The new Supreme Court, whose prime continuity to the old one is the preservation of the name "Warren" in its Chief Justice, is now in session—minus one Justice…for now.
Warren Burger has taken over from Earl Warren, and one can already feel the rightward lurch of our nation's highest judiciary. Now, President Richard Milhouse Nixon plans to careen the Supreme Court in an even more conservative direction.
Tricky Dick's nomination to fill the seat left when LBJ's nominee, Abe Fortas, didn't get the job, is Clement F. Haynsworth. Haynsworth is currently a United States circuit judge of the United States Court of Appeals for the Fourth Circuit (Atlantic coast of the Upper South), a position he has held since being appointed their by Ike in 1957. The Senate Judiciary Committee on October 9th approved 10-7 the consideration of Justice Haynsworth.
The road ahead is far from clement for Haynsworth, however. For one, he bought 1000 shares of Brunswick (the bowling company) just before publishing a ruling he helped make on said company. After the heightened scrutiny on ethics that accompanied the Fortas nomination, Haynsworth is under an intense microscope. Labor groups maintained that he should have recused himself from a case involving a textile mill; he owned shares of a company that did business with the mill.
Critics of the storm say this is just tit for tat after the Fortas fight, rather than for any substantive reason. What's really at stake is Haynsworth is a reactionary. He affirmed the decision by local authorities to close the Prince Edward County schools to avoid integration, he upheld the constitutionality of school voucher programs used to fund segregated private schools, and he supported the management of the Darlington Manufacturing Company in South Carolina when it closed down to avoid its employees unionizing.
Will Haynsworth make it on the bench? It's hard to imagine he will. If a Republican minority was sufficient to deny Fortas a seat, then a Democratic majority will surely roadblock Haynsworth. If and when this happens, the question is whether Nixon will double down or conciliate. At stake this season are decisions on the tax exempt status of churches, the death penalty, punitive drafting of war protesters, and the rights of Black Americans.
Stay tuned…
Entertainment delayed
Just as we're playing the waiting game to see the direction jurisprudence goes in America, so the latest issue of Galaxy science fiction makes it clear that the future of SF, particularly in the pages of the former queen of the genre, is as yet uncertain.
by Jack Gaughan (as are, presumably, all of the other illustrations in this magazine)
The amazingly prolific Silverbob begins a serial that has elements of Delany (the incorporation of music and the choppy presentation…which may be a printing error knowing Galaxy) and Zelazny (the wild, decadent planet and weary protagonist).
Edmund Gunderson used to run Holman's World, a jungle planet with two sentient races—philosophical elephants and brutish apes—in order to collect the serpent worm venom that is a fundamental catalyst of tissue regeneration.
Ten years later, Holman's World is now Belzegor, reverted to the ownership of the pachyderm nildoror. The human infrastructure is rapidly succumbing to tropical rot, and who knows how long humanity will keep contact with the world?
Amid this backdrop of decay, Gunderson returns to the planet he ruled…purpose unknown. All we know is that his mission lies somewhere in the backwoods, and he requires nildoror permission to go there. We find out Gunderson is a bigot who cannot quite abide the idea that the nildoror are sentient beings rather than animals, but he does seem to be trying to break free of his bigotry. We also learn that the nildoror are now closely associating with the primate sulidor and even employing them as servants. Finally, it is revealed that drinking raw serpent venom causes the brief transfer of souls between alien and human. Whether this is imaginary or real is not yet known.
Silverberg has set up a lot of pieces, but not much has happened yet. The writing is competent, though not gripping. As with the Haynsworth decision, the jury is still out on this one.
Three stars.
Pennies, Off a Dead Man's Eyes, by Harlan Ellison
Old man Jedediah Parkman is dead at the age of 82, and all of the people he's helped over the years are coming to his funeral to pay respects. This includes an alien with the power of camouflage and lethal envelopment, who is passing for human for his survival. At the funeral, he witnesses a beautiful white woman (most out of place given the part of town and the race of Parkman and the other attendees) who takes the silver coins from atop Parkman's eyes.
What is her motivation? Why is she there? And just what connection does our storyteller have to Parkman?
This is one of the few Ellison stories that harnesses the writer's great talent to say something beyond what's on Harlan's mind/heart at the moment. It's also real SF, unlike so much of his work.
Five stars.
The Dirty Old Men of Maxsec, by Phyllis Gotlieb
Outside: the City. Cramped, stagnant, spartan. Its only compensation: the citizens are immortal, thanks to "the J."
Inside: MaxSec. A maximum security community populated by criminals whose only punishment is to be deprived of immortality.
The paradox: the people of MaxSec are reportedly happier, freer, and more innovative than the people of the City.
The story: Fenthree is a somewhat cynical citydweller, blackmailed into infiltrating MaxSec to find its secrets. He is quickly found out and imprisoned, to be an unwitting vessel for MaxSec's revenge on the outside world.
From there, the perspective of the story grows, now including Corrigan, strongman of MaxSec who is the architect of the retribution plan. To Linnaeus Ganzer, nearly 400 years old, developing the creeping death for Corrigan's plan. To Luz, the last lovely woman in MaxSec, catalyst to plans within plans.
A meandering, occasionally flippant, occasionally opaque piece, Gotlieb's is an interesting counterpoint to last month's "The Rock", covering the concept of a coordinated prison exile a la Australia of a couple centuries ago. That it also manages to make some interesting comments on the effects of immortality on society at the same time is impressive, although the two speculative threads do not interweave perfectly.
Three stars.
How to Kidnap a Moon, by Robert S. Richardson
Richardson is an astronomer whom we normally find in the pages of Analog. This article details the energy concerns for bringing the two moons of Mars into orbit around the Earth for easier access.
There isn't much discussion of how one might practically arrange such things—it's all just orbital mechanics and erg tabulations. It is also unclear how it would be easier to bring the rocks here for investigation rather than exploring them in situ. On the other hand, if we're ever to mine Phobos and Deimos (or by extension, any of the asteroids), I suppose there might be merit to bringing the planetoids home. If anything, they could be hollowed out and turned into natural space stations.
Anyway, three stars.
Broke and Hungry, No Place to Go, by Ron Goulart
A man whose job is to tell the computer which unnecessary mouths on the dole to eliminate (in the pursuit of efficiency) finds that he is now on the chopping block.
This is the kind of minor tale we might have found in one of the minor magazines last decade. Ron is phoning it in.
Two stars.
For Your Information (Galaxy Magazine, November 1969), by Willy Ley
In this posthumous piece, Willy Ley discusses the suggestion that the death of the dinosaurs was caused by an excess of radiation—from the periodic flipping of the magnetic poles or the explosion of a nearby supernova. He seems unconvinced, and he even goes so far as to say that the extinctions might not even have been that sudden.
Another bleak man-on-the-dole story. This time, a fellow who is dissatisfied with having nothing meaningful to do, decides to go to the last natural preserve in the country. It is a 10 mile by 10 mile stretch of wilderness with none of the comforts of home. When he decides he isn't enjoying being cold and hungry any more than he was enjoying being bored and fed, he tries to summon a recovery robot. But his call bracelet doesn't work…may never have been designed to work. A trap to weed out malcontents?
Mack Reynolds has extrapolated this kind of world with far more success, and Bob Sheckley has written satires like this with far more wit and barb. Spinrad can be great, but this is lesser Spinrad.
Last up, a very short final installment of the third (or second, depending on how you count them) Dune book. The plotters against Paul Atreides offer him a ghola (resurrected clone) of the newly dead Chani, Paul's true love. Knowing this will make Muad'Dib a thrall to the shadowy interests of a myriad of anti-Imperial organizations, Paul refuses. Then he goes out into the desert to die, as is the fitting end for blind Fremen. The Emperor leaves behind a newborn pair of twins, one male and one female, both fully sapient in the same manner that Paul's sister was conceived, Alia's mother having been high on the spice melange at the time.
In the end, this is very much a bridge book. All of its bits could have been condensed to a five-page faux encyclopedia article included at the beginning of the next book, with very little action and not a whole lot of interest, save the mildly engaging Duncan Idaho/Hayt bits in the last installment.
So, two stars for this bit and two stars overall. Just read the summarizing precis (almost as long as this last installment!) and the few pages of the story in this issue, and you'll be fine.
A Cautious Look to the Future
It's even harder to read the tea leaves when it comes to the future of Galaxy. On the one hand, by the numbers, this issue didn't crack three stars. On the other, the Silverberg could become a knockout, the Herbert is (blessedly) over, the Gottlieb was interesting, if not stellar (and the first woman-penned piece in how long?), and the Ellison was unusually excellent. Ley is dead, and that is a blow, but perhaps Richardson will replace him. His article certainly seems like an audition, though it wasn't as good as other pieces by him I've read in, say, Analog.
So, for news on Haynsworth and news on Galaxy… I guess we're playing the waiting game!
Every four years, Americans head to the polls to vote for who they want to lead the Free World. At least, that's what they think they're doing. What really happens is your vote determines if your choice for President wins your state. And then, representatives of the states, the so-called "Electoral College", announce who they've been empowered to choose. Technically, these representatives are not bound to uphold the will of the voter; in practice, bucking the election results has been for protest rather than consequence.
This means that the swingier the state and the bigger the state, the more attention it will get. For instance, California, somewhat evenly divided between Democrats and Republicans, and currently the most populous state in the Union, is more important to a candidate than, say, a reliable and sparsely settled state like Arizona.
No more? This week, the House passed a proposed amendment to the Constitution that would make Presidents directly electable. This would mark the first major change to the system since 1803.
It looks like half the Senate is in favor, but it will take two thirds of that chamber plus three quarters of the states for the measure to go through. Opposing such reform are representatives of small states and rural areas, as they wish to retain their outsized impact on the process. With the rapid rate of urbanization, particularly on the coasts, this proposed amendment threatens to wipe out the electoral relevance of most of the central region of our country, from the Rockies to the Mississippi.
But that's precisely why the time for such an amendment has come, its advocates propose. People vote—not acres.
The bill faces an uphill battle, but it's an idea whose time has probably come.
Magazine by the Few
by Ronald Walotsky
Even with an Electoral College, with 50 states, you still get something approximating the will of the people. With a science fiction magazine, you've only got six to fourteen pieces. That means any individual story can dramatically affect your enjoyment of an issue, and the variations in quality can make for a wild ride. Such was my experience reading the latest Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction.
Susan Calvin, renowned roboscientist, has gone into semi-retirement, passing the torch to the new generation. Said successors develop a robot with flexible programming, one that can make free associations rather than rely on its own hard-coding. Its designers, all male, decide that such fuzzy thinking could only be ascribed to a female, and so they built the robot with feminine curves and a sexy contralto voice. JN-5, or "Jane", is a big hit with all the (male, of course) scientists and politicians.
Jane is employed to determine which of the 5500 stars with 80 light years of Earth would be most likely to be inhabitable so that humanity's limited interstellar capacity can be used most efficiently. Jane fingers three candidates, but she and her maker are killed in a freak accident. Only Susan Calvin can save the day.
The story drips with male chauvinism, but ultimately, that's the point. It's an uncomfortable ride, but wait for the end, which redeems the story.
A brilliant physicist discovers his wife has but one year to live. He builds a room in which time goes much more slowly so that he will have more time to discover a cure. When the wife gets lonely (since she's by herself for all of…what…a week?) the husband picks out a brilliant but plain woman to be his wife's companion.
Decades later, when the physicist discovers the cure, he returns to the room to find the two women making love. Jealously, he locks the room and accelerates time, leaving his wife to die, his wife's lover to live out the rest of her life with the corpse, and for both of them to be out of the physicist's ken in the blink of an eye.
I didn't like the story much when I read it, and now, having to revisit it for this summary, I realize that I hate it. Not just for the misogyny, but for the absurdity of the premise (there are no spinoff societal effects from inventing time control?!) and the laughability of the final insult—oh no! Wife is not only unfaithful but (whisper it) a homosexual!
A perennial extra, veteran of 450+ films, spends most of his life at the Silent Movies. He's not just reliving his glory days; it's how he can catch glimpses of his lost love, a fellow extra, who died in 1930, just as her career was beginning to take off.
The fellow knows every movie, every scene in which he and his girlfriend appeared. So why does she start showing up in films she never appeared in before, some that even date to before her start in show biz? And why does it seem she is mouthing messages for him alone? Is she enjoying a kind of celluloid life after death?
Once transportation via personal helicopter becomes a cheap and ubiquitous reality, everyone moves away from points north of 40 degrees latitude to reside in California, Florida, the Mediterranean, and other like climates. This is the tale of the last man in England, and the friend who tries to convince him to join the other emigrés.
I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop on this one—was the Earth growing cold? Had their been a calamity in the Northern Hemisphere? No. People were just leaving wholesale out of personal preference.
