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Science Fiction/Fantasy

[June 20, 1969] Where to? (July 1969 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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photo of a man with glasses and curly, long, brown hair, and a beard and mustache
by Gideon Marcus

Nihon, banzai!

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!


by Ed Emshwiller

Ship of Shadows, by Fritz Leiber

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.

Clunkily written and nothing special.  Two stars.

The Place with No Name, by Harlan Ellison

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.

A Triptych, by Barry N. Malzberg

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.




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Magazine, Science / Space Race, Science Fiction/Fantasy, Serial

[May 20, 1969] Ad Astra et Infernum (June 1969 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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photo of a man with glasses and curly, long, brown hair, and a beard and mustache
by Gideon Marcus

To the Stars

Venus has gotten a lot of attention from Earth's superpowers.  Part of it is its tremendous similarity to our home in some ways: similar mass, similar composition, similar distance from the Sun (as such things go).  But the biggest reason why so many probes have been dispatched to the Solar System's second world (to wit: Mariner 2, Mariner 5, Venera 1, Veneras 2 and 3, and Venera 4) is because it's the closest planet to Earth.  Every 19 months, Earth and Venus are aligned such that a minimum of rocket is required to send a maximum of scientific payload toward the Planet of Love.  Since 1961, every opportunity has seen missions launched from at least one side of the Pole.

This year's was no exception: on January 5 and 10, the USSR launched Venera (Venus) 5 and 6 toward the second planet, and this month (the 16th and the 18th), they arrived.

Our conception of Venus has changed radically since spaceships started probing the world.  Just read our article on the planet, written back in 1959, before the world had been analyzed with radar and close-up instruments.  Now we know that the planet's surface is the hottest place in the Solar System outside the Sun: perhaps 980 degrees Fahrenheit!  The largely carbon dioxide and nitrogen atmosphere crushes the ground at up to 100 atmospheres of pressure.  The planet rotates very slowly backward, but there is virtually no difference between temperatures on the day and night sides due to the thick atmosphere.  There is no appreciable magnetic field (probably because the planet spins so slowly) so no equivalent to our Van Allen Belts or aurorae.

This is all information returned from outside the Venusian atmosphere.  Inference.  To get the full dope, one has to plunge through the air.  Venera 4 did that, returning lower temperatures and air pressures.  This was curious, but it makes sense if you don't believe the Soviet claim that the probe's instruments worked all the way to the ground—a dubious assertion given the incredibly hostile environment.  No, Venera 4 probably stopped working long before it touched down.

The same may be true of Veneras 5 and 6.  TASS has not released data yet, but while the two probes were successfully delivered onto Venus' surface, we have no way of knowing that they returned telemetry all the way down.  Indeed, the Soviet reports are rather terse and highlight the delivery of medals and a portrait of Lenin to Venus, eschewing any mention of soft landing.  The news does spend a lot of time talking about solar wind measurements on the way to Venus—useful information, to be sure, but beside the point.


The Venera spacecraft and lander capsule

Anyway, at the very least, we can probably hope to get some clarity on what goes on in the Venusian air.  It may have to wait until next time before we learn just what's happening on the ground, however.

To Hell

I bitched last month about the lousy issue of The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction.  Well, I am happy to say that the May issue is more than redeemed by this June 1969 issue, which, if not stellar throughout, has sufficient high points to impress and delight.


by Gray Morrow

Sundance, Robert Silverberg

Silverbob has a knack for poetic, evocative writing as well as rich settings.  He has successfully made the transition from '50s hack SF author to New Wave vanguard.  Which is why this rather forgettable tale is all the more disappointing.

It's about a Sioux spaceman named Tom Two Ribbons who is part of a terraforming contingent on a virgin planet.  Except what his compatriots call terraforming, he calls genocide, for the millions of indigenous Eaters that they are clearing out to make room for farms are, he claims, intelligent.  To prove his point, he goes out among the aliens, dancing their way and his way, hoping to avert catastrophe. 

But is any of it real?  Or is it all a figment of his traumatized mind?

I just found it all a bit hollow and affected, and also confusing.  Not bad, but nowhere near Silverbob's best.

Three stars.

Pull Devil, Pull Baker!, Michael Harrison

A Jewish dentist finds himself implacably hostile to an Aryan patient, and, to his dismay, finds himself wanting to cause him pain in the examination chair.  Turns out the two have a history that goes back centuries to another life, when the drill was in the other hand, so to speak.

So unfolds an age-crossing riddle, at the end of which lies a treasure of untold riches, if only it can be deciphered.

I dug this one.  Maybe I'm biased.  Four stars.

The Landlocked Indian Ocean, L. Sprague de Camp

De Camp offers himself up as a sort of half-rate Willy Ley, explaining why, for so long, the Indian Ocean was conceived of as a big lake rather than part of the world sea.  There's a lot of good information here, but it's not quite as compellingly presented as it could be.

Three stars.

A Short and Happy Life, Joanna Russ

Here's a great little prose-poem on ingenuity involving a barometer.  Good stuff.  Four stars.

A Run of Deuces, Jack Wodhams

Aboard a superluminary cruise ship, the bored passengers come up with a betting pool to relieve their ennui: the winner of the pot is whomever guesses at what distance from their destination the ship will pop out of hyperspace.

A lot of sex.  A lot of languour.  A predictable ending.  A low three (or a high two, if you're not in a good mood).

Operation Changeling (Part 2 of 2), Poul Anderson

Last month, we were (re-)introduced to the Matuchek family: Steve the werewolf, Virginia the combat wizard, Valeria the moppet, and Svartalf the familiar.  When Valeria was kidnapped by the agents of Hell, it was only a matter of time before her parents (and their cat!) would have to penetrate the perverse underworld to retrieve her.

Enlisting the aid of a pair of dead mathematical geniuses, in this installment, the trio warps into the infernal dimension, where they must face off against hordes of demons, baffling spatial topography, and the most evil of beings humanity has ever known.

There is good Anderson, there is boring Anderson, and there is middlin' Anderson.  This story is firmly in the "good" camp, with vivid descriptions, engaging (and often funny) characters, and the sort of light, fantastic adventure we haven't seen from Anderson since Three Hearts and Three Lions.  Poul does somber, dour, very well, so I think it's more work for him to keep things light—even as our heroes are arrayed against the forces of darkness!  It's never frivolous, but there's a fey quality that keeps things on the right side of horrific.

And that episode in Hell!  I've never read the like.  My only regret is that it's not longer, with a little more time for the Matuchek squad to come up with their novel solutions so that the reader can better follow along.  Perhaps it'll get expanded into a full length book at some point.  I hope so!

Four stars for this installment and the book as a whole.

The Fateful Lightning, Isaac Asimov

A boffo piece on the discovery of electricity.  It's good, although I found the explanation of how lightning rods actually work somewhat incomplete.

Four stars.

Repeat Business, Jon Lucas

A mom-and-pop boat charter take on a quartet of "travel agents" who are obviously (to the reader, at least) a bunch of aliens.  The E-Ts are sussing out the charterers and their sailing vessel to see if they might be a hit back home on Sirius or Spica or wherever they're from.

It's not a badly written tale, but it's so obvious, and the protagonists so clueless, that it feels sub-par.  Maybe this would have passed muster a couple of decades ago.  Now it's old hat.

Two stars.

Back to Earth

And there you have it: big news in the skies and in the SFnal pages of F&SF.  There's really no unpleasant reading at all in this month's mag, even if it isn't all novel or cutting edge, and the Anderson really ends with a bang—or a flash of brimstone, perhaps.  Combined with the exciting space news, and the recent launch of Apollo 10 (article to come!) I am really feeling over the Moon.

If you read this month's issue, and watch the ongoing Apollo coverage, I'm sure you will be, too!




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Magazine, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[May 10, 1969] Youth (June 1969 Fantastic)

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by Victoria Silverwolf

He's No Saint

Yesterday the Vatican announced that more than forty saints have been removed from the official liturgical calendar of the Catholic Church.  How come?  Because there's some serious doubt that these holy folks ever existed.

