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[March 26, 1970] A Quartet of Whimsy (Satyricon, Skullduggery, Horton Hears a Who, Necropolis)

March 26, 2025 Brian Collins 5 Comments

by Brian Collins

"Rome. Before Christ. After Fellini."

Federico Fellini is unquestionably one of the most beloved filmmakers in the so-called international arthouse circuit. Despite shooting Italian productions, working well outside the Hollywood system, Fellini has already garnered a back-breaking eight Oscar nominations. I won't be surprised if his latest, Fellini Satyricon (which henceforth I'll simply refer to as Satyricon), nabs him another nomination, despite its immense strangeness. United Artists, responsible for distributing Satyricon here in the States, have been shrewd in their marketing, seemingly aiming at the overlap between those who frequent arthouse theaters (people like me) and those who watch B-movies at the drive-in (also people like me).

Fellini Satyricon

Normally, when writing about a film, or really any narrative, I try to give you a blow-by-blow of the plot; however, in the case of Satyricon, I don't think this would be feasible or desirable. This film is the latest effort from Fellini as both a fantasist and a storyteller who, at least since La Dolce Vita a decade ago, has clearly become disillusioned with traditional narrative. Satyricon is so loose in plot and yet so rich in imagery that to go over the plot would be doing it a disservice. I can at least give you the setup, though.

Photograph of a curly-haired blonde man wearing a belted mustard tunic, standing in front of a wall covered in graffiti — Martin Potter as Encolpius.

Photograph of a smiling, oiled, and tanned young white man, close cropped to only show his face and shoulders — Hiram Keller as Ascyltus.

We're in Rome in the time of Julius Caesar, or so it seems. The truth is that while the setting is ostensibly the time and place of the Roman Republic, it's a historical Rome fused with a Rome that only exists in one's dreams—or nightmares. Encolpius (Martin Potter) is a young man whose lover, Gitón (Max Born), has been taken by Encolpius's friend Ascyltus (Hiram Keller) and, as it turns out, sold as a slave to some depraved theatre actor. Encolpius rescues Gitón from the actor's clutches, but upon returning to their tenement building (one of several impressive sets in the movie), the feminine and elusive Gitón decides to become Ascyltus's new lover anyway. It's here that Encolpius, distraught, contemplates suicide, but an earthquake demolishes everything before he can reach for his sword.

It's here that Satyricon goes from strange to positively "far out."

Photograph of a ruddy-haired white person with bedroom eyes wearing a white strap of fur as padding under a golden strapped quiver, drawing an arrow in a golden bow, all against a backdrop of beaten brass. — The uncannily beautiful Max Born as Gitón.

Photograph of a multi-story stone and plaster building with a courtyard active with people, even as it grows dark. — The tenement building where Encolpius, Gitón, and Ascyltus live.

Photograph of an effects shot featuring a crowd of largely unclothed white people, gathered around a few white people clothed in brightly dyed clothes, and a Black woman wearing earth tones. In the background the clouds are dyed the red of late sunset — Encolpius, soon after the earthquake, surrounded by mourners.

Something happens to Encolpius, although your guess is as good as mine. The most sensible explanation, both literally and symbolically, is that Encolpius and the others had been killed in the earthquake, sending them over to Hades, the Roman afterlife. There are, of course, quite a few things that go unexplained, even if we assume that everything after the earthquake is Hades. If this is indeed Hades, then nearly everyone here, including Encolpius, seems to be unaware of their own deaths. We meet many colorful characters along the way, as Encolpius voyages through this demented version of Rome in search of his lover and former friend. The most memorable of these might be the local despot Trimalchio (Mario Romagnoli), one of the few holdovers from Petronius's Satyricon. One of the eeriest scenes in the whole film is when Trimalchio sets up an elaborate rehearsal for his own funeral, complete with his slaves mock-crying near his still-living body.

Throughout the film, Encolpius and Gitón cross paths, but only rarely; rather the former is stuck with Ascyltus as the two men narrowly escape death, capture, or both. It's worth noting, at this point, that all three forementioned characters are men, and that Satyricon, on top of being immersed in death and sex, is especially focused on homosexuality. The topic was not exactly taboo for Fellini before, but here he explores romance and sex between men, indeed the psychology of the young homosexual, so overtly that it's both daring and unignorable. The love-hate relationship between Encolpius and Ascyltus, oscillating between antagonistic and homoerotic, is arguably the only thing keeping the movie together as a narrative. There's a tender and yet also perplexing scene where the two men, having taken refuge in a somewhat abandoned villa, have what the French call a ménage à trois with a servant girl (Hylette Adolphe), Fellini implying that the two men also have sex with each other.

Photograph of mourners covering their faces over a reclining and richly garbed elderly white person whose eyes are closed — The tyrannical Trimalchio rehearsing his own funeral.

Photograph of a bare-chested Black woman with long, braided hair smiling while gazing at two white people who are lying down and touching each other — The servant girl looking mighty pleased as Encolpius and Ascyltus cuddle.

Photograph of a smiling and tanned man pulling what appears to be a molded leather full-head mask of a bull up from over his head — George Eastman as the "Minotaur."

As I mentioned earlier, Fellini's Satyricon is loosely based on the ancient Roman narrative of the same name by Petronius—the problem being that the latter has been partly lost to time, including its ending. Much of the film, thus, is of Fellini's invention, although in a stroke of mad genius he apparently decided to not fill in the gaps of the original text. Scenes rarely ever connect with each other, in terms of setting and characters, not helped by the occasional frame narrative which the in-movie characters are being told about. Encolpius and Ascyltus are escorting a hermaphrodite with allegedly special powers in one scene, and just a bit later, without explanation, Encolpius has to fight a man (George Eastman) who's dressed as the Minotaur from Greek mythology. Stuff like that. If you've seen La Dolce Vita or 8½, then you already know Fellini has become increasingly sympathetic to fragmented and nonlinear narrative structure; with this in mind, it makes perfect sense that he would adapt a story that only survives in fragments.

Photograph of a picture of a costumed quartet, posing, painted on since-damaged plaster — Portrait of Encolpius and others on a fragment of wall.

Satyricon stands out as Fellini's most violent, erotic, and somehow most esoteric film to date, if not necessarily his best. At a little over two hours, one does start to feel as if the movie is spinning its wheels occasionally. Some will find the plot (or lack thereof) to be incomprehensible while still others will find Fellini's nonjudgmental treatment of sexuality to be too grotesque. While certainly fantasy, it is a sort of fantasy that stands apart from Professor Tolkien's holier-than-thou puritanism, and yet it's far more layered and sophisticated than your average sword-and-sorcery fantasy. I do suggest that anyone who sees cinema as a serious artform ought to watch Satyricon, if only because it is truly unique, and because it stretches the boundaries of what can even be done with a movie camera.

A high four stars, possibly five if I ever rewatch it.

by Jason Sacks

And now for a film that's not exactly Fellini level…

Some friends and I decided to go to the movies on a cold and wet March Saturday in Seattle. We wandered to the tri-plex at scenic Northgate Mall. My friends went to see Patton again. My sister saw Start the Revolution Without Me. They all shared full and excited theatres. For me, well, I was committed to review the new film Skullduggery for this column. I was "lucky" enough to get a nearly private screening of this film in theatre 3 – I think the two couples in my theatre enjoyed the peace and quiet so they could have some intimate time together, away from the violence of Patton and the laughs of Revolution.

As for my reaction, well…

Skullduggery

Skullduggery is a very bad film.

Oh, this film starts pretty well, as a high adventure story. Anthropologist Dr. Sybil Greame (Susan Clark) leads an expedition into remote Papua New Guinea to find ancient human remains. In her group is a handsome explorer named Douglas Temple (Burt Reynolds), with whom she has a quick romance. Soon, though, things change. Temple finds gold in those hills. Greame finds potential glory of her own, in the form of a tribe of apelike creatures. These creatures are called the Tropis and are enslaved by local humans. These primitive creatures just might be the missing link in the evolution of mankind from ape to person. The discovery of these strange creatures leads to pandemonium and confusion and the beginnings of an intriguing moral debate.

That debate is smashed before it really starts. When one of the Tropis is allegedly murdered, Temple is charged with the crime and is forced to stand trial. The latter half of the film examines what it means to be human, the complexity of a human/Tropi hybrid, even the nature of race relations in America.

Skullduggery is a mess. It veers almost drunkenly from high adventure to comedy to tragedy to trial, lumbering from one topic to the next, seemingly without a lot of reflection on what has happened before. Reynolds seems dramatically miscast, Clark is remarkably uncharismatic, and director Gordon Douglas (a man who’s been working in film since the 1930s) shows little dexterity behind the camera, by and large employing few camera tricks.

This fiasco is a shame for a few reasons.

First, the early scenes of exploration (apparently filmed in Jamaica rather than the much more dangerous New Guinea) are legitimately lovely, all brilliant vistas and setting suns. However, Douglas moves to obvious soundstages and static, dull shots for the majority of the film, making all of this very boring.

Secondly, Reynolds obviously has talent and charisma. He could be a breakout star in the ‘70s, but he’ll be working in community theatre in Florida before long if he can’t find more suitable roles. I’ve seen him in a few things recently – the Jim Brown/Raquel Welch bomb 100 Rifles for one – but he needs to be in a film which clicks for him to show off his obvious charm.

But most importantly, Skullduggery just never delivers on any of the promise of its core ideas. What would happen if the missing link suddenly was found? How would that change our perceptions of the past and how would that affect the religion/science dichotomy with Nixon’s Silent Majority?

Even with the strange trial of Temple, in which a white supremacist and a Black Panther are brought to testify, we're never even given much lip service about the lives of these creatures and their place in the world. In our turmoil-filled world of 1970, when racial tensions remain high and our country is deeply scarred, it seems like malpractice for a film like this one to openly avoid the very ideas it raises.

2 stars.

by Amber Dubin

Horton Hears a Who, and You Should Too

If you were looking for a light, whimsical flight into a lovely fantasy land of the Seussian-variety, you will be disappointed by Horton Hears a Who. While this short, animated film is typical of the type of whimsical art and color we’ve come to expect from Dr. Seuss’s children’s stories and picture books, its plotline is anything but light.

Movie poster featuring a colour illustration of a wide eyed elephant facing the viewer, holding a fluffy blossom in his trunk. Looming in the background are a couple of smirking blue apes, and in the foreground a kangaroo wearing a pince-nez rests her chin on her fist, eyes closed as though lost in thought. — Horton Hears a Who by Dr. Seuss, March 19th, 1970

We open whimsically enough, following a speck of dust along a gust of wind flowing through the Jungle of Nool as it circles closer to an elephant taking a carefree bath in a river. The elephant, named Horton, is soon shaken from his reverie by the speck of dust we’ve been following, as it seems to be issuing a plea for help. With Horton’s enormous ears, he picks up this call and goes to investigate a clover that the dust spec has alighted on.

Illustration of a fluffy dust mote on top of a shaggy pink clover blossom — The speck of dust that all the fuss is about

We come to know that this dust speck is actually a fully occupied world filled with a tiny populace calling themselves Whovians. The voice was coming from Dr. H. Whovie, classically cast as the lone possessor of the knowledge that their entire society literally balances on the head of a pin, or a clover as it were. Being in agreement with their desire to protect and shelter this delicate society, Horton and the Doctor join forces to make sure the world doesn’t fall victim to such devastating hazards as a drop of rain or a particularly rough gust of wind. The altruistic Horton dedicates himself to this cause so freely because he declares “a person’s a person, no matter how small.”

Illustration of a kangaroo leaning down over a clover blossom and inspecting it with opera glasses — Kangaroo Jane who can't keep her nose to herself

The trouble begins when a local busybody kangaroo overhears Horton’s conversation with the clover and proceeds to insert herself into the situation, determining that Horton must be talking to himself and thus is a crazy, dangerous menace to society. She turns the rest of the jungle’s occupants against Horton and finally conscripts the help of the Wickersham Brothers to more violently separate Horton from the clover, hoping that if it is destroyed, that will bring Horton back to his senses and he will stop talking about little people talking to him from dust specks. These Wickersham brothers, which are drawn more like horrifying gremlins than the apes they’re supposed to be, take the clover and conscript a vulture to fly it into a huge field of clovers.

Illustration of a trio of greenish apes mugging against a background of sallow-yellow-and-candy-pink flowers — The Wickersham brothers, creatures horrifying enough to inspire nightmares in adults and kids alike

Meanwhile, inside the dust ball itself, pandemonium has broken out, as the Whovians are suddenly forced to acknowledge the Doctor’s warnings and recognize that there is in fact a giant dangerous and bigger world outside the clouds that frame their existence. Through trial and tribulation, when Horton finally is reunited with Whoville, we find that their town has been thrown into disarray, buildings cracked and the townsfolk strewn about after the violent ride in the vulture’s beak. Horton assures them their troubles are over when he plucks them from the 3 millionth clover he checked and resumes caring for the now united peoples of Whoville.

Illustration of a silhouetted elephant on the cusp of entering an ocean frothing with pink clover-blossoms — Horton on his way through picking 3,000,005 clovers just to find his friends.

This reprieve is short lived when the Wickersham brothers, now bolstered by the entire Jungle of Nool, swarm upon Horton and rather upsettingly decide drastic action is necessary to keep his dangerous belief in tiny people from spreading insanity throughout the jungle. They threaten to cage him and boil the clover in “Beezle nut oil.” Backed into his last corner, Horton begs the citizens of Whoville to make as much noise as possible so that his tormentors finally hear them and believe they exist and are worth protecting. The Doctor rallies his people, getting every member of the town to participate to no avail, until the very smallest resident, Jo-Jo with his yo-yo, lends the final voice that breaks free from their clouds and finally reaches the encroaching mob. Furies are quelled, everyone reaches an agreement that “a person’s a person, no matter how small,” happy endings are had by all, and we drift away from the story just as the Doctor is gifted an even smaller world of his own on another dust speck that he must take care of, thus starting the cycle anew.

Illustration of a sprawling, swoopingly curved cityscape from above, its buildings all in yellow over pink grounds, with clouds shrouding the near buildings peaks — The beautiful yet tiny town of Whoville

There are obvious moral overtones stating that society is capable of great evil when fueled by routing out sedition, and that it is important to not lose sight of the humanity in our fellows, whether the evil we are being told we’re defeating is insanity, witchery or, more recently, communism. The production is, as usual, well done. It looks like a quality Dr. Seuss show, and it is.

However, I can’t help but respond to this with a personal sense of dystopia fatigue. Maybe it’s because I was expecting much more fun than despair, but I felt like this story was so overly harsh to the protagonist that I came away wishing that Dr. Seuss wasn’t trying so hard to scare the children. Why can’t they be allowed to chase talking dust specks or pick millions of clovers without being jailed for insanity? Aren’t they just children after all?

Illustration of an elephant in a cage having his trunk tied to a rope pulling him against the bars. A boiling pot over flame is beneath this tug-of-war, and at stake between the two is the blossom held by Horton — Is it a little extreme to threaten children with boiling their friends alive? Dr. Seuss didn’t think so.

While I do love the art and style of the piece, I feel the need to deduct a point for the storyline being a little more cruel and upsetting than I would have preferred from a children’s story.

4 stars

Illustration of a sadder but wiser elephant gazing teary-eyed at a blossom held by his trunk — Horton may have heard a Who, but comes to wish he hadn’t.

by George Pritchard

Necropolis

I am on a brief holiday while my flat is getting treated for mold, so I decided to go see Necropolis, an Italian-British production, billed as a strange and fantastical film on the nature of evil.

After twenty minutes of filler involving a man in stereotypical “barbarian” furs searching for the Mona Lisa, there appears a beautiful man with a painted face and a green velvet suit. By this time, I confess that I was checking my watch in worry. “Perhaps this will all make sense in time,” I told myself, “perhaps it would immediately make sense if I were more familiar with Art, with the political landscape inhabited by the filmmakers, but I do not know for certain.”

The first twenty minutes of this film.

Subtitles are played with, sometimes included and sometimes not, and sometimes the subtitles are used as title cards. Throughout the film, characters switch at random between English, Italian, and sometimes French. Apparently this was inspired by Warhol’s films, right down to including Viva in the cast list. I can’t say that I’ve ever felt much of anything while interacting with his art, so perhaps I am the wrong audience.

Viva!

The man in green wanders through a warehouse of red plastic sheets. He says, “The universe is in my head,” and with the ouroboros painted on his face, I believe him. ”If only I could convert you. If only I could communicate with you, then you’d know.”

