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[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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Magazine

[January 12, 1964] SINKING OUT OF SIGHT (the February 1964 Amazing)

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by John Boston

Uh-oh.

The blurb for the lead story in the February 1964 Amazing says: “Once every few years a science fiction story comes along which poses—and probes—philosophical questions: for instance: What is life that Man must live it?  In a novel rich in incident, fascinating of character, John Brunner questions the essential meaning of life and death and purpose.”

That’s the pitch for Brunner’s 74-page “complete novel” The Bridge to Azrael.  The last time we saw such an editorial panegyric, the mountain labored and brought forth—well, not a mouse.  A capybara, maybe.  Anyway, a modestly capable pulp-inflected novella, Daniel F. Galouye’s Recovery Area, not exactly the promised philosophical masterpiece for the ages.  Sort of the same here, but worse: the mountain has labored and brought forth a mess.

But let’s back up.  John Brunner has for years been a mainstay of the British SF magazines, with occasional appearances in the US magazines, growing more frequent in the past couple of years.  His most notable contribution has been a series of solid and unpretentious novellas in the UK’s Science Fantasy, some of which have made their way across the Atlantic to become better-than-usual Ace Doubles, like The 100th Millennium and (my favorite) Echo in the Skull—the top of the line at the bottom of the market.  So news that Brunner had a novella appearing in Amazing was cause for optimism. 

The Bridge to Azrael, by John Brunner

Unfortunately it trips over its pretenses and falls flat.  It is proposed that Earthfolk have gone out to the stars in ships and colonized dozens of planets, with which Earth has since lost touch and which have developed over centuries in wildly varying ways.  Now, however, Earth has FTL travel via a technology called the Bridge, upon which, if the equipment is properly aligned, one can walk across the light-years.  Earth is reopening contact with the the scattered fragments of humanity and trying to bring everyone together by connecting them to the Bridge system.  They’re up to 40 worlds.

This process is presided over by Director Jorgen Thorkild, and we are given to understand that he works very hard at his big and (it says here) “fantastically responsible” job.  However, when he meets with representatives of one of the next two candidates for Bridging, he realizes that one of them isn’t buying it at all, and he starts to go to pieces.  Doesn’t stop, either, and checks into the hospital, overwhelmed with the futility of it all.

Meanwhile, we are introduced to the “programmers.” These are the people charged with scouting and assessing the cultures of the planets to be Bridged, and they are impossibly superior intellectual supermen (if there are women in this clubhouse, they aren’t mentioned).  So completely absorbed in their work are they that they can’t stay interested in anything else, like comely members of the opposite sex who adore them, as we learn from the viewpoint of one of the latter.  But these hyper-competent intellectual powerhouses are ridden with a paralyzing fear of being wrong.  Exactly what will happen if they are wrong is not explained—do they lose their minds?  Commit suicide?  But the very prospect can impair their judgment and lead them into danger (for one of them, a knife in the chest).  Some supermen!

There are plots and subplots here, some of which might be interesting in another context, though the resolution of the reluctant planet problem is irredeemably facile all on its own.  But the two whopping implausibilities just recounted make it difficult to take anything here seriously, and undermine any attempt at grand philosophical argument, if there were one of any coherence.  So Brunner, whose more modest work sometimes transcends its lack of pretense, has tried something pretentious and fallen on his face.  One hopes he takes the lesson.  Two stars, generously.

Beside the Golden Door, by Henry Slesar

There is little succor to be found in the short stories.  The best of them is Henry Slesar’s Beside the Golden Door, a slightly rambling but reasonably agreeable story about extraterrestrials finding a far-future Earth on which humans have gone extinct, leaving artifacts like the one depicted on the cover (one suspects the story was written around the cover) and records that the aliens are able to decipher quickly.  These reveal another story about an earlier wave of aliens who had arrived on Earth seeking refuge after a disaster and were ultimately treated the way humans frequently treat those different from themselves, and there’s an unsurprising revelation at the end that pulls the stories together.  Fine conventional sentiments, adequate if slightly hackneyed execution, three stars.

I Bring Fresh Flowers, by Robert F. Young

From here, it’s downhill.  Next is I Bring Fresh Flowers, marking the return of Robert F. Young, like a recurring influenza epidemic, though this outbreak is at least milder than some.  It’s short, and less of Young is always more.  Rosemary Brooks, a beautiful young woman firmly dedicated to God and the United States, becomes an astronaut (or, as Young of course has it, Astronette), and she accomplishes her mission to orientate (sic!) the satellite that will bring genuine weather control to Earth. 

But something happens during re-entry.  “All that is known is that Rosemary became a falling star.” But not in vain—the weather becomes really fine, all because of her work.  “She is the sun coming up in the morning and the sun going down at night.  She is the gentle rain against your face in spring.” Et cetera, at some length.  In other words, Rosemary has been reincarnated as the pathetic fallacy.  Could be worse.  Has been, in fact.  Two stars.

Heavy, Heavy, by F.A. Javor

Bringing up the rear, or letting it down, is F.A. Javor’s Heavy, Heavy, the tale of a tough guy down on his luck, not as badly written as you might expect, but ending with the revelation of a supposed scientific gimmick so ridiculous as to erase any prior glimmer of merit.  One star.

SF Profile: L. Sprague de Camp: Sword and Sorcery, by Sam Moskowitz

Sam Moskowitz coasts through another SF Profile, L. Sprague de Camp: Sword and Sorcery, as usual with better coverage of his pre-World War II material than his later work, omitting to mention his last several SF novels: The Tower of Zanid (1958), its predecessor The Hand of Zei (1950), and The Glory That Was (1960, magazine 1952), plus two out of three of his major 1950s short stories, A Gun for Dinosaur and Aristotle and the Gun.  (He does mention the other one, Judgment Day.) The commentary is generally superficial and obvious.  Two stars.

Coroner's Report

The cover of this issue, which portrays a deteriorated and morose-looking Statue of Liberty buried up to its armpits, cogently sums up the issue, and, it appears, the state of the magazine generally: sinking out of sight.

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[January 8, 1964] A Taste of Homely (February 1964 Galaxy)

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by Gideon Marcus

Lost that Zing

It's tough to get out of a rut.  After all, you went through all the trouble of digging the trench in the first place — why expend extra effort getting out of it?

But the fact is, the house that H.L. Gold built in 1950, the superlative Galaxy Science Fiction digest, has gotten pretty stale lately.  Sure, the authors are still household names, but the works aren't their best.  Maybe Editor Pohl, who succeeded Gold a couple of years ago, is starved for material given that he maintains an industry record of three simultanteous mags.  Or perhaps Galaxy just doesn't have the cachet (or the budget to pay authors) of F&SF or Fantastic.