The most famous of these former saints is Christopher, patron of travelers.  There are plenty of people with Saint Christopher medals hanging from the rear view mirrors of their cars, hoping for safe journeys.


A typical Saint Christopher medal.  Note the infant Jesus carried on his back.

The story goes that Christopher (whose name, appropriately, means Bearer of Christ) carried the baby Messiah across a river.  I guess we'll never know now how He made it.  Perhaps He crawled on water.

Long Hair Music

I'm sure that ex-Saint Christopher will continue to be associated with a divine youth.  In this modern age, what could be more associated with secular youth than the hippie movement?  The popularity of the musical Hair is proof of the cultural importance of these groovy young people.

Further evidence, if any be needed, is the fact that Aquarius/Let the Sunshine In, a medley of two songs from Hair performed by The 5th Dimension, has been Number One in the USA since the middle of April, and shows no signs of leaving that position anytime soon.


Maybe I'm prejudiced in the song's favor because I'm an Aquarius.

Bildungsroman

Fittingly, the latest issue of Fantastic is dominated by the first half of a new novel in which we see the main character develop from a child to a young adult.


Cover art by Johnny Bruck.

The cover is, as usual, borrowed from an issue of the German magazine Perry Rhodan.


What happened to the green halo around the sphere in the upper right corner?

Editorial: Don't, by Laurence M. Janifer

The associate editor tells us why writing is a bad career choice.  Although the piece is intended to be humorous, I can't help feeling that there's a trace of true bitterness to it.

No rating.

Emphyrio (Part One of Two), by Jack Vance


Illustrations by Bruce Jones.

Taking up half the magazine, this initial segment begins with a bang.  We witness our protagonist, Ghyl Tarvoke, held prisoner in a tower.  His skull is cut open and his brain attached to a sinister device.  His captors manipulate his mind, bringing him from a vegetative state to one where he is able to answer questions, but lacks the imagination to lie.  The torturers want to know why he committed serious crimes before they kill him.

After this dramatic opening we go into a flashback.  Ghyl is the son of a woodworker.  They live on a planet that was colonized so long ago that Earth is just a legend.  Centuries ago, a war devastated the place where they live.  Wealthy and powerful people restored basic services and now rule as lords, collecting taxes from their underlings.


Ghyl and a friend sneak into the spaceport where the aristocrats keep their private starships.

Ghyl's father engages in the forbidden activity of duplication; that is, he builds his own device that allows him to make copies of old manuscripts.  (Other forms of duplication are also illegal; everything has to be made by hand.) He eventually pays a very heavy price for his crime.

In what starts as a joke, Ghyl runs for mayor (a purely symbolic office, but one that might offer the possibility of changing the oppressive laws of the lords) under the nom de guerre of Emphyrio.  This half of the novel ends just as the election is about to take place.

Vance is a master at describing exotic settings and strange cultures, and his latest work is a particularly shining example.  I have failed to give you any idea of the novel's complex and detailed background.  (Vance is the only SF author I know who can get away with the copious use of footnotes to explain the worlds he creates.) Ghyl and the other characters are very real, and their world seems like a place with millennia of history.

If I have to have a few minor quibbles, I might say that the novel (with the exception of the shocking opening scene) is very leisurely and episodic.  Readers expecting an action-packed plot may be a bit disappointed.  Personally, I found Ghyl's world fascinating.

Four stars (and maybe even leaning toward five.)

The Big Boy, by Bruce McAllister

The only other original work of fiction in this issue is a blend of science fiction and religious fantasy.  Space travelers, including clergy, discover a galaxy-size, vaguely humanoid being deep in the cosmos.  It manipulates stars and planets.  An attempt to communicate with it yields a garbled message that seems to indicate that it is God.  A clearer version of the message reveals something else.

I didn't really see the point of this story.  The second version of the message isn't some big, shocking twist, but rather a slight modification of the original.  (That's how I saw it, anyway, although the characters react wildly to it.)

Two stars.

On to the reprints!  They all come from old issues of Fantastic, instead of the usual yellowing copies of Amazing Stories and Fantastic Adventures.

Time Bum, by C. M. Kornbluth

The January/February 1953 issue of the magazine supplies this comedy.


Cover art by Robert Frankenberg.

A con artist rents a bungalow from a married couple.  He drops hints that he's from centuries in the future.  Revealing his identity as a time traveler would be a capital offense in his future world, or so he convinces them.  The plan is to have them bring him a fortune in diamonds that he can supposedly duplicate for them.


Illustration by David Stone.

This is an amusing little jape.  The author has a good time making fun of time travel stories and science fiction in general.  (The wife is a reader of SF magazines, tearing off the covers with their scantily clad space women.) It's a minor work, and you'll see the ending coming a mile away, but it's worth a chuckle or two.

Three stars.

The Opal Necklace, by Kris Neville

The very first issue of the magazine (Summer 1952) is the source of this horror story.


Cover art by Barye Phillips and Leo Summers.

The daughter of a witch living way back in the swamp marries a man from New York City.  The witch warns her that she will always be a part of the swamp.  She gives her daughter a string of opals, each one of which contains one of the husband's joys.


Illustration by Leo Summers.

When the marriage inevitably falls apart, the woman turning to booze and cheap affairs, she destroys the opals, one by one.  The first time, this causes the death of the man's pet dog.  It all leads up to a tragic ending.

Besides being an effective chiller, this is a very well-written story with a great deal of emotional power.  The woman is both victim and villain.  The reader is able to empathize with her, no matter how reprehensible her actions may be.

Four stars.

The Sin of Hyacinth Peuch, by Eric Frank Russell

This grimly comic tale comes from the Fall 1952 issue.


Cover art by Leo Summers.

A series of gruesome deaths occurs in a small town in France.  They all happen near a place where a meteorite fell.  Only the village idiot knows what is responsible.


Illustration by Leo Summers also.

Does that sound like a comedy to you?  Me neither.  The basic plot is a typical science fiction horror story, but the author treats it with dry humor.  Frankly, I found it in questionable taste, and not very funny.

Two stars.

Root of Evil, by Shirley Jackson

A tale from a truly great writer comes from the March/April issue.


Cover art by Richard Powers.

A man places an ad in the newspaper offering to send money to anybody who writes to him.  Sure enough, folks who send in a request get the cash.  We see several people react to this strange ad in different ways.  At last, we learn about the fellow giving away all this loot.


Illustration by Virgil Finlay.

I was expecting a lot from the author of the superb short stories The Lottery and One Ordinary Day, With Peanuts as well as the excellent novels The Haunting of Hill House and We Have Always Lived in the Castle.  I didn't get it.  The initial premise is interesting, but the story fizzles out at the end.

Two stars.

What If, by Isaac Asimov

The same premiere issue that gave us Kris Neville's dark story of an unhappy marriage offers this sentimental tale from the Good Doctor about a happy one.


Illustration by David Stone.

A lovey-dovey couple are on a train.  A strange little man sits across from them with a box that says WHAT IF in big letters.  He doesn't say a word, but he shows them a glass panel that allows them to see what would have happened if they had not met the way they did.

This isn't the most profound story ever written, but it makes for very pleasant reading.  The message seems to be that some people are truly meant for each other, and that things tend to work out for the best.  An optimistic point of view, to be sure, but it will probably appeal to the old softy inside all of us.

Three stars.

Fantasy Books, by Fritz Leiber and Hank Stine

Leiber has high praise for the dark fantasy novel Black Easter by James Blish (I agree; it's very good) and the story collection A Glass of Stars by Robert F. Young, particularly noting the latter's skill with love stories.  (I agree with that also.)

Although it's not a book, the column includes an appreciation of the supernatural soap opera Dark Shadows by Hank Stine.

No rating.

Worth Spending Your Youth On?

This was a pretty good issue, despite a couple of disappointments.  The Jack Vance novel is clearly the highlight.  If you'd rather skip the rest of the magazine, you can always read an old literary classic.




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Magazine, Science Fiction/Fantasy, Serial

[April 26, 1969] Downbeat (May 1969 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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photo of a man with glasses and curly, long, brown hair, and a beard and mustache
by Gideon Marcus

Impending collapse

The end may be near for the nascent would-be-state of Biafra.  For two years, the Nigerian breakaway has seen its land systematically (re)taken, and the eight million Biafrans, mostly Ibo people, have been crammed into ever small regions under Biafran control—just 3,000 out of an original 29,000 square miles.

