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Magazine/Anthology

[June 20, 1964] How low can you go?  (July 1964 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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by Gideon Marcus

SFlying West

Once again, the Journey is brought to you from Japan!  Specifically, the nation's capital, Tokyo.  We've become old hands at making the trk across the Pacific, especially since Pan Am inaugurated direct 707 service from Los Angeles to Tokyo International.

This time, we stayed at a new hotel, in the shadow of the recently completed Tokyo Tower.  From the observatory deck of the hotel, the often elusive Mt. Fuji was clearly visible, thanks to a heavy rain that had occurred the night before.

Tokyo remains as it has been for the past 16 years (our first visit was in 1948!) Bustling, filled with energy and cigarette smoke.  There is a particular focus on renovation what with the Olympics coming to town soon.  Nevertheless, life otherwise goes on normally in the thoroughfares, wide and narrow.

TV cartoons have become a big deal here, with the recently debuted "Mighty Atom" inspiring tons of merchandise.

It's not all roses, though.  Up on the other side of the country, an earthquake struck off the coast of Niigata.  Then, a tidal wave swept in.  The property damage was immense and at least two dozen people have died.

More personally, though my tragedy hardly compares, this month's Fantasy and Science Fiction managed to limbo below the low bar recently set by Editor Avram Davidson (who fled Mexico and apparently now resides in my home state of California).

With a sigh, here we go again:

The Issue at Hand


by Ed Emshwiller

Cantata 140, by Philip K. Dick

It is said that too many cooks spoil a broth, and the SFnal corollary is that too many ideas spoil a plot.  Indeed, Dick's newest novella, the third in the "News Clown" series set late in the 21st Century, has so many handwaves that I could have used the magazine to fly to Japan.  The piece's 60 pages contain:

  • An overpopulated world with abortion but not Enovid (birth control medicine).
  • A satellite of prostitutes to relieve proceative tension.
  • A super cheap way to get to said satellite.
  • Precious few other satellites.
  • Teleportation.
  • Teleportation (accidental) to another world.
  • Suspended animation as the standard treatment for excess, unemplopyed population.
  • An American population that is more "Colored" than "Caucasian".
  • The Presidential campaign of the first "Colored" candidate (the "Event of 1993" caused the demographic shift such that Whites were outnumbered, yet it is not until 2080 that a Black candidate has a chance).
  • A two-bodied, one-headed mutant human crime lord.

For the most part, the plot follows Jim Briskin as he tries to become the first "colored" President of the United States.  Other things happen, including the "blink-and-you'll-miss-it" incident in which a balky teleporter somehow links Earth to a far-off, virgin planet.  It is very quickly taken as read that this is the solution to Earth's frozen overpopulation problem (creating the excuse for the rather esoertic title — it probably refers to Bach's "Sleepers wake!" composition).  I suppose if the story stuck to these two threads and developed them in a satisying manner, this could be a good read — especially since it's written by Dick, one of the genre's masters.  Instead, the piece is a jumbled mess, stuffed with clumsy jargon, and combining both implausible and contradictory elements with several overly conventional ones.

For example, race relations appear to be stuck in the 1960s even though the story takes place more than a century later.  The overpopulation angle makes no sense.  At first, I thought there might be moral objections to abortion and/or medical birth control, but given that state-assisted suicide is a sanctioned population stabilizer, I doubt it.  And how do the prostitutes not get pregnant?  And how do 5000 of them satisfy Earth's billions?

Inconsistencies aside, the narrative is neither interesting nor comprehensible.  If I can't have good SF, I'd at least like good satire.  If I can't have that, I'll settle for decent writing.

And if that's lacking, there's no rating I can give a story other than…

One star.

The Second Philadelphia Experiment, by Robert F. Young

From the lost pages of Ben Franklin's diary comes an account of the great scientist's further explorations into electricity.  It's a facile reproduction of Franklin's style but really just exists to set up a fairly flat joke.  I was feeling more charitable when I read it, but now I think it's fair to give it just two stars.

