves and the narration. It is larger than life and at times quite silly. It also has plenty of dubious poetry in the form of verse interludes.

This would have been better suited as a series of stories around a campfire than a sci-fi novel.

2.5 stars



by Gideon Marcus

Sideslip!, by Ted White and Dave Van Arnam

If you've been following Dave Van Arnam's First Draft 'zine, you're probably rooting for this fan-turned-filthy-pro.  I didn't get a chance to read his Star Gladiator, and this newest book is co-written.  Still, Ted White's name is magic to me, and who could resist this lurid cover.  Therefore, it was with no hesitation that I plunked down my four bits plus a dime to read Sideslip!

I was even more excited to see that the book starred Ronnie Archer, outsized private eye, who starred in the excellent short story, Wednesday, Noon.  Turns out he's a false cognate, however.  Per a letter Ted sent me:

Same name, different characters.  Ron Archer was my penname as a cartoonist in the early '50s, and got applied to subsequent characters, usually private detectives.  Ron was the protagonist in my never-written mystery novel, "The Stainless Steal."

Ah well.  The rest of the book was similarly a disappointment.  In brief, Ron Archer finds himself zapped into an alternate New York in a set-up quite close to that of White's Jewels of Elsewhen.  But in this New York, alien invaders conquered the Earth in 1938, turning our world into a colonial source for raw materials.  The "Angels", who look like tall, luminous humans, are protected by force fields and human collaborators known as Yellow-Jackets.  This does not keep resistance groups from forming, which in the Untied States are represented by The Technocrats (led by Hugo Gernsback and employing Albert Einstein–these are the folks who warped Archer to this alternate world), the Communists, and the Nazis (led by none other than Hitler, himself).

The first half of the novel details Archer getting captured by and escaping from each of the various groups, ultimately ending up in the hands of the Angels.  Well, one particular Angel.  The one female Angel, who of course immediately falls in love with Archer.  At this point, the story practically grinds to a halt as Archer is taken off-world to meet the Angels and argue for Earth's sovereignty.  There are lots of pop-eyed descriptions of advanced technologies that feel better suited to SF from the 20s or 30s.  Archer and Sharna, his Angel lover, have a fraught relationship written with the subtlety and skill of a teenager writing his first fanfiction.  The end is a brief, action-filled segment.  In between, there's a lot more sex and nudity than I've seen in an American SF novel.  I found it a bit embarrassing.

In short, we have the bones of a Ted White novel, but none of the feel.  Missing is the deft, sensual touch that White lends his pieces, as well as any semblance of good pacing.  This actually makes perfect sense–in another letter, White explained that the story was largely executed by Van Arnam:

This was a book which started in a writer's group.  I wrote an opening hook and passed it out to the others.  Dave Van Arnam picked up on it and suggested we collaborate on a book.  Which we did. I was not happy with Dave's writing early on, and heavily rewrote his first drafts, but as I fed these back to him he picked up on what was needed, and the last quarter of the book is mostly his. Pyramid liked the book well enough to ask us to write their Lost in Space book…

The real problem with the book, beyond the technical issues, is that Archer doesn't do anything.  At every turn, he's simply along for the ride, noting his surroundings, occasionally running.  Archer, himself, notes as much at the end of the book.  I suppose that speaks to some authorial awareness, though it doesn't fix the problem.

Still, the book is readable, in a hackish sort of way, and the concepts are fine, if as hamfisted as the cover.  Based on quality, I should give this thing two stars, but I did make it through Sideslip!, and I wanted to know what happened, so I'll give it three.






[January 24, 1967] Absenteeism and Making Do SF Impulse, February 1967


by Mark Yon

Scenes from England

Hello again!

So generally, post-Christmas and in the cold of winter, 1967 is settling into a routine, I guess. Except in the British magazines, where things are rather more turbulent. My suspicions were raised when the postman only delivered a copy of SF Impulse this month.

Now it is possible that New Worlds has been delayed in delivery–y’know, Winter!–but after the recent rumours and rumblings that things were not well at the magazines, I did a little rummaging and asked around to see if I could find out what was going on.

