Tag Archives: zenna henderson

[May 16, 1970) The Tocsin and The Believing Child (June 1970 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

photo of a man with glasses and curly, long, brown hair, and a beard and mustache
by Gideon Marcus

Rime of the Recent Mariner

I always cast about the news for tidbits to head my articles.  After all, when people read my writings, say, a half-century hence, I want them to be appreciated in the context in which they were created.  Creations, and critique of those creations, cannot stand in isolation (or so I believe).

But, wow, how many times can I talk about the latest protest/riot (six killed in Atlanta last week), or Cambodia (Admiral Moorer recently assured us that the reason we can't destroy the mobile NVA base is…because it's mobile; but we did liberate 387 tons of ammunition, 125 tons of prophylactics, and 83 tons of Communist finger puppets so the Search & Destroy mission was absolutely a success), or the Warm War going on in the Middle East (2 Egyptian Mig-21s shot down the other day, 2 Syrian Mig-17s the day before, but the Israelis absolutely did not lose an F-4 over Lebanon) before it all sounds the same?  Even Governor Reagan's latest escapades into cost effectiveness and court stacking are old hat.

Photograph of a middle-aged white man in a military uniform.
This iteration of Bull Wright instills less confidence than Dan Rowan's…

To heck with it.  Today, I'm going to stick with news in my bailiwick, and nifty news to boot.

You folks surely remember Mariners 6 and 7, twin probes sent past Mars last year, returning unprecedented information and photos from The Red Planet.  Well, even now, both probes are contributing to science, long past their original mission.

JPL astronomer Dr. John D. Anderson and Cal Tech astronomer Dr. Duane O. Muhleman are using the two spacecraft to test the validity of Einstein's theory of relativity.  Per Einstein, the velocity of light slows in the presence of a gravitational field.  If that's the case, then the signals from the Mariners, as they pass the Sun, should decrease—slightly, but measurably. 

To measure this, the two scientists had to wait until Mariner 6 and Mariner 7 passed behind the Sun with respect to the Earth.  For the former, this happened on April 30; for the latter, May 10.  The precise distance-measuring system the two scientisits built in the Mohave Desert should register a slow-up of 200 millionths of a second in the spacecrafts' round trip signal.

This confirmation, should it be reported, will help put paid efforts by other scientists who say that Einstein's theories are wrong or inaccurate, by as much as 7% according to Princeton's Dr. Robert H. Dicke, who needs that to be the case for his theory of Mercury's curious orbital eccentricities.

Black-and-white photograph of a house-sized parabolic antenna. Text below the image says: The Mars Station of the Deep Space Network, with two-hundred-and-ten-foot reflector, high-power transmitter, and quick-change tri-cone feed, tracks Mariner six and Mariner seven through superior conjunction, beyond the Sun, at ranges up to two hundred and forty million miles.

In other Mariner news, New Mexico State Univ. astronomer and Mariner project scientist Bradford A. Smith has some neato news about Phobos, the larger of Mars' moons.  Mariner 7 snapped a picture of the little rock at a distance of 86,000 miles.  JPL photo-enhancement techniques indicated that Phobos was nonspherical and was larger and had a darker surface than previously thought.  It's just 11.2 by 13.7 miles in dimension, elongated along the orbital plane.  Its average visual geometric albedo is just 0.065, lower than that known for any other body in the solar system.

With its weird shape and composition, all signs point to Phobos not being a sister or daughter of its parent planet, but rather, probably a captured asteroid.

Very blurry black-and-white photograph of the Martian moon Phobos, visible only as a tiny smudge of irregular shape against a gray background.

The issue at hand

In a happy, elevated mood, now let us turn to the latest issue of Fantasy and Science Fiction—after all, it doesn't do to review stories on an empty soul.

Cover of The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction for June 1970, announcing stories by Isaac Asimov, Ron Goulart, D. F. Jones, Harry Harrison, and Zenna Henderson. The illustration shows a man in a diving suit near a rift in the ocean floor.
cover by Jack Gaughan illustrating

Continue reading [May 16, 1970) The Tocsin and The Believing Child (June 1970 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

[August 24, 1969] Flying and dragging (September 1969 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

photo of a man with glasses and curly, long, brown hair, and a beard and mustache
by Gideon Marcus

Flying

By the time this makes press, we'll already (hopefully) be on the flight back to San Diego.  As with most publications, though we try to hit the press as fresh as possible, there is a delay between writing and printing.  This is exceptionally unavoidable this time 'round because…

…we're off to Woodstock!

Specifically, the Woodstock Art & Music Fair, an "Aquarian Exposition" in White Lake, New York.  There's an art show and a craft bazaar and hundreds of acres of sprawl, but the main draw is the music: 27 bands, from Jimi Hendrix to Janis Joplin to Glen Beck to Sweetwater to Ritchie Havens, playing in 12-hour swathes, 1pm to 1am, every day (except the first—then, it's 4pm to 4am, apparently).

Well, we couldn't miss a chance to see something like this, so we booked tickets to Idlewild…er… JFK, chartered a bus, and we're headed for Max Yasgur's farm.  This isn't our first rodeo, so we've taken a few precautions:

1) We left early to avoid the rush.  With more than 100,000 expected to show up for this thing, there's going to be traffic jams;

2) We bought supplies in case we can't get what we want to eat;

3) We brought our own toilets!  A handy trick we developed camping up in Sequoia country: take a bucket, fill it a quarter way with Kitty Litter, and stick a toilet seat on top.  It works as well for people as it does for cats, and you don't have to dig latrines!

So, we're hopeful to get good seats and enjoy, as much as anyone can, three days of fun in the open air.  We'll have a full report when we get back!

Dragging


by Chesley Bonestell

Continue reading [August 24, 1969] Flying and dragging (September 1969 Fantasy and Science Fiction)

[November 20, 1968] Transitory and lasting pleasures (December 1968 F&SF)


by Gideon Marcus

Beyond FM

Not too long ago, the FM band of the radio was mostly for classical music.  Why waste high fidelity on the raucous rock and pop the kids were listening to?  In the same vein, the big 33rpm LP records were for grown-ups.  That's where you found your jazz, your schmaltz, your classical.  The juvenile stuff was put on disposable 45 singles.

Well, it still is, but of late, really starting in earnest around 1965, a lot of Top 40 ended up on LPs, and since last year, the FM stations are playing psychedelia and fuzz more often than not.  Is classical down for the count?

Not if the Trans-Electronic Music Productions (T-EMP) company has anything to say about it…

From the back cover of Switched-on Bach, the new LP by the Carlos/Folkman combo who make up the T-EMP, one would think it's yet another fusty classical album.  The selections are common, the same kind of thing you've heard a million times before.