Balloon Astronomy, by Theodore L. Thomas

This month's nonfiction seed for science fiction articles suggests using balloon-mounted instruments to provide constant weather reports.  But don't they already do that?

Two stars.

The Scientist and the Monster, by Gahan Wilson

Wilson offers The Twilight Zone episode, "Eye of the Beholder" virtually unchanged except for a slightly improved moral message at the end.  Still just worth two stars.

A

The Happy Place, by Toni Heller Lamb

Ms. Lamb's first published story is a dark piece involving a young girl who finds the cemetery a more hospitable residence than any place of the living.  There is a nice final line, and the story is nice in a macabre sort of way, but otherwise it is unremarkable. 
Three stars.


by Ed Emshwiller

The End of the Wine, by C. S. Lewis

This poem, which follows a bedraggled Lemurian as he makes landfall in Stone Age Europe, is made all the more poignant by being the author's last creation (he died last year, same day as JFK).  Thus, the double whammy as we realize what we've lost as the man from Atlantis rues over same.

Four stars.

The Salvation of Faust, by Roger Zelazny

An interesting inversion of the Faustian Bargain, it entertains and then disappears.  Three stars.

All-Hallows, by Leah Bodine Drake

A tiny poem whose message is that nothing dies — it just becomes part of the world around you.

Three stars.

Nothing Counts, by Isaac Asimov

The Good Doctor regales us with a nonfiction article on the evolution of Roman numerals and the utility of the zero.  It's well-written but there is very little useful information, and in particular, almost no history of the zero itself.

Three stars.

The Struldbrugg Reaction, by John Sutherland

New author Sutherland brings us a pointless Sherlock pastiche, the gimmick being that Holmes and Watson ("Bones" and "Dawson") are in their 90s and immortal (thanks to the Struldbrugg Reaction — see Gulliver's Travels to understand the reference). 

It's no Lord Darcy.  Two stars.

The Girl with the 100 Proof Eyes, by Ron Webb

Some schlubb decants a genie named Jeanie and coerces her to love him.  A delightful rape fantasy.  One star.

We Serve the Star of Freedom, by Jane Beauclerk

This final story, the first from Ms. Beauclerk, features a clever native of an alien world (inhabited by quite human extraterrestrials) who gets the best of traders from Earth.  It's a pleasant story, though more fable than SF.  Probably the best prose piece of the issue.  Three stars.

Summing Up

Good grief.  I do hope Avram Davidson's tenure at the helm of this once proud magazine will soon come to an end.  It's either that or my days of subscribing will.

Oh well.  At least I'm in Japan!

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




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Magazine/Anthology

[May 18, 1964] Aspirations (June 1964 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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by Gideon Marcus

At the Ballot Box

If you plunked down your $2 for a Worldcon membership (Pacificon II in San Francisco this year), then you probably sent in your nominations for the Hugo Awards, honoring the best works of 1963. Last month, you got the finalists ballot. Maybe, like me, you were surprised.

I'm happy to say that the Journey has covered every one of those nominations. However, with the exception of Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle and Anderson's No Truce with Kings, none of the fiction entries made this year's Galactic Stars list. Also, I'm dismayed to find that neither Worlds of Tomorrow nor Gamma made the list of best magazines, though I suppose their being new precludes wide distribution as yet.

Anyway, they've made my choices very easy this year:

Best novel: Cat's Cradle (based on the review by Victoria Lucas – I haven't had the chance to read it yet, myself!)
Best story: No Truce with Kings
Best magazine: Galaxy
Best artist: Schoenherr (I've been liking his stuff more and more lately — don't get me wrong; I still like Emsh and Finlay, and Krenkel's done great stuff for the Burroughs books, but it's good to spread these things around)
Best amateur magazine: Starspinkle, which is really a fun mag, and good for keeping up on the latest Breendoggle mishigas (I note that Galactic Journey isn't on this list — surely a mistake. Please don't forget to vote for us!)

