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[Sep. 1, 1963] How to Fail at Writing by not Really Trying (September 1963 Analog)

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by Gideon Marcus

A few years ago, I began trying to write fiction.  I'd been reading science fiction regularly for eight years at that point.  I figured if all those other guys and gals could do it, surely I, with hundreds of published pieces under my belt would find the transition an easy one.  So long as I came up with some clever twist, maybe showcased some unique visions of technology, that'd be enough.

I quickly found, as I collected rejection after rejection, that it wasn't.  I started running my stories past my wife and my daughter, both talented and discerning individuals.  It became clear that I was missing the things that make any story good, regardless of genre: pacing, compelling characters, dramatic tension.  A science fiction story must be, first and foremost, a story.

I took that lesson to heart, rewriting all of my salvageable pieces.  The end result?  Last month, I got published, and the future looks bright for my other works.  Now people want to read my stuff.  Heck, even I like my stuff now.


Sadly, this month's issue of Analog, with one notable exception, is chock full of the type of stories I know now not to write.  They are a series of technological travelogues with the barest attempt at fictioneering.  This kind of thing might tickle editor John Campbell's fancy, but it won't win any Hugos.  Moreover, this isn't the first time this has happened.  If this trend keeps up, at some point it's got to impact subscription numbers.  Right?

Take a look and tell me if you agree:



Which Polaris Do You Mean? by Robert S. Richardson

Every planet has got a north pole — that place where you can stand and watch the world rotate counter-clockwise below you.  But do other planets have a "North Star," a bright star like our Polaris that lies directly in line that pole and always points north?  And do Earth and other planets have South Stars?  Robert Richardson offers up an article that answers these questions.  I found it pretty interesting, but astronomy's my bag.  Three stars.

Industrial Revolution, by Winston P. Sanders

A few months back, Sanders wrote a story about planet-divers who plunged into the atmosphere of Jupiter to retrieve valuable industrial gasses.  I don't know how the author managed to turn such an interesting premise into a dull piece, but he did. 

In Revolution, he does it again, butchering the tale of a small venture that tries to turn an asteroid into a profitable fuel trans-shipping concern.  Earth's government sends a battleship out to stop the attempt at space capitalism, but doughty Jimmy Chung (the Chinese guy) and Michael Blades (the Irish guy, and hero) outsmart those evil bureaucrats.

Along the way, we are treated to excruciatingly long explanations of technology, pages of trite dialogue, and that perennial Analog specialty: lousy portrayals of women.  All told in a smug, self-satisfied manner that is also typical of the magazine. 

Those with any knowledge of our genre know that "Winston P. Sanders" is a pen name for old hand, Poul Anderson.  Perhaps he knew that this tale was a stinker and didn't want his name attached to it.  One star.

The Last Straw, by William J. Smith

Months after a deadly plane crash that took the lives of more than seventy passengers, Inspector Kessler still can't give up the investigation.  Was it sabotage?  A drunk passenger?  Or perhaps some kind of conspiracy?  All of the leads come up short…until a final clue puts the mystery in focus.

Straw is just three separate dialogues, and yet, the writing is so deft that we learn everything we need to know just from conversation.  The rule is generally "show, don't tell," but an experienced author can "show by telling" without it feeling expository.  I'm impressed.

As for the story, it's a fine, short "who-dunnit."  Or perhaps "what-dunnit" is a better description.  Four stars.

i>Chrono-Control, by Frank A. Javor

In the future, incorrigible prisoners are stuffed into one-person satellites and subjected to a life of privation and strict time-management.  One such convict decides he can't take it anymore and hatches a plan to break his mechanical warden.  But is Heaven in a pod better than Hell?

Aside from the utter implausibility of the setup, the pages upon pages explaining the prisoner's plot are incomprehensible.  The ending is silly, too.  In other words, Javor commits all of the sins described in my preamble. 

Two stars.

The Thirst Quenchers, by Rick Raphael

A hundred years from now, science has transformed every profession but one — that of the hydrologist.  These intrepid measurers must still manually plant sensors in remote locations to ensure an accurate picture of our water budget.  And in the 21st Century, water is such a precious commodity that no drop can be spared.

A fellow reviewer described this tale as "A cross between a railway timetable and a mail-order catalogue," which I find hard to improve upon.  It reads like an educational film views, and when the "action" starts, half-way through, it is stripped of all excitement. 

Some points that stood out, though:

1.  In the future, won't satellites be able to monitor our water supplies? 

2.  If water is in such short supply, and power so abundant (nuclear fission is ubiquitous, and dams have been abandoned), why aren't there large-scale desalination operations?

3.  Analog is a particularly masculine magazine with few/no female characters or writers.  Sometimes this quality approaches self-satiric levels, as with this sentence spoken by a ranger who is rebuffed when he offers a hydrologist a cup of substandard coffee:

"Man's drink for a real man," the ranger grinned.  "Us forestry men learn to make coffee from pine pitch.  Makes a man outta you."

One star.

Am I Still There?, by James R. Hall

This year saw the first successful lung transplant, easily the most significant organ transfer operation to date.  One can easily foresee a future in which every part of the body can be exchanged, granting a kind of immortality.  But what happens when your brain starts to wear out?  Can a new one be regrown, imprinted with your memories, and implanted?  Are you still you after such an operation?

It's a fascinating concept, but you won't find it well-explored in this story.  After a competent setup, Hall simply leaves the central question unanswered.  Two stars.

We are left with the question: Do Analog's stories stink because the writers can't write, or do Analog's contributors write poorly because that's what Campbell wants?  The fact that Anderson, at least, often turns in good efforts suggests the latter — or at least, they just don't try as hard for Campbell's mag. 

Anyway, here are the numbers for this month: Analog garnered a dismal 2.2 stars, beaten to the bottom only by Amazing, which got 2.1 stars.  F&SF was also a disappointment this month, though its sins tend to go in the opposite direction of Analog.  It got 2.6 stars.  Fantastic rounds out the losers with a 2.9 average.

On the winning side, Worlds of Tomorrow features solid works by Laumer and Dick, though the balance of the issue drags things to just 3 stars.  Experimental IF, which featured two woman authors (F&SF had one, the others, none), clocked in at 3.3 stars and had my favorite story.  And New Worlds scored a surprising 3.4 stars and the top spot, in large part due to its continuing serial by John Brunner.

All in all, August wasn't a great month for science fiction, but as usual, there was enough quality to see us through.  Speaking of which, Worldcon 21 has begun, and we will soon learn what the fans thought was the best of SF published last year.  There will be a full report when it's over…

[Want to discuss the Hugo winners in real-time?  Come join us at Portal 55! (Ed.)]

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Magazine

[August 27, 1963] Ups and Downs #2 New Worlds, September 1963

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by Mark Yon

The hot summer (well, hot for England!) of 1963 now seems to be turning to things autumnal, all too soon. I have, since we last spoke, had a wonderful summer break from work, being able to rest a bit and catch up with some much-delayed reading. For the record, I have read and enjoyed Something Wicked This Way Comes by Mr. Ray Bradbury, which only came out here in Britain this year. It had a brilliantly scary evocation of evil in Mr. Dark, and will make a great Hallowe’en read. I’m usually more a fan of Mr. Bradbury’s short stories than his longer work, but I really liked this one.

