Tag Archives: John W. Campbell

[May 6, 1970] Wondrous and Astounding (The Science Fiction Hall of Fame, Volume One, Part One)

A young white man with short hair wearing a navy P-coat, blue polo collar, and green t-shirt.
by Brian Collins

For those who don’t know, the Science Fiction Writers of America (SFWA) was founded five years ago in what would become the first successful attempt at forming a professional writers’ association for science fiction writers—at least here in the States. With the SFWA came the Nebula, an award made to be on par with the Hugo in terms of prestige, but voted on by SFWA members rather than Worldcon attendees; in other words, an award by authors for authors. SF in the American “pulp” tradition (as differentiated from SF of the H. G. Wells sort) has been around for not quite 40 years, and those of the older generation have clearly taken on a retrospective attitude as of late. If the New Wave asks where SF might be heading, then those who’ve been in charge of the SFWA, including Damon Knight and Robert Silverberg, are now asking where SF has been.

We thus have a massive reprint anthology, published by Doubleday in a rather colorful hardcover edition, called The Science Fiction Hall of Fame, Volume One. It is, as far as I can tell, the largest SF anthology since Dangerous Visions, running 560 pages. We don’t often cover reprint anthologies at the Journey, but this one is a huge endeavor, and since most of the stories included predate the Journey it would be negligent to not cover it. It’s also such a long book that we have no choice but to split the review into multiple parts. Now, many of these stories are actually not new to me, although this knowledge does little to help me when it comes to evaluating some three decades of short SF.

The Science Fiction Hall of Fame, Volume One, edited by Robert Silverberg

Colour photo of a dustjacket whose spine declares it to be 'The Science Fiction Hall of Fame' (Vol 1) - Edited by Robert Silverberg.  The front matter of the cover gives pride of place to the list of the 27 featured authors, with decorations of lightning projectors taking up the outer corners, and the title is set against an illustrated 'space' background with a stylized Earth, Moon, and a pink Saturn with golden rings, with a boast that the book contains 'The Greatest Science Fiction Stories of All Time Chosen by the Members of the Science Fiction Writers of America'.
Cover art by Sagebrush.

Introduction, by Robert Silverberg

Silverberg was President of the SFWA in 1967-68, incidentally around the time when his return to writing SF hit many readers in full force. He explains, as editor of this anthology, the method behind the madness with regards to voting for what stories would be included, followed by what Silverberg included at his own discretion to round out the book. SFWA members, being professionals, are of a certain age or older, but they were asked “to keep historical perspective in mind” with what they should pick. The idea, to paraphrase Silverberg, was to present a rough chronology of the American (as in published in the US, not necessarily written by an American) short SF story from the 1920s to 1964, the year before the SFWA was founded. The top 15 stories to get the most votes were included, while the rest are a mix of the next 15 runners-up and stories Silverberg picked himself.

A projected second volume will include stories that were too long to fit into Volume One, so presumably it will focus on novellas and long novelettes. Time will tell if said volume will come to fruition.

No rating.

A Martian Odyssey, by Stanley G. Weinbaum

Colour photo of the cover of the July 1934 issue of Wonder Stories (Hugo Gernsback Ed).  The illustration on the cover features what appears to be a New York air terminal to Sydney built atop arching buildings separated by broad boulevards and green pedestrian parks.  Small red winged vehicles with bubble canopies are flying passengers up to the platform for embarkation.
Cover art by Frank R. Paul.

When Weinbaum’s first SF story hit the July 1934 issue of Wonder Stories, it apparently came to readers as a revelation. Weinbaum became a star practically overnight, and then died just a year and a half later. “A Martian Odyssey” is in some ways horribly dated: in addition to emphasis on pulpy exploration of a much-inhabited Mars, the human characters are walking stereotypes. Jarvis, the American of the bunch, is only slightly less flat than his goofy-sounding comrades. Assuming you’ve read “A Martian Odyssey” before, though, you know you’re not here for the astronaut trying to make his way back to the ship, but rather the colorful alien life he encounters. The most memorable of all these aliens is, of course, Tweel, an ostrich-like creature who befriends Jarvis.

Weinbaum’s story was so popular, and he seemed to like his own creations enough, that he wrote a sequel. It’s hard to blame him, assuming your heart has not yet turned to stone. “A Martian Odyssey” reads poorly if taken seriously, but really it is not meant to be. This is a story for the young at heart. Those who are looking for creatively realized aliens in their SF can't do much better than Weinbaum.

Four stars.

Twilight, by John W. Campbell

Colour photo of the cover of the November 1934 issue of Astounding Stories.  The cover illustration depict what appears to be some sort of 'transparent' ship which is exhausting some green vapour out its nose, surrounded by a trio of men (two police officers and a brown-coated white man) attacking it with fire axes.  Several more blue-coated police officers are running onto the scene, firing pistols and calling back over their shoulders as though for more assistance.
Cover art by Howard V. Brown.

You and I know Campbell for—let’s say other things. But 35 years ago, he was in fact two of the most popular writers in the field. “Twilight” appeared in the November 1934 issue of Astounding Stories (now Analog), and was the first under Campbell’s “Don A. Stuart” pseudonym. The premise is simple: a man from the 31st century accidentally jumps ahead millions of years before landing in 1932. The framing narrative is inelegant, even by the standards of the time: we’re treated to one narrator before quickly switching to a different one, who then relays the man’s story in a second-hand fashion. What made “Twilight” special at the time was that it was one of the first mood pieces in genre SF writing, having much more of an emphasis on describing the decline of this far future than on plot or characters. The problem is that time really has devoured what once made “Twilight” special, revealing how painfully stilted Campbell’s style was at the time.