Never mind that some people like seasons. Never mind that the tropics can't fit all those people. Never mind that Aleuts and Laplanders haven't left their ancestral homes despite the capability of moving to town if they want to.
Lots of folks like Bradbury. Maybe I started on him too late.
Two stars.
by Gahan Wilson
Worlds in Confusion, by Isaac Asimov
Wherein the Good Doctor takes on Velikovsky and his ridiculous, religion-cloaked-in-pseudoscience tome, Worlds in Collision. Did Jupiter really eject Venus as a comet? Did that rogue planet stop the Earth in its tracks, causing no ill effects beyond the Ten Plagues and the pausing of the day at the Battle of Jericho? Do people really believe this claptrap?
Four stars.
by Chesley Bonestell
"Russian astronauts have arrived on the rim of Copernicus only to discover that the Americans have already been there …"
A mission to Jupiter finds the gas giant teeming with life. On the Moon, a giant black edifice (made by people, not aliens) sifts human dreams, becoming the repository for archetypes—the goal to find a solution to strife and hatred in the world. On Earth, the globe is split between Communist, Free, and Black domains. The "Free" world is highly regimented, with children taken from their parents after a decade, and marital partners divorced on the same schedule.
Our protagonists, such as they are, are neurotic Westciv citizens, adapted, but not adjusted, to the new way of life. Their collected dreams represent the only way out of the mess technology has gotten us into.
What a lousy story this is. Turgid, mock-momentous claptrap. Budget Ballard. Thoroughly unentertaining, its message buried, and not a lick of science to be found in this so-called science fiction. I recognize that the definition of the genre now goes beyond nuts-and-bolts engineering stories to include softer sciences like psychology and sociology, and that the New Wave is an experiment in bringing a degree of literary-ness to SF, but this is too much of a thing.
A brilliant engineer-turned-hippie stumbles upon the principle of perpetual motion. In order to keep the discovery from being used for evil, he leaves his life of Bohemian idyll, cuts off his hair, and Makes it Big. Thus armored in respectability, he carefully manages the revolution's global introduction, ensuring peace and propserity for all humanity.
Upon returning to the backwoods town where he left his lady love and a life of languor, his erstwhile paramour chides him for selling his soul for progress when he could have had love.
This is the sort of story Lafferty or Davidson might have played more for laughs, Sheckley more for bitterness. Sturgeon presents it completely straight, and as always, he writes pretty well. His statement seems to be: rather than just be nice and preach love, actually do something to make the world better.
On the surface, he has a point. Free love is all very nice, but aren't those dirty hippies really just parasites on real working society? On the other hand, Sturgeon rigs the deck. His hero discovers the patently impossible after a few days' work. Moreover, there are plenty of believers in the hippie ethic who are working, giving, and improving the world. It's a mentality, not a nationality.
Sturgeon, who predates the Swinging Sixties, obviously bears some resentment toward the new crowd. Kicking straw men is not the answer.
Mr. Poole, executive of a powerful corporation, is in a flying-car accident. When he regains consciousness, he finds he is not a human at all but an "electric ant"—an android. Designed to be a figurehead, all of his memories are programmed, his life a lie.
He becomes determined to find the nature of his ongoing programming and discovers that there are no further limits on his thoughts and activities. He does, however, discover a punched tape spool that controls his sensory input. Poole begins fiddling with it, altering his subjective reality. His ultimate goal is to experience everything in the universe at once, something he thinks, as a robot, he can handle better than a human might.
Dick once again turns in a story about a middle-aged man going through an existential crisis. There is also the drug-use metaphor (Dick is into uppers, I understand). It doesn't make the most sense—the ant's reality is subjective, but the external universe also exists, so what, exactly does the tape spool control? Poole is determined to find out, taking himself on a psychedelic, 2001-esque journey whose mission is to prove or disprove Solipsism. I feel Dick takes the easy, the obvious way out, at the very end.
Niven returns to the realm of fantasy, but this time, with a completely new character and setup. Hanville Svetz is a hapless time traveler from more than a thousand years from now. Hailing from a polluted, dictatorial future, he has been sent back to 1200 AD to find an extinct beast for the Secretary General's zoo—a simple horse.
What Svetz actually finds, and the troubles that befall him on his quest are interesting and delightful. There is a deft, sardonic touch to this story, and room has been left for many follow-ups. I look forward to them.
Four stars.
Science Fiction for the woodpile
As with last month, the latest F&SF finished on the wrong end of the 3-stars mark. Though F&SF is the shortest of the SF digests, it took me the longest to finish. I just wasn't looking forward to it. I can see why my nephew, David, canceled his subscription a few years back. It's a pity that this twentieth anniversary issue is so dismal compared to the ones that came out when the magazine was young. That said, hope springs eternal, and I would hate to miss stories like Get a Horse!.
I just wish my job would let me skip the stories I don't like…
Over here in Britain the summer season is truly with us. Doctor Who is taking its annual break, the temperature reached 88 recently, and the free concerts in Hyde Park are in progress, having so far featured such performers as Donovan, Richie Havens, The Rolling Stones and the new merger of Traffic and Cream (tentatively called Blind Faith).
Clapton, Baker, Grech and Winwood jam together in the park
In this kind of heat, I personally find there is nothing better than setting up a blanket in the garden and reading a short story collection. Thankfully, I recently got hold of two I was interested in.
I will start with the angriest young man of Science Fiction, Harlan Ellison:
His introduction seems to be primarily aimed at critics that try to apply easy labels to his fiction like avant-garde, new wave, or sci-fi (this last apparently coming in vogue with mainstream critics over the more common SF from fan circles). Whilst I get his point that it can be reductive to simply group J. G. Ballard and Samuel R. Delany together as if the were two pulp hack writers pumping out the same work, I also think there is value to talking about how this new type of fiction differs from what came before.
I also think Ellison is just being his usual grouchy self.
The Beast That Shouted Love at the Heart of the World
The titular story in this collection was previously published in Galaxy last year. However, Ellison was so unhappy with his changes, he has vowed to never write for Pohl again. Then again, given that Pohl is not actually an editor anymore that seems like an easy promise to keep.
I have read the piece three times and I am not sure what to make of it. It seems to posit madness coming from somewhere outside of us, Crosswhen (which seems to be either alternate timelines or another dimension) but yet also at the beginning of the universe.
In addition there are only 2 very minor edits made between this version and the magazine. One is changing one word to give clarity of linear time, the other is a paragraph describing the creature being placed in amber. These clearly were meaningful enough to cause a major fallout between Pohl and Ellison but the reason for this is a mystery to me.
Two stars, I guess?
Along the Scenic Route
To the best of my knowledge this is original to this collection, although it may have appeared in one of the “adult” magazines he sometimes writes for.
In this future, the freeways have become a battleground, where drivers duel in customised cars. When an ordinary driver is annoyed by the top ranked duellist in the world, he becomes involved in the conflict.
As a non-driver, I rarely relate to stories involving cars and this is no exception. It seems to be saying something about the stress and competition of driving the L.A. freeways, but I am honestly unsure what.
Two Stars
Phoenix
From the March edition of If. Red travels across the desert, determined to complete the expedition with one member already dead.
A disappointing effort from Ellison that started out in an interesting literary style but became cliché driven and dull by the end.
David gave this a low three stars, but I will drop it down to two.
Asleep: With Still Hands
Once again, a piece emerging out of the pages of If (Last July). For six centuries the Sleeper has sat at the bottom of the Sargasso sea, keeping the peace of the world. Any thoughts of war can be stopped by his telepathy. However, a specially trained group are determined to free the world from this Sleeper.
This feels to me like a drawn out version of Harry Lime’s speech in The Third Man:
In Italy, for thirty years under the Borgias, they had warfare, terror, murder and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and the Renaissance. In Switzerland, they had brotherly love, they had five hundred years of democracy and peace – and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock
Atmospheric but not as deep as Ellison clearly thinks it is.
In this case I will stick to David’s 3 stars, albeit a low one.
Santa Claus vs. S. P. I. D. E. R.
This came in last year’s festive themed issue of F&SF. To most people, Kris Kringle is a jolly fellow who makes toys, however he lives a double-life as a secret agent. He is brought in to bring down an extra-terrestrial threat taking over America’s top politicians, known only as S.P.I.D.E.R.
Joke stories are always going to be subjective. Whilst I understood the satirising going on, it didn’t really appeal to my sensibilities.
I am with our editor on the rating of Three Stars.
The Pitll Pawob Division
From the December issue of If, it tells the story of an encounter with a strange egg.
Honestly just feels empty, over-described and lacking substance.
One Star
The Place with No Name
This one was only just published in last month’s F&SF. In order to escape from the law, Norman Mogart accepts a mission from an indescribable entity, which will involve him travelling into the jungle to a place with no name.
Not quite one that I would have expected from Ellison, instead what Philip K. Dick might have written for 1930s Weird Tales. Whilst a little odd, it still had a strong sense of atmosphere that pulled me along.
I agree with our esteemed editor’s ranking of Four Stars.
White on White
Apparently, this one was previously published in men’s magazine Knight, but is certainly new to me. I was also initially confused if it was meant to be linked to the prior story (but I do not believe so).
A gigolo is staying with the Countess on the Aegean when she decides to climb a mountain. Going to the top he finds a surprising example of true love.
A vignette lower on SF and high on taboos. Reminds me of the weaker stories in recent issues of New Worlds.
One Star
Run for the Stars
For the next few we are jumping back to the earlier days of Harlan’s career, with this tale from 1957. Earth is at war with the Kyban empire. Talent, a drug addict, is forced by the resistance into a desperate gambit to defeat the alien invaders. To be turned into a human bomb.
This is the second longest piece in the collection but it took me the longest to read because I found I would keep losing interest and just skim read over sections. It is not terrible and asks some interesting questions, but it is too long and his style is yet to mature.
Two Stars
Are You Listening?
I was surprised to see this 1958 story here as you can still get it in Earthman Go Home (the paperback title for Ellison Wonderland). Albert Winsocki wakes up one day to discover that people can no longer see or hear him, what has happened?
Ellison does good work creating the atmosphere of panic here, however the point is made very clumsily. Not one of his better works.
Three Stars
S.R.O.
We are finishing our late 50s trilogy with this tale from 1957’s Amazing. An alien spaceship lands in the middle of New York. But rather than invading, they appear to simply want to put on a show. Of course, there are always people on hand to make money from such an opportunity.
Similar to the previous tale, Ellison creates a good atmosphere but the points being made are nowhere near as skilful. Enjoyable in a 50s Galaxy kind of way.
Three Stars
Worlds to Kill
Back to more recent tales, with this one from If in March 1968. It follows crippled mercenary Jared and his battles around the universe.
As you would expect from Ellison, this is not John Carter of Mars. Instead, it is a dark and cynical take on the universe. It doesn’t quite have enough meat on its bones for me but is still pretty good.
Rudy has finally gotten out of the army on medical, only to find his fiancée Kris in a marijuana-drenched squat in downtown LA. Is he just not “with it” anymore? Or is something more sinister going on?
This won a Galactic Star so clearly many of my fellow Journeyers believe it is a five-star story. Personally I am keeping it at Four Stars.
A Boy and His Dog
By far the longest story in the collection is an expansion of the novelette version published in New Worlds recently. In a post-nuclear world, a boy, Vic, and his canine meet a young woman, Quilla, and follow her to a secret underground city.
There is no real difference in the story other than verbosity. To take one example, here is the New Worlds text:
Blood and I crossed the street and came up in the blackness surrounding the building, it was what was left of the YMCA.
And here is the unedited text in this collection:
Blood and I crossed the street and came up in the blackness surrounding the building. It was what was left of the YMCA.
That meant “Young Men’s Christian Association”. Blood taught me to read.
So what the hell was a young men’s christian association. Sometimes being able to read makes more questions than if you were stupid.
The full text adds slightly more texture to the world but does not actually advance anything. So it probably depends if you like even more Harlan for your buck or prefer him in small doses.
Personally, I give both versions Four Stars.
So, whilst it may be Ellison’s biggest collection, these are not necessarily his best stories. What it does do well is it shows his range, from simple didacticism to the obscure. From only marginally SFnal tales to alien wars. Maybe he has a point that he isn’t just an avant-garde new wave sci-fi writer?
New Writings in SF-15, Ed. By John Carnell
With more volumes than many monthly magazines manage, New Writings continues on. This time the theme is psychological. How do Carnell’s crew deal with this one?
Report from Linelos by Vincent King
Probably my favourite writer from these pages returns with a more experimental story than usual. These are the tapes of two consciousnesses:
Consciousness A: The internal monologue of an energy being that believes itself to be a God
Consciousness B: A tale of Linelos, a strange world where Arthurian knights go on quests with machine guns, dodging napalm dropped from biplanes.
What do these two narratives have to do with each other? And what could they mean?