On a different level of complexity, I also spent some time last week trying to decipher Mr. Anthony Burgess’ made-up polyglot language in A Clockwork Orange. Not an easy read! It’s a book that is undoubtedly clever, but seems to parade it's intelligence rather than actually focus on telling a story. I preferred the more-subtle literary tones of Mr. J.G. Ballard’s The Drowned World last year, which was easier to read, more nuanced and just as effective in my opinion.

As I type this, we’re on the way to a Worldcon, which, as ever, is something I look forward to. So, let’s have a go at some predictions. Personally, I would like Mr. Arthur C. Clarke’s to win myself, but I guess for regular readers of Galactic Journey that will not be a surprise. I haven’t read it myself, but Mr. Dick’s The Man in the High Castle seems to be well regarded, so I expect that to be a popular choice. I’d also like to see Mr. Jack Vance’s The Dragon Masters get an award – it was one of my favourites last year.

If I were a gambling person (and I’m not, usually) I would bet that the Award for Dramatic Presentation will go to The Twilight Zone, even though we’ve not seen any episodes over here in Britain. (Mind you, some of my fellow travelers have said that the latest season has been a little bit ‘hit and miss’, so you never know.)

Expect to see me with egg on my face next month when we will know how right (or wrong!) my predictions were. And now – to this month’s New Worlds.

If you remember, last month saw a number of changes to the magazine, not all of which I felt were successful. This month we have continued with the ‘generic Luna’ background, in a not so fetching shade of brown. But at least the cover font is now readable, if only to make obvious a price rise, from two-shillings and sixpence to three shillings. Either this is a sign of trying to increase income due to the increased difficulties of the magazine, or, trying to remain positive, possibly an attempt to generate more income to spend on better stories.

the ragnarok theme, by Mr. I.F. Clarke

This month’s Guest Editorial is one from an author known in British fan circles but perhaps less elsewhere. Often confused with Arthur (no relation), Mr. I.F. Clarke has been around the British s-f scene a while. His editorial is adapted from a longer version, due for publication.

Mr. Clarke looks at the current general interest in apocalyptic ‘end-of-the-world’ stories through The Ragnarok Theme. He proposes that the interest is because the idea deals with the universal myths of death and destruction in both general literature and science fiction. As Editorials go, I quite liked this one. It is different in tone from those of late, uses lots of examples to explain itself and made its main point (that a rise in interest in such themes is often related to the anxiety of the time we live in) effectively, without becoming rhetoric or rant.

Onward the stories! (and please notice, all the titles are still annoyingly written in lower case.)

lack of experience , by Mr. John Garfield

It is tempting fate, surely, to begin this month’s list with a story titled lack of experience. But, actually, this one is OK. It is, after all, a story of a bored librarian. Or rather, a bored robotic librarian, who has the intelligence to want to get out of its rut and takes a journey of discovery to find itself. This tale of frustration and loneliness could become a little mawkish, but it is made livelier with added sex. It’s not without humour, either. I did like the line one of the librarian’s colleagues gave: ”I may not have imagination….but I have flashing coloured lights.” 4 out of 5.

not by mind alone , by Mr. Michael Moorcock

This story feels like it should start with the old adage, “So, this man went to the doctors….” not by mind alone is the latest story by Mr. Michael Moorcock, who since the demise of Science Fiction Adventures seems to be spending a lot of time here in New Worlds. This time it’s the story of a physician who, when asked to examine a patient, discovers new worlds through different experiences of time, with the idea that differences in perception and understanding occur because of where a person is in his/her own space-time continuum as well as the one we all share. Much of the story is about the results of this discovery. It’s an ‘interesting idea’ sort of story, a developed thought-experiment, but ultimately seems to be little more than a not-so-disguised allegory for a drug culture. The ending is rather weak. 3 out of 5.

deep freeze , by Mr. John Rackham

Looking just at the title, I thought that this month’s story by Mr. Rackham was going to be about cryogenics. Of course, being British, I should have realised that deep freeze is actually a story about that most central of British social concerns, climate change. It is also the latest story in Mr. Rackham’s ongoing ‘X-people’ series. I’ve not been greatly enamoured with this series so far about human computers, and this one is very silly. It is the first time that I’ve ever read – or will read – a story of how modelling clay could lead to global destruction. I’m sure Mr. Ian Fleming could use this in his next James Bond novel!

Allowing for the silliness of the initial problem, the point about how easily the Gulf Stream Drift affects climate is a good one and gives this story a slightly more down-to-earth element. Allowing for my grumpiness, in the end, deep freeze is fun, if you don’t take it seriously in any way.  3 out of 5.

the rotten borough , by Mr. R.W. Mackelworth

Here’s another author returning to New Worlds. As the strapline suggests Mr. Mackelworth’s stories so far have looked at the ideas of justice and freedom. In this latest story he looks at a future British Parliament where voting is taking place to bring subliminal messaging to all. The idea that such messaging could be misused is an intriguing one, and there’s an appropriately Orwellian take on how the media can be manipulated, but the idea of having just one objector in opposition, and him because fewer people in Cornwall watch television, felt false. Another story that falls apart at the end, based on a dodgy premise to begin with. 2 out of 5.

the game , by Mr. James Inglish

As much as we readers love reading about outer space, it has been pointed out by a number of writers, such as Mr. Arthur C. Clarke, that there is much to discover on our own planet as well. the game is an interesting story in the near-future where dolphins have been trained by humans to take part in warfare, albeit explained to the dolphins as a game. The story is mainly from the perspective of Cetus, the leader of a pod of dolphins who realises that the humans may have an ulterior motive to this promised bit of fun. It’s a little let down by suggesting that dolphins can empathise to such an extent that they can experience things through other animals – in this case, an angel fish and a shark – which was a step too far for me. Nevertheless, there’s a nice moral in conclusion, if a tad dour: humans are not to be trusted. My favourite story of the issue.  4 out of 5.

to conquer chaos (Part 2 of 3) , by Mr. John Brunner

And so to the second part of our serial, which started well last month. Part Two of the story begins where we left it, in this medieval-esque environment, although there are increasing hints that the cause of the barrenland may be science-fictional. We discover more about Jervis Yanderman’s travels in the barrenlands and the consequences of the locals realising that they can communicate with outsiders. Yanderman teams up with local yokel ‘Idle Conrad’, and together they travel further towards the interior, Yanderman to determine what exists there and Conrad to seek the source of his mysterious visions (I suspect the two things are connected.) Generally it’s engaging and well written, with some nice characterisation developing beyond the clichés. One of the strongest serials of late, and I’m looking forward to next month’s final part.  4 out of 5.

trieste film festival report , by Mr John Carnell

After my barbed comments last month, Mr. Carnell has clearly been stirred to write a report on this festival. Covering a mere two pages, it’s not much, to be frank. Entitled the mystery of the ‘mare trieste’Mr. Carnell’s report is more about what didn’t happen than did. He bemoans the lack of presence of many of the guests – for example, Mr. Ray Bradbury, Mr. Frederik Pohl, Mr. Sprague de Camp and film star Mr. Ray Milland – with the British film entries being so terrible that many of the judges escaped to watch King Kong being shown in a nearby local cinema instead!  Mr. Carnell lets us faithful readers know that, despite this, the British maintained a presence at the festival with himself, Mr. Harry Harrison and Mr. Brian Aldiss all doing their bit. The rest seems hardly worth reporting on.