Maybe it's just a slow patch.  Anyway, take a gander at the February 1964 Galaxy and see what I mean:

The Issue at Hand

Grandmother Earth, by J. T. McIntosh

It was just a couple of months ago, in Poul Anderson's Conversation in Arcady, that we last saw the a decadent, paradisical Earth visited by more vigorous colonists.  McIntosh's variation on the theme features a less happy homeworld, one on which humans have given up for lack of challenge, and the sum population of Earth is reduced to a few tens of thousands stretched along France's idyllic Mediterranean coast.  When the last efforts at changing the status quo from within founder, it us up to a pair of extraterrestrial Terrans to come up with a solution.


(I have to wonder if this picture is the main reason the story was accepted…

McIntosh is a pretty good writer, though his best days seem far behind him.  The pacing and execution are engaging even if the plot is hackneyed.  What really tips the balance from four to three stars is the utterly unnecessary exposition at the end.

Hence: Three stars.

A Bad Day for Vermin, by Keith Laumer

A wormlike alien lands in a small Arkansan town, but before it can open discussions with the citizens, a ramshackle exterminator shoots it dead.  A trial ensues to determine whether or not the extraterrestrial counts as a person such that the killer can be tried with murder.  Ultimately, the alien is classified as a person and the exterminator, excluded from the definition, is labeled vermin — and exterminated.

Summarized like that, it sounds like a pretty good story.  It's not.  Unpleasant and preposterous, Laumer must have dashed this one off for a quick buck.  Two stars (if that).

Shamar's War, by Kris Neville

When the completely humanoid inhabitants of a another planet refuse Earth's entreaties to formally ally, humanity sends a spy to foment rebellion and install a more friendly government.  The aliens are under a dictatorship, you see, and Earth deems them ripe for a bit of Democracy.  When efforts to install a formal voting system fail, the aliens come up with a more brute force option: selective boycotting of goods nonessential to life but essential to the economy.

It's hard to believe this piece was written by a veteran author, one who has produced several excellent stories over a career lasting more than a decade.  This piece is filled with short, unncompelling sentences; the characterization is nonexistent; and the exposition is endless.  The aliens aren't at all, and the solution to the story's puzzle is laughably simplistic.  I have to wonder if this wasn't an early piece of work that Neville had stuffed in a desk somewhere and which Pohl accepted out of desperation.

In any event, two stars.

The Early Days of the Metric System, by Willy Ley

Our favorite German rocket scientist had been going through a lackluster period, but this non-fiction article on the origin of standard weights and measures, though in some ways overlapping an old F&SF article by Dr. Asimov, is entertaining and informative.  This is the Willy that compelled me to start my subscription to Galaxy umpteen years ago.  5 stars.

Oh, to Be a Blobel!, by Philip K. Dick

Here's another human-sent-to-spy-on-aliens story, except this one takes place after the espionage.  It features a young man whose physical form was altered to match that of the invading amorphous Blobels.  Though promised to be reconditioned back to human physiognomy, the fellow finds himself reverting to Blobel form half the day, making his life thoroughly miserable.

Luckily for him, the other side had spies, too, and some of them are having similar readjustment trouble.  Our hero marries a young female Blobel spy, and all is well…for a while.  But feelings of inadequacy (she is smarter and more successful than he) and the hybrid nature of their children cause rifts.  Ultimately, the couple must choose between love and individual fortune.

This is a story that shouldn't work, ludicrous as it is in its premise.  But it's Dick, and it does. 

Four stars.

The Awakening, by Jack Sharkey

Imagine being one of hundreds preserved in suspended animation against a global catastrophe, only to wake up countless ages after the planned date.  Your machines are rusted, your elders rotted, and the world you knew has drastically changed.  How would you feel?  What would you do?

This story belongs in the "Color Me Surprised" department.  While the plot of the story is not particularly innovative, the execution is perfect — a sharp increase in quality from Jack Sharkey's usual output.

Four stars.

The Star King, by Jack Vance

In the last installment of The Star King, a fellow named Gersen was tracking down the "Demon Prince," Grendel, one of the Galaxy's most notorious crime bosses.  The trail had led Gersen to a university on the civilized world of Alphanor in search of the patron who had commissioned a survey of an Eden-like world far Beyond the edge of civilization.  For Gersen had every reason to believe that this patron was Grendel, especially after he killed his surveyor for refusing to reveal the location of the planet.

Part 2 opens Gersen facing several obstacles.  Foremost is that Grendel could be any of three professors at the school, all of whom profess ignorance of the murdered surveyor.  Then there are Grendel's three lieutenants, all of whom are deadly assassins who want Gersen out of the way.  Finally, there is the issue of Pallis Atwrode, an employee of the university who is the first to touch Gersen's heart after a life of nothing but revenge-seeking.

The conclusion to this novel ties all the threads together, throwing all of the characters onto one ship where Gersen can declaim the solution to the mystery, Poirot-style.

The Star King's problem isn't the plot, it's the execution.  After a rather gripping first half of the first half, the novel becomes a plodding bore, particularly with the unnecessary encyclopedic inserts every few pages.  Vance did such a good job of building a fresh new world in The Dragon Masters (also a Galaxy novel), but he rather flubs it here.  Moreover, Vance completely missed his opportunity to give us a real surprise ending, instead deciding on Grendel's identity almost at random, it seems.

Two stars, two and a half for the whole thing.

Summing Up

When I transfer the story data to punch card and run it through my Star-o-Vac, I get a roll of tape with the computation: 3 stars.  That doesn't sound so bad, right?  Thoroughly adequate compared to some of the other mags we've suffered through lately.  But it's the cavalcade of blandness that saps the will over time.  It's like a steady diet of matzah.  Sure, it gets you out of Egypt, but where's the milk and honey, man? 

Cordwainer Smith's in the next issue.  Maybe we'll make it to the Holy Land in March…

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[January 2, 1964] All's well that ends well (January 1964 Analog science fiction)

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by Gideon Marcus

Auld Lang Syne

Greetings from 1964!  Given the challenges we faced in the latter part of last year, it was proper and cathartic to wrap up 1963 with a bang.  Here are some snapshots from our gala (and weren't we lucky to find a film developer willing to work on New Year's Day?)

