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[October 20, 1964] The Struggle (November 1964 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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[Have you gotten your copy of Rediscovery: Science Fiction by Women (1958-1963)? It's got some of the best science fiction of the Silver Age, many of the stories first appearing in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction!)


by Gideon Marcus

The Good Fight

1964 has been a year of struggle.  The struggle to integrate our nation, the struggle against disorder in the cities, titanic power struggles in the U.S., the U.K. and now the U.S.S.R.  The struggle to hold on to South Vietnam, to preserve Congo as a whole nation.  The struggle of folk, rock, Motown, country, and surf against the inexorable British invasion.

So it's no wonder that this month's Fantasy and Science Fiction makes struggle the central component of so many of its stories.  This magazine is wont to have "All Star Issues" — this one is an "All Theme Issue":


by Ed Emshwiller

The Issues at Hand

Greenplace, by Tom Purdom

Purdom, who just wrote the excellent I want the Stars (review coming in the next Galactoscope), depicts a 21st Century in which immortality has created a stranglehold on politics.  Canny machine bosses can hold on to power indefinitely.  Nicholson is a man who would break this power, loading himself up on psychically enhancing drugs and personally investigating "Greenplace", a stronghold neighborhood of the 8th Congressional District.  There, he encounters resistance, violence, and a secret…

Remarkable for its melange of interesting ideas and surreal execution, it's a little too consciously weird for true effectiveness.  Three stars.

After Everything, What? by Dick Moore

Two thousand years ago, genetic supermen ruled the galaxy.  They weren't dictators; rather, they were created by humans to be the best that humanity could be (that's what the story says — I'm not endorsing eugenics).  After a century of dominance, they all died out.

It's a well-written piece, but the conclusion is obvious from the beginning: the ubermenschen struggled against boredom…and lost.

Three stars.

Treat, by Walter H. Kerr

It used to be that, on Halloween, people would wear scary masks so that when they encountered bonafide spooks on their day of free reign, they would be mistaken for compatriots.  Nowadays, the shoe is on the other foot — spooks can only freely walk the Earth on Oct. 31 since everyone mistakes their frightening faces for masks.

Cute?  Three stars.

Breakthrough, by Jack Sharkey

Here, the struggle is Man vs. Machine.  A chess-playing computer betrays its sentience by developing a sense of humor.  So its creator, tormented with feelings of inferiority, shoots the machine dead.

Sharkey can be good.  More often he can be bad.  Here, Sharkey is about as bad as he ever gets.

One star.

Dark Conception, by Louis J. A. Adams

When the Savior comes again, will it be in the form of another virgin birth?  And what happens when the new Mary happens to be Black?

This is the first piece of the issue that has some of the old F&SF power, but the ending doesn't pack a lot of punch since the conclusion is telegraphed, and the author doesn't do much with it.

Three stars for this missed opportunity of a tale.

One Man's Dream, by Sydney Van Scyoc

Against age, all mortals struggle in vain.  A Mr. Rybik has himself "tanked" in life-sustaining fluids in the hopes of purchasing a few more years.  But not for himself — he wants to preserve the other personality who lives in his head, the pulp adventurer called Anderson.  This Anderson is more real to him than even his wife or his kids, entertaining, sustaining, allowing Rybik to enjoy a life of vicarious excitement.

But when Rybik's money runs out, he finds that no one in the real world wants to pony up dough to save a crazy dreamer who neglected his family.  Can Anderson save him now?

Well crafted, it engages while it lasts, and then sort of fades away.  Like Anderson.

Three stars.

The New Encyclopaedist – III, by Stephen Becker

Another of these faux articles written for an encyclopaedia, copyright 2100 A.D.  This one details a latter day crusade against immorality by a McCarthy parody.  Mostly a bore, though there is one genuinely funny line.

Two stars.

Where Do You Live, Queen Esther? by Avram Davidson

Esther is a Creole house-servant.  Her struggle is with her employer, Eleanor Raidy, who treats her poorly.  In typically overwritten fashion, the author details Esther's revenge.  Only Avram can make seven pages feel like 20.

I understand Davidson is quitting the editorship of F&SF to devote more time to his writing.  If this is the kind of stuff we can look forward to, he might consider an altogether different career.  And it's a reprint, no less!

Two stars.

The Black of Night, by Isaac Asimov

Dr. A's article for the month details the struggle to answer Olbers' paradox: if the universe be infinite, and stars evenly distributed, why isn't the night sky as bright as the day's?

As one might guess, the issue is with the postulates.  Neither are correct, as we now know.  Asimov does his usual fine job explaining things for the layman.

Four stars.

On the House, by R. C. FitzPatrick

In the earlier story, Dark Conception, the husband of the pregnant Mary confronts Mary's doctor.  Both husband and doctor are Black, but the husband considers the doctor a "Tom" and won't be satisfied with mere equality:

"I don' want what you want, man.  I want what they got and for them to be like me now.  I want to lead me a lynch mob and hang someone who looks at one of our girls.  I want to rend me some of my land to one of them and let them get one payment behind.  I want them to try to send they kids to our school.  I want 'em to give me back myself like I was before, when I didn't hurt so bad that I better off dead."

Fitzpatrick's On the House is a deal with the Devil story, but the protagonist is a Black woman, and all she wants is to change places with "one of them". 

It's another piece that would do a lot better with development beyond the punchline, but I at least appreciate the variation on the theme.

Three stars.

Portrait of the Artist, by Harry Harrison

If there is going to be one struggle that defines the modern age, it's the struggle to reconcile automation with personal dignity.  Harrison, in this piece, shows the mental devastation that happens when even such an imagination-laden field as comic artistry can be done by a machine. 

It was pretty good up to the end where (if you'll pardon the unintentional pun, given how the story ends), Harrison fails to stick the landing.

Three stars.

Hag, by Russell F. Letson, Jr.

Is a witch's pox effective against modern vaccination?

Another pleasant (if forgettable) prose poem.

Three stars.

Oversight, by Richard Olin

Wacky doctor wins his struggle against aging by infusing his cells with planaria (flatworm) DNA.  It has unintended consequences.

Another story with an obvious ending — and this one doesn't make biological sense. 

Olin's last (and first) story was better.  Two stars.