So – another month of hits and misses in the seemingly ever-variable New Worlds. Continuing the shipping analogy, generally the good ship S.S. New Worlds seems to have stayed afloat, but only just, limping its way towards harbour once again. The good news is that this issue did seem a little more consistent, and a tad more readable, though Mr. Brunner’s serial is carrying the rest somewhat.

Until next month.




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Magazine

[August 25, 1963] Hope Springs Eternal (September 1963 Fantastic)

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by Victoria Silverwolf

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all – — Emily Dickinson

There are reasons to be hopeful this month. 

The United States, the Soviet Union, and the United Kingdom signed the Treaty Banning Nuclear Weapon Tests in the Atmosphere, in Outer Space, and Under Water.  The ceremony took place on August 5 at the Kremlin.  Representing the United States was Secretary of State Dean Rusk.  Foreign Minister Andrei Gromyko signed for the Soviet Union, and Foreign Secretary Alec Douglas-Home for the United Kingdom.  The treaty doesn't ban underground testing, but it's definitely a step in the right direction.


United States Senators William Fulbright and Hubert Humphrey, United Nations Secretary General U Thant, and Soviet Premier Nikita Khruschchev join in the celebration

James Meredith, whose enrollment at the University of Mississippi led to a violent riot, graduated with a Bachelor of Arts in Political Science on August 18.  The ceremony took place without incident.  Perhaps this is a sign that the attitude of some segregationists is changing.


James Meredith receives his diploma from Chancellor John Davis Williams

Proof that hope can triumph over adversity appears at the top of the American popular music charts this month.  The number one position is held by Fingertips Pt. 2 by the musical prodigy Little Stevie Wonder.  Blind since infancy, this talented young man does not allow his handicap to interfere with his art.

Recorded more than a year ago at the Regal Theater in Chicago, this is the first live, non-studio recording to reach Number One since Johnny Standley's comic monologue It's in the Book held that position in 1952.

Appropriately, the lead story in the latest issue of Fantastic deals with hope lost and found.

The cover illustration marks the debut of artist Paula McLane.  It manages to be macabre and peaceful at the same time.  I particularly like the use of color in this dream-like painting.  I hope to see more of her work soon.

The House That Time Forgot, by Robert F. Young

An elderly woman sits in her decaying house.  She hears the flapping of wings, and welcomes it as a sign of her approaching death.  After this eerie opening scene, the author provides a long history of the house and the woman's ancestors.  As a girl, she was shy, withdrawing into the world of books and poetry.  (The character's name is Elizabeth Dickenson [sic], and her personality resembles that of poets Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Emily Dickinson.) Her only chance at romance vanishes when she discovers the man she loves in a compromising position.  She stays alone in her house for many years, ignoring the outside world.  (So much time goes by that the story becomes science fiction, set in the twenty-first century, when both men and women dye their hair unnatural colors.) Although she has abandoned all hope for a happy life, strange changes in time and reality provide a second chance.

This romantic fantasy appeals much more to the heart than the head.  The author provides a penetrating look into a lonely soul.  What happens to her may not be very logical, but is emotionally powerful.  The reader must be patient during the lengthy detailing of the protagonist's forebears, as this proves to be relevant to the plot.  Four stars.

The Sudden Afternoon, by J. G. Ballard

A man has vivid memories of a life that is not his own.  He remembers being a boy in India, although he has never been there.  He recalls being a physician, although he is actually a chemist.  Soon his false memories become more real to him than his true life.  The explanation for this strange experience quickly becomes clear to the reader, but the story has a final sting in its tail.

Besides the twist ending, in the style of The Twilight Zone, the plot is straightforward.  The author writes very well, and the story is vivid and interesting.  Three stars.

The Singing Sands of Prester John, by H. Benford-Jones

This month's reprint comes from the pen of a prolific writer of pulp fiction.  First published in Blue Book in February of 1939, it is one of a series of tales involving a device which allows one to see and hear the past.  (It even translates speech and writing into English!) In this story, it provides a vision of the twelfth century.  A European soldier seeks Prester John, the legendary Christian ruler of an Asian kingdom.  The man finds love, danger, and a strange phenomenon that proves to have a rational explanation.

The science fiction gimmick is merely an excuse for a work of adventure fiction set many centuries ago.  The setting is depicted in a convincing way, although I doubt it's an entirely accurate portrait of history.  Two stars.

Vanity, Thy Name Is, by Ron Goulart

This is the third in a series of stories about a man from the 1960's who is brought to the 1890's by an occult detective.  While he waits to return to his own time, he does most of the work for the investigator.  In this tale, the mismatched pair face a triple threat.  A fighter vanishes during an illegal boxing match.  A ghost seems to be responsible for a series of robberies.  A poltergeist smashes objects and throws them at people.  The events turn out to be related, and justice is served.

This is a very light comedy.  The mystery is solved quickly, and there is little suspense.  The main appeal comes from humorous remarks made by the characters.  Three stars.

The Demon of the North, by C. C. MacApp

This story takes place in the remote past.  The Ice Age is ending.  Mammoths roam the land.  Contradicting all that we know about prehistory, the people of this time are able to work bronze and iron, make bows and arrows, and use mammoths as beasts of burden.  A particularly advanced nation has magnetic compasses.  An envoy from this land joins a party assembled by a king to seek out and destroy a strange being.  The expedition includes warriors from Africa and the far eastern reaches of Asia.  After a long and difficult journey, they discover the truth about the so-called demon.

The author creates an unusual setting in striking detail.  The explanation for the change in the Earth's climate, and the exact nature of the entity responsible for it, are confusing.  Three stars.

Adjustment, by Wilton G. Beggs

Aliens very similar to human beings conquer the Earth.  The survivors of the invasion live in squalor.  The aliens kidnap attractive young women for their harems and brothels.  Some men who are willing to co-operate with the aliens live in luxury with them.  They have their youth and health restored.  One such man returns to Earth to visit his two daughters.  Although he appears to be very young, the women are old hags.  His haughty alien lover, disdainful of the daughters and all other humans who have not joined her kind, accompanies him.  The two women have a surprise for the proud pair.

This is a gruesome horror story.  Despite the science fiction elements, it reads more like a dark tale of fantasy.  It's clear as soon as the two visitors arrive that they are in for a bad fate.  The only suspense created is wondering what form it will take.  Two stars.

Until next time, just remember what Frank Sinatra and little Eddie Hodges told us in the 1959 movie A Hole in the Head, and have High Hopes.

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Movies

[August 23, 1963] Laughing Mushrooms (Ishirō Honda's Matango)

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by Rosemary Benton

August has been a good but bizarre month. Early on there were great strides made towards the curtailing worldwide nuclear testing when the United Kingdom, the Soviet Union and the United States congregated in Moscow to sign the Treaty Banning Nuclear Weapon Tests in the Atmosphere, in Outer Space and Under Water. Then, like something straight out of a western, a train heading from Glasgow to London was robbed and ₤2.6 million were stolen. And that was all within the first week of August! In short it has felt like a world tipped suddenly and momentarily on its head.

In my own world, that sense of odd juxtaposition managed to permeate my recent trip to Japan with my Aunt Mika and Uncle Ed. Knowing my interest in Japanese art, an invitation was extended to me to travel with them to Mika's home town in Hiroshima Prefecture. While there, we would sight-see and witness the opening of Sanyo Women's College, a junior women's college that my cousin would be attending.