Speaking of wrapping up, the last magazine of the old year, though dated January 1964, was the January 1964 Analog.  This is usually among the lesser science fiction magazines I read, but this time around, I was pleasantly surprised.  Come take a look!

Ending Well

Secondary Meteorites (Part 1 of 2), by Ralph A. Hall, M.D.

Could that black chunk of meteorite actually be from Mars?  There is an increasing body of evidence that the meteorites that hit the Earth were, themselves, bits of other planets blasted away by their own meteor strikes.  The subject matter is fascinating, but Dr. Hall manages to make it nigh incomprehensible.  It's too technical and presented all out of order (even Dr. Asimov learned early in his career that you have to define your terms first).  And this is only PART ONE!

Two stars.

The Eyes Have It, by Randall Garrett

My disdain for Mr. Garrett has been a constant of the Journey, ever since the offensive and just plain bad Queen Bee.  Over time, he has occasionally written decent stuff, and when he teams up with others, his rough edges get smoothed a bit.  Still, his name in the Table of Contents has always made me less eager to read a magazine.

Well, never let it be said that I can't keep an open mind.  Garrett's latest work is a tour de force.  If Asimov perfected the science fiction mystery with The Caves of Steel, Garrett has created the genre of magical mystery with The Eyes Have It.

The year is 1963, the place, France.  But this is no France we know.  Instead, it appears to be in a timeline that diverged nine centuries prior, one in which the Angevin Empire remained ascendant…and in which the use of magic developed. 

Lord D'Arcy is Chief Criminal Investigator for the Duke of Normandy, summoned to investigate the murder of the fantastically lecherous Count D'Evraux.  With the aid of his assistants, Sorcerer Sean O Lachlainn and chirurgeon Dr. Pately, he must find out how and at whose hand the Count met his untimely demise, and he has just twenty four hours to do it.

The attention to detail, the world-building, the characterization, the writing — all are top notch.  This is the sort of work I'd expect from Poul Anderson (and only when at the top of his game).  For Garrett to pull this off is nothing short of miraculous.

Dammit, Randy.  It's going to be hard to keep hating you.

Five stars.

Poppa Needs Shorts, by Leigh Richmond and Walt Richmond

The last piece by the Richmonds was an utterly unreadable book-length serial.  This one, on the other hand, is a cute vignette convincingly told from the view of a 4-year old child who just wants to know about "shorts."  Leigh and Walt have a pretty good idea how kids learn, I think.

Three stars.

Subjectivity, by Norman Spinrad

The pages of our scientific journals offer a wealth of ideas that can be turned into SF stories.  New author Norman Spinrad seizes on Dr. Timothy Leary's paean to LSD in technical clothing, Psychedelic Review as inspiration for his second story:

Though humanity has invented an engine that will propel spaceships at half the speed of light, the heavens remain out of reach.  It's not the endurance of the ships that's the problem — it is that of the crew.  No matter how well-adjusted they are, all of them go crazy in less than half the time it takes to get to Alpha Centauri.  After twelve failed attempts, the powers that be assemble a crew of misfits with a twenty-year supply of hallucinogenics to keep them sane (if potted) and open up the stars.

Mission #13 succeeds…but not in a way anyone could have predicted.  A fun, slightly acid (no pun intended) little piece.  Four stars.

See What I Mean!, by John Brunner

In this disappointing outing from Brunner, a deadlock in negotiations between East and West is resolved when the four foreign ministers involved are psychoanalyzed, and it turns out the British and Russian officials have more in common with each other than with their ideological partners (from the U.S. and China, respectively).

Not much here.  Two stars.

Dune World (Part 2 of 3), by Frank Herbert

Frank Herbert's epic in the desert, a kind of Lawrence of Arabia in space, continues.  After the assassination attempt on his son, and with warnings that he has a traitor in his midst, Duke Leto of the House of Atreides attempts to shore up his position on Arrakis, sole source of life-extending "spice".  The planetology and culture bits are pretty interesting, particularly the depiction of the forbidding dune world of Arrakis and the spice-mining operations thereon.  I continue to get the impression, though, that Herbert is still too raw for this project.  The viewpoint jumps from line to line, much is conveyed through exposition, and the incessant use of italics is really trying to read.

Three stars again.

Crunching the numbers

So how did the first batch of magazines dated with the new year fare?  There are definitely some surprises.

  • Analog, came in first with a respectable 3.4 star rating.  Moreover, Randall Garrett of all people had the best story.  These must be the end times.
  • Fantastic came in a close second at 3.3.  New World tread water at 3.  IF got 2.8.  F&SF scored a disappointing 2.5.  Amazing dragged through the muck at a miserable 1.9.
  • All in all, there were nearly 200 pages of good-to-excellent stories.  Not a bad haul.
  • Women only wrote one and a half of the 31 fiction pieces this month, and theirs were short ones.  No surprises there.

Next up: the first book of the new year!

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[December 27, 1963] Democracy, Doctors and Decline ( New Worlds, January 1964)

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by Mark Yon

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

Snapshot from England

Hello from 1964!

Christmas here was a good one. The weather, though cold, was nothing like last year’s record-breaking Winter, thank goodness.

As rather expected, The Beatles were Number 1 in the charts with I Want to Hold Your Hand. They have dominated British culture this year, and this going straight to the top of the charts here reflects that. There were pre-orders of over one million copies.

I’ve also had chance to catch up with some movies in the cinema. This year’s Christmas movie for the family was It’s A Mad Mad Mad Mad World, which we enjoyed a lot. Very silly, but we enjoyed looking out for all the cameos. We will probably go see Walt Disney’s The Sword in the Stone over the holiday season, which appeared in the cinema on Boxing Day here. Really looking forward to seeing how much of the novel remains. 

And so, to genre business. On the magazine front I have to start this month’s report with the sad validation of something I’ve been expecting for a while now. Since we last spoke it has been announced that “due to declining sales” New Worlds and Science Fantasy magazines are to close. It is sad, but not too surprising. I have for a number of months now been commenting on the variable quality of our homegrown content, and it has been clear in a number of ways that things have been difficult, so this is not a complete surprise. According to the news release we definitely have material until the April 1964 issue and then I guess we will see what happens. I am hopeful that this will not be the end of British-based magazines, though. There are rumours of a take-over bid that will allow at least one of the magazines to continue, but nothing is definite. Interesting times!