The Third Coordinate, by Adam Smith

We end with the struggle to reach the stars.  The concept is novel: humanity has invented a teleporter, but while direction can be controlled, distance cannot.  What its operators need is three known destinations, coordinates that can be used to calibrate the device so that accurate ranging can be done.

Great idea.  Very poor execution.  Nothing happens for the first 20 pages but some of the clunkiest exposition and character development I've read in a while.  And there's no tension in the end, either.  Pilot succeeds, end of story.

Two stars, and a hope that the theme gets picked up by someone with more chops.

Summing Up

As it turns out, the biggest struggle this month was finishing the damned magazine.  Conflict is vital to any story, but it's only one component.  Execution and development matter, too.  Even Davidson's story intros have lapsed into badness.  I'm looking forward to the editor's departure from F&SF; any change has to be an improvement, right?

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




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Magazine, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[September 22, 1964] Fall back!  (October 1964 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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[Don't miss your chance to get your copy of Rediscovery: Science Fiction by Women (1958-1963), some of the best science fiction of the Silver Age.  If you like the Journey, you'll love this book (and you'll be helping us out, too!)


by Gideon Marcus

To every thing there is a season

Even in timeless southern California, we have seasons.  In the Imperial Valley, it is joked, there are four: Hot, Bug, Stink, and Wind.  Here in San Diego, spring comes in summer, summer comes in fall, fall comes in winter, and winter not at all.

Yet here and there, we see a deciduous tree start to change color.  The end-of-summer mornings have a hint of chill in them.  Things proceed in an endless cycle.

The same is true of The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction.  Last month, I raved over a superlative issue, an increasing rarity under the current editorship of one Avram Davidson.  I am sad to report that things are back to form in this month's issue.

I think part of the problem is that, as Davidson cheerfully confesses, he's not really into science fiction.  He bounces off the truly hard stuff, like Martin Caidin's quite good Countdown and fills his magazine with fantastic fluff…and then has the temerity to complain that people don't sent him plain old rocket stories anymore!

On the other hand, the rumor has been confirmed — Davidson has moved to Berkeley from Mexico, and someone else is taking over the magazine.  I hear that Joe Ferman, currently publisher, will take the helm, but that his son, Ed, will do all the work.  I look forward to seeing what they bring to the table.

But first, let's take a look at what is possibly Davidson's last editorial effort, what he optimistically calls an "All Star Issue".

Autumn Harvest


by Chesley Bonstell

Once again, the cover is stunning — and utterly unrelated to the contents of the issue.  It's a depiction of an ion-drive propelled ship off of Mars, and it's from the book Beyond the Solar System, presumably available on bookshelves near you.

Purple Priestess of the Mad Moon, by Leigh Brackett

The first of the All Stars is the legendary Leigh Brackett, queen of pulp and accomplished screenwriter.  This tale actually began as a joke nine years ago, when a fictional title was created to represent the kind of fiction Brackett excelled at.  Purple Priestess is the author's attempt to turn a joke into reality.

It has all the hallmarks of a pulp Mars, from the thin air to the drying canals, the ancient natives who speak High and Low Martian.  And, of course, out in the frigid deserts lies an antediluvian evil so terrible that none can experience its presence and fail to gibber.

I enjoyed Lovecraft's stories well enough in the '30s , but I'm disappointed to find one presented unironically in what was once the premier SF mag.  Two stars.

The Pro, by Edmond Hamilton

The subsequent piece, by Brackett's husband (of similar vintage) is better.  One can't help but see a bit of the autobiographical in this story about a science fiction author who finally gets to see the rocketships he created in fiction become reality at the Cape.  Only the launching of the latest of them is not a joyous occasion, for the writer's child is the pilot.  Even if the mission goes well, it marks a final rift between father and son, one the writer is sure can never be bridged.

A bit maudlin but enjoyable.  Three stars.

Stomata, by Theodore L. Thomas

Thomas' latest short story idea disguised as a non-fiction article takes the idea of stomata, the pores that allow plants to respire, and posits an race that uses them for everything — breathing, eating, excreting.

I don't know how plausible the idea is.  On the other hand, Pinky the Blob, debuting in one of my upcoming books, employs exactly this mechanism.  Great minds think alike.

Three stars.

Maid to Measure, by Damon Knight

Five years ago, Damon Knight came out with What Rough Beast, a story so excellent that I'm reading it again in the Spanish edition of F&SF. 

Maid to Measure, a joke-ending vignette about a shape-changing girl, is as trivial as Beast is momentous.

Two stars.

Little Anton, by Reginald Bretnor

Bretnor is perhaps better known to the readers of F&SF as Grendall Briarton, composer of the recently finished series of "Feghoot" pun stories.  After reading this awful reprint, the story of an idiot savant inventor with a tedious Swiss accent and a penchant for pinching posteriors, I'm actually nostalgic for Briarton.

One star.

First and Rearmost, by Isaac Asimov

Doc A. turns in an above average science article this month, all about how gravity stacks up to the other three primal forces of the universe: electromagnetism, the weak nuclear force, and the strong nuclear force (his omission of love and money are probably deliberate).  It's all stuff I knew already, but he lays it out nicely for laymen.

Four stars.

The Year of the Earthman, by Hogan Smith

An old, radiation-scarred astronaut goes AWOL to marry a lovely extraterrestrial lass, dying just moments after he learns that they will have a son.  And then we learn the truth of the space traveler's existence.

Not a bad tale, though it makes little scientific sense.  Also, Hogan Smith is the opposite of an All Star — this is is first story!  But he's from San Diego, so all is forgiven.

Three stars.

In What Cavern of the Deep, by Robert F. Young

Robert F. Young's little autobiography at the front of Cavern is quite interesting.  Like me, he came into the genre by way of Burroughs and then Wells, and also like me, he tried making an honest living before deciding that writing is the most fun one can have with their hands — especially if one gets paid for it!

Young writes stories inspired by mythology and folklore, and while he has come out with some of my very favorite stories, his works from the last several years have been disappointing and mawkish.  His latest falls somewhere inbetween.

David Stuart is a poor young man made rich through inheritance from an uncle.  While investigating the deceased's estate, he comes across two swimming sisters and promptly falls in love with Helen, the blonder of them.  But the ensuing marital bliss is dashed by the revelation that Helen is growing taller by the week, approaching titanic proportions after just a year.  It's sort of an inverse of Richard Matheson's The Incredible Shrinking Man.  At the same time, David's wife becomes more and more enamored with bodies of water, swimming constantly and even growing gill slits.