Campbell wrote a sequel, “Night,” although I’ve never read it.

Three stars.

Helen O’Loy, by Lester del Rey

Colour photograph of the cover of the December 1938 issue of Astounding Science Fiction.  The cover illustration is for 'The Merman', and features a crowd of reporters gathered in front of an aquarium, marveling what appears to be a white man in suit jacket, shirt, trousers, shoes and tie, sitting underwater at the bottom of the 'Sand Shark' tank', entirely engrossed in his thoughts.
Cover art by Charles Schneeman.

It’s 1938, and not only has Campbell taken over as editor of Astounding, but he changed the name from Astounding Stories to Astounding Science Fiction. Lester del Rey was an up-and-coming writer at the time, whose “Helen O’Loy” was published in the December 1938 issue. Not only have I read this one before, but have even gotten into civil arguments with feminists over the story’s merits. No doubt there’s a sexist angle, with Helen being an android who looks and acts like the “ideal” housewife. What’s more forward-looking, and indeed more memorable, is the friendship between our leads, Phil and Dave, with Phil narrating. This is, on the one hand, a predictable and sentimental love triangle, but the fact that Phil and Dave’s friendship remains anchored despite their shared love of Helen means that while “Helen O’Loy” may not be that convincing in its romance, it’s surprisingly touching in its depiction of male friendship. It helps that del Rey does not waste the reader’s time with developing these characters.

A light four stars.

The Roads Must Roll, by Robert A. Heinlein

Colour photograph of the cover of the June 1940 issue of Astounding. The cover illustration for 'The Roads Must Roll' depicts a group of brown leather clad motorcyclists wearing goggles and helmets and brandishing pistols, riding in formation on what appear to be single-wheeled steel scooters flanking a tandem two-wheeled cycle completely enclosed in a metal & glass fairing
Cover art by Hubert Rogers.

Heinlein has been exceedingly popular for the past 30 years, although the Heinlein of 30 years ago is quite different from the man we know now. “The Roads Must Roll” appeared in the June 1940 issue of Astounding, and is an entry in what became known as Heinlein’s Future History. It’s vast in scope, and what it lacks in character psychology or even practical believability (a future America wherein mass transit happens on massive conveyor belts sounds ridiculous now, and possibly even to readers at the time), it compensates with genuine speculation. This one has been reprinted multiple times already and has even been adapted for radio more than once, although I’ve never been able to wrap my head around why it stood above a few other early Heinlein stories that I think are superior.

Another curious note is that “The Roads Must Roll” is bound nowadays to spark conversation, not for its ambitious if exposition-heavy depiction of the future, but for its overt anti-union sentiments. Heinlein was a New Deal Democrat at the time, but one would not guess this from the story’s politics.

A high three stars.

Microcosmic God, by Theodore Sturgeon

Colour photograph of the cover of the April 1941 issue of Astounding Science Fiction. The cover illustration two white men wearing brightly coloured and form-fitting one-piece outfits (one in green, the other quarters of blue & yellow), appearing to do battle with implements resembling brass walking sticks with small rounded balls at crown, but wielded as though bats.  A briefcase lays discarded in the grass, and a group of similarly dressed people crowded at the top of flight stairs seem to be just reacting to the fray and are beginning to descend
Cover art by Hubert Rogers.

The premise of a mad scientist who plays God was not new, even in 1941, but there are few stories, even today, that have the same level of zest and playfulness as Sturgeon’s “Microcosmic God,” from the April 1941 issue of Astounding. Sturgeon was very young at the time, and at this point he had mostly stuck to writing fantasy rather than SF; so it might’ve surprised readers who picked up that issue of Astounding that Sturgeon managed to write such a masterpiece of SF. James Kidder, the mad scientist in question, is actually not the villain of the story, but rather his banker, the vicious capitalist Mr. Conant, who takes advantage of Kidder’s talents. The race of microscopic people, whom Kidders calls Neoterics, are merely the icing on the cake.

Sturgeon has since written stories that are more heartfelt, or more sophisticated, or more perceptive of the human condition; but arguably, for sheer entertainment value, he has never topped “Microcosmic God.”

Five stars.

Nightfall, by Isaac Asimov

Colour photograph of the September 1941 issue of Astounding Science Fiction.  The cover illustration is for Nightfall (by Isaac Asimov) and it features a crowd of people bearing torches running into the foreground across the floor of an observatory's open dome.  We can see through the aperture that in the background there is a great conflagration, and in the sky we see a dense field of stars.
Cover art by Hubert Rogers.

You and I both know the Good Doctor, although he has written very little SF as of late. Asimov was barely out of his teens when he wrote “Nightfall,” which appeared in the September 1941 issue of Astounding. The story of how Asimov came to write “Nightfall” is almost as famous among fans as “Nightfall” itself. Given its placement in the top 15 among SFWA voters, its inclusion was mandatory, although I’ve never found “Nightfall” to be that good. We all remember the premise and the ending it gives way to, which are both unforgettable, but truth be told, it also shows signs of a young writer who hasn’t quite found his voice yet. What we think of as Asimov’s trademark conciseness of language when it comes to his fiction isn’t here, nor is his rigorousness when it comes to SFnal implications. You can poke a few logical holes in the world of “Nightfall” if you feel like it.