A man who I do not trust, but who I believe.

All right, now we’re getting somewhere. This film feels like I am at a festival of short films — some are wonderfully strange, others are dull slogs. A witch in a cement pipe initiates a young man, in a ceremony that makes me think, after the first 40 minutes of this 118-minute movie, that the art film amateur hour has leveled out, and incredible images have begun to bubble up through the depths.

A glorious moment that promises more.

Unfortunately, this hope is crushed directly after, and never fully recovers. Because just as we think there’s something good, it collapses again into joyless sitcom bits played out in a warehouse. Press papers describe this film as an exploration of evil. Perhaps this speaks to the misery of touch-and-go rasping against the nerves, but it seems more like an exploration of poor sound mixing. Annoying noises and annoying people, broken up with occasionally beautiful things. I would have liked to go into the projection room and clip a new copy for myself.

Fellow travelers…is this something you have seen play out in your own counterculture spaces? (observe the flagrantly spilled coffee, which no one is keen to clean up)

Unfortunately, this film drags for minutes at a time — people often speak and move in slow motion, and the 2-hour runtime is wholly unnecessary. The speeches are so slow that the subtitles only provide disjointed fragments. I never guessed that a film about evil would make me think of a Burma Shave road ad. I fell asleep halfway through, and so bought a second ticket in order to complete this review.

I can’t believe this movie has the gall to reference Kenneth Anger, and multiple times, at that. Mr. Anger makes beautiful, meaningful films, but most of all, they are short. There is an excellent Kenneth Anger-length film here, but there is so much to cut out around it that I cannot recommend Necropolis in good faith. I would recommend that anyone interested in this film should seek out Mr. Anger’s films, instead.

Two stars.

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

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Book, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[March 14, 1970] To Venus and Hell's Gate… are we Out of Our Minds?

March 14, 2025 Gideon Marcus Leave a comment

by Gideon Marcus

To Venus! To Venus!, by David Grinnell

cover by John Schoenherr

Warning: the latest Ace Double contains Communist propaganda!

The premise to David Grinnell's (actually Ace editor and Futurian Donald Wolheim) newest book is as follows: it is the 1980s, and the latest Soviet Venera has confirmed the initial findings of Venera 4, not only reporting lower temperatures and pressures than our Mariner 5, but spotting a region of oxygen, vegetation, and Earth-tropical climate.

And they're launching an manned expedition there in less than two months.

Of course, NASA doesn't believe the obvious Russian lies, but since they were planning on sending a nuclear-powered unmanned Mariner to the Planet of Love at the same time (taking advantage of the favorable orbital relationship between Earth and Venus that occurs every 19 months), why not put a three-man crew onboard? That way, the Stars and Stripes can beat the Sickle and Hammer to put first boots on the superheated ground.

But upon landing, the Mariner descent module stumbles and wrecks, stranding the three Venus-nauts "in an analogue of Hell". Now their only hope is to make the 100 mile trek to the Soviet landing site and hope there are actually cosmonauts there to help.

To Venus is a highly technical book, closely related to, say, Martin Caidin's Marooned (recently turned into a big-budget but turgid picture). The characters are so much cardboard, only developing the rudiments of a personality on the Big Hike. Much of the setup beggars imagination. Setting aside an even partially inhabitable Venus, the idea that a manned mission to the second planet could be trained for and launched in 43 days is absurd. Recall that Pioneer 5, originally intended for Venus, was turned into a generic long-distance probe because it couldn't be built and launched in time.

For the most part, though, the technical descriptions seem pretty reasonable. This is the first story set on "real" Venus I've read apart from the first of the subgenre, Niven's "Becalmed in Hell" (interestingly enough, included in Wollheim's anthology of 1965's best science fiction—coincidence?) The Have Spacesuit, Will Travel-esque journey portion, which comprises the latter half of the book, is genuinely thrilling.

I think three stars is appropriate, maybe another half star if any of the above elements are your bag.

The Jester at Scar, by E. C. Tubb

cover by Kelly Freas

Blink and you miss it—just two and a half years ago, Britisher E. C. Tubb introduced the starfaring adventurer, Dumarest. I quite enjoyed his first outing, The Winds of Gath, and Blue found the sequel, Derai to be passable.

Well, here we are, 18 months later, and I find we've missed books 3 and 4 of the Dumarest series, and I've already got #5 in my hands! We're talking Moorcock/Silverberg levels of prolific here.

Once again, the setting is a hellish world plagued with poverty. This time, it is Scar, orbiting closely around a red sun with a rotation period of 120 days. Thus, each "season" is really a quarter of a day. The reason people inhabit the planet, which alternates between savage heat, monsoon rains, and bitter cold, is the profusion of fungi on it. All manner of molds and mushrooms cover the land, blooming in the brief summer. They offer foodstuffs, medicines, hallucinogenics. Above all, people seek "the golden spore", whose product is the most valuable.

The cast of characters come from the same castes as in the first novel (and presumably the other books, too). We have native partners, driven by profit-motive. We have representatives of the United Brotherhood, whose creed emphasizes paucity, but whose adherents sometimes chafe at that requirement. We have a cyber, akin to the mentats of Dune, devoid of emotion but not ambition…and fierce loyalty to the computerized hive mind of his kind. And we have fate-obsessed Jocelyn, heir to the throne of the poor planet Jest, along with his harsh and grasping new bride, Adrienne.

Dumarest's immediate goal is to raise sufficient funds to get off the world. His ultimate mission, as it has been since Book #1, is to locate Earth among the hundreds of thousands of possible systems in the galaxy. Suffice to say, he does not locate Terra in this volume—but he does get just the least bit closer to divining its location.

This really is a fun series. While this installment is not as compelling as the first book, and it shows every sign of having been composed in haste (particularly the inelegant repetition of certain turns of phrase, and the reusing of stock characters), I have to say that I am rather hooked by the series, which is sort of a cross between Dune (politics and technology) and Earthblood (the run-down worlds and the quest for Earth).

Three and a half stars.

by Amber Dubin

Hell's Gate, by Dean Koontz

Cover by Kelly Freas.

Although Dean R. Koontz' first full-length work was only recently published in 1968, Koontz has already built a reputation as a true science fiction suspense thriller novelist. Hell’s Gate keeps up a pulse-pounding pace throughout its pages, fraught with action, violence, mind-bendingly creative integration of complex subplots, beginning with a psychological thrilling secret agent assassin, tying in an alien invasion, and even taking the time to incorporate a tender romance. Throughout, what maintains the tension is the fact that this story is accurately named, as the hero spends the whole of it desperately trying to close the gate separating the world as we know it from a certain doom of a merger with a fireless inferno.

Our unlikely protagonist is Victor Salsbury, a creation of yet-to-be-known scientific technology who appears like a 30 year old man. The history that has been loaded into his memory is that of a successful artist, whose real body has yet to wash up in a small-town American river in the fall of 1970. After a rather jarring awakening in an apple orchard down the river running through said small town, Victor blindly follows his internal programming, which guides him to sneak into an old house and murder its lone occupant. After retreating to a nearby cave to hibernate and heal his wounds suffered in the struggle, Victor awakens again to receive further orders from a computer hidden in the cave with him.

Victor goes on to make use of the implanted memories, orders, supplies and only slightly super-human powers of healing, reflexes, and combat competency to further the objective of the computer, buying the house from a beautiful real estate agent whose uncle happened to be the man he killed. As he gradually acclimates himself to humanity and reality, our hero discovers that he has been placed in this house as a sentry to guard a portal in the basement to a morally bankrupt alien world, intent on sending a force through this gateway to establish a foothold of control on earth.

The developments that ensue are all very straightforward until about two thirds of the way through this ride, when the reader suddenly takes an incredible left turn into a “Land of the Giants” meets “Planet of the Apes”. It was an incredibly inventive and entertaining romp, but I found myself counting the remaining pages because I felt skeptical that the author could successfully explore the sudden digression and still have enough time to return to its original objective in a satisfactory manner.

My only true discomfort with this story was the way it resolved. I don’t want to spoil anything, but I will say that the conclusion, while artful and delicately laid, doesn’t provide a comfortable wind down of the action. I didn’t exactly expect a neat and detailed epilogue, based on the tone set by the rest of the book, but I did find myself wanting at least a break in the rip-riotous pacing to take a step back and exhale. I understand that it probably would have been hard to make an ending that matched the energy and creativity of the rest of the story, but I did feel like more of an effort could have been made to satisfy the reader. That may be my personal bias, because all of my favorite books have the type of comforting, well-knit endings that make me feel like I just put down a comforting cup of hot chocolate and am now no longer thirsty or cold. I did feel a little of both when I closed and replaced this book on the shelf.

I would like to give this work 5 stars for the adrenaline rush, originality and consistently engaging plotline but I am particularly partial to stories with soft landings or at least ones that don’t end abruptly enough to give me whiplash from its final words.

4 stars

by Brian Collins

Out of Their Minds, by Clifford D. Simak

Cover by Richard Powers.

Horton Smith writes for a living, but has been having trouble with his current book-in-progress; so he decides to return to his hometown of Pilot Knot, which he has not seen in a good while now. While there he hopes to pay a visit to an old friend of his, an eccentric academic (but then don't we all have that friend) named Philip Freeman. Freeman has some funny ideas about the evolution of homo sapiens, or rather had, because it turns out Philip Freeman is dead. The reason for Freeman's death is implied to be much stranger than a mere heart attack, or even foul play. A run-in with a large dinosaur while on the road tells both Smith and the reader that something very unusual is going on, and the dinosaur, which disappears about as quickly as it appeared, is only the beginning. Mythical figures and fictitious characters, from Don Quixote to Satan himself, start flooding into the real world, and these figures largely and inexplicably have it out for Smith. What an unlucky guy.

This is another science-fantasy novel from Simak, who over the past few years has been determined to use his novels as canvases for blurring the line between the genres. I call Out of Their Minds "science-fantasy," but it is really rationalized fantasy, of the sort that frequently appeared in the long gone but not forgotten magazine Unknown, which I don't think Simak ever got to appear in. I could be mistaken.

Freeman, from beyond the grave, provides a scientific explanation for why made-up characters and things from the distant past (at one point Smith finds himself in the middle of Gettysburg, as in the American Civil War battle) have been appearing in "our" world, but it's such a loose explanation that I don't think even Simak believes it. Maybe buying into the explanation is not the point. These figures are unbelievable because they're quite literally figments of the human imagination that have been given flesh, at least temporarily. The only thing more unbelievable than Smith having a casual conversation with Satan (one of the best scenes in the novel, by the way) is his fast-growing relationship with Kathy Adams, a local teacher at Pilot Knot who becomes his designated love interest.

I've been reading Simak for the past 15 years, pretty much ever since I started reading science fiction with enthusiasm, and with one or two exceptions his novels are not him at his best. Indeed, it seems like he uses the novel format as a pretext for indulging himself rather than writing his best work. If you want Simak at his best, you read his short stories (his masterpiece, City, is really a bunch of short stories and interludes rather than a proper novel); but with his longer works, you encounter almost a different writer. Out of Their Minds, had it appeared thirty years ago in Unknown, would have probably been condensed to novella-length, which would have suited it best. On a scene-by-scene basis, it's rather enjoyable, especially once we actually arrive in Pilot Knot (it takes surprisingly long to get there) and a goblin-like creature known as the Referee appears. But even at just 190 pages, it's constipated in its pacing. It could be that, as with most of Simak's other novels, Out of Their Minds is still structured like a short story—one that's been stretched almost to the breaking point.

Yet, for all its apparent flaws, there is something basically admirable about not only Simak's breaking down of what is and is not SF, but his cautious optimism about the human imagination. For the past few years, since I started writing seriously about genre fiction, I've called Simak the anti-Lovecraft (incidentally H. P. Lovecraft and Cthulhu himself get mentioned in this novel) in the sense that he seems to believe it's not the vast, barren, amoral universe we should be worried about, but rather human folly. Conflict in Simak's fiction, nine times out of ten, arises from human error, and so it makes sense that the menaces in Out of Their Minds spawn from the human mind. Even so, with the drawbacks that come with it in mind, both Simak and Freeman believe that human creativity is ultimately both good and necessary for the race's survival. I have to admit, there is something deeply affirming about that message, even if it comes packaged in an overlong novel such as this.

Three stars. I'm a Simak fan, so I'm biased. You may feel differently.

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

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Book, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[March 6, 1970] The Waters of Centaurus, And Chaos Died, and High Sorcery

March 6, 2025 Victoria Silverwolf Leave a comment

As luck would have it, the first three novels to be reviewed this month were all by women! They all have something else in common—they each have both merits and demerits that sort of cancel out…neither Brown, Russ, nor Norton quite hit it out of the park this time at bat.

by Victoria Silverwolf

In Memoriam

An unavoidable note of sadness fills this review of a newly published novel. The author died of lymphoma in 1967, at the very young age of 41. With that in mind, let's try to take an objective look at her final novel.

The Waters of Centaurus, by Rosel George Brown

Cover art by Margo Herr

This is a direct sequel to Sibyl Sue Blue. My esteemed colleague Janice L. Newman gave that novel a glowing review. In fact, our own Journey Press saw fit to reprint it in a handsome new format.

Order a copy today!

Sibyl Sue Blue is back. She's a forty-year-old police detective and a widow with a teenage daughter. She's fond of cigars, gin, fancy clothes, and attractive men.

After her previous adventure, she's on a planet orbiting Alpha Centauri. Familiarity with the first novel would help get the reader oriented, but let me try to sum up the situation quickly.

The planet is inhabited by at least three varieties of humanoids. Those dwelling on the main continent can't mate with humans, and don't play much of a role in the plot. The folks living on an island are semi-aquatic, can mate with humans, and are the main focus of the book. The third kind, from a northern continent, supplies our story's antagonist.

Sibyl Sue Blue and her daughter are on the planet as part of a working vacation, enjoying the beach while acting as ambassadors from Earth. Sibyl is attacked by somebody and nearly drowns, but manages to fight off the bad guy handily. That's bad enough, but things get worse when her daughter, in a sort of trance, walks off into the ocean. What's going on?

Let's try to make a complex plot, a lot of which depends on what happened in the first novel, simpler. The antagonist, acting like a James Bond villain, plans to flood the planet by melting the ice caps. He's got a secret underwater lair, as well as a substance that turns air-breathers into water-breathers.

There are several other characters involved, and plenty of plot twists. Unlike the first novel, this one doesn't seem to have much in the way of social commentary. It somehow manages to be action-packed while also spending quite a bit of time describing Sibyl's wardrobe. There's a bit too much drinking of gin and smoking of cigars for my taste.

The antagonist has a very weird love/hate feeling for human women. Sibyl and he somehow manage to be lovers while also trying to kill each other. The speculative biology at the heart of the plot isn't much more plausible than this odd relationship.

Overall, I'd say this is a readable but forgettable potboiler. It's nice to have a middle-aged mother as the heroic protagonist, anyway.

Three stars.

by Jason Sacks

And Chaos Died, by Joanna Russ

Two months ago, I reviewed one of the worst books I’ve ever covered in this column: Taurus Four by the absolutely deplorable Rena Vale. This month I review the second novel by promising newcomer Joanna Russ. In some ways And Chaos Died and Taurus Four have nothing in common. In other ways these books have a huge amount of thematic overlap.

I wish I could say Russ’s novel is completely successful. She’s clearly ambitious. And Chaos Died is a novel of heady ideas and language. Russ plays in fascinating ways with internal and external perspectives, delivering a novel of alternating views and alien attitudes. But I feel like she simply fails to reach the heady levels she's aiming for with this novel.

And Chaos Died and Taurus Four both have long sequences which take place on strange alien worlds. On those worlds, beings live in primitive states. Both worlds are Edenic, full of civilizations who are one with the land they live in. The locals in both novels are naked and unashamed, in a world of boundless plenty on a fertile plain. Vale took that setup and revealed her hatred for “primitive” society. Russ takes that setup and delivers something complex and uncanny.

Cover by Diane and Leo Dillon

See, the locals on the planet “speak” telepathically and have psionic ability. Children can speed up or slow down their aging:

"I'm nine," she went on pedantically, "but actually I'm fifteen. I've slowed myself down. That's called 'dragging your feet.' Mother keeps telling me 'Evniki, don't drag your feet,' but catch me hurrying into it!"