But not this way.  the T-EMP has rendered all of the pieces entirely electronically.  Using Moog synthesizers, many of these familiar songs take on an entirely different character.  In some cases, the instrumentation chosen resembles the original harpsichords and flutes and such, and the result is just competent (even a little dry) Bach.  On the other hand, you also have pieces like the Brandenburg Concerto #3, particularly the first movement, which are utterly transformed.  On those pieces in particular, Carlos and Folkman have departed the natural entirely.  With instruments reminiscent of the weird electronic sounds found in the British puppet show Space Patrol, or perhaps the theme of Dr. Who, Baroque becomes by turns cosmic, seductive, and menacing.

Normally, when I listen to classical music, I can imagine the orchestra.  With Switched-on Bach, I imagine I'm in the cool, dark halls of a computer, maybe something like the one in Ellison's I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream…before it went murderous.  The artificial tones are beautiful, hard-edged, passionate, and perfectly suited to the mathematical rhythms of the King of Köthen.

I'm not the only one who thinks so.  Switched-on Bach is a runaway bestseller, and not with the classical set, but with the youth.  Heading toward the million mark, the Carlos/Folkman team have wrapped the vintage in a computerized cloak, and the kids are eating it up.

Including this one (I'm only 23, just like Carol Burnett).  Buy yourself a copy.  I promise it'll be worth it.

Beyond reality

Unlike Switched-on Bach, the latest issue of The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction is unlikely to become an enduring classic, but there are a couple of entries well worth your time.


by Jack Gaughan

Prime-Time Teaser, Bruce McAllister

The last woman on Earth, the freak survivor of a worldwide artificial plague, splits herself into a thousand personas so as to shield herself from the enormity of her reality.  Upon discovering a screenplay her writer persona wrote, she sees, poetically rendered, the loneliness and desperation she's been repressing for three years.  Like the 5D home in Heinlein's And he built a crooked house…, all of her personas collapse into the original, leaving her bleak and alone.

Aside from plausibility issues (Edna survives in a bathysphere—presumably every submariner in the world is still alive, too), there are pacing issues.  The story moves along until we get to the screenplay, which is several pages of an increasingly sunburned turtle plodding up a beach while a building makes passes at her.

Basically, cut-rate Ballard, the type we've seen in New Worlds for the past five years.  We keep saying the same thing: Bruce has potential.  Bruce writes pretty well for someone so young.  Bruce has yet to write something we really like.

Three stars.


by Gahan Wilson

The House of Evil, Charles L. Grant

Written in quasi-archaic style, this is the would-be-droll story of a writer who is conned, by a lithe woman and her coffin-dwelling uncle, to have a brush with the unnatural that leaves him Undead.

These pastiche stories require a deft touch that Grant doesn't have.  Particularly when he has his character pour rather than pore over documents ("pour what?" I always wonder).

Two stars.

The Indelible Kind, Zenna Henderson

The stories of The People continue, this time detailing the encounter between a teacher at a tiny school in the Southwest and a precocious but illiterate young telepath.  When the fourth-grader begins picking up the distressed thoughts of a cosmonaut stranded in orbit, the teacher gets involved in a rescue operation that is out of this world.

This tale is a strange mix of the familiar and the unusual.  We've now had more than a dozen The People stories that involve the interactions of normal humans with the alien (but human) psioinic exiles, refugees from their own exploded planet.  In some ways, I feel that well has been mined out.  The telling is different, this time.  Instead of the pensive, dreamy mode that Henderson employs, the story has a breathless quality that reminds me of the fanfiction I read in the various trekzines coming out—that sort of, "Golly!  I'm on the Enterprise with Mr. Spock!"

It's not bad, just weird, and not up to the standards of Henderson's better work.  Plus, I find it strange how brazenly The People are displaying their powers these days.  Surely, that should have follow-on consequences.

Three stars.

Miss Van Winkle, Stephen Barr

A girl sleeps from birth until she is 19, then awakes—beautiful, articulate (though not literate), and devoid of superego.  She is unhappy until she meets Walkly, who loves her for the societal outcast she quickly becomes.

I am not sure if this story is supposed to be a satire on artificial social conventions or just cute.  Either way, it's a bit clunky and wholly insubstantial.  Morever, it twice tries to make clever use of the girl's surname(s), but because the author introduces them late, the reader is never let in on the joke.  It'd be as if, on the last page of the mystery, Poirot pulled the heretofore unknown murder weapon out of his pocket and used it to solve the case.

Two stars.

A Report on the Migrations of Educational Materials, John Sladek

Every book in the world, starting with the oldest, most neglected, and ending with even the most modest of volumes, begins to wing its way toward the Amazon.  That's pretty much the story.

Sladek writes well, and he writes this well, but there's not much there to this there.

Three stars, I suppose.

The Worm Shamir, Leonard Tushnet

The best science fiction incorporates real science, allies it with human interest, and makes clever predictions regarding the application of a new discovery.  This story does all of these things admirably.

Professor Zvi Ben-Ari of Israel's Rehovoth research center is hot on a Biblically inspired trail.  He is convinced that the legend of King Solomon's "Shamir", a worm used to shape rocks for use in an altar, has a kernel of truth.  But what truth could it be?  And if such truth exists, and it could be used for war, what then?

A thoughtful, atmospheric, humorous piece.  Perhaps, as an Israeli, I am biased (or, shall we say, the target audience), but I quite enjoyed it.

Five stars.

Lost, Dorothy Gilbert

Poetry: an alien pilot, scouring the Earth for some kind of Arcadia, finds instead the fleecy flocks of Scottish Skye.

It didn't move me.  Two stars.

View from Amalthea, Isaac Asimov

Inspired by a scene from the movie 2001, the Good Doctor's piece this month is about how the four big "Galilean" moons of Jupiter might look to an observer on the innermost satellite, Mimas.  He details their size and brightness.  As a bonus section, he talks about how the many moons of Saturn would look from the innermost satellite, Janus.

He never quite comes around to confirming that the shot of Jovian moons in the movie was plausible, nor does he explain that a moon one hundredth as bright as our Moon is still 100 times brighter than Venus (though that brightness is spread over a large disk, so it would look dim to our eyes).  I chalk up those omissions to space concerns.  As is, it's a handy article for those who don't want to have to do the math every time.

Five stars.

Gadget Man, Ron Goulart

Satirist/thriller-writer Ron Goulart offers up an "if this goes on" adventure set in The Republic of Southern California some time around the turn of the next century.  Hecker, an agent of the Social Work division of the police force is tasked to make contact with Jane Kendry, head of the left-wing insurgency, and find out if she's responsible for all the riots breaking out, even among the $100,000 houses and manicured lawns of affluent Orange County.

Along the way, he runs into hippie beach bums, an erstwhile Vice President and his Secretary of Defense, running a sort of revival (continuation?) of the arch-conservative John Birch Society, and finally, The Gadget Man himself, who runs the wheels within the wheels.