On a more positive note, the television programme Doctor Who has continued to enthral the household. It has become our family “must-see” on a Saturday teatime. New Traveller Jessica has written about this in detail, so I won’t go into it at great length. Whilst I was less impressed with the caveman story that followed the promising first episode, the latest tale is a science-fictional one which has introduced a metallic monster that Mr. H.G. Wells would have been proud of. The Daleks are quite inhuman and scarily strident in their determination for galactic subjugation. More importantly, they are an enormous success for the BBC. They have clearly struck a chord. I look forward to seeing where this goes.

The Reading Matter at Hand

To the January 1964 edition of New Worlds, then.

This month’s cover is a return to the plain but brightly-coloured style of a few months ago. No moonscape, but a lurid shade of yellow. The cover type is easy to read, as there is nothing else there to distract from the reader’s eye. Effectively simple, but will it sell magazines?  Not really sure that it matters given the month’s news, which may be Mr. Carnell’s view as well. The general impression is of a magazine on the cheap – how different to the lurid cover of your American issues!

The text inside is, thankfully, a little better.

on political attitudes in s-f, by Mr. John Brunner

Having bemoaned the lack of discussion in last month’s Editorial, this month’s examination of the importance of politics in s-f by Mr. Brunner is much more like the usual article of old. More importantly, it is literate, knowledgeable and even amusing, making the reader examine whether the traditional capitalist view is the only one and where such a review has originated from.

I know that this will have been written months ago, before the events of November, but it is still surreal to read about politics in fiction at a time when real-world politics is in such a state.  Democracy is still in flux.

Onto the stories!

dilemma with three horns, by Mr. Donald Malcolm

And here we have the return of Mr. Malcolm’s ongoing P.E.T. (Planetary Expedition Team) series, last seen in February 1963 with twice bitten. This one taps into that ‘sensawunda’ often exhibited by alien environments, to create a straightforward, old-school predicament that would not be remiss of, say, Analog magazine. Our intrepid explorers are given a seemingly impossible choice – stranded from their mothership, do they remain on the newfound planet and die through overexposure to increasing radiation or leave the planet and die because they have to pass through the extremely high Van Allen radiation belt?

To add to this, the third problem of the dilemma is that the intense gravity is causing spinal damage that is untreatable on the planet. I liked it, up to the rather convenient solution, which is plucked out of nowhere and devalues the story overall. What strikes me most though is how this story is not typical New Worlds fare these days. It shows how much the magazine has changed in the last couple of years.  3 out of 5.

the last generation, by Mr. Ernest Hill

And for contrast, this one is more like the “new style” stories of the magazine. A story set far in the future, filled with technical gobbledegook and an attempt to be controversial by combining science with religion. Really its little more than a more complicated version of what Mr. van Vogt was doing in the 1940’s.  It is rather full of its own self-importance, whereas I was less impressed. Kudos for trying to be different, but ultimately this falls short of its own ambition.  2 out of 5.

the countenance, by Mr. P. F. Woods

Mr. Woods’s latest resurrects that old idea that the infiniteness of space is too much for mere Humans to cope with. Summarise it as “Space is bad for you”. Not a new idea – Mr. Poul Anderson had something similar in Brain Wave in the 1950’s and then, of course, there’s Mr. Isaac Asimov’s famous Nightfall even further back. There’s even a touch of Mr. Lovecraft’s tales of Cosmic Horror, though the cause here is never clearly explained. It’s entertainingly done through the eyes of a young teenager and his older mentor but is a tad predictable – even with the rather expected and dispiriting twist. 3 out of 5.

toys, by Mr. John Baxter

Set in Mr. Baxter’s home territory of Australia, this story of a cobbler and the toys he creates is an updating of the old Pinocchio story. It makes its point about toys being weapons well – rather appropriately at Christmastime – but is also a little depressing.  3 out of 5.

the dark mind (Part 3 of 3), by Mr. Colin Kapp

The last part of Mr. Kapp’s serial continues at a breakneck pace and with not too much sense, full of the same large type face seen in the previous two. This time, Ivan Dalroi, with his dormant powers unleashed and with a single-minded determination for revenge, travels to other worlds to get it. The ending shows us the much bigger picture beyond Dalroi and gives Humanity a reputation for being the tearaway teenagers of the known worlds. It’s a frantic ending to an energetic story, that ties everything up in a bit of a rush at the finish. Whilst I’m always a little wary of a story that depends on textual gimmicks to work (although it did work for Alfred Bester, admittedly) it is good fun, even if it doesn’t dwell with the reader too long.  3 out of 5.

Strangely, and bearing in mind that we now know that we have only a limited time left for New Worlds, there’s a request for readers to contribute to a ‘State of the Nation’ report for 1963.  It is the first update since 1958, and so should reflect what Mr. Carnell has been trying to do over the last couple of years. I guess we’ll know before the magazine goes, which may be the point.  Perhaps it can be used to determine a fresh start.

Lastly, this month’s Book Reviews are split between editor Mr. John Carnell and book reviewer Mr. Leslie Flood. Mr. Carnell looks at the books imported from your good selves across the water. Of the novels, Mr. Hal Clement’s Mission of Gravity is “in a class of its own” and Ms. Rosel George Brown’s A Handful of Time is “quietly charming”. There are also a couple of anthologies worth looking at. Mr. Martin Greenberg’s anthology Men Against the Stars is a cut-down version of the US version but still “about the best of the current bunch”. Similarly, Mr. T. E. Dikty’s 5 Tales from Tomorrow is also shorter than its US counterpart but is praised for including Mr. Tom Godwin’s The Cold Equations. It is strange to read stories from 1955 appearing here nearly 9 years later, though they do show us how different things were “then” and “now”. We have changed a great deal.

Mr. Flood looks at the new British books new to print here. It’s not all good – Mr. George Hay’s Hell Hath Fury is a story collection from the now-defunct Unknown magazine, but has the reviewer questioning whether this is actually the best of the magazine in a “curiously dated and dispirited collection of ghosts and deviltry”.

Faring better is Mr. Arthur C. Clarke’s juvenile novel Dolphin Island, a minor work but an “entertaining adventure” that “does not talk down beyond the level aimed at.” Moon of Destiny by Mr. Lester de Rey and Destination Moon by Mr. Hugh Walters are also briefly mentioned as “space-flight adventures of some considerable excitement, plausibility and scientific accuracy”.

Summing up

The news of the magazine’s demise has dampened my enthusiasm of the issue a little. I guess that I should make the most of the magazine before it disappears. Again, though, it is a solid issue without being outstanding. I am glad that New Worlds has, unlike many, made it to the end of the year, but I am torn between feeling sad that I’ll never see its like again and bemusement over whether it will be actually missed when it goes.

Until next month.