I am always happy to see authors stretch themselves. King continues with his trademark medieval-futurism but adds new stylistic touches to it. And even though the explanation at the end combines two of the standard twists of the genre, he does so elegantly, such that I did not suspect them before I was told.
Five Stars
The Interrogator by Christopher Priest
Whilst this young fan had appeared in a couple of issues of Impulse he recently declared his intention to focus on professional writing. If this story is anything to go by, he has a good career ahead of him
Dr. Elias Wentick was stationed in the Antarctic when a mysterious government man named Astroude approached him about identifying a strange jet fighter. Now he finds himself in an otherwise empty prison. He will occasionally be interrogated, with Astroude wanting the answer to apparently pointless questions.
As you can probably tell this draws a lot from Darkness at Noon and The Trial, but it has a great atmosphere and enough original touches to stand out.
A high four stars
When I Have Passed Away by Joseph Green
Green has been writing for the US magazines for the last few years; nice to see him back here.
At Outworld University on Earth, two humans, Halak and Caal, had become inseparable from two She’waan, Phe’se and Princess Sum’ze. One day, the two She’waan abruptly leave without explanation. Four years later, Caal receives a message from Sum’ze (now Queen) that she desperately needs his help.
With Phe’se’s help they work in secret on the matriarchal world of Achernar Six. All She’waan women over thirty transform into gaseous clouds, a fate Halak and Caal are determined to save Phe’se from. However, as Queen Sum'ze lies dying, different factions are fighting to claim the throne for themselves.
This is the briefest summary I can manage to give of this tale but there is a lot more going on. It represents a fascinating combination of old and new. I was really impressed with the sense of wonder Green manages to evoke, reminiscent of Clark Ashton Smith, and it involves a number of concepts from the pulp era. However, it is also focussed on the development of women’s bodies and works as an interesting metaphor on how women of a certain age are treated by society at large.
Four Stars
Symbiote by Michael G. Coney
To the best of my knowledge this is a debut piece from Coney, presaging what I hope will be a great career.
On an alien world the humans find the Chintos, monkey-like creatures that become incredibly popular as pets on Earth. Soon everyone has one riding on their shoulders. Centuries later humans have become like beasts of burden for their host Chintos, who now do all the thinking and humans all the movement. We follow census taker Joe-Tu as they arrive in a village that is faced with flooding.
This marks an interesting reversal of some conventional concepts of SFnal storytelling. Firstly, instead of humanity’s bodies being diminished by machines, it is our minds as that are diminished as the Chintos do our thinking for us and we simply play. Secondly, the Chintos are not parasitic invaders, but a result of mankind’s folly who feel sorry for and want to help us. The ending is a little weaker than I would like, but the piece is a very good first effort.
Four Stars
The Trial by Arthur Sellings
The late great author apparently still has a few stories left to be published. In this future the Galactic Council, largely run by Earth, controls many worlds. The only rivals to their power they have found are the Vyrnians, gangly purple humanoids nicknamed Hoppos. When one Vryn is arrested and put under a truth drug, he reveals himself to be a missing human space captain and is put on trial for treason. But how did this happen? And why?
This is a fascinating piece critiquing colonialism; however, your enjoyment of this will probably depend on how much you like courtroom dramas. Thankfully, I find great pleasure in them.
Five Stars
Therapy 2000 by Keith Roberts
Since the collapse of Science Fantasy/Impulse, the former sub-editor has remained largely absent from the SF scene. Even if he is not always my favourite author, it is nice to see him back.
In a world filled with noise, ad man Travers is obsessed with trying to remove auditory sensation from his life, even to the extent of damaging his ears and angering everyone around him.
I personally suffer when there is an intensification of external stimuli so I related to the character of Travers. Whilst this story posits a future where the silence is only available to the rich, in modern metropolitan life it can still be hard to find five minutes of peace and quiet. Roberts is able to show that very well with his vivid descriptions. One of his better works.
Four Stars
And so another New Writings triumph under Carnell’s belt. Like the sunny weather we have been experiencing, long may it continue.
In just the last ten years of covering our trips to Japan as part of Galactic Journey, we have watched with amazement as Japan executed nothing short of a miracle. As of this year, the country is now the third largest economy in the world, and "Made in Japan" is no longer a stamp of poor quality. Datsuns are rolling off the assembly line by the thousands and ending up in American showrooms. The sky is dark with industrial smog. It's almost enough to eclipse the left-wing student protests that keep popping up around the nation.
Of course, Japan still has a ways to go, at least domestically. Fully a fifth of its population still is minimally housed, squatting in one-room shacks and waiting for the government to make good on its five year plan to give everyone a decent home.
One family that has no such difficult is the Fujiis, our adoptive parents, who we last visited five years ago! This trip was particularly exciting for reasons I shall detail shortly.
First, a picture of the flower shop on the way to their house. The town is Amagi, an agricultural town that specializes in grapes and persimmons.
And now the estate. It's laid out as a square with an internal garden. What's significant is that it dates back to the 1840s—a time when Japan was still ruled by a Shogun. The estate is essentially a relic, representative of a style that had not changed since Elizabethan times. At a time when so many of these historic residences are being torn down or falling apart, this one stands as a living treasure.
Yuko, our adoptive mom, gave Lorelei a set of Japanese watercolors, which she employed to draw the garden as she saw it.
The architecture of the place, alone, is remarkable. This is construction without nails, all of the timbers custom built and joined together.
What's inside is even more remarkable. The back house used to house a pawn shop. Even the boxes are more than a century old.
This dress was made by a princess.
And this kimono was hocked by a penniless samurai for a little cash. Apparently, this happened a lot.
This is century-old paper, also sold by a samurai. Among the sheets was a paper mock-up of a hakama, the armor the samurai wore.
This is in the house. Yukio, Yuko's husband, was a Kyoto cop before he retired. This relic, however, long pre-dates him—it's the kind of lantern used by police in the 19th Century!
I hope you enjoyed this little excursion into the past. Now for a trip into the future…and regions fantastic!
Leiber of the party
Every summer, The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction dedicates an issue to science fiction luminary. For the July 1969 edition, that fellow is Fritz Leiber. His name is rarely mentioned in the same breath as, say, Heinlein or Asimov, though he is their contemporary (more or less), but when he's good he's very good. Does he make this issue stand out? Let's see!
First up, a brand new piece by the man, himself. It stars Spar and his talking cat, Kim. No, this isn't a fantasy, but a highly personal adventure of an old man living in weightlessness aboard some sort of spaceship. Most of the folks onboard have forgotten about Earth, and there now appear to be eldritch beings aboard—werewolves and vampires—making prey out of those who remain.
Things I liked: the setup is revealed slowly, and it's the first story I've read from the point of view of someone who desperately needs glasses…but doesn't know it. And there is that characteristic Leiber poesy to the writing.
Things I didn't like: the story moves glacially, and I didn't feel like it told anything new. I kept finding myself distracted every two or three pages.
So…three stars, I guess.
Fritz Leiber (profile), by Judith Merril
Famed writer and anthologist (and book reviewer) Judy Merril gushes over her hero, Fritz Leiber. Half biography, half hagiography, half history of SF, it's a worthy piece, especially if you want to be introduced to his early work (and happen, like me, to own a complete set of Unknown).
Four stars.
Demons of the Upper Air, IIX, by Fritz Leiber
A pretty good poem about our first interstellar astronauts, told from the point of view of someone stuck on the ground.
Three stars.
Fritz Leiber: A Bibliography, by Al Lewis
As it says on the tin—no more, and no less.
(no rating)
by Gahan Wilson
To Aid and Dissent, by Con Pederson
It's easy to get in trouble out Mars or asteroids way. To that end, a fleet of sherpas has been bred—literally. These rescue ships, which sacrifice themselves upon landing to deposit air and victuals, comprise a row of linked simian brains inside a spacecraft shell. Think the ape version of The Ship Who… series. Sherpa Bravo one day decides he's sick of being aynyone's monkey and launches a one-primate civil rights revolution.
Norman Mogart was an Entertainment Liaison Agent. Pfui. He was a pimp. When he gets into trouble with the law there's no way out of, he makes a deal with…well…not quite the Devil…and finds himself hip-deep in two of the biggest martyr legends of history.
The first half is excellent and pure Ellison. The second changes the tone so sharply, beware of whiplash. It ends poignantly enough, but the two halves don't quite mesh.
As is usually the case—Ellison consistently produces what are, for me, three-and-a-quarter star stories…round to four stars?
Transgressor's Way, by Doris Pitkin Buck
A knight errant proves to be anything but a knight bachelor—his modus operandi is to shamelessly seduce young maids and then bunk them all in separate towers for him to enjoy at his leisure. But what if they should discover each other?
This story is told in too confusing a shorthand, and it is too frivolous in substance, to earn more than two stars from me.
An interesting, behind-the-scenes look at what goes on in the minds of the three astronauts who get sent in the Apollo. It's not bad, but Barry isn't very well in touch with the actual space program. One telltale: he assumes that the spacemen have little to do between TV shots. In fact, they are kept too busy—indeed, both the Apollo 7 and 10 commanders cut pages out of their assignments because the astronauts were overworked and making mistakes (as anyone who regularly watched coverage of either of these flights should know – Ed).
Three stars.
Two at a Time, by Isaac Asimov
In which the Good Doctor explains how we measure the mass of planets by observing their effect on each other (specifically, the common elliptical focus around which they both orbit). Several pages that could be reduced to one or two lines of formulae, but he looks to be setting something up.
Three stars.
Litterbug, by Tony Morphett
Finally, a fun piece about a fellow named Rafferty who invents a teleporter. Problem is, he can't control where things go, and he can't bring them back. Solution: market the thing as a garbage can.
Problem 2: What happens when aliens at the destination get annoyed at all the litter on their planet?
Three stars.
Lifeless
At least for me, my real life excursion was more interesting than the flights of fancy I took while riding the trains. With the exception of Merril's piece, the rest is pretty forgettable. Well, I suppose you won't forget the Emshwiller cover anytime soon. Anyway, next time I'll be reading F&SF, it'll be in the endotic locale of my home town. May the contents of the August issue be just as different from July's as the Orient is to Southern California.
As I mentioned last month, this issue begins yet another new era for New Worlds. With the retirement of Mike Moorcock and Charles Platt from full-time editorialship in the last issue, it is Langdon Jones that steps up to the mark as editor this time.
For that reason alone, it should be an interesting one, but last month’s issue also pointed out that the April issue was going to have an apocalyptic theme:
The named list from last month.
With Mike Moorcock’s Jerry Cornelius saving the world from destruction, the advert proudly declared, “Is The Apocalypse Already Upon us??” Gone is the optimistic, forward-looking shiny and new future as suggested by the SF of the 1950’s, and in its place we have post-apocalyptic gloom, doom, decay and squalor. It has been an ongoing theme in the magazine for the last few years.
To be fair, the white cover with a minimalist approach to titling and imagery, this month by the recently deceased Mervyn Peake, does not give an impression of 'gloom and doom'. Far from it. I found it more interesting than the recent generic covers. A good start.
Lead In by The Publishers
Much is made of the fact that this issue has the UK debut of the US’s enfant terrible Harlan Ellison.
In a post-apocalyptic US we are told of teenager Vic and his telepathic dog, Blood. Vic is a teenage boy who spends his time scavenging the world for basic needs—food, companionship, and sex—as well as generally avoiding other groups, known as roverpaks, doing the same thing. They meet Quilla June – unusual because most women live where it is safer, underground. Vic rapes Quilla June before they are attacked by another roverpak. Blood is hurt in the scuffle. Quilla June escapes and returns to her underground home of Topeka.
Determined to get food and find Quilla June, Vic leaves Blood on the surface and follows Quilla June underground, to discover that bringing Vic underground was the original plan by the subterranean city elders. New blood (see what Ellison did there?) is needed to replenish the depleted stock of men! Vic sees this as a great opportunity for sex with lots of different women, but soon tires of being basically a sex slave. He escapes back to the surface with Quilla June, only to find Blood hurt and in need of food to survive. The open ending leaves Vic with a quandary – does he leave Blood or feed Blood?
This one should activate all the seismic shockmeters: there’s sex, masturbation, rape, gore, violence, cannibalism, radioactive mutations and a distinct lack of morals and ethics as Vic and Blood try to survive. (It's a little concerning when I'm told that Ellison used his own dealings with gang culture in the US as inspiration for this story.)
As good as it is, that’s not to say that there aren't worrying elements – Quilla June’s change from rape victim to willing participant is a little jarring to me, but to some extent this reflects the brutal society Vic and Blood live in and the amoral stance that Vic has towards life. Unsurprisingly, when presented with a version of what pre-War domesticity is like, he rebels and runs away back to his previous life.