Yet for its faults, this story about a world which has not known the darkness of night in 2,000 years is home to such powerful imagery, with its ending capitalizing on such a sense of existential terror, that it’s hard to discount.

Four stars.

The Weapon Shop, by A. E. van Vogt

Colour photograph of the December 1942 issue of Astounding Science Fiction.  The cover illustration features a great black monolithic building picked out in the coloured lights of its windows in the middle distance.  A massive neon advertisement circling the building appears to promise 'Red Death, Green Living, White [..]'.  A vast translucent walkway stretches across the sky to the entry situated half-way up the building, and many people appear to be traveling along this path.
Cover art by William Timmins.

From the December 1942 issue of Astounding, this is actually the second entry in the Isher series, the first being “The Seesaw.” Those who have read The Weapon Shops of Isher but not “The Weapon Shop” as it had originally appeared will find this to be familiar ground. Fara is a decent upstanding citizen in a far-future empire who gets caught in the crossfire between said empire and the weapon shops—teleporting, seemingly magical shops that host all manner of weapons for civilians (cops and military are prohibited), with the infamous slogan: “The right to buy weapons is the right to be free.” Van Vogt’s politics are suspect, but in contrast to Asimov, this is better than his more recent work (his investing in Dianetics utterly derailed his career and seems to have sucked out most of the talent he once had). Whether you agree with the libertarian bent of “The Weapon Shop” or not, it’s a strange and thought-provoking piece that shows this once-great writer in his element.

Four stars.

Mimsy Were the Borogoves, by Lewis Padgett

Colour photograph of the February 1943 issue of Amazing Science Fiction.  The cover illustration shows (from behind) an older man wearing a uniform aiming what appears to be some sort of large ray-gun down across the room and down a corridor at a person with orange coveralls who is holding their hands above their head.
Cover art by William Timmins.

We now know that “Lewis Padgett” was a pseudonym for the late great Henry Kuttner and his wife C. L. Moore, a husband-wife team who at their best were really something else. “Mimsy” is one of the duo’s best and most haunting stories, being about a set of children’s toys from the far future that get accidentally sent back to what was then the present day, to an unassuming American family with their two kids. “Mimsy” appeared in the February 1943 issue of Astounding, but it could just as well have appeared a decade later in Galaxy, with its observations on the relationship between parents and their children being just as acute, and with Kuttner and Moore having such a fine ear for dialogue. The ending, which I dare not give away, could be seen as grim, transcendent, or most likely both at the same time, depending on one’s viewpoint. The exact scientific rationale for the children’s behavior might now sound quaint, but the implications of their playing are not.

Five stars.

Good, If Unbalanced

Despite the intent of presenting a rough chronology of genre SF in the American tradition, seven out of the first eight stories here are from Astounding, with six of those being from after Campbell took over the magazine. I have no doubt that many members of the SFWA feel they owe their careers to Campbell, and it doesn’t help either that the early ‘40s are considered by some (although not me, who would push the “Golden Age” back a decade to the early ‘50s) to have been the best era of American genre SF so far. Just one look at the table of contents will tell us that this bias in favor of Astounding during its glory days will persist for some time.

What struck me as a bit more conspicuous is the authors so far included, or rather how the stories selected are pretty much all from early in these authors’ careers, when they were quite young and hungry, so to speak. The problem is that some of these people have since gone on to bigger and better things, with these early outings really not showing them in the best light. As much as I love “Microcosmic God,” Sturgeon has since written superior and more mature short stories that are more indicative of his style. I’m sure Asimov will tell you he has written better than “Nightfall.” Del Rey was similarly in his early 20s when he wrote “Helen O’Loy.” “A Martian Odyssey” was Weinbaum’s first SF story, although one could argue he never really topped it. The voters seemed to have prioritized a story’s initial impact over whether the author has since written better.

These are minor gripes, ultimately, because those who are unfamiliar with SF of this vintage will find the contents so far to be (probably) entertaining as well as providing a useful (if biased) timeline for the history of the form. And we’re just getting started.



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[July 22, 1966] Ridiculous! (August 1966 Amazing)


by John Boston

The Sublime Don’t Work Here No More

. . . Not that it showed up very often when it did.  But the previous issue, which at last attained the status of “not bad,” raised hopes, now dashed again.

The theme of this August 1966 Amazing is plainly announced on the cover, a crude and silly-looking image by James B. Settles, from the back cover of the July 1942 Amazing, titled Radium Airship of Saturn.  You might also think that it doesn’t make much sense, but you’d be wrong!  What you see is actually the top two-thirds of the 1942 version; what you’re missing is the surface of Saturn, and a caption: “The motor in this air-ship is a disintegrating rocket-blast caused by the breaking down of a copper core by a stream of powerful radium rays concentrated on it.  It acts like a giant fireworks rocket.” It’s science!


by James B. Settles

Inside, the theme is carried forward with the conclusion of the Murray Leinster serial begun in June, a new novelet by Philip K. Dick, and five reprinted stories, particulars below.  The brightest spot in the issue is the absence of an editorial, though the usual brief and praiseful letter column is present.