F&SF appears to be lobbying heavily for your Hugo vote, too, if the back cover of their latest issue be any indication. They've replaced the usual suite of pointy headed admirers in favor of a photo of one of their trophies (last one in the dimly remembered year of 1960).

So does this issue support their claim of being "the best"? Let's read and find out!

The Issue at Hand

The Triumph of Pegasus, by F. A. Javor

Now that Watson and Crick (and the tragically unsung Rosalind Franklin) have cracked the code of the DNA double helix, I am seeing more stories involving the precise engineering of genetics at a microscopic level. Javor's intriguing tale features the pair of scientists who run the shoestring operation "Animals to Order." After they showcase a fantastically fast, quick-grown horse, they are browbeaten by a powerfully rich bully of a woman into producing a winged version.

Here, the story loses its footing, as the new creature is made in an implausibly short time, and the grisly, if morally satisfying, end is thoroughly predictable.

Still, this may be the first story I've read that (to some degree) realistically portrays the art of genes manipulation. Three stars.

The Master of Altamira, by Stephen Barr

Not so much science fiction as historical extrapolation, author Barr depicts the sudden end of one of the world's first artists, the cave painter of Altamira. The piece is, at once, vivid and utterly forgettable.

Three stars.

The Peace Watchers, by Bryce Walton

In the future, murder is a forgotten crime. Literally — murderers are destroyed, and the memories of their crimes are erased from the minds of all affected, even the police! But when the grisly crime is committed, however rarely, how can it be dealt with when even law enforcement knows nothing about it?

I don't necessarily buy this piece, but it is interesting. Three stars.

Trade-In, by Jack Sharkey

Sharkey has been my whipping boy for a while, but he's recently shown a bit of promise. Sadly, while this story, about a prematurely aging husband and his unusually youthful wife, is well-written and properly horrific, it is also needlessly anti-woman.

Three stars for quality, but two stars after demerits applied.

Time-Bomb, by Arthur Porges

I cannot fathom the point of this short poem. One star.

Medical Radiotracers, by Theodore L. Thomas

Once again, Thomas serves up a mildly educational tidbit (this time on ingested radioactives that allow doctors to map certain organs) followed by a ridiculous SF story seed (we'll all be tracked by the Orwell-state via said radioactives).

I want Feghoot back. And I don't even like Feghoot. Two stars.

Cynosure, by Kit Reed

Ahh, now here's the highlight of the issue. Norma Thayer, newly divorced housewife, so desperately wants to impress her neighbors, especially the queen-like Clarise Brainerd. But whether her sink is too blotchy, her carpet too soiled with cat hairs, or her daughter too messy, Norma can't seem to win Mrs. Brainerd's heart and, more importantly, the right to invite the neighborhood wives over for coffee and cake.

That is, until she heeds the ad that states, simply:

END HOUSEHOLD DRUDGERY

YOUR HOUSE CAN BE THE CYNOSURE OF THE NEIGHBORHOOD

The product she purchases, and its results, both foreseen and otherwise, I shall leave for the reader. Suffice it to say that I thoroughly enjoyed this delicious little satire, and I am freshly aggrieved that I do not have Ms. Reed's forwarding address since her latest move. I did so enjoy our correspondence.

Four stars.

The Third Bubble, by G. C. Edmondson

G.C. Edmondson lives in Mexico, like F&SF's editor, Avram Davidson (I wonder if he hand delivers his manuscripts), so it's no wonder that he has a series of stories set south of the border. This one involves a crazy time traveler who believes that space is a dream, that worlds are hollow, and that aliens kidnap our astronauts.

All of that takes up about one page of this eleven-page story, the other ten pages of which comprise a kind of travelogue. While there are a few bits of good writing and some genuinely clever lines, Edmonson makes the mistake of trying to make a meal composed solely of spice.

Two stars, and perhaps it's time to try something new.

The Search, by Bruce Simonds

Fourteen year-old newcomer, Bruce Simonds, has a prose-poem about how robots were evolved over time to be made perfectly in human image. I've read over the end a half-dozen times, and I still can't figure out what happened. Help a dumb reviewer out?