In tone, it's more grounded than Bob Sheckley's whimsy, more silly than Mack Reynolds' stuff.  It's eminently readable, occasionally smile-inducing, suitably riproaring, and utterly forgettable.

Three stars.

Compare and contrast

In the end, Carlos and Folkman provide a shorter-length but replayable and consistent pleasure.  F&SF this month is, for the most part, forgettable—but it takes longer to get through, and the nuggets of gold shine brightly.

Both have earned permanent places on my shelves, and I guess that's all one can ask for.  And here, what's this?  The back of F&SF has something most interesting.  We'll have to try that out, too, won't we?






[August 20, 1966] Looking forward, looking back (September 1966 Fantasy and Science Fiction)


by Gideon Marcus

Journeys to Come

We're now just a couple of weeks out from Tricon, the Cleveland-hosted Worldcon!  We'll get to mingle with our fellow fen, meet our favorite authors, drink lots of bheer, and figure out who gets to go home with a rocketship in their luggage.


Modern Cleveland

The much-ballyhooed new science fiction anthology, Star Trek, debuts on September 15.  However, all the fans are abuzz that they'll be privately showing the show's pilot at Tricon.  I hope you all will join us at Tricon to watch it!

Journeys we Have

As exciting as the things to come might be, we still have plenty of exciting stuff to enjoy right now.  To wit, this month's Fantasy and Science Fiction is quite a solid mag.


by Jack Gaughan

Luana, Gilbert Thomas

A mycologist (a real fun-gi) with a yen for sculpture combines both vocation and avocation when the latest Gemini brings home a space spore.  The resulting fruiting body proves warm, delicate, and eager to be carved.  The scientist does so, in the form that has occupied the efforts of sculptors since the Neolithic…with less than savory results.

A decade ago, this minor bit of titillation would have been fodder for Venture.  Cute but utterly forgettable.  Three stars.


by Gahan Wilson

The Productions of Time (Part 2 of 2), John Brunner

Last month, the author had left us on a tremendous cliffhanger.  Murray Douglas, a washed out but on the wagon film star (viz. Kirk Douglas in Two Weeks in Another Town) has been increasingly unsettled by the goings on at his latest production.  The writer, Delgado, seems deadset on sabotaging the play before it can gel, setting each of the actors and production crew at each other's throats.  The country retreat at which they are staying is equipped with the oddest of surveillance equipment, from two-way TVs to mysterious tape recorders placed just under a sleeper's pillows.  When Douglas calls Delgado on his actions, he wakes up the next morning with a severe headache and surrounded by half empty bottles of gin…

He quickly realizes it's all a set-up, and he heads to a local doctor to certify his utter sobriety.  Bolstering his sanity is the arrival of an unexpected ally: Heather, a member of the cast whose only purpose seems to be to sate the Lesbian tastes of another of the actresses, has also determined something odd is going on.  Douglas makes up his mind.  They will leave the retreat on the morrow.  But Delgado, and the unusually assertive valet, Valentine, have other plans.

Thus ensues the climax and rather satisfactory (though somewhat given away by the title) ending of this exciting novel.  It's rather short, so I'll be surprised if it gets turned into a full-length story.  Maybe one half of an Ace Double.  Nevertheless, it's a nice departure for the oft-brilliant author, notable for being told largely in dialogue (as befits a piece about play!)

Four stars.

Mr. Wilde's Second Chance, Joanna Russ

When the great playwright/poet arrives in the hereafter, he is offered the chance to rearrange the events of his luminous life into a more pleasing order.  The reward is, perhaps, another life.  Mr. Wilde is at once successful and unsuccessful.

I suspect I would have gotten more out of this story had I been more acquainted with the subject's work.  It's a four-star story regardless.

Municipal Dump, Max Gunther

R.J. Schroon, a rapacious hotelier with designs to bend the would-be paradise world of Cooltropic to his whim.  If it only weren't for the omnipresent, ever-irksome Bounders!  Fed up with these meddling puffballs, Schroon calls for their extermination.  He manages to eliminate one, frightening off the rest. 

Out of the frying pan…

This one feels like a lesser (though competent) tale from the early days of Galaxy.  Three stars.

Narrow Valley, R. A. Lafferty

The Wizard of Whimsy offers up this tale of a Pawnee, who protects his 160-acre reparation grant with a mighty spell.  It's not that others can't find the plot to poach — they just can't seem to get in!

A fun if rather trivial piece.  Three stars.

I'm Looking Over a Four-Leaf Clover, Isaac Asimov

In the conclusion to his articles on particles and cosmology, The Good Doctor offers up his own ideas on the origin of the universe.  In a nutshell, just as every subatomic particle seems to have both an opposite charged counterpart and a opposite baryon/lepton number, so the universe must have three counterparts so that the net value of energy and mass equals zero.  Add to this an 80 billion year boom and bust cycle, and one has a cosmos that requires no beginning or end, utterly symmetrical.

It's cute if nothing else.  And I'm banking on the nothing else.

Three stars.

Troubling of the Water, Zenna Henderson

Ms. Henderson has seemingly exhausted the modern day as a setting for her stories of The People.  The author is now recounting their first coming to Earth in the late 19th Century.  Water is a not-quite sequel to her last story.  A family in a Western territory (probably Henderson's native Arizona) finds their water supply dwindling below the sufficiency required for their crops.  On the eve of dessication, a member of The People, a race of gentle humanoid espers, literally falls from the sky in a ball of flame.

Zenna has told this story several times before: strange, gifted person (usually a child) is encountered/adopted by a human or group of humans.  Said alien eventually displays great powers to the benefit of the humans, and a bond of love is forged.

It's a testament to the author that the tale has not yet gotten old.  I do wonder if a collection of such stories (as is advertised as forthcoming) might be a bit much to take in one sitting, though.

Four stars.

Looking Back

In the end, the newest issue of F&SF breaks no new ground.  Indeed, had it been published in 1956 rather than 1966, I don't know that we'd have noticed (save for Asimov's piece, which relies on cutting edge science).  Still, it would have been one of the better issues of August 1956, just as it is one of the better amalgamations of SF in this month.

No complaints here!






[February 18, 1966] Fixing up the old place (March 1966 Fantasy & Science Fiction)


by Gideon Marcus

Inside the Modern Home

Interior decorating has always been a passion of mine, and few times have been as exciting to be a fan of home interiors than today.  Gone are the pastels and pillows of the 1950s; the mid 1960s are a time of bold colors, Space Age shapes, and stark contrasts. 

Dig this brightly hued dining and living space, vivid in primary colors but also subdued with its Japanese influence and pink walls.  This is a pad screaming for a party.

