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[February 27, 1964] Beatles, Boredom and Ballard ( New Worlds, March 1964)

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by Mark Yon

Scenes from England

Hello again!

Things have been busy since last time we spoke. I have been watching with interest (and some good-natured amusement!) the return of The Beatles to your shores. You really have taken the Liverpudlian mop-tops to your hearts, as they have taken over here. I did try and warn you last month about the effect that their enthusiasm and energetic pop can have on impressionable teenagers, and from what news coverage I have seen here many of you seem to have capitulated to their collective charms, as we had before Christmas. 

Doctor Who is still continuing to enthrall and charm here. As fellow traveller Jessica has said already, the latest episode has been an odd one (to put it mildly!), but generally the family and I are still enjoying it a great deal. This is a rather different view to that given in this month’s New Worlds magazine, as you will see… 

To the magazine, then.

The issue at hand

As we approach the end of the magazine next month, it does appear that there is a general feeling of closure evident. But, perhaps knowing that the end is near, the magazine has some terrific fiction amongst the usual fare. 

We begin however with a typically controversial opinion. Whilst there is no guest editorial this month, in its place the issue has a summary of the state of sf in 1963 as editor Mr. Carnell sees it, entitled “A Dull Year".

Now that Mr. Carnell’s tenure as Editor is drawing to a close, it does seem that the gloves are off. His view comes across as rather grumpy. For example, describing Doctor Who as a programme “designed for teenagers and tottering oldsters" is a bit mean. Granted, it is not pushing the boundaries of sf too much, but the fact that we’re seeing any sf on British television I see as a strength. We are not as lucky as yourselves in the US – I still wish I could see The Twilight Zone here, but no sign yet.

Mr. Carnell is similarly disgruntled with sf fiction. There were over thirty hardback books published in Britain last year, but according to Mr. Carnell only three were of any merit. This may be a case of quantity over quality, although I found it interesting that a quick summary of the New Worlds Survey asked for last year (the first since 1958, don’t forget) may suggest another reason for Mr. Carnell’s umbrage – magazine sales are down but paperback sales are up.

After such a gloomy context, we begin the issue’s fiction with something a little more to Mr. Carnell’s taste, perhaps. 

the terminal beach, by Mr. J. G. Ballard

The Terminal Beach is the story of Traven (typically no first names here!), who, for reasons that become clear over the course of the story, has travelled to the island of Eniwetok, a site of atomic bomb tests. As is typical of Ballard, the emphasis is more on mood and less on plot, with many of the Ballard motifs from other stories repeated: physical and mental decay, dystopian featureless buildings, isolation, and deteriorating technology. It is bleak, enigmatic and unsettling, and inevitably concerned with the human condition, which frankly isn’t looking great from this perspective. I’m not entirely sure what all of it is about, or even if it has an overall meaning, but its pervasive mood is chillingly depressing.

It is also a prime example of how far the British New Wave has changed science fiction in the last decade or so. We are light years away from spaceships and monsters here. 4 out of 5.

the traps of time , by Mr. John Baxter

And now to more traditional fare, a time travel story where a killer from the 39th century escapes justice to hide in the nuclear wastes of the 48th. The idea of how minor changes in time travel have consequences is nicely done, but overall the story adds little to the genre. The story concludes with that now almost-traditional downbeat note that seems to be a British convention. 3 out of 5.

unfinished business , by Mr. Clifford C. Reed

Even compared with the rest of the issue, this story is an oddity. Unfinished Business is a story of a married couple, one of whom disappears when flying off to see a pregnant friend. The result is that the remaining partner takes on deliberately dangerous jobs on other planets, not caring if he dies or not. After seventeen years he returns to Earth, to find that the girl who was born at the time of his partner’s apparent death seems strangely familiar. I suspect that it is meant to be creepy, but in the end comes across as just strange. 3 out of 5.

the unremembered , by Mr. Edward Mackin

Have you ever been subject to one of those rants by an old person that “things are not as good as they used to be"? Mr. Mackin’s story begins like that, with an elderly couple complaining about a depressing future world of synthetic foods and euthanasia clinics. It’s not too surprising then that with the closure of ‘the Clinics’, our protagonist is determined to discover another way out and finds some sort of Cosmic message at the end. It’s a mixture of dystopian social commentary and cosmic revelation that didn’t fit together well for me, to the point where this becomes another story with a title that seems to be sadly appropriate. 2 out of 5.

jetway 75 , by Mr. William Spencer

Mr. Spencer was last here as Bill Spencer in the October 1963 issue with Project 13013. This is a one-trick pony kind of tale, showing a future where pedestrians play chicken with the endless stream of cars on the titular means of conveyance. The point of the story, if there is any, seems to be that both walker and vehicle driver need this deadly interaction to create excitement in their otherwise humdrum life. Rather Ballardian, but without the style and skill, something emphasized by having The Terminal Beach in the same issue. 3 out of 5.

open prison , by Mr. James White

Last month this story left us with the situation where a group of inmates with an innate duty to escape from the prison planet were planning to heist an orbiting spaceship. Much of this middle part is about the preparation for “E-Day" and the practical and political challenges facing the escapees. Admittedly, the story moves along and there’s a building of tension as the escape approaches, but it is scarcely original and clearly the middle part of a story. And there’s still that patronizing tone that vacillates between “What are we going to let the useless girls do?" and “Gosh, those women are jolly useful, aren’t they?" Not one of Mr White’s best, I feel. 3 out of 5.

Unusually, but again expectedly, there is a postmortem letters section this month, the first since the announcement that next month’s New Worlds may be the last. Surprisingly, this selection is not as full of outrage and regret as you might expect, instead reading as any normal letters section. Some readers take the opportunity to complain about stories (such as the recent Mr. Colin Kapp) or bemoan the fact that sf is for entertainment and not an artform, as recent editorials have tried to indicate. There’s also an impassioned cry from a long-time reader for a return to ‘sense-of-wonder’ stories, but I feel that we’ve moved long past that.

(Talking of the end of New Worlds, there are rumours, but I must emphasise at this stage only rumours, that a rescue package may be being looked at for the magazine. Hopefully we will know more by next month.)

Lastly, this month’s rather short set of Book Reviews. Mr. Leslie Flood looks at what sounds like an interesting hardback collecting together recent Russian Science Fiction, which he describes as toeing “the socialist line" but finds “entertaining". He also reviews Mr. Edmund Cooper’s Transit as a “better than average" book, albeit with a hoary plot. He is much more positive about Mr Clifford Simak’s Way Station, which you may remember our Traveller reviewing when it appeared in Galaxy Magazine in two parts last year. Mr. Flood summarises it as “the sort of nonsense I simply cannot resist, and Simak does it so well." I’ve recently read this myself and can only agree.

Lastly, Mr Flood mentions the print of a post-war classic, “for too long out of print", Messers Pohl and Kornbluth’s Gladiator-At-Law. Whilst lacking “the spurious charm" of The Space Merchants, it is “very compulsive reading".

Summing up

In summary, another diverse issue. Mr. Carnell’s tenure as Editor may be drawing to a close, but he seems determined to want to go with a bang, although I am sure that Mr. Ballard’s story will have many readers who hate it as much as others love it. You may not like everything here, and it hardly manages any degree of consistency, but it can’t be denied that in places this is a thought-provoking issue. 

Until next month.

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




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Magazine

[February 23, 1964] Songs of Innocence and of Experience (March 1964 Fantastic)

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by Victoria Silverwolf

I trust that the spirit of William Blake will forgive me for stealing the title of his 1794 collection of poems.  It seems appropriate, now that the Beatles have conquered America with a combination of sophisticated melodies and simple lyrics.  Maybe you were one of the millions who watched the Fab Four perform the Number One song in the USA on The Ed Sullivan Show a couple of weeks ago.