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Book, Fashion, music, politics, sports, Magazine

[December 23, 1963] Ring Out the Old, Ring In the New (January 1964 Fantastic)

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by Victoria Silverwolf

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Ring Out the Old

Is it 1964 yet?


The caption says Happy New Year, Kids!

These happy young cosmonauts seem to think so.  That's a Vostok rocket they're carrying.  You remember Vostok, don't you?  The Soviet space program that sent the first man and the first woman into orbit?  No wonder they look so happy.

Here in the good old USA we do things a little differently.


It's not even Christmas yet, but this guy is ready.

No matter how you celebrate the holiday season, this is the time to remember the old and look forward to the new.  For Americans, of course, the most important change was the loss of a martyred President and the inauguration of a new one.  We are not likely to forget 1963 for a very long time.


Norman Rockwell pays tribute to the late JFK.

When it comes to space travel, yesteryear's new ideas turn old very quickly.  The X-20 program was cancelled this month, after seven years of development.  There goes $660,000,000 down the drain.  Looks like the proposed Dyna-Soar reusable spacecraft is now as dead as a dinosaur.


Now that's what I call a real spaceship!

The old British Empire continues to evolve into new, independent nations.  As of December 12, Zanzibar and Kenya are the newest members of the United Nations.

In the world of popular music, a new artist paid tribute to a man who lived more than seven hundred years ago.  Belgian singer-songwriter Jeanne-Paule Marie Deckers, better known in the United States as the Singing Nun, holds the top position on the American music charts with her original composition Dominique. 

Deckers is a member of the Missionary Dominican Sisters of Our Lady of Fichermont, where she took the name Sister Luc-Gabrielle.  In her native land she is called Sœur Sourire (Sister Smile.) The song pays tribute to Saint Dominic (1170-1221), for whom the order is named.  You don't have to be Catholic, or understand French, to appreciate the Singing Nun's pleasant voice, or the cheerful melody of her song.


The second foreign language song to reach Number One in the USA this year.  At least the Americans didn't give it a silly name, the way they changed Kyu Sakamoto's lovely tune Ue o Muite Arukō into Sukiyaki.

Ring In the New

Fittingly, the latest issue of Fantastic (and the first dated in the coming year) features the first half of a new novel, but one that was born twenty-five years ago.


(cover by EMSH)

The Lords of Quarmall, by Fritz Leiber and Harry Fischer

You may not know the name Harry Fischer.  A new writer, perhaps?  Well, not exactly.  In fact, Fischer created the famous characters Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser in a letter to his friend Leiber nearly three decades ago.  Since then, of course, the great fantasist has made the pair of adventurers his own.  In 1937, Fischer wrote about ten thousand words of a novel.  Leiber completed it, and it appears here for the first time.

Quarmall is a strange kingdom.  Its ruler lives in a keep above ground, but the rest of his realm lies deep down below.  He has two adult sons.  One reigns over the upper half of this underground land, the other the lower half.  The brothers are bitter rivals, each trying to destroy the other through treachery and magic.  They also plot against their father.  He, in turn, hopes to eliminate his sons and leave his kingdom to the unborn child of a concubine. 

Unknown to each other, Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser are each hired as a swordsman by one of the brothers.  When the king's archmage announces the death of his master, the conflict between the siblings explodes into open warfare.

As you would expect from Leiber, this tale of derring-do is full of vivid, exotic details.  The plot moves slowly, with much of the story taken up with the bored frustration of the two heroes.  Fafhrd's rescue of a lovely young slave doomed to be tortured provides some excitement.  No doubt the second half will provide plenty of sorcery and swordplay.  It's not a bad yarn, but hardly up to Leiber's usual standard.

Three stars.

Minnesota Gothic, by Dobbin Thorpe

Another new author?  Hardly.  Thomas M. Disch, who appears later in the magazine, hides behind this peculiar pseudonym.  The story is about a little girl named Gretel, but don't expect an old-fashioned fairy tale.  The time is now.  Gretel's mother leaves her in the care of a very old woman and her strange, bedridden brother.  Black magic is involved, but not the way you might expect.  This is a well-written, chilling little story.  I wouldn't advise reading it on a dark and stormy night.

Four stars.

The Word of Unbinding, by Ursula K. LeGuin

With four or five stories to her credit, LeGuin is still a relatively new voice in fantasy fiction, but her skill makes her seem like an old pro.  Her latest tale of enchantment begins with a wizard trapped in a prison made of darkness.  An evil sorcerer robbed him of his magic staff and locked him away.  Although the loss of his staff greatly diminishes his power, he still possesses the ability to transform himself.  He attempts to escape in many ways, only to be recaptured and made even weaker.  In order to defeat his enemy, he must pay the ultimate price. 

The author creates a dark fantasy of great imagination and vividness.  The reader is sure to empathize with the despair and heroism of the protagonist.

Four stars.

Last Order, by Gordon Walters

Like LeGuin, Walters is a writer with few published works. Sadly, he doesn't share her talent.  The story begins on an asteroid.  An undescribed being tries to protect its master from an attack by police robots.  When the master dies, it seeks revenge on all those who resemble the robots.  The scene shifts to Earth.  A detective with a fear of space travel receives an invitation to investigate the asteroid with his old partner, who left for space long ago.  It turns out that the vengeful being kills anyone who arrives on the asteroid.  After a dangerous encounter with the being, the truth comes out.

The characters frequently speculate about the possibility of a disembodied alien lifeform joining with spacemen in symbiosis.  This turns out to be a complete red herring.  The reader quickly learns that the spacesuits of the future are intimately connected to the bodies of their wearers, so the climax of the story is no surprise.  There's much too little plot for a novelette.

Two stars.

A Thesis On Social Forms and Social Controls in the U. S. A.,by Thomas M. Disch

The secret identity of Dobbin Thorpe emerges from disguise with this fictional essay.  It describes a nightmarish world of the future.  In the Twenty-First Century, China and the Soviet Union destroy each other in an atomic war.  Africa collapses into a state of permanent crisis.  Europe is under the control of the Vatican.  (Most Protestants move to the United States, which now includes Canada.) Only Australia emerges unchanged.

Disch begins with the famous dictums of George Orwell.  War is Peace.  Ignorance is Strength.  Freedom is Slavery.  To these, he adds two more.  Life is Death.  Love is Hate.  One by one, he describes how these principles apply to American society.  All adult males serve one year out of every five as a brutalized slave.  The other four years they indulge in unrestrained orgies of pleasure.  Women must care for the children they bear from multiple mates, or else serve as laborers or prostitutes. 