There’s playfulness about the ideas of language:

"By the way," she said in a low voice, "I know what it means to cannibalize; it means to eat something. I heard about that." She seemed to hesitate in the half-dark.

But tell me, please," she said, "what does it mean exactly—radio?"

And Russ gives us beautiful literary-minded ideas about perception and peace and communications which abound in this book – at least until Jai returns to an overpopulated, warlike Earth. A shift in global temperatures and climates has devastated our planet; wars and starvation and hatred have made our planet a dystopia. And Jai has been so changed by his experiences on the alien planet that he finally is able to see things on Earth as they really are.

I loved the wildly imaginative approach to this book. The writing here is elliptical and dense. The prose rewards slow reading and attention to detail, but I was never lost in the book. In fact, I often find myself swept away by its literacy and ambitions. At times Russ reads like a less academic, more playful Ursula LeGuin.

Joanna Russ

Russ has deeply inventive ways of putting readers in the mind of psychic people of all ages as well as the ordinary people who have to interact with the natives. The book deserves high marks for the sequences on the alien planet, though I found her Earth-bound scenes a bit cliched.

But the book has another flaw: its treatment of homosexuality.

Our lead character is named Jai Vedh, and very early in the novel Jai proclaims himself to be a homosexual. But partway through And Chaos Died, Jai falls into a relationship with a woman. We are led to believe Jai’s homosexuality is “cured” with that relationship, and he himself even declares his happiness in a “straight” lifestyle.

I know we live in a world in which the American Psychological Association still declares “gayness” as a mental illness. But I still find it unthinkable that an intelligent and well-spoken woman like Joanna Russ would ally herself with the idea that homosexuality can – or even should – be “cured”. Love is love, whether between genders or in the same gender, and I was shocked Russ has her lead character change his whole approach to intimacy so quickly.

[I had a similar issue when I reviewed an excerpt of the novel, published as a stand-alone story earlier this year. (ed.)]

I would expect that approach from a Rena Vale, but not from a Joanna Russ. It’s jarring to see, and it really hurt my opinion of the novel.

There’s really nothing wrong with falling short when taking on heady ambitions. Joanna Russ is clearly a talented writer with many ideas. She falls squarely in the cohort of new wave sf authors who are elevating science fiction to new levels and confronting our new decade with a revolution. And Chaos Died aims to feel revolutionary. I feel it’s merely evolutionary.

3 stars.

by Winona Menezes

High Sorcery, by Andre Norton

High Sorcery is an anthology featuring three short stories and two novelettes from Andre Norton. I had a good time with it, though it's not obvious to me why these particular stories were chosen, as any thread linking them together feels no stronger than that of any other in Norton’s body of work, which does have better to offer. Still, it felt like a pretty decent cross-section of her work, and her skill as a writer and storyteller is on full display.

by Gray Morrow

"Wizard’s World" opens on a world ravaged by nuclear war, scattered with mutants who have been subjugated and enslaved for the psychic abilities they developed in the aftermath. Craike is one such mutant, and we find him fleeing a mob wishing to hunt and kill him for his abilities. Unexpectedly, he falls through a rift between worlds and awakes in a land much unlike his own, less technologically advanced and more akin to the days of Medieval Europe. He discovers a man and woman being persecuted for the magical psionic powers they were born with, much like his own, and feels compelled to help them out of an affinity for the hunted.

This story – its premise, its characters, its plot and setting – feel very much at home in a Norton anthology. The dissonant combination of a post-nuclear apocalypse and an Old World fairytale landscape is very characteristic of her tendency to combine genre cliches or buck them altogether, and the equitable inclusion of women and characters of color is still unfortunately rare enough to be notable. I can’t fault this story on any technicalities. Rather, I simply felt that it didn’t quite live up to what we are now well aware the author is capable of.

Beyond our main character, who is given the moral high ground to an extent verging on gratuity, I didn’t feel that any other characters were fleshed out enough to make me properly care about them. Norton has a flair for slowly revealing information to the reader as it is discovered by the protagonist in a way that normally builds excellent suspense, but here I found it disorienting. I don’t even think I properly knew what was going on until far too late in the story, and the female main character’s skittishness toward the Craike meant that I effectively knew too little about her to form an attachment until the end. The ending itself was cut tantalizingly short just as things were happening that I could actually be bothered to care about.

"Wizard’s World" feels like an unfinished draft of a story that could have been excellent, but was forgotten by its author before she could add embellishment enough to distinguish it from any other second-rate fantasy pulp. Sorry, but just two out of five stars for this one.

[David reviewed the tale when it came out a couple of years ago in IF—he was not overly enamored, either (ed.)]

Fortunately, its only up from here.

"Through the Needle’s Eye" is a charming little short story about a young girl named Ernestine, crippled by polio and longing for connection with her able-bodied peers. She meets an older woman named Miss Ruthevan and is struck by her stately beauty, as well as the handicap they both share. Miss Ruthevan has a gift for creating otherworldly masterpieces with embroidery, and takes Ernestine under her wing to teach her the art. But under her tutelage, Ernestine begins to discover that Miss Ruthevan’s talent, passed down through generations of women, comes at a magical cost.

I love bite-sized stories like this; it takes a skilled storyteller to write one in a way that feels satisfying, but still trusts the audience’s imagination to fill in the gaps. The portrayal of disability felt sympathetic without being pitiful. Miss Ruthevan is the type of scorned woman-turned-unsettlingly powerful witch that I love and appreciate. I also love to see a story making use of the underappreciated beauty of the fiber arts. It’s short, but it excels at what it sets out to do, so it's five stars from me. I’ve been turning it over and over in my head for days.

"By a Hair" (originally published July 1958, in Phantom) is another short one. This one concerns a small Balkan village struggling to rebuild and defend itself after being plundered by Nazis. The once-lovely Countess Ana was taken to an extermination camp and now returns maimed beyond recognition. She chooses to devote her now-reclusive life to midwifery and the supernatural arts in service of her small village. Meanwhile, the incomparably beautiful Dagmar has chosen to use her dangerous allure to scheme and climb her way to security. She requests that Ana use her occult powers in service of a treacherous gamble, and receives her desire at a tragically ironic price.

This story left less to the imagination, but was no less effective. Though both women were positioned as diametrically opposed foils of each other, I still found both of their motives perfectly understandable given the desperation of their war-ravaged lives. I could not bring myself to condemn Dagmar for her desire for self-preservation, and that made the ending of this story as bleak as its setting. Of course, it’s also possible that I may have a blind spot in my moral code for beautiful scheming women in a world that leaves them few options. Either way, four stars.

"Ully the Piper" is the final short story in this anthology. In the sleepy, idyllic village of Coomb Brackett, young Ully longs for a life of normalcy after a fall in his childhood rendered him paralyzed. One day he discovers a beautiful flute, and his time spent in the tranquility of nature inspires him to become a talented piper. He wishes to share his gift with the other villagers, until the town bully Matt antagonizes him by taking his flute and leaving him lost in the forest. But Ully’s musical skill did not go unnoticed by the ancient fae who called the forest their home long before it was Coomb Bracket, and it is by their favor that Ully receives his heart’s desire and rises above Matt’s torment.

This one feels like a true fairy tale in its simplicity. Its uncomplicated morals and expected ending did nothing to detract from its beauty. The fae were as mischievous and mysterious and beguiling as they are in all the best fairy stories. There isn’t much for me to say about this one, other than that it feels like the sort of enchanting bedtime story that was read to you as a child, the kind that echoes in the back of your mind when you find yourself wandering through nature alone on moonless nights. Four stars.

"Toys of Tamisan" is the longer of the two novellas, which thankfully left enough room to develop the scenery. Tamisan is a skilled “dreamer,” an occupation inhabited by those who possess the skill to create vivid imaginary worlds and share them with their clientele via a psychic link. She is hired to create engaging dreams for the entertainment of the wealthy Lord Starrex and his cousin Kas, but when she attempts to build a dream world that mirrors an alternate history of their own something goes horribly wrong. She loses control of the world she has created, and is stuck within it and left to devise a way out of her own dream.

The premise of this story certainly appealed to me. I felt that the idea of a dreamer effectively enslaved to create beautiful dreams for a wealthy lord was a poignant distillation of the way that employing artisans to use their creativity in service of creating capital for a wealthy ruling class demeans human creativity as a whole. Other than that though, the story did drag along a little slowly, and after a while I found myself losing track of the plot in a way that made me care even less. This was made even worse by the fact that the ending failed to tie up several loose ends, which made me feel a little silly for even trying to follow.

What did stand out to me, however, was how well-crafted the dialogue was. I think that Norton is uniquely good at writing incisive dialogue, and this was on display in a way that made me look forward to the next line that was about to be said, regardless of where it was about to take the story. It was impressive how economically Norton uses short lines to precisely convey ideas, tone, and mood. It was enough to keep me reminded that Norton is a master of her craft regardless of how boring this story was, and for me that’s enough to elevate the story to a three out of five [Which is also what David gave it when it came out in the May 1969 IF (ed.)]

That puts us at 3.4 stars for the collection, with the two non-reprints being some of the strongest work. It's probably worth 60 cents, even if it's not the best Norton can produce.

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

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Horror, Movies, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[January 28, 1970] Cinemascope: Just a Poe Boy (An Evening of Edgar Allan Poe, The Moebius Flip, Sole Survivor, and The Dunwich Horror)

January 28, 2025 Fiona Moore 2 Comments

by Fiona Moore

An Evening of Edgar Allan Poe

Theatrical poster for An Evening of Edgar Allan Poe

An Evening of Edgar Allan Poe is an hour-long film in which four Edgar Allan Poe stories are recited by Vincent Price. Originally made as a television play (and in a way which suggests it was based on a theatrical production, albeit with the addition of some new visual effects), it’s reminiscent of the BBC’s A Ghost Story For Christmas segment, and I was recently asked to view it as a possible acquisition as a teaching tool by my university’s English Literature department.

The Cask of Amontillado

The programme is split into four segments, in each of which Price recites a different Poe short story. Fairly predictably, these are “The Tell-Tale Heart”, “The Sphinx”, “The Cask of Amontillado” and “The Pit and the Pendulum”. Each segment is performed with Price in character as the narrator of each story, with appropriate costuming and sets. Although Price does show a decent range in playing different characters, they’re all very much within Price’s repertoire as an actor, so, although none of the performances are bad, there are no real surprises to be had here.

The Sphinx

I felt the best segment was “The Cask of Amontillado”. Price really seems to relish the role of Montressor and plays him with a wicked twinkle in his eye, surrounded by luxurious draperies and furniture and a banquet-table of food. The weakest for me was “The Sphinx,” which struggled to hold my attention, though it did have an effective use of special effects when we briefly see a skull overlaid over Price’s face at a crucial moment.

The Pit and the Pendulum

By contrast, “The Pit and the Pendulum” was a good enough dramatization of an exciting story, but the problem was that the producer seemed to feel it needed jazzing up with effects shots of Price falling into the pit, Price helpless before the pendulum, Price faced with colour separation overlay ("chroma-key" to yanks) flames, and so forth. The rats were far too cute, with inquisitive little faces and glossy fur, for me to find them horrific.

Finally, “The Tell-Tale Heart” was a good choice as the opening story, told simply with the set a bare garret, with Price steadily ramping up the hysteria as the narrator follows his path into murder and madness.

The Tell-Tale Heart

One great benefit I can see from this production is a chance to show audiences who may just know Poe from the cinematic productions loosely based on his work, just how skilled a horror writer Poe was in real life. The issue with something like “The Pit and the Pendulum” is that one can’t really get an entire 90-minute film out of it without adding a lot of material, which, while it can work as a movie, means you lose the terrifying economy of the original story (although if anyone wants to adapt “The Cask of Amontillado”, I think one could spend at least 90 minutes exploring the buildup of resentment in the two characters’ relationships that led up to the final murder). For this reason, I’m recommending that the English Literature department acquires a copy, and would also say that, if it turns up on TV in your region, it’s worth a watch.

3 out of 5 stars.

by Victoria Silverwolf

There's A Signpost Up Ahead . . .

Two films I caught recently reminded me of Rod Serling's late, lamented television series Twilight Zone. Let's take a look.

The Moebius Flip

Less than half an hour long, this skiing film is the sort of thing that might be shown at a college campus, before the main feature in a movie theater, or to fill up time on television in the wee hours of the morning. The brief running time isn't the only thing that reminds me of Serling's creation.

We begin with scenes of people skiing, edited in a jumpy way. Jazz, rock, and folk music fill up the soundtrack. The skiers also fool around in the snow, eat some fruit, and so forth.

Suddenly, we see a news announcer. He tells us that scientists have determined that every subatomic particle in the universe has reversed polarity. I'm not sure what that means, but let's see what happens.

Somehow, this is supposed to change the way people perceive things. That means the film turns into a negative of itself.

This goes on for a while, then the movie goes back to normal. Once in a while, it turns back into a negative. I guess that's a Moebius Flip. Along with more skiing, we get folks at an amusement park and eating in a restaurant. This part of the film features some pretty impressive and scary scenes of dangerous winter sports. People ski over huge crevasses, wind up on top of a tower of snow, and hang from cliffs.

Is it worth twenty-odd minutes of your time? Well, if you like psychedelic images or are a big fan of skiing, it could be. The science fiction premise is just an excuse to reverse the colors of the film, and there's no real plot at all. I've never been on a pair of skis, so I can only appreciate the athleticism on display here as an outsider.

Two stars.

Sole Survivor

This is a made-for-TV movie that aired on CBS stations in the USA earlier this month. It begins with five men in World War Two uniforms standing around a wrecked American bomber of the time. They seem to be in pretty good shape, given that they're in a desert wasteland. Things get weird when we find out they've been waiting to be rescued for seventeen years.

The crew of the Home Run.

It quickly becomes clear that they are ghosts, waiting for their bodies to be found so they can stop haunting the wreck.

I should note here that the premise is inspired by the case of the Lady Be Good, a bomber that crashed in the Libyan desert in 1943 and was not discovered until 1958.

The real wreck.

Fans of Twilight Zone will remember the episode King Nine Will Not Return, which was also inspired by the fate of the Lady Be Good. That tale goes in a different direction, however.

Two men in an airplane discover the wreck. (By the way, the fact that the ghosts have been waiting for seventeen years means that the movie takes place in 1960 or so. There's no other indication that it's set a decade ago.)

The discoverers, who look more 1970 to me.

This leads to an official investigation by the United States Army. (Remember that the Air Force was part of the Army, and not a separate branch of the service, until a few years after World War Two.) Two officers are in charge of the mission.

William Shatner, fresh from Star Trek, as Lieutenant Colonel Josef Gronke and Vince Edwards, best known as Ben Casey, as Major Michael Devlin.

They pay a visit to the sole survivor of the Home Run. This fellow parachuted out of the plane and landed in the Mediterranean Sea, managing to make it out alive to continue his military career. (More details of what happened later.)

Brigadier General Russell Hamner, as played by Richard Basehart, recently the star of the TV series Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea.

Hamner agrees to accompany the two officers to the North African desert. He claims that all of the crew of the Home Run bailed out into the ocean, so the plane must have continued without them for several hundred miles before it crashed. Unlikely, but possible. Flashbacks tell us the real story.

Hamner as the navigator of the Home Run during the war.

The bomber was damaged in an attack by the enemy. The captain ordered Hamner to plot a course back to base, but he panicked and bailed out against orders. Without a navigator, the crew went off course and the plane crashed.

Tension builds as Devlin casts doubt on Hamner's story, and Gronke tells him not to make waves, lest he ruin his career. Both officers have their own concerns about their pasts, adding depth of character. Without giving too much away, let's just say that the truth comes out because of a harmonica, a rubber raft, and Hamner's guilty conscience. There's a powerful and poignant conclusion.

The last ghost faces an eternity playing baseball alone.

This is quite a good movie, particularly for one made for TV. I like the fact that the ghosts appear as ordinary men, rather than being transparent or something. The actors all do a good job. You'll never hear the song Take Me Out To The Ball Game again without having an eerie feeling.

Four stars.

A white man with dark short hair and a dark van dyke beard sits on a yellow couch reading a fantasy periodical. A window in the background shows an empty suburban street. — by Brian Collins

Over the past several years, AIP has adapted stories by H. P. Lovecraft for the big screen—or at least the drive-in. The results have been mixed, but they could certainly be much worse. The first and still the best of these was The Haunted Palace (adapted from The Case of Charles Dexter Ward) back in '63, directed by Roger Corman, with a script by the late Charles Beaumont, and starring an especially tormented Vincent Price. It was a very fine picture. Now we have the latest entry in this "series," The Dunwich Horror, taken from the Lovecraft story of the same name, although it's a pretty loose adaptation.