If not, don't worry about it.  You'll find plenty of innocence and experience in the pages of the latest issue of Fantastic.


Cover by Paula McLane

Iron, by Robert H. Rohrer, Jr.

The cover story takes place long after metallic aliens failed to conquer Earth.  One of the invaders escapes from an underground prison after one thousand years, finding a domed city inhabited by robots, but without people.  During a battle of wits between the alien and the robots, we learn what happened to the vanished humans.

This story has some interesting concepts, but presents them in an unsophisticated way.  The manner in which the alien and the leader of the robots deduce the truth about each other from a few vague clues strains credulity.  There are no surprises in the plot.

Two stars.

The Graveyard Heart, by Roger Zelazny

In the near future, a small number of the elite go into suspended animation, emerging for a day or so now and then.  They are all extremely wealthy, but money is not the only thing needed to join this exclusive set.  Their long slumbers alternate with brief periods of parties and other amusements.

The protagonist falls in love with a woman who belongs to the group.  He struggles to join the set, facing the arbitrary whim of an elderly woman who has the final say.  Complicating matters is a cynical, alcoholic poet.  A dramatic event brings the characters together, with unexpected results.

If the first story in this issue lacked style and elegance, this one has plenty — one would say it has too much!  There are elaborate metaphors and multiple allusions, some of which went over my head.  The tone is world-weary and decadent.  The hibernating hedonists remind me of the inhabitants of J. G. Ballard's Vermillion Sands.  Not all readers will care for the author's literary pretentions, but I appreciated them.

Four stars.

The Coming of the Little People, by Robert Spencer Carr

This month's Fantasy Classic comes from the November 1952 issue of Bluebook.  As the story begins, a feeling of optimism fills the world.  Simultaneously, strange lights appear on the most inaccessible peaks on Earth.  Although the possibility of spaceships or biological experiments comes up, it's clear from the start (and the title) what's really going on.  Mischievous but benign fairies arrive to aid humanity.  Not only do they end the Cold War, they help an army officer and his female sergeant admit their love for each other.

Readers with a low tolerance for sweetness and sentimentality had best stay away.  If Zelazny's tale was the epitome of Experience, this one is the exemplar of Innocence.  It feels cruel to blame the author for naivety, when he wears his heart on his sleeve so openly.

Two stars.

Training Talk, by David R. Bunch

We turn from pure light to complete darkness in the latest mordant fable from a controversial author.  A man makes his two young children bury dolls made from sausage and paper.  Six months later, they dig them up.  What happens next is very strange.

I'm not sure what the author is trying to say, but it has something to do with the man's broken marriage and a woman's death.  The frenzied narrative style makes for compelling, if confusing, reading.

Three stars.

Identity Mistaken, by Rick Raphael

An astronaut crashes on an inhabited planet.  Only his brain survives.  The local aliens rebuild his body, based on their monitoring of Earth's television broadcasts.  The whole thing is just a set-up for a joke about the popularity of Westerns.  You may get some slight amusement from the punchline.

Two stars.

Summing Up

Zelazny and Bunch represent one extreme of imaginative fiction.  They make use of avant-garde literary techniques, at the risk of alienating the audience.  The other authors demonstrate simpler, more traditional methods of telling a story.  They communicate with the reader clearly, but may seem stale and unoriginal.  It's impossible to say which approach is better.  Maybe writers of fantasy and science fiction can learn a lesson from the Beatles, and make use of both.

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Magazine

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

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


by Gideon Marcus

A New Leaf

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

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

The Issue at Hand


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

Automatic Tiger, by Kit Reed

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

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

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

Sacheverell, by Avram Davidson

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

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

I suppose forgettable is better than awful?  Two stars.

Survival of the Fittest, by Jack Sharkey

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

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

The Prodigals, by Jean Bridge

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

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

Forget It!, by Isaac Asimov

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

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

Who can argue with that?  Four stars.

Lord Arthur Savile's Crime, by Oscar Wilde

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

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

Three stars.

Pure Water from Salt, by Theodore L. Thomas

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

Two stars — one for each page.

Incident in the IND, by Harry Harrison

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

Four stars.

Humanoid Sacrifice, by J. T. McIntosh

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

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

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

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

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

The Conventional Approach, by Robert Bloch

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

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

The Lost Leonardo, by J. G. Ballard

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

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

Summing Up

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

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TV

[February 19th, 1964] The Edge Of Disappointment (Doctor Who: The Edge Of Destruction)

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By Jessica Holmes

Welcome back to your regularly scheduled ramblings on Doctor Who, folks. Let's get on with it, shall we?

Today I'm covering a shorter serial, a little two-parter set entirely aboard the TARDIS, where the ship has crashed with no apparent cause, and the crew must work out what happened to the ship and how to fix it before time runs out. With tensions running high, will the crew break apart before the ship does?

I'm making this sound much better than it turned out to be. You'll scream when you find out what the cause of all the problems is. Trust me.

THE EDGE OF DESTRUCTION

In this episode, the TARDIS lands with a bump, knocking our entire crew out cold. As they come to, one by one, it becomes clear something is very wrong with our crew. Wandering about in a daze, they appear confused at their company, as if they've forgotten the last couple of adventures, their relationship to one another, and their personalities.

Shortly after they come to, they make a startling discovery: the TARDIS doors are opening and closing by themselves. Susan begins to fear that there's something aboard the TARDIS with them.

Upon approaching the console, Susan has the most dramatic faint ever put to film. Ian ever-so-gently gives her a fireman's lift and plonks her down on a bed that can't be at all comfortable if you like to sleep in any other position than on your back. I wouldn't get along very well aboard the TARDIS, even if it is wheelchair accessible.

Susan, it seems, still feels a wee bit poorly when she wakes up, given that when Ian comes near her she threatens to stab him with a pair of scissors.


Look, we’ve all had mornings like that, haven’t we?

Now, stabbing Ian would be a rubbish idea. We like Ian. He’s nice. Susan instead screams and cries and stabs the bed, I can only imagine as punishment for it being so dreadfully uncomfortable.

As a highly responsible adult, Ian confiscates the scissors, by which I mean he leaves them lying around for Susan to pick up again.

The Doctor, bastion of logic and reason, thinks it very illogical to consider the idea that someone or something is aboard the ship with them, even though he was unconscious for a good six minutes at the start of the episode (I checked), during which the TARDIS doors were open for an uncertain amount of time, and his companions were either unconscious or highly dazed.

I don't know what planet's logic he's following, because it certainly isn't ours. If I left my front door wide open for a few minutes, I’d almost certainly end up with somebody else’s cat.

Susan returns to her bed with the pilfered pair of scissors, and when Barbara tends to her, a struggle ensues for the potentially deadly implement. Susan is still suspicious that there is something aboard the TARDIS with them, perhaps even hiding within them.

The Doctor manages to get the scanner working, which comes as a surprise, as he and Susan have been unable to touch any part of the console without suffering terrible pain up to now.

When activated, the scanner displays a sequence of images:

First, an idyllic expanse of English countryside.

The doors begin to open, and an unearthly bellow roars outside. The doors close, and we get the next image, an alien world, one that Susan and the Doctor visited recently. I would rather see that adventure than this one.

Then we see a heavily cratered planet, followed by a solar system, followed by what appears to be a galactic belt, which vanishes in a flash of white.

Ian would like an explanation too, but when he asks, the Doctor throws the question right back at him, because while he reckons the idea of something having crept aboard the TARDIS is absurd, apparently the idea that Ian would sabotage the TARDIS of his own free will is not. Why would he sabotage the TARDIS? To blackmail the Doctor into taking him home, of course!