While the editor misses no chance to bad-mouth the magazine’s prior regime, directly and through his selection of letters to publish, one thing has remained constant, and has seemingly intensified: the abominable proofreading.  (“Strickly speaking,” indeed.)

There's also a different sort of difficulty facing Amazing and Fantastic now.  It's been rumored for a while that they are not paying the authors for the reprinted material, which is now confirmed for those not plugged into the more authoritative gossip channels.  Kris Vyas-Myall has helpfully flagged the new issue of the fanzine Riverside Quarterly, in which the editor mentions that he confirmed with Kris Neville that he did not get paid for his recently reprinted story, and confirmed with Damon Knight, president of the newly constituted Science Fiction Writers of America, that this is the general practice. 

I suppose this may reflect the publishing practice prevalent in earlier years of buying "all rights" (sometimes simply by so noting on the author's check, with no more formal contract than that).  So maybe it's legal, but it stinks.  Knight has called on the members of SFWA to boycott the publisher until it changes its ways, and editor Leland Sapiro suggests that readers do the same with the magazines.  I'd take that advice, but duty dictates otherwise.

Stopover in Space (Part 2 of 2), by Murray Leinster

Murray Leinster’s latest Western treads a familiar path.  There’s a new sheriff, but he’s not really quite in town yet, because somebody doesn’t want him there, and it probably has to do with the stagecoach full of gold that is expected to arrive any day now.  It seems like business as usual from the author of Kid Deputy, Outlaw Guns, and Son of the Flying ‘Y’.

Oh, wait.  Sorry.  Wrong rut.  Trying again:

In Murray Leinster’s latest space opera, Lieutenant Scott of the Space Patrol is on his way to take over his first command, Checkpoint Lambda, a station orbiting the star Canis Lambda, whose system is of no special interest except that no fewer than six space lanes cross there.  (Didn’t know space has lanes?  People established them, I suppose so no one will get lost.) En route, Scott learns that several passengers had been supposed to leave Lambda on a ship recently, but didn’t, under peculiar circumstances—and one of them was “a girl.” This bears repetition, to the author and to Scott; a few pages later, Scott is reviewing the available facts, and notes that “passengers—including a girl—hadn’t left the checkpoint when they should.”


by Gray Morrow

Now, what could be happening?  Scott doesn’t know, but he does know the Golconda Ship is expected to show up at Lambda in the near future.  That ship is owned by a bunch of guys who went somewhere nobody knows and came back with a load of “treasure” which made them rich, and they go back for more every four years or so.  What kind of treasure?  Gold, platinum, radioactives, miracle cures from an unknown planet, the secret wisdom of an ancient civilization?  Doesn’t say, now or at any other point until the end of the story.  For the author’s purposes, you don’t need to know.  It’s just a game piece.

So what seems to be going on here?  Owlhoots!  Er, sorry.  Gangsters!  Scott is strongly discouraged from debarking onto Checkpoint Lambda, but insists, and finds himself going through the motions of normality with some slovenly types pretending to be the station crew.  He meets their nominal mastermind, one Chenery, who pretends to know Scott—and, before too long, he encounters the real power, whom Chenery recruited, and who is known as—Bugsy!  He is there to provide and direct the muscle, er, blastermen.*

* No, Bugsy and the Blastermen did not play at last Saturday’s sock hop.  That was somebody else.

So, here are the pieces in play: a good guy, some bad guys, treasure to be fought over, “a girl” to be protected.  What else do we need?  Oh yes, an external menace.  How about the Five Comets?  The Canis Lambda system has no planets—they all blew up eons ago, and the Checkpoint is attached to one of the bigger pieces—but it has some really fine comets, and they are all going to arrive at about the same time, right athwart the Checkpoint’s orbit—and there’s no astrogator, except for Scott!  (One might ask why the powers that be wouldn’t put the Checkpoint in some other location than the entirely predictable convergence point of multiple comets, but one would be wasting time to do so.)

The “girl”—an adult woman, of course—does have a name, Janet, though no others are disclosed.  Her full name would have to be (apologies to Alfred Hitchcock) Janet S. MacGuffin (“S” for Secondary), since she drives a part of the plot.  One of Scott’s challenges is to keep her safe from . . . well, let her tell it.  She says that Chenery “did keep the others from—harming me.” Such an eloquent dash! 

But clearly, as in last year’s Killer Ship, women have no role in tough situations other than to create the need for men to protect them.  At one point, Scott parks Janet for safekeeping in one of the Checkpoint’s lifeboats, gives her a snap course in operating it if necessary, and reassures her: “It’s not a very good chance.  But there aren’t many women who could make it a chance at all.  I think you can.” She doesn't have to try.  Later, though, Scott gives her something to do—maneuver the station to avoid comet debris while he’s busy elsewhere—and she blows it.  But he promises himself not even to hint at criticizing her, and at the end, after all is safely resolved, she is performing women’s other function in Leinster’s fiction as she and Scott get better acquainted.

This one is a little less vapid than Killer Ship, and considerably less irritating, since it lacks the constant reminders that interstellar travel will be just like the eighteenth century.  It’s just as verbose as Killer Ship, but the padding is a little better connected to what is actually going on in the story, and there is a bit more cleverness to the plot.  So, two stars for this played-out and left-behind author. 