Is Helen a beast of the sea?  An alien?  And is the story going to end horrifically (as set up in the prologue) with David hurtling five smooth stones to smite his monstrous love?

Cavern is a bit of a departure from Young's previous stories in that, though he makes conscious references to the biblical King David, this is more to obscure the plot than to outline it.  The piece is told with Young's usual excellent facility, and I found myself eager to get to the end.

On the other hand, the end is just a bit too pat, too clearly presented to be very satisfying.  What could have been a 4 or even 5 star story ends up on the high end of 3.

Empty Cornucopia

If this be Davidson's swansong, he picked a sad note to go out on.  Maybe he's got one issue more in him before he shuffles off F&SF's bridge — I'd like to have fonder memories of this phase of his career!

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




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Magazine

[July 22, 1964] (August 1964 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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by Gideon Marcus

(If you found us at San Diego Comic-Con and can't figure out why we seem to be 55 years behind you, this should clear things up!)

Bayside Heroics

This weekend, the family and I took a mini-vacation in our home town.  Living in the suburbs as we do, it's easy to forget that San Diego has so much to offer.  Balboa Park, Old Town, the Gaslamp, not to mention the docks and the waterfront. 

Of course, being who we are, we needed some kind of event to anchor the trip, such excuse being provided by a little get together of comics enthusiasts ambitiously dubbed "Comic-Con."  I think San Diego is big enough to warrant a real SFF con — perhaps we'll get our equivalent of Lunacon someday?

Anyway, time travel was the theme, and I ran across this fellow who looked a bit like a medieval version of me:

There were also these fantastic women dressed up as Spy vs. Spy from Mad Magazine.  Very impressive!

All was not roses, however.  I took along some reading material to while away the calm hours by the hotel poolside, a bunch of books and the latest issue of Fantasy and Science Fiction.  I had (dim) hopes that this installment might reverse, or at least halt, the declining trend in the magazine's quality.  Alas, such was not meant to be.

The Issue at Hand


Cover by James Roth

A Bulletin from the Trustees of the Institute for Advanced Research at Marmouth, Mass., by Wilma Shore

It's always a good idea to start your magazine with a hook, your best stuff.  Instead, Editor Davidson led the August 1964 issue with a short piece by newcomer Wilma Shore, a dialog between a scientist from the present and an everyman from the future — one that proves utterly fruitless.  It's the sort of throwaway gag that Jack Benny might make mildly amusing.  Here, it just droops like a wet rag.

Two stars.

"I Had Vacantly Crumpled It into My Pocket … But By God, Eliot, It Was a Photograph from Life!", by Joanna Russ

Evoking but not aping Lovecraft, Joanna Russ' latest turn involves a fellow with a taste for the pulps and nothing fantastical written since 1940ish.  An abrasive anti-social, he unexpectedly finds his love in a park, her nose in a tome by the long-dead H.P.  But does she really exist?  And what ominous specter animates her, gives her purpose?

Russ never fails to deliver something atmospheric, but in the end, I found the piece as insubstantial as the story's mysterious femme fatale.

Three stars.

Poor Planet, by J. T. McIntosh

A few pages into this "latest" tale by McIntosh, I had a distinct impression of deja vu.  In fact, my description from his story in the April 1959 Satellite, The Solomon Plan, will summarize things quite adequately:

"A terran spy tries to succeed where all of his predecessors have failed before: solving the mystery of the backward planet of [Solitaire].  Where the other planets of the 26th century terran federation enjoy a correspondingly advanced quality of life, the hyper-patriotic [Solitaire] seems to be stuck in the 20th century.  Moreover, their population is unaccountably low given the length of time it has been settled."

In fact, Poor Planet is almost identical to the prior tale (which, itself, was a reprint!) including the sub-plot involving our middle-aged spy meeting with, and ultimately turning, a young local spy.  However, in this one, the spy spends much of his time leering at the girl, noting her affections for him, and then decides that it's best if he be her new father-figure.  Because all girls (even ones who are adults) need a daddy, and her current one wasn't doing his job very well.

I thought the original story decent if somewhat implausible.  This new version is the worse for its ickyness.

Two stars.

Nada, by Thomas M. Disch

I had such high hopes for this one.  It starts like something from the pen of Zenna Henderson, a sweeping piece about a teacher trying to connect with a gifted but apathetic pre-teen.  But what starts out like the next installment of The People falters and ends as a lesser episode of The Twilight Zone. 

Two stars.

The Red Cells, by Theodore L. Thomas

Another short "Science Springboard" piece in which Mr. Thomas says that, since red blood cells are more robust in our youth, that the key to youth is to strengthen our red blood cells.  Correlation, causation… what's the difference?

Two stars.

Epitaph for the Future, by Ethan Ayer

Decent but forgettable poetry about a man (or a planet) and his/its desire for a plain, unadorned grave.

Three stars?

A Nice, Shady Place, by Dennis Etchison

Another newcomer, and a story straight from Weird Tales.  Young woman with freckled skin (we are told this many times) goes to summer camp with her lip-licking (we are told this many times) boyfriend to find out what became of her brother.  Turns out that the campers are all forcibly made hosts to salamander-thingies that take over their minds.  A la The Puppet Masters.

Young Etchison has not yet learned Polonius's dictum, and the piece is pure corn.

Two stars.

Redman, by Robert Lipsyte and Thomas Rogers

Lipsyte and Rogers offer a perhaps prescient look into the television of tomorrow, when shows won't just simulate violence but will actually feature real violence.  In this case, the program is Massacre, portraying the slaughter of the White Man at the hand of the Indians.  Except, in this case, the Blue-eyed Devils aren't actors.

At first, I thought this was going to be an interesting take on (perhaps justified) revenge by the consistently decimated natives of our continent, as seen by an actor who derives lineage from both camps.  In the end, I'm really not sure what the two authors were trying to say.

Two stars.

The Days of Our Years, by Isaac Asimov

If you want to know how the calendar got to be the way it is today, the good Doctor's article is a nice primer on the subject.  There's little in here I didn't know, but it was a fun read, nevertheless.  Also, I happen to know that the entertainer, whom he got off the hot seat by performing in his place, was none other than Tom Lehrer.