To blackmail. The Doctor. Into taking him home. In the TARDIS. The TARDIS he has supposedly sabotaged. That TARDIS.

I feel like I'm stating the painfully, horrendously, agonisingly obvious here, but this is an absolutely rubbish blackmail plot.

Barbara also points out that it would be wildly out of character for her or Ian to perform any sort of sabotage on the TARDIS of their own free will, and then it's her turn to clutch her head and scream dramatically, because something has happened to the clock.

I think it melted.


That, or the Doctor is a fan of Salvador Dali.

Susan has a bit of a meltdown, too, while Ian looks a bit confused and checks his watch, which, funnily enough, is exactly what I did at that moment.

Once everyone has turned in for the night, the Doctor goes around checking on everyone with his mischievous chuckle, only this time it's a lot more creepy than endearing, and as he bends over the console to do… I don't know, something, somebody grabs him.


Goodness gracious me, who could it possibly be.

And here ends the first part, with the mystery not any closer to being solved, no real action being taken, and everyone being downright useless.

THE BRINK OF DISASTER

A truer episode title has never been written.

So, it turns out it was Ian trying to seize the Doctor, but not to worry, he promptly keels over, so no harm done. Not to the Doctor, anyway. Ian, on the other hand, is in deep trouble.

The Doctor now reckons Ian and Barbara want to steal the TARDIS and fly back to Earth themselves, to which I say: Pardon?

Even if Ian and Barbara were planning to commandeer the TARDIS, how in the world could they? It's not contemporary Earth technology! They could no more pilot the TARDIS than I could nick an aeroplane from the nearest R.A.F. base and fly to France.

Still, it’s enough for the Doctor to make up his mind to throw Ian and Barbara off the TARDIS.

I am frustrated. I dearly and sincerely hope that this is coming through. Because I have already seen that this programme can be much, much better than this.

An alarm goes off, alerting the Doctor to a Thing. I'm calling it a Thing because I never did quite catch what they called it. Faulticator? Faulplicator? Hot Potater? And as it turns out, literally everything is wrong.

For fear of flogging a dead horse I will not be making the obvious joke.

The central column of the console flashes and begins to move by itself The Doctor calculates that they have around ten minutes to live based upon…something, and the crew work out that the machine has been trying to tell them, through the various strange happenings aboard the ship, what the problem is, because as it turns out this funny little big ship has started to think for itself, after a fashion.

The machine could really do with working on its communication skills.

Barbara figures the power at the heart of the machine has been trying to escape— but why? It's like a wounded animal lashing out at anyone who tries to access the controls…except for the scanner.

There's an entire bit of them unravelling the sequence of the scanner images, the long and short of it being that it's representative of their journey so far. Why is the TARDIS trying to take the Doctor for a trip down memory lane? What’s drawing the energy from the core of the TARDIS? What incredible catastrophe has brought this remarkable ship to the brink of destruction?

A stuck button.

The Doctor pressed the Fast Return switch to get back home at the end of the Dalek adventure, and it got stuck.


Are you pulling my leg?

There we have it, folks. Susan nearly stabbed Ian, the Doctor almost abandoned him and Barbara, everyone completely lost their heads and it was just because a little spring was broken and a button got stuck.

So, Ian and the Doctor prise it up, fix it, and Bob's your uncle, off we go.

Yes.

It's really that simple.

So, we're all friends again, having gotten over our inexplicably odd behaviour. The Doctor says he's proud of Susan even though she contributed absolutely nothing and, might I remind you, almost stabbed both of her teachers. Back in my day that was most certainly grounds for expulsion.

Then, having still not managed to arrive on Earth, everyone goes off to play in the snow because we've all forgotten what we're doing.

And behold! Someone with very big feet has been through here.


Looks like one of my eldest brother’s footprints.

FINAL THOUGHTS

Where to begin?

I did not particularly enjoy this story.

This wasn't terrible, though. Don’t get me wrong.

It was mediocre. That's all. Just mediocre.

And I think that might be worse.

Nothing happens. Threads of mystery are half-heartedly picked up, toyed with, and then cast aside in favour of the next idea to pop into whichever character’s head, as if the narrative was being played with by a bored cat. Everyone's having mood swings, and as soon as everyone gets back into character, it's over in a few minutes, because of course it would be!

Everyone in this story was acting very strange and as if they only had a vague grasp of their characters (and on reality itself), and there was no actual cause for it, in the end. Now, a red herring is a good tool in building a mystery, but the red herring does have to have its own explanation within the story. Otherwise, it’s just characters acting weird for the sake of acting weird, and that’s not good writing. I could, if I was feeling very generous, chalk it up to concussion, but it wasn’t consistent enough for concussion, and I’m not feeling generous, so I shan’t.

It's nowhere near as good as The Daleks which I think makes it seem worse by comparison. Thank the stars it was only two episodes and I only lost about fifty minutes or so of my life watching it, plus however long I ended up spending doing the write-up.

I am confident that you will miss nothing by skipping this one. I don't really think the companions come out of this any closer than they were at the end of The Daleks. They were pretty friendly at that point, took about ten steps backwards in their relationship, then in a flash they're all best chums again. It doesn't feel organic. There isn’t enough tension remaining within the group to make the infighting seem justified, and given how nasty it got at one point, how quickly they snap back into being friends makes the whole thing seem pointless. If someone threatened to stab me with a pair of scissors, or throw me out of their car based upon some imagined slight, it’d take me a little while to start trusting them again. I think I’d have preferred it if there really was an entity on board. That would have at least been exciting. Especially if it was controlling one of the crew.

I like to end on a positive note, so I will at least say this: the Doctor admitting how proud he is of Susan was really very sweet, and it was something I'd like to see more of. Hopefully we shall do next time, when with any luck we'll find ourselves an adventure worth the watching.

1.5 out of 5 stars.




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Magazine, Science Fiction/Fantasy

[February 17, 1964] Breaking Taboos (April 1964 Worlds of Tomorrow)

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


by Victoria Silverwolf

Until a decade or so ago, science fiction rarely dealt with erotic themes in an open way.  That began to change with Phillip José Farmer's famous story The Lovers (1952), which deals with a love affair between a man and a female humanoid.  Her alien reproductive system, described in detail, is the key to the plot.

Equally groundbreaking was The World Well Lost (1953) by Theodore Sturgeon.  This gentle, beautifully written story depicts homosexuality in a sympathetic way.

SF writers are now free to look inside the bedroom.  But are they ready to peer into the bathroom?  The lead novella in the latest issue of Worlds of Tomorrow represents a first step inside.


Cover by Paul E. Wenzel

The Dark Light-Years, by Brian W. Aldiss

By sheer chance, humans and aliens arrive at almost the same time on an uninhabited world.  The aliens look like hippopotamuses with six limbs and two heads.  The humans kill most of the aliens at first sight, taking two prisoners.  (Right away, we know that the author is going to depict the human species as violent and xenophobic.) Not only are the aliens repulsive to human eyes, their behavior is offensive in the extreme.

(Sensitive readers may wish to skip the rest of this review.)

The aliens live in their own excrement, considering this the most important part of their culture and religion.  All attempts to communicate with the aliens fail, partly due to the disgust they elicit from their captors.

The plot is more complicated than I've made it sound, starting with a man who has lived on the aliens' home world for many years.  A long flashback describes the first encounter between the two species.

The point of view shifts to that of the aliens, and we learn their history.  The climax returns to the beginning, and ends in tragedy. 