Your Appointment Will Be Yesterday, by Philip K. Dick

The other new story is Your Appointment Will Be Yesterday, by the more-prominent-every-day Philip K. Dick, which once more vindicates my warning: when big names show up at the bottom of the market, there’s a reason for it.  This is a story about time running backwards.  It starts with a guy getting up in the morning (wait a minute—morning?), getting some dirty clothes to put on, and picking up a packet of whiskers to glue evenly onto his face, presumably to be absorbed over the course of the day.  So where do these whiskers come from, and who puts them into packets, and how are they distributed?  What happens if you run out?  And why does anyone bother with them?


by Gray Morrow

It goes on.  People begin conversations with “good-bye” and end with “hello,” but they don’t talk backwards in between.  Et cetera.  Sorry, it doesn’t work.  PKD’s specialty is making preposterous ideas at least momentarily plausible, but this one is too long a stretch.  It’s not enough for the reader to suspend disbelief; for this story you’d have to shoot it out of a cannon.

There’s more, of course, but not better.  Dick does have enough knack as a storyteller to keep things readable as the reader fumes over the contradictions, so, two stars.

The Voice of the Void, by John W. Campbell, Jr.

The Voice of the Void was John W. Campbell, Jr.’s fourth published story, from the Summer 1930 Amazing Stories Quarterly, and at first it’s sort of refreshing: the story of humanity’s quest for survival as the sun is burning out, first disassembling large parts of the solar system and moving pieces closer to the sun, then looking for a new home around a younger or longer-lived star. 


by Hans Wessolowski

The story is about 98% character- and dialogue-free, though the astronomer Hal Jus has several cameos along the way.  Instead, it chronicles a long course of human discovery and problem-solving, grandiose and grave in equal measure.  It is a little reminiscent of Edmond Hamilton’s Intelligence Undying of a few issues back, if that story had been administered a mild sedative.

But things turn dark soon enough.  Humanity wants Betelgeuse for its new home.  But it turns out there’s no vacancy there—that system is inhabited by energy beings who don’t take kindly to human invasion.  Allegedly they are not intelligent, but their facility at fatally repelling unwanted visitors suggests otherwise.  Now, Betelgeuse is not necessary to human survival.  There’s another star handy; it doesn’t have planets, but the human fleet is so large that humanity could hang out for a few years in orbit and build some suitable planets.  But we want Betelgeuse!  So the indigenes have to go, and are exterminated in a siege of human-devised energy rays.

Well, that puts a damper on things.  Gratuitous genocide can ruin one’s whole reading experience.  Two stars with clothespin on nose.

The Gone Dogs, by Frank Herbert

Frank Herbert’s The Gone Dogs (November 1954 issue) is a slightly more interesting bad story than many, rather crudely written—surprisingly so, since it appeared only a year before Herbert’s much more capable and ambitious Under Pressure a/k/a The Dragon in the Sea.  On the other hand, it’s free of the turgidity of his current work, especially the characters’ internal monologues about the motives and intentions of one another.  Pick your poison. 

In the story, an artificially mutated virus is killing off all the world’s dogs, abetted by the fact that humans carry the virus; how to save the species?  One solution, highly unauthorized, is to give the last few to the Vegans, who are trying to breed dogs, or something like them.  Matters are enlivened along the way by a psychotic dog lover who’s determined to grab one of the last living dogs for herself (and will kill it with the virus she’s carrying).  At the end there's a slightly silly and anticlimactic twist.

One thing that’s annoying here is the hyper-facile and acontextual (thoughtless, for short) deployment of standard components from the SF warehouse.  At one point the main character needs to dodge a congressional subpoena.  What better way than to flee to Vega?  All by himself, with a forged pass to a faster-than-light spaceship which any idiot, or at least a biologist, can apparently navigate solo across interstellar distances, without notice and whenever the need arises.  There’s no reason in the rest of the story to believe in this capability.  This sort of thing was common in ‘50s SF but that doesn’t make it more palatable.  Two stars.

The Pent House, by David H. Keller, M.D.

David H. Keller, M.D., is in the position, unusual for him, of providing the least ridiculous story in the issue, chiefly because he essays so little.  The Pent House, from the February 1932 Amazing, is a minor exercise in benign crankiness.  A rich guy who is also a doctor discovers that humanity is about to be wiped out by the spread of a cancer germ, so he sets up a nice sealed-off apartment on top of a tall building, makes arrangements for a generous supply of life’s necessities and amenities, and advertises for a couple who really like each other to take on a lucrative job for five years.  The lucky winners persuade him to stay with them in the (large) apartment. 


by Leo Morey

Blissful years pass.  The woman of the couple is not feeling well, so the old rich doctor goes in to look at her and some hours later tells the husband, “It’s a girl.” He hadn’t noticed his wife’s pregnancy.  Maybe this is not the least ridiculous story here after all.

More time passes, the five years are up, and the old guy goes downstairs to check things out.  Turns out the cancer epidemic was thwarted by medical science.  So things are the same?  No—noisier, dirtier, generally less civilized (to summarize an extensive rant).  “It seemed to me that the world has escaped the cancer death so it could die from neurasthenia,” pronounces the doctor.  He’s ready to pay the couple the fortune they have earned and bid them adieu, but the wife says forget it, just order up some more supplies and let’s lock the door for another five years of "Heaven in a penthouse."  Two stars for competent rendering discounted for triviality.