After a six hour flight to Honolulu, another eight hour flight to Tokyo, and finally, a two hour domestic flight to the new Hiroshima airport, we were on our way to Mika's family home. Twenty-four hours beyond that the grand opening of the school had concluded and a small group of us, including my aunt, were all going into a theater for the evening to watch the new Ishirō Honda's survival horror movie Matango at the behest of the Western guests – my uncle and myself. Like the month of August, my trip was about to go from a celebration of civility and education to a chilling and eye-opening clash of film and culture.

The plot of Matango I can truthfully only retell in broad terms. With my limited understanding of Japanese, I relied on the short synopses and key dialogue that Mika and Ed were generous enough to translate for me. As it was explained to me, a group of five wealthy upper class nouveau riche and their two crew members are shipwrecked when their yacht is caught in a storm. As their dilapidated ship floats further and further off course, tempers begin to wear thin, until they come into sight of a mist shrouded tropical island.

However, they soon realize that things haven't improved for them. After consulting the logs of a beached oceanography vessel they conclude that their situation is dire. The island was previously unknown, although it was being investigated by an international team of scientists studying the effects of radiation. Strangely, members of the crew began disappearing, and while the reason is not clear, our protagonists believe that it could be traced to the abundant mushrooms that cover the humid island. Mushrooms, it is cryptically noted in the logs, that have “neurological effects.”

As time passes and they work to make the yacht sea worthy, we see tensions begin to flare. This eventually culminates in a split between the survivors. After a failed attempt to gain control of the group and force them to consume some of the fungus, two of the people are banished into the jungle. Eventually the need for food drives all but one of the men and one of the women into the depths of the jungle. Inevitably, the woman too falls to the need for food and begins eating the mushrooms. Running after her, the sole survivor finds his companion eating the fungus along with the rest of their group, all of whom are in various stages of transformation into walking piles of mushrooms. The movie concludes with the survivor admitting that he too, adrift at sea and at a breaking point devoid of all hope, succumbed to hunger and ate some of the mushrooms. He dramatically turns and we see the beginning stages of fungus enveloping his face.

Matango is, in all aspects, a well made film. Its story is well balanced in terms of pacing, and while I was not privy to the nitty gritty lines of dialogue, I was still able to tell the basic personality traits and motives for the cast of characters based nearly entirely on the body language of the actors. The special effects should also be noted for their grotesque look and very visceral texture. They not only look horrifying, but wet, painful, and as if they would possess a stomach wrenching smell. It wasn't surprising to hear the audience gasp at the first sight of a partially transformed mushroom-person, but it was telling that by the end of the movie the rest of the theater seemed to be in a state of gripped morbid fascination. I had been informed on our way to the theater that the film had nearly been banned for the special effects' close resemblance to radiation burns, but only after seeing the film myself and then witnessing the audience's reaction could I really begin to appreciate that. 

As can be expected from Ishirō Honda, the focus of Matango is not on the actual final transformation of humans into mushrooms, but the tragic fall and eventual apathy of individuals desperate to survive. The actual “horror” of this horror movie is very characteristically Japanese. By this I mean that the monster of the story, in this case the fungus, is not doing anything intentionally malicious. It simply exists and has motives for survival that are contrary to the survival of humanity. It's the monster's/fungus' very existence and ability to control and destroy humanity that is terrifying.

Other Japanese films we've seen this theme: In Godzilla the titular giant lizard was disturbed and forced out of its natural habitat by underwater hydrogen bomb testing. Rodan likewise featured a beast disturbed by nuclear testing which forced it out of its home. The “Snowman” in Half Human was a yeti-like creature defending himself against pursuing humans.

Where we see Ishirō Honda's real skill as a science fiction/horror screenwriter is his ability to take this monster-by-necessity motivation and tie it in with an even greater enemy – apathetic acceptance. In the films I mention above the protagonists eventually triumph by fighting harder and smarter than the monster. But in Matango the time spent humanizing each of the seven passengers is all the more tragic as they all succumb to an age old enemy that can't be beaten: hunger. This leads to a horror greater than the human to mushroom transformation – the calm willingness of the human characters to join the mushrooms once they have given up and stopped fighting their need for food.

As our group was walking home after the movie we were all abuzz with thoughts. The general consensus was that the movie had been very disturbing both visually and in terms of atmosphere. It wasn't the feel-good, uplifting, fun kind of Ishirō Honda film that we had been expecting, Honda, of course, being the director of the original Godzilla and the recent Godzilla vs. King Kong. Indeed it seemed that the majority of the group found it to be too dark and not what they had really been in the mood for. With other concurrent films like Bushido, Samurai Saga and Alone Across the Pacific still resonating with action, Japanese pride and intense messages of determination, seeing a film so solidly nihilistic felt off kilter. Personally I couldn't help enjoying it, being a fan of horror and science fiction, but I could definitely appreciate the hesitancy of my hosts to embrace such a film.

The rest of the trip passed too quickly. But although it was a memorable and successful trip with family, there will always be that kink in the unparalleled adventure; that event that strangely juxtaposed with the rest of my time in Japan. My “great train robbery” if you will; that very odd, fascinating, well executed but strangely timed release, Matango.




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Book

[August 18, 1963] The Grass is Redder in the Future (Yefremov's Andromeda: A Space Age Tale)

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[The Journey always delights at the opportunity to broaden its coverage of current science fiction.  So you can imagine how blessed we felt when we discovered a stunning new talent fresh from the city of Leningrad.  We are certain you will enjoy what we hope will be the first of many articles from 'Rita…]


by Margarita Mospanova

A journey of a thousand books begins with a single page, a single sentence, a single word. And happy is the reader that can travel more than one language in his lifetime. Often, your journey happens without you taking a single step, but sometimes it can lead you halfway around the world, a single suitcase and a loudly hammering heart in tow.

The Iron Curtain may not be a physical thing but it is a perfectly tangible one nevertheless. Especially when you’ve lived your whole life on the Soviet soil and the thin trickle of Western literature could hardly slake your bookish thirst for science fiction and fantasy.

So, dear readers, you can imagine my joy when I first stepped off the ship in an American harbor and felt my literal literary horizon expanding before my eyes. A friend of a friend of a friend, that so courteously provided me with lodgings while I tried to get my wits around me and carve myself a piece of Western life, had only been too happy to encourage me.

I have to confess that in beginning I practically devoured the bookshops, without much care to what I read as long as it was halfway interesting. But that initial fever has long since faded and, several new favorite books richer, I can now take a breath and approach the shelves at a more sedate pace.

And in a corner of a small bookshop of which I have a particular fondness, I encountered several copies of this very magazine that you’re holding in your hands right now. Delighted, I read them almost in one sitting and wrote to the editor to express my appreciation. A short and exciting exchange later, I was asked to share my thoughts on the state of Soviet science fiction.

Oh my, I thought. That would be easy, I thought. There are so many to choose from, I thought.

Well, dear readers, I’m very unhappy so say that reality does so like to burn and salt the bridge before you can even step on it. Because while Soviet science fiction and fantasy books are indeed many, the number of them translated into English is… far from desirable.

Still, Lady Fortuna was on my side. The same friend that welcomed me to America has managed to procure a translated edition of Andromeda: A Space Age Tale by Ivan Yefremov, a book I finished reading just before my rather unplanned one way journey to the west.