Undoubtedly memorable and a million miles away from the classic hero template of older SF work, A Boy and his Dog reinvents the apocalyptic adventure story and generally holds up. I found it bold, interesting, lively and yes, controversial. As good as Delany’s Time Considered as a Helix of Semi-Precious Stonesback in the December issue. 5 out of 5.
The Ash Circus by M. John Harrison
And here’s M. John Harrison’s take on Michael Moorcock’s Jerry Cornelius (more of which later.) They do say that imitation is the best form of flattery, and here Harrison copies the beginning of Ian Fleming’s James Bond movie You Only Live Twice before having Jerry return to a decaying London, then travel to Scotland and Manchester to become inspired by Byron and then get involved in a putsch in London, before meeting the authoritarian Miss Brunner again.
It’s actually not bad as a mixture of James Bond and The Avengers television series, with the dark humour of Cornelius coming to the fore, but it is less out-there than Moorcock’s own Cornelius material (again – more of which later.) This may, of course, make the story more readable than some of Jerry’s other esoteric stories. 4 out of 5.
How the Sponsors Helped Out by Anthony Haden-Guest
Poetry – or rather a list of different things sent by companies to ‘The Front’ – Hamleys sent toys, IBM sent a brain, and so on. This being New Worlds the poem doesn’t miss throwing out a few choice expletives in the mixture – guess what Playboy sent? I dare not repeat the word here. Mildly amusing. 3 out of 5.
Labyrinth by D. M. Thomas
More poetry. Described as ‘a poem for light and movement’, Thomas manages to produce strange typewritten boxes that are at times undecipherable. A typical ‘form over content’ type piece. 2 out of 5.
Another one of Ballard’s stories where novels are compressed into paragraphs. The clever part is that each paragraph begins with the letters of the alphabet. Described as ‘An Entertainment for George MacBeth’, this one reads like the description of an exotic holiday beach party and also feels, rather oddly at times, like a James Bond plot – not the first time I’ve thought that for this issue. One of the more enjoyable of Ballard’s recent stories for me, perhaps because it feels a little more like the material Ballard was writing when I first noticed him. 4 out of 5.
Inside by J. J. Mundis
The inevitable 'naked lady of the month' picture.
Another strange story from J J Mundis after the rather odd ‘Luger’ story last month. This time, a depressing stream of consciousness story that’s all sex, drugs and allegory about being empty inside. Nothing really worth remembering. 2 out of 5.
For Czechoslovakia by George MacBeth
Yet more poetry, this time from the poet J. G. Ballard wrote for earlier. As expected, it is dark, gloomy and depressing, combining prose passages from The Diary of a German Soldier, written in 1939 interspersed with verses written by MacBeth using the process of automatic writing. I’m intrigued by the process, if less impressed by the poetry. 3 out of 5.
After Harrison’s version, we now return to the originator of the Jerry Cornelius stories.
More artwork by Mal Dean.
This month Jerry continues his meandering travels across time with Karen von Krupp to try and find Bishop Beezley. Lots of prose in small sections (with even an homage of J. G. Ballard in Ballard style lists of text), whose connections are rather obtuse, lots of sex and Miss Brunner – again! (see also M. John Harrison’s story.)
The plot’s undecipherable, but I feel that this is one you appreciate for the enthusiastic energy rather than the plot. Who knows what’s going on, but the writer clearly had fun writing it. 4 out of 5.
Book Reviews
A Turning World by Brian W. Aldiss
Where Aldiss muses on how perspectives change through time, throwing in a couple of reviews along the way – basically, a discussion on how others might see us in the future.
The Cannon Kings by Joyce Churchill
Referring to recent publications, Joyce Churchill (also known as M. John Harrison) writes about the importance of Germany’s armaments manufacturers in the first half of the 20th century.
A Slight Case of Tolkien by James Cawthorn
It is left to James Cawthorn to review the genre books. This month he looks at Jack Vance’s Catch A Falling Star, Robert Burnet (sic) Swann’s Moondust, Shirley Jackson’s The Sundial, Clifford Simak’s So Bright the Vision coupled with Jeff Sutton’s The Man Who Saw Tomorrow, James Blish and Norman L. Knight’s A Torrent of Faces, Ron Goulart’s ‘light-hearted’ The Sword Swallower and a well-deserved reprint of William Hope Hodgson’s horror classic, The House on the Borderland.
Summing Up
This one’s heavy on the espionage Bond-type vibes this month, what with not one but two Jerry Cornelius stories and a Ballard that reads like a Bond story in a Ballard style. As a first issue of the new regime with Langdon Jones as editor, it is not bad – although it may have been better had the Cornelius stories been spread out across different issues. Personally I like the stories, but they're not for everyone, and there's a lot of it here.
But then there’s the Harlan Ellison story that surpassed even my high expectations of his work. If the 'impending apocalypse' is represented by this story, then it's a memorable one to be sure, if decidedly downbeat. According to Ellison, the future is dark and tough.
I can’t see this one being published in the US in the usual science fiction magazines, but even allowing for its deliberate shock tactics, it really impressed – much more than say Bug Jack Barron, which tried to shock readers in a similar way, I think.
If I needed anything to show how much the British genre scene has changed in the last few years, this would be my example, albeit written by an American. Shocking and controversial, yes – but perhaps the best story I’ve read in New Worlds to date. A real coup for the new editorship.
When Ireland gained independence in 1922, six predominantly Protestant counties in the north of the island opted to remain part of the United Kingdom, forming what is today known as Northern Ireland. In the almost 50 years since the partition, there have been tensions both between the two parts and within Northern Ireland between those who want a unified Ireland—predominantly Irish Catholics—and those who prefer the status quo: predominantly Protestants whose ancestors emigrated from Scotland. There have been riots and armed attacks over the decades, but the last few years have been relatively peaceful.
Irish Catholics in the north face discrimination in housing and employment, their political power is diluted by carefully drawn electoral districts, and they are grossly underrepresented in the police, which are backed by Protestant paramilitary units. In the last few years, a civil rights campaign has developed in an effort to right these wrongs. The first of several civil rights marches took place last August. In October, a march took place in Londonderry (called by its older name of Derry by the Irish) despite being denied permission. Television cameras caught images of police attacking the peaceful marchers, sparking outrage around the world.
Spurred by those images, a group of students at Queen’s University in Belfast formed People’s Democracy. On New Year’s Day, they began a march from Belfast to Derry, in imitation of Dr. King’s Selma to Montgomery marches. Along the way, they were met by counter-protests and occasionally attacked. On the 4th, as they approached a bridge in the village of Burntollet a few miles outside Derry, they were attacked by 200-300 Ulster Loyalists (a group not unlike the Citizens’ Councils in the American South) wielding stones, iron bars, and sticks spiked with nails. Meanwhile, the police stood by and did nothing.
Counter-protesters armed with sticks and iron bars attack civil rights marchers while the police look on
That evening, the police stormed into the Bogside neighborhood, attacking Catholics in and outside their homes. Residents forced the police out and set up barricades. Police were denied any access to “Free Derry,” as it came to be known, for nearly a week. Eventually, the barricades came down and police patrols resumed, but tensions remain high.
At this point, a political solution seems unlikely, certainly not one from the Parliament of Northern Ireland. Proposals thus far have been not enough for the nationalists and too much for the loyalists.
A winning issue
At the 1966 Worldcon, IF won the Hugo for Best Professional Magazine. To celebrate, editor Fred Pohl trumpeted a Hugo winner’s issue. He didn’t quite succeed; Frank Herbert wasn’t able to contribute due to a health issue, and the whole thing was weighed down by an installment of a not very good Algis Budrys serial. IF won again the next year, but there was no comparable issue. Last year, the magazine took its third straight best prozine Hugo, and Fred decided to try again. This time, he got every winner to contribute, and I do mean every. Even the winners in the fan categories are here. Let’s see how it all stacks up.
The Steel General rides again. Art by Best Professional Artist Jack Gaughan
Down in the Black Gang, by Philip José Farmer
Mecca Mike is a member of the black gang, the engine crew for The Ship. (That’s an old term for the coal-engine stokers that now refers to the whole engine crew; the reason it applies to Mike might be a little different.) A shortage of hands means that he gets reassigned to Beverly Hills when a huge thrust potential is discovered there. If he can successfully develop that potential, there’s a promotion in it for him.
The thrust potential is in one of these apartments full of squabbling neighbors. Art by Gaughan
Farmer was co-winner in the Best Novella category for “Riders of the Purple Wage.” He’s dabbling in metaphysics again, which seems to be a favorite topic of his, but much better than he usually does. He even managed to bring the story to a successful ending, something he often has trouble with. Great ideas, incomplete execution, but not this time. This one’s right on the line between three and four stars, but I think I’ll be generous.
Four stars, but probably not a contender for the Galactic Stars.
Phoenix Land, by Harlan Ellison
Red is staggering through the desert on an expedition to find the risen ruins of an ancient civilization. He’s already buried his best friend and is now saddled with an ex-girlfriend and her husband, who financed the expedition. Unfortunately, he cut some corners. Whether or not they survive is an open question.
Harlan came away with two Hugos: Best Short Fiction for “I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream” (which ran in the first Hugo winners issue I mentioned earlier) and Best Dramatic Presentation for “The City on the Edge of Forever” (which he’d probably rather not have). A lot of other winners and nominees also appeared in Dangerous Visions, which he edited. This particular story is full of that trademark Ellison anger, but the bite at the end doesn’t hit the way he wants it to.
A low three stars.
Authorgraphs: An Interview with Harlan Ellison
An interesting interview, but for a guy who can write tight, terse stories, he sure does like to run his mouth. Also, Harlan, my friend, you’re getting a little long in the tooth to be an enfant terrible.
Best Novella co-winner Anne McCaffrey (for “Weyr Search”) brings us another story about Helva, who is essentially a brain in a box operating a ship that has become her body. This time she’s investigating the disappearance of other brain ships while also dealing with the realization she made a bad choice in her new partner.
Helva has a chat with the bad guy. Art by Brock
Unfortunately, these stories have gotten progressively worse. They started from a very high mark, so they’re still readable, but this one barely makes the grade. Helva spends more time being unhappy about her choice of Brawn than she does worrying about disappearing ships. She succeeds mostly through coincidence and is unconscious for the key action.
The centaur-like Senechi have colonized Earth, trapped in a new ice age. Looking for a quick score, two of them are investigating native legends of a valley where it is always summer, full of gold and gems, and guarded by a goddess. To the man she has held captive for centuries, she is simply “the witch.” Who, if any, will manage to escape?
The witch turns the skeletons of those who invade her valley into golden ships. Art by Virgil Finlay
Redd is the only fiction author in this issue not to have won a Hugo. Powerful women in frozen landscapes seems to be a recurring theme with him, and all of his stories, on that theme or not, have a strange beauty to them. This one is no exception.
Four stars.
The Faithful Messenger, by George Scithers
George Scithers is the editor of Amra, which took home the Best Fanzine Hugo. Although he’s had stories printed in various fanzines over the years, this is his first professional sale, making him this month’s IF First author. As I understand it, Amra focuses on sword-and-sorcery tales; they carry a lot of critical articles on Conan and the like. Scithers’ story, on the other hand is more an old-fashioned SF tale of two human scouts encountering a robotic mailman on a distant planet. It’s well-told and nowhere near as hokey as it sounds.
Three stars.
Endfray of the Ofay, by Fritz Leiber
Someone is diverting supplies intended for poor Blacks to the white reservations around North America, always with the message “Courtesy of the Endfray of the Ofay!” When these antics start to interfere in the war “between North America and Africa to Make the World Safe for Black Supremacy,” the Empress in Memphis (the one in Tennessee) demands something be done.
Her Serene Darkness is displeased. Art by Gaughan
Fritz Leiber (Best Novelette for “Gonna Roll the Bones”) offers us another satire in the vein of A Specter is Haunting Texas. For me, this is much less successful. Most of the humor stems from the pun where Pig Latin and Black slang overlap, with very little elsewhere. I’m also not sure a white author should be poking into some of these corners. It’s often hard to tell if he’s mocking or perpetuating some stereotypes.
A low three stars.
If… and When, by Lester del Rey
Lester del Rey has never won a Hugo. Of course, he wrote most of his best stuff before the award existed. In any case, this month he looks at the differences between robots in the real world and in science fiction. Those in SF are much more mechanical men than machines. If we ever get machines that actually think, how might that differ from the way we do?
Three stars.
Saboteur, by Ted White
Mark Redwing has developed a method for manipulating public opinion and government policy through things like blackmail, riot, and assassination. It’s not entirely clear what his ultimate goal is. Nor is it clear just who the saboteur of the title might be.
Mark Redwing and his trusted assistant Linda. Art by Best Fan Artist George Barr
Ted White won the Hugo for Best Fan Writer. Even filthy pros still write for the fanzines occasionally. This story is fully in pro mode, and it’s a good one. It should make you think and come back to you when you least expect it.