If you want something more intimate, how about this shaggy, flame-themed family room?


(just don't tell these happy folks that their Albers painting is hung sideways…)

Of course, not all innovation is beautiful.  Concrete has foundationed the New Brutalism, and I hate it.  I understand the new La Jolla campus of the University of San Diego is going to be done up in this shelter chic, which is a pity.  It's a good thing I'll never have to attend classes there (Lorelei, on the other hand, might well).



Inside the Modern Magazine

The changing vista of science fiction offers its beauties and eyesores, as well.  Thankfully, the latest issue of The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction offers a suite of worlds that, though I may not want to live in all of them, most of them were worth a visit.


by Gray Morrow

Angels Unawares, by Zenna Henderson

Is there anything more eagerly awaited than a new story of The People?  In this case, as always, Henderson delivers.  I believe this is the earliest story in the series, chronologically, taking place as it does some time in the 19th Century.  A young woman and her mining engineer husband are heading West to the bustling copper town of Margin when they come across the burned remains of a home in the wilderness.  Four charred bodies are inside, incinerated by zealots as witches.  But a child survives, shocked into muteness but possessed of extraordinary powers.  The settlers adopt her, and thus ensues a tale of pain, maturity, and rebirth like only this author can tell.

Stories of The People feature a set group of ingredients, and yet somehow Henderson manages to make a delicious new recipe every time.  Five stars.  Bon appetit.

I Remember Oblivion, by Henry Slesar

In an effort to replace brutality with mercy in our penal system, a young murderer is taken off Death Row and given new memories.  Harsh, abuse-filled past is swapped for bright sunny days and love in the hopes of creating a well-adjusted psyche.

But the widower of the killer's last victim has other plans…

There's a kernel of a good idea here: are we the sum of our memories, or is there more to the human soul?  Unfortunately, Slesar, a screenwriter who has yet to really impress me, goes for the cheap gimmick.  The result is the least satisfying piece of the issue.

Two stars.


by Gahan Wilson

Tomlinson, by Rudyard Kipling

The author of The Jungle Book has been dead for thirty years, long enough (Editor Ed Ferman suggests) for a poem of his to be uncontroversially reprinted.  A story of life after death, it's Tomlinson this and Tomlinson that, and Tomlinson go away, as he is rejected by both Heaven and Hell for being a fellow who neither sinned nor achieved good deeds.

Pleasant enough.  Three stars.

Lil, Rorrity, and A Foamin' Sea of Steam Beer, by Richard Olin
"Daniel Rorrity was a short, stubby…fisherman," begins the tale, and so it ends as well.  In between, from his well-worn stool 'Roarey' regales Lil, the B-girl, of the adventures he'd had and the places he'd visited before his back was lamed.  And one day, he swore (when the beers were many and the mood was high), he'd buy his own boat and sail the world with his lady love.  Karl, the disdainful barkeep, inadvertently provides the impetus to transform a boastful sot into a captain of fantastic seas.

It's a lot more style than substance, but the style is lovely.  Four stars.

White Night, by John Tomerlin

In the South of France, a lost hiker takes refuge in a battered auberge.  The serving girl takes a shine to him, and they spend the night together.  But the morning reveals a hideous transformation.

A reasonable piece of trivial horror, though if the protagonist doesn't get eaten, I'm honestly not sure what the fuss is.  It's not as if he didn't have fun, regardless of what she looks like now…

Three stars.

Grow Old Along with Me, by Julius Fast

In a twist on the Deal with the Devil cliché, Fast's tale is of a young man who declines the offered gifts of Old Nick, and in turn gains something better — a friend.

Lucifer ain't such a bad guy after all!

Three stars.

The Rocks of Damocles, by Isaac Asimov

If Mariner 4 taught us anything, it's that sizable planets are just as prone to being blasted by asteroids and meteorites as moons.  In his latest article, the Good Doctor explains why it's only a matter of time before humanity gets walloped by an extraterrestrial bullet.

Sleep well!  Four stars.

The Blind God's Eye by Kathleen James

It's our world, but in a bleaker, poorer future, and Alice, living a bleak, poor life, is just trying to muddle through widow-hood as a bar dishwasher.  Then she meets Red, a burly young man with an iron liver…and a curious resonance of fate with Hugh Veron, an up-and-coming dictator who will be making a speech right in front of the bar in a few days.

A tale of love and tragedy, it's told in a sort of breathless, diary-like fashion that could have been grating, but for me was riveting.

Four stars.

Mickey Finn, by Doris Pitkin Buck

Lastly, another poem about the afterlife.  A man goes to Heaven when he's ready for it, and not before, and when he gets there, it's as dingy as he expects.

Oddly placed and somehow trivial, it is not helped by the typo in the last line.

Three stars.

Digging the Decor

It's not often that a magazine manages to crack the 3.5 star barrier, but F&SF has done it twice in four months.  Plus, Zenna Henderson makes any issue worthwhile (though I can't say I'm a fan of the lurid cover — I believe it's Gray Morrow's first for the mag).  In any event, if you're looking for a clutch of science fiction to go with your mod decor, the March 1966 F&SF is a safe bet.



The Journey is once again up for a Best Fanzine Hugo nomination — and its founder is up for several other awards as well!  If you've got a Worldcon membership, or if you just want to see what Gideon's done that's Hugo-worthy, please read his Hugo Eligibility article!  Thank you for your continued support.




[April 22, 1965] Cracker Jack issue (May 1965 Fantasy and Science Fiction)


by Gideon Marcus

A surprise at the bottom

I'm sure everyone's familiar with America's snack, as ubiquitous at ball games as beer and hotdogs.  As caramel corn goes, it's pretty mediocre stuff, though once you start eating, you find you can't stop.  And the real incentive is the prize waiting for you at the bottom of the box.  Will it be a ring?  A toy or a little game?  Maybe a baseball card.

This month, like most months recently, The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction is kind of like a box of Cracker Jacks.  But the prize at the end of the May 1965 issue is worth the chore of getting there.

A handful of corn


by Mel Hunter

Mr. Hunter continues to make beautiful covers that have nothing to do with the interior contents.  Also, his spaceships look like something out of the early 1950s.  With so many real spaceships to draw inspiration from, it's sad that our rocketships still look derived from the V2.

The Earth Merchants, by Norman Kagan

As early as 1963, folks have been complaining about the space program.  In Kagan's latest work, there is a tight conspiracy to topple NASA through a comprehensive propaganda campaign.  On the eve of the launch of the Behemoth, the first commercially profitable spaceship, the media is filled with advertisements like this:

Dear Elder Citizen;

Hungry?  Too bad that your social security allotment is so small, but just think, six months ago an astronaut circled Mars.  He had a steak dinner the night before he blasted off–

And

Billions for the moon, because the work will have byproducts for medical research?  Why not billions for medical research–it's just as likely to have byproducts for space flight!