Almost a year ago, the Journey covered a collection of short stories by Soviet authors, featuring The Heart of the Serpent also by Ivan Yefremov. Both stories belong to the same universe, and while the timing is a bit tricky, Andromeda seems to be set slightly earlier. The novel was first published in 1957 and later translated into English in 1959 by George Hanna and printed by Moscow’s Foreign Language Publishing House. And despite my expectations, the translation itself is done fairly close to the original text, retaining its slightly cumbersome style.

The story, while not quite action driven, still has a few tense moments that might have you gripping the pages in excitement. But overall the author focuses more on the social and cultural sides of his characters’ lives, preferring to use the future Communist utopia as a background for various social and philosophical issues.

It has been several millennia since our time and the world has changed. Earth has joined the Great Circle, a collection of sentient races capable of space travel and communication, but more often than not, not yet advanced enough to meet their neighbours face to face. The spaceship travel takes centuries and faster than light speeds are still out of the scientists’ grasp.

One of the plot lines follows the crew of a spaceship sent to investigate another planet after it goes into complete and sudden radio silence. On the way back home they run out of fuel and have to make an emergency landing on a planet shrouded in heavy darkness.

I will refrain from spoiling their struggle for survival, but will say that for me that part of the novel is easily the most engaging. But that is most likely my fascination with horror stories rearing its misshapen head.

The second plot line is centered around the Director of the Outer Stations of the Great Circle (a mouthful, that’s for sure) and his life after he leaves the post to his successor and struggles to find a new job for himself. His deep and enduring love for space makes the search much more difficult than it might seem at the first glance.

The cast of principle characters also includes a historian that is also an archaeologist, a psychiatrist, a scientist, and a biologist.


In the preface the author warns the reader that the novel is full to the brim with science terms, ideas, and details. And, boy, he wasn’t kidding. If anything, he understated the technical aspects of the book. The characters spend almost half of the book going on various science-themed tangents or engaging in discussions of philosophy, sociology, or how the grass was definitely not greener back in our times.

Still, the world Yefremov built is wonderfully bright and optimistic. Despite my… differences with the regime of my home, Andromeda’s future is one I would be happy to live in.

The novel’s greatest strength and its greatest weakness, in my opinion, is its extreme attention to details. It is easy to get buried under all the little things Yefremov includes to paint the future, but the same small brush strokes eventually form a rich and fascinating world, that I, for one, would grab a chance to explore.

And I advise you to do the same. Andromeda is a book that might leave you with mixed feelings, but it will not let you remain unaffected. It challenges you to think and evaluate the world we live in today, draw your own conclusions, and imagine what your own utopian future might look like.

I give Andromeda: A Space-Age Tale four iron stars out of five.

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[August 16, 1963] Time and Time Again (October 1963 Worlds of Tomorrow)

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[Did you meet the Traveler at WorldCon?  Please drop him a line!]


by Victoria Silverwolf

I believe that time, even more than space, is the great theme of science fiction.  Not only time travel, but also the ways in which the passage of time changes people and the way they live.  Most SF stories take place in the future, and offer visions of the years, centuries, and millennia to come. Some feature precognition.  Others deal with distortions in time, such as the slowing of time associated with velocities approaching the speed of light.

It's not surprising, then, that many of the stories in the latest issue of Worlds of Tomorrow feature characters struggling with the mysteries and challenges of time.

The Night of the Trolls, by Keith Laumer

The narrator of this novella is thrust out of his own time and into another.  He is placed in suspended animation for a routine test, which is only supposed to last a few days.  He awakens to discover that nearly a century has passed.  The secret government installation where he works is in ruins.  The compound is still guarded by a gigantic, heavily armed, automated tank called a Bolo.  (Such a device first appeared in Combat Unit, from the November 1960 issue of The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction.  That story takes place many centuries after this one, so no knowledge of it is needed to appreciate the new tale.)

Getting past the mechanical guardian is the narrator's first task.  Later he discovers that an apocalyptic event left most survivors barely able to stay alive.  Feudal lords leading lives of luxury rule over them.  The narrator infiltrates the fortress of one such dictator.  He encounters a figure from his past, and becomes involved in a scheme to activate another Bolo. 

This is a fast-paced, vividly written adventure story.  The narrator is one of the author's super-competent heroes.  His ability to fight and bluff his way into the lord's stronghold strains credibility.  The antagonist is a two-dimensional character of pure villainy.  However, these are minor quibbles.  The action-filled plot always holds the reader's attention, and there are moments of powerful emotional impact.  Four stars.

The Hermit of Mars, by Stephen Bartholomew

The protagonist of this story also journeys alone through the years, but by his own choice.  An archeologist, he was part of an exploration team sent to the red planet.  A minor heart problem made it risky for him to return to Earth when the mission ended.  He gladly volunteered to remain behind, because unhappy relationships with women made him a misanthropic loner.  Unmanned spaceships send him supplies.  For thirty-five years he lives alone, studying the incredibly ancient artifacts left behind by the extinct Martians.  Two men arrive after all this time.  It soon becomes clear that they are up to no good.  They tolerate the hermit as a harmless old fool, but he proves to have a trick up his sleeve.

There is nothing particularly noteworthy, for good or bad, about this story.  The author's style is serviceable, but undistinguished.  There are no surprises in the plot.  The resolution is something of a deus ex machina.  There's an enjoyable bit of irony at the very end.  Three stars.

The Good Friends, by Cordwainer Smith

An astronaut returns to Earth after an emergency.  While recovering in a hospital, he inquires about the other members of the crew.  The doctor caring for him tells him the frightening truth.  Like other stories in this issue, a long period of time is involved.

This is a brief story with the flavor of an episode of The Twilight Zone.  It will disappoint fans of the author's beautiful and mysterious myths of the far future.  The style is simple and direct, without the intricate wordplay and imaginative images found in tales of the Instrumentality of Mankind.  It's not a bad story, but it pales into insignificance compared to masterpieces like Alpha Ralpha Boulevard and The Ballad of Lost C'Mell.  Three stars.

Orphans of Science, by Stephen Barr

This is an informal article about small mysteries.  Why does light reflecting off metal create small white highlights?  What, exactly, is white light?  Why does a mirror reverse things from left to right, but not top to bottom?  (The magazine's editorial explains the author's confusion on this point.) The rest of the article discusses a few more minor puzzles.  These trivial ponderings are mildly interesting.  Two stars.

All We Marsmen (Part 2 of 3) , by Philip K. Dick

This section of the novel concentrates on three characters.  At the heart of the story is a boy who is severely autistic, one who has never spoken.  The wealthy and powerful head of the Martian water workers union believes the child is able to foresee the future.  He plans to have a skilled handyman, who suffers from episodes of schizophrenia, build a device that will allow the boy to communicate.  The theory behind this is that the child perceives time moving at a very fast rate.  This allows him to look beyond the present, but also prevents him from talking.  An important subplot involves the handyman's father, who has a scheme to make a large profit by buying seemingly worthless Martian land.  The boy draws a picture that provides hints about the future of this project.

So far, the narrative style is realistic.  This changes drastically when bizarre images of death and decay fill the page.  These are associated with the nonsense word gubbish.  If I understand the author's intent correctly, this neologism appears in the boy's mind to describe the inevitable disintegration of all material things with time.  As if this were not disconcerting enough, a meeting between the handyman and the union leader is described multiple times before it actually occurs.  These descriptions repeat certain words and events, but have important differences.  Surreal images of a disturbing nature fill the repetitions.  Whether these are hallucinations, symbolic visions of the future, or indications that the child is somehow able to manipulate time, the effect is frightening.