The Man Who Knew All the Answers, by Donald Bern

The Man Who Knew All the Answers, from the August 1940 Amazing, is bylined Donald Bern, who was actually Al Bernstein, who has half a dozen or so credits in Amazing and Fantastic Adventures in 1940-42, and nothing else in the SF magazines.  Frankly, just as well.  This is a silly story about a nasty guy named Scuttlebottom, who stumbles (literally) into Ye Village Book Stall, and encounters the proprietor (“He wore a pince-nez.  He looked exactly like a person who wears a pince-nez.”), who sells him a book called The Dormant Brain.  The book teaches him to become telepathic, so now he knows what everybody thinks of him, which is unpleasant, and he then comes to a contrived bad end as a result of his new talent.  One star per the ground rules, despite this story’s utter lack of any reason for existing. 

The Metal Martyr, by Robert Moore Williams

Robert Moore Williams’s The Metal Martyr, from the July 1950 Amazing, is a mildly clever but overall pretty silly story about a robot, named Two, who develops the delusion that he is a man—this in the far future, long after a rumored rebellion by robots against humans, and the fall of human civilization.  Two flees the robot enclave to avoid having its brain dissolved and replaced, and comes across a couple of humans, named Bill and Ed, never mind the intervening millennia.  Two visits them at their home cave, but some of the humans get scared and threaten it, so Two flees deeper into the cave.  There it discovers the remains of an ancient mining site full of machinery, skeletons, and books explaining the past and how things got to their present metal-poor state—and showing no robots, revealing that humans once did just fine without them.  Two recovers from its delusion of humanity.  After giving the humans their past back (although they, unlike robots, can’t read), Two heads back to robotdom and its rendezvous with the acid vat.


by Edmond B. Swiatek

Williams was once a titanically prolific contributor to pulps of all genres, but most frequently SF and fantasy, and within them, most frequently to Ray Palmer’s Amazing and Fantastic Adventures, where he was part of the regular crew that filled those magazines with juvenilia.  Palmer was gone before this one appeared, but it is true to the tradition.  Two stars, charitably.

Summing Up

There’s not much to say.  The last issue finally achieved consistent readability, a first for the Sol Cohen regime.  Now, back into the murk and muck.






[March 2, 1963] Bucking the System (March 1963 Analog)

[While you're reading this article, why not tune in to KGJ, Radio Galactic Journey, playing all the current hits: pop, rock, soul, folk, jazz, country — it's the tops, pops…]


by Gideon Marcus

February has been a busy month for the Journey in terms of fanac (Fan Activity for you normal folks), including a presentation at the Mysterious Galaxy bookstore in San Diego and a panel at a small Los Angeles convention last weekend.  And the pace hasn't slackened: tonight, I'll be giving a talk on the Space Race at, of all places, a space-themed pub.  (And if I met you at the event, be sure to drop me a line.  I love meeting folks from all eras…)

This month's Analog Science Fiction, that great faded lady of the genre, has also been lively.  Not only has it recently grown from digest to slick-sized (so as to take shelf space next to other respectable mags like Time and Scientific American), but it features a host of stories whose common theme seems to be rebellion against a stultifying system. 

So let's check out the March 1963 Analog, shall we?

Natural Resources in Space, by John W. Campbell, Jr.

Apparently Editor Campbell couldn't find anyone to write a science article for him this month…or nothing he got met his exacting standards (i.e. didn't involve quack science like psychics, dowsing, or reactionless drives).  On the other hand, what we got in the way of nonfiction this month is a pleasantly crunchy piece on the location and accessibility of valuable materials in the solar system — from the iron of the asteroids to the helium of the gas giants.  Now we just need to get there!  Three stars.

Frigid Fracas (Part 1 of 2), by Mack Reynolds

Joe Mauser, Mercenary supreme, is back.  Last time we saw him, he was wending his way up through the rigid caste system of 21st Century "Industrial Feudalism," his only opportunity for social climbing being to fight in live-fire corporate disputes.  These "fracases," broadcast on Telly to a largely unemployed, tranquilized populace, are a modern-day Bread and Circuses.  And they're tightly regulated.  No weapons beyond those available in 1900 are allowed; this produces just enough slaughter to entertain, but the weapons pose no threat to a civilized, otherwise peaceful world. 

This time around, the ambitious Major stakes everything on a repeat of his last performance, flying an unmotored sailplane on a reconnaissance patrol.  But this time, he goes armed with a machine gun…because the opposing team has also discovered the benefits of taking the high ground.  Though this is just Part 1 of a two-parter, and despite featuring a fair bit of exposition, this installment makes a decent stand-alone story — and the world Reynold paints is vivid, if not particularly plausible.  Four stars.

All Day Wednesday, by Richard Olin

Ernie, a working stiff in a union factory, dreams of the day when he can finally stop worrying about it all.  That day will never come, because the day he's in won't ever end.  It's a weird, Twilight Zoney piece that doesn't make a lot of sense, but it's nicely rendered.  Three stars.

The Happy Man, by Gerald W. Page

Centuries from now, humanity has left for the stars, leaving behind the placid stay-behinds, content to spend their time in suspended animation, dreaming their own private Heavens.  But one fellow won't accept an artificial paradise and becomes a rebel, raiding the remaining settlements for food and other plunder.  To each their own poison, right?  A decent tale with a surprising ending.  Three stars.