The author paints a terrifying portrait of a culture that deliberately chooses to be schizophrenic.  The essay's cold logic convinces the reader that such an insane world might truly exist.  The stories by Thorpe and Disch could not be more different, except for the fact that they both induce a strong sense of foreboding.

Four stars.

Summing Up, and a Bonus Review

The new year begins with a very pessimistic issue of the magazine.  From the sadistic Lords of Quarmall, to the insane world of the future, hardly a hint of hope appears in its pages.  Even the book review by S. E. Cotts deals with a novel haunted by doom.  I have read The Sundial by Shirley Jackson, discussed in the column.  It's a very strange book.  A group of eccentric people waits for the end of the world inside a weird house.  Like everything I have read by Jackson, it is unique.  I recommend it for reading by the fireplace on a dark night, waiting for the old year to fade away.

Five stars.

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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

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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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[December 17, 1963] The Ink-and-Paper Zoo (February 1964 Worlds of Tomorrow)

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by Victoria Silverwolf

I suppose it's appropriate that a magazine about the future should bear a cover date from a year that hasn't arrived yet.  While the rest of us count the days until the end of 1963, editor Frederik Pohl peers into his crystal ball and discovers what 1964 has in store.  According to the latest issue of Worlds of Tomorrow, it's a very mixed picture indeed.  With so many different kinds of science fiction stories inside its pages, the magazine is something of a Noah's Ark of imaginative literature.  Let's go for a ride, shall we?

Lord of the Uffts, by Murray Leinster

This novella, from an author who has written science fiction for more than four decades, takes up half the magazine.  It begins with a man having just returned from a deadly planet where he collected precious gems.  He celebrates his good luck in the time-honored way of getting roaring drunk.  When he wakes up, he finds himself aboard a rickety spaceship bound for parts unknown.  It seems that, while in his cups, he agreed to serve as navigator for the man who owns the vessel.  He also got into a fight with the police.  His new employer hasn't paid his bills, so they both take off in a hurry to escape the authorities. 

The master of the spaceship claims to have a plan to win a vast fortune by journeying to a certain planet.  Humans from another world settled it long ago.  They have since degenerated into a pre-industrial society.  Also inhabiting the planet are sentient aliens who look exactly like pigs.  The humans hire them for various odd jobs, in exchange for beer.  Despite this arrangement, which benefits both species, the pigs have nothing but contempt for the humans, openly insulting them at every opportunity. 

The owner of the spaceship violates a serious taboo by offering to do business with the humans.  They consider paying a person for goods or services an unforgivable insult.  In their eyes, such things are fit only for the pigs.  So serious a breach of etiquette is this that they sentence the man to death by hanging.  The protagonist faces a similar fate, when he inadvertently offends his host by speaking words of flattery to the pigs.  Complications ensue.  The hero eventually finds out why the humans have lost their advanced technological skills, possess only shoddy goods, and depend on the pigs for labor.  He eventually manipulates both species into a new way of life, and lives happily ever after with the love of his life.

This is a tongue-in-cheek tale of adventure, with touches of comedy and satire.  Despite threats to his life, the protagonist never seems to be in any real danger.  The explanation for the ways the humans live is predictable, given a strong hint early in the story.  Although it provides some amusement, the story goes on too long to sustain its lighthearted tone. 

Two stars.

The Provenance of Swift, by Lyle G. Boyd

This is a mock article claiming to provide evidence that Jonathan Swift was a Martian.  Readers of Gulliver's Travels will not be surprised to learn that it is based on the odd coincidence that the great satirist wrote about Mars having two moons long before they were discovered.  Well aware that this has been pointed out many times before, the author provides other so-called proofs.  Incidents in the life of Swift are interpreted in outrageous ways.  Even if this is intended as a spoof of misguided scholarship, it's a one-joke parody.  If nothing else, the reader learns quite a bit about a gifted writer.  (Swift, that is, not Boyd.)

Two stars.

Alpha, Beta, Love…, by Bill Doede

A man and a woman land on a planet in order to find out if it is suitable for colonization.  It is inhabited by two disembodied beings in the form of glowing spheres, able to teleport at will, and to manipulate the minds and bodies of the humans.  One of the globes, who used to be male, is more-or-less friendly.  The other, who once inhabited a female body, is so resentful of never having had a love life that she attempts to kill the humans.  The human man figures out a way to block the aliens' telepathic powers through a technological trick which is not very convincing.

They next encounter a furry humanoid creature with sticky pads on its digits, like those of a gecko.  This meeting turns out to have more to do with the spheres than expected.  Other strange things happen, but what is really at stake is whether the woman will fall in love with the man or not. 

This is an odd story.  The author has an active imagination, but the plot never hangs together. 

Two stars.

When the Stars Answer, by T. K. Brown III

This tale of first contact begins with a history of radio astronomy, leading up to Project Ozma.  The fictional part begins when a spaceship arrives from the star 61 Cygni, in response to signals from Earth.  The sole passenger appears human, but has vastly superior intelligence.  There's a clever twist in the plot that should have ended the story.  Unfortunately, one final paragraph turns the whole thing into a silly farce.

Two stars.

A Message from Loki, by James Blish

A writer better known for fiction offers an article about Jupiter's Great Red Spot.  Based on the behavior of high winds on the surface of the Earth, he suggests that it might lie above a gigantic plateau.  Since we don't even know if Jupiter has a solid surface at all, this is highly speculative. 

Two stars.

The Transcendent Tigers, by R. A. Lafferty

A seven-year-old girl receives a red cap, along with other small gifts, on her birthday.  This gives her the power to do incredible things, from turning a hollow ball inside out without tearing it to solving an impossible wire puzzle.  Disaster soon follows.  Very few writers can pull off this strange kind of apocalyptic whimsy as well as Lafferty.  His use of unusual names, bizarre words, deadpan dialogue and narration, and quotes from fictional journals makes this tale of worldwide catastrophe charming. 

Four stars.

Little Dog Gone, by Robert F. Young

The magazine ends almost the same way it began, with a man waking up from a drunken spree to find himself far off in space.  In this case, the fellow is an actor, who destroyed his career with his drinking.  He winds up on a frontier colony planet.  The first creature he meets looks very much like an ordinary dog, but has the power to teleport.  The friendly little animal accompanies him into town.  There he meets a woman who used to play a sort of female Tarzan on interplanetary television.  Down on her luck, she now works at the local bar.  Together the three form a space-going medicine show, making use of the dog's ability.  Success leads the man to confront his past, and to make a decision about his future.  Readers familiar with the author's works will not be surprised to learn that this is a sentimental love story.  Nevertheless, although it wears its heart on its sleeve, it never becomes overly emotional. 