The Dunwich Horror

One warning I want to give about this movie, one which has nothing to do with sex or violence, is that, aside from being generally a pretty strange film, there are several scenes featuring flashing lights, or a color filter changing rapidly to give one the impression of a strobing light. Some people (thankfully not many) are susceptible to epileptic fits if subjected to such stimuli.

Now, as for the film itself, once we get past what I was surprised to find is an animated (as in a cartoon) opening credits sequence, we start with what seems to be a flashback of a woman giving birth, surrounded by two elderly sisters and an old man. We then flash forward to Miskatonic University, that college of the occult and Lovecraft's making, in Arkham. Nancy Wagner (Sandra Dee) is a student who, in the college's library, meets a good-looking but unusual young man named Wilbur Whateley (Dean Stockwell), who is terribly interested in the Necronomicon. I'm sure his interest in the accursed book and his strange deadpan way of talking are perfectly innocuous. A certain professor at Miskatonic, Henry Armitage (Ed Begley), gets a bit of a hunch that Wilbur is up to no good, but for now does nothing about it.

A color film still. A man in a black shirt, his face visible only from the mouth down because of the camera angle. He reaches into a glass case to gently lift out a large black hardbound book with metal fittings and a lock on the pages. The label at the top of the case reads 'The 'Necronomicon' ' in white capitals. A woman in a white shirt stands behind the man, her hands raised, watching what he is doing. Her face is visible only from the eyes down. — The Necronomicon, kept in a cozy glass case.

"The Dunwich Horror" is one of Lovecraft's most celebrated stories, but it's also one of his trickiest. As with "the Call of Cthulhu," Lovecraft wrote "The Dunwich Horror" as if it were a report or an essay, a work of journalism or academia, rather than a fiction narrative. There's no protagonist, properly speaking, although Wilbur is certainly the story's nucleus. This remains sort of the case with the film, although Nancy and Armitage now serve as our eyes and ears, or rather as normal people in what becomes an extraordinary situation. However, it's not Sandra Dee or Ed Begley who caught my attention, but Dean Stockwell as Wilbur, who gives almost what could be considered a star-making role (to my knowledge his most high-profile roles up to now were film adaptations of Sons and Lovers and Long Day's Journey into Night), if not for the movie that surrounds him. Unlike his short story counterpart Wilbur here is not physically deformed, but instead talks in a strangely deadened tone, as if human emotions are foreign to him. Stockwell as Wilbur manages to be uncanny simply through how he talks and acts, which is a major point of praise.

A color film still of a young white man with brown curly hair and a mustache and a young white woman with blonde hair. They are staring to the left of the viewer with apprehensive looks on their faces. The man wears a blue shirt, dark tie, and brown jacket. The woman wears a black blouse and tan jacket. Some dark wooden furniture is behind them, along with teal wallpaper. — Dean Stockwell as Wilbur Whateley and Sandra Dee as Nancy Wagner.

Director Daniel Haller and his team of screenwriters have opted to streamline Lovecraft's story while giving it a sort of romance plot, as well as a dose of sex and violence. Sex and Lovecraft have always been uneasy bedfellows, even in something like "The Shadow Over Innsmouth" which explicitly involves sex in its plot. Wilbur is one of two twins, the other having supposedly died in childbirth, with the father being unknown, and his mother having been kept in an asylum for the past two decades. Wilbur lives with his grandfather, Old Man Whateley (Sam Jaffe, who some may recognize as that one scientist in the now-classic The Day the Earth Stood Still), who seems convinced his grandson is also up to no good, but arbitrarily (the film does nothing to explain this) does nothing about Wilbur being a scoundrel. For his part, Wilbur sees Nancy as a pretty fine girl—for a dark ritual, that is. The idea is that if he can steal the Necronomicon and impregnate Nancy (the implication, via a mind-bending scene, is that he rapes her), he can bring one of "the Old Ones" into the human world.

Two older white men stand in front of a house with dark wooden siding and a four-paned window. The man on the left has curly hair and a beard and wears a white shirt with blue stripes and a bugundy smoking jacket. The man on the right wears a fedora, a black suit, and a dark gray overcoat. They both look to the right offscreen with disturbed expressions. — Sam Jaffe as Old Man Whateley and Ed Begley as Professor Henry Armitage.

As this point the plot splits in two, with one half focusing on Wilbur and Nancy's "romance" while the other sees Armitage tracking down the mystery of Wilbur's birth, since it becomes apparent the young man and the Necronomicon are somehow connected. One of the strangest (sorry, "far-out") scenes in the whole movie is when Armitage goes to see Wilbur's mother (Joanne Moore Jordan), who apparently had lost her mind many years ago upon giving birth to Wilbur and his dead twin. When it comes to this movie, there are two types of strange: that of the unnerving sort, and that of the cheesy sort. There are parts (sometimes moments within a single scene) of this movie that do a good job of spooking the audience, and others where it's rather silly. With that said, the nightmarish effect of Jordan's performance combined with the changing color tints in this scene make it one of the most effective. This is a movie that generally shines brightest when it focuses on Stockwell's performance and/or the Gothic cliches (including a creepy old house) that clearly also influenced Lovecraft's writing. Maybe it's because they didn't have the budget for it, but the lack of an on-screen monster for the vast majority of the film's runtime also works in its favor.

An old woman with unkempt white hair and a blue one-piece hospital gown huddles in the corner of a padded cell looking upward with a frightened expression. The buttons of the padding - like on a mattress - are visible on the walls and floor. The metal frame and springs of a bed are in the foreground. — Joanne Moore Jordan as Wilbur's mother, who's spent the past two decades as a mental patient.

When Old Man Whateley finally decides to take action, Wilbur kills him for his troubles, along with imprisoning one of Nancy's friends and turning her into some kind of abomination. Meanwhile Wilbur gives his grandfather a heathen burial and in so doing provokes the wrath of the Dunwich townspeople, who never liked the Whateleys anyway. It's revealed, or rather speculated, that Wilbur's twin may not have died after all, but instead gone to the realm of the Old Ones while Wilbur got stuck on Earth as a human. Armitage and the townsfolk succeed in stopping Wilbur from completing his ritual with the unconscious Nancy, Armitage being well-versed enough in the Necronomicon to use the book against Wilbur, killing him with a blast of lightning. So the last of the Whateley men is dead. Unfortunately, the final shot, eerily showing a fetus growing inside Nancy (which is odd, because she's probably only been pregnant a day or two), implying an Old One may be born after all.

A white man with brown curly hair - the same one from the earlier photo - stands among trees at night. He looks off to the left, seemingly in concentration. He is wearing a black cultist robe and rests his hand on top of a metal wine goblet which is standing on a wooden board. A hand, presumably attached to a body lying on the board, is visible at the bottom of the screen. — Dean Stockwell at his most devilish.

Lovecraft purists will surely be much disappointed with this movie, and even as someone who is not exactly a Lovecraft fan, I have to admit it's by no means perfect. Even at 90 minutes it feels a bit overlong, and it tries desperately to contort one of Lovecraft's more unconventional stories into having a three-act structure. I also get the impression that the addition of blood and breasts was to appease those (people my age and younger) who are suckers for AIP schlock. Not too long ago we had Roger Corman's so-called Poe cycle, which for the most part did Edgar Allan Poe's (and in one case Lovecraft's) fiction justice on modest budgets. I would say The Dunwich Horror is on par with one of the lesser of Corman's Poe movies.

A high three stars.

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

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Magazine/Anthology, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[January 10, 1970] Time On My Hands (February 1970 Fantastic)

January 10, 2025 Victoria Silverwolf 4 Comments

by Victoria Silverwolf

What Time Is It?

That's a question that you can answer with more confidence than before, if you're willing to shell out a whole bunch of bucks. On Christmas Day the Japanese company Seiko introduced the world's first quartz wristwatch. (There have been clocks using quartz crystals, but not anything this small.)

As I understand it, quartz crystals vibrate in a precise manner when voltage is applied to them. Thus, the tiny bit of quartz inside the watch, powered by an itty-bitty battery, provides an unvarying pulse that supplies extraordinary accuracy.

The Quartz Astro 35SQ keeps time to within five seconds per month, which is said to be about one hundred times better than a mechanical watch of good quality.

The catch? You have to pay 450,000 yen for it. That's well over one thousand dollars. You can buy a nice new car for the price of two watches.

Quite a stocking stuffer.

If you like, you can use your fancy new timepiece to measure how long it takes to peruse the latest issue of Fantastic.

Cover art by Johnny Bruck.

Or maybe the publishers can measure how much time they saved by copying the cover art from yet another issue of Perry Rhodan instead of waiting for an artist to create a new one.

The title translates to The Cannons of Everblack. Note the use of English for what I presume is the name of a planet.

Editorial, by Ted White

This wordy introduction wanders all over the place. The editor states that the magazine is getting a lot more mail from readers. (See the letter column below.) He says that he doesn't like the name of the magazine, and suggests changing it to Fantastic Adventures, the name of the old pulp magazine from which reprints are often drawn. (The sound you hear is me screaming No!)

He discusses the old problem of defining science fiction as distinguished from fantasy. The essay winds up complaining about an article by Norman Spinrad that appeared in the girlie magazine Knight. Apparently Spinrad griped about SF fans and pros being hostile to the New Wave. Sounds like a tempest in a teapot to me.

No rating.

Double Whammy, by Robert Bloch

The author of Psycho leads off the issue with another shocker.

Illustration by Michael Hinger.

A guy who works at a sleazy carnival is afraid of the geek. If you don't know what a geek is, you haven't read William Lindsay Gresham's 1946 novel Nightmare Alley, or seen the movie adapted from it the next year.

A geek is an alcoholic who has fallen so low that the only work he can get is pretending to be a so-called wild man and biting the heads off live chickens.

Our slimy protagonist seduces a teenager. When she tells him she's pregnant, he refuses to marry her, leading to tragic results. The girl is the granddaughter of a Gypsy fortuneteller, who has a reputation for supernatural revenge.

This is an out-and-out horror story that may remind you of the 1932 film Freaks. (Like that controversial film, it features a man without arms or legs.) The author saves his final punch to the reader's gut until the last sentence. If you don't like gruesome terror tales, it may be too much for you. I thought it accomplished what it set out to do very effectively.

Four stars.

The Good Ship Lookoutworld, by Dean R. Koontz

This space opera begins with a fight to the death between a human and a weird alien, apparently just as a sporting event.

Illustration by Ralph Reese.

This violent scene is just a prelude to a yarn in which the triumphant human recruits the narrator (another human) to join him in a mission to salvage a derelict alien starship. The vessel was operated by an extinct species of extraterrestrials who seem to have been nice folks. They just traveled around the universe bringing entertainment. Too bad a disease wiped them out.

The starship turns out to contain the headless skeletons of its crew. That's mysterious and scary enough, but when our heroes journey back to their homebase in it, parts of the ship disappear, one by one. Can they survive the long voyage before the whole thing vanishes?

This is a fast-paced adventure story with a twist in its tail. Given a few clues, you might be able to figure out the surprise ending. It's a little too frenzied for me, but short enough that it doesn't wear out its welcome.

Three stars.

Learning It at Miss Rejoyy's, by David R. Bunch

The narrator has dreamed about visiting the place named in the title since childhood, when his dad told him about it. The stunningly desirable Miss Rejoyy promises him an intimate encounter with her if he can meet the requirements. He has to pay to enter a room where his reactions to pain and pleasure will be measured.

The narrative style is less eccentric than usual for this author. The content, however, is just as strange. There are some really disturbing images. The point of this weird allegory is a very pessimistic one, which is likely to turn off many readers. Still, it has an undeniable power.

Three stars.

Hasan (Part Two of Two), by Piers Anthony

Here's the conclusion of this Arabian Nights fantasy.

Illustrations by Jeff Jones.

Summing things up as simply as I can, the title hero went through many adventures before stealing away with a woman who could turn herself into a bird, hiding the bird skin that gave her this power. More or less forced to marry him, she had two sons with him. She eventually found the skin and flew off to her native land with the children.

In this installment, he sets off on an odyssey to find her. This involves a whole lot of encounters with strange people and supernatural beings. In brief, he gets involved with a magician, rides a horse that can run over water, rides on the back of a flying ifrit, meets a group of Amazon warriors, faces an evil Queen, takes part in a huge battle, and witnesses an explosive climax.

Some of the many characters in the story.

A wild ride, indeed. This half of the novel has a fair amount of humor. The magician and the ifrit are particularly amusing. The plot turns into a travelogue of sorts, as Hasan journeys from Arabia to China, then to Indochina and Malaysia, winding up in Sumatra.

A helpful map allows you to follow the hero's travels.

A lengthy afterword from the author explains how he changed the original story from One Thousand and One Nights. He also offers several references. One can admire his scholarship.

The resulting story is entertaining enough. I'm still a little disconcerted by the fact that Hasan kidnaps the bird woman, and that she eventually decides that she loves him anyway. A product of the original, I suppose.

Three stars.

Creation, by L. Sprague de Camp

This is a very short poem about various legends concerning the creation of humanity by an assortment of deities. It leads up to a wry punchline. Not bad for what it is.

Three stars.

Secret of the Stone Doll, by Don Wilcox

The March 1941 issue of Fantastic Adventures supplies this tale of the South Seas.

Cover art by J. Allen St. John.

The narrator winds up on a paradisical Pacific island. He falls in love with a local beauty after rescuing her from drowning.

Illustrations by Jay Jackson.

Everything seems to be hunky-dory, but his new bride insists that she must make a journey to a part of the island kept separate from the rest by a stone wall. Because the islanders have a strong taboo against discussing fear or danger, she can't tell him what it's all about. Along the way, they meet a madman with a sword and the object mentioned in the title.

Apparently, he's a visitor to the island, just like the narrator.

I found this exotic, mysterious tale quite intriguing. The revelation about the woman's journey surprised me. (There's an editor's footnote — I assume it's from the original publication — that tries to offer a scientific explanation. This is just silly, and the story works much better as pure fantasy. The new editor's suggestion that it relates to something in Frank Herbert's Dune also stretches things to the breaking point.)

Maybe I'm rating this story higher than it might otherwise deserve because I wasn't expecting much from this issue's reprint. Unlike a lot of yarns from the pulps, it isn't padded at all, with a fairly complex plot told in a moderate number of pages. Anyway, I liked it.

Four stars.

According to You, by Various Readers

As the editorial said, there are a lot of letters. Bill Pronzini offers an amusing response to a reader who didn't like his story How Now Purple Cow in a previous issue. I didn't care for it either, so I'm glad he's a good sport about criticism.

The other letters deal with all kinds of stuff, besides talking about what kind of stories they want to see (offering proof that you can't please everybody.) One speculates about a combination of Communism and Christianity. (The editor dismisses this as unlikely.) Many react to an editorial in a previous issue about the cancellation of the Smothers Brothers TV show.

No rating.

Fantasy Books, by Fritz Leiber and Alexander Temple

Just like Fred Lerner did in the last issue, Leiber praises Lin Carter's Tolkien: A Look Behind The Lord of the Rings for its history of fantasy fiction, and condemns Understanding Tolkien by William Ready, while admitting that it has a few good insights. He praises The Quest For Arthur's Britain by Geoffrey Ashe and Isaac Asimov's The Near East: 10,000 Years of History as fine nonfiction books with subjects relating to fantasy fiction.

Temple very briefly discusses The Demons of the Upper Air, a slim little book of poems by Leiber. It's a lukewarm review, talking about his occasional careless choice of words . . . hardly to be compared with his prose and recommends it for Leiber fans only.

Worth Your Time?

This was a pretty good issue, with nothing below average in it. I imagine others will dislike some of the stories, but I was satisfied.

While admiring your new thousand dollar watch, don't forget to get a new calendar as well. I wonder how long I'll be writing 1969 on checks.

Did you make it to either of these groovy concerts?

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

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Book, Horror, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[December 22nd, 1969] Safety On! (I Sing the Body Electric! by Ray Bradbury)

December 22, 2024 George Pritchard 8 Comments

by George Pritchard

First off, hello from the United Kingdom! I have been moved over to a new office here, which has been quite the process! Nice people, but quieter than I expected. Now, to business.