This sounds like a very grim story, but it's also full of satire and dark humor.  The author offers a couple of scatological puns.  It would be easy to dismiss this as a schoolchild writing naughty words on a blackboard, but the intent is more serious than that.  Despite a jumpy narrative technique, the story powerfully portrays the impossibility of understanding between radically different beings.

Four stars.

Package Deal, by James Stamers

A married couple retire to another planet.  Their alien hosts provide what they need in the form of boxes that change into everything from booze to houses.  Things don't work out well.

That's all there is to the plot.  The absurd concept is played for laughs, and doesn't achieve any.  The two women in the story are a fat, nagging shrew and a teasing sexpot.

One star.

The Apprentice God, by Miriam Allen DeFord

In free verse, the author describes how a tentacled being accidentally damaged a tiny world while studying it.  The knowledge that it contained sentient creatures leads to profound remorse.  Although the outcome of the poem is inevitable, the style is elegant and stately.

Three stars.

The Urban Hell, by Tom Purdom

This article describes the ways in which large cities might exist in the future, and compares this to science fiction's visions of tomorrow's metropolises.  Giant residential skyscrapers surrounded by parks?  Horizontal cities designed for automobiles?  Downtowns consisting of low buildings, with a mixture of houses, shops, and factories?  All of these ideas are presented in an interesting and informative way.

Four stars.

Name of the Snake, by R. A. Lafferty

A Catholic priest journeys to a planet of aliens who claim to be without sin.  (I wonder if this is a response to James Blish's 1958 novel A Case of Conscience, which has the same theme.) He admits they lack human vices, but discovers they have new evils of their own.

The author manages to create a serious theological fable that is also full of wit.  The ending, in particular, makes use of a cliché from magazine cartoons in a new and meaningful way.

Four stars.

Under the Gaddyl, by C. C. MacApp

Alien invaders have ruled Earth for many years.  Most human beings are slaves.  A privileged few are free, allowed to struggle for survival in primitive conditions.  When escaped slaves steal an alien weapon, even free humans are in danger.  The hero and his family make a hazardous journey to escape the vengeful aliens.  Mutant humans show up at one point.  They play an important role in the story, but seemed forced into the plot.

This is a typical science fiction adventure story.  It is competently told and holds the reader's attention, but there is little new to be found here. 

Three stars.

Summing Up

Publishing a story that is certain to offend many readers shows boldness on the part of editor Frederik Pohl.  The other contents of the magazine are far less daring, although most of them are worth reading.

Those of you with sharp eyes will notice that Day of the Egg by Allen Kim Lang, announced on the front cover, does not appear.  That's not the only error.  My copy has many of the pages in the wrong order, making reading a chore.  I hope the habits of the aliens in the Aldiss piece didn't shock the designers and printers into forgetting how to do their jobs.




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Book, Magazine

[February 13, 1964] Deafening (the March 1964 Amazing)

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by John Boston


Cover by EMSH

The March 1964 Amazing fairly shouts mediocrity, or worse, before one reads a word of the fiction.  The cover, illustrating Robert F. Young’s story Arena of Decisions, portrays a guy working some sort of keyboard in front of video screens displaying . . . a young woman, a lady as some would have it, and a tiger.  Can it be that Young, having rehashed the Old Testament and moved on to Jack and the Beanstalk, is now recapitulating that silly old Frank Stockton story, The Lady or the Tiger, which so many of us were forced to read in junior high?  And just for lagniappe, the editorial says in passing, “For the female of the sf species who may not be quite sure of her facts, billiards is played with balls and a cue on a flat rectangular table with pockets in each corner and at the middle of the two longer sides.” Always glad to help you ignorant . . . ladies . . . out!

Arena of Decisions, by Robert F. Young

That leads us to page 7, where the Young story begins, and yep, the blurb cops to the Frank Stockton replay right up front.  For anyone who hasn’t read or been told the original story, it involves a criminal justice system (if that’s the right word) in which those accused of serious crimes are forced to choose one of two doors to open.  Behind one of them is a hungry tiger; behind the other, a woman whom the no-longer-accused is required to marry.  The story ends just before the fatal choice, with an element of possible skulduggery added. 

Young does not entirely recapitulate Stockton’s plot, but the gimmick is the same, with extra chicanery added, set on a cartoonish colony planet, all told in a style of arch jocularity that mainly conveys the message “I know I’m wasting your time with this facile and vacant crap—let’s see how long I can keep you going.”

I’m about as tired of slagging Young month after month as I am of reading him.  I didn’t think he was always this bad, so I reread a couple of his early stories in anthologies: Jungle Doctor from Startling Stories in 1955 and The Garden in the Forest from Astounding in 1953.  He wasn’t this bad.  These are not great stories—his weaknesses for cliche and sentimentality are evident—but they are reasonably intelligent and capable, if less polished than his current output, with some interesting substance to them rather than the cynical vacuity of Arena of Decisions and its ilk.  I would never have called Young mighty, but . . . how the respectable have fallen.  One star.

Now Is Forever, by Dobbin Thorpe

Like a breath of fresh breeze in a fetid dungeon, or a slug of Pepto-Bismol to the dyspeptic stomach, comes Now Is Forever by Dobbin Thorpe, reliably reported to be Thomas M. Disch.  Intentionally or not, Forever is a rejoinder to Ralph Williams’s clever but facile Business as Usual, During Alterations, which appeared in Astounding in 1958.  In Williams’s story, portable matter duplicators suddenly appear on Earth, planted no doubt by aliens bent on conquest by destroying our economy, and the heroic store manager instantly sorts out the new economy: starting now, everything is done on credit, but everybody can have credit.  Nothing up my sleeve!  Everybody wins!

Disch starts with the same notion but is of course less sanguine.  He asks what people will live for when the getting-and-spending basis of their lives is suddenly yanked from under them.  The answer is the old and established will cling fiercely and futilely to their old habits, and young people will seek thrills—including death, which is no big deal as long as you duplicate yourself beforehand.  This sharply written and well visualized story just misses excellence by being a little too long and rambling for its point.  Three stars.

Jam for Christmas, Vance Simonds

It’s back downhill with Vance Simonds’s Jam for Christmas, the second story about Everett O’Toole, the “telempathist,” who with the aid of a mutant mongoose and a worldwide psionic network of other humans and animals, can scan the world to see how people are feeling about things.  In this case the world is the Moon, where the now-amalgamated capitalist nations are about to broadcast to Earth the equivalent of a USO show, and the now-amalgamated commies want to jam this display of the vitality of capitalism.  (The commies haven’t quite got the know-how to do their own broadcasts.)

Like its predecessor Telempathy, from last June’s issue, the story is swaddled in layers of satirical performance, much of it focusing on O’Toole’s excessive weight and alcohol consumption, the physical attributes of the show’s star, this year’s Miss Heavenly Body, and other cheap targets.  Some of it is actually pretty funny—while the telempathists are scanning their own area for communist spies, they come upon a covert fascist whose attitude is concisely lampooned—but it mainly serves to pad out what is ultimately a pretty thin and humdrum story.  Two stars.

Sunburst (Part 1 of 3), by Phyllis Gotlieb

That’s all the fiction that is complete in this issue.  The longest item is the first installment of Sunburst, a serial by Phyllis Gotlieb, who has had a handful of stories in these Ziff-Davis magazines and in If.  I usually hold off on serials until all the parts are in, but in my weary quest for something more to redeem this lackluster issue, I read this installment.  The set-up is interesting: in a small midwestern town, a nuclear reactor explosion has resulted in the birth of a cohort of psi-talented mutants, who come into their powers as children and wreck a good part of the town and its police force.  These uncontrollably dangerous tykes are isolated in the “Dump” behind a psi-impervious field whipped up by a handy Nobelist in physics.  Now it’s a decade later; what to do with them? 