Starvation rages, killing more than gunfire.  Yet the Biafrans remain unbowed, converting diesel generators to run on crude petroleum, keeping churches open (at night, anyway), and getting food via threatened air strips.

But on the 22nd, the capital and last Biafran city, Umuahia, fell to Nigerian forces.  Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu, President of Biafra, has vowed he will continue the struggle in guerrilla fashion.  Only Gabon, Haiti, Ivory Coast, Tanzania, and Zambia have recognized the secessionist state, although tacit assistance has been provided by such diverse states as France, Spain, Portugal, Norway, and Czechoslovakia. 

At this point, it's hard to imagine the Biafran experiment succeeding.  But surely there must be more that we can do apart from watch helplessly.  I wish I knew what it was.  Support the Red Cross, I suppose.

Impending mediocrity

I don't have a great segue from that bummer of a news item.  All I have is the lastest issue of Fantasy and Science Fiction.  While it's not entirely unworthy (the opening serial is pretty good), the rest offers little respite from the bleakness of the real world:


by Jack Gaughan

Operation Changeling (Part 1 of 2), by Poul Anderson

Back in the '50s, Poul had a great series that took place on a parallel Earth.  Its history was not dissimilar to ours, but wizardry replaces technology in many regards.  It's a bit like Garrett's Lord D'Arcy series, but a touch sillier.  The stars of the series are a magical duo comprising a werewolf and a magic-using dragoon Captain.  In the latest story (a decade ago!) the two had gotten married.  In the latest installment, Ginny and Steve are the proud parents of a beautiful little girl.

Unfortunately, Valeria Victrix has been born into a difficult time.  Adherents of St. John, whose outwardly clement brand of Christianity hides disturbing cultist elements, are waging a war against authority and the military-industrial complex—including the defense contractor that employs Steve.  The Johnnites are essentially stand-ins for the current peace movements, albeit more sinister.

The conflict with the less-than-civil resisters recedes in importance, however, when on her third birthday, Valeria is abducted by no less than the demonic forces of Hell.  It is now up to Steve and Ginny to rescue their little girl before she is incurably corrupted…and to determine if the Johnnites are at all responsible!

Anderson has three main modes: crunchy, compelling science fiction; crunchy, dull-as-dirt science fiction; and lightish fantasy.  This short novel, despite the dark subject matter, promises to be the most fun romp since Three Hearts and Three Lions.

Four stars so far.

The Beast of Mouryessa, by William C. Abeel

A French sculptor is commissioned to create a replica of an obscene, demonic figure, unearthed recently in the Avignon region.  The original stone creature has a history of causing catastrophe to those who behold it, but the lovely matron who wants the copy seems unperturbed.  Of course, the sculptor has all sorts of ill feelings and second thoughts, but he does nothing about them.  In the end, he is possessed by the spirit of the thing, and awful stuff ensues.

Aside from all the sex and frequent references to the statue's enormous dong, this story is pretty old hat.  Lovecraft did this kind of thing better.

Two stars.


by Gahan Wilson

London Melancholy, by M. John Harrison

A host of eerie mutants roam post-apocalyptic London in this absolutely impenetrable, unreadably purple piece.

One star.

For the Sake of Grace, by Suzette Haden Elgin

Thousands of years from now, Earth and its solar colonies have organized into a patriarchal, caste-based system.  The Kadilh ban-Harihn has much cause for joy: four sons who have all passed the stringent test to become 4th degree members of the Poet caste.  But he also has a hidden pain; his sister was one of the rare women to dare entry into the coveted ranks of the Poets.  Her fate for failing was that of all women who fail—eternal solitary confinement.

'Unfair!' you cry?  Well, at least it keeps women from trying such a foolhardy endeavor.  Which is why it hits the Kadilh all the harder when he learns his youngest child, his only daughter, also has decided to try to be a Poet, a task of which she is most certainly incapable…

This is a scathing piece, a refreshing attack on sexism.  I'd give it higher marks if it had included even one poem, given the theme, but I still quite liked it.

Four stars.

The Power of Progression, by Isaac Asimov

The Good Doctor explains why our current rate of population growth cannot go on—even if we manage to get off planet, that just means the universe will be clogged with humanity within the millennium. 

I appreciate the doomsaying sentiment, but there comes a point when exponents become specious, a masturbatory effort in mathematics.

Three stars.

Copstate, by Ron Goulart

I used to like the tales of Ben Jolson, lead agent of the shapechanging Chameleon Corps, but they've gotten pretty tired of late.  This last entry is the least.  Ben is tapped to infiltrate a tightly controlled security state to retrieve a revolutionary polemic.

Goulart is capable of writing funny, light, riproaring stuff, but this one is just a bust.

Two stars.

The Flower Kid Cashes In, by George Malko

Item two in the cavalcade of anti-utopian incomprehensibility.  Per a conversation I recently had with David and Kris:

Me: Can anyone explain the last story in this month's F&SF to me?
David: Not really.  Aging hippie survives after the Bomb falls and sort of commits suicide by staying true to his priniciples?  I think it was too concerned with being literary to mean something or be about anything.
Kris: I am not even sure if it is trying to be literary so much as "with it".  But either way it seems very hollow.

Your guess is as good as mine.  At least it's short.  Two stars.

The Body Count

Comparing the lastest F&SF to the Biafran tragedy is probably beyond the realm of good taste.  I'll just note that 2.7 stars is an inauspicious sign.  However, given that the first few issues of the year were significantly better, I don't think this lapse foretells a permanent downturn.

At least some things are salvageable.  See you next month.




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Science Fiction/Fantasy, TV

[April 2, 1969] A New Beginning? (Out of the Unknown: Season Three)

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By Mx Kris Vyas-Myall

The National Radio Astronomy Observatory may have discovered clues to the origins of life in space. Looking at interstellar clouds, believed to be where planets and stars are formed, traces of formaldehyde have been detected.

140’ Radio Telescope at Green Bank
140’ Radio Telescope at Green Bank, responsible for this discovery

The reason this is important is that it is a sign of the presence of methane, formaldehyde occurring in the oxidation process. From the Miller-Urey experiments, it is widely believed that for primitive life to occur, you need a reducing atmosphere to allow complex molecules to form. Along with already detected ammonia and water, these appear to show the elements needed for a reducing atmosphere are already present in these clouds.

If this is found to hold up, we may be a step closer to understanding the birth of life on Earth.

On British television, we are also seeing a kind of rebirth. Of Out of the Unknown without the driving force of Irene Shubik.

Out of the Unknown

Out of the Unknown logo with the words in orange against a green background

With Shubik’s departure for The Wednesday Play, following the commissioning of scripts, it has been up to new producer Alan Bromly to make them a reality.

In many ways Bromly is the opposite of Shubik, an old hand at directing and TV production back to the early 50s, but with little experience in Science Fiction. Rather he has made a name for himself across a range of different productions, most notably the anthology slot BBC Sunday Night Theatre, soap opera Compact and films such as The Angel Who Pawned Her Harp.

So how did it turn out?

(I would like to take a brief moment to thank my colleague Fiona for using her contacts at the BBC to provide us with colour publicity photos. I am still using a Black & White set at home).

Big Prophets, Short Returns

Picture from Immortality Inc. where Charles Hull (Peter Copley) briefs Blaine (Charles Tingwall) and the other hunters on the hunt in a ruined monastry.
The hunt for good science fiction begins.

This series of plays opens with a well-known novel, Robert Sheckley’s Immortality Inc. Even though this does a reasonable job of condensing the story into a 50-minute slot, and it bounces along quite nicely, I find both versions a bit soulless. I just find I am not really invested in who gets the body, which is a big problem for the central conflict.

Whilst it has some notable fans, our editor gave the original story three stars and I think that is about right for this production.

Shot from The Naked Sun, where Baley (Paul Maxwell), sitting and see from behind, is remotely communicating with a Solarian whilst two people in cloaks work the machines.
“Why, yes I do look a lot younger than Cushing did, let’s not go on about it…”

Different issues plague the other novel adaptation of the season, Asimov’s The Naked Sun.