The inevitable result is that when things go wrong at launch time, the NASA engineers throw up their hands and let disaster occur.  The viewpoint character, a psychologist who initially leads the project with vigor ends the story with a migraine and a profound sense of guilt.

There are a lot of problems with this story, from its plodding, heavy-handedness to its utter implausibility, not to mention the casual male-chauvinism.  I'm not sure if it's being deliberately provocative to inspire support of the space program or if it's just being satirical for satire's sake.  Either way, its effectiveness is compromised by its inept execution.

Two stars.


by Gahan Wilson

The powers at F&SF have replaced the Feghoot puns with Wilson's art.  God help me, but I think I preferred Feghoot.

Romance in an Eleventh-Century Recharging Station, by Robert F. Young

The Master of Maudlin returns with a sci-fi spin on the Sleeping Beauty story.  Young is a great writer, but his Fractured Fairy Tales are always the least of his works.

I suspect John Boston would give this a one and Victoria Silverwolf a three.  I'll split the difference.  Two stars.

Mammoths and Mastodons, by L. Sprague de Camp

I'm not sure why F&SF included an article on extinct members of Family Elephantidae, but it suffers greatly for being in a magazine that eschews pictures.  It would have been far better suited to, say, Analog.

Three stars, I guess.

The Gritsch System, by Robin Scott Wilson

How to keep a dozen scientists disciplined long enough to put together an engineering project in space?  Give them a distasteful thirteenth teammate to be their scapegoat and whipping boy.

I really disliked the message of this one ("the best way to unite a team is a common enemy") and the one-note story didn't need nineteen pages to tell it.

On the other hand, at least it was actually science fiction taking place in space.  So, two stars.

Short Cut, by Deborah Crawford

Newcomer Deborah Crawford offers an odd poem about the lack of art appreciation in a computerized world.  It lacks much rhyme or meter, but I appreciated the joke at the end. 

Three stars.

Books, by Judith Merril

I normally don't include mention of F&SF's book column.  I just found it noteworthy as it appears Ms. Merril is now the regular reviewer (this magazine is a good home for her given her more progressive predilections), and two of the books she reviews have been reviewed here (Andromeda Breakthrough by Fred Hoyle and The Alien Way, by Gordy Dickson).

Sonny, by Robert L. Fish

SAC base gets a spiffy replacement for its IBM computer.  Between its alcohol-based coolant and a couple of prankster scientists, it proves less than a success.

If I never see a sentient computer gag story again, it'll be too soon.  I would like an author to appreciate that 1) computers will never be sentient, and 2) if they ever do obtain a kind of consciousness, it will in no way mimic that of humans.

One star.

To Tell a Chemist, by Isaac Asimov

In this month's (second) non-fiction article, The Good Doctor expounds on moles, the chemical kind, and the origin of Avogadro's number.  I found this article more disjointed than most, and it felt like, if I hadn't know most of the stuff already, I wouldn't have made much sense of it.

Three stars.

The Prize

No Different Flesh, by Zenna Henderson

Ah, but the last quarter of the magazine is sublime, passing the bedtime test (i.e. if I'm supposed to be asleep but I will not turn out the light until I finish a story, it's gotta be good).

This is a The People story, featuring an ordinary Terran couple with highly relatable sorrows.  They take in a seemingly abandoned child with extraordinary powers, a merciful act that is repaid in the most satisfying of ways.

The Journey's esteemed editor has a maxim: "Good writing is the art of making small things matter."  Zenna Henderson is a good writer.  One of the best.

Five stars.

Aftertaste

Cracker Jack really isn't that good, is it?  But that prize, though!  So even though the magazine scores just 2.7 stars overall, it might be worth picking up a copy for the Henderson.

On the other hand, since there's already been one anthology of People stories, there probably will be another.  In which case, you might well wait until then.  Better a box of prizes than a box of Cracker Jack!



Our last two Journey shows were a gas!  You can watch the kinescope reruns here).  You don't want to miss the next episode, April 25 at 1PM PDT featuring flautist Acacia Weber as the special musical guest.





[March 16, 1965] Browsing the Stacks (May 1965 Worlds of Tomorrow)


by Victoria Silverwolf

Did You Check the Card Catalog First?

If you're like me, when you enter a public or school library, or a bookstore, or any other place where volumes of written material are available for perusal, you wander around from place to place without any particular goal in mind. Of course, sooner or later you're going to wind up at the science fiction section. But along the way, you might find other kinds of fiction and nonfiction to pique your curiosity.


Students hard at work at Brigham Young University.They're probably not reading science fiction.

I thought about this pleasant little habit of mine when I looked at the latest issue of Worlds of Tomorrow. The stories and articles reminded me of other categories of writing. Take my hand, and we'll stroll through the paper corridors of this miniature book depository and find out what wonders await us.


Cover art by George Schelling.

What Size Are Giants?, by Alexei Panshin

Category: Westerns

We start off near novels by Zane Grey and other chroniclers of the Old West. This rootin', tootin' yarn begins with a gal settin' by herself readin' a book (appropriately enough) and not realizin' that she's about to be run over by a stampedin' herd of wild critters. Luckily for her, a fella in a covered wagon comes by and saves her. He's sort of a medicine show kind of city slicker, of the type that the local settlers don't cotton to.


Drawin' by Norman Nodel. That's a mighty funny lookin' horse you got there, friend.

OK, let me knock it off with the dialect before I drive both of us crazy. We're really on a colony planet, one of many settled about a century ago, when a large number of gigantic starships fled Earth just before a global war destroyed all of humanity. The colonists survive at a low level of technology, while the people who remain aboard the ships enjoy much more advanced devices. The colonists envy and resent the starship folk, and the people on the vessels look down on the settlers as peasants.

Our hero sneaks off one of the ships and lands on the planet, intending to help the colonists with better goods, and to encourage trade between isolated communities. Along for the ride is his buddy, an intelligent, talking bird. (The only explanation for this animal is that it's a one-of-a-kind mutant, which is a little hard to swallow.)

Things don't work out too well. Not only do the settlers figure out the man is one of the hated people from the starships, but he is also tracked down by an enforcer from the vessel, because interfering with a colony is a serious crime.


A very accurate rendition of the author's description of this unpleasant character.

Complicating matters is the fact that the stampeding beasts are about to go on the rampage again, threatening to destroy the local village and everyone in it. It all builds up to an exciting climax, as our tomboy heroine comes to the rescue.


Ride 'em, cowgirl!

This is a decent enough adventure story, if not particularly outstanding in any way. The author's style is plain but serviceable. It'll give ya somethin' to look at while you're sittin' around the campfire, waitin' for Cooky to rustle up some coffee and beans.

Three stars.