Four stars.

When the Change-Winds Blow, by Fritz Leiber

This one started well enough — a fellow wings through the air of partially terraformed Mars, trying to forget the atomic destruction that savaged Earth and killed his would-be beloved.  But it then segues into a vividly (one might uncharitably say "purplishly") rendered lucid dream involving a cathedral of sand and people from a poem.  I didn't like it.  I'm sure it'll be nominated for the Hugo.

One star.

In the Calendar of Saints, by Leonard Tushnet

Last up is (yet another) Deal with the Devil story, this one won by Old Nick.  The gotcha is only mildly clever, but the portrayal of Communist Poland, with which Tushnet is well-acquainted, is fascinating.

Three stars.

Summing Up

It's a good thing the rest of the weekend was such a blast because this issue was really quite lacking.  Oh well.  You tune in for the sardonic (half) wit, right?  On the positive side, there was some discussion of a renewal of The Twilight Zone.  The issue is finding a new host since Serling doesn't want the job anymore.

I have a modest proposal…

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




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Magazine

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

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by Gideon Marcus

SFlying West

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

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

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

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

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

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

With a sigh, here we go again:

The Issue at Hand


by Ed Emshwiller

Cantata 140, by Philip K. Dick

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

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

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

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

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

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

One star.

The Second Philadelphia Experiment, by Robert F. Young

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

Balloon Astronomy, by Theodore L. Thomas

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

Two stars.

The Scientist and the Monster, by Gahan Wilson

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

A

The Happy Place, by Toni Heller Lamb

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


by Ed Emshwiller

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

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

Four stars.

The Salvation of Faust, by Roger Zelazny

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

All-Hallows, by Leah Bodine Drake

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

Three stars.

Nothing Counts, by Isaac Asimov

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

Three stars.

The Struldbrugg Reaction, by John Sutherland

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

It's no Lord Darcy.  Two stars.

The Girl with the 100 Proof Eyes, by Ron Webb

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

We Serve the Star of Freedom, by Jane Beauclerk

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

Summing Up

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

Oh well.  At least I'm in Japan!

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




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Magazine

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

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by Gideon Marcus

At the Ballot Box

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Issue at Hand

The Triumph of Pegasus, by F. A. Javor

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

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

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

The Master of Altamira, by Stephen Barr

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

Three stars.

The Peace Watchers, by Bryce Walton

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

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

Trade-In, by Jack Sharkey

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

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

Time-Bomb, by Arthur Porges

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

Medical Radiotracers, by Theodore L. Thomas

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

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

Cynosure, by Kit Reed

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

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

END HOUSEHOLD DRUDGERY

YOUR HOUSE CAN BE THE CYNOSURE OF THE NEIGHBORHOOD

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

Four stars.

The Third Bubble, by G. C. Edmondson

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

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

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

The Search, by Bruce Simonds

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

Two stars.

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

Atiny piece in which we learn:

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

Two stars.

The Heavenly Zoo, by Isaac Asimov

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

Four stars.

Forwarding Service, by Willard Marsh

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

The Unknown Law, by Avram Davidson

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

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

Three stars.

Summing Up

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

Fingers crossed for next month.

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




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Conventions/Performances, Magazine

[April 18, 1964] A firm line (the May 1964 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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by Gideon Marcus

World(Con) Affairs

I've heard a rumor that Galactic Journey will be up for Best Fanzine at this year's Worldcon.  I'm not getting my hopes up — after all, we were promised a spot last year, but we ended up nowhere to be found on the 1963 Hugo ballot.  Still, for all of you who nominated us, we give our humblest thanks and hope you keep doing it!  In any event, we intend on attending this year's Worldcon (dubbed Pacificon II) as it will be held quite close to home, in California's Bay Area.

One person who will definitely not be attending Pacificon II is notorious fan Walter Breen.  Unless you live under a rock (or, perhaps, east of the Colorado), Breen is at the center of the "Breendoggle," a crisis that is currently rending apart West Coast fandom.  Berkeley fans report that Breen, an adult, has a penchant for unsavory activities involving fellows too young to give consent.  Far too young.  While fandom is a tolerant bunch (after all, we're definitely a bunch of weirdos), not only are Breen's actions morally reprehensible, but they attach civil liability to any organization he is a part of.

Needless to say, we support Pacificon II's decision to ban Breen from the convention, as do many.  However, Breen has got a lot of defenders, including Big Name Fan John Boardman, and superfan-turned-pro Marion Zimmer Bradley, who we understand is now in a relationship with Breen.  This saddens us, and we hope that Breen's misguided supporters soon see the light. 

My apologies for bringing up an unpleasant topic.  With luck, that's the last we'll have to write about it.

The Issue at Hand


cover by Ed Emshwiller for The Illuminated Man

On a more (but not much) more cheery note, let's take a look at this month's Fantasy and Science Fiction.  Once again, Editor Davidson wails that no one writes space adventure stories anymore.  That's not really true.  They just don't send them to Avram. 

Instead, we get the following mishmash of fantasy and horror, most of it pretty mediocre:

The Illuminated Man, by J. G. Ballard

Out in deep space, the mutual annihilation of matter and anti-matter depletes the universal store of time.  As a result, the remaining matter blooms, spawning crystalline growths that absorb heat and constrain movement.  In Florida, Belorussia, and Madagascar, wild terrain becomes iridescent with the stuff, and mass evacuations ensue.

Our protagonist, a journalist, becomes trapped in the Everglades while the swamp becomes a kaleidoscopic death trap.  But this phenomenon becomes the least of our hero's worries when he gets caught between two feuding vertices of a love triangle: the local chief of police and a lunatic, who are fighting over the woman now married to the former, once to the latter.

Ballard does love his world catastrophes (viz. the recent classic, The Drowned World).  But while I found the story vivid and certainly unique, Ballard's writing has a somber, sepulchral tone that puts me off.  Illuminated Man is a gloomy trip without much of a destination.

Three stars.

Three Times Around, by Jane Roberts

Beware the laundromat, for the item getting permanently pressed just might be you.  I'm glad to see Jane Roberts back in print, and this is a pleasant little piece of horror.

Three stars.