It’s a bit amateurish; Gotlieb doesn’t do much to sketch in the background of what living in this now-quarantined town is like or how the quarantine works, and the dialogue and interactions among the characters are pretty unconvincing.  But it gives the sense that she’s getting at something of interest, however clumsily, so I look forward to the rest of it.  No rating, though, until the end.

The Time of Great Dying

Ben Bova departs from his usual cosmological beat for The Time of Great Dying, canvassing the various theories purporting to explain the extinction of the dinosaurs and the ascendancy of mammals at the end of the Mesozoic, including such winners as “racial senescence,” though Bova doesn’t give that one much respect.  He puts his money, or at least his mouth, on the growing prevalence of grasses, for which dinosaurs’ teeth were poorly adapted, though it’s a little unclear why they didn’t evolve more useful teeth over the same time period that the mammals did.  The subject is a little more interesting than usual, but overall it’s about as dull as usual.  Two stars.

The Spectroscope

Book reviewer S.E. Cotts has been replaced by Lester del Rey, to no great effect: there are virtues to having a professional writer as a reviewer, but he contributes no profound insights and is more verbose about it than Cotts.

Loud and Clear

So, overall, the promised mediocrity is delivered, with Mr. Disch again showing flashes of something better, and Gotlieb’s serial extending some hope.  Beyond those two, the wasteland beckons, or fails to.




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TV

[February 11, 1964] To Gain Ascendancy (The Outer Limits, Season One, Episodes 17-20)

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by Natalie Devitt

This past month of The Outer Limits presented more than its fair share of stories filled with aliens, insects and humans that all attempt to dominate those around them: an alien from another dimension that holds captives all in an attempt to bargain for more power to achieve his goals, a queen bee that tries to mate with a human in hopes of strengthening her species so that she can rule the world, a secret society that uses creatures to possess the bodies of government officials so that they can rise to power, and a tale about a woman’s desperate attempt to kill an alien and steal his magic shield in a quest for fame and status.

Don’t Open Till Doomsday, by Joseph Stefano

The Outer Limits goes back in time to the year 1929. Following a busy wedding day, newlyweds Mary and Harvey find themselves in their suite with all of their unopened wedding gifts. David Frankham, who was featured in The Outer Limits episode Nightmare, plays Harvey, who is drawn towards one gift in particular. Its card reads, “Don’t Open Till Doomsday.“ Curious, Harvey removes the wrapping paper to reveal a box with a hole on one side that flashes a light. He peeks inside the hole, only to suddenly vanish into thin air.

In the present day, newlyweds Viva and Gard decide to rent the same bridal suite where Harvey disappeared. Mary, played by Trouble in Paradise’s Miriam Hopkins, now owns the property which houses the bridal suite. Having grown old without Harvey, she tells the pair about him before saying that she has finally stopped expecting her “groom to return.” When the couple sets foot in the suite, they see that aside from dust and cobwebs that the room has not been touched in decades.

In fact, the wedding gifts are exactly as they were the night Mary’s groom vanished. The presents include the very box that caused Harvey‘s disappearance, which as it turns out has the ability to transport people into another dimension. This dimension is controlled by a creature from outer space that still has Harvey. Luckily for Mary, she thinks that Viva and Gard might hold the key to helping her free him.

Don’t Open Till Doomsday does not always make much sense, but that does not really matter. From howling winds to film noir lighting, the episode is all about atmosphere. As usual, Conrad Hall’s cinematography helped to make a pretty good episode all the more impressive. In addition, the episode has plenty of great performers, but it is Miriam Hopkins who really steals the show as Mary. She is almost unrecognizable, looking like a cross between Gloria Swanson’s Norma Desmond character in Sunset Boulevard and Bette Davis as the title character in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane.

With all this episode has a lot going for it, I must confess that the conclusion is a little disappointing and that the alien, while ugly, is not nearly as frightening as I would have liked. Despite some flaws, Don’t Open Till Doomsday is highly enjoyable, which is why it receives three and half stars.

ZZZZZ, by Meyer Dolinsky

In ZZZZZ, America, America’s Joanna Frank portrays a mysterious young woman by the name of Regina, who is hired as a lab assistant for an entomologist named Ben. In the role of Ben is Philip Abbott, returning to The Outer Limits after an appearance in The Borderland. Shortly after the “enchanting” brunette is hired, she is invited to stay in her employer‘s home with him and his wife, Francesca, played by Pride and Prejudice’s Marsha Hunt.

What Ben does not realize is that Regina is much more knowledgeable about bees than he is. After spending some time with the new hire, Francesca notices that something seems a little off about her. Francesca’s suspicions are confirmed when she looks out the window one day to see Regina hugging trees and licking flowers, then transforming back into her original bee form. As it turns out, Regina is actually a queen bee. Also, she is intent on mating with Ben in order to improve her species and conquer the world. But before she can do that, Regina needs to eliminate any competition she has for Ben‘s affection.

While far from a masterpiece, ZZZZZ is enjoyable. This entry in the series has an almost magical quality to it due in large part to Conrad Hall’s cinematography, which also makes the already attractive Joanna Frank even more seductive. The most striking scene is perhaps the scene where Francesca observes Regina in the garden going around from plant to plant before eventually turning into a bee. But even with all that the episode has going for it visually, the plot is fairly weak, which is interesting because the screenwriter is none other than Meyer Dolinsky, who also penned the scripts for outstanding episodes like The Architects of Fear and O.B.I.T. After taking everything into consideration, ZZZZZ earns three stars.

The Invisibles, by Joseph Stefano

The Invisibles follows a group of men, who have, as the narrator states, “never joined or been invited to join society.” But it is for that very reason that they have been recruited by an organization called the Society of Invisibles. The men are told that they are being given an opportunity to make something of their lives by being trusted “with a mission of incalculable importance.“

The Society of Invisibles plans to send them out to use their anonymity as an advantage in order to gain the access to prominent members of society, such as those found in “government and industry.” Once a potential victim’s guard is down, a member of the Society of Invisibles can use furry crab-shaped creatures that attach themselves to the unsuspecting victim‘s spine in order to control the body. With each new host, they move one step closer to their goal of world domination.

The men attend “indoctrination classes.” They are told, “You will work alone. Each man in a different city.” The men are also warned, “if you contact anyone for any reason whatsoever, you will be murdered.” What the organization does not know yet is that one of their men, Luis Spain, portrayed by Don Gordon, a recent actor on Twilight Zone’s The Self-Improvement of Salvadore Ross, is a government agent.

The Invisibles is a pretty strong episode. What could be yet another story about alien possession or aliens trying to take over the world is executed extremely well. The acting is superb. Also, the screenplay leaves you never knowing which characters are trustworthy. The story keeps the pace going right until the very end, which is why I give it three and a half stars.

The Bellero Shield, by Joseph Stefano

The Bellero Shield tells the story of a young man named Richard, a scientist conducting experiments with laser beams. Richard is eager to become the successor to his family’s company, but Richard’s father has his doubts, since the company is phasing out lasers. Martin Landau returns to The Outer Limits after The Man Who Was Never Born and assumes the role of Richard. Relative newcomer, Sally Kellerman, makes her second appearance on the series and plays Richard’s wife, Judith.

One night after experimenting with his lasers, Richard steps out of his lab. What he does not know is that his lasers have attracted the attention of a alien or, as it calls himself, a “traveler.” When Judith attempts to shoot the being, he immediately puts up a shield. He insists on keeping his shield up, expecting to “remain shielded” until as he says, he knows more about weapons on Earth. Desperate to keep the family business and compelled by her own desire for fame, Judith distracts Richard, then waits for an opportunity to take a shot at the being when he is without his shield. Once she shoots the creature, she is eager to use his shield for her own gain.