Whisper it quietly, but it seems that things are really bad financially–even for New Worlds, which has the higher circulation of the two–to the point that the publishers are seriously considering closing not one, but both magazines.

More as I get it, but frankly, it’s not looking good.


Cover illustration by Agosta Morol

To the SF Impulse issue. There are also signs here that things are not good.

The Managing Editor (interesting phrase!) Keith Roberts points out at the start that the Editor-in-Chief Harry Harrison is “absent, having made tracks for Philadelphia”. Is this rather ambiguous statement just a case of Harry being busy? As a writer, critic and editor Harrison does have a lot of fingers in pies, to be honest, which is presumably why Roberts does most of the leg-work here at SF Impulse.

But all I can think of is that the last time this happened, with editor Kyril Bonfiglioli taking time off to go stargazing(!), the magazine changed from Science Fantasy to Impulse not long after. The phrase “Rats deserting a sinking ship” also springs to mind, though that would be most uncharitable–Harrison is most certainly not a rat! But it is worrying that things may be changing behind the scenes.

But at least this Editorial space gives Roberts the opportunity to step up, as he has been doing for a while, admittedly, and give his opinions in the Editorial on the material in the issue, which he does. All good, even if (like much of the magazine this month) it feels a little like space-filler.

Might be something to read after you’ve read the stories, though.


Illustration by Keith Roberts

The Bad Bush of Uzoro by Chris Hebron

After last month’s story Coincidences, from Chris, we begin with a story I liked more. This one has a Weird Tales vibe, in the form of a story of a haunted mission in Africa as told by a Catholic priest–it even mentions Lovecraft. Not bad, though, and endearingly different with its mentions of African culture, even if there is an element of imperialistic “fear the foreigner” to this one. 4 out of 5.

Just Passing Through by Brian W. Aldiss


Illustration by Keith Roberts

Harry Harrison may not be about much this month, but his friend Brian Aldiss is (Again: when do we ever see the two together?)

This is unusual for Brian: a style that is almost Ballardian, filled with ennui and decay. Colin Charteris is in France on his way to England. His general musings on his stop-over through a mouldering French town also reveals to us that this is a future after the superpowers have released psychedelic drugs in what is being called the Acid Head War. The result is that many of the population are insane, locked away in their own heads as much as they are in institutions. The remainder, such as those seen here in France, seem to live a transitory existence. Whilst this intriguing situation is slowly revealed, the point of the story is less clear, and just as the reader is reeled in, the story ends. More of a mood piece than an actual story, I think.

Brian deserves credit for deliberately pushing the experimental side of science fiction in this story. It is a lot more serious than much of his work, but it feels very much like it is the beginning of a longer story. Nevertheless, it is unusual enough and odd enough for me to give it 4 out of 5.

Inconsistency by Brian M. Stableford

Don’t be fooled by the “new writer” comment given at the top of this story. We have met Brian before, both as Brian Stableford in the October 1966 issue and as co-writer Brian Craig back in the November 1965 issue–not to mention his letters to Kyril back in the same issue. Here he’s writing a fantasy story with a deliberately allegorical touch. Characters live around a village slowly disappearing in the sea. They have no idea of why they are there or how they got there. At the end the sea covers all. BUT WHAT DOES IT REALLY MEAN? Another symbolic puzzle which will either be appreciated or cause befuddlement. 3 out of 5.

The Number You Have Just Reached by Thomas M. Disch


Illustration by Keith Roberts

More from Mr. Disch this month, on the creepier side. It is about Justin Holt, the last man in the world who, staring out from his fourteen-storey apartment, receives a telephone call from someone who may be the last woman in the world. But is she real or is she a figment of his imagination? A story of fear and claustrophobia that doesn’t end well. This one’s fine, but I didn’t like it as much as some of his more recent stories. 3 out of 5.