The script makes an effort to place this as a sequel to the 1964 production of The Caves of Steel, with Bailey opening the story talking about “Caves of Steel”, his delight at being partnered again with Daneel, and Secretary Minim referencing the previous case in Brooklyn. Even if Paul Maxwell (Fireball XL-5’s Steve Zodiac) is no Peter Cushing, he still does well paired-off against relative newcomer David Collings.

As people know of the original novel, the case is pretty interesting and, even if at times it feels a bit overwrought with all the yelling, the twists and turns of the story kept me engaged. The problem stems from the conversations largely being communicated through viewscreens. Unfortunately, whilst Rudolph Cartier is an experienced director (and did a great job on Level Seven), he fails to give it flair Saville did in The Machine Stops.

Image from Liar! showing Herbie (Ian Ogilvy) sitting up just after assembly
Herbie awakes to find himself in yet another Asimov adaptation

Of course, Shubik could never choose just one Asimov script, so our second is Liar! Robot romantic comedies seem to have become a regular feature of Out of the Unknown (see also Andover and the Android, Satisfaction Guaranteed) but this one missed the mark for me somewhat.

This has never been my favourite of Asimov’s Robot stories and the teleplay has similar issues. I find the psychic robot too contrived and I really don’t enjoy how much of it is built around Calvin’s attraction to her colleague.

It is well-made and Gifford gives a great performance as the robot psychologist (now her third on-screen depiction), so it will probably appeal more to others. But it is not entirely to my tastes.

An image from Beach Head where Cassandra Jackson (Helen Dowling) talks to Commander Tom Decker (Ed Bishop) on the spaceship.
“I am no longer just Captain Blue, I am now also Captains Lilac, Pink, Fuschia, Green and Khaki”

The third big name writer to be adapted in this run is Clifford Simak and his stories are the ones that tread into the most traditionally SFnal territory, starting with the first contact tale of Beach Head.

I will concede that it looks excellent, with the unusual design of the robots and the aliens being particularly noteworthy. However, this was the weakest installment for me, with three different problems.

Firstly, not all of the performances are pitched right, particularly Ed Bishop playing the lead role very broadly. This is more important in this story where neither the robots nor the aliens speak or emote. As such we rely on the human actors to carry the weight.

Secondly, the action in the first half is divided between robots outside and humans inside, making the pacing glacial until the aliens arrive.

Finally and most significantly, as Victoria said in her review of the original tale, this is not a particularly good example of a puzzle story and it doesn’t add up to much. So, however much it is nice to look at, you spend your time going through a lot of dull content for a rather empty ending.

An image from Target Generation where Jon Hoff (David Buck) and Joshua (Owen Berry) examine the ship's controls.
Set course for planetfall…again!

The other Simak marks another first for Out of the Unknown, Shubik electing to remake a script already done for Out of this World, Target Generation.

Even those SF fans who did not catch its first use will find the tale a familiar one. It is not that it is not a good exploration of the standard themes about blind faith and static thinking leading to our doom, just not one with many surprises. Possibly one for the casual viewer not so aware of science fiction cliches.

Medical Marvels

Image from The Yellow Pill where John Frame (Francis Matthews) tries to convince Wilfred Connor (Stephen Barclay) to take the yellow pills whilst two detectives watch on in the background.
Channeling his inner Timothy Leary to find the truth in a pill

The Yellow Pill is also a script reused from Out of This World, actually being the first episode of that series, yet I felt its restaging works better than the Simak. This is because it is somewhat more unusual in its content.

Whilst its staging could feel a bit old fashioned, largely only utilising a single set, this play-like feeling adds to the sense of unreality we are meant to experience. Add into this a strong script, great performances and the questioning of what is real, and it still feels fresh.

Image from The Little Black Bag where Dr. RogerFull (Emrys James) and Angie (Geraldine Moffat) operate on a Mrs. Coleman with equipment from the bag
The most important use of futuristic medical devices, removing bags under the eyes

The Yellow Pill is only one of several scripts that concentrate on the medical aspects of technological progress. Kornbluth’s The Little Black Bag looks at what might happen if future medical equipment ends up in the past.

Even though I feel this has a solid idea at its core, the episode could have done with a bit of a reworking. It does have some great moments (particularly in the last ten minutes), however the pacing goes back and forth too much for my tastes. I also found that parts are over-explained, whilst other vital questions are left hanging.

Image from The Fosters where the titular couple (Richard Pearson and Freda Bamford) along with Harry Gerwyn (Bernard Hepton) discuss the fate of Geoff (Anton Darby as he lies on a operating table surrounded by medical equipment as Mrs. Foster holds up a strange headpiece.
The generation gap on show

Michael Ashe’s The Fosters (an original for OOTU) seems at first like it might be a piece of domestic drama about the conflict between respectable middle-class families and rebellious youth. But it unfolds nicely in little moments, with the titular couple’s unusual knowledge and strange eating habits bringing with it unease and tension. Even though the end reveal is a bit of a letdown, the journey is a strong one.

Image from 1+1=1.5 as Mary Beldon (Julia Lockwood) is prepared by a medical assistant for her pregnancy test by having electrodes attached to her brain from a computer bank and a human shaped outline is put by her side
Pregnancy screening has come a long way from HIT

Even though the UK’s fertility rate has been steadily declining for the last few years, overpopulation is still a major topic among SF writers. Brian Hayles (of Ice Warrior fame) continues that discussion in 1+1=1.5, an original where the wife of a population control officer becomes pregnant for the second time.

The result is a bit of a mixed bag. It has interesting elements with the catchy jingles on population control, reminiscent of The Year of the Sex Olympics, and it has in its lead roles the great pairing of Bernard Horsfall and Julia Lockwood.

However, I found the mystery of how Mary got pregnant was overemphasized, resulting in a rather dull conclusion, when I would have preferred a focus on the more interesting human side.

The Human Element

Image from Something in the Cellar, with Monty Lefcado (Milo O'Shea) watching an Oscilloscope surround by a hodgepodge of other computer equipment
“I wonder if I can get the cricket on this?”

This human element can be seen in the final of the original productions, Donald Bull’s Something in the Cellar. This is a Nigel Kneale-esque production, putting a science fictional twist on the gothic haunted house story.

I will concede it does stretch out a bit, but it is still spooky and character driven, with the voice of the “mum” being particularly unsettling.

An image from Random Quest showing Colin Trafford (Keith Barron) and Mrs. Gale (Beryl Cooke) in a greenhouse surrounded by plants.
Two Worlds, how to choose between them?

This kind of character-driven storytelling is also present in John Wyndham’s Random Quest, a story of dual time-scales.

Whilst I was never as much of a fan of this Wyndham as some of his other works, and found the script a bit drawn out, I cannot fault the production overall. The design of the parallel universe England is well realized, with the Edwardian touches being very clever. It would also be easy to find the whole conceit rather confusing, but the crew did a great job of helping the audience understand the split in the narrative.

Apparently, this has gone down extremely well and there has even been interest floated in adapting it for the big screen.

Image from The Last Lonely Man as James Hale (George Cole) undergoes the contact treatment for Patrick Wilson (Peter Halliday) who looks on in the background
An inebriated Hale doesn’t realise the trouble coming to him

After the great production of Some Lapse of Time back in the programme’s first run, I was pleased to see another Brunner for this series with The Last Lonely Man.

Even though the original story, as Mark noted, is nothing special, this is a largely straight adaptation raised up by a number good choices:
• The casting of George Cole and Peter Halliday as Hale and Wilson respectively.
• Jeremy Paul expands the wider implications of the tale, making mentions of problems of inflation, sexuality and psychological breakdown.
• Making the death of Wilson the mid-point of the story, rather than the ending.
• Douglas Camfield’s direction making it a creepy tale of paranoia instead of a farce.
I do find it curious Shubik chose it for the same season as the conceptually similar Immortality Inc., but this one shines rather than dulls in comparison.