Sometimes I feel like a pair of fuzzy dice — seemingly longhaired, but then you press me and it turns out I’m square underneath. Ray Bradbury has made a name for himself in the mundane world, but amongst the Galactic Journey, I may be his last full-throated supporter. Into this shaky environment comes his newest book, I Sing The Body Electric!, a title whose exclamation point is doing its darnedest to get us excited about a collection of reprints, albeit a pretty good one.

Art by Peter Bramley

“The Kilimanjaro Device” (1965)

A tribute to the memories of Hemingway. Tributes to beloved authors seem to be popular lately — see "Beyond the Gate of Dream" and Tales of the Cthulhu Mythos.

3 stars, if you like that sort of thing; 2 if you don’t.

“The Terrible Conflagration Up At The Place”

A story meant to be similar to the folktale “It Could Always Be Worse”. Would be much funnier if it wasn’t set against the background of the current strife in Northern Ireland.

That better version would be 3.5 stars, but the reality is 2, and 1 if you support Irish independence.

“Tomorrow’s Child”

A child is accidentally born into a different dimension than his human parents, making the baby appear to be a glowing blue pyramid with tendrils. While the parents want to love their child, its strange outer appearance and behavior ostracizes them from their community. But they eventually realize that their love for their child is more important to them than the rest of the world.

This story is beautiful and touching, but also rather sad. I think that Bradbury is very good at quiet, reflective moments, and I wonder if this is what growing up in the Levittowns of the world has been like for these younger hippies. Hopefully, things will improve, now that we’re moving away from the blood-soaked Piscean and into the Aquarian astrological age,.

3.5 stars.

“The Women” (1948)

During a day at the beach, a woman fights to keep her husband from being seduced and destroyed by the spirit-intelligence of the ocean. She tries valiantly, but the ocean always wins in the end.

Written during Bradbury’s horror days, I would be curious how this reads now from a female perspective, especially in concert with books like Margaret Atwood’s The Edible Woman.

4 stars.

“The Inspired Chicken Motel”

Memories of nomadic life during the poverty of the Great Depression, told from a child’s perspective. There are multiple possible meanings of the story, but I suspect that it is simply a story written to evoke nostalgia within Bradbury’s mainstream audience.

3 stars.

“Downwind from Gettysburg” (1969)

A mechanical Lincoln has been assassinated, for a second time…the plot does not strictly matter.

When they are not horror stories, Bradbury’s plots are a surface on which to draw, not a firm structure. Nobody writes chaos, true animal chaos, quite as well as Bradbury. When it was reviewed by Erica Frank in June, it seemed much less significant. With Agnew’s recent statements to the press, and the current trial of Lt. Calley, this is a story that struck much closer to home.

4 stars.

“Yes, We’ll Gather At the River”

The last day of a town that is being cut off by the construction of a highway, implied to be the 101 in California. Not SF or fantasy, but very poignant, and good reading to remember sad times in a good way.

4 stars.

“The Cold Wind and the Warm” (1964)

A warning, first off — Bradbury’s Irish impressions are terrible things. He reminds me of a beloved relative of mine, who busts out his “Grandma Murphy” impression every St. Patrick’s day, to the embarrassment of all. But unlike “The Terrible Conflagration Up At the Place” (Bradbury is never quite so dated as when he tries to be modern), there is too much good in this story to dislike it. Odd men have come to Dublin, strangely feminine and well-heeled, and these visitors wish to experience autumn, with all its cold and changing leaves. This reminded me of Lin Carter and Randall Garrett's "Masters of the Metropolis" and some of my own experiences here in Wales.

4 stars; 3.5 if you can’t forgive the impressions.

“Night Call, Collect”

The poem at the beginning is beautiful, although not quite as intellectual as it may think. A story on Mars, though a different and more cynical one than seen in his Chronicles. Possibly a more personal story, that of an old man driven mad and destroyed by the Martian masterpiece he created in his youth.

3 stars.

“The Haunting of the New”

We had one bad story set in Ireland, and one good one, and we didn't really need a third in this collection. Moreover, it need not have been set in Ireland, as it is so deeply a California tale. The story concerns the type of home colloquially known as a “dream palace”, known for its parties and orgies, which burned down in disgust at its own evil. (Feeling a bit guilty for how you exited our SF world, Mr. Bradbury?) The house is rebuilt, but rejects the attempts to continue its old life.

I am harsh on this story because it speaks to me uncomfortably.

3 stars.

“I Sing the Body Electric!” (from a 1962 script)

A sickly-sweet rewriting of “The Veldt” (Saturday Evening Post, 1950) for the mundane set. A widower and his children decide on purchasing an electric grandmother, carefully constructed. For those who could not stomach Dandelion Wine (Gourmet, 1953)

2 stars.

“The Tombing Day” (1952)

A short, broad, earthy and practical story, poking fun (not unkindly!) at the demands we put on the dead and the old; and of the ways that nostalgia is a poison if imbibed too long.

4 stars (technically 3.5; gains another 0.5 due to its placement after the worst story)

“Any Friend of Nicholas Nickelby’s Is A Friend of Mine” (1966)

A Green Town story! Hooray! I love the Green Town stories, and I sometimes wonder what it would be like to live in a place like that. It seems very alien, but also very beautiful. In fact, the Green Town stories inspired me to start calling a lunch I sometimes make for myself (PB&J sandwich, apple, glass of milk) a “Bradbury”, which makes it sound better than “George’s grocery day”.

The story itself concerns a man who arrives in Green Town, living the life and writings of Charles Dickens. He obviously cannot be — the real Dickens is long dead — but who is he, really? What does it mean to “be” someone? If one life is a failure, can it be shed for a more shining one? Has a wonderfully sweet and romantic ending, which I find unusual for Bradbury. His depictions of marriage and romantic relationships more often depict it as a punch-clock job on a good day, and nerve-grating misery on a bad one.

4 stars.

“Heavy-Set” (1964)

I have trouble believing that this story was sent to Playboy, of all publications, let alone that they published it. The story of a childlike, thirty-year-old man in a disturbing relationship with the mother he lives with, a man who is as scornful of women as he is avoidant of them, a man transforming his body into a glorious shrine to nobody and nothing. This is not Playboy, this is the anti-Playboy, the story of a man who does exactly what their overpriced pamphlet says, and it only makes him more isolated and disturbed. It made my skin crawl all the way through, and I do not know if I will read it again.

4 stars.

“The Man in the Rorschach Shirt” (1966)

Now, this story is entirely within the Playboy house style, although avoiding the general tendencies towards sexism and rape. A story of a big, boisterous but kindly intellectual fellow, who quits his psychiatric practice to wander around using his loud Rorschach shirt to help psychoanalyze passersby. There’s not much more to the story, but it’s a comfortably breezy ride.

3.5 stars.

“Henry the Ninth” (1969)

Previously reviewed by The Traveler, I enjoyed this story more than he did. Far from Bradbury’s loving descriptions of good weather, the story seemed more symbolic than anything else. The world is moving on from British homogeneity and Empire, from its old literary heroes to new ones. I do not pretend to psychoanalyze, although I hear things, sometimes.

3.5 stars.

“The Lost City of Mars” (1967)

And then, Bradbury comes out with a story that manages to blend his old strengths with the sensory depth of the New Wave, about a group of would-be adventurers seeking an abandoned Martian city. They all have their own reasons for seeking the city, and different hopes for what they will find. The bitter aftertaste of this story is the realization Bradbury can still write good SF and good horror, he can keep up with the New Wave trends, he’d just rather put out pedestrian product because—I assume—he’d rather work on his golf game. With a growing horror like the mechanical Martian city closing in, I am reminded of Kipling, who put out the beautiful “Harp-song of the Dane Women” while otherwise deep into his late-period mediocrity.

4 stars.

“Christus Apollo”

A poem for Christmas in the Space Age. A perfect end piece for the book, the year, and the decade. Would be better if it rhymed, but not by much.

3.5 stars.

Finishing this collection, I am left unsure as to whom this will please. This collection is largely reprints of already-published work, so I suppose people who want a more durable copy of his magazine stories will be happy. With the exception of the last two pieces, the seemingly random ordering of the stories means that it’s hard to grab onto anything very long.

If there’s a theme that resonates throughout the collected stories, it is the fear that your best work is long behind you, and now the only thing to look forward to is a sliding decline into irrelevance and the grave. Ray, man, if that’s how you really feel, it doesn’t have to be like this! There will always be a place for you to crash, in this new-old place across the sea.

3 stars for the collection as a whole.

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

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Magazine/Anthology, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[November 8, 1969] Arabesques (December 1969 Fantastic)

November 8, 2024 Victoria Silverwolf 3 Comments

by Victoria Silverwolf

From Arabia to Japan

The collection of Middle Eastern folktales known in English as Arabian Nights or One Thousand and One Nights is familiar to folks all over the world. Case in point, as Rod Serling might say, is the recent Japanese animated film Senya Ichiya Monogatari, which is loosely based on the collection.

Japanese poster for the film. I don't know if it will ever show up elsewhere.

I should point out that this is not a cartoon intended for children. Like the work which inspired it, it contains considerable erotic material. If it ever gets released in the USA, it might get the infamous X rating.

I bring this up because the latest issue of Fantastic contains the first part of a new novel inspired by the same source as the film.

Cover art by Johnny Bruck

As is often the case lately, the cover is (ahem) borrowed from a German publication.

Die Herrscher der Nacht (The Ruler of the Night) is the title of the German translation of Jack Williamson's 1948 novel Darker Than You Think.

Editorial, by Ted White

The editor begins by telling us how the magazine's lead serial (see below) fell into his hands. Long story short, it failed to find a publisher, got reviewed in a fanzine, Ted White read it and liked it. He then goes on to relate the big changes in Fantastic and its sister publication Amazing. My esteemed colleague John Boston has already discussed this in detail, so let me give you the Reader's Digest version. Higher price, more words, only one reprint per issue. Nuff said.

No rating.

Hasan (Part One of Two), by Piers Anthony

Illustrations by Jeff Jones.

More than half the magazine consists of the first installment of this Arabian Nights fantasy adventure.

Hasan is a rather naive and foolish young man, living in Arabia around the year 800 or so. He meets a Persian alchemist who demonstrates how to turn copper into gold. His mother warns him not to trust this fire-worshipping infidel, but Hasan's greed overcomes what little common sense he possesses.

The wicked Persian kidnaps him and takes him on an ocean journey to the island of Serendip. (We call it Ceylon nowadays—the magazine provides a helpful map).

Despite this, Hasan still trusts the alchemist enough to perform the dangerous task of being carried to the top of a mountain by a roc, in order to gather the stuff needed to transform copper into gold. The poor sap doesn't realize that the Persian intends to leave him stranded on the peak, where he'll starve to death.

Suffice to say that, with a lot of dumb luck, Hasan makes his way to an isolated palace inhabited by seven beautiful sisters, who adopt him as their brother. He goes on to witness birds change into even more beautiful women, one of whom he is determined to have for his bride. (She has little say in the matter.)

Seeing her naked while she is bathing makes him fall madly in love.

Without giving away too much, let's just say that the further adventures of Hasan and the bird woman will appear in the next issue.

The author appears to be well acquainted with One Thousand and One Nights, given his accompanying article on the subject (see below.) As far as I can tell, he captures the flavor of this kind of Arabian folktale in a convincing way. Despite the fact that the hero is kind of a dope, and that the female characters (except Hasan's long-suffering mother) mostly exist to be alluringly beautiful, this half of the novel makes for light, entertaining reading.

Three stars.

Morality, by Thomas N. Scortia

Illustration by Bruce Jones.

It's obvious from the start that this is a science fiction version of the myth of the Minotaur, although the author doesn't make this explicit until the end. The legendary monster is an alien stranded on Earth, forced to serve an ambitious king while trying to contact his own kind.

There's not much more to this story than its retelling of the old tale. It plays out just as you'd expect.

Two stars.

Would You? by James H. Schmitz

A wealthy fellow invites an equally rich acquaintance to make use of a magic chair. It seems that it has the ability to allow the person seated in it to change the past.

I hope I'm not revealing too much to state that neither man chooses to alter his past, preferring to leave well enough alone. That seems to be the point of the story. A tale of fantasy in which an enchanted object is not used is unusual, I suppose, if not fully satisfying.

Two stars.

Magic Show, by Alan E. Nourse

A couple of guys watch a magic show at a cheap carnival. One of them heckles the magician, who invites him to take part in his greatest feat.

You can probably see where this is going. No surprises in the plot. I have to wonder why a real, powerful magician works at a lousy little carnival.

Two stars.

X: Yes, by Thomas M. Disch

An unspecified referendum always appears on the ballot in every election. Everybody knows that the proper thing to do is vote No. A woman chooses to vote Yes, just as children vote Yes during their mock elections.

Can you tell that this is an odd little story? I'm not sure what the author is getting at, unless it's something about conformity and rebellion. At least it's not a simple, predictable plot. Food for thought, I guess.

Three stars.

Big Man, by Ross Rocklynne

The April 1941 issue of Amazing Stories supplies this wild yarn.

Cover art by J. Allen St. John.

I can't argue with the accuracy of the title. A gigantic man — he's said to be one or two miles tall — walks through the Atlantic Ocean to Washington, D. C. The behemoth is under the control of a Mad Scientist, who intends to take over the United States government and run things the way he thinks they should be run.

Illustration by Robert Fuqua.

It's up to a heroic pilot and his girlfriend (who, in an incredible coincidence, turns out to be the sister of the young fellow who was transformed into the giant) to defeat the Mad Scientist and end the reign of terror of the Big Man.

Boy, this is a goofy story. I think the author saw King Kong too many times. The premise is, of course, absurd, and it's treated in the corniest pulp fiction manner imaginable.

One star.

Alf Laylah Wa Laylah — A Essay on The Arabian Nights, by Piers Anthony

As part of the magazine's Fantasy Fandom column, this article is reprinted from the fanzine Niekas. It discusses One Thousand and One Nights in detail, comparing English translations and offering examples of the kinds of tales it contains. Copious footnotes, some serious and some playful. The author clearly knows his subject.

Three stars.

Fantasy Books by Fritz Leiber and Fred Lerner

Leiber quickly gives a positive review of Captive Universe by Harry Harrison, praises Walker and Company for reprinting science fiction classics in handsome hardcover editions, defends the use of strong language in Bug Jack Barron by Norman Spinrad, gives thumbs up to A Fine and Private Place by Peter S. Beagle, and talks about Eric R. Eddison's fantasy novels. He ends this rapid-fire essay by comparing the way that Heinlein, Spinrad, and Eddison describe a woman's breasts. (The latter excerpt is a really wild bit of outrageously purple prose.)

Lerner, in an article reprinted from the fanzine Akos, talks about two nonfiction books about J. R. R. Tolkien. He dismisses Understanding Tolkien and The Lord of the Rings by William Ready as poorly written and overly interpretive, and praises Tolkien: A Look Behind The Lord of the Rings by Lin Carter for its discussion of epic fantasy in general.

No rating.

… According to You, by various

The letters from readers offer both praise and criticism. One of the editor's replies reveals that sales of the magazine went down when Cele Goldsmith was in charge, even though the quality of fiction improved. I hope that's not a bad omen for the way Ted White is taking the publication.

No rating.

Worthy of Scheherazade?

Not a great issue, although Anthony's novel and related essay are well worth reading. The new stuff is so-so and the reprint is laughably poor. It might be better to watch an old movie instead.

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Book, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[September 16, 1969] September 1969 Galactoscope

September 16, 2024 Victoria Silverwolf 6 Comments

[And now, for your reading pleasure, a clutch of books representing the science fiction and fantasy books that have crossed our desk for review this month!]

by Victoria Silverwolf

Ye Gods!

Two new fantasy novels, both with touches of science fiction, feature theological themes. One deals with deities that are now considered to be purely mythological, the other relates to one of the world's major living religions. Let's take a look.

Fourth Mansions, by R. A. Lafferty

Cover art by Leo and Diane Dillon.

The title of this strange novel comes from a book written by Saint Teresa of Avila, a Spanish Christian mystic of the sixteenth century. This work, known as The Interior Castle or The Mansions in English, compares various stages in the soul's spiritual progress to mansions within a castle. From what I can tell from a little research, the Fourth Mansion is the stage at which the natural and the supernatural intersect.

(I'm sure I'm explaining this badly. Interested readers can seek out a copy of Saint Teresa's book for themselves.)