Four stars.
Creatures of Darkness, by Roger Zelazny
Zelazny (Best Novel for Lord of Light) wraps up the issue and his strange tale of Egyptian gods who are actually human beings in the far future. It’s impossible to say much about this convoluted story in the space available here, but it has that quintessential Zelazny-ness to it. It’s probably best read along with the other two bits, since characters have more than one name, and it’s sometimes hard to remember who is who. There are also clearly pieces missing from a larger whole. I look forward to seeing it all in one place.
Four stars, with the potential for five when it’s complete.
Osiris brings his greatest weapon to bear against Typhon. Art by Reiber
Summing up
There it is, a contribution from every single one of last year’s Hugo winners, fan and pro. One or two feel a bit dashed off or could have benefited from more time for another rewrite, but none are bad. On the whole, it’s a success. If every issue could be this good, IF would be guaranteed to walk off with a fourth Hugo this year in St. Louis.
Has it been long enough since the last Retief story for a new one to feel fresh?
Few things excite the imagination more than adventures in space. In particular, we love to hear about doings in the cosmos that can't be done on Earth. And one of the main things we can't do on Earth is see the sky.
Oh sure, when you look out at the starry night, you think you're witnessing infinity. In fact, your eyes barely apprehend a tiny fraction of the electro-magnetic spectrum. We are blind to radio waves, to ultra violet, to X-rays, to infrared. Our sophisticated telescopes are similarly handicapped. Even the mighty 200 inch telescope on Mount Palomar can't see in most of light's wavelengths, for they are blocked by the Earth's atmosphere. In the X-ray, ultraviolet, infrared, and cosmic ray bands, the glass seeing-eye tubes are as sightless as we are.
Which is why the launch of the Orbiting Astronomy Observatory (OAO) on December 7, 1968, was such an exciting event. Dubbed "Stargazer", it is the very first space telescope.
Well, technically, it's the second. The first one went up on April 8, 1966, but its power supply short circuited shortly after launch, and it never returned any data. This is a shame, as there were some nifty experiments on board, including a gamma ray experiment similar to the one carried on Explorer 11, another gamma ray counter supplied by NASA's Goddard center, and a Lockheed-made X-ray counter. But, the main experiment, a set of seven telescopes designed to look in the ultraviolet spectrum, provided by the University of Wisconsin, was duplicated for OAO-2.
This telescope cluster will be used for long-term observation of individual stars, something that only recently became possible with the perfection of star tracking technology. In addition, the Smithsonian has provided an additional package of four telescopes for the investigation of large masses of stars, up to 700 per day, to get an overall UV map of the sky.
Think of how revolutionary it was when the first radio observatories began mapping the heavens. We learned about the existence of quasars and weird storms on Jupiter and also a lot more about the stars we had been observing visually for centuries. Stargazer is about to give us a whole new view of the universe.
That's exciting—truly science fiction made fact!
Jeepers Creepers
While we wait to see what excitement OAO 2 returns from the heavens, let's turn to the latest F&SF to see what terrestrial treasures await us this month.
We return to the world of "The Lady in the Tower", one of my favorite McCaffrey stories, for the lead story this issue.
Damia, the daughter of that first story's protagonist, is 20 and humanity's strongest telepath. As tempestuous as she is beautiful and brilliant, she has refused the attentions of men, holding out for something…better.
That's when she meets Sodan, an alien inexorably approaching the Terran sphere from far, intragalactic space. Thus ensues a completely mental courtship, and Damia becomes infatuated with the foreign entity. But Afra, an experienced mentalist, who has been secretly in love with Damia for ages, is suspicious. What if the being is simply manipulating Damia so that Earth's greatest defense will be neutralized?
The stage is set for a cosmic battle, and a realignment of Damia's priorities.
I really wanted to like this story. I was anticipating an "Is There in Truth no Beauty?" romance where two beings find love despite fundamental physical differences. Instead, the viewpoint shifts from Damia's to Afra's early on, and all we get is his certainty that Sodan is up to no good, which is vindicated. Then, after the battle, Damia realizes the worthy that's been under her nose this entire time and, of course, gives him her love.
Of late, there has been a shallowness to the emotion displayed in McCaffrey's writing that just puts me off. Also, a sort of petty volatility. All of her characters snipe at each other constantly. But the real nadir of the story comes at the end:
Shyly, her fingers plucking nervously at her blanket, Damia was unable to look away from an Afra who had altered disturbingly. Damia tried to contemplate the startling change. Unable to resort to a mental touch, she saw Afra for the first time with only physical sight. And he was suddenly a very different man. A man! That was it. He was so excessively masculine.
How could she have blundered around so, looking for a mind that was superior to hers, completely overlooking the fact that a woman's primary function in life begins with physical submission?
I feel like if Piers Anthony had written that, we'd have given him the Queen Bee. Two stars.
A Brook in Vermont, by L. Sprague de Camp
De Camp muses poetically on the Carboniferous, and what future beings, millions of years hence, will burn the coal being formed today.
I think the author missed a real opportunity to imply that we would be the anthracite mined in the far future, suggesting that we run the very real risk of leaving nothing to the ages but our combustibility.
Three stars as is.
by Gahan Wilson
Black Snowstorm, by D. F. Jones
This is nothing more, nothing less, than an extremely well-told story of a plague of locusts. There's no satire, no metaphor, no literary experiments. Both shoes drop simultaneously, though slowly, gradually, rivetingly.
Five stars.
Unidentified Fallen Object, by Sydney Van Scyoc
One day, a small UFO falls with the snow, and a precocious teen boy picks it up to examine. As he handles the small craft, flakes of it come off, perhaps sliding into his very pores. Soon, he begins to radiate a frightful miasma, inciting hatred in all approach him.
Including his teacher, who has also touched the fell ship…
"Object" is a chilling, effectively written little horror. It's not particularly to my taste, and it's a bit one-note, so it's just a three-star story for me. Others may find more to like (for those who enjoy a sense of dread).
How I Take Their Measure , by K. M. O'Donnell
In the future, everybody's on relief…or administering it. This is a little slice-of-life story about a sadistic relief worker, who gets off on the tenterhooks he hangs his relief applicants on. No Brock, George C. Scott's kindhearted social worker from East-Side, West-Side; this guy is a real bastard.
This is my favorite story about terminal unemployment that I've read since one in IF a decade ago (the one about the guy who gets a job tightening all the screws on the buildings in the cities—which have been systematically unscrewed by some other schnook the night before…).
Here's St. Nick like you've never seen him before. In the style of Ian Fleming's James Bond series (though not Edward S. Aaron's Sam Durrell, Harlan offers up Agent Kris Kringle, a hard-stomached, oversexed, lean killer whose red suit is filled with every lethal device known to Elfkind. His nemesis is S.P.I.D.E.R., an international organization devoted to evil. This time, their nefarious scheme involves mind control: they have brainwashed LBJ, HHH, Nixon, Daley, Reagan, and Wallace into doing the most horrid deeds, and only the jolly agent from the North Pole can defeat them.
Okay, it's a bunch of silly fluff, probably written between bonafide adventure yarns Ellison probably writes under another name like "Rod Richards" or "Length Peters". I did appreciate how every cruddy thing in the world is ultimately attributable to S.P.I.D.E.R.—humanity is basically good and cuddly. Only the nefarious "them" subvert our goodness.
I've often noted that comic books and spy novels offer an easy way out for readers. It's tough to deal with everyday problems, with economic malaise, with systemic issues that cause crime and misery. How much easier to topple the goon of the week to get our cathartic kicks. Ellison lets us know he understands the flavor of his own cheek with the subtlety within the broadness.
That said, it's a one-note joke, and once you've gotten the punchline, I don't think the story bears much rereading, especially since it is so very much of a very specific moment in our history (as Judith Merril notes in her book column, August 1968 already feels like an age ago).
Three stars.
The Dance of the Satellites, by Isaac Asimov
The Good Doctor continues his examination (see last month's piece) of what the Galilean moons of Jupiter might look like from the innermost moon, Amalthea. This time, he focuses on eclipses, the appearance of the moons in Jupiter-shine, and more.
Interesting cosmic data, of use to writers and laymen alike. Four stars.
The Legend and the Chemistry, by Arthur Sellings
The 3607th (or was it 3608th) interstellar exploration mission from Earth seems like it will be yet another humdrum operation. In all the expeditions, though many aliens have been found (most humanoid), all have been planetbound, none of them having reached our space traveling level of technology.
This latest planet is no exception, its humaniform denizens possessing a primitive tribal culture. But they have no less pride than any other race. What happens when the very existence of far superior beings constitutes an unpardonable affront? And who is responsible for the catastrophe that ensues?
A decent, moralistic yarn from the late, great Arthur Sellers. This may well be his last work published (unless he has a posthumous career like Richard McKenna) as he died recently. While Legend is not the best thing he's ever written, it has its own kind of power.
Three stars.
Wild ride
There are a lot of vicissitudes in this first F&SF of the year. The strong points cancel the weak points, and the magazine ends in positive territory, but because the lack of consistency makes things a bit sloggish.
Well, that's why I do this, right? To be your guide to ensure you only get the highlights!
The French economy has been rocky ever since the wave of strikes and protests in May. As a result, France has been getting more and more goods from its industrial neighbor, West Germany. The problem is France has to buy German goods in francs, which means that, more and more, francs are ending up in West German hands. Franc reserves, at $6.9 billion in April 1968, are now down to $4 billion and plummeting.
To forestall a devaluation of the franc (reducing its value, thus making imports more expensive and exports more affordable to other nations, but playing hell with international economic relations in the process), DeGaulle's government is evaluating all sorts of Hail Mary options to stabilize the economy. One that was rejected was the West German offer to invest directly in the French economy, which would leave them too in control of French assets (including the dwindling franc supply!) A proposal that was adopted was an increase in vehicle fuel costs; I gather fuel production is nationalized, and the government can't afford to sell it so cheaply.
But a sadder development involves the French post office-letters written to Santa Claus will no longer be answered. Previously, kids who wrote to St. Nick got a colorful postcard with a message of Christmas cheer. A West German offer to donate Elven postal braceros has been rejected.
Merry Christmas, indeed. Maybe DeGaulle should convert to Judaism. Then he can pray a great miracle will happen in Paris for Hannukah, and the franc reserve will last eight years instead of one…
Flickering candles
Here in the good old U.S. of A., we don't have such economic woes (though inflation is kicking in). All I have to worry about is whether the first Galaxy of the year is any good. In other words, has the value of the magazine been devalued? Let's find out!
On Titan, the alien machines (first seen six years ago in "The Towers of Titan") rumble on, their purpose unknown, as they have for millennia. Humanity, terrified of their implications, begins searching the stars for their creator. And so, one ship, the Carl Sagan, makes the 15 year trip to Sirius A-2, a barren but Earthlike world orbiting the blazing blue sun.
Sid Lee, an anthropologist onboard, is convinced that Earth once warred with the aliens who build the machines of Titan, and that humans lost, reverting to savagery. The crew of the Sagan are surprised not only to find a group of intelligent beings on the alien world, but that they are indistinguishable from Homo Sapiens Sapiens. Lee volunteers to live among them, hiding his extraterrestrial origin, to learn the truth of the Sirians, and how they fit into the ancient, hypothetical war.
by Reese
There's a lot to like about this piece, especially the methodical, painfully slow, expedition protocols. The crew wear suits when they go outside. Extreme caution is taken in scouting. It takes months before Lee is even allowed to infilitrate the aliens.
Bova reminds me a bit of Niven in his weaving together hard science fiction and a compelling story. However, the author does not have Niven's mastery of the craft, and the story feels a bit clunky. Moreover, the "revelations" of the tale are telegraphed, and the red herrings Bova throws in to keep the mystery going are not convincing.
I enjoyed the story, but it's difficult to decide if it's a high 3 or a low 4. I think I will go with the latter because it's clear this novella is only part of a bigger story, one that looks like it will be fascinating to read.
The Thing-of-the-Month Clubs, by John Brunner
In what looks like the final entry in the Galactic Consumer Report series, the editor of the fictional magazine reviews various [THING]-of-the-Month Clubs. Specifically, the editor is looking for high cost and ephemeral items for worlds with >100% income tax.
A fellow named Christmas runs the premier racing planet in the galaxy: Raceworld! He deals with a number of headaches including various attempts to fix the games by a number of different species. The thing reads breezily, shallowly, in a style I was sure I'd read before…and sure enough, looking through back reviews, I found the story I was thinking of ("Birth of a Salesman") was, indeed, written by one James Tiptree Jr.
I found this story even less compelling. One star.
Dunderbird, by Harlan Ellison and Keith Laumer
by Jack Gaughan
I'm not sure how Harlan Ellison ends up bylining with so many different authors these days: Sheckley, Delany, and now Laumer.