Image from Get Off of My Cloud as Pete (Donal Donnelly) dressed in an ordinary suit, tries to reason with Craswell (Peter Jeffrey), dressed in a pulpy science fiction outfit, as they stand in a temple with a cobra motif.
“It is all quite simple. You are actually a science fiction writer, in a dream, that is drawing from SF cliches, that is part of a teleplay on BBC2, which is adapted from a novelette, originally published in Astounding Magazine.”

The series is finished with one of its finest ever productions, Get Off Of My Cloud.

Adapted from the excellent story Dreams are Sacred by Peter Phillips (well known to British readers due to its inclusion in the highly regarded Spectrum III anthology) it is a comical take on the cliches of pulp science fiction whilst also asking questions about the nature of fantasy versus reality.

As well as transferring the setting to the UK and adding in some wonderful Britishisms (Raymond Cusick did the design work for this episode and his incorporation of Daleks and the TARDIS are marvelous) it also builds on the idea of our childhood fears and looks at how we conquer them.

The Queen is Dead, Long Live the King

The covers of three anthologies: Tomorrow's Worlds ed. Robert Silverberg; The Best SF Stories from New Worlds #2 ed. Michael Moorcock; The Years Best Science Fiction No. 2 ed. Harry Harrison & Brian Aldiss
Just a few of the excellent SF anthologies currently available at your local bookshop

Whilst there have been teething troubles in a few of the stories, overall, I have enjoyed this season. It continues to show the value of the science fiction anthology series which, just like its paperback equivalent, offers a great way to explore a multitude of themes and ideas.

Whatever mysteries are unlocked by scientists, I have no doubt that SF writers will continue to find interesting questions to explore and there will be a place for this kind of television.

Long may it continue.

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[March 20, 1969] Going through the motions… (April 1969 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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photo of a man with glasses and curly, long, brown hair, and a beard and mustache
by Gideon Marcus

What's the news across the nation?

And now for the man to whom the news wouldn't be the news without the news… here's Gidi!

Dateline: 1969

Apparently, President Nixon and Soviet head of government Kosygin have agreed not to blow up nuclear bombs on the ocean floor, of which there have been somewhere between zero and not many. This is being hailed as a tremendous accomplishment in the field of disarmament. The next great achievement will be banning test explosions on the 32nd day of every month.

I think the two deserve a Flying Fickle Finger of Fate, or the "Penetrating Pinky" as the producer calls it.

photo of a two men in suits (Dan Rowan and Dick Martin), the one on the right holding up a golden statuette of a hand with its index finger pointing and crowned by wings

Dateline: 1969

Britain is building a giant radio telescope to hear the beginning of the universe. Astronomers believe the cosmos apparently was once compressed into a tiny point, even smaller than Governor Reagan's brain, and when it expanded, the temperature of the stuff dropped, as it always does when you maintain the amount of matter but increase the volume of its container.

A temperature that was once immeasurably high has now gotten so low that it radiates at very low energy levels—detectable by super-sensitive antennas! I imagine the observatory will determine if this radio hiss is uniformly distributed or not. They're also looking for quasars, those objects that are super bright in the radio spectrum, but invisible to the naked eye, and which may be the most distant (and thus, the oldest) objects in the universe.

Of course, we all know the oldest thing you can get on the radio is Jack Benny…

Dateline: 1969

Two airliners were hijacked to Havana yesterday. That's the sixth time this year that there has been a "double-header" seizing. We must be running out of rebels and Communists by now—I would not be surprised to hear that the hijackers are just retirees looking for someplace cheaper than Miami.

Dateline: 1969

President Nixon is coming to San Diego tomorrow.  This will lay to rest any dispute, at least while he's here, as to the biggest Dick in town.

What's the news inside this issue?

I've just come back from a little bubble of time inside the roiling chaos that is the real world.  It was a little Los Angeles SF conclave called Escapade, filled with fans of all things fannish.  Keeping me company on this trip was the lastest issue of F&SF.  Although not quite such a rousing success as the con, the issue did have a couple of things to strongly recommend it.  Read on, and you'll see what they were:

illustrated
by Bert Tanner

Deeper Than the Darkness, by Gregory Benford

Greg Benford is a young man, part of an identical twin fannish duo, who I'm pretty sure lives right here in San Diego.  He was catapulted into the ranks of the professionals when he won an F&SF writing contest a few years back, and he's written a couple of pieces since then.

His latest is a space adventure involving Captain Clark, a tramp ship skipper impressed into navy service when the mysterious Quarm begin impinging on Terran star colonies.  Clark is one of the few men of caucasian ancestry left after the hot wars of the fraught centuries, and human civilization is now dominated by Asians and Polynesians.  Society is changed, too, more of a communal affair knitted together by cooperative social activies.  Prime among them is Sabal, also referred to as The Game, which is a sort of roleplaying exercise in which each participant offers up vignettes, epigrams, and other creative orations designed to complement rather than dispute the last speaker.  When fully harmony is reached, the Game is over.

It is frequent usage of Sabal that keeps the novice crew together as it reaches Regeln, a colony recently ravaged by the Quarm.  But Sabal is no defense against, and indeed, a exacerbator for, the particular malady spread by the aliens—a kind of extreme agrophobia that drives humans to literally burrow away from the light, from each other, from the universe.

This downbeat tale is readable, but its psychological and racial underpinnings are a little implausible and more than a little unsettling.

Three stars.

Some Very Odd Happenings at Kibblesham Manor House, by Michael Harrison

A WW2 veteran runs across a much aged and enervated war buddy.  Over beers, it turns out that the afflicted soldier has had an unfortunate run-in with the Celtic cult of Cybele, the Earth Mother.  Said sect, prominent two thousand years ago, demands great sacrifices of its adherents.  The male priests must scourge themselves, ultimately sacrificing that which most distinguishes them as men.

And Kibblesham, built on an ancient temple, infects all who inhabit it with Cybele's compulsion…

This is one of many old-fashioned pieces in the book, almost Lovecraftian in tone.  Not really to my taste.

Two stars.

line drawing of a man and woman picnicking, the trees around them false front props, and the man is saying,
by Gahan Wilson

Not Long Before the End, by Larry Niven

Some 12,000 years ago, before the final Ice Age, great magical societies were the rule.  One of the age's great sorcerers is a man simply known as Warlock.  In his 200 years of life, he has seen his powers wane several times, each instance compelling him to move on to a new locale, where his mana has been restored.  Upon investigation, Warlock determines a terrible truth, one which spells doom for his spell-based civilization.

In the meantime, a stupid swordsman named Hap, wielding the eldritch blade Glilendree (or is it the other way around?), shows up to challenge the wizard.  The ensuing battle is noteworthy, indeed.

This is one of Niven's only fantasies, and it's superb.  While "magic was common before the modern age" is a frequently mined lode, from Lord of the Rings to Conan to Norton's recent Operation: Time Search, Niven is the first, perhaps, to explain why the magic goes away.

Five stars.

Trouble on Kort, by William M. Lee

This is a police mystery set on the planet of Kort, on which a dozen outworlders have disappeared (kidnapped?) and a dozen natives have taken their own lives—all in the space of just a matter of weeks.  Peace Corps officer Jan Pierson is sent in to investigate.

It's a rather unremarkable tale, oddly juvenile in tone and occasionally tedious, but it's not unenjoyable.  I appreciated the love interest, the Kortian named "Marty", who did not get enough page time.

A low three.

The House, by P. M. Hubbard

A married couple, awarded a homestead plot in the bombed out fringes of London, tries to build a house amidst the rubble.  But the tumulus they choose as a foundation may already be occupied…

This tale is atmospheric but rather trivial, another of the throwbacks.  Two stars.

The Incredible Shrinking People, by Isaac Asimov

Last issue, the Good Doctor explained the pitfalls of neglecting physics when dealing with miniaturized or enlarged people.  This time, Isaac explains how he accounted for same while writing the novelization of Fantastic Voyage.

Neat stuff.  Four stars.

The Freak, by Pg Wyal

There are beggars and there are beggars.  The most deformed, crippled, and otherwise unordinary ones band together to form a union of sorts.  Tired of their low income, they go on strike, ensuring that the beautiful citizens of Gothopolis have no one to compare themselves to.