You Have to Stay Inside, by Calvin Demmon

If there is a genre called "Slice of Life," this might be a "Slice of Horror" — a nicely written episode.  But it needs a story to go with it.

Two stars.

No Place Like Where, by Robert M. Green, Jr.

I'm not sure why Avram chose to spoil the twist of Green's story, which illustrates the perils of making apartment buildings too big and look-alike.  Well, it's not much of a story anyway, so I guess it doesn't matter.

Two stars.

The Building of a Protein, by Theodore L. Thomas

This pointless proto-story column continues, this time on the subject of synthetic protein manufacture, which Thomas suggests could ultimately feed the masses. 

The Second Law of Thermodynamics says we're not going to get quick-grown meat any faster or cheaper than cows.  Maybe more humanely.

Two stars.

Invasion, by Christopher Corson

The aliens apparently lulled us to sleep with this rather unimpressive piece of poetry.  Two stars.

A Red Heart and Blue Roses, by Mildred Clingerman

If there's anyone who can bring back the feeling of Weird Tales or Unknown, it's Mildred Clingerman, who in Roses, chills us with the tale of a mother who finds herself adopted by a most unsavory surrogate son. 

I particularly enjoyed the clever double narrative.  The story is recounted by one hospital patient to another; we initially think the story will be that of the viewpoint character, but it's really her roommate's.

Four stars.

Sea Wrack, by Edward Jesby

Far in the future, the Morlocks live in the sea.  They are not hairy brutes but rather civilized, handsome mermen.  Nevertheless, the Eloi still hate and shun them…to surface-dwellers' ultimate despair and ruin.

An interesting tale, too affected and jolting in its execution to be great.

Three stars.

Mar-ti-an, by Robert Lory

Now that the Ferdinand Feghoot pun column is gone, Avram has diversified the sources of his joke stories.  He needs to find better ones.

One star.

Ghost Lines in the Sky, by Isaac Asimov

The Good Doctor brings us a pleasant but rather sterile article on meridians and parallels.  Of course, it's stuff I've known since junior high, so maybe I'm jaded.

Three stars.

Touchstone, by Terry Carr

Just as Ballard doesn't quite do it for me, Terry Carr always does.  You'll enjoy this one, about a Greenwich Village guy who trades his worries for a hunk of magic black rock.

Four stars.

The New Encyclopaedist, by Stephen Becker

Becker serves up one of those non-fact pieces, about nonconformists inheriting the Earth thanks to their uncommon common sense.  Not bad, though more suited to Analog, maybe Galaxy, than here.

Three stars.

Cantabile, by Jon DeCles

Last up is a baroquely pleasant story about a humanoid with a one-month life span, and the Space-Age princess who briefly loves him.  This is Jon's first sale — I look forward to more works from him.

Three stars.

Summing Up

F&SF continues to be much of a muchness, but at least it keeps Ed Emshwiller, artist extraordinaire, in lucre.  I've given up hope that it'll ever be my favorite magazine again, but it wasn't decidedly unpleasant this month.

And given the other news in this article, "not decidedly unpleasant" is pretty good!

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




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Magazine

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

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by Gideon Marcus

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

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

The Issue at Hand


Cover by Jack Gaughan illustrating Into the Shop

Fred One, by James Ransom

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

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

Three stars.

Beware of the Dog, by Gahan Wilson

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

Four stars.

Sun Creation, by B. Traven

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

Four stars.

A Piece of the Action, by Isaac Asimov

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

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

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

My first two-star score for Dr. A.

Welcome, Comrade, by Simon Bagley

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

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

Two stars.

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

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

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

Van Allen Belts, by Theodore L. Thomas

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

One star and stop wasting my time.

The Old Man Lay Down, by Sonya Dorman

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

The Crazy Mathematician, by R. Underwood

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

Complete fantasy and not worth your energy.  Two stars.

Fanzine Fanfaronade, by Terry Carr

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

Three stars.

The Compleat Consumators, by Alan E. Nourse

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

Two stars.

Into the Shop, by Ron Goulart

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

Two stars.

Oreste, by Henry Shultz

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

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

One star.

Summing Up

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

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

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




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Magazine

[February 21, 1964] For the fans (March 1964 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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[Due to an oversight (clearly!), Galactic Journey was not included on Locus' Awards Ballot this year.  If you're a fan of the Journey, we be grateful if you'd fill us in under Fanzine!]


by Gideon Marcus

A New Leaf

Today's special birthday (mine!) edition of the Journey is for the fans.  It seems F&SF has been running a three-part series on current (as of 1964) fandom, and it occurred to me it might be fun to spend a little time on the authors who appear in this month's issue.  I also want to take the effort to show the context of each writer's work.  This is in response to the letter of one of our readers who made me realize I can be a bit harsh (even in jest) on a story.  The fact is that writing is hard, and even the worst stories that get printed are usually, though not always, better than most unpublished work. 

Which is not to say that anything like Garrett's Queen Bee will ever get a pass, but I'm going to try to be a bit nicer.  I will, however, never ask John Boston to change his style; when Amazing is bad, well, you'll know…

The Issue at Hand


This picture, by Mel Hunter, is almost worth 40 cents by itself

Automatic Tiger, by Kit Reed

Kit Reed is one of the writers featured on the Journey whom I am honored to call "friend."  She began publishing fiction in 1958, and she is (so far as I know) an F&SF exclusive — and what fortune that is for the magazine!  Her work is "soft" SF, where it is SF at all, but since her rough start, Ms. Reed has been a reliably above-average contributor.  In particular, her To Lift a Ship, almost a Zenna Henderson The People story, got my nomination for the Galactic Star one year.  Sadly, Kit has moved away and left no forwarding address, so our correspondence has come to an end. 

Nevertheless, I can still enjoy her fiction.  Tiger, the lead tale in this issue, is a vivid piece about Benjamin, a nebbishy fellow who acquires a mechanical tiger, which instantly bonds to his master.  Just the knowledge that he is the proud owner of such a creature fills the man with confidence, and he quickly rises in social stature and success.  His downfall is an expensive woman and hubris' inevitable companion, nemesis.

It's not SF at all, nor does it make a great deal of sense, but as a fairy tale, it's worthy reading.  I have only one significant issue with the story, but it's a central one: I was disappointed that Benjamin ends the story roughly the same as how he started, though now aware of what he's lost.  It's a bit like the short story, Flowers for Algernon, except without the inspiring finish.  A strong three stars for this flawed jewel.