The premise: a giant pteranodon falls out of the sky onto the streets of New York, crushing 83 people under its unnaturally heavy corpse. The rest of the story is a detailing of the many odd characters who come across the flying lizard and their reactions to it.
Pointless and unfunny, I have to wonder if Ellison attaches his name to things just to get them published for friends. It's not doing the brand any favors.
One star.
For Your Information: The Written Word, by Willy Ley
This is a nice piece on the history of writing materials (which is, by definition, the history of history) from Greek times to modern day.
Ley wraps up with a primer on how to send and decode interstellar messages, which I quite enjoyed.
Interestingly, though he talks about microfiche and microfilm, he does not mention the possibility of more-or-less permanent documents within the memory banks of computers. I know it may seem frivolous to store the written word on such expensive media as the Direct Access Storage Devices (DASD) used by IBM 360 computers, but in fact, such is being done as we speak. I have used time share systems to send frivolous messages to others on home-grown "mail" systems, and also created data sets that were text files, both as memos and as "documents" for other users to read. And, of course, there are data sets that are programs that, once loaded into permanent memory via punch card or teletype, are there to stay. At least until an electrical pulse fries the whole thing.
Of course, that's a pretty rarefied use, but it's still interesting and relevant for those in the biz.
Gil Hamilton, an agent of the the United Nations police force —Amalgamated Regional Militias (ARM)—is called regarding a death. Not because he's a cop, but because he's next of kin of the deceased, a Belter named Owen Jennison. The spaceman's demise looks like a particularly elaborate suicide: he is in a chair hooked up to a device that uses electric current to stimulate the pleasure center of one's brain, and he apparently starved, quite happily, to death.
But as Gil puts the pieces together, he comes to the conclusion that Jennison must have been murdered. Which means there's a murderer. Which means there are clues. And since it's Niven's Earth in the 22nd Century, organleggers are probably involved.
Did I mention that Gil also has psychic powers? He has a third, telekinetic arm, which comes in very handy. It's also the first time that I've seen this particular idea. It breathes new life into a hoary subject.
As does all of the story, honestly. Niven is simply a master of organically conveying information, letting you live in his universe, absorbing details as they become pertinent. There's nothing of the New Wave to his work save that his writing is qualitatively different from what we saw in prior eras.
He's also written a gripping fusion of the science fiction and detective genres, perhaps the best yet.
Five stars.
Welcome Centaurians, by Ted Thomas
Aliens arrive from Proxima Centauri. Though they make contact with many of Earth's nations while cautiously assaying us from orbit, their captain forms a bond with Colonel Lee Nessing of NORAD. After a long conversation, the aliens agree to land in New York, whereupon friendly relations are established.
This is a cute, nothing story whose charm comes mostly from the chummy relationship between Lee and "Mat", the Proximan that looks like a floor rug. My biggest issue is the gimmick ending, in which it is revealed that ancient Proximans caused the death of the dinosaurs by seeding the Earth with food animals—which turned out to be early mammals.
The problem: mammals evolved from reptiles 200 million years ago. That event is well documented in the fossil record and is referenced in my copy of The Meaning of Evolution (1949) by George Gaylord Simpson. This sort of basic evolutionary mistake seems pretty common in science fiction, where writers try to ascribe extraterrestrial origin to obviously terrestrial creatures (humans are the most frequent example).
Three stars.
Value for money
If there's anything the January 1969 issue of Galaxy proves, it's that even good money can't guarantee a return. Editor Fred Pohl paid 4 cents a word for all of the pieces in this issue, and to his credit, more than half the words are in four/five star pieces. On the other hand, two of the stories are mediocre, and two are absolutely awful. It's like Pohl got his tales from a mystery bag and had to take what he got, good or bad.
Well, the superior stuff would fill an ordinary sized magazine, so I shan't complain. Read the Bova, the Ley, and the Niven. Then put the issue under your tree for others to discover Christmas morning…
A school for young wizards: What could possibly go wrong!
I wanted to like last year's City of Illusions, but the book fell flat. However, I saw the potential in Ursula K. Le Guin as a writer. Her ideas in the book were good, it was the execution that was lacking, so with her latest book out, A Wizard of Earthsea,I figured I’d give her another try.
Ged is an ambitious young wizard with a hunger for knowledge and power. The book follows his journey from childhood into adulthood, first starting when he attends a school for wizards. There he learns the basics of magic, makes friends and a rival. He also unleashes a dark being that wants him dead, but thanks to magic protection around the school, he is safe for the time being.
It isn’t until Ged graduates and becomes a practicing wizard for various villages that he really learns the hard lessons of magic. Now outside the protection of school, he is pursued by the dark being, eventually forced to turn and fight it, putting his skills to the ultimate test.
Fantasy as a genre doesn’t excite me as an adult, as it is often too whimsical and too escapist, too detached from our own world. A Wizard of Earthsea managed a careful balance, with an attention to the laws of magic and how it is able to be used. Wizards can only use so much magic at a time, and overexerting oneself or attempting a spell higher than one’s skill has physical consequences, causing wounds to appear on the body. Throughout the book, we see Ged test these limits, only to end up in lengthy recovery each time. Eventually, he does go too far and ends up permanently scarring himself.
I liked the concept of true names: learning the true name of a creature, plant, object or place is the key to all spells in this world. Even people have true names that they keep secret, instead using an alias in day to day life. While Ged is the main character’s true name, and the narrative refers to him as such, in dialogue he is called “Sparrowhawk” by other characters. I loved the intimate moments of friendship when true names were exchanged, showing a great amount of trust between characters.
Ged makes a compelling main character, with his distinctive flaw being his own hubris. Time and again, he tries magic that is way above his level only to be hurt. He attempts to raise the dead, despite knowing that it can’t be done, and suffers the consequences. It's because of his hubris that a dark creature is brought into the world who specifically hunts him, creating the main conflict of the book. But we’re shown that he has other values. He isn’t greedy. When he fights the dragon, his only motivation is duty to the town he serves. When the dragon offers him some of his treasure as a reward, he declines. Most of the time when Ged overexerts his magic, it isn’t in pursuit of fame. Ged truly wants to help people, even when it’s past his capabilities.
You know it's a good book when there's a map
With this book, I finally saw what I knew Le Guin was capable of as a writer. She's always created compelling unique worlds readers want to immerse themselves in, but now her writing can back up her ideas. Maybe because this is her first foray into juvenile fiction or perhaps she is simply growing as a writer.
I look forward to what she writes next.
Four stars.
by Victoria Silverwolf
Tomorrow and Yesterday
The latest Ace Double (H-95, two quarters and a dime at your local drug store paperback rack) contains one novel looking forward in time, and one collection glancing backwards at the author's recent career.
We begin with a brilliant mathematician from California sneaking around through a remote area of Wisconsin, ready to kill a man. We cut away from this scene to find a government agent from Washington, D.C., in Los Angeles, preparing to assassinate the richest man in the world.
Why all this homicidal intent?
Flashbacks tell us what's going on. John Androki is a fellow who shows up out of nowhere. He convinces a rich guy that he can predict exactly how stocks will move up or down in the future. The millionaire sets him up with some cash in exchange for the information. Androki goes on to not only be the wealthiest person on Earth (yep, he's the intended target of the government assassin) but to wield immense political power all over the world.
Our protagonist is Bertram Kane, a brilliant mathematician (yep, he's the guy stalking a man in Wisconsin) who is working on a theory of multiple dimensions. He's a widower who's having an on-again off-again affair with Anita Weber, an art professor. His buddy is Gordon Maxon, a professor of psychology.
Maxon is convinced that Androki can perceive the future (hence the novel's title.) He calls him a downthrough, a word that's new to me. Kane isn't convinced, but when Weber dumps him for the incredibly rich and powerful Androki, he becomes suspicious.
Things get scarier when other mathematicians working on multiple dimensions are murdered. Coincidence, or is Androki arranging for their deaths? And is Kane next on the list?
You may figure out the main plot gimmick, which explains why Kane is out to kill a completely innocent man. (The government assassin's motive is less mysterious. Androki is changing America's relations with other nations in ways the United States government doesn't like.)
Basically a suspense novel with a science fiction gimmick, the plot creates a fair amount of tension, although parts of it are talky. There are quite a few murders along the way, and a pretty grim ending.
Three stars.
So Bright the Vision, by Clifford Simak
Cover art by Gray Morrow.
Four stories, dating from 1956 to 1960, by a noted author appear in this volume.
First printed in the June 1960 issue of The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, this lighthearted yarn starts with a huge agate appearing in a guy's yard, along with the tiny critters mentioned in the title. Chaos ensues.
The Noble Editor gave it a lukewarm review when it first appeared, and that's fair. It's a pleasant enough bit of gentle comedy, but hardly profound.
The April 1958 issue of Infinity Science Fiction is the source of this oddly titled (and odd) story.
An elderly fellow collects stamps from alien worlds, piling them up in his rat's nest of a home. Some of the stamps are actually made up of living microorganisms. When mixed with broth made by an overly friendly neighbor, they jump into action and start organizing the guy's messy collection.
There's a strong resemblance to the previous story, which also had tiny creatures helping folks at first, but going a little too far. This one is a lot stranger than the other one, and a little more complex. (I haven't mentioned the role played by stuff that the old man receives from an alien pen pal, or what the weird title means.) Interesting for its eccentricity, if nothing else.
The August 1956 issue of Fantastic Universe supplies the story that gives the collection its title.
At a future time when Earth is in contact with several alien worlds, the only thing of value humans can supply is fiction. Other beings don't make up things that aren't true, and they're fascinated by the concept.
The fiction is created via programmed machines, with a little human input. Writing by hand (or pencil, pen, or typewriter) is considered old-fashioned, and even vulgar.
The plot follows the misadventures of a so-called writer who has fallen on hard times. His machine is on its last legs, and he can't afford a new one. A fellow writer's secret leads to a sudden decision.
Much of the story consists of discussions of the importance of fiction. The automated fiction machines seem intended as a dark satire of uninspired hackwork. It's clearly a heartfelt work, and the author manages to convey his passion.
This yarn comes from the pages of the September 1956 issue of Science Fiction Stories.
A newspaper reporter investigates some odd events. There's the sudden, seemingly merciful death of someone suffering from a terminal illness. A scientist's papers are rearranged, giving him the clue he needs to complete his work. The reporter suggests, in a joking article, that these and other happenings might be the work of brownies. He's not too far off the mark.
Once again we have small beings helping humans. This time their efforts are entirely benign, unlike the golden bugs (who ignored people completely, and only worked for their own goals) and the microorganisms from the alien stamp (who went a little too far in their effort to organize things.) This is a sweet, simple little story, benefiting from the author's own experience as a newspaperman.
Three stars.
The title story is definitely the highlight of the collection. As a whole, that bumps the book up to three and one-half stars.
There's no question that Star Trek is a bona fide phenomenon. Now in its third season (and so far, quite a good season it is), it is a universe that has launched several dozen fan clubs, most with their own 'zines, many with Trek-fiction included. Professional tie-in merchandise is booming, too, from the AMT model kits of the ships in the show, to Stephen Whitfield's indispensable The Making of Star Trek, to Gold Key's dispensable comic book.
The latest release is the very first (that I'm aware of) professional original Trek story, Mission to Horatius by none other than SF veteran Mack Reynolds. That a familiar name should be tapped to write Trek tales is not a surprise. Episodes of the show have been written by SFnal talents Norman Spinrad, Ted Sturgeon, Robert Bloch, Harlan Ellison, Jerome Bixby; and James Blish has written two collections of episode novelizations (well, noveletizations).
So how does Reynolds' effort rate? First, let's look at the story:
The Enterprise has been out on patrol so long that ship's stores are low and the crew is beginning to suffer from "cafard". This malady is a kind of isolation sickness that can lead to mass insanity. Before the ship can return to starbase, however, it receives a distress call from the Horatius system just beyond the Federation.
There are three Class M planets in the system, all inhabited by pioneers who don't want to be Federated. They are the primitive society of Neolithia, which operates in bands and clans; the theological autocracy of Mythria, controlled by a happy drug called "Anodyne" (a la "Return of the Archons"); and the Prussian military state of Bavarya. This world is the most dangerous, as they have designs on conquering the Federation, and they are building an army of clones ("Dopplegangers") toward that end.
Uncertain as to from which planet the distress signal originated, Kirk leads a landing party composed of his senior officers to each planet in turn. Meanwhile, the strings on Uhura's guitar break one by one, and Sulu's pet rat gets loose. Cafard causes 40 crew members to be put in stasis. It's not a happy trip. But in the end, it's a successful one when Kirk finds the that Anna, the daughter of "Nummer Ein" on Bavarya, summoned the Enterprise to thwart her father's nefarious scheme,
Well. There's quite a lot wrong with this book. Reynolds makes serving on the Enterprise feel like the worst duty in the galaxy. Maybe this is realistic, but from what we've seen, the crew isn't this unhappy. As for "cafard", if our nuclear submarine crews don't suffer from such issues, I can't imagine a crack Starfleet crew would.