The Pursuit of Happiness by Paul Jents

Another story from the often-underwhelming Mr. Jents, who last appeared in the June 1966 issue. Krane lives on Aligua, a distant planet which has spurned technology due to once being enslaved by computers, but have integrated circuits implanted in their heads to cope with their lives. Another story that deals with what is real and what is imaginary. One of Paul’s better stories, but really nothing special. 3 out of 5.

It’s Smart to Have an English Address by D.G. Compton

D.G. is a writer who tends to make me think of Fred Hoyle, strangely. Not sure why, other than he has this very British tone. And so it is here. Paul Cassevetes goes to meet his old friend Joseph Brown, a concert pianist (see also Hoyle’s October the First is Too Late where the main character is a composer). Doctor McKay and Paul try to get Joseph to record brain patterns whilst playing one of his finest pieces to give listeners a better experience. Joseph is resistant, feeling that such techniques do not get to the essence of a performance. At the end Joseph suffers a stroke, which makes the process rather redundant. A story of friendship and rather elegiac, if a little bit convenient at the end. I liked it but could see some thinking the story is mawkish. 3 out of 5.

Impasse by Chris Priest

Chris is one of our new young writers beginning to make an appearance in the magazines: last time it was with his Ballardian pastiche Conjugation in the December 1966 issue of New Worlds. This one seems to be an attempt to write short satirical Space Opera and shows the futility of conflict. Insults and threats are made between a Denebian and the Earth Field-Marshal which escalate until one of them shoots the other. Not sure I really get the point. 2 out of 5.

See Me Not by Richard Wilson

Another returning writer. He is popular, I understand, though his stories rarely register with myself for some reason. So the fact that Keith Roberts mentions in his Editorial that this is a “long, complete story” made my heart sink. But I was surprised, even if we are reusing old ideas here. This time it is about invisibility–thank you, Mr H. G. Wells! (Actually, I’ve only just realised that this may have been written as a result of that recent centennial celebration of Mr Wells’s birth.)

Avery wakes up to find himself invisible. Much of the rest of the story is about how he deals with this situation with his wife, Liz, his children, Bobby and Margie, and his doctor, Mike Custer. Lots of social issues ensue. The scientists try to work out what has happened and why. At the end of the story, Avery and Liz, who also becomes invisible, walk off together to live happily ever after it seems.

This is an attempt to write a lighter version of Wells’s tale, but ends up something more akin to an episode of your TV series Bewitched than the original Wells story. Although nowhere near as good as Wells’s version, for me this is a better story from Richard. 3 out of 5.

Keith Roberts rereads ‘The True History’ of Lucian of Samosatos


Illustration by Keith Roberts

And talking of Keith Roberts… This is space-filler of the highest order, as the writer gives us his interpretation of an ancient Greek classic. Not quite sure of its purpose, although Roberts writes well enough and brings to light an old classic that may be worth a second glance. Made me yearn to read a Thomas Burnett Swann story, which may not really be the point of this piece. 2 out of 5.

Book Fare (Reviews)

Book reviews from Alistair Bevan, also known as Keith Roberts. There are reviews of Planets for Man by Stephen H. Dole and Isaac Asimov, Other Worlds Than Ours by C. Maxwell Cade, Colossus by D. F. Jones, Window on the Future edited by Douglas Hill, Ten From Tomorrow by E. C. Tubb and The Machineries of Joy by Ray Bradbury.

Letters to the Editor

Last month I said that the ongoing discussion about Sex in SF that E. C. Tubb started a couple of issues ago felt like it was an attempt to generate mock outrage. With hindsight I now realise that the magazine probably has enough drama going on. Anyway, this month the Letters pages have a spirited defense of “WSB”, better known as William S. Burroughs to you and me, and a discussion of the meaning of Science Fiction, a competition that Harry opened when he first took over from Kyril. There is a winner, step up Peter Redgrove!

Summing up SF Impulse

Keith Roberts is clearly working above and beyond the usual here and should be credited with pulling together an issue even if some material was not up to the usual standard. Let’s hope that the magazine continues, although the signs are doubtful.

An advertisement on the last page of the issue. Is this an omen or a cryptic clue? Is there life after death for New Worlds or SF Impulse?

Until the next (hopefully!)