I understand that Lafferty is a devout Catholic, so this connection between his latest novel and what is considered to be a classic of Christian literature must be more than superficial. Be that as it may, let's see if we can make any sense out of a very weird book.

Our hero is Fred Foley, a reporter who is said to be not very bright, but who seems to have some kind of special insight or perception as to events beyond the mundane. (A sort of Holy Fool, perhaps.) He gets involved in multiple conspiracies of folks, who may be something other than just ordinary human beings, out to change the world.

There are four such groups, said to be not quite fit for either Heaven or Earth. Each one is symbolized by an animal.

The Snakes, also known as the Harvesters, are a group of seven people who blend their psychic powers to influence the minds of others. They are intent on bringing about a sort of hedonistic apocalypse. Their connection to Foley and other characters allows for telepathic communication, and sets the plot in motion.

The Toads are folks who are reincarnated, or somehow take over new bodies. (It's a little vague.) Foley's investigation into one such person starts the novel. They intend to release a plague, wiping out most of humanity and ruling over the survivors.

The Badgers are people who are something like spiritual rulers of a kind of parallel world that most ordinary people can't perceive. Foley pays a visit to a couple of these seemingly benign people for information. In one case, this involves a trip to a mountain in Texas that shouldn't be there.

The Unfledged Falcons are would-be fascists, military leaders trying to take over the world by force. Only one such person appears in the book, a Mexican fellow named Miguel Fuentes. He gets involved when the Snakes try to influence an American named Michael Fountain (see the connection in names?) and wind up entering his mind by mistake.

I would be hard pressed to try to describe all the bizarre things that happen. Lafferty has a way of describing extraordinary events in deadpan fashion. (We're very casually told, for example, that one character brought a dead man back to life when he was a boy. One very minor character is a demon, and another one is an alien.)

The book's combination of whimsey and allegory is unique, to say the least. There's a lot of dialogue that sounds like nothing anybody would ever say in real life. Did I understand it all? Certainly not. Did I enjoy the ride? Yep.

Four stars.

Creatures of Light and Darkness, by Roger Zelazny

Cover art by James Starrett.

Zelazny's recent novel Lord of Light offered a futuristic twist on Buddhism and Hinduism. This one makes use of ancient Egyptian gods, as well as a bit of Greek mythology. There are also a lot of original concepts, making for a very mixed stew indeed.

The time is the far future, when humanity has settled multiple planets. Don't expect a space opera, however.

We begin in the House of the Dead, ruled by Anubis. He has a servant who has lost his memory and his name. Anubis gives him the name Wakim, and sends him to the Middle Worlds (the physical realm) to destroy the Prince Who Was A Thousand. Meanwhile, Osiris, who rules the House of Life, sends his son Horus on the same errand.

You see, Anubis and Osiris keep the population of the Middle Worlds in balance, bringing life and death in equal amounts. The Prince threatens this system with the possibility of immortality. Although the two gods have the same goal, they are also rivals, so their champions battle each other as well as the Prince.

This is a greatly oversimplified description of the basic plot. A lot more goes on, with many equally god-like characters. There's a sort of scavenger hunt for three sacred items, with the protagonists hopping around from planet to planet in search of them.

Zelazny experiments with narrative techniques, from poetry to a play. There's some humor, as demonstrated by a cult that worships a pair of shoes. (They actually play an important role in the plot.) The pace is frenzied, with plenty of purple prose.

Full understanding of what the heck is really going on doesn't happen until late in the book, when we learn the actual identities of Wakim and the Prince. Suffice to say that this requires a lengthy description of apocalyptic events that took place long before the story begins.

Some readers are going to find this novel disjointed and overwritten. Others are likely to be swept away by the richness of the author's imagination. I'm leaning in the latter direction.

Four stars.

by Fiona Moore

Damnation Alley

Roger Zelazny’s been busy this month! His new novel Damnation Alley expands his novella of the same name into an action piece which is exciting enough but ultimately unsatisfying, a sort of postapocalyptic pony express with futuristic vehicles and implausible characters.

Cover of Damnation Alley by Jack Gaughan

The story is set in a relatively near-future USA after a nuclear war which has split it into isolated states within a radiation-ravaged wasteland, the only relatively safe passage through which is a corridor known as Damnation Alley. There are pockets of radiation, giant mutant animals and insects, tornadoes and killer dust storms. The descriptions of these is the book’s real strength, with some of them verging on the genuinely poetic. Our protagonist is Hell Tanner, a former Hell’s Angel who is offered a pardon for his crimes by the State of California, if he’ll deliver a shipment of vaccines to Boston, which has been hit by an outbreak of plague. Of course, this necessitates driving through Damnation Alley, but never fear, Tanner is also driving a super-tough vehicle bristling with weaponry.

The whole thing is almost laughably macho in places, and I say that as someone who really quite likes both cars and adventure stories. Tanner is that implausible archetype, the bad guy who nonetheless somehow has other people’s best interests at heart. However, there’s also some nice contrasts set up between Tanner and the criminal world he inhabits and the much more normal parts of society he encounters on his journey, where people seem to be on the whole generally decent and kind, making Tanner’s casual violence seem all the more out of place.

The book has a lot of problems. Some are clearly the result of padding it out to novel length, with several episodes which go nowhere and add little to the story. The characterisation of everyone aside from Tanner is weak to nonexistent. In particular, the main female character, Cordy, is a frustrating cipher: she is a woman who Tanner essentially abducts, and yet she shows none of the emotions one might expect under the circumstances, while Tanner seemingly comes to think of her as his girlfriend despite neither of them making any moves in that direction.

However, the biggest problem is that there are too many holes in the story for it to stay afloat. Despite the devastation of the land around it, the state of California somehow still has the resources to build giant armoured cars bristling with every kind of weapon from bullets to flamethrowers. Only two human beings are apparently capable of making the trip from California to Boston, which is surprising given the aforementioned level of technology and that there is clearly no shortage of young men with a death wish. Tanner makes it almost to Boston before encountering anyone who makes a serious effort to steal the vaccines, which I also find somewhat implausible. And so on, and so on.

Damnation Alley held my attention for the duration of a train journey and had nicely surreal, well-paced prose in places, but it was just too unbelievable for me to really enjoy it. Two and a half stars.

Since he returned to writing some half a dozen years ago, Robert Silverberg has tried to reintroduce himself as a more “serious” writer. This is not to say his rate of output has slowed down in favor of more refined work; if anything the past few years have been the busiest for him since the ‘50s. This year alone we have gotten enough novels from Silverberg that a bit of a catch-up is in order. The first on my plate, Across a Billion Years, hit store shelves a few months ago, from The Dial Press (I believe this is Silverberg’s first book with said publisher), and it seems to have flown under the radar—possibly because there’s no paperback edition, and also it might be aimed at younger readers. The second book we have here, To Live Again, is from Doubleday, and it too is a hardcover original; but unlike Across a Billion Years, To Live Again is a new release, fresh out of the oven.

Across a Billion Years, by Robert Silverberg

Two faces framed within a circle. — Cover art by Emanuel Schongut

It’s the 24th century, and humanity has not only spread to other worlds but encountered several intelligent alien races along the way. Tom Rice is a 22-year-old archaeologist on an expedition to find the ruins of a bygone race called the High Ones, who apparently lived a billion years ago (hence the title) but who have since vanished. Whether or not the High Ones have gone extinct is one of the novel’s core mysteries, although Silverberg takes his time raising this question. The novel is told as a series of diary entries, or rather messages Tom sends to his sister Lorie. In a curious but also frustrating move, Lorie is arguably the most interesting character in the novel, yet we never see or hear her, as she’s not only away from the action but stuck in a hospital bed for an indefinite period. Lorie is a telepath, and enough people are “TP” to make up their own faction, although telepathy only works one-way and Tom himself is not a telepath. The one positive surprise Silverberg includes here is finding a way to tie telepathy together with the mystery of the High Ones, but obviously I won’t say how he does it.

As for bad surprises, well…

Even taking into account that Tom is a young adult who also has personal hang-ups (his father wanted him to enter real estate), his treatment of his colleagues is abhorrent in the opening stretch. He dismisses the aliens on the team as mostly “diversity” hires and has a standoffish relationship with Kelly, the female android on the team, whom he more than once compares to a “voluptuous nineteen-year-old.” Why someone of Tom’s age would make such a comparison is befuddling…unless you were really a lecherous man approaching middle age and not a recent college graduate. There are a few other humans here, but the only human woman present is Jan, whom Tom gradually takes a liking to—just not enough to do anything when he sees Leroy, a male colleague, sexually assault Jan near enough that he could have intervened. This happens early in the novel, and I have to admit that Tom’s indifference regarding Jan’s wellbeing, a weakness in character he never really apologizes for, cast a cloud over my enjoyment of the rest of the novel. I kept wondering when the other shoe would drop. That Tom and Jan’s relationship turns romantic despite the former’s callousness only serves to rub salt in the wound. The bright side of all this is that while some of Silverberg’s recent work has bordered on pornographic, Across a Billion Years is relatively tame, almost to the point of being old-fashioned.

Indeed, this feels like a throwback to an older era of SF, even back to those years when Silverberg (and I, for that matter) had not yet picked up a pen or used a typewriter. In broad strokes this is a planetary adventure of the sort that would have been serialized in Astounding circa 1945. We’re excavating alien ruins on Higby V, a distant planet where High Ones artifacts have been supposedly found. During a drunken escapade one of the alien diggers stumbles upon (or rather breaks into) a piece of High Ones technology, something akin to a movie projector, not only showing what the High Ones look like but revealing a clue as to the location of their homeworld. This should sound familiar to most of us, and I suspect Silverberg knows this too, because this novel’s biggest problem and biggest asset is how it uses perspective. We’re stuck with Tom as he sends messages to Lorie, recounting events in perhaps more detail than he has to, knowing in advance that his sister won’t receive these messages until after the fact. As with a disconcerting number of Silverberg protagonists, Tom can be annoying, and honestly quite bigoted; and since he is the perspective character we’re never relieved of his oh-so-interesting remarks. But, and I will give Silverberg this, he does put a twist on the epistolary format very late in the novel, which does the miraculous thing of making you reevaluate what you had been reading up to this point.

In other words, this is not an exceptional novel, but it does have its points of interest, and with the exception of an early scene and its ramifications (or lack thereof), nothing here made me want to throw my copy at a nearby wall. For the most part this is inoffensive—possibly even decent. Three stars.

To Live Again, by Robert Silverberg

A minimalist drawing of a half-silhouetted faced. — Cover art by Pat Steir.

Those who want a bit more sex with their science fiction can do worse than this one, which looks to be the fourth (or maybe fifth—I’ve lost count) Silverberg novel of 1969. It’s the near-ish future, and the good news is that for those with enough money, death is not necessarily the end. Courtesy of the Scheffing Institute, a person can have their memories stored periodically, making copies or “personae” of themselves, which can be transplanted to the brain of a living host. The host and the persona will cooperate, lest the latter erase the former’s personality and become a “dybbuk,” using the host’s body as a flesh puppet.

The infamous businessman Paul Kaufmann has recently died, with his persona waiting to be claimed. Paul’s nephew, Mark, and Mark’s 16-year-old daughter Risa each see themselves as ideal candidates for Paul’s persona, but one of the rules at the Institute is that close family members can’t host each other’s personae: the implications of, for example, a teen girl hosting her grandfather’s persona, would be…concerning.

While we’re on the lovely topic of incest, let’s talk more about Risa, who must be one of the thorniest of all Silverberg characters, which as you know is a tall order, not helped by the fact that Silverberg describes, in almost poetic detail, every curve of this teen girl’s nude body—and she does strut around naked a surprising amount of the time. Risa is such a depraved individual, despite her age, that she at one point tries seducing an older male cousin and rather openly has an Electra complex (they even mention it by name), which Mark is understandably disturbed by—with the implication being that Mark has lustful thoughts about his own daughter. This is the second Silverberg novel I’ve read in two months to involve incest, which worries me.

The only other major female character is Elena, Mark’s mistress, whom Risa sees as a rival for her father’s affections and who (predictably) starts conspiring against Mark. Not content to ogle at just 16-year-olds, Silverberg also takes to describing the nuances of Elena’s body in wearying fashion, which does lead me to wonder if he was working the typewriter one-handed for certain passages. It’s a shame, because there’s an intriguing subplot in which Risa acquires her first persona, a young woman named Tandy who had died in a skiing accident—or so the official record claims. Tandy, or rather the persona of Tandy, recorded a couple months prior to her death, suspects foul play. Of the women mentioned, Tandy is the least embarrassingly written, but then she is only tangentially related to the plot and, what with not having a physical body, Silverberg is only able to ogle at her so much.

I’ve not even mentioned John Roditis and his underling Charles Noyles, business rivals of Mark’s who are clamoring for Paul’s persona. You may notice that this novel has more moving parts than Across a Billion Years, and certainly it’s the more ambitious of the two, the problem being that its shortcomings are all the more disappointing for it. Silverberg raises questions that he can barely be bothered with answering, and he alludes to things that remain mostly unrevealed. Much of To Live Again is shrouded in speculation, which is to say it uses speculation as a night-black cloak to cover things we sadly never get to see.

Another rule at the Institute is that a persona has to be of the same gender as its host, a rule that characters mostly write off as bogus. And indeed why not? Why should a male host and female persona not be able to coexist? Or the other way around. The prohibition has to do with transsexualism, which is certainly uncharted water for the most part. There has been very little science fiction written about transsexualism or transvestism—the possibility of blurring and even crossing gender lines. Unfortunately the novel does little with the ideas it presents. There are multiple references to religion and mythology (the word “dybbuk” refers to an evil spirit in Jewish mythology), including lines taken from the Tibetan Book of the Dead. There’s a minor subplot about white Californians appropriating Buddhist practices, in connection with the Institute, but this is so tangential that the reader can easily forget about it.

Finally, I want to mention that I was reminded eerily of another novel that came out this year, Philip K. Dick’s masterful and deranged Ubik, which I have to think Silverberg could not have known about when he was writing To Live Again. Both take cues from the Buddhist conception of reincarnation, although in Dick’s novel people who have died are kept in a state of suspended animation called “half-life,” whereas Silverberg’s characters die the full death, or “discorporate,” only that their personalities (up to a point) are kept intact. Not to make comparisons, but given that Silverberg’s novel is longer than Dick’s I have to say he does a fair bit less with the shared material. Of course, these are both talented writers, who at their best do very fine work indeed. Silverberg has become a major writer, but sadly he is not firing on all cylinders with either of the novels I’ve covered.

Hovering between two and three stars on this one.

by George Pritchard

The Glass Cage by Kenneth W. Hassler

The mockery for this book writes itself:

This book made me think of a Bulwer-Lytton novel for the Space Age.
This book could make Damon Knight take back everything he said about van Vogt.
This book made me long for the complexity of Commander Cody shorts.
This book’s style is so out of date that I think it fell out of the TARDIS.
This book wishes it had the character depth of a Lin Carter work.

And yet, I can't hate it the way I hated Light A Last Candle. That book was one mass of forgettable hate, but The Glass Cage is not hateful. It's incompetent at every turn, from line editing to plot development (I really don't know how it got the hardcover copy I received), but the overall effect is an oral record of a children's game.

There's this guy, Stephen, he’s twenty! He's a neophyte to the priests of the computer, TAL! It keeps life going in the city beneath its glass dome! Stephen is a perfect physical specimen, and his only flaw is being too curious about things. But that's because he’s secretly a spy for the Rebellion outside the glass dome!

The sentences are short and rarely have the benefit of internal punctuation. The characters are, generally, exactly how they appear — wicked characters with their close-together eyes, good characters with their strong jaws, straightforward manner, and perfect blonde hair. If this is chosen for adaptation, Tommy Kirk is made for the lead part.

The treatment of nuclear power seems to come from another time, where the leaders of interstellar development are in the Baltimore Gun Club rather than NASA. The giant computer, TAL, is attached to a nuclear bomb, to go off at a certain date, destroying the whole glass dome and the people within! No need to worry, though, Stephen and his various Rebellion people get most everyone out in time, except for the bad guy head priest of TAL, who is determined to die with his machine. Stephen and the gangster leader of the in-Dome Rebellion try to get him out, but to no avail! The nuclear bomb is about to go off, so the two of them hop on their air-sled, turn it skyward, and smash through the glass dome, just as the nuclear bomb goes off! Luckily, the nuclear bomb just pushes them a few miles away from the blast, where they are safe and unharmed.