Not in the Literature, by Christopher Anvil

Chris Anvil is an Analog perennial whose work tends toward the satirical.  When he publishes elsewhere, his work can be quite good, but when he writes for Campbell, it tends to take on a self-satisfied tone.  Literature is one of his better efforts in Analog, about an alternate timeline (or another planet) where the history of science differs from our own.  They have experimental rocketships, airships, advanced metallurgy and chemistry, yet no conception of electricity.  When a failed chemist offers a wild plan to conduct heat down a wire (Dig it — current flows!), he is met with derision and dismissal.  Cute, and my nephew, David, liked it.  Three stars.

Spanner in the Works, by J. T. McIntosh

Finally, we have a Spy vs. Spy tale…except the other Spy is not only supposed to be a good guy, it's not a guy at all!  Rather, a capable counter espionage agent must discover why the Bureau's hotshot computer has suddenly started giving useless advice.  A pleasant potboiler, although it's very much in the "Problem; Solution," category of stories, sort of the SF equivalent of the locked room mystery.  Good stuff…for the early 1950s.  Three stars.

This being the end of the month, it's time to see how the monthly sci-fi magazines fared in comparison with each other.  This time around, we had seven, more than the Journey has ever reviewed at a time.  Thank goodness we have the writers to cover it (ten at last count…) If you added up all the four and five-star stories, the stuff worth reading, you'd have enough to fill two whole magazines.  That's pretty good.  Only three out of forty eight stories were by women, continuing the dismal trend of the last several months.  That's not so good.

For you baseball fans, here are the actual numbers: IF secured the top spot with 3.3 stars, followed by Analog (3.2), Worlds of Tomorrow (3), Fantasy and Science Fiction (just 2.7, but featuring the month's best story), Fantastic (2.7), New Worlds (2.6), and finally, Amazing (2.3).  But all of them have something to recommend them, regardless of the score.

Be sure to stay tuned.  Next up, Jason Sacks is back with a look at National Comics…because you knew he couldn't let my recent praise of Marvel go unanswered.  See you then!

[P.S. If you registered for WorldCon this year, please consider nominating Galactic Journey for the "Best Fanzine" Hugo.  Your ballot should have arrived by now…]




[July 31, 1962] The Brass Mean (August 1962 Analog Science Fiction)

[if you’re new to the Journey, read this to see what we’re all about!]


by Gideon Marcus

"I don't like science fiction."

How often have you heard this?  Loved ones, co-workers, indignant acquaintances with noses reared up to the sky will happily give you their opinion of our degenerate genre.  And it's a dumb opinion.

Why?  Because science fiction isn't a magazine or a story or an author.  It's a wide genre.  Saying "I don't like science fiction" is like saying "I don't like red books" or "I don't like movies that have dogs in them."  Sure, there's plenty of bad science fiction, in print and (especially) in film, but there's also, per Ted Sturgeon, about 10% gold – as in any genre.

Science fiction runs in quality from the humdrum, technical gotcha stories of the last two decades to the absolute peaks of sublimity (q.v. Cordwainer Smith, Zenna Henderson, etc.) Moreover, such ranges can generally be found even in individual sources; i.e. you can find both excellent and lousy stories in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction, Galaxy, or any other digest.

Of course, if anyone is going to be turned off of sf as a genre, it probably will be the humdrum, workmanlike stories that do it.  Not bad enough to be noteworthy, not good enough to be recommended — just dull, mediocre stuff.

And that's what we have a lot of in the August 1962 Analog, a magazine that will only contribute to the notion that science fiction just ain't that good. 

The Toughest Opponent, by Christopher Anvil

The Terran "Special Effects" corps is back with their herd of psychically controlled animals: gorillas, lions, yellow-jackets, even a giant (artificial) snake.  Last time, they quelled a civil war.  This time around, they are helping a beleaguered base defeat a Malthusian nightmare of humanoid bezerkers on an uncivilized, overpopulated planet. 

There is some nice characterization in this one, or at least, the characters are recognizable through their characteristics.  But it drags somehow, and the payoff isn't worth it.  The first of several stories in this book I'd give 2.5 stars to if I allowed half-stars in story reviews.  Instead, I'll be uncharitable and say "two stars."

The Bramble Bush, by Randall Garrett

A moonbase nuclear reactor goes critical, and it's up to one plucky fellow to keep its twin from exploding until help can arrive.  Garrett goes through a lot of trouble to set up the chemistry of the reactor technology (which does not conform to current theory) such that the solution seems less clever than arbitrary.  I did appreciate the portrayal of the hero's indecisive crewmate — not everyone is a man-of-action.  Less appreciated is Garrett's need to pun at every opportunity.  Another 2.5 downgraded to two stars story. 

Watch the Sky, by James H. Schmitz

German cum Californian James Schmitz is an interesting writer, never quite hitting it out of the park, but rarely turning in junk, either.  Watch the Sky, about a backwoods colony that tries to manufacture an alien threat to secure funding for a bigger military base, starts promisingly but ends weak.  Forgettable, but not offensive.  Two stars.

The Big Job of Moving Little Things and The Color of Space, by John W. Campbell, Jr.

Amazingly, perhaps my favorite part of the issue includes Campbell's "slick" nonfiction sections.  The first is a photo parade illustrating a new synchrotron that accelerates and smashes particles; scientists can then sift through the debris for exotic subatomic particles.  Not much substance to the piece, but the pictures are pretty.