Four stars.

Summing up

From pigs to tigers to dogs, this issue provides a menagerie of science fiction.  Although not all the specimens on display are equally interesting, it's worth walking by their cages to see what weird creatures are looking back at you.

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[December 13, 1963] SLOW-DOWN (the January 1964 Amazing)

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by John Boston

The shock of President Kennedy’s assassination remains new and raw in the public consciousness and public discourse, but there are starting to be some discordant notes.  Malcolm X, one of the leaders of the Nation of Islam—the Black Muslims in common parlance—who seems to have appointed himself as the skunk at America’s picnic, was asked about the assassination a couple of weeks ago and described it as a case of “chickens coming home to roost,” which he said “never did make me sad; they've always made me glad.”

Apparently he meant to suggest that the assassination had some relationship to our government’s actions around the world—and of course he is not the only one to make this connection, though it remains to be investigated.  Needless to say he was roundly condemned by everyone in sight, including his own organization, which censured him and barred him from public speaking for three months.

Oh, well.  In Malcolm’s absence, we have the January Amazing to chew on.  Not surprisingly, given this magazine’s manic-depressive history, it is gristlier and less nutritious than last month’s unusually tasty issue.

Speed-Up!, by Christopher Anvil

When a writer seems to have a lock on a high-paying market and suddenly appears in a low-paying one, one of two things has happened: it’s a pretty bad story, or it has hit one of the higher-paying editor’s blind spots.  Or maybe both.  Christopher Anvil has had 21 stories in the SF mags since January 1960, all but three in Analog.  Yet here he is in Amazing, where he’s never appeared before, with Speed-Up! (exclamation point his, or the editor’s). 

This is a story which juggles multiple elements of dubious plausibility, including not one but two psi talents, and only manages to integrate them by blowing the whole thing up, as the cover illustration suggests.  And one of those elements is a movement that thinks science is too dangerous and should be stopped—and is proven right!  On the other hand, it is a pleasant enough read, unlike some of Anvil’s Analog stories: tightly constrained exercises within the confines of editorial expectations, which create a reading experience reminiscent of anoxia.  Two stars.

The Happiness Rock, by Albert Teichner

Albert R. Teichner’s The Happiness Rock is an annoying morality tale of the oh-so-conventional kind, anoxia compounded by anesthesia.  Officer Cramer and Captain Hartley are exploring the asteroids and, landing on one, find silicon dust that makes people happy upon inhalation, without noticeable impairment or physical addiction.  It proves to be a silicon microorganism, but the silicon seems to be quickly metabolized with no lasting effects.  The corrupt Captain keeps the discovery secret and shuts Cramer up, unknowingly abetted by their cartoon military martinet of a superior, who places Cramer in an unlikely status of Probation that keeps him silent, while the Captain takes the dust to his shady friends on Earth to help him covertly market it. 

Cramer struggles to find a way to blow the whistle on this racket.  Why?  Because this seemingly harmless euphoria must exact some terrible price, just because, and of course it does, quite arbitrarily.  The story goes on for 25 pages, most of them unnecessary: mediocre writing skills in the service of cliched thought.  One star.

Skeleton Men of Jupiter, by Edgar Rice Burroughs

Edgar Rice Burroughs is back (one is tempted to say “from the grave, again”) with Skeleton Men of Jupiter, from the February 1943 issue of Amazing, where it should have stayed.  It is labelled a Classic Reprint, but is not decorated or burdened with the usual Sam Moskowitz introduction.  It is another in the series about John Carter of Mars, or Barsoom, and opens with his being kidnapped by the cadaverous characters of the title. 

Oh no.  Not this again.  I read some of the John Carter books a while back, and that seems to be the main plot motivator of Burroughs’s work: kidnappings and captures, followed by the obligatory escape and rescue efforts.  The skeleton men are led, or served, by a red man of Mars, who explains that he is here because his aristocratic girlfriend Vaja was kidnapp…wait a minute.  This is three pages after the first kidnapping.  How many of these are we going to get in this fifty-plus-page story? 

Slogging on: the red man of Mars, U Dan, tells his sad story of servitude in the cause of Vaja to a faction of Jovians, or Sasoomians in ERB’s cosmology, who of course are seeking world domination; they’ve got Sasoom and now they want Barsoom, and are they evil. U Dan says: “They are fiends. . . . when I learned that Vaja would be tortured and mutilated after Multis Par had had his way with her and even then not be allowed to die but kept for future torture, I weakened and gave in.”

Well, life is too short for this.  Literarily speaking, we have moved from the realm of anoxia and anesthesia to that of morbidity and mortality.  In the spirit of the season, bah humbug.  One star and a pile of dust.

Interstellar Flight, by Ben Bova

Those three are the only fiction items in the magazine, anything else having been crowded out by fifty pages of Burroughs.  There is another article by Ben Bova, Interstellar Flight, in which the usually slightly dull author gets positively giddy.  The blurb warns us: “With factual tongue and a lot of imaginative cheek, our man Bova explores the possibility of [title].” And . . . oh no, he’s everywhere!  The article begins with an imaginary TV show panel with an imaginary SF writer, who begins: “Edgar Rice Burroughs, writing some 50 years ago. . . .”

Averting my eyes briefly, I move on.  SF writer says we must go to the stars, physicist says “Impossible!” and explains why, engineer and astronomer chime in with assorted factual constraints, mathematician gets into the act, and the problems of interstellar travel are laid out reasonably neatly.  Then: “ ‘Excuse me,’ said the astronomer.  ‘Have any of you ever heard of the Bussard Interstellar Ramjet?’ ”

Now that you mention it, no.  It’s actually a pretty interesting idea for sublight but very fast travel: take just enough fuel to get moving fast enough (and build a scoop big enough) to take advantage of the clouds of hydrogen gas floating around most places in the galaxy, and use them as fuel for fusion; the faster you go, the more fuel you can gather, so the faster you can go.  This doesn’t solve the problem of relativistic time dilation—but so what?  Somebody will want to go, and maybe take the whole family! Most satisfyingly, Bova concludes: “Edgar Rice Burroughs, hah!”

Well, that was actually informative, and less dull than usual, though slightly marred by the absence of the customary completely inappropriate Virgil Finlay illustration .  Three stars—the brightest spot in this otherwise bleak landscape. 