Reynolds' characterizations are only cursorily accurate. Indeed, Mission feels more like a lesser story in his Analog-published United Planets series of stories, featuring a decentralized set of worlds with every kind of government imaginable. There's an undertone of smugness as Kirk destroys one society after another—first by beaming down an anodyne-antidote into the Mythran water supply (if Scotty can manufacture ten pounds of the stuff in ten minutes, why can't he synthesize new strings for Uhura?), and then by destroying all five million dopplegangers on Bavarya…who may well have been sentient beings.
And finally, McCoy staves off cafard by making the crew believe that Sulu's rat has Bubonic Plague, and that it must be killed to save the ship. The rat does not have a happy ending.
Most eyeroll inducing passage: "Anna, womanlike, had been inspecting Janice Rand's neat uniform. Now she responded to the bows of the men from the Enterprise. She was perhaps in her mid-twenties, blond, and, save for a slight plumpness, attractive."
(emphasis added)
Even accepting that the target audience is on the younger side (given that the publisher is Whitman), this does not really excuse all the problems with Mission to Horatius. Moreover, the stirring introduction seems to have been written for an entirely different story!
There are pictures by Sparky Moore. They are adequate, but the characters don't look too much like our heroes.
Two stars.
by Mx. Kris Vyas-Myall
In the run up to Christmas, I received a special treat through my letterbox: a second Orbit anthology for 1968. Will it do better than #3?
Orbit 4
Cover by Paul Lehr
Windsong by Kate Wilhelm
Starting with the series’ most regular contributor, Wilhelm’s story concerns Dan Thornton, an overworked executive. He is trying to solve the problem of an armored computer that should be able to act as a policeman. However, it cannot cope with the stress of unexpected situations. To get solutions he has been working with the psychologist Dr. Feldman to see if his dreams yield any ideas but, instead, he keeps dreaming about Paula. She was a free-spirited “windsong” from his teenage years, a person who could instantly analyse patterns to understand the world in ways others could not.
I have been noticing a pattern emerging with Wilhelm’s writing. She wants to experiment with form and content but rarely manages to deliver a strong balance between the two. In this case it is the style that works well, using the dream sessions in a way that would please the New Wave, but the actual plot leaves something to be desired, not really travelling anywhere fast and engaging in some obvious cliches.
Evens out at Three Stars
Probable Cause by Charles L. Harness
Harness recently returned from his parental leave and is back to writing, getting an even warmer reception this time around. Using his legal background, he brings us the discussion of a supreme court case, one where the constitutionality of a conviction depends on an interesting question. If a search warrant is granted based on a psychic reading, does this violate the fourth and\or fifth amendments?
Whilst some of the arguments here do not make much sense to me, I am neither a lawyer nor an American. As such, I am happy to bow to Harness’ knowledge of constitutional jurisprudence. What I question is the length of it all. At over 60 pages, this is the second longest story to yet grace the pages of Orbit. But it is just some justices sitting in a room discussing a piece of legal theory. This might be worth a vignette, but I needed more to justify a novella.
Two Stars
Shattered Like a Glass Goblin by Harlan Ellison
Rudy has finally gotten out of the army on medical, only to find his fiancée Kris in a marijuana-drenched squat in downtown LA. Is he just not “with it” anymore? Or is something more sinister going on?
If this was from an older writer, I would assume it was a crass attempt to be relevant. With Ellison I am willing to assume he is in earnest in writing a hippy horror story. It is not entirely clear if what we see really happened or if it just a massive drug trip, but that actually makes it work better for me.
Four Stars
This Corruptible by Jacob Transue
This is an author of which no information is given, nor one I've heard of before. Is it perhaps a pseudonym?
Thirty-five years ago, scientists Paul and Andrew departed on bad terms. Whilst the former went into seclusion, the latter became vastly wealthy. Andrew now seeks out Paul after learning of his new discovery, the ability to renew a person’s life.
This reads like a middling story from 15 years ago. Whilst some horrifying imagery raises it up, it is pulled back down by lechery.
Two Stars
Animalby Carol Emshwiller
A strange animal is kept in the city by its keepers. What could it be?
This is a stylistic piece that will depend on your tolerance for this kind of prose:
It was said, on the second day, that he did not look too unhappy. A keeper of particular sensitivity brought him both a grilled cheese sandwich and a hamburger so it might be seen what his preferences were, but still he ate nothing.
This reader was unhappy, feeling nothing.
One Star
One at a Time by R. A. Lafferty
In Barnaby’s Barn, McSkee tells tall tales. But what if they are true?
I feel about Lafferty’s writing the way Superman does about Kryptonite. As such, I struggle with him at the best of times. This one I found it impossible to read. I don’t like bar-room frames or tall tales, I was confused by the style and was generally perplexed throughout.
A subjective One Star
Passengers by Robert Silverberg
In an interesting take on the Puppet Masters concept, Earth has encountered strange creatures called passengers. They can “ride” anyone, at any time, with no way to detect or stop them. Once a Passenger leaves a person, the memory goes. Our narrator wakes up to find he slept with a woman whilst he was ridden. However, upon exercising in Central Park he believes he has found her, even though she doesn’t remember him.
Anyone who has read Silverberg of late knows of his strange recurring writings about young women, so I will not belabour the point here. Your rating will probably result from how you balance the concept against this tendency. I come down in the middle.
Three Stars
Grimm's Story by Vernor Vinge
The planet Tu is a world that contains almost no metals. Whilst some technologies, such as pharmaceuticals, hydrofoils and optics, have been able to develop, others, such as heavier than air flight, have not.
It is on this world that Astronomy student Svir Hedrigs is approached by Tatja Grimm, the science editor of Fantasie magazine. She has a dangerous mission for Hedrigs, to stop the destruction of the last complete collection of Fantasie.
In less skilled hands this could easily have been contrived and fannish. Instead, Vinge spins a fascinating intricate plot and fully imagined world, touching on a number of interesting themes with complicated characters. It stumbles a little at the very end, stopping it from gaining a full five stars, but still very good.
A high four stars
A Few Last Words by James Sallis
Hoover is beset by bad dreams. He decides to head to Doug’s coffee shop where we learn from them why the cities are now so empty.
Well written and atmospheric, appealing to this sufferer of parasomnia.
Four Stars
Continuing a steady Orbit
Once again, Orbit contains some of the best and worst of SF for me. This issue more than most, though, is going to be a subjective one. So much is based on style that it cannot help but appeal to personal taste. I know others have considered Animal among the best and Grimm’s Story among the weakest. Whatever your tastes, I think there will be something in here for you to chew on.
This completely passed me by on first release but an ad for it from the Science Fiction Book Club in last month’s New Worlds was enough to convince me to get it. But was it worth me trialing a membership from them?
The so-called “end of the universe” is an area where physical laws as we know them break down. Sometimes this abstract nothingness recedes, sometimes it expands and swallows galaxies, leaving impossible creations in its wake. The Warden Corps have been set up at its current edge to monitor and explore the strange phenomena.
Among those who come to the current planetoid of the Warden Corps is Helena Kraag. Whilst the daughter of one of the richest men in the galaxy, she has become withdrawn from people since the loss of her mother. At first, she attempts to look straight into the nothingness and loses her sense of identity. In spite of this she still travels with the rest of the crew into this impossibility.
Unfortunately, their Heisenberg shields fail as they enter. As you can probably guess, things start to get strange.
Now, you might expect this to just then be a kind of surreal trip, a la Alice in Wonderland or Phantom Tollbooth. However, what Joseph produces is a kind of fractured character exploration. As we move through these different bizarre situations we learn more about each of the members of the crew and gain understanding of what motivates them.
There are so many delicious details. Initially this looks like it is going to be some kind of 19th Century comedy of manners, but we soon learn this has been carefully set up. Rather it is a kind of conditioning, one to allow the fliers to maintain a solid form of identity. Even when it feels like I am reading the lyrics to I Am The Walrus, there is clear intent and structure behind it.
Joseph is also a master of language and you feel yourself getting knowledge and beauty within the surreality. For example:
Everything and nothing had both happened and not happened; time was as broad as it was long; space was neither here nor there; the loop of eternity threaded itself through the eye of zero.
This kind of sentence could have been gibberish. But the way he phrases it and following the scenarios we have gone through, I absolutely understand what he is getting at.
I could go through all the characters and scenarios to explore the meaning behind it, but I think it is better to take the journey yourself. As Helena says, it is “like falling through the hole in the zero.” It may not be something that is at once fathomable but it is a new experience worth having.
Although primarily known as a poet, he clearly understands science fiction well and has an affinity for it (see, for example, the poem "Mars Ascending"). Here is hoping for more such forays.
Moondust by Thomas Burnett Swann takes place in and around the ancient city of Jericho. Swann’s Jericho is a poverty-ridden city ruled by the Egyptians, its denizens apprehensive about the steady approach of the Wanderers, a flood of former slaves absconding from Egypt.
Bard ekes out a meager existence in this city with his mother and beautiful younger brother Ram. Ram is stolen one night and replaced by an unbecoming changeling. Bard accepts the fat, ugly Rahab and comes to think of her as a sister until years later when an elusive, feline creature known as a fennec arrives. Rahab then magically transforms into a beautiful woman with wings and disappears one night.
Determined to rescue Rahab, Bard enlists the aid of his friend, Zeb. Together they track Rahab down to the underground city, Honey Heart, where the fennecs rule as gods and Rahab’s kind, the People of the Sea along with beautiful human males–including the long lost Ram– are docile slaves to the fennecs. Bard and Zub must now find a way to wrest Rahab from the insidious control of the fennecs and make it out of Honey Heart alive.
Moondust is a highly imaginative and reasonably interesting story but I did not—could not bring myself to enjoy it. At first, I couldn’t quite put my finger on what bothered me about this novel. Then it finally occurred to me. This book has no soul, no humanity. Moondust feels like a book written from the clinical lens of a white Westerner who thinks he’s better than the people he’s writing about.
Apparently, people living in poverty must always be dirty and have very little regard for personal hygiene. If humans own slaves, those slaves must be black. What else could they possibly be? Beautiful women are nothing but whores. Fat people are ugly, and the Israelites had very big, very ugly feet.
I believe these small details were meant to add color to the story’s world, but obviously originate from a place of thinly veiled disdain.
The main character, Bard, is not one with whom I could sympathize. His little brother is stolen—kidnapped in the dead of night. Even though Bard bemoans the loss, not once does it occur to the self-absorbed nincompoop to go looking for his five-year-old sibling. Instead, he magnanimously accepts the supposedly fat, ugly changeling named Rahab left in his brother’s place as a sister and simply carries on with his life as if that makes any sense.
Years later, when Rahab literally sheds her “ugly” skin and becomes a beautiful creature of a woman, she then becomes a harlot. What else could she possibly become?
When Rahab disappears, summoned back to the underground city of Honey Heart by the fennec, Chackal, Bard immediately enlists the aid of his friend, Zeb and races off in search of his beloved sister. This raises the question of why he was so desperate to save the sibling unrelated by blood–who left voluntarily–but had possessed no inclination to go off in search of his biological brother, Ram.
Once Bard and Zeb descend into Honey Heart, the story loses all coherence for me. The contrived mish-mash of magic, ancient Eastern culture, and biblical myth falls short of a finely woven tale. Moondust merely rankled.
If I’ve learned anything from Swann it’s that you can learn the history and possess infinite academic knowledge of a culture but your words aren’t going to touch anyone if you can’t actually feel the soul—the humanity of the people.
Three Stars
by Jason Sacks
One Before Bedtime by Richard Linkroum
What an odd novel. One Before Bedtime is part mad scientist novel, part social satire, part speculative fiction, and part self-centered character rationalization.
I'm not sure this is a good book, per se, but is certainly odd.
See, in a way, this book is all about the social satire. It's about Jeff Baxter, a kid just home from Vietnam, where he's seen some stuff, man, and who has gone back to work at his a pharmacy in his small midwestern town. Jeff just has one minor problem: his skin is in rough shape and he needs for it to clear up so his girlfriend can be happy. Thankfully (perhaps), the pharmacist turns out to be a tinkerer. Cortland Pedigrew has his own set of chemicals and other tools in the basement of the pharmacy. Pedigrew invents a pill which can clear Jeff's skin.
There's just one problem. The pill somehow turns Jeff's skin from White to Black.
And there the troubles begin.
Because Jeff's girlfriend, Peggy, is a bit of a militant and freedom fighter. She walks around everywhere barefoot and speaks at rallies for Black rights and sings folk songs and reminds one of someone like Joan Baez in her steadfast commitment to the hottest social issues of the day. (She probably wouldn't have cared about Jeff's skin, either, but the poor guy was too self-deluded to notice.)