Soon, the "normal" Gothopolians go crazy, and their John Lindsay analog must come up with a drastic solution.

The build-up wasn't bad, but the message isn't as profound as Wyal (or editor Ferman) thought it was.

Two stars.

Say goodnight, Dick!

Just as the week's news was much of a muchness, so was this issue of F&SF more a marking of time than the making of a landmark.  Still, I am grateful for the Asimov and particularly the Niven, and the rest was not so much unpleasant as forgettable.

Good enough for now.  I look forward, as always, to next month's issue—and I hope you do, too!




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[February 22, 1969] Good and Bad Trips (March 1969 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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by Gideon Marcus

Davey Jones has company

This week, the regional news has been filled with the death of a local hero.  Aquanaut Berry L. Cannon, a resident of Sealab III off the coast of La Jolla, died while diving 610 feet to repair a helium leak in his undersea home.

picture of a crewcut man in a diving suit behind a ship's lantern

It wasn't a matter of foul play or (so far as is currently known) an accident.  The 33 year old Cannon, subject to the rigors of a deep dive and 19 times the pressure out of water, simply succumbed to a cardiac arrest.  He was declared dead on arrival at the hospital.

The three other divers who had gone with him had no physical troubles.  The repair effort had come shortly after the habitat had been lowered to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean pending long-term habitation by eight aquanauts.  Cannon was a veteran of the second Sealab experiment, back in 1965.

newpaper illustration depicting the cylindrical Sealab III under the water while a supply tanker floats above

We talk a lot about the space program here on the Journey, but it's important to know that humanity is pushing at all the frontiers, from Antarctica to the sea bottom.  And in all such dangerous endeavors, there are tragedies as well as triumphs.  Sacrifice is part of the bargain we make for survival of the species, but it never goes down any easier.  Especially for his wife, Mary Lou, and their three children…

Davy Jones has company

In less tragic news, the latest issue of F&SF is filled with the kind of madcap, surreal adventures you might expect to find on the (sadly cancelled) The Monkees, particularly the first tale:

cover painting showing a lovely bust of a young black woman and a side profile of a young Jewish man
by Ronald Walotsky, illustrating the title story

Calliope and Gherkin and the Yankee Doodle Thing, by Evelyn E. Smith

Like, far out—two Greenwich Village type 17 year-olds, the Jewish "Gherkin" and his Black girlfriend "Calliope" are set up to take the biggest trip of their life.  Like, they don't trip out on acid or pot, but literally are snatched for a jaunt to the stars, where they hook up with some of the sexiest green-furred cats you ever did saw.

Was it all an illusion?  Or were they really summoned beyond the stars for stud duty?  The plot thickens when Calliope begins to show in a motherly way…

This is the first I've seen of Evelyn E. Smith since she was a frequent star of Galaxy in the early '50s.  Her chatty, droll style translates pretty well into the modern day, with her madcap, satirical melange of race relations, drug culture, and extraterrestrial high jinks.  It runs, perhaps, a bit overlong, and also overdense, but it's not unenjoyable.  Welcome back!

Three stars.

Party Night, by Reginald Bretnor

Carce is a scheming woman-user, all veneer and bitterness.  When his multi-year attempts to seduce the woman he wants from her husband fails, he goes on a driving jag that plunges him further and further into a night determined to karmically repay him.  The pay-off is horrific, though appropriate.

Typical Twilight Zone or Hitchcock stuff, but nicely presented.

Four stars.

cartoon of a man in a phone booth looking down in surprise at a discarded Superman costume
by Gahan Wilson

After Enfer, by Philip Latham

A milquetoast of a man, paralyzed by fear, decides (at the urging of his wife) to find a better job than the museum position he's been stuck in for 16 years.  He is recruited to explore the Nth Dimensions with an eye toward opening up tesseractal space for colonization, the world being intensely overcrowded. 

We never get no details of the trip; we just know that no one has ever managed to deal with the terror of 3D+ space before.  Frankly, without that, the story is just sort of frivolous and a let down.

Two stars.

The Leftovers, by Sterling E. Lanier

The latest Brigadier Ffellowes shaggy-dog-story-told-in-a-pub-setting is the least of the three Lanier has written thus far.  This time, it's about a Paleozoic race of sinister, intelligent bipeds that inhabit the southern coast of Arabia, and how the Brigadier and his Sudanese sidekick narrowly escape their pursuit.

Lovecraft was doing such stories better many decades ago.  A low three stars.

An Affair with Genius, by Joseph Green

Valence is a gifted biologist, plodding and methodical.  For twelve years, he has been estranged from Valerie, a volatile genius in the same field, with whom he had shared a brief but remarkable relationshop.  Success tore them apart, as she got the credit for their landmark discovery, and then seemingly abandoned him for a senior professor.

So, when she reappears in his life on the desiccating planet of Tau Ceti 2 where Valence had been researching the colony life forms that eke out a bleak existence, he is shattered, even to the point of contemplating her death.

Fate intervenes in the form of a sudden sand storm, and Valence must save Valerie's life.  In the ensuing moment he comes to the realization that without her, he was nothing–just a persistent technician, while Valerie had all the real talent.

But the truth is more complicated; sometimes, it takes yin and yang to make a complete unit…

This is a beautiful story.  Perhaps I'm just the intended audience, but I loved it.  Five stars.

Just Right, by Isaac Asimov

The Good Doctor offers up, this month, a piece on the square-cube law—explaining why it's not possible to simply shrink or grow the scale of an object and think it will be subject to the same physical laws.  He lambasts the TV show Land of the Giants in the process, as is appropriate.

It's a good article, and the final sentence is hilarious.  Four stars.

The Day the Wind Died, by Peter Tate

An old man squats on his roof, in a senile dream reliving his days as an ace in World War I, planning to soar on artificial wings he has just purchased.  His son Charlie, a harried weatherman, drops a mirror while shaving.  His son notices that the wind around their house has abruptly stopped, and he believes his father caused it.  He tells his friends.

And the plainclothes agents for the Bureau for the Investigation of Weather Incidents takes notice, certain that Charlie has stilled the wind for nefarious purposes—to ensure his father falls to his death when he takes to the sky on his wings.

Is Charlie a wizard?  Who are these agents?  Is this our world at all?

A surreal, rather puzzling story.  I give it three stars.

Benji's Pencil, by Bruce McAllister

Maxwell, an English teacher, wakes from cold sleep two centuries hence only to find the world crammed with people and utterly lacking in color.  But beauty exists as long as poetry is possible, and Maxwell makes sure that his multi-great grandson has the power of simile before the teacher is sent to the euthanasia chamber at age 70.

The story is written in a hopeful tone, but the subtext is entirely cynical.  As usual, McAllister shows promise, but there is still a rawness that holds his work back from greatness.

Three stars.

Coming up for air

A good issue, this, and thankfully, no one had to risk perishing to explore these frontiers.  Then again, perhaps it is prose daydreams like the ones in F&SF that drive men to explore onward.  No coin is without two sides, I suppose.

Here's to future expeditions, both literary and actual, and safe travels to all who undertake them!

back painting showing a green-furred woman in the distance waving
by Ronald Walotsky



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Magazine, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[January 18, 1969] (February 1969 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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by Gideon Marcus

Sticking close to home

The last quarter of 1968 had the newsmen on tenterhooks.  After the flight of Zond 5, many suspected the Russians would try for a flight around the Moon.  Would they get there before the hastily rescheduled Apollo 8?

They did not, and now it seems they are taking a different tack, trying to progress in endeavors closer to home.  On January 14, the Soviets launched Soyuz 4 into orbit carrying a single cosmonaut, Vladimir Shatalov.  This was ho hum stuff—the putatively multi-man Soyuz was once again carrying a single occupant.  Ah, but on the 16th, Soyuz 5 took off with cosmonauts Boris Volnyov, Aleksey Yeliseyev, and Evegenii Khrunov, the first three-seat flight since Voskhod 1, four years ago.