Two stars.

The Thing from Outer Space and the Prairie Dogs, by Gahan Wilson

Atiny piece in which we learn:

That prairie dogs are far more hazardous and organized a force than we could have imagined. The punchline isn't worth the half-page the story takes up.

Two stars.

The Heavenly Zoo, by Isaac Asimov

Dr. A is back in form with this fine piece on the origin of the zodiac, in particular, and celestial calendars, in general. I learned several interesting tidbits to share at the next cocktail party (so as to appear far more intelligent and knowledgeable than I actually am.)

Four stars.

Forwarding Service, by Willard Marsh

This touching tale involves a kidney-stone afflicted man with a bad heart and the kindly nurse who also moonlights as a special kind of messenger. Pretty good stuff. Three stars.

The Unknown Law, by Avram Davidson

Last up, a tale from the near future, set in the Oval Office. A newly elected President, youngest in the nation's history, learns that he has a special, unwritten executive power. Since the days of Washington, three minor major (or major minor) federal officers have been entrusted with a sacred trust: once per term, they can be ordered to eliminate a foe to the Republic. This execution is strictly off the books, for the good of the Union.

Of course, having introduced Chekhov's Gunslingers, there is no doubt that they will be employed. And while it is somewhat cleverly laid out who will be the President's target, I felt as if the setup came far too quickly, chronologically, to be satisfying. That said, it is a well-written piece (all too rare for Davidson these days!) and I appreciated the oblique way he established the time setting of the story.

Three stars.

Summing Up

And so we have here a surprisingly decent issue of a magazine that has been in a downward spiral for some time. This installment of F&SF might not be Hugo-worthy, but it's definitely not bad. Then again, it's always brightest before dusk…

Fingers crossed for next month.

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




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Magazine/Anthology

[March 17, 1964] It's all Downhill(April 1964 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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by Gideon Marcus

A friend of mine inquired about an obscure science fiction story the other day.  She expressed surprise that I had, in fact, read it, and wondered what my criteria were for choosing my reading material.  I had to explain that I didn't have any: I read everything published as science fiction and/or fantasy. 

My friend found this refrain from judgment admirable.  I think it's just a form of insanity, particularly as it subjects me to frequent painful slogs.  For instance, this month's Fantasy and Science Fiction continues the magazine's (occasionally abated) slide into the kaka.  With the exception of a couple of pieces, it's bad.  Beyond bad — dull.

The Issue at Hand


Cover by Jack Gaughan illustrating Into the Shop

Fred One, by James Ransom

We start off on reasonably sound footing, with a pair of preternaturally intelligent laboratory rats named Freds One and Two.  One is a genius, the brains of the operation.  The other, though possessed of a high order of intelligence for his kind, is clearly a sidekick.  It is not made clear whether the rats gained their smarts as a result of human intervention, or if they've always been bright and endure testing for their own reasons.

Not much happens, really.  The author relies on the humor of the conceit, writing with deadly earnestness from the brain rat's point of view.  The result is a fun but somewhat inconsequential story.  It might make a good cartoon someday.

Three stars.

Beware of the Dog, by Gahan Wilson

Here's a one-page vignette that's far better than the monthly Feghoots (which have recently stopped being produced).  I found it funny enough to read to my daughter.

Four stars.

Sun Creation, by B. Traven

Author Traven is some kind of ethnologist, a German who transplanted himself to Mexico and now translates native creation myths.  Sun Creation is about a brave warrior who makes a new sun after the old one is devoured by evil spirits; it's as good (if not better) than any of the Greek myths I grew up with.  I don't know if it belongs in this magazine, but it was my favorite piece of the issue.

Four stars.

A Piece of the Action, by Isaac Asimov

And now begins our downward slide.  The Good Doctor, brilliant as he may be in chemistry, has oft confessed to having a blind spot when it comes to math.  This is especially unfortunate as regards to this month's article, in which he tries to explain quantum mechanics and the discovery of Planck's constant.