As the story goes on, Jeff, Peggy and several other characters find themselves mixed up in campus protests, urban riots, and unreasonable hatred. Along the way they're forced to see their own prejudices – often reflexive and instinctive – and, well, pretty much stay the same people they were before the events in this book start.
On top of all the oddball problems I've just described, this 168-page quickie is written from different perspectives. We get no fewer than four different approaches to this character's story, each exceeding the previous one in its banality and strange affect. I kept wondering, over and over, how dumb these characters are, how stuck in their idiotic ways they are so they can't actually see the world differently than they did before their loved one was turned black?
Of course, that's also all part of author Linkroum's goal here, I'm sure. It's clear from his approach that he's interested in exploring the idea that racism is arbitrary and simple-minded, that mere skin color is not a diffentiator of the worth of a person, and that our present great national troubles are as absurd as his chracters all act here.
If only Mr. Linkroum had been more satirical, more biting in his humor. Instead the plot of One Before Bedtime all feels a bit undercooked, a bit bland and a bit too on-the-nose for it to really work for me.
I tried looking up Richard Linkroum in my collection of science fiction mags and found no other examples of his work. This is despite the fact that the book was published in hardcover by J.P. Lippincott, a reputable publisher. Finally I was tipped that there's a TV producer who goes by Dick Linkroum who might be our author here. That makes sense because One Before Bedtime reads like a bad episode of the old Twilight Zone: a bit undercooked and way too preachy.
As I sat down to write this article, I heard the news of the death of Lise Meitner. If that name isn’t familiar to you, it should be. Einstein once called her “the German Marie Curie,” which might be understating things. She is arguably the most important woman physicist of the 20th century and possibly one of the most important theoretical physicists, period.
Born in Vienna in 1878, she became only the second woman to earn a doctorate in physics from the University of Vienna in 1905. She later moved to Germany and worked at the University of Berlin. There, she and Otto Hahn discovered the most stable isotope of the element protactinium, which she dubbed protoactinium before dropping the second “o.” In 1939, she and Hahn, along with Otto Robert Frisch and Fritz Strassmann, discovered and explained nuclear fission. There are also at least two nuclear phenomena which bear her name.
Otto Hahn and Lise Meitner circa 1912.
Meitner was able to escape Nazi Germany in 1938 with the help of Niels Bohr. She settled in Sweden, where she spent the rest of her professional life. Her role in the discovery of nuclear fission garnered her a lot of celebrity after the end of the War; she was even interviewed by Eleanor Roosevelt on her radio show. She was a popular speaker and instructor and traveled extensively to the United States, the United Kingdom, and Germany.
She received numerous accolades throughout her career, and the institute that oversees Germany’s first research nuclear reactor bears her and Hahn’s names. But the Nobel eluded her. Otto Hahn was awarded the Nobel Prize for Chemistry in 1944 for the discovery of nuclear fission (ignoring not only Meitner, but also Frisch and Strassmann). The Nobel committee plays things pretty close to the vest, but word is that Lise Meitner was nominated many times in the fields of physicist and chemistry. In 1966, President Johnson honored her with the Enrico Fermi Award.
After retiring in 1960, she moved to the United Kingdom to be closer to family and continued giving lectures. She was in poor health in recent years, unable to attend the Fermi Award ceremony. She died in her sleep at the age of 89.
Lise Meitner in 1963.
Stereotypes
As Lise Meitner’s life shows, women play an active and important role in science, and ought to do so in science fiction as well. Unfortunately, there seem to be fewer women writing SF than there were a decade ago, and there don’t seem to be all that many as key characters in stories either. Two of the stories in this month’s IF don’t have any, two offer mothers, two more femmes fatale, and as far as the first story goes, the less said the better.
A previously unknown piece by the late Hannes Bok, probably the last new Bok cover ever.
The Holmes-Ginsbook Device, by Isaac Asimov
This absurd story is ostensibly about coming up with a better way than microfiche to present printed information (no one has ever heard of putting words on a page and stacking those pages into a book). The "message" is that staring into a microfiche reader keeps you from staring at women. It's patently offensive. And not in a way that challenges our acceptance of societal norms like something in Dangerous Visions. Women are here only the be ogled and groped.
He looks familiar. Art by Gaughan
One star and a guaranteed winner of the Queen Bee Award.
The Starman of Pritchard’s Creek, by Julian F. Grow
Young Widder Poplowski has set her cap for Dr. Hiram Pertwee. He might be inclined to encourage her, but her nine-year-old son is a hellion, and her motherly love is excessively fierce. While picnicking along Pritchard’s Creek, the three of them encounter a talking, self-propelled steam engine and a living trash heap. Getting kicked in the head by his horse may be the least of Pertwee’s problems.
Whatever it is, it ain’t natural. Art by Wood
This is our third encounter with Dr. Pertwee, and it’s a good bit better than the last. This one is well-suited to the western theme, and the doctor’s voice is very well done. I’d say the tone aims to imitate Twain, but doesn’t come close. Of course, not coming close in an attempted imitation of Twain leaves a lot of room to still be good.
Three stars.
If… and When, by Lester del Rey
This month, del Rey looks at couple of areas where science and science fiction keep overtaking each other: there’s too much free oxygen on Venus, the steady-state theory might not be dead yet, and quantum particles that move faster than light.
Three stars.
The Canals of Santa Claus, by Bram Hall
Three wildcat miners are forced to put down on an uncharted planet. They dub the planet Santa Claus for its black growths that resemble Christmas trees (Yule was taken), but can’t explain the regularity of their spacing or the canals of salty water that flow without any change in elevation.
Hall is this month’s new author, and it’s not bad for a freshman effort. There’s nothing really new or groundbreaking, but it’s well handled, and there’s a bit of a sting in the tail.
Since 1948, the world has become aware of a boy genius roughly every other year. Invariably, they fade from public view after a year or two, never seeming to live up to the potential they showed. A television production team begins digging into the story, but are soon broken up and reassigned. What shadowy organization is pulling the strings?
I’ve never been a fan of Ballard’s work, which I generally find too avant-garde and over laden with allusion and symbolism. This story, however, has a beginning, a middle, and an end (in that order) and lacks the ennui and decadence of the Vermilion Sands stories. I enjoyed it, with two complaints. First, the boy genius discovered in 1965 is Robert Silverberg of Tampa, Florida. He would be a good deal younger than science fiction’s own Silverbob (who isn’t from Florida), and the name pulled me out of the story every time he’s mentioned. None of the others seem to have been given the name of someone else from the genre or elsewhere, so it struck me as odd. Secondly, the connection to comsats seems very strained. But otherwise an enjoyable story.
A high three stars from me; others might like it better.
Continuing his tour of the planets he once opened and charted, Commodore John Grimes has arrived on the water world of Melisse. Giant, unkillable starfish are attacking the huge oysters the natives use to grow pearls, the planet’s only export. Since both of the major Rim officials are incompetents he had posted to a place he thought they could do no harm, he figures it’s his duty to investigate.
Chief Wunnaara may be the only reliable person on the planet. Art by Virgil Finlay
This is a fairly standard Grimes story, with a bit of mystery and spy thriller thrown in. Entertaining enough if you like this sort of thing. I was a bit put off by the ease with which Grimes went to bed with the prime suspect, considering he’s spent the last several stories missing his wife very much. I guess mores and morals are different out on the Rim.
I’m not even going to try to describe this story by Harlan Ellison. It’s full of silly, made-up words like phlenged and thrillip’d to describe the use of alien senses and whatnot. I suspect that if it had been sent in by an unknown, it would have been sent back, maybe with an encouraging letter to keep trying.
Professor Paul Kosloff heads into Common Europe and Common Eur-Asia to try and find out who’s behind the plot to tamper with the computer records of the United States of the Americas. Somehow, the bad guys seem to know his every move.
More action exactly like the action in Part 1. Art by Gaughan
Part 1 of this serial was so heavy on (poorly delivered) exposition, I predicted this installment would have lots of story. I was wrong; there’s just as much exposition in this half. The action is also just as over detailed; I don’t know what an “Okinawa fist” is, nor does knowing what the protagonist shouts as he delivers a karate blow tell me anything. All in all, it winds up being a typical, if slightly subpar, Mack Reynolds adventure. But it might be worth revisiting in 50 years or so to see how well Mack did at prognosticating the effects of an increasingly interconnected world.
Three stars for this installment and the novel as a whole.
Summing up
Maybe the awful first story influenced my impression of the rest of the issue, and some of these stories deserve better ratings. On the other hand, this is the second issue in a row with a one-star story, and that’s a rating I very rarely give. With the two worst stories coming from the two biggest names in the issue, I’m starting to wonder at some of the editorial decisions being made. But Galaxy doesn’t seem to be doing quite this poorly. At least Fred has promised another Hugo winners issue next year, so we have something to look forward to.
There’s the Zelazny we were promised. This issue really needed it.
![[October 12, 1969] My country, right or… (November 1969 <i>Galaxy</i>)](https://i0.wp.com/galacticjourney.org/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2024/10/691010cover.jpg?resize=460%2C372&ssl=1)
![[September 22, 1969] Unsmoothed curves (October 1969 <i>Fantasy and Science Fiction</i>)](https://i0.wp.com/galacticjourney.org/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2024/09/690922fsfcover.jpg?resize=658%2C372&ssl=1)
![[July 22, 1969] Let The Sunshine In (More July Books)](https://i0.wp.com/galacticjourney.org/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2024/07/690722covers.jpg?resize=672%2C372&ssl=1)
![[June 20, 1969] Where to? (July 1969 <i>Fantasy and Science Fiction</i>)](https://i0.wp.com/galacticjourney.org/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2024/06/690620fsfcover_jpg.jpg?resize=438%2C372&ssl=1)
![[March 24, 1969] Apocalypse Impending? <i>New Worlds</i>, April 1969](https://i0.wp.com/galacticjourney.org/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2024/03/New-Worlds-April-1969.jpg?resize=672%2C372&ssl=1)
The named list from last month.
Cover by Mervyn Peake.
In a post-apocalyptic US we are told of teenager Vic and his telepathic dog, Blood. Vic is a teenage boy who spends his time scavenging the world for basic needs—food, companionship, and sex—as well as generally avoiding other groups, known as roverpaks, doing the same thing. They meet Quilla June – unusual because most women live where it is safer, underground. Vic rapes Quilla June before they are attacked by another roverpak. Blood is hurt in the scuffle. Quilla June escapes and returns to her underground home of Topeka.
More poetry. Described as ‘a poem for light and movement’, Thomas manages to produce strange typewritten boxes that are at times undecipherable. A typical ‘form over content’ type piece. 2 out of 5.
The inevitable 'naked lady of the month' picture.
Artwork by Mal Dean.
More artwork by Mal Dean.
![[February 2, 1969] Winners and Losers (March 1969 <i>IF</i>)](https://i0.wp.com/galacticjourney.org/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2024/01/IF-1969-03-Cover.jpg?resize=574%2C372&ssl=1)
Counter-protesters armed with sticks and iron bars attack civil rights marchers while the police look on
The Steel General rides again. Art by Best Professional Artist Jack Gaughan
The thrust potential is in one of these apartments full of squabbling neighbors. Art by Gaughan
Art by Gaughan
Helva has a chat with the bad guy. Art by Brock
The witch turns the skeletons of those who invade her valley into golden ships. Art by Virgil Finlay
Her Serene Darkness is displeased. Art by Gaughan
Mark Redwing and his trusted assistant Linda. Art by Best Fan Artist George Barr
Osiris brings his greatest weapon to bear against Typhon. Art by Reiber
Has it been long enough since the last Retief story for a new one to feel fresh?![[December 22, 1968] What wonders await? (January 1969 <i>Fantasy and Science Fiction</i>)](https://i0.wp.com/galacticjourney.org/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2023/12/681222cover.jpg?resize=672%2C372&ssl=1)
![[December 10, 1968] Back and forth (January 1969 <i>Galaxy</i>)](https://i0.wp.com/galacticjourney.org/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2023/12/681210cover.jpg?resize=671%2C372&ssl=1)
![[November 2, 1968] Role Models (December 1968 <i>IF</i>)](https://i0.wp.com/galacticjourney.org/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2023/10/IF-1968-12-Cover.jpg?resize=672%2C372&ssl=1)
Otto Hahn and Lise Meitner circa 1912.
Lise Meitner in 1963.
A previously unknown piece by the late Hannes Bok, probably the last new Bok cover ever.
He looks familiar. Art by Gaughan
Whatever it is, it ain’t natural. Art by Wood
Chief Wunnaara may be the only reliable person on the planet. Art by Virgil Finlay
More action exactly like the action in Part 1. Art by Gaughan
There’s the Zelazny we were promised. This issue really needed it.