Sacheverell, by Avram Davidson

More beard than man, Avram Davidson has been a big name in the field since the mid-50s, charming science fictioneers with his sometimes moody, sometimes effervescent short stories.  Right around 1962, when he took over the editorship of F&SF, his writing became a bit overwrought and self-indulgent.  It's gotten to the point that I generally approach his byline with trepidation (and his editorial blurbs that come before the stories in his mag have gotten bad again, too — thankfully, he's stopped bothering to preface Asimov, at least). 

Sacheverell does nothing to improve his reputation.  It's about a sapient circus monkey who has been kidnapped, rescued in the end by his carny companions.  The story left little impression on me while I read it and none after, such that I had to reread it to remember what it was about.

I suppose forgettable is better than awful?  Two stars.

Survival of the Fittest, by Jack Sharkey

I've been particularly harsh on Jack Sharkey.  No, not the boxer (who could pound me into hamburger), but the prolific author who has been around since 1959.  That's because, while he is capable of quite decent work, much of what he's turned out is pretty bad. 

Survival falls somewhere in-between, I guess.  It's a variation on the, "is my real life really the dream?" shtick mixed with a healthy dose of solipsism.  Not great, but I did remember the piece, at least.  On the low end of three stars.

The Prodigals, by Jean Bridge

The first poem of the issue is by newcomer Jean Bridge, and it suggests that after humanity has matured out of a need for interstellar wanderlust, Earth will be waiting, no matter how long it takes.

Unless the sun eats our planet first, of course, though we may be advanced enough by then to save our home out of nostalgia.  Nice sentiment, nicely framed.  Four stars.

Forget It!, by Isaac Asimov

The Good Doctor probably needs no introduction, having been a titan of sf since his debut in 1938, and a deity of science fact from the 1950s.  However, I will note with pride that he is, like me, a Jewish Atheist of Russian extraction, and of very similar age (we're both the same vintage of 39), spectacle frame, height, and writing style.

This particular non-fiction piece, on the superfluous weights and measures we'd be better off chucking, kept me company while I watched my daughter compete (victoriously) at an inter-school academic competition.  It's an interesting article, noting that just as the English language has regularized itself almost to the point of sense, but with lingering spelling issues that confound any new learner, so have pecks and bushels and furlongs and fortnights overstayed their welcome.  It's time that they went the way of florins and chaldrons and ells.  Let's all adopt the metric system like sensible people!

Who can argue with that?  Four stars.

Lord Arthur Savile's Crime, by Oscar Wilde

Oscar Wilde is, of course, a fixture of the Victorian age whose wit still finds currency today.  This piece, which I read on a long walk one fine morning, is a pleasant tale about Lord Arthur, a young aristocrat with love, money, and not a care in the world — until a cheiromancer informs him he will commit a murder in the near future.  Convinced of his fate, the young Lord undertakes to perform the deed in as personally nondisruptive manner as possible. 

It reads well, but the ending is just a bit too pat and inconsequential.  And while I am appreciative of the opportunity to rediscover lost classics, I am not certain why Davidson chose to devote half an issue to one.  I should think that a modern magazine could do with less 1887 and more 1987.

Three stars.

Pure Water from Salt, by Theodore L. Thomas

Theodore Thomas oscillates between mildly engaging and somewhat dreary.  A lawyer by profession, he is best with fiction that explores interesting aspects of patent law.  This particular piece is about the value of adapting people to process salt water as opposed to pursuing desalination.  It feels like an incomplete story outline that Davidson bought to fill a vignette-sized hole.

Two stars — one for each page.

Incident in the IND, by Harry Harrison

After his debut novel-sized effort, the superlative Deathworld, Harrison seemed to be in a bit of a rut with none of his stuff cracking the three-star mark.  But Incident, about the evil that lurks in the shadows of the subway tunnels, is a nice piece, indeed.  It's got a sharp, atmospheric style that is a big shift from the author's usual Laumer-esque breeziness.  If I have any complaint, it's just that I wish it had been the fellow and not the lady who gets et in the end.

Four stars.

Humanoid Sacrifice, by J. T. McIntosh

Scotsman James Murdoch MacGregor, who goes by J. T. McIntosh, has been around since 1951.  He hit it out of the park early on with one of my favorites, Hallucination Orbit, and his One in Three Hundred series of stories was good, too.  He's another author who has been in kind of a slump lately, but I always hold out hope for his work, given his prior glories.

Humanoid Sacrifice is an engaging-enough tale with two parallel plot threads involving the same protagonist.  A human troubleshooter is employed by an advanced alien race to fix their rebelling weather control machine.  At the same time, the aliens inform the repairman that they have a human female in suspended animation, a specimen snatched from Earth for study back in 1850.  She is thawed and a written correspondence between the two humans ensues.

It's cute and readable and that's about all I can say.  Three stars.

The Shortest Science Fiction Love Story Ever Written, by Jeffrey Renner

I don't know Jeff Renner, but I think the magazine would have been better served filling these two inches with one of those little EMSH drawings they used to have.  One star.

The Conventional Approach, by Robert Bloch

Bob Bloch has been a pro author for a couple of decades now, creating enduring classics of horror and science fiction.  Like Wilson Tucker, he's also kept one foot firmly in the fan world that spawned him.  He took over Imagination's "Fandora's Box" column from Mari Wolf in '56 (I still miss her) for instance.  Now he has an excellent article on the history of Worldcon, which was so good and witty that I had to read it aloud to my wife on a walk this morning.

I suspect it will be as relevant amd rewarding 55 years from now as it is today.  Five stars.

The Lost Leonardo, by J. G. Ballard

Last up is a novelette by a UK author who has made a big splash on both sides of the Pond.  His Drowned World garnered a Galactic Star from us, and many of his stories have gotten four or more stars.  There's a somber, almost ethereal quality to his work that works or doesn't depending on your mood, I suppose.  I liked this one, in which a certain wanderer of Biblical fame becomes an art thief to do penance for his sins.

It's pretty neat, straightforward but well-executed.  Four stars.

Summing Up

Goodness, it feels good to be positive for a change!  It doesn't hurt that this has been one of the better issues of F&SF, a magazine that has been largely in the doldrums since Davidson took over.  Do tell me what you think of these stories and of the fine folk who wrote them!