The second, shorter piece references the cover and notes how we can get color photographs of deep space objects.  Mind you, these are not colors that any human observer would ever see — the light levels are too dim for us to discern anything but black and white.  Nevertheless, the colors do exist, and they can be extracted using clever techniques. 

Three stars in amalgam.

Border, Breed Nor Birth (Part 2 of 2) , by Mack Reynolds

Last up is Part 2 of Reynolds' continuing saga of North Africa.  El Hassan (formerly Homer Crawford of the Unites States of the Americas) becomes increasingly aloof and dictatorial has his band of idealists attempts to unify the Mahgreb.  It's readable, and the attention to cultural detail is excellent.  Also, a story that features naught but Black characters is refreshing.  However, the piece feels passionless, as if Reynolds was rushing through its production for the paycheck.  I liked it, but I didn't love it.  Three stars.

Where does that leave us for the month?  F&SF is at the bottom of the pack with a dismal 2.4 stars.  Analog is just above at 2.5 (and a different kind of bad — where the former was wildly inconsistent, the latter was unremarkable).  Amazing does slightly better at 2.6, with similar issues as AnalogGalaxy had the highly entertaining The Dragonmasters, which means it has the best story, even though it only garnered 2.9 stars.  And Fantastic was the surprise winner with 3.1 stars — it was good enough that I took the time to read through the choicer bits.

Disappointingly, there was just one woman author this month, Rosel George Brown, making appearances in two magazines. 

Next month, we have a pleasant surprise: in addition to the five American digests, we have a guest correspondent covering the September 1962 issue of New Worlds!  Be sure to budget a good amount of time for reading…




[March 18, 1961] Bad Luck of the Non-Irish (April 1961 Analog)

Happy St. Patrick's Day!  It's a banner year for Irishmen, particularly with one having reached the top spot in the country, if not the world.  And did you know that the phrase, "Luck of the Irish," actually referred to the knack of Irish immigrants and Americans of Irish descent for becoming wealthy in the Silver and Gold Rushes of the last century?  Though the term was often used derisively by folks who thought the fortune was ill-earned.

My luck with Analog, deserved or not, ran out this month.  With the exception of the opening serial installment, The Fisherman, by Cliff Simak (which I have not yet read but look forward to), the April 1961 Analog has been singularly unimpressive.

One wonders if John Campbell deliberately alternates good issues with bad ones—I'd think he'd be better served by ensuring each magazine had at least one worthy tale!  Perhaps he plum ran out.

Take J.F. Bone's brief A Prize for Edie, for example.  A trio of teeth-gnashing members of the Nobel Prize committee agonize over giving the honor to a computer.  Disappointingly silly, and, as seems to be a theme this issue, it misses the opportunity to make a deeper point.  Two stars.

Lloyd Biggle, Jr's Still, Small Voice had some promise: A Cultural Service agent is sent to an alien world to succeed where the Interplanetary Relations Bureau had failed, namely, to convert a centuries-old absolute monarchy into a democracy.  In particular, I appreciated how the aliens were depicted as an artistic race, and that music was the key to progress.  But the thing is sloppily written with a number of duplicated phrases, the alien race is utterly human, and the story a bit too condescending in tone.  The first betrays too light an editorial touch, and the others spotlight a lack of editorial discrimination.  Two stars.

Interestingly enough, John Campbell's nonfiction piece is the most engaging part of the issue.  Normally, the stuff he writes himself is dreadful; he often shills for one kind of junk science or another.  This time, he's back to his hobby of photography, but on an interesting tangent.  He showcases a new kind of light source, an electroluminescent panel that looks for all the world like a thick sheet of paper.  Pretty neat stuff—I could see it becoming a feature of future science fiction stories.  Three stars.

Back to the dreary stories, Pandora's Planet, by Chris Anvil (whose best work always appears outside of Analog), is another "Earthmen are just plain better at everything than everyone else" story.  In this case, some fuzzy humanoids can't seem to win a war to subjugate a planet's native race without the help of some plucky, original Terrans.  The point of the piece seems to be that unorthodox war is just as valid as "real" war, and stuffy rigidity will only lead to failure.  That's fine so far as it goes, but the canny Terran tactics aren't that innovative, and the stodginess of the fuzzies is insufficiently explored.  Two stars.

That leaves us with Next Door, Next World by lesser magazine perennial, Robert Donald Locke (often writing under the pseudonym, Roger Arcot).  The premise is great: A hyperdrive makes travel to the stars a matter of weeks rather than millennia, but with the side effect that one never returns to quite the same time track one left.  The execution is lousy, however, with plenty of insipid dialogue, stupid characters, and lots of padding.  Again, the impression I got was that Campbell was in a hurry and took what he could get without requesting revision.  And it's yet another piece with a beginning along the lines of, "Clint Hugearms stood near his trusty spaceship, tanned and sturdy features marking him as the protagonist of the story."  I'm starting to think Campbell inserts these openings into all of his submissions.  Two stars.

I apologize to my readers who want only to hear about the good stuff; however, by jingo, if I have to read the drek, you have to read about it!  Perhaps the Simak will yet knock my socks off.  It is not uncommon that a given Astounding's stories are bad, but its serial is good (e.g. The High Crusade and Deathworld, for instance).

I've a surprise for my readers—guest columnist Rosemary Benton will be writing the next article, and she's graciously agreed to contribute one piece per month!  Like you, I will eagerly look forward to what she has to offer.