I suspect that some readers will give up on the novel at this point.  Before this section, the multiple plotlines were complex, but comprehensible.  The sudden change to inexplicable images and strange distortions of reality make the plot difficult to follow.  It's impossible to predict where the author will take me next, but so far the journey has been fascinating, and I'm eager to find out what our destination will be.  Four stars.

The Lonely, by Judith Merril

This story takes the form of a transcription of a message intercepted from space.  An eel-like alien lectures other aliens about human beings.  It seems that very few sentient species reproduce sexually.  Of those that do, humanity is almost unique in having only two sexes.  A statue of a woman holding a rocket, created by unicellular aliens after humans visited their world, is involved.  Eventually humans return to that world and find the statue.

This is a very strange story.  I credit the author for coming up with aliens that do not resemble people at all.  Other than that, the story's intent is unclear.  It seems to be saying something about art and symbolism, as well as the way in which men and women view each other.  Two stars.

To Save Earth, by Edward W. Ludwig

Earth's sun is going to explode in a little over twelve years.  Six astronauts spend six years journeying to a distant planet, looking for a place where humanity can survive.  The length of the trip causes mental disturbances.  One becomes an alcoholic, one a kleptomaniac, one an amnesiac, one a paranoiac, one a schizophrenic, and one feels compelled to break things.  The latter destroys their communication equipment.  Unable to contact Earth, they face the horrifying challenge of making the long journey back, just in time to begin the exodus of its population.  The new planet is inhabited by friendly aliens, who invite them to stay.  The aliens offer them delicious food and drink, beautiful alien women as lovers, and a life free from all care.  They must decide whether to turn their backs on Earth or endure the voyage home.

In sharp contrast to the previous story, these aliens are just slightly different from people.  The familiar plot device of telepathy allows them to speak to their human visitors.  As you can see from the synopsis above, the story has many other implausible events.  Two stars.

The Masked World, by Jack Williamson

Six survey ships are lost without a trace after visiting a distant planet.  The captain of the seventh ship discovers the skeleton of his wife, the pilot of the sixth ship.  Near her remains is a strange plant, unlike anything else on the planet.  Its DNA structure turns out to be the key to solving the mystery.

This is a very short story with a unique concept.  I had to wonder why anyone would keep sending survey ships to a place where they always disappear.  Three stars.

I see by the old clock on the wall that our time is up for today.  See you next time!

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[August 12, 1963] WET BLANKET (the September 1963 Amazing)

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by John Boston

[Want to talk to the Journey crew and fellow fans?  Come join us at Portal 55! (Ed.)]

Just as I feared, the September 1963 Amazing marks the return, after too short an absence, of Robert F. Young, who in Boarding Party moves on from his twee recapitulations of the Old Testament to, I kid you not, Jack and the [REDACTED] Beanstalk.  Alien space traveler needs to enrich the soil in the on-ship farm, finds an out-of-bounds planet with the right kind of dirt, and lowers a big tube to suck it up; but one of the natives (those protected by the out-of-bounds designation) climbs the tube, and makes off with a “Uterium 5 Snirk Bird, a Toy Friddle-fork, and Two Containers of Yellow Trading Disks,” it says here.  The aliens all have names of four syllables separated by hyphens, and you can fill in the blanks for this one.  One guttering star—a tiny red dwarf at best.

But the issue opens with Poul Anderson’s Homo Aquaticus, illustrated on the cover by a swimmer with a menacing look and a more menacing trident, next to a nicely-rendered fish, in one of artist Lloyd Birmingham’s better moments.  This is one of Anderson’s atmospheric stories, its mood dominated by Anglo-Saxon monosyllables.  No, not those—I mean fate, guilt, doom, that sort of thing.  The story’s tone is set in the first paragraph, in which the protagonist “thought he heard the distant blowing of a horn.  It would begin low, with a pulse that quickened as the notes waxed, until the snarl broke in a brazen scream and sank sobbing away.”

This is rationalized as the wind in the cliffs, but we know better.  The good (space)ship Golden Flyer and its crew have been sentenced to roam the galactic hinterlands after some of their number betrayed other ships of the Kith, a starfaring culture separated from planetary cultures by relativistic time dilation.  Right now they’re looking at what used to be a colony planet, but all they see is ruins, until their encounter with the colony’s descendants, as given away by the title.  In the end, doom and fate are tempered with rationality and mercy.  Three stars, but towards the top of Anderson’s middling range.

After these two short stories, there is only one other piece of fiction in the issue, A. Bertram Chandler’s long novella The Winds of If, an entry in what now seems to be a series about goings-on on the Rim (of the galaxy), with a couple of magazine stories and a novel, The Rim of Space, already published.  The plot: tramp space freighter is about ready for the knackers, or breakers, or whatever, but the crew gets hired by a Commodore Grimes to take an experimental ship on a long flight—a lightjammer, propelled by the pressure of light against large sails. 

Two women, a journalist and an engineer, are added to the crew, which already includes one woman.  Soap opera ensues, and one of the women decides to present her inamorata with a really special gift—genuine faster-than-light travel.  The lightjammer is by now at 0.9 per cent of light speed, so a little push should put it over, right?  Like a bucket of gunpowder detonated at the stern?

I’m really not the one to judge—hey, I’m still a couple of years away from high school physics—but hasn’t Chandler stumbled into a sort of relativistic Fool’s Mate here?  There’s an obvious arithmetical problem; wouldn’t you need a lot more 9s after that decimal point to get close enough to c for such a little push to put you over?  But more importantly, doesn’t matter get more massive the closer you get to c, meaning a corresponding increase in inertia would defeat any attempt to sneak over the line with a little added acceleration?  Where’s Julio Gomez when you need him?

Anyway, in the story it works, and it precipitates the characters into a series of strange experiences which I won’t detail, save to say that the soap opera intensifies and permutates, and we get a good dose of low-level male-chauvinism as the women prove slaves to their emotions.  Aside from that, it’s smoothly written and perfectly readable if you don’t have anything better to do, but that and the cartoon science get it two stars.  Also, the characters smoke cigarettes.  A lot.  On board an enclosed vessel that has only the air it can bring with it or manufacture in flight.  How likely is it that smoking would be tolerated on a long-haul spaceship?  Inquiring minds think that’s about as silly as the gunpowder-bucket FTL drive.

This month’s non-fiction piece is Ben Bova’s article Neutrino Astronomy—reasonably informative but dull, and briefly worse than dull as he unveils the Useless Simile of the Month.  One section of the article is headed The Stellar Pituitary Gland, and it says here: “Neutrinos might well control the aging process in the Sun, much as the pituitary gland is suspected to regulate aging in human beings.” P’tooey!  Two stars.

So, once again, Amazing brightened up for a month, with several excellent stories last month, but now as usual the wet blanket of mediocrity has descended again. 




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[August 10, 1963] The Future in a Divided Land, Part 3 (An Overview of Science Fiction in East and West Germany)

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by Cora Buhlert

In the last two entries in this series, I gave you an extensive overview of West German science fiction. Now let's take a look across the iron curtain at what is going on in East Germany. For while the inner German border may be nigh insurmountable for human beings, mail does pass through. A lot of us have family in the East, including myself, and are in regular contact with them via letters and parcels. Parcels from West to East Germany usually contain coffee, nylons, soap, canned pineapple and all sorts of other consumer goods that are hard to come by in Communist East Germany.