The Effectives, by Zenna Henderson

Category: Religion

Not far away from the Bibles, Korans, Torahs, and other sacred texts, we find this work of inspirational fiction from a skilled author known for the use of spiritual themes in her tales of the People.


Illustration by John Giunta.

KVIN (as shown above) is a devastating illness of unknown origin. Those who suffer from it die very quickly after feeling the first symptoms, which vary from person to person. The only treatment is to completely replace the victim's blood with donations from healthy volunteers. This doesn't always work, however.

There's a peculiar geographic pattern to the cure rate. It never works in the San Francisco area; works half the time near Denver; and is always effective at a particular area near a medical research center. A troubleshooter arrives at the place and tries to figure out what's going on.

The center is near a religious community that has turned its back on the modern world, something like the Amish. They supply the blood donations. There is no such community in the San Francisco region, and half of the blood donations at the Denver area come from such a community. Could there be a connection with the cure rates? The troubleshooter, a hardcore skeptic, performs a risky experiment in order to find out.

How you react to this fable may depend on your religious beliefs. You may think that the author has stacked the cards too much in favor of faith over materialism. The troubleshooter is something of a stereotype of the stubborn atheist, although I'll have to give the writer credit for depicting him as a man with the courage of his convictions, but willing to change his mind when presented with strong evidence.

Considered just as a work of science fiction, this story is very well-written, with interesting speculative content. It may not change anyone's opinions, but it's definitely worth reading.

Four stars.

The Alien Psyche, by Tom Purdom

Category: Psychology

Strolling over to the nonfiction, we find this article next to a large volume of Freud. The author wonders about the ways in which biological differences between human beings and the sentient inhabitants of other worlds may lead to differences in their minds. What kind of neuroses would be found among aliens that reproduce by fission, or are hermaphroditic?

The piece mostly deals with traditional Freudian analysis, although the author has to admit that there are many other schools of psychology, and that none of them are anywhere near an exact science. Maybe someday we'll know more about the workings of the mind, but for now this is all idle speculation.

Two stars.

Bond of Brothers, by Michael Kurland

Category: Spy Fiction


Illustrations by Gray Morrow.

Stuck between books by Ian Fleming and John le Carré is this tale of Cold War espionage. A fellow arrives at the secret headquarters of a US government agency, where his identical twin brother works. The brother is currently in a Soviet prison, after the Reds caught him spying. The only reason the protagonist knows about the headquarters, and his brother's location, is the fact that the twins have a telepathic link.

The hero manages to convince the head of the agency of this psychic connection, and volunteers to rescue his brother from the Commies. He goes undercover and faces many challenges in his quest to free his twin from their clutches.


Parachuting into the USSR.

The ESP gimmick isn't really relevant to the plot, which is a straightforward secret agent story. Some of Fleming's books, such as Thunderball and Moonraker, have more of a speculative feeling to them than this tale. I suppose it's an acceptable example of this sort of thing, but I felt a bit cheated by its appearance in a science fiction magazine.

Two stars.

Explosions in Space, by Ben Bova

Category: Astronomy

Passing by star charts and maps of the Moon, we arrive at the section of this tiny library dealing with the cosmos. We find an article dealing with things that go BOOM! in the heavens.

We begin with solar flares, and build up to entire exploding galaxies, with discussions of novae and supernovae along the way. The piece concludes with theories about the recently discovered, mysterious things known as quasars (quasi-stellar objects.) The author may not have the charm of Asimov, or the obscure knowledge of Ley, but he explains an interesting subject very clearly.

Four stars.

Dem of Redrock Seven, by John Sutherland

Category: Detective Stories

Leaning on some volumes of Raymond Chandler and Dashiell Hammett — we'll ignore the bestselling works of Mickey Spillane and stick with the classics — is this hardboiled yarn about a tough investigator and his sexy secretary, working on a case that could spell disaster for civilization.

Oh, did I mention the fact that these characters aren't human beings? In fact, they're the mutated descendants of insects, long after people contaminated Earth with radiation and nearly died off. The giant, intelligent insects now have their own sophisticated society, and the few remaining humans are living like savages in uncontaminated areas. They're only a minor nuisance, until the mysterious death of a government worker leads the hero to a hidden threat that could mean the end of the insects.

Clearly meant as a parody of private eye stories, this tongue-in-cheek tale is kind of silly — giving the secretary a lisp is particularly goofy and pointless — but amusing at times. I'll admit that the author does a good job writing from the insect point of view, and you may find yourself cheering for the hero over those dastardly humans. Like the first story in this issue, this one features the female lead coming to the rescue of the hero, which is a nice touch.

Three stars.

Bogeymen, by Dick Moore

Category: War Stories


Illustrations by Jack Gaughan.

We'll head to the shelf that holds accounts of naval battles for this tale of combat with an enemy that remains unseen most of the time, like a submarine. Instead of sailing the seven seas, we're out in space, on a routine patrol of the inner solar system. The current situation between two vaguely defined rivals is hotter than a Cold War, although both sides refer to their violent encounters as accidents.


The patrol vessel, and that might be Mars at the top.

Word reaches the ship that a large force of enemy vessels is on its way to Mars from a base in the asteroid belt. Its target seems to be the friendly base on Phobos. Because it's extremely difficult to detect ships in the vastness of space, it's a matter of guesswork as to where the good guys should intercept the bad guys. It boils down to heading to the most likely place for them to appear and then waiting.


I have no idea what this is supposed to be.

Meanwhile, the crew alters its armed missiles, turning them into devices they can launch into space in order to increase the chances of detecting the enemy. The main character rather foolishly comes up with his own scheme for the armaments removed from the missiles, which lands him in very hot water indeed. He winds up having to go out in a one-person vessel in order to retrieve the arms, while risking own skin against the approaching enemy.


The hero in the small ship, I think, although this doesn't match the way I pictured it at all.

To be honest, I'm not sure if my brief synopsis is accurate at all. I found the technical aspects of the plot very hard to follow. The hero's actions are extremely unprofessional, putting the ship and crew in great danger just so he can play a hunch. The story also seemed quite long, as I slogged my way to the ending.

Two stars.

Have Your Library Card Ready

Is it worth a trip to the stacks? Maybe, maybe not. You've got one good story (although that judgement may be controversial) and one good article, along with other works ranging from poor to fair. I wouldn't go digging through musty old volumes to seek it out, but if it happens to be close, you might as well take a look. You might see something interesting.


She's only the librarian's daughter, but you really should check her out.






[September 17, 1963] Places of refuge (October 1963 Fantasy and Science Fiction)


by Gideon Marcus

Every animal needs a safe place.  A refuge from the violence and competition of the natural world in which to evade danger, to regather one's strength in security.  The groundhog and the sand crab burrow.  The gazelle seeks the center of its herd.  The cat finds a private place to devour its prey (often just outside your back door).