The influence of Macbeth on The Bellero Shield is hard to miss, but even though this episode's screenplay does not try to hide its influences, it still stands as a great work on its own. The script is solid with a fantastic conclusion. The cast does not have a weak actor. All of these add up to The Bellero Shield deserving four stars.

An unwavering quest for power has been at the heart of all of the episodes this past month on The Outer Limits, but another thing that has been pretty consistent this month is the quality of the episodes. Most were at least good, if not excellent. I can only hope that this becomes the rule for the series rather than the exception.



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Book, Magazine

[February 9, 1964] Bargain Basement (March 1964 IF)

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by Gideon Marcus

Value Shopping

The price of science fiction digests has steadily gone up over the years.  In the early 50s, the standard cost was 35 cents.  I think the last hold-out at that price point was Fantastic.  Now Galaxy and Analog cost four bits, and the cheapest mags go for 40 cents.  Still, that latter price is a steal when the fiction is all good. 

IF is one of the lower rent mags, but whether or not the March 1964 IF gives you value for your money…well, you'll have to read on to find out:

The Issue at Hand


Cover by Norman Nodel

In Saturn's Rings, by Robert F. Young

Every author has their own quality curve.  Some, like Daniel Keyes, explode onto the scene with a masterpiece and then spend the rest of their career trying to live up to it.  Others start off-key but only improve over time (perhaps Rosel George Brown fits this category, though I've not read her very earliest stories.  Randy Garrett and Bob Silverberg might fit, too.) Still others oscillate between greatness and crap (viz. Poul Anderson). 

Robert F. Young is yet another kind of author.  He started decent, rose to stunning heights with pieces like To Fell a Tree, and then descended into mediocrity, mostly recycling fairy tales and myths. 

Take Rings, for example.  A old man named Matthew North comes back from a far planet, his hold full of the waters of the fountain of youth.  His employer, Zeus Christopolous IX, has built an Attic Greek themed Elysium on the Saturnian moon, Hyperion, populated by robots who look like Alexander the Great, Pindar, Helen of Troy, etc.  Zeus is absent when North returns, but his wife, Hera, demands receipt of the cargo.  She undertakes to threaten, cajole, and seduce the elixir out of Matthew.  She almost succeeds, but then Matthew finds that Hera has done away with her husband, Clytemnestra-style, and he calls the cops instead.


Nice illo by Lawrence, though

It's all very moody and metaphorical, but I never got much out of it — and there are few folks who dig the classics like I do.  Two stars, and a chorus of "Woe!  Woe!  Woe!"

Guardian, by Jerome Bixby

This short story is depicted by this month's striking cover.  In brief, an archaeologist and his assistant land on Mars and discover the robotic guardian that defeated the armies of two invading worlds.  If I didn't know better, I'd say this was a deliberate send-up of pulp style and themes, up to and including a Mars with a breathable atmosphere and degenerate post-civilized natives, a "Planet X" that exploded into the Asteroid Belt, and even the use of the word "cyclopean" (although Bixby uses it to mean "one-eyed" rather than "really big"). 

Send-up or not, it doesn't really belong in the pages of a modern magazine.  Two stars.

Almost Eden, by Jo Friday

This month's new author wrote about a planet whose dominant life form has been pressured by evolution to live as four different creatures simultaneously.  Each is specialized for a particular purpose — hunting, digestion, food storage, and…well, you'll figure it out soon enough. 

It's good, though a little rough around the edges, and I can't shake the feeling I've seen this gimmick before.  Help me out?

Three stars.

The City That Grew in the Sea, by Keith Laumer


Some typically Gaughan work — looks like something out of Clarke's The Sea People

I find myself no longer looking forward to Laumer's stories of Retief, the super-spy who works for the ineffectual Terran Confederation.  This one's not bad, really, about a couple of acquisitive agents and their plan to commit genocide on a water-dwelling race to get access to their gold.  And I appreciated that the adversary race, the Groaci, are not universally bad guys.  But I'm just getting tired of the schtick.  I feel like Retief now hamstrings Laumer as opposed to enabling him.

Three stars.

What Crooch Did, by Jesse Friedlander

Crooch was a promoter who revived the increasingly staged art of "professional" wrestling and evolved (devolved?) it into gladiatorial combat.  This is his story.  All four pages' worth.

Two stars.

Miracle on Michigan and How to Have a Hiroshima, by Theodore Sturgeon

There's nary a peep from editor Fred Pohl this bi-month.  He's probably passed out from having to edit Galaxy and Worlds of Tomorrow as well as this mag.  Instead, we've got a pair of short observations from Ted Sturgeon.  The first is a paean to the twin Marina Towers in Chicago, perhaps a preview of the arcologies of the future. 

The second is a prediction that the next big scientific breakthrough that will revolutionize the world will come in the field of psychology, maybe something to do with hypnotism.

Your guess is as good as his.  Three stars.

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


McKenna's stuff is serviceable, if not exciting

Finally, we get the second half of Anderson's latest book.  There are two parallel threads that run through it.  Firstly, we have a renegade Naval fleet that has seized control of the Jovian system of moons.  At the same time, down on the surface of Jupiter, the evil Ulunt-Khuzul people have besieged the territory of the peaceful Nyarrans.  Each beleaguered group has its champion: the Ganymedans have a middle-aged man named Fraser; the Nyarrans have a plucky resister called Theor.  And, thanks to the neutrino radio link between them, they are the key to each other's success.

Part 2 was better than Part 1, which was turgid and unreadable.  I still found the depiction of Jovian life both unrealistic as well as overly conventional.  Fraser's story is interesting, but the interactions between him and his partner, the turncoat (but not really!) Lorraine, are hackneyed in the extreme.  This was really brought home to me when my daughter, the Young Traveler, showed me a story she'd just written.  Her characters were better drawn than Fraser and Lorraine — and she's only 14!

Anderson can do better, has done much better.  That's what makes churned out stuff like this so disappointing.

Two stars for this installment, one and a half for the whole thing.

Summing up

Was this month's IF worth 40 cents?  I mean, you get what you pay for, right?  I suppose I'm happy for the introduction to Jo Friday, and I'm glad the Anderson didn't end terribly.  But Fred Pohl really needs to start saving the good stuff for the neglected sister of his trio…

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TV

[February 3rd, 1964] And Into The Fire (Doctor Who: The Daleks | Episodes 5-7)

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By Jessica Holmes

Good morning, good afternoon, good evening, in whatever time and place you happen to be. Ready for some more Doctor Who? I certainly am.

So, a super speedy recap before we get into things: the Doctor went and got himself and his companions stuck on an alien planet, and then everyone got captured and almost died of radiation poisoning. They escaped, barely, but then realised they couldn't leave because they'd left part of the TARDIS behind. So now they're going to have to go back to their captors. Well done, Doctor.

Oh, and there are some very cross pepperpots who dabble in plumbing.

THE EXPEDITION

In this episode, the companions must convince the Thals to help them reclaim a vital part of the TARDIS.

However, the Thals are so deeply opposed to violence that they won't take any aggressive action against the Daleks. What's more, the companions themselves can't agree on whether it's right to enlist the Thals in a conflict that has nothing to do with them, even if it could buy them their lives. After some shenanigans and a cruel but effective trick from Ian, Alydon manages to rally a few Thals to assist Ian and Barbara in their expedition to recover the part.

There are two big moral questions in this serial, and this episode is where they’re thrust into the spotlight: when, if ever, is it right to fight? And is it right to enlist someone else to fight your battles?