Unfortunately, we cannot send books and magazines, cause they will probably be seized at the border for fear of "dangerous" ideas spreading. East Germans, on the other hand, are free to send books and magazines to relatives and friends in the West. And since my love for reading in general and for "space books" in particular is well known to my aunts in East Germany, the occasional science fiction novel from beyond the iron curtain has found its way into my hands.

The collaborations of authors Lothar Weise and Kurt Herwarth Ball mostly seem to be fairly straightforward science fiction adventures aimed at a younger audience. Eberhardt del'Antonio's 1959 novel Titanus is set in a utopian Socialist future where humanity is united and war has been abolished. A spaceship with a multinational crew, commanded by a Russian, of course, leaves for a distant planet, only to realise that the aliens are in the middle of preparing for a devastating attack against their neighbours.

Our heroic space travellers proceed to warn the intended targets only to learn that the aliens have a defence system in place that will destroy the attackers, for war is bad. I certainly can't argue with that sentiment, though the novel itself is rather wooden and unimaginative.

Als die Götter starben (When the gods died) by Günther Krupkat, which only appeared this year, is a variation on the ancient astronaut concept. An alien spaceship is found on the moon and records indicate that the aliens first landed on Earth in Mesopotamia millennia ago. It's not exactly an original idea, but it is certainly well told.

The ancient astronaut idea certainly seems to be popular in East Germany, for another science fiction novel published this year, Der Blaue Planet (The Blue Planet) by Brazilian born author Carlos Rasch, used the same concept. Two years ago, Carlos Rasch also published Asteroidenjäger (Asteroid hunters), an enjoyable romp featuring a spaceship with a multinational crew that is supposed to clear the asteroid belt, when the ship receives mysterious signals that might be evidence of alien life or might be something else.

What makes Asteroidenjäger remarkable is that there is an interracial romance on board between a white German doctor and a black African mathematician. Somehow, I don't see something like this happening in American science fiction anytime soon.  

However, the most exciting of those voice from beyond the iron curtain is not German at all, but a Polish writer, Stanislaw Lem, whose work I encountered via East German translations. I particularly enjoy Lem's humorous stories about the adventures of a space traveller named Ijon Tichy, which have been collected as Die Sterntagebücher des Raumfahrers Ijon Tichy (The Star Diaries of the Spaceman Ijon Tichy).

Lem's more serious works include the novels Eden with its fascinating portrayal of a truly alien society, Planet des Todes (Planet of Death), which was even filmed in 1960, and the generation ship story Gast im Weltraum (Guest in Space), which is currently being filmed in Czechoslovakia.

When comparing East and West German science fiction, the most striking thing is that in spite of all the superficial differences, the underlying themes and concerns are remarkably similar. Of course, West German science fiction tends to be set in capitalist futures, which somehow have managed to abolish all the negative side effects of unfettered capitalism, while East German and East European science fiction tends to be set in utopian Socialist futures, which have somehow managed to abolish all the negative side effects of real existing Communism.

However, it is notable that both East and West German science fiction tends to feature spaceships with multinational and multiracial crews, that it is set in futures where the world and humanity are united as one, where war and strife are but a distant memory. Whether it is Perry Rhodan single-handedly ending the Cold War and uniting humanity or Stanislaw Lem's and Eberhard del'Antonio's space travellers horrified by the relics of past wars they encounter in outer space, German (and Polish) science fiction clearly expresses the desire for peace and unity, a desire that is only too understandable in our divided country.

And that's it for now. In a future article, I will take a look at science fiction film in East and West Germany, where we are currently seeing some very exciting developments.

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[August 8, 1963] Great Escapes (September 1963 IF)

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by Gideon Marcus

In the United States, the Fourth of July is perhaps our biggest holiday, celebrating our declaration of independence from our former motherland, Great Britain.  It was our escape from taxation without representation, from capricious colonial government, and from forced tea-drinking. 

This latest Independence Day saw the premiere of one of the biggest and best summer blockbusters ever made, the appropriately themed The Great Escape.  Directed by John Sturges, and starring James Garner, Richard Attenborough, and Steve McQueen, it is the vaguely true-to-life story of a prison break from a Nazi Stalag.  Exciting, moving, and beautifully done, it's sure to be a contender for an Oscar or three.  Watch it.

The September 1963 Worlds of IF Science Fiction continues the escape motif.  Not just in the normal sense in that it provides an escape from reality, but rather, each of its stories involves an escape of some kind. 

Was this a deliberate editorial choice by Fred Pohl or simply a happy circumstance?  Either way, it makes for an enjoyable issue that is better than the sum of its parts.

The Expendables, by A. E. van Vogt

Van Vogt, one of space opera's most prominent lights, has been away from the SF scene for fourteen years.  So it's quite a scoop for Pohl to have gotten this latest piece, depicting the final stages of a generation ship's journey.  A mutiny against the authoritarian captaincy is brewing as the ship nears its destination, and when it turns out the planet intended for colonization is already inhabited, all-out rebellion ensues.

This is a tale that combines two of my favorite topics, first contact and generation ships, and I'm a big fan of Van Vogt.  However, I am disappointed to report that Expendables just doesn't hang well together.  The science is shaky, the dialogue rather implausible, and the characters a bit too gullible.  There is also a queer, slapdash quality to the writing.  I suspect this was written in a hurry; a do-over could turn it into a fine story, indeed.  Two stars as is.

The Time of Cold, by Mary Carlson

Curt, a spacewrecked man trapped without water on a parched world has little hope of surviving long enough to be rescued.  Xen is an amorphous hot-blooded being, native to the planet, desperate for more warmth.  Both are menaced by liquid scorpions, beasts who kill in an instant and don't care what world you come from.  Are the two aliens the key to each other's survival?

There is an art to telling a story from alternating perspectives such that each scene moves the story forward without repetition.  Mary Carlson, a young lady from South Dakota, mastered that art in her first published piece.  It's a beautiful, uplifting tale.  Bravo.  Five stars.

Manners and Customs of the Thrid, by Murray Leinster

In Thrid culture, the Governor can never be wrong, and woe be to one who disputes him.  Jorgenson, a representative of the Rim Star Trading Corp., dares to stand up for his native business partner, Ganti, whose wife the Governor would have for his own.  Both are exiled for life to a barren rock in the middle of the ocean, escape from which would daunt even the fellows who broke out of Alcatraz. 

But, escape they do, and the method is quite ingenious — and logical given the central tenet of Thrid society.  Writing-wise, it's a rather workmanlike piece, but the thrilling bits more than compensate.  Three stars.

Science on a Shoestring – Or Less , by Theodore Sturgeon

In this month's science column, Sturgeon extols the merits of UNESCO's book, Sourcebook for Science Teaching.  I love Ted Sturgeon, don't get me wrong, but sometimes his article topics just don't merit the space they take up.  Two stars.

The Reefs of Space (Part 2 of 3), by Jack Williamson, and Frederik Pohl

In the future, Earth is a dystopia under the stifling computerized control of the Machine and its inscrutable Plan.  Those who resist the Plan, or for whom the Machine can make no use, are condemned to the Body Bank for reclamation.  The last installment, in which state criminal Steve Ryeland was forced by the Machine to develop a reactionless drive, only mentioned the Body Banks in passing.  Part 2 deals almost exclusively with them.