Humanity, too, needs its sanctuaries.  We've built castles and moats, erected Great Walls, forged mighty nations defended by vast militaries.  Humans also create spiritual refuges, places that couldn't resist the mildest physical attack, but nevertheless provide an island of calm in which we can find shelter from chaos.  Churches.  Temples.  Libraries. 

On the morning of Sunday, September 15, 1963, one of those sanctuaries was violated: someone, or several someones, planted dynamite in the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama.  It went off during services, killing four girls (Addie Mae Collins, Cynthia Wesley, Carole Robertson and Carol Denise McNair) and injuring 22 more. 

It is unknown who is responsible, but the motivation is clear, for the victims share a trait beyond their humanity and their gender — they are Black.  And there is an evil set of Birminghamians, undoubtedly White, who would deprive their neighbors even of the dignity of refuge.  It is terrorism, plain and simple.

I heard the news of the bombing in the same manner as most of you, I'm sure.  There was a special bulletin over the radio.  At first, the significance of the event was difficult to parse.  The South has been wracked with violence for years, ever since Blacks dared to challenge the social order and demand the equality that should be their unquestioned right.  Firehoses, police dogs, stonings, lynchings, assassinations — these attacks have become all too commonplace. 

But this latest hideous act involved the mass slaughter of children, in the one place they should have been expected to have been safe.  I'm certain its perpetrators felt it would be some kind of rallying call for White racists to resist the tide of integration.  If public reaction be any indication, it will have the opposite effect.  This nation, already moving toward championing the cause of equality, already committed to deploying soldiers to ensure the civil rights of Black students, can only be spurred with greater urgency to destroy segregation and bigotry before it claims as victims more children, more sanctuaries.

That's the view from 50,000 feet.  On Sunday morning, I was incapable of analysis or even hope.  All I could think about was the horror that had happened, and the families who'd lost their little girls.  One of the dead was the same age as our Young Traveler.  I wasn't ready to process the tragedy.  I needed my own place of refuge, a moment of peace to collect myself.

So I shut out the world and picked up a book. 

The visions of other worlds afforded by the "All Star" October 1963 Fantasy and Science Fiction might not turn out to be pleasant, but they would at least let me visit different ones. 

As it turned out, the excursion was just what I needed.  This month's issue is a good one:

Girl of My Dreams, by Richard Matheson

The first tale was, for me, a bit of "out of the frying pan and into the fire."  It's a thoroughly unpleasant tale about a thoroughly unpleasant fellow who marries a possessor of the second sight.  Said wife sees the catastrophes that will befall others in her nightmares, and her scoundrel husband then uses this knowledge to fleece the upcoming victims.  Having a conscience, the clairvoyant sabotages one of her husband's plans on the eve of success.  It is only after he batters her to death for her trouble that he learns that she has foreseen his death and no longer can tell him how to avoid it.

Matheson never writes poorly, but the Twilight Zone twist combined with the rampant domestic cruelty (never lauded, mind you) make this a story you may well want to skip.  Three stars.

Epistle To Be Left In The Earth, by Archibald MacLeish

The low point of the magazine is another "Tell those who come after us that Earth was once a lovely place" poem.  It don't even rhyme.  One star.

Deluge, by Zenna Henderson
(poetic sting by Jeanette Nichols)

Now we come to the part I was most looking forward to, the return of Zenna Henderson's The People.  This episode of the saga is chronologically the first, showing what caused a family of humanoid espers to depart from Home and take refuge in the ruralities of America. 

Henderson's stories are always poignant, emotionally laden pieces.  The problem with this one is there is no real dramatic tension.  Like a movie about the Titanic, we know how it's going to end from the start.  Moreover, it lacks that delicious tension implicit in the stories set on Earth: the worry of discovery, the friction with locals, the adaptation to a new environment. 

Deluge is thus a series of evocative, poetic scenes in an inexorable and rather dull narrative, a piece that would have been better left unwritten, or perhaps simply incorporated in other stories.  Three stars.

(Since we've now gotten the beginning and the (also lackluster) end of the series, one wonders if it's time for Henderson to move on to other subjects.  On the other hand, an official meeting between The People and the people of Earth would be nifty to read.)

Faed-Out, by Avram Davidson

Followers of this column know that I was once a big fan of Davidson's work but feel his latest stuff has been too somber, incomprehensible, or both.  Faed-Out is a return to form, about a veteran B-movie villain with a heart of gold, who helps bring to rest the soul of a departed fellow thespian.

This workmanlike plot is elevated by being a wonderful character piece brought to poignant conclusion in its last paragraph.  Four stars, and welcome back, sir.

How to Plan a Fauna, by L. Sprague de Camp

De Camp has been a writing fiend, lately.  This time around, he points out the typical flaws in science fiction ecologies and gives a broad, if cursory, account of terrestrial predator/prey ratios to be applied to other planets to make convincing faunas.

It's a bit of an argument with a strawman — the examples De Camp draw on are Burroughs and other pulpish folk; truly outdated stuff.  Plus, the survey of Earth's food chains is rather glib and superficial.  Three stars, and I'd rather see the Good Doctor Asimov's take on the subject.

Special Consent, by P. M. Hubbard

Hubbard returns with a tale as different from his pleasant Cornish ghost storyThe Golden Brick as he could get.  Consent tells of a post-atomic world in which women are ascendant and the gender balance is strictly enforced by law.  Would-be mother of a daughter, Madi, must obtain special consent from her husband — by force, if necessary — for the birth.

It's a strange story, and very opaquely written, but it does make you think.  Three stars.

Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, by Isaac Asimov

I see Editor Davidson has given up on preambling Asimov's articles, now letting Isaac do the honors.  This development is to the good.  The current month's article is (appropriately) about stars, and it puts paid the notion that our yellow dwarf sun is at all insignificant.  When compared to the red dwarfs that make up the majority of the stellar population, our star looks quite impressive.

It's a good piece, and the bits about sub-stellar objects (stars too small to shine — he calls them "black dwarves") are fascinating, but I was disappointed that he went through all the trouble to tell us about white dwarfs, incredibly dense objects with the mass of a star but the volume of a planet, but didn't bother to explain what they are.  If you don't know already, white dwarfs are the end result of stellar evolution.  Once a star has fused all of its hydrogen, it collapses in on itself, becoming composed entirely of squashed neutrons with shared electron shells.

Four stars that really should have been five.

They Don't Make Life Like They Used To, by Alfred Bester

Last up is the tale I read first, a Garden of Eden analogy set in post-apocalyptic New York.  Call it The World, The Flesh, and the Devil, but instead of Mel Ferrer, you've got aliens.  And Harry Belafonte's White.