Entering the episode, the Thals have a firm answer to the first question: never.

"We will not fight. There will be no more wars. Look at our planet. This was once a great world, full of ideas and art and invention. In one day it was destroyed. And you will never find one good reason why we should ever begin destroying everything again."
Alydon

The Doctor, however, isn't having any of it. The Thals are going to fight and he's going to lead them into battle. Won’t that be something, indeed.

This leads us right into the second question: is it right to enlist someone else to fight your battles? Even if your troubles have nothing to do with them?

The Doctor, for the record, couldn't care less if it's right or wrong. It's a matter of survival. If making the Thals fight will make them more likely to survive, then morality doesn’t come into the equation. Now, it shouldn’t surprise anyone that the Doctor would take this stance, but what about Barbara? Yes, of all people, Barbara takes his side. She never really struck me as a moral pragmatist before, but then again, it would surprise most people just how flexible morality can be when your life's on the line.

However, Ian thinks otherwise. Though eager earlier to get the Thals to fight, Ian has come to believe it would be wrong to force them to go against their nature, when this isn't even their battle. If the Thals are going to fight, it has to be for their own reasons.

How do you make a Thal fight? Threaten his loved ones, of course. When Ian threatens to take one of the Thals to the Daleks in exchange for the fluid link (one who is very special to Alydon, if you catch my meaning), it takes Alydon all of three seconds to send him flying.


For a man who’s never fought anyone in his life, Alydon can throw a heck of a punch.

Now, consider this: while all this debate has been raging, the Daleks have synthesised the Thals' anti-radiation drug with unexpected results: the drug is toxic to them. Why? Because it stops them absorbing radiation. This leads the Daleks to realise they need a radioactive environment to survive. If they're ever going to leave the city, they'll have to flood the planet with radiation. The Thals don't know it yet, but they're living on borrowed time.

Alydon comes to an important realisation while wrestling with his guilt over punching Ian. There may well be a just cause for fighting: in defence of another. If they don't help the companions, knowing that only their help can save them, they might as well just kill them themselves. It’s an interesting notion, and one that I find myself agreeing with. After all, all that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.

What's more, Alydon has himself come to the conclusion that the Daleks represent an ongoing threat to the Thals. They have all the food, and before long, the Thals are going to starve. The Thals are afraid, but that's okay. They're right to be afraid. But as Alydon puts it:

"There is no indignity in being afraid to die. But there is a terrible shame in being afraid to live."

In the end, a few Thals agree to go with Ian and Barbara, and they set out to infiltrate the city. However, it doesn't take long before they run into trouble.

This might be one of my favourite episodes of the serial. I really enjoyed the moral quandaries the characters found themselves in.


We have to have a bog monster in a bog, even if it doesn’t do anything. It’s the rules.

THE ORDEAL

This episode isn't as good as the ones sandwiching it. I'll say that before anything else. There's not really any of the moral philosophy, major character development (other than one rather nice Thal whose name I can't remember), or excitement of the other episodes, so I'll keep it brief.

In this episode, all of our players are getting into place for the final act. Ian and Barbara are leading an expedition of Thals to infiltrate the city from behind, and the Doctor and Susan are with the main group, plotting their own assault on the city. Meanwhile, the Daleks accelerate their plans to make the planet more suitable to their needs.

There are some rather nice, borderline flirty moments of banter between Barbara and one of the Thals travelling with her. It's a sweet little human thing that goes a long way towards endearing him to me. I just wonder how he ever learned of the Earth concept of 'ladies first'. Is that something that regularly comes up in conversation?

I also enjoyed the Doctor and Susan acting like a pair of gleeful schoolchildren as they sabotaged the Daleks' surveillance equipment—especially when the Doctor got so carried away with his own cleverness he forgot the most important part of any bit of mischief: run away afterwards.


You have to wonder how he’s survived as long as he has, really.

Towards the end of the episode, though, there's a scene which is a bit frustrating to watch, as once again, we run up against the budget limitations. It's rather hard to even see what's going on, harder still to believe that our heroes are clinging to the walls of a perilous ravine. Even an establishing shot of a matte painting would have gone a long way towards building my suspension of disbelief.

THE RESCUE

Here we are, at the grand finale. There's a lot going on in this episode, so let’s take a deep breath, and away we go!

Ian and Barbara make it to the city of the Daleks, as Susan and the Doctor find themselves once again at the mercy of the plunger-brandishing fiends. The Daleks kindly explain their whole evil plan, because that’s what baddies do. I’m sure there’s a Handy Guide To Being Evil out there somewhere that every villain ever written has read. Explaining your entire plan is rule number two. The first rule is to never just kill the hero when you have him at your mercy. That wouldn’t be any fun, now, would it?

By deliberately overloading their nuclear reactors, The Daleks will be able to release enough radioactive material to irradiate the atmosphere and terraform the planet to their needs. Or should that be skaroform?

As Alydon rallies his men to assault the city, the Doctor pleads with the Daleks to see reason. When he finds no sense of morality in them to appeal to, he even tries bargaining, but to no avail. Time is running out for the Doctor, and for the planet, when Ian and Barbara's party meets up with Alydon's group, and together, they make their assault on the Dalek command.

I can only really describe what happens as a… kerfuffle. Though the Daleks are deadly at a distance, in close quarters, they're no match for the strength and mobility of their attackers, who push them about as if they were shopping trolleys. It’s a bit funnier than I think was intended.

The Thals prevail, freeing the Doctor to put a stop to the Daleks' plan. However, the salvation of the Thals is achieved at the fatal expense of the Daleks. The reactors are fast draining of power entirely. When they're fully powered down, the Daleks will be starved for radiation. One Dalek, dying, begs for the Doctor to undo what he's done. But he can't. And even if he could, he wouldn't. The Dalek dies, and with it, it seems, the Dalek race itself.


Susan even got a snazzy new cloak.

So much for just being a wanderer throughout the universe, Doctor. You just single-handedly eradicated a sapient species. Neither he, nor any of the other characters for that matter, seem to appreciate that fact, and the episode breezes on to the dénouement, where lessons are learned, goodbyes are said, and cliffhangers for the next serial are set up. Oh, and Barbara and her Thal friend share a very special farewell.

FINAL THOUGHTS

Right, so when it comes down to it, what did I think of The Daleks?

We’re just two serials in, and The Doctor is already affecting events on a planetary scale! If he carries on the way he does, there'll be a Doctor-shaped trail of destruction across the universe before long.

The serial did start to meander a little bit in the middle with having to go back to the city. Particularly The Ordeal, which does set up the finale, but not much else. It's a tricky thing because I can't just point at a scene and say 'cut that'. It would require a surgeon’s finesse.

As for the Thals, I admit I did categorise them in my head as 'Alydon' and 'Not Alydon', which should give you an idea as to how invested I was in the Thals who weren't Alydon. I have forgotten all of their names. They're more of an ensemble cast than distinct individuals, so I didn't really blink when any of them died.

I'm a bit unsure about killing off all the Daleks. It seems a shame to get rid of an interesting villain, one so inhuman, for whom morals aren't a consideration when it comes to survival. An interesting foil for the Doctor, wouldn't you agree? Also, though the Daleks we saw were unquestionably evil and sowed the seeds of their own destruction, was that the case for all of them?

Then again, we never see anything to suggest a concept of individualism amongst the Daleks, so it could be argued that they all harboured the same genocidal ambitions, making peaceful coexistence with the Thals an impossibility. Still, there's no way of knowing either way, which is why I'd have liked to have seen some consideration of their fate.