One point of the book that is surprisingly forward-thinking is its treatment of one of the main characters being severely disabled. Despite being paralyzed from the neck down, he is a leader of the Rebellion, commanding through his immense psychic ability. But that cannot keep me from giving it…

Two stars

[A bit of a downer note to leave on, but at least there's some fine stuff upstream. See you next month, tiger!]

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Book, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[September 14, 1969] More Gems from the Pulps: Bran Mak Morn by Robert E. Howard and Jirel of Joiry by C.L. Moore

September 14, 2024 Cora Buhlert 2 Comments

by Cora Buhlert

For a Modern West Germany

The streets of West Germany are currently plastered with campaign posters, because a federal election, the sixth since 1949, will happen on September 28.

1969 CDU campaign poster — This campaign poster by the conservative CDU reminds us that the chancellor is important.

1969 SPD campaign post Willy Brandt — This SPD campaign poster features foreign secretary and vice chancellor Willy Brandt and asks people to vote for him so we can live in peace tomorrow.

SPD campaign post 1969 Karl Schiller — This SPD campaign poster features the popular secretary of the economy Karl Schiller, who promises a stable economy and secure jobs.

1969 SPD campaign poster featuring Helmut Schmidt — This SPD campaign poster features social democratic floor leader Helmut Schmidt who promises to create a modern Germany with vigour and energy.

1969 campaign post FDP — The liberal party FDP forgoes the usual black and white headshot and promises to abolish antiquated customs and laws.

The posters are eerily similar across parties, usually consisting of a party logo, a slogan in Helvetica typeface and a black and white photo of a candidate. Hereby, the conservative CDU mainly points out that they provide the current chancellor Kurt Georg Kiesinger and that he does a good job (which is debatable).

1969 SPD campaign poster — This SPD campaign poster features images of the modern West Germany they want to create and also reminds voters that the SPD "has the right men".

The SPD, meanwhile, has made "For a modern Germany" the focal point of their campaign, though the tagline "We have the right men" made quite a few woman voters grumpy. In response, the SPD launched a campaign where women – both celebrities like actress Inge Meysel and ordinary citizens like Johanna Lammers, miner's wife from Castrop-Rauxel – explain why they vote SPD.

SPD campaign poster Johanna Lammers — Johanna Lammers, miner's wife from Castrop-Rauxel, poses with her sewing machine in this SPD campaign flyer and praises secretary of the economy Karfl Schiller for preserving mining jobs.

SPD campaign flyer Inge Meysel — Popular actress Inge Meysel explains why she votes SPD in this campaign flyer.

In general, it is notable that the SPD enlisted several celebrities, including writers Günther Grass, Siegfried Lenz and Heinrich Böll, actors Romy Schneider, Götz George, Marianne Hoppe, Sabine Sinjen, Inge Meysel, Horst Frank and Horst Tappert, TV personalities Peter Frankenfeld and Hans-Joachim Kuhlenkampf, directors Victor de Kowa and Wolfgang Menge and singer Katja Ebstein, to campaign for them, something that is common in the US, but almost unheard of in West Germany.

SPD campaign poster with celebrities — This SPD campaign poster lists all the celebrities who endorse the SPD.

A Small Step

But whatever the outcome of the September 28 election, it's very likely that the current great coalition of the conservative CDU and the social-democratic SPD will not continue.

Due to its large majority, the great coalition actually got a lot done in its three years in office, for better or for worse. Under "for worse", most people would classify the controversial and unpopular emergency powers act, which passed last year – in spite of massive protests.

On the positive side, there is the Great Reform of the Criminal Code, which passed in June and took effect on September 1, which got rid of outdated laws (many of which dated back to the Third Reich or even the Second German Empire) and brought particularly morality related offences more in line with our modern age.

Among other things, adultery is no longer a criminal offence in West Germany. The so-called "Kuppelei" paragraph, which under the guise of combating prostitution forbade landlords from renting apartments and hotels from renting rooms to unmarried couples, and prevented parents from allowing their adult children's boyfriend or girlfriend to sleep over, has been significantly modified.

But most importantly, homosexual relationships between men have been decriminalised, at least if both participants are over twenty-one and there is no employment or service relationship between them. Homosexual prostitution remains illegal.

These are small steps forward, especially since most of the legal limitations applied to homosexual relationships between men do not apply to heterosexual relationships or relationships between women. But they are important steps, because every year between two thousand and three thousand men are tried and convicted for consensual homosexual relationships on the basis of a law dating back to the Second German Empire and significantly tightened by the Nazis.

The end of WWII is often viewed as a liberation, but for homosexual men incarcerated by the Nazis it was anything but, for they remained in prison, while other victims of Nazi persecution were set free. And while the Federal Republic of Germany distanced itself from the Third Reich, it displayed the same zeal in persecuting homosexual men. In 1950, the public prosecution of Frankfurt on Main dragged some 170 men into court on homosexuality charges, based on the questionable statements made by a nineteen-year-old male prostitute named Otto Blankenstein, later revealed to be a notorious liar. Many of the accused were found guilty and jailed, six men committed suicide, others lost their jobs or were forced to flee Germany.

Otto Blankenstein, the nineteen-year-old male prostitute who set off an unprecedented persecution of homosexual men in Frankfurt on Main in 1950, when he ratted out his clients to save himself from prison.

In the light of events such as those that happened in Frankfurt nineteen years ago, the decriminalisation of homosexual relationships between consenting adults is an important step forward. And indeed, the immediate effect of the new law was not the sudden eruption of homosexual orgies in West German streets that conservatives feared but that many men who had been convicted under the old law were set free, because there was no reason to keep them in jail any longer.

More Treasures from the Pulps

But while old and outdated laws are best left behind, older fiction is often ripe for rediscovery. Particularly the pulp magazines of thirty to forty years ago contain many hidden gems and secret treasures just begging to be rediscovered by a new generation of readers. And thanks to the twin success of Lancer's Conan reprints and the Ballantine paperback editions of The Lord of the Rings, many other fantasy works from the first half of the century are coming back into print.

I recently got my hands on two paperbacks reprinting some fantasy gems that until recently could only be found in the crumbling pages of thirty to forty year old copies of Weird Tales.

The enormous success of Lancer's Conan series has also brought other works by Robert E. Howard, either long forgotten or never published at all, back into print. In a previous article, I already took a look at recent reprints of the adventures of Kull of Atlantis, Solomon Kane, and Almuric, as well as Wolfshead, a collection of horror stories by Robert E. Howard. Now another of Howard's heroes from the pages of Weird Tales has made it into paperback form.

The Last King of the Picts: Bran Mak Morn by Robert E. Howard

Bran mak Morn Paperback — cover by Frank Frazetta

Nowadays, Robert E. Howard is mainly remembered as the father of what Fritz Leiber called sword and sorcery. However, Howard was also fascinated by history and wrote a lot of historical fiction, with or without fantastic elements. The Bran Mak Morn stories sit on the boundary between fantasy and history. The titular hero is the king of the Picts, a native tribe living in Scotland in ancient times.

Howard was clearly fascinated by the Picts, because they appear throughout his work. The best friend and frequent saviour of Kull of Atlantis is a Pictish warrior named Brule the Spearslayer. The Picts also appear in two Conan stories, "Beyond the Black River" and "The Treasure of Tranicos", where they are portrayed as fierce warriors and sworn enemies of Conan's people, the Cimmerians.

The Bran Mak Morn stories take the Picts out of fantasy and into history, though it must be noted that Howard's Picts bear scant resemblance to what little we know about the actual ancient inhabitants of Scotland. Mostly set in Roman Britain during the second or third century AD, the stories recount the conflict between the technologically superior Roman colonisers and the Picts, who at this point in their history have devolved into Neanderthal-like primitives. Their king Bran Mak Morn knows that his people are doomed, but he is not willing to go down without a fight.

The Lost Race by Robert E. Howard — Cororuc is about to meet an unpleasant fate in "The Lost Race" by Robert E. Howard-

Though the first story in this collection, "The Lost Race", does not feature Bran Mak Morn at all, but instead follows Cororuc, a traveller in Roman Britain, who is captured by Picts and taken to their underground lair. The Picts are described as diminutive – in Howard's time some historians believed they were pygmies – and the likely source of legends about dwarves and little people. They are quite hostile and want to burn Cororuc at the stake – after a history lesson delivered by their chief. But Cororuc's life is spared due to the intercession of a werewolf he'd saved earlier.

"The Lost Race" is one of Robert E. Howard's earliest stories, published in the January 1927 issue of Weird Tales, when Howard was only twenty-one, and is clearly the work of a beginning writer. Three stars.

Bran Mak Morn does appear in "Men of the Shadows", though once again the protagonist is another character, a Norseman who became a Roman citizen and legionnaire. He's part of a squad sent north of Hadrian's Wall on a mysterious mission. The legionnaires are slaughtered in a series of battles with the Picts, until only a handful remain. The survivors try to make it back to safety beyond Hadrian's Wall, but are picked off one by one, until there is only a single survivor who is captured and brought before Bran Mak Morn himself. The Picts want to kill him, but Bran spares his life and also reveals the reason why the legionnaires were sent into Pictish territory, namely because a wealthy Roman had taken a liking to Bran's sister and wanted to take her for his own. Bran's refusal to kill the legionnaire leads to a staring contest between Bran and a Pictish wizard upset that Bran is forgetting the old ways. Bran wins the contest, whereupon the wizard launches into a lengthy explanation of the history of the Picts and also prophesizes the fall of the Roman Empire.

This story was never published in Howard's lifetime and it's easy to see why. It's a disjointed mess and Howard forgets both the plot and even the protagonist, once the wizard launches into the extended history of the Picts. We never even learn what happened to the legionnaire. Perhaps he was bored to death by the lecturing wizard. Two stars.

Kings of the Night by Robert E. Howard — A ghostly Kull appears on the battlefield in the interior art for "Kings of the Night".

In "Kings of the Night", Bran Mak Morn is preparing for battle against a Roman legion marching on his land. Bran's Picts have joined forces with Gaels and Britons, but Bran also needs to persuade a group of Norsemen to join the battle. However, their chief has been killed and the Norsemen refuse to fight until they find a new leader. So the Pictish wizard Gonar casts a spell and conjures up none other than Kull of Atlantis, brought forward through time. Kull is understandably confused and mistakes Bran for his Pictish friend Brule the Spearslayer, implying that Bran is a descendent of Brule. However, he also agrees to lead the Norsemen into battle. But is the victory worth the price in blood?

First published in the November 1930 issue of Weird Tales, this is a highly enjoyable story and the return of Kull of Atlantis is most welcome, though it's interesting that Bran outbroods even the traditionally broody Kull. Four stars.

Worms of the Earth by Robert E. Howard — Bran Mak Morn confronts the witch Atla who wants his body in "Worms of the Earth".

"Worms of the Earth" starts with an incredibly visceral and brutal crucifixion scene. A Pict is executed for killing a Roman merchant who'd swindled him. Presiding over the execution is Titus Sulla, Roman governor of Eboracum (nowadays known better by its British name York), as well as a Pictish emissary. Unbeknownst to the arrogant Sulla, this emissary is none other than Bran Mak Morn in disguise.

Infuriated by the way the Roman colonisers treat his people. Bran vows revenge upon Titus Sulla and he is willing to go to great lengths to get it. And so against the warnings of the wizard Gonar, Bran enlists the aid of the titular worms, the remnants of a pre-human civilisation who may be descendants of the Serpent Men from the Kull stories. But in order to find the worms, Bran first has to consult the witch Atla, who is not entirely human herself, and whose price is nothing less than Bran's virtue. So Bran leans back and thinks of the Picts, while Atla has her way with him.

Bran finally locates the worms and they agree to help him get his revenge on Sulla. But things don't go the way Bran expects…

Published in the November 1932 issue of Weird Tales, this is a great story, which perfectly balances sword and sorcery, history and horror. "Worms of the Earth" is the highlight of this collection and worth the price of admission alone. Five stars.

"The Night of the Wolf" is another story which remained unpublished during Howard's lifetime. Set during Arthurian times, it's the tale of Cormac Mac Art, an Irish reiver who gets embroiled in a conflict between Vikings and Picts in the Shetland Islands, where Cormac tries to negotiate the release of an important prisoner.

"The Night of the Wolf" is a well written story full of action and excitement, but I'm not quite sure why it was included in this collection, because it is not a Bran Mak Morn story, even though the Picts appear. Four stars.

Weird Tales December 1931 — The statue of Bran Mak Morn gloomily looks on, as the kidnapped Irish maiden Moira is about the escape a forced marriage by the only means she can.

Bran Mak Morn does appear in "The Dark Man", at least after a fashion — because the story is set in the ninth century during the Viking invasion of Ireland, i.e. at a time when Bran is long dead. Instead, he appears in the form of a statue that is worshipped by the surviving descendants of the Picts.

Our hero is an Irish outlaw named Turlogh Dubh O'Brien who's on a mission to rescue his childhood sweetheart Moira, daughter of an Irish chieftain, who was kidnapped by Vikings. Turlogh comes across the statue of Bran and decides to take it along. He crashes the forced wedding of Moira to the Viking chief Thorfel and takes bloody vengeance. The statue of Bran, the titular dark man, comes in handy as well, for where Bran goes, or rather his statue goes, the Picts are not far behind and they are still formidable warriors.

First published in the December 1931 issue of Weird Tales, "The Dark Man" is another fine historical adventure story and unlike "The Night of the Wolf", it has at least some connection to Bran Mak Morn, albeit rather tenuously. Four stars.

I have to admit that I was very eager to finally get my hands on Robert E. Howard's Bran Mak Morn stories. Though I have no Scottish ancestry, I recognise the parallels between Bran and his Picts struggling against Roman rule and the history of my own homeland. For just like the historical Picts, my own ancestors, the Germanic tribes of Northern Germany, managed to kick the Romans out of North Germany and drive them back beyond the Limes Germanicus in the Battle of the Teutoburg Forest in 9 AD.

Postcard of the Hermann Monument near Detmold, which reminds us that Arminius knocked the Romans out of their sandals somewhere around here.

The Battle of the Teutoburg Forest is extremely important to German history. The so-called Hermann Monument near Detmold, a 53 meter tall statue of the Cherusci chieftain Arminius a.k.a. Hermann, is a popular destination for school trips and much beloved. Whenever I'm in the area, I always pay a visit to good old Arminius, even if the statue is not even remotely accurate and the Battle of the Teutoburg Forest most likely did not take place anywhere near Detmold. Archaeologists are still looking for the actual location of the battle

Arminius is to the Germans what the Gaul leader Vercingetorix is to the French, a national hero who fought back against the arrogant Roman invaders. Unlike Vercingetorix, Arminius was victorious and lived to tell the tale. And just like the fictional Bran Mak Morn, Arminius was driven by vengeance, for according to legend he was an officer in the Roman army who turned against his former allies, when the Romans paraded his pregnant wife Thusnelda naked through the streets of Rome in triumph. The veracity of the tale of Thusnelda is debatable, but it is a compelling story and always made me sympathise with Arminius. Bran's story and motivation, though entirely fictional, are just as compelling and I'm sure that Arminius and Bran would find a lot to talk about over a jug of ale or mead.

For all that, the actual collection is a little bit of a letdown. Robert E. Howard just didn't write very many stories about Bran Mak Morn, so Dell topped off the collection with unpublished stories and fragments, poems, juvenilia and vaguely related stories that feature the Picts.

Nonetheless, "Worms of the Earth" is a top tier Howard story and most of the other stories are at the very least entertaining, even if Bran isn't actually in them.

Four stars.

Women's Lib, Sword and Sorcery Style: Jirel of Joiry by C.L. Moore

The yellowing pages of Weird Tales contain treasures beyond the stories of Robert E. Howard and H.P. Lovecraft, whose work Arkham House is doing a good job of keeping in print. One of those treasures that I was extremely excited to get my hands on are the stories C.L. Moore wrote about the medieval French swordswoman Jirel of Joiry. At last the stories are available again for the first time in more than thirty years.

Weird Tales October 1934 — Jirel kisses the Black God in Margaret Brundage's cover art for the October 1934 issue of Weird Tales.