More than that, the two craft docked in orbit, the first time two piloted craft have managed the feat.  Then Yeliseyev and Khrunov donned space suits, opened their hatch, and walked next door.  They weren't visiting for a cup of borscht; they were there to stay, and they bore gifts: newspapers and letters from after Shatalov had taken off!  The next day, Soyuz 4 landed with the two new passengers.  As of this article's going to press, Volnyov should have landed his Soyuz 5—safely, I trust.

The Soviets are already beging to hail the mission as the construction of the first station in space, and there's no doubt that a lot of firsts have been scored.  On the other hand, the two Soyuz craft were only linked for a few hours, and there was no easy way to get between the two craft.  Really, they haven't done anything that couldn't have been done during our Gemini program.

That said, this may only be the beginning.  Unlike Voskhod, which only comprised a couple of flights, there have been a number of Soyuz missions, both manned and unmanned, so it's probably only a matter of time before a truly ambitious trek is managed, perhaps a real space station.

What's more impressive?  American boots on the Moon, or a permanent Soviet presence in near Earth orbit?  You be the judge.

Mail's in!

The latest issue of F&SF offers a myriad of treats that are, in some ways, as exciting as today's space news.  Let's dive in:


Another splurty cover by Russell FitzGerald

Attitudes, by James H. Schmitz

Azard is one of the Malatlo, the group of peaceniks who have divorced themselves from the Federation of the Hub.  Years ago, the Malatlo were given their own planet, far away, but next door to the Raceels, an up-and-coming race, so that the separatists might not be too lonely.

Now war has destroyed both worlds, and Azard is being escorted by three representatives of the Federation to a new world.  It's a magnanimous mission…so why is Azard contemplating the murder of his benefactors?  And is all really what it seems?

I found the telling of the story a bit talky and stilted, and yet, when I was done, I found the thing stuck with me, some of the scenes vivid in the extreme.  So, four stars for a fine opening piece.


by Gahan Wilson

The Cave, by Yevgeny Zamyatin

Per Sam Moskowitz' introduction, this is the tale of the end result of Communism as envisioned by a dissident writer in 1920 Leningrad.  As winter sets in, an impoverished citizen in the "equal" society wrestles with the urge to steal wood from an advantaged neighbor.  Soviet Marxism thus results in reversion to Stone Age sensibilities.

An interesting curiosity.  Three stars.

Nightwalker, by Larry Brody

Frank Whalen is a super-spy with a secret: his body shoots off electricity at will.  He also has a super suit, which confers stealth, but also has the annoying side effect of causing an all-over itch.  This tale rather straightforwardly details an adventure Whalen has behind the Bamboo Curtain, and how he escapes from a Red Chinese jail.

Probably the first in an ongoing series, there's not really enough of Whalen yet to hang on to, character-wise.  If you like superhero comics, you'll probably enjoy this one, in a superficial sort of way.

Three stars.

Dormant Soul, by Josephine Saxton

Saxton is an English author whose work generally fails to resonate with me, but this time, she channels her inner Pam Zoline with this beautiful, stream-of-consicousness story.  It deals with a prematurely old widow struggling with inexplicable migraines, deep depression, and an uncaring medical system that seems tailor-made to perpetuate the problem with useless nostrums and a callous ear.

The solution?  Wine and a bit of angelic help.

It's a beautiful, moving piece, and it was well on its way to five stars before the typically British, bummer ending.  Still four stars.

Drool, by Vance Aandahl

Justice Stewart once observed (essentially) "I can't tell you what pornography is, but I know it when I see it."  Aandahl proves that, "when correctly viewed, everything is lewd" (thank you Tom Lehrer) in this effective vignette.

Four stars.

Twin Sisters, by Doris Pitkin Buck

A short poem personifying the rain.  I liked it.  Four stars.

Pater One Pater Two, by Patrick Meadows

Two 21st Century disasters combine to doom the 24th Century: a doomsday weapon renders all of the Earth uninhabitable save for Greece and Asia Minor, and a birth control initiative backed by technology has gone awry, preventing all new births.  It's up to Jacson and Marya from the island of Xios to topple the remnants of the past to save the future.

An interesting, innovative tale.  Four stars.

Uncertain, Coy, and Hard to Please, by Isaac Asimov

For this piece, I felt it was important to have a female perspective—you'll understand why…


by Janice L. Newman

Asimov’s most recent “Science” article is on feminism. He never uses the word, but feminism is what it argues: that men and women are inherently equal, and that it is only cultural and artificial distinctions that keep them from being equal. It’s an excellent screed. For many women it would be a revelation, particularly if they have had no prior contact with feminist ideas.

Some might take exception to the description of the male/female relationship as slavemaster/slave, but I do not. For too long women have been considered property, unable to own anything: not money, not land, not their own work and discoveries, not even their own bodies. Even today a woman cannot open a checking account at the vast majority of banks without her husband’s or father’s signature. Consider how crippling this is for an independent person in modern society.

I can’t agree with every argument Asimov makes. While I concede that courtly love is an artificial construct, one need only look to the animal kingdom to find plenty of animals that mate for life, and which become despondent if one of the pair is removed. Nor can I dismiss fatherly love as purely cultural. Children look like their parents, after all, and men who cared for partners and offspring were more likely to have children that made it to adulthood.

However, these are minor quibbles. Overall the piece is well thought-out and logical and usually right, and I believe it should be required reading for all fen…indeed, all persons.

Including its author.

Asimov is well-known for groping women at conventions: grabbing their backsides or their frontsides, even seizing and kissing women who had approached him in the hope of getting an autograph. I am certain that he thinks such behavior is flattering–indeed, he lists the "smirk and the leer" as among the petty rewards of being a woman in today's society. I cannot speak for all women; likely some did feel flattered by such attentions. But having talked with some of his victims, I know that this was not so in many cases.

I have never met Asimov in person. Perhaps friends have deliberately kept me away from him at conventions to protect me. At this point, it seems increasingly unlikely that I will ever meet him. But if I ever do, I would like to say to him, “You, too, wield the power of the slavemaster. The very ‘silliness’ that you decry as an artificial defense mechanism is exactly what is coming into play when you kiss a woman and she blushes and laughs awkwardly. Hers is a conditioned response born, at its heart, out of fear.”

Perhaps it is not surprising that Asimov apparently can’t make the extra leap to apply his reasoning to his own behavior. As excellent and revelatory as this piece is, it seems to come entirely from Asimov’s mind without any discussion with actual women. In fact, it’s unlikely that he’s had much opportunity to see things from a ‘feminine perspective’, considering the vast majority of media is from a male point of view. Not surprising, but it is saddening and frustrating.

I don’t know if I could convince him that he is not exempt, that however unthreatening he may think himself, society nonetheless places the slavemaster’s whip firmly in his hand. But perhaps, someday, he can: I think the man capable of writing such an important feminist piece could learn from his own words.

Five stars.


by Gideon Marcus

After All the Dreaming Ends, by Gary Jennings

A simple boy meets girl episode in wartime, just before the boy is to ship off to the European Theater of Operations.  Except the girl isn't there—she's dying in a hospital bed 25 years later.  To sleep, perchance to dream…and what a beautiful, romantic dream.

A sweet, wistful piece.  I'm a sucker for love stories.  Five stars.

A pleasant recounting

Well now—not a clunker in the bunch, and some Star material to boot.  Indeed, this is the first 4-star issue of F&SF in the history of our reviewing the magazine!  That's exciting news in the skies above and on the ground, and definitely enough to keep us renewing our subscription—to F&SF AND Aviation Weekly.




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Magazine, Science / Space Race, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[December 22, 1968] What wonders await? (January 1969 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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by Gideon Marcus

Where'd you get those peepers?

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.


by Gahan Wilson

A Meeting of Minds, by Anne McCaffrey

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…).

Four stars.

Santa Claus vs. S. P. I. D. E. R., by Harlan Ellison

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!




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Fashion, music, politics, sports, Magazine, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[November 20, 1968] Transitory and lasting pleasures (December 1968 F&SF)

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by Gideon Marcus

Beyond FM

Not too long ago, the FM band of the radio was mostly for classical music.  Why waste high fidelity on the raucous rock and pop the kids were listening to?  In the same vein, the big 33rpm LP records were for grown-ups.  That's where you found your jazz, your schmaltz, your classical.  The juvenile stuff was put on disposable 45 singles.