In the midst of his work, Ryeland, accused of plotting a wave of disasters around the world, is exiled to Cuba.  The tropical paradise has been turned into a kind of leper colony, except limbs and organs are not lost to disease, but instead, according to the demands of the citizens for whom parts are harvested.  Over time, the residents lose more and more of themselves until there is not enough to sustain life.  One might survive as long as six years, if you can call a limbless, mouthless existence survival.  Of course, the tranquilizing drugs they put in the food and water keep you from minding too much…

Fred Pohl already proved he could write compelling horror in A Plague of Pythons.  This latest installment of The Reefs of Space would do fine as a stand-alone story (and I have to wonder if it was originally intended as such).  The tale of Ryeland's attempt to escape an escape-proof prison is gripping, even if the trappings of the greater story aren't so much.  Four stars.

The Course of Logic, by Lester del Rey

A mated pair of parasitic aliens, who use other creatures as their hosts, have been trapped on a bleak world for eons.  Their home galaxy has been destroyed, and the only compatible beasts they've found lack the fine motor skills to construct spaceships for escape — or any other kind of technology.  So they are delighted when they come across a pair of humans, for our form is absolutely perfect for their needs.  Will these puppet masters, once ensconced in our guise, escape their planetary prison and become unstoppable conquerors?

Lester has been too long from our ranks, but it looks like he's back to stay, given his recent record of publication.  This is a grim piece but with a splendid sting in its tail.  I also particularly enjoyed this bit of evolutionary teleology, said by the dominant female to her mate:

"The larger, stronger and more intelligent form is always female.  How else could it care for its young?  It needs ability for a whole family, while the male needs only enough for itself.  The laws of evolution are logical or we wouldn't have evolved at all."

And before you scoff, recall the hyenas and the bees.  Four stars.

The Customs Lounge, by E. A. Proulx

This vignette appears to be a Tale from the White Hart, but it's really a story of human cleverness under alien domination.  It is apparently the first piece by Proulx, "a folk singing star-gazing man from upstate New York," and while it's nothing special, it's also not bad.  Three stars.

Threlkeld's Daughter, by James Bell

Last up, we have a tale not of escape, but of entrapment.  A six-legged, tailed tree-creature from Alpha Centauri takes on comely human female form and travels to Earth to secure a male homo sapiens specimen for study.  But with the human body comes human hormones and emotions, and love creates its own entrapments. 

It's a cute little piece, more like something I'd find in F&SF.  Three stars.

Thus ends a fine issue of an improving magazine.  If you ever find yourself imprisoned, in gaol real or virtual, one of these stories might give you the inspiration to break out.  Or, at the very least, make a few hours of your sentence more pleasant.

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[August 2, 1963] Sinister Geometry (Daniel F. Galouye's Lords of the Psychon)

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by Rosemary Benton

Whenever we read the newspaper, listen to the radio or watch Walter Cronkite's trustworthy complexion on CBS, we are looking for answers to some very basic but very important questions that will help us break down and normalize that which we don't understand. In much of science fiction, that which we don't understand comes hurtling at us because some dramatic change and the utterly unearthly have collided. In equal parts fear and curiosity the characters react, but ultimately and almost unerringly, logical thinking and scientific reasoning are then able to parse out what the characters should do in reply.

But what if the shift in humanity's daily life is beyond explanation, bordering on paranormal? And what if the alien force that is bringing about that change is so far removed from known biology that it appears extra-dimensional? Daniel F. Galouye's new book, Lords of the Psychon, takes the reader to that terrifying reality with an invader that is unnervingly simple – a large, floating, metallic sphere – and their mission which can be surmised as absorbing compatible human minds and letting the rest die in the grip of mind shredding madness.

As the last aging remnants of humanity squeak out an agrarian living in sporadic villages, the remaining ranks of the US military are trying everything to disrupt the geometric cities made of “pink stuff" that are growing like tumors all over the Earth. There is little to nothing known about the aliens save for odd ritualistic behavior, namely The Selection, The Chase and Horror Day.

The free moving agents of these alien city structures, fittingly named Spheres, are regarded with terror. Not only will they defend themselves with bolt of electricity if intercepted, but they are seen as the harbingers of death. Seemingly at random, a person will be selected by a Sphere for absorption. The Sphere will proceed to hover slowly after them until it has driven them to exhaustion or death. What happens once the victim passes through the floating orb and reemerges a corpse is unknown. If the Spheres, the expanding cities, and the annual occurrence of Horror Day can not be stopped then humanity will be completely hunted down or driven mad within a few decades. But how do you fight an enemy that seems to be capable of warping the very fabric of reality?

Like H. P. Lovecraft, Galouye's signature style for science fiction leans heavily on pitting humans against a threat that can weaponize the evolutionarily lacking perceptions of humanity. In his previous novel Dark Universe (1961), it is reasoned that an underground-dwelling humanity would have no use for sight and instead perfect their sense of smell, touch and hearing to compensate for the loss of sight. Predators, both animal and competing branches of humanity with evolutionarily adventitious infrared perception, could gain an upper hand on distracted, sightless humans. But a human who had plenty of experience listening, feeling and tasting the air of the world around them could adapt to better survive.

In both Lords of the Psychon, as well as the short story that spawned it, The City of Force (Galaxy, 1959), a humanity that hasn't the innate mindset and will to manipulate the structural substance called “pink stuff" or “psychon" is powerless to stop an entity that is so far evolved beyond physical form that it can traverse space and dimensions. It is via self administered meditation and strict perception training that this difficult task can be achieved, and while not everyone who manipulates the psychon does so exceptionally well, their alternative option is too dire to leave much of a choice. 

This story progression through learning and self education is an aspect of Lords of the Psychon that is very true to Galouye's style. In any of his writing Galouye does not initially arm his characters with much innate experience and knowledge. In the very first chapter of Lords of the Psychon we follow Jeff Maddox and his team into an alien “City of Force" on a self described suicide run to desperately try and do something to damage the aliens. The language and brevity of sentence structure only serves to drive home the desperation of the situation and how little they know compared to the knowledge they will need to again:

“On the Eve of Horror Day, 1993, Geoffrey Maddox, Captain, USA, lead a suicide detail from Headquarters, Third Army."

Some authors would have their protagonists win the day through cleverness, observation, and scientific evidence, and to be sure Jeff Maddox and the young lady, Eddie, do employ this formula for success against their alien invader. But it is due to not just cleverness, but an unmatched, almost panicked dash to save the human species that allows Galouye's protagonists to methodically gather information so that they may teach themselves how to stave off extinction. Galouye's message is clear – adapt or perish.

His progress in emotionally manipulating his readers is far reaching, even in his characterization. Jess Maddox makes a much more likable, empathetic and individualized protagonist over Jared from Dark Universe. Likewise, Eddie is a much more logic-driven, quirky but intense personality than Jared's betrothed, Della. But it is that specific flavor of almost-defeat and near panic that Daniel F. Galouye is cultivating which is making his work consistently worth reading. It thrums beneath Lords of the Psychon and I hope to see it again in his next book. As an example of the author's improvement as a writer, Lords of the Psychon shows a bright future for Galouye, especially if he keeps up with the speed at which he is currently writing.

Four and a half stars.

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