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Magazine

[January 18, 1964] Pig's Lipstick (February 1964 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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by Gideon Marcus

President McKinley once famously observed around the Turn of the Century that everything that could be invented had been invented.  He was not entirely correct, as it turned out.  However, if one were to read the stultifying pages of F&SF these days, one might be convinced that all the SF that could be written had been written.  The February 1964 Fantasy and Science Fiction is a double-handful of cliches with a thin veneer of literary writing to make them "worthy."  It's no wonder editor Avram Davidson has moved to Mexico; he is probably fleeing his outraged readers — whomever's left of them, anyway.

The House by the Crab Apple Tree, by S. S. Johnson

The bad ship S. S. Johnson leads the issue with possibly the most offensive piece I've read since Garrett's Queen Bee.  It's an After The Bomb piece told from the point of view of one the world's last women, who is shacked up with her wretch of a husband and their fourteen year old daughter.  Barely sentient, our protagonist spends most of the story wondering which of the marauding male savages who terrorize her home would make the best husband for her kid.  After all, a woman needs a man.

Bad as it was, I read the whole story (for it it is passably well written) hoping to be pleasantly surprised.  I wasn't.  Mr. Johnson's protagonist shows no initiative at all (and, in fact, each of her episodes is characterized, even precipitated by her inaction), the daughter is violated in the end, and Davidson, in the height of tactlessness, chose to illustrate the gawdam cover of the magazine with a scene of the torture of said little girl.

One star and a new bottom for the magazine.  Shame, Mr. Davidson.  I hope the mail and telegrams stop service to your new home so you can do no more damage.

[And please see the letter sent in by Mr. Jonathan Edelstein, appended below.  It expresses what's fundamentally wrong with this story.  Thank you, Jonathan. (Ed.)]

The Shepherd of Esdon Pen, by P. M. Hubbard

Here's a stunner.  After spending half the vignette telling us about a Scottish shepherd of legend, a modern shepherd departs into a freak snowstorm, searching for his lost flock, and stumbles across the tomb of none other than the aforementioned herder. When he gets back, his sheep are safe.  WAS IT THE SHEPHERD OF EDSON PEN?!?

An ineptly told ghost story that earns two spectrally thin stars.

Ms Found in a Bottle Washed up on the Sands of Time, by Harry Harrison

A pointless bit of doggerel about a fellow intent on disproving the Grandfather's Paradox by doing away with his grandfather — only the old man has quicker draw.

Two stars.

Nobody Starves, by Ron Goulart

A satirical piece (or something) about a dystopian future for whose denizens everything is hunky dory until they stop being useful to society.  No one starves, in theory, but it's damned hard to get a bite to eat when you can't work for your supper.

There's probably a point or two buried under the glibness, but my eyes were too dizzy from rolling to find them.  Two stars.

One Hundred Days from Home, by Dean McLaughlin

The first ship to return from Mars is met halfway by a new ship zipping around at a good percentage of light speed.  The kid driving the speedster guffaws at the old men and their primitive junker, offering them a quick ride home.  Indignant, they refuse. 

Would NASA really send astronauts to Mars and back and not tell them about a huge breakthrough in space travel?  Do these fellows not even have radios?  Editor Davidson says he can't get any spaceship yarns these days, so he was happy to get this one.  With "science fiction" like this, who needs fantasy?

Two stars.

The Slowly Moving Finger, by Isaac Asimov

The Good Doctor has always done a decent job of making abstruse concepts accessible to the layperson.  But this non-fiction piece, about the maximum ages of various animals, is too simple and could have been paraphrased as one sentence: Every mammal but humans lives for one billion heart beats; people get four times that.

Three stars.

Little Gregory, by Evelyn E. Smith

An odd, vaguely SF tale about a woman employed as a governess by a robot for an alien child who turns out to be the vanguard of an extraterrestrial invasion.  It works insofar as it fulfills Smith's goal of telling a 21st Century story with 19th Century style, but I'm not sure why the thing was written at all.

Three stars, I guess.

Burning Spear, by Kit Denton

Pointless mood piece about a kid who can capture and wield sunlight, and the folks who die when they demand proof.

Two stars.

In the Bag, by Laurence M. Janifer

An obvious vignette probably inspired by a trip to the local laundry.  Blink and you'll miss it.  Three stars.  Maybe two.  Who cares?

The Fan: Myth and Reality, by Wilson Tucker

The first of a three-part series on fandom, this one is an historical essay (next month's by Robert Bloch will cover conventions).  I'm a big fan of Bob Tucker, as readers well know, but this is a superficial, perfunctory piece.  It's over quickly, though.  Three stars?  [Note: I forgot to cover this piece in the original printing — thanks to those who pointed out the omission! Ed.]

Come Where My Love Lies Dreaming, by Doris Pitkin Buck

Welcome to the overpopulated world of 2061, where the national parks on the Moon have a long waiting list, the domes open to let the air in only on rare occasion, and citizens take hallucinogenic pills to stay sane.  Still, despite the hoariness of the subject matter, it's not a bad read.  Welcome to the ranks of the prose writers, Ms. Buck.  Now go beyond the well-trodden path.

Three stars.

I'm sounding more and more like John Boston every day.  My wife likes it when I write snippy, but boy am I tired of having things to be snippy about.

Could we please get Tony Boucher or Robert Mills back in the editorial saddle again? 

— — —

(Need something to cleanse your palate?  See all the neat things the Journey did last year!)




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Book, Magazine, Science / Space Race

[December 21, 1963] Soaring and Plummeting (January 1964 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

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by Gideon Marcus

[Time is running out to get your Worldcon membership!  Register here to be able to vote for the Hugos.]

The Balloon goes Up

It's been something of a dry patch for American space spectaculars, and with projects Gemini and Apollo both being delayed by technical and budgetary issues, it is no wonder that NASA is hungry for any positive news.  So you can excuse them for trumpeting the launch of Explorer 19 so loudly — even if the thing is just a big balloon.  How excited can anyone get about that?

As it turns out, plenty excited.