Summing up

Feh.

Next month, the editor promises a novella by the capable and prolific John Brunner, who has not previously appeared in the magazine, and, one hopes, may provide enough publishable copy to keep away the shade of ERB.

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December 9, 1963 Indifferent to it all (January 1964 IF)

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by Gideon Marcus

Picking up the pieces

It's been two weeks since President Kennedy was shot in Dallas, and the country is slowly returning to normal (whatever normal is these days).  Jackie has taken the family out of the White House, President Johnson is advancing the first legislation of his social welfare plan, the "Great Society," and all around the nation, streets, parks, and buildings are being renamed in the slain President's honor.  In fact, Cape Canaveral, launching site for all crewed flights, is being christened "Cape Kennedy."

We're still trying to make sense of the events surrounding Kennedy's death.  Within an hour of the shooting, there were two divergent theories as to who shot the President.  CBS reported on the trail that led to Marine-turned-defector, Lee Harvey Oswald.  NBC, on the other hand, interviewed a woman who saw a shooter on a grassy knoll overlooking Dealey Plaza.  On December 5, the FBI determined that Lee Harvey Oswald, acting alone, did the deed.  Of course, Jack Ruby ensured that Oswald would never speak in his own defense.  The seven member "Warren Commission," headed by Chief Justice Earl Warren, has begun a more thorough investigation.  We may never know who shot Kennedy or why.

A eulogy for Kennedy

Yesterday, I appeared at a local venue to present a eulogy for Kennedy and enlighten the audience as to the youthful President's numerous accomplishments.  In the end, we all drank a toast to Jack.  We taped the performance so you can view it even if you couldn't make the event.

Meanwhile, the science fiction magazines continued as if nothing unusual had happened.  This makes sense given the vagaries of production schedules and the need to have work to press months in advance.  Still, it is an eerie feeling to have the world turned upside down and yet see no evidence of turmoil in one's reading material.

Maybe that's a good thing.  One can use stability in crazy times.

In any event, the January 1964 issue of IF, Worlds of Science Fiction was the first sf digest of the new year.  As usual, it contained a mixture of diverting and lousy stories.  Let's take a look:

The January 1964 IF

Three Worlds to Conquer (Part 1 of 2), by Poul Anderson

On the Jovian moon of Ganymede, American colonists warily greet the arrival of the U.S.S. Vega, a battleship out from Earth.  Thanks to a recent civil war in the USA, it is uncertain where the loyalties of the ship's crew lie.  Meanwhile, tens of thousands of miles below, the inhabitants of Jupiter's surface are also preparing for a war of their own.  The common thread to the two stories is the neutrino beam link set up by the human protagonist who makes his home on Jupiter's biggest moon.

It's an interesting set up, but it utterly fails in its execution.  Poul Anderson is the patron saint of unreliability.  On the one hand, he produced some of last year's gratest works, including Let the Spacemen Beware and No Truce with Kings.  On the other, he produced drek like this piece.

Some examples: Anderson likes to wax poetic on technical details.  He spends a full two pages describing what could have been handled with this sentence: "I used a neutrino beam to contact the Jovians; nothing else could penetrate their giant planet's hellish radiation belts or the tens of thousands of thick atmosphere."

Two.  Pages.

Worse, while I applaud Anderson's attempt to depict a Jovian race, he fails in two directions.  Firstly, it's highly doubtful anything could live on the solid surface of Jupiter, if the planet even has one.  If there is a rocky core, its surface gravity must be around 7gs, and the air pressure would be more crushing than the bottom of the Earth's ocean.  Assuming life could stand those conditions, it would have to be something akin to the well-drawn creatures portrayed in Hal Clement's Close to Critical (in the May 1958 Analog).  Instead, Anderson gives us centaurs with quite human characterization and motivation.

The dialogue is stilted.  The writing is uninspired.  And there's enough padding to comfortably sleep on.

One star.  And, oh boy, a whole 'nother part to read in two months.

Mack, by R. J. Butler

Dolphin stories are big right now, from Clarke's People of the Sea to Flipper.  New author, R. J. Butler, gives us another one.  Something about the thwarting of an alien invasion of fish people.  Pleasant enough but it won't stay with you.  A very low three stars.

Personal Monuments, by Theodore Sturgeon

IF's non-fictionalist tells us about six science fiction authors he believes deserve more credit than they get.  He's probably right.  Three stars.

Science-Fantasy Crossword Puzzle, by Jack Sharkey

A welcome feature that is as long as it needs to be (two pages for the game and half a page for the answer).  Three stars.

The Competitors, by Jack B. Lawson

Here is the jewel of the piece.  Humans and androids have evolved in their own directions, each with a stellar sphere of influence.  When humanity comes across an alien race, whose close ties with their own robots make them more than a match for our species, a crotchety old man and a powerful (but subdued) android take on the enemy.

The interactions between human and humanoid robot are priceless and illuminating.  Neither can stand the other, but both see the value in their cooperation.  In the course of their quest, our human protagonist learns the pros and cons of too close integration of humanity and machinery.

Excellent stuff that packs a wallop: Four stars.

The Car Pool, by Frank Banta

Car Pool is a cute little joke in which a gaggle of human petty criminals turns a run-in with the Martian law into a profitable venture for all concerned.  Three stars.

Waterspider, by Philip K. Dick

There is a sub-genre of science fiction known as "fan fiction."  It is written by SF fans (of course) and involves said fans going on wild and fantastic adventures.  Laureled SF author, Philip K. Dick, offers up the fannest of fan fiction in which a pair of folks from the 21st Century employ a time machine to visit a gathering of "pre-cogs" in 1954 to get help with some thorny spaceflight issues.

The gathering is the 1954 World Science Fiction convention in San Francisco, and the pre-cog the Futurians seek is none other than Poul Anderson.  He is kidnapped back to the future, where he runs into mischief before making it back home (with the notes for a story, of course — probably this one).  Along the way, we get an alien's eye view of the various personages who attended SFCon, including A. E. Van Vogt ("so tall, so spiritual"), Ray Bradbury ("a round, pleasant face but his eyes were intense"), and Margaret St. Clair, whom the aliens anachronistically revere for The Scarlet Hexapod, which she hadn't written yet.

It's a bit of silly, self-indulgent fluff saved from banality by the talents of Mr. Dick; I don't know that it merits a quarter of IF's pages.  Three stars.

Summing up

So, yes, it certainly looks like IF will remain steady and true through any crisis.  This means some bad stories, occasional winners, and a lot of filling. 

Things could be worse.

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