I wonder if, as the Thals have basically bred into themselves the instinct for pacifism, the Daleks bred themselves to be the opposite. It would fit with all of their actions. When faced with a fight or flight situation, the Thals would always choose flight, and the Daleks would fight. I wonder how the Daleks kept on as long as they did without wiping themselves out. They think nothing of experimenting on or even killing their own kind, if it would further the ends of their leaders.

We do get one line from the Thals that could be interpreted as regretful, though that was probably more for the Thal losses than for the eradication of all Daleks. For that matter, for a bunch of people who had a complete taboo against violence, they did seem to take to it quite well in the end. You'd think the Thals might actually mourn the Daleks. That would have been quite curious to see from our perspective, but I think it would have made sense for a people who up to recently had been so dedicated to living in peace and harmony. Hopefully they won't end up regaining their ancient taste for war.

Still, a very exciting and enjoyable serial all the same. I know it's less educational, but then again, it did explore some moral philosophy on when it's right to fight, if ever, and I love that sort of thing. I also think it came to a responsible conclusion: avoid fighting, except in the defence of yourself or others. I can get behind that. The only time I ever got in a scrap as a child was when a boy was picking on my little brother. I didn't do much for fear of really hurting the bully, but he did back off. I would like to see a bit more that's less cut and dried, perhaps with factions that can’t be simply described as ‘good’ or ‘evil’. Because the real world is messy like that, and I do think that in itself is an important thing to teach.

I’ll be back very shortly for our next outing. Our companions made it safely back to the TARDIS, but it seems the TARDIS might not be the safest place to be after all…

4 out of 5 stars




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Book, Magazine, Movies

[February 1, 1964] The Vast Wasteland (February 1964 Analog)

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by Gideon Marcus

Every Silver Lining has a Cloud

What an exciting month January was!  From President Johnson's declaration of war on poverty to the launching of the Ranger 6 moon mission, not to mention this week's premiere of the amazing satire/horror, Dr. Strangelove, this year is shaping up to be a good one.

But while real life and the silver screen may offer superlative pleasures, this month's written sf , at least on this side of the Pond, has been rather lackluster.  This month's Analog is no exception.  In fact, it rests near the bottom of the pack.  That said, it's not a complete loss — so long as you know what you're getting into:

The Issue at Hand

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

Dr. Hall returns to tell us more about the hypothesis that the majority of meteors that hit our planet are actually pieces of other planets knocked off when they were hit by meteorites.  It is, if anything, less comprehensible than the last article.  And that's coming from a fellow who studied astrophysics in college and reads journal articles for fun.

One star.

The Permanent Implosion, by Dean McLaughlin

When a bunch of Colorado eggheads blow a hole in the fabric of the universe, all of Earth's air starts whistling to nowhere like water draining from a bathtub.  Mick Candido, an oilman with a talent for capping blown and burning wells, is called in to plug the hole.

This is a smartly written tale whose obvious solution is obscured by deft authorial misdirection.  It's not a story for the ages, but it's solid Analog fare.  Three stars.

Crackpots, Inc., by Richard L. Davis

On the other hand, Crackpots is uniquely Analog fare.  A rural hayseed has purportedly invented perpetual motion, but his feat cannot be duplicated by scientists.  Turns out, it's because the machine is powered by the hick's psychic energies.  The only way this piece could have been more to Campbell's taste is if it included dowsing.

One star.

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

I'm going to spare some inches for this one since I know this has been a popular serial.  In the far future, humanity has spread out among the stars.  Civilization is a strange mix of the advanced and the primitive. There are faster-than-light ships, electro-magnetic shields, and laser guns, On the other hand, computers are outlawed, with savant "Mentats" filling the role.  Society runs along feudal lines, its politics Machiavellian to the extreme.  To wit:

Baron Harkonnen, lord of the desert planet, Arrakis, is ordered by the Padishah Emperor to give his fief to Duke Leto Atreides.  On the face of things, this is a boon.  Arrakis is the only source of the anti-geriatic spice melange, control of which makes one very rich.  However, the transfer is a baited trap.  Not only is a legion of the Emperor's troops poised to seize the fief should Leto stumble, but one of Leto's lieutenants is a traitor in the pay of Harkonnen.

Added to the mix: Leto's mistress, Lady Jessica, member of the female-only Bene Gesserit order, who has keen perception and the ability to control others with her voice.  Her son, Paul, who may be the satisfaction of a prophecy that predicts a male possessor of Bene Gesserit powers.  The "Fremen" natives of Arrakis appear to be primitives yet there is evidence that suggests they possess a great technology.  Finally, we have Kynes, an Imperial surveyor who seems to know the secrets of Arrakis but refuses to play his hand openly.

Not much happens in Dune World.  There are lots of conversations where people reveal the history of Arrakis.  There is an attempt on Paul's life.  Leto saves some spice miners from a sandworm.  There is a feast in the Atreides stronghold with more exposition.  The traitor's plan comes to fruition, with the Duke put in mortal peril and his family forced into exile.  There is no real resolution; I suspect Herbert plans a sequel.

Author Herbert has an intricate grand plan, and he's certainly not stinted on world building.  The various cultures are richly detailed.  There is a refreshing abundance of foreign language and concepts, particularly from Arabic.  What keeps Dune World from being a masterpiece, or even especially enjoyable, is that Herbert's writing chops just aren't up to turning this byzantine mess of a plot into a story.  There are more swaths of italicized text than in the footnotes of a legal contract, and the viewpoint shifts constantly, often every other sentence.  A typical example from page 49:


"Now I know you remain loyal to my Duke," she said.  "Therefore I'm prepared to forgive your affront to me."

"Is there something to forgive? he asked.

Jessica scowled, wondering, Shall I play my trump?  Shall I tell him of the Duke's daughter I've carried within me these two weeks?  No, Leto himself doesn't know and this would only complicate his life, divert him when he must concentrate on our survival.  There is yet time to use this.

And Hawat thought: She's even beautiful when she's angry.  An extremely difficult adversary.

The traitor is revealed early on; the mystery is why he's betrayed Duke Leto.  That said, the identity of the betrayer could have been handled as a double mystery, which would have been more interesting. 

At serial's end, Paul has a soothsaying dream and learns several secrets of Arrakis and spice.  It's all very arbitrary and unsatisfying. 

Herbert has created something like a well researched but dry encyclopedia article on a fascinating topic.  I wanted to know more about Arrakis and Paul's prophecy, but getting through the (half) novel was often a slog. 

Maybe a good editor will help Herbert polish this up before its inevitable publication as a book.

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

Rx for Chaos, by Christopher Anvil

Another entry in the "Unintended Consequences of Science" department: Hangover-killing "De-tox" pills become bestsellers, but they also inhibit creativity and give rise to a fascist, anti-intellectual movement.  It's typical Analog Anvil, written with tongue firmly lodged in cheek.  It rates three stars, barely.

Names for Space Plants, by John Becker

Lots of words in these three short pages, but I've no idea what Becker is actually trying to say.  One star.

The Analytic Laboratory

Add it all up, and Analog scores a limp 2.1 stars, only beaten for badness by this month's Amazing (2 stars even).  F&SF is barely better at 2.2; Fantastic gets 2.6 but at least it's got a good Dick in it.  Galaxy's 3 stars is also, in part, thanks to its Dick story.  The only unalloyed triumph is the February New Worlds, which garnered 3.6 stars.

Women made up just two of the 38 authors who wrote fiction for magazines this month. 

As for books, again, it was the British stuff that stood out.  Brian Aldiss' new fix-up got four stars, per Jason Sacks, whereas neither this month's Ace Double nor Laurence Janifer's second effort stunned.

Next month is my birthday month, though, and I'm certain the writers in my favorite genre wouldn't let me down on my 39th birthday.

Right?

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