The problem is, there are just some things you can't explain without math.  I remember being bored and frustrated with high school physics; it wasn't until college, when they taught us the calculus-based stuff that things really clicked.  I went on to take quantum mechanics my junior year in college (as part of an astrophysics curriculum).  Let me tell you, it is a subject that is absolutely beautiful with the proper mathematical underpinning…and utterly meaningless without it.

Asimov's explanation of the subject, bereft of any math, doesn't work.  I was barely able to follow along thanks to my prior education.  I can't imagine any of his readers will be able to make much of it.

My first two-star score for Dr. A.

Welcome, Comrade, by Simon Bagley

Ugh continues.  Here's a piece about a top secret project to orbit a brainwashing satellite.  The goal is to instill every human on Earth with a love for and inability to sway from American values.  You know: capitalism, democracy, and dispute resolution by fisticuffs.  The title gives away the ending, which you'd have seen miles away anyhow. 

Decent beginning, Analog-esque middle (especially if Bagley'd played it straight rather than satire), numbskull predictable ending.

Two stars.

Urgent Message for Mr. Prosser, by J. P. Sellers

Night watchman, so British that the rendition seems farcical, receives breathless calls at 1 AM.  The caller urgently desires to warn Mr. Prosser, the watchman's boss, that he is in danger of being poisoned by his wife.  Our protagonist meets with the caller one night and finds that he is, in fact, a dead ringer for Mr. Prosser.

The odd situation is never explained, though my guess is the caller is some sort of phantom made real out of the real Prosser's paranoid fears.  In any event, this is another facile story that doesn't do much but mildly entertain and take up pages.  Three stars, I suppose.

Van Allen Belts, by Theodore L. Thomas

I'm not sure why Thomas has this column; it's never worth reading.  This one, like all his others, starts like a non-fiction article and ends with a science fictional tail-sting.  Thomas recommends that the electrical current created by the charged particles circling the Earth could power satellites.  This is nonsense — the sun's photons provide far more energy than the weak fields in orbit could ever provide.

One star and stop wasting my time.

The Old Man Lay Down, by Sonya Dorman

A poem by an author I generally look forward to.  I couldn't make heads or tails of it.  Explain it to me?  Two stars.

The Crazy Mathematician, by R. Underwood

Mad scientist finds a way to travel the universes by way of a shrinking machine.  He takes a handsome journalist along on his journeys, who spends the trip romancing the various versions of femininity he finds at the various stops. 

Complete fantasy and not worth your energy.  Two stars.

Fanzine Fanfaronade, by Terry Carr

The third in F&SF's series on fandom, it is neither as good as last month's (on conventions), nor as mediocre as the one from the month before (on fandom in general).

Three stars.

The Compleat Consumators, by Alan E. Nourse

The premise to this piece is that two lovers, ideally matched, will not just become one metaphorically, but will fuse into a single physical identity.  It's a lovely idea, but here it's played for horror, and abandoned right when it could have become interesting. 

Two stars.

Into the Shop, by Ron Goulart

Intelligent cop car mistakes everyone for a suspect, including its human partner, with fatal results.  Sub-par stuff, and doubly disappointing given Goulart's fine reputation.

Two stars.

Oreste, by Henry Shultz

And here we hit the bottom with a reprint from 1952(!) about an eight year old child and the odd uncle with whom he has a telepathic connection.  It seems young Titus is stealing the thoughts of Uncle Oreste, writing books and composing music on borrowed talent.

Or something.  There's a twist ending, but after 20+ pages of a story that could easily have fit into five, I was too bored to care.

One star.

Summing Up

Oh dear.  Didn't I pledge just last month to be a lot nicer in my reviews?  I guess there's something about reading eighty pages of muck that puts me in a bad mood.  Like Uncle Oreste, someone has stolen my beautiful F&SF (my favorite magazine until Editor Davidson showed up in '62), and replaced it with nonsense.

I do bring one piece of good news, though.  I've got prints of my performance at San Diego Comic Fest.  If you've got a sound-capable 8mm, let me know, and I'll Parcel Post it to you:

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




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