Well, it still is, but of late, really starting in earnest around 1965, a lot of Top 40 ended up on LPs, and since last year, the FM stations are playing psychedelia and fuzz more often than not.  Is classical down for the count?

Not if the Trans-Electronic Music Productions (T-EMP) company has anything to say about it…

From the back cover of Switched-on Bach, the new LP by the Carlos/Folkman combo who make up the T-EMP, one would think it's yet another fusty classical album.  The selections are common, the same kind of thing you've heard a million times before.

But not this way.  the T-EMP has rendered all of the pieces entirely electronically.  Using Moog synthesizers, many of these familiar songs take on an entirely different character.  In some cases, the instrumentation chosen resembles the original harpsichords and flutes and such, and the result is just competent (even a little dry) Bach.  On the other hand, you also have pieces like the Brandenburg Concerto #3, particularly the first movement, which are utterly transformed.  On those pieces in particular, Carlos and Folkman have departed the natural entirely.  With instruments reminiscent of the weird electronic sounds found in the British puppet show Space Patrol, or perhaps the theme of Dr. Who, Baroque becomes by turns cosmic, seductive, and menacing.

Normally, when I listen to classical music, I can imagine the orchestra.  With Switched-on Bach, I imagine I'm in the cool, dark halls of a computer, maybe something like the one in Ellison's I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream…before it went murderous.  The artificial tones are beautiful, hard-edged, passionate, and perfectly suited to the mathematical rhythms of the King of Köthen.

I'm not the only one who thinks so.  Switched-on Bach is a runaway bestseller, and not with the classical set, but with the youth.  Heading toward the million mark, the Carlos/Folkman team have wrapped the vintage in a computerized cloak, and the kids are eating it up.

Including this one (I'm only 23, just like Carol Burnett).  Buy yourself a copy.  I promise it'll be worth it.

Beyond reality

Unlike Switched-on Bach, the latest issue of The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction is unlikely to become an enduring classic, but there are a couple of entries well worth your time.


by Jack Gaughan

Prime-Time Teaser, Bruce McAllister

The last woman on Earth, the freak survivor of a worldwide artificial plague, splits herself into a thousand personas so as to shield herself from the enormity of her reality.  Upon discovering a screenplay her writer persona wrote, she sees, poetically rendered, the loneliness and desperation she's been repressing for three years.  Like the 5D home in Heinlein's And he built a crooked house…, all of her personas collapse into the original, leaving her bleak and alone.

Aside from plausibility issues (Edna survives in a bathysphere—presumably every submariner in the world is still alive, too), there are pacing issues.  The story moves along until we get to the screenplay, which is several pages of an increasingly sunburned turtle plodding up a beach while a building makes passes at her.

Basically, cut-rate Ballard, the type we've seen in New Worlds for the past five years.  We keep saying the same thing: Bruce has potential.  Bruce writes pretty well for someone so young.  Bruce has yet to write something we really like.

Three stars.


by Gahan Wilson

The House of Evil, Charles L. Grant

Written in quasi-archaic style, this is the would-be-droll story of a writer who is conned, by a lithe woman and her coffin-dwelling uncle, to have a brush with the unnatural that leaves him Undead.

These pastiche stories require a deft touch that Grant doesn't have.  Particularly when he has his character pour rather than pore over documents ("pour what?" I always wonder).

Two stars.

The Indelible Kind, Zenna Henderson

The stories of The People continue, this time detailing the encounter between a teacher at a tiny school in the Southwest and a precocious but illiterate young telepath.  When the fourth-grader begins picking up the distressed thoughts of a cosmonaut stranded in orbit, the teacher gets involved in a rescue operation that is out of this world.

This tale is a strange mix of the familiar and the unusual.  We've now had more than a dozen The People stories that involve the interactions of normal humans with the alien (but human) psioinic exiles, refugees from their own exploded planet.  In some ways, I feel that well has been mined out.  The telling is different, this time.  Instead of the pensive, dreamy mode that Henderson employs, the story has a breathless quality that reminds me of the fanfiction I read in the various trekzines coming out—that sort of, "Golly!  I'm on the Enterprise with Mr. Spock!"

It's not bad, just weird, and not up to the standards of Henderson's better work.  Plus, I find it strange how brazenly The People are displaying their powers these days.  Surely, that should have follow-on consequences.

Three stars.

Miss Van Winkle, Stephen Barr

A girl sleeps from birth until she is 19, then awakes—beautiful, articulate (though not literate), and devoid of superego.  She is unhappy until she meets Walkly, who loves her for the societal outcast she quickly becomes.

I am not sure if this story is supposed to be a satire on artificial social conventions or just cute.  Either way, it's a bit clunky and wholly insubstantial.  Morever, it twice tries to make clever use of the girl's surname(s), but because the author introduces them late, the reader is never let in on the joke.  It'd be as if, on the last page of the mystery, Poirot pulled the heretofore unknown murder weapon out of his pocket and used it to solve the case.

Two stars.

A Report on the Migrations of Educational Materials, John Sladek

Every book in the world, starting with the oldest, most neglected, and ending with even the most modest of volumes, begins to wing its way toward the Amazon.  That's pretty much the story.

Sladek writes well, and he writes this well, but there's not much there to this there.

Three stars, I suppose.

The Worm Shamir, Leonard Tushnet

The best science fiction incorporates real science, allies it with human interest, and makes clever predictions regarding the application of a new discovery.  This story does all of these things admirably.

Professor Zvi Ben-Ari of Israel's Rehovoth research center is hot on a Biblically inspired trail.  He is convinced that the legend of King Solomon's "Shamir", a worm used to shape rocks for use in an altar, has a kernel of truth.  But what truth could it be?  And if such truth exists, and it could be used for war, what then?

A thoughtful, atmospheric, humorous piece.  Perhaps, as an Israeli, I am biased (or, shall we say, the target audience), but I quite enjoyed it.

Five stars.

Lost, Dorothy Gilbert

Poetry: an alien pilot, scouring the Earth for some kind of Arcadia, finds instead the fleecy flocks of Scottish Skye.

It didn't move me.  Two stars.

View from Amalthea, Isaac Asimov

Inspired by a scene from the movie 2001, the Good Doctor's piece this month is about how the four big "Galilean" moons of Jupiter might look to an observer on the innermost satellite, Mimas.  He details their size and brightness.  As a bonus section, he talks about how the many moons of Saturn would look from the innermost satellite, Janus.

He never quite comes around to confirming that the shot of Jovian moons in the movie was plausible, nor does he explain that a moon one hundredth as bright as our Moon is still 100 times brighter than Venus (though that brightness is spread over a large disk, so it would look dim to our eyes).  I chalk up those omissions to space concerns.  As is, it's a handy article for those who don't want to have to do the math every time.

Five stars.

Gadget Man, Ron Goulart

Satirist/thriller-writer Ron Goulart offers up an "if this goes on" adventure set in The Republic of Southern California some time around the turn of the next century.  Hecker, an agent of the Social Work division of the police force is tasked to make contact with Jane Kendry, head of the left-wing insurgency, and find out if she's responsible for all the riots breaking out, even among the $100,000 houses and manicured lawns of affluent Orange County.

Along the way, he runs into hippie beach bums, an erstwhile Vice President and his Secretary of Defense, running a sort of revival (continuation?) of the arch-conservative John Birch Society, and finally, The Gadget Man himself, who runs the wheels within the wheels.

In tone, it's more grounded than Bob Sheckley's whimsy, more silly than Mack Reynolds' stuff.  It's eminently readable, occasionally smile-inducing, suitably riproaring, and utterly forgettable.

Three stars.

Compare and contrast

In the end, Carlos and Folkman provide a shorter-length but replayable and consistent pleasure.  F&SF this month is, for the most part, forgettable—but it takes longer to get through, and the nuggets of gold shine brightly.

Both have earned permanent places on my shelves, and I guess that's all one can ask for.  And here, what's this?  The back of F&SF has something most interesting.  We'll have to try that out, too, won't we?




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