"Black God's Kiss" first appeared in the October 1934 issue of Weird Tales and introduced Jirel of Joiry to the world. The story opens with the iconic and much imitated scene of the warlord Guillaume conquering Castle Joiry. The captured lord of the castle is brought before Guillaume in full armour. When Guillaume orders his captive's helmet removed, the Lord of Castle Joiry is revealed to be a lady, the red-haired firebrand Jirel. Guillaume is quite delighted by this discovery and forces a kiss on Jirel. Jirel is considerably less delighted and tries to bite his throat out.

The revealing of Jirel's gender is an iconic scene and remains impactful even thirty-five years later. I can only imagine how female readers in 1934 reacted to this revelation, even if the surprise was spoiled both by Weird Tales cover artist Margaret Brundage and interior artist H.R. Hammond.

Black God's Kiss interior art — H.R. Hammond's interior art for "Black God's Kiss" sadly spoils the revelation of Jirel's gender.

For her troubles, Jirel is thrown into her own dungeon, but she quickly escapes, plotting revenge against the overbearing Guillaume. She has no illusions about what Guillaume will do to her, namely rape her and then either kill her or sell her into slavery. So she goes to see Father Gervase, the resident priest of Castle Joiry, to ask for his help and forgiveness. For in order to avenge herself on Guillaume, Jirel is willing to descend into hell itself. And luckily, there happens to be a passage to the underworld deep beneath the foundations of Castle Joiry. It's interesting how much this scene mirrors the scene in "Worms of the Earth" where Bran Mak Morn plots revenge against Titus Sulla. Both Bran and Jirel are willing to do whatever it takes, even if it means selling their soul (and in Bran's case, his body) and enlisting demonic aid. And in both cases, their spiritual advisors, respectively Gonar or Gervase, strongly advice against this course of action, noting that some weapons are too terrible to use.

Like Bran, however, Jirel is determined and so she descends into the underworld beneath the castle. The bulk of the story is given over to Jirel's journey through the underworld and the fantastic things she encounters there. It is notable that even though Jirel wears a crucifix which she has to discard in order to enter the underworld and has a theological argument with a Catholic priest earlier in the story, the dreamlike land underneath Castle Joiry does not resemble the traditional Christian depictions of hell in the slightest—it is much stranger.

Jirel finally finds the titular black god in a temple in the middle of a lake of fallen stars and begs him to give her a weapon against Guillaume. The black gods grants her this wish, but just like Bran Mak Morn in "Worms of the Earth", Jirel realises that the revenge she gets isn't what she wanted after all.

This is an amazing story that stands shoulder to shoulder with the best the sword and sorcery genre has to offer. Five stars.

Only two months later, in the December 1934 issue, Weird Tales published the sequel to "Black God's Kiss" entitled "Black God's Shadow". Jirel is still haunted by the events of the previous story. She's having trouble sleeping, the memories of Guillaume forcing a kiss on her keep resurfacing and by night, Jirel hears Guillaume's voice, begging her to save his soul from hell.

Jirel's feelings towards Guillaume are very conflicted. On the one hand, he was an overbearing pig who assaulted her, but on the other hand Jirel was also attracted to him. So she decides to descend into the underworld once more to save Guillaume's soul. But in doing so, Jirel will not only have to fight the black god, but also her own conflicted emotions and come to terms with what happened to her.

This story is more quiet and philosophical than its predecessor and the battles Jirel fights are purely in her mind. From a psychological standpoint, this story is fascinating, because Jirel's feelings and reactions mirror those of women who have been sexually assaulted or raped, suggesting that Guillaume did more than merely steal a kiss.

An unusual but excellent story. Five stars.

"Jirel Meets Magic" first appeared in the July 1935 issue of Weird Tales. The title is rather weak, especially since Jirel already encountered more than her share of magic in her first two adventures.

The story opens with Jirel leading the charge against a castle, whence the evil wizard Giraud has fled. Once again, the hotblooded Jirel is out for vengeance, because Giraud had ambushed and killed some of her men. However, as Jirel and her men comb the castle, Giraud is nowhere to be found. Bloody footprints lead to a window, which doubles as a portal into a fantastic world. Undeterred, Jirel climbs through the window in pursuit of Giraud and quickly finds herself tangling not just with the wizard, but also with his patroness, the sorceress Jarisme.

This story establishes what will become a pattern with the Jirel of Joiry stories, namely that Jirel keeps venturing into fantastic dream landscapes. "Jirel Meets Magic" is not quite as dark as the Black God duology, but still a great story. Five stars.

Weird Tales January 1936 — Not Jirel either, but a strikingly erotic cover for a Seabury Quinn story, courtesy of Margaret Brundage.

"The Dark Land" opens with Jirel lying in bed in her castle, mortally wounded in battle. Father Gervase is called in to give her the last rites, when Jirel abruptly vanishes. When she comes to, she finds herself in yet another fantastic dreamland called Romne. Its king Pav informs Jirel that he saved her from death, because he wants her to be his bride. Jirel has other ideas, especially once she learns what happens to Pav's discarded wives…

Published in the January 1936 issue of Weird Tales, this is a good story, but not quite as strong as the previous tales. Four stars.

"Hellsgarde" opens with Jirel on her warhorse outside the haunted castle of Hellsgarde. The castle, we learn, has been shunned and abandoned for two hundred years, ever since its previous lord stole a mysterious treasure and was tortured to death by those eager to take that treasure for themselves.

Jirel has come to Hellsgarde for just this treasure, though she doesn't want it for herself. No, a villainous nobleman named Guy of Garlot has taken several of Jirel's men hostage and demands the treasure of Hellsgarde as ransom.

As the previous stories have shown, Jirel is perfectly willing to descend into hell itself and so she enters the haunted castle to face of the horrors awaiting her within. As for Guy of Garlot, he fares about as well as all overbearing men who try to force Jirel to do something against her will.

First published in the April 1939 issue of Weird Tales, "Hellsgarde" is a very much a haunted house story, but what a haunted house story it is. Five stars.

Reading the Jirel of Joiry stories in the year of the lord 1969, it's hard to image that these stories are already more than thirty years old, because they feel so very modern, both with regard to Jirel's adventures in psychedelic dreamlands and her conflicts with overbearing men which many a modern feminist will sympathise with. Jirel is very much a heroine for the 1960s, a strong woman willing to brave even hell itself to get what she wants.

C.L. Moore only ever wrote six stories about Jirel of Joiry (one of which, a story featuring Jirel and Moore's interplanetary outlaw Northwest Smith, is not included in this collection) and sadly retired from writing altogether after the untimely death of her husband Henry Kuttner eleven years ago. However, the Jirel stories are so good that I hope that Moore will eventually return to writing and revisit this groundbreaking character.

If you are looking for the two-fisted adventures of Conan or the hijinks of Fafhrd and Gray Mouser, this collection is very much not that. Jirel's adventures are internal conflicts given form in her journey through dreamlike and often nightmarish landscapes. Nonetheless, these stories are among the best the sword and sorcery genre has to offer. Five stars.

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Magazine/Anthology, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[September 2, 1969] People, Machines, and Other Thinking Entities (October 1969 Fantastic)

September 2, 2024 Victoria Silverwolf 6 Comments

by Victoria Silverwolf

Machine Language

Two events occurred today that demonstrate how computers can communicate with each other and with people.

At the University of California in Los Angeles, a gizmo called an Interface Message Processor (IMP) allowed two computers on campus to have a conversation, of sorts. (I assume it was something like beep boop beep.) Plans are underway to set up another IMP at Stanford University, so the two institutes of higher education can share data. One can imagine computers all over the planet chatting away, plotting to take over the world . . . well, maybe not that.

The thing that lets computers exchange information. Don't ask me how it works.

The same day, a device replacing your friendly neighborhood teller appeared at a branch of the Chemical Bank in Rockville Centre, New York. Apparently it can take your money, give you back your money, etc. Is it just me, or does Chemical Bank seem like a weird name for a financial institution? Not to mention the fact that the city doesn't know how to spell center.

Possibly depositing some of the money his company makes from the robot teller.

Fittingly, the latest issue of Fantastic features machines and other things besides humans who are capable of communicating, and performing other activities that demonstrate intelligence.

Cover art by Johnny Bruck.

As usual these days, the cover image comes from a German publication. It's not Perry Rhodan for a change.

Translated, this says The Ring Around the Sun. This seems to be a version of Gallun's 1950 story A Step Further Out, with additional material from German writer Clark Darlton, one of the folks behind Perry Rhodan.

Editorial, by Ted White

The new editor talks about the cancellation of The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour because of material CBS considered offensive. He goes on to discuss the hypocrisy of some members of the older generation, and how science fiction and fantasy might help bridge the gap between young folks and their elders. Pretty serious stuff. He also admits that Fantastic is less popular than its sister publication Amazing, and promises to do something about that.

No rating.

It Could Be Anywhere, by Ted White

Maybe printing his own fiction is part of the editor's plan to improve sales of the magazine.

Illustrations by Michael Hinge.

The author spends half a page explaining the provenance of this story. He was inspired by Keith Laumer's story It Could Be Anything (Amazing, January 1963.) Note the similar title. My esteemed colleague John Boston gave this work a full five stars.

At first, White's tribute took the form of a novel called The Jewels of Elsewhen a couple of years ago. The Noble Editor gave that book four stars. Will this latest variation on a theme reach the same exalted level as its predecessors?

When the familiar becomes unfamiliar.

The narrator is a big guy who works as a private detective. After a very long day, he tries to ride home on the subway in the wee hours of the morning. A wino falls out of his seat. When the gumshoe tries to help the fellow, he finds out that he's not really a genuine human being, but some kind of lifeless simulation.

The only other real person on the subway is a young woman. (In the tradition of popular fiction, she's always called a girl.) When they get off the subway, they find out that the entire city is fake, just a bunch of empty buildings.

The premise reminds me a bit of Fritz Leiber's short novel You're All Alone, in which almost all people are mindless automatons. There's an explanation, of sorts, for what's going on. The characters are interesting, even if they are mostly passive observers of the situation. The way in which the woman's ring plays a role in the plot struck me as arbitrary.

Three stars.

A Guide to the City, by Lin Carter

This was a big surprise. I expect Carter to offer very old-fashioned sword-and-sorcery yarns or equally outdated space operas. Who knew that he could venture into territory explored by Jorge Luis Borges or Franz Kafka?

The story takes the form of an article. The author lives in a gigantic, possibly infinite, city. A single neighborhood takes up hundreds of thousands of blocks. Traveling such a distance is the stuff of legends. The author explains why mapping the entire city is impossible.

This is not a piece for those who demand much in the way of plot or characters. It's all concept, an intellectual exploration of an abstract, mathematical premise. I enjoyed it pretty well; others may find nothing of interest in it.

Three stars.

Ten Percent of Glory, by Verge Foray

In the afterlife, people continue to exist based on how living folks remember them. George Washington can expect to be part of the collective memory for a very long time; Millard Fillmore, maybe not.

The main character is an agent of sorts, who collects a percentage of the renown of his clients in exchange for promoting them in various ways. The plot involves the motives of his secretary.

Stuck somewhat between whimsy and satire, this odd little tale winds up with an ending that may raise some eyebrows. I'm still not quite sure what I thought of it.

Three stars.

Man Swings SF, by Richard A. Lupoff

This is a broad spoof of New Wave science fiction. It starts with an introduction by the fictional Blodwen Blenheim, which alternates lyrics from songs performed by Tiny Tim with a rhapsodizing about an exciting new form of speculative fiction coming from the Isle of Man.

After this, we get a story called In the Kitchen by the imaginary author Ova Hamlet. Like a lot of New Wave SF, it's hard to describe the plot. Suffice to say that it's full of outrageous metaphors and features a doomed protagonist. The piece ends with a mock biography and a ersatz critique of Ova Hamlet.

The (real) author is able to write convincingly in the style of some of the things found in New Worlds, with tongue firmly in cheek. Amusing enough, even if it goes on a little too long for an extended joke.

Three stars.

A Modest Manifesto, by Terry Carr

This essay, reprinted in the magazine's Fantasy Fandom section, originally appeared in the fanzine Warhoon. It wanders all over the place, but for the most part it deals with what the author sees as a cultural revolution, both in fantasy and science fiction and in the outside world. Food for thought.

Three stars.

So much for the new stuff. Let's turn to the reprints.

Secret of the Serpent, by Don Wilcox

This wild yarn first appeared in the January 1948 issue of Fantastic Adventures.

Cover art by Robert Gibson Jones.

As I noted at the start of this article, we're going to run into a lot of entities that have as much sentience as human beings. Would you believe that this one is a gigantic people-eating serpent?

Illustration by Jones also.

Let me back up a little. The serpent used to be an ordinary guy, until he wound up on what the author calls a space island. If that means something other than a planet, it escapes me.

He encounters a huge two-headed cat (don't look at me, I don't make up this stuff) who used to be a woman. The place is also inhabited by a bunch of pygmies, who used to be people living on Mars. Not to mention some Mad Scientists. Or the guy who is a giant skull on a small body.

Very long and complex story short, the formerly human serpent gets partly changed back, and he becomes a serpent with human arms and legs. Somebody wants to turn him into a skeleton for a museum. There's a revolution by the enslaved pygmies against the Mad Scientists. A lot more stuff happens.

I hope I have managed to convey the fact that this is a crazy story. Plot logic is thrown out the window in favor of action, action, and more action. The only explanation for the weird transformations? The water on the space island does it.

Nutty enough to hold the reader's attention for a while, but at full novella length the novelty soon wears off. I got the feeling the author was pulling my leg at times, but there's not enough humor to make the story a parody.

Two stars.

All Flesh is Brass, by Milton Lesser

The August 1952 issue of Fantastic Adventures supplies this grim tale.

Cover art by Walter Popp.

The Soviet Union has conquered Western Europe, and is now attacking the United States via Canada. The story takes the form of the diary of a soldier. He learns that some dead fighters are being replaced by robotic duplicates, who not only copy their bodies but also their minds.

Illustration by Ed Emshwiller.

The replacements don't even know that they're not human, until that fact becomes obvious in one way or another. They are also designed to be eliminated within a couple of years after they're activated. Let's just say that the situation doesn't work out well.

In addition to the plot, the story paints a vivid and realistic portrait of warfare, as seen by an ordinary soldier. I was particularly impressed by the way the author handles the subplot concerning the female fighter encountered by the main character. I wasn't expecting that to go in the direction it did.

Four stars.

According to You . . ., by Ted White, etc.

After an extended absence, the letter column returns. I wouldn't bother to mention it, but it's odd in a couple of ways. First up is a mock letter from Blodwhen Blenheim and Ova Hamlet (remember them?) thanking the editor for printing Hamlet's story. A cute extension of the joke.

Next are a couple of letters asking for more sword-and-sorcery stories. One reader includes a poem about Conan. I probably shouldn't say anything about the quality of the verse.

Last is a missive attacking just about everything in the April issue. The writer, if he's real, is in jail. Hmm.

No rating.

Isolationist, by Mack Reynolds

This ironic yarn comes from the April 1950 issue of Fantastic Adventures.

Cover art by Robert Gibson Jones again.

The narrator is a cynical old farmer, suspicious of technology and of the modern world in general. When an alien spaceship lands in his field, he thinks it's an American vessel of some sort.

Illustration by Julian S. Krupa.

The accents of the friendly inhabitants convince him they're foreigners, which makes them even less welcome than before. Not to mention that they ruined part of his crop of corn.

This is a very simple story, with an inevitable conclusion. The crotchety narrator is a decent creation, but there's not much else to it.

Two stars.

The Unthinking Destroyer, by Rog Phillips

The December 1948 issue of Amazing Stories offers this philosophical tale.

Cover art by Harold W. McCauley.

Two guys talk about the possibility of intelligent life being unrecognizable by human beings. (Back to the theme with which I started this article.) In alternating sections of text, two beings discuss abstract concepts.

Illustration by Bill Terry.

It took me a while to get the point of this story. It might be seen as a rather silly joke, or as something a bit more meaningful.

Two stars.

Fantasy Books, by Fritz Leiber and Francis Lanthrop

Leiber offers mixed reviews of a collection and a novel. Lanthrop praises three books by Leiber about the adventures of Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser.

No rating.

Worth Talking About?

This was a middle-of-the-road issue, with everything hovering around a three-star rating. Not a waste of time, but not particularly memorable either. Maybe someday a computer will be able to read it to you, so you don't have to turn the pages of the magazine.

The Parametric Artificial Talker (PAT), developed by the University of Edinburgh in 1956, was the first machine to synthesize human speech.

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55 years ago: Science Fact and Fiction