Explorer 19, launched December 19, 1963, is a spherical balloon painted with polka-dots (they keep the sun from making it too hot or cold), and what it does is measure the atmosphere as it circles the Earth.  Not with any active instruments, but just by moving.  All orbiting spacecraft have an ideal route, one determined by Newton's laws.  If there were no air at all up there, the satellite would just keep orbiting in the same path forever (though the Moon and the Sun exert their own influences).  But there is air up there.  To be sure, the "air" up above 600 kilometers in altitude is hardly deserving of the name — it's a harder vacuum than we can make on the ground!  Nevertheless, the stuff up there is denser than what is found in interplanetary space, and we can tell its density from the slow slip of Explorer 19 in its orbit. 

If we want to know what kind of science we'll get from Explorer 19, all we have to do is look to Explorer 9.  Launched two years ago, it is a virtual twin.  Both Explorers were launched from cheap, solid-fuel Scout rockets.  Both have tracking beacons that failed shortly after launch.  The only way to get any data from these missions is to track the satellites by sophisticated cameras.

Explorer 9 has already contributed immensely to our knowledge of Earth's upper atmosphere.  Thanks to constant photographic tracking of the satellite, scientists have seen the expansion of the atmosphere as it heats up during the day as well as shorter term heating from magnetic storms in the ionosphere.  As a result, we are getting a good idea of the "climate" on the other side of the atmosphere over a wide range of latitudes. 

This is not only useful as basic science; the folks who launch satellites now have a better idea how long their craft will last and the best orbits to shoot them into, saving money in the long run.  It is one of the many examples of how the exploration of space bears immediate fruit and also extended benefits.

And that's something to be excited about!

The other shoe drops

On the other hand, the January 1964 Fantasy and Science Fiction begins the year on the wrong foot.  It is yet another collection of substandard and overly affected tales (leavened by a few decent pieces that somehow manage to get through), something like what Analog has become, though to be fair, I'm really looking forward to Analog this month. 

But first…

Pacifist, by Mack Reynolds

The best piece of the month is Pacifist by the prolific, seasoned, and (on occasion) excellent Mack Reynolds.  On a world much like ours, but where the balance of power is held between the north and south hemispheres, an anti-war group determines that the only way to curb our species' bellicose tendencies is to frighten the war-wagers with violence.  But can you really quench fire with fire?

It works because of the writing, something Reynolds never has trouble with.  Four stars.

Starlight Rhapsody, by Zhuravleva Valentina

This curious piece, in which a young woman astronomer discerns intelligent signals being broadcast from the nearby star, Procyon, originated in the Soviet Union.  It was then translated into Esperanto, of all languages, and then found its way into English.  The result is…well, I'll let our Russian correspondent give us her thoughts:


by Margarita Mospanova

In Russian, Starlight Rhapsody is actually a very pretty story — melodic and full of poetry, literally and metaphorically. It’s fairly melancholy, with just a touch of underlying Soviet optimism, nothing too garish in this case. But the translation…

Man, the translation makes me want to tear my hair out. It’s awful. It misses entire paragraphs of text as well as actual poems in the beginning and in the end. And the prose itself in no way resembles the original. Hell, it’s as if the translator used some kind of computerized translation device and just removed the grammatical mistakes afterwards. I’m really disappointed because the original story is really unexpectedly good.


by Gideon Marcus

You can get a glimmer of the story's original strength even from the twice-butchered version that editor Davidson provides.  Thus, three dispirited stars.

The Follower, by Wenzell Brown

Witness the perfect match: A milquetoast who decides to make his mark on society by stalking someone, and a paranoiac who only finds satisfaction when someone really is after him.  But their game develops a twist when their twin psychoses create a third player combining the worst aspects of both.

Sounds intriguing, doesn't it?  If it were better done or more profound in its revelation, it might have been.  As is, it straddles the line between two and three stars, leaning toward the former.

The Tree of Time (Part 2 of 2), by Damon Knight

The conclusion of last month's adventure, in which a not-quite-man from the future is abducted from our time by frog people from his and then left to die in an experimental dimension ship.

After a reasonably thrilling beginning, the book reverts to what it was from the start — a pointless pastiche of the worst elements of science fiction's "Golden Age."  Deliberate or not, it's no less unreadable for it.

One star.  Feh.

Thaw and Serve, by Allen Kim Lang

Lang explores an interesting idea: hardened criminals are quick-frozen and deposited two centuries into the future.  It is the ultimate passing of the buck.  Turns out the future doesn't know what to do with them either, choosing to dump them in the wilds of Australia.  There, they fight it out for the televised amusement of the future-dwellers.

Written and plotted with a heavy hand, it's not one of Lang's better works.  In fact, the best thing about the story is the biographical preamble (Lang's middle name was given to him by Koreans during the war).

Two stars.

Nackles, by Curt Clark

"Curt Clark" (I have it on good authority that it's actually Donald Westlake) offers up the chilling story of the creation of a deity.  In this case, it's Santa Claus' dark shadow, the child-abducting "Nackles," who is caused to exist the same way as any other god — through widespread promulgation of belief.

Deeply unpleasant, but quite effective.  Three stars (four if this is your kind of thing).

Round and Round and …, by Isaac Asimov

At long last, I finally understand the concept of the "sidereal day," as well as the length of such days on other planets.  Thank you, Doctor A!  Four stars.

The Book of Elijah, by Edward Wellen

If you haven't read First and Second Kings (or as the uninitiated might call them, "One and Two Kings"), Elijah was a biblical prophet, passionate in his service of the Lord, who ascended to Heaven in flame and is due to return just before the End Times.  Ed Wellen, best known for his "funny" non-fact articles in Galaxy, writes about what happens to Elijah during his sojourn off Earth.

The Book is written in pseudo-King James style and is about as fun as reading the Bible, without any of the spiritual edification.  One star.

Appointment at Ten O'Clock, by Robert Lory

Last up, we have the tale of man with just ten minutes to live…over and over and over again.  Ten O'Clock has the beginning of an interesting concept and some deft writing, but it is short-circuited in execution.  It reads like the effort of a promising but neophyte author (which, in fact, it is — this is his second work).  Three stars.

This is what the once proud F&SF has been reduced to: a lousy Knight serial (shame, Damon!), a disappointing translation, some bad little pieces, and a couple of bright spots.  And Asimov's column, which I read, even if few others seem to.

Oh well.  I've already paid for the year.  Might as well see it through.

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