Actually, it's quite good, which surprised me since I've got a long-running animosity toward Alfred Bester.  You may be off-put by the assiduous adherence to gender roles in the piece, although I got the impression that the two protagonists were playing up these clichés rather than falling into them unconsciously.  I particularly appreciated the complete absence of romance between the characters throughout the vast majority of the piece.

Detractors: At the conclusion, aliens shatter the post-atomic Eden, and the protagonists commence to screw.  Though I get what Bester was doing, it cheapened the story for me.  The worst bit of the piece, however, comes right at the beginning: The female protagonist is driving to get supplies (in a masterfully told set up that only gradually reveals the post-apocalyptic setting), and it is noted that "her bosom danced enchantingly."  Since the only viewpoint is the owner of the bosom, one has to wonder just who was watching.  Did she notice the enchanting movement herself?  Isn't it unsafe to admire one's jiggling while operating a vehicle? 

Anyway, it kept my interest and, for the most part, I liked it.  Four stars.

I put down the magazine and take a deep breath.  It is September 17th, and I find myself able to once again acknowledge and take on the world's strife.  If you are need of some solace from the storm, try finding it where I found mine: within the pages of this month's F&SF.




[June 25, 1962] XX marks the spot (July 1962 Fantasy and Science Fiction)


by Gideon Marcus

I've been thundering against the new tack Editor Avram Davidson has taken The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction for several months now, so much so that I didn't even save what used to be my favorite magazine for last this month.

So imagine my pleasant surprise when, in synchronicity with the sun reaching its annual zenith, the July edition also returns to remembered heights.  Of course, Davidson's editorial prefaces are still lousy, being at once too obvious in describing the contents of the proceeding story, and at the same time, obtuse beyond enjoyment.  If there's anything on which I pin the exceeding quality of this issue, it's the unusual abundance of woman authors.  It's been a long time, and their absence has been keenly marked (at least by me).  For the most part, the fellas aren't too bad either.  Take a look:

Darfgarth, by Vance Aandahl

Hundreds of years from now, or perhaps thousands of years ago, a mesmeric bard named Darfgarth came to a little Colorado town.  He exerted his influence like a God, but men aren't Gods, and men who aspire to be Gods usually meet an unpleasant end.  A nicely atmospheric story, though the seams showed through a bit too much.  Three stars.

Two's a Crowd, by Sasha Gilien

A pair of polar opposite souls struggle for ascendancy in the tabula rasa mind of a newborn.  Gilien's first published piece reads like one – uneven and with a hackneyed ending.  Two stars.  (Take heart – this is the only sub-par story in the book!)

Master Misery, by Truman Capote

When a thought-vampire steals all of your dreams, what is left to live for?  I tend to look dimly upon reprints as a cheap way to fill space, but it's hard to complain about the inclusion of this story, by a very young Capote, fresh off the success (and controversy) of his first novel, Other Voices, Other Rooms.  It's a dreamy, metaphorical piece, both in theme and delivery, and it works.  Four stars.

Stanley Toothbrush, by Carl Brandon

Newcomer Brandon has written a timeless yet incredibly now story about a tired young man, his fetching (but physically demanding) girlfriend, and the improbably named fellow who literally comes out of nowhere to threaten their relationship.  It's the youth's owned damned fault, but he doesn't know it.  A very The Twilight Zone sort of piece that's rising action all the way to the very pleasant end.  Four stars.

Subcommittee, by Zenna Henderson

Henderson's first non-The People story in a good long while is a tale of finding common ground between two seemingly implacable foes.  In this case, the enemy is a fleet of alien exiles, the "good guys" the denizens of Planet Earth a few decades from now.  The cynical side of me groans at the naivete of the piece.  The romantic side of me kicks the cynical side a few times and reminds it that Henderson still spins a compelling yarn, and we can use a little hope in this harsh world.  I only cringe slightly at the highly conventional gender roles of Subcommittee – but then, I expect Henderson is making more of a statement about today than a prediction about the future.  Let's hope HUAC doesn't investigate her for being a commie peacenik.  Four stars.

Brown Robert, by Terry Carr

A gritty time travel story with a twist, but the set-up doesn't quite match the ending, and the thing falls apart on closer inspection.  Good twist, though.  Three stars.

Six Haiku, by Karen Anderson

Better known as the better half of prolific writer Poul Anderson, Karen seems to be embarking on an independent career; her first story came out just two months ago.  Anyway, this handful of poetic trifles is worth the time you'll spend on them, plus the customary 20% mark-up.  Three stars.

My Dear Emily, by Joanna Russ

A fine take on Stoker from the victim's point of view, but is the increasingly unshackled Emily really a victim?  Russ doesn't write often, but when she does, the result is always unique.  Four stars.

Hot Stuff, by Isaac Asimov

The Good Doctor serves up an article on a subject near and dear to my astronomically-minded heart: the death of stars.  You may find it abstruse, but careful reading will reward.  Four stars.

Meanwhile, Alfred Bester continues to savage books he hasn't actually read, to wit, his utterly missing the point of The Lani People.  Moreover, he refuses to do more than describe the plot of Catseye, so affronted is Bester by the grief Andre Norton gave him for his review of Shadow Hawk.  Ms. Norton was entirely in the right – I, too, was incensed when Bester proclaimed, "women just can't write adventure."  Firstly, Norton does not represent all of womanhood.  Secondly, Norton has proven countless times that she can.  And lastly, when's the last time you wrote anything, has-been Alfred? 

It's a good thing I don't rate book review columns…

The Man Without a Planet, by Kate Wilhelm

A rendezvous on the way to Mars between the man punished for unlocking the heavens and the boy he inspired to reach them.  A great idea if not a terrific story.  Three stars.

Uncle Arly, by Ron Goulart

Yet another Max Kearney story.  This time, the avocational exorcist takes on the spirit of a buttinsky ad-man who won't stop haunting a young man's TV until he agrees to marry the ghost's niece.  The prime requisite of a comedic story is that it be funny.  I chuckled many-a-time; call this one a success.  Four stars.

Throw in a conclusory Feghoot (the groan it elicits is a sign of its potency) and you've got an issue that comfortably meters in at 3.5 stars.  Four woman authors marks a record for the digest – any s-f digest, in fact.  Perhaps it is this quality issue that prompted "Satchmo's" profuse praise, which now graces the back of the magazine:

[February 23, 1962] Material Reading (March 1962 Fantasy and Science Fiction)


by Gideon Marcus

The coverage for John Glenn's orbital flight was virtually non-stop on the 20th.  My daughter and I (as many likely did) played hooky to watch it.  During the long countdown, the Young Traveler worried that the astronaut might get bored during his wait and commented that NASA might have been kind enough to install a small television on the Mercury control panel.

But, from our previous experience, we were pretty sure what the result of that would have been:

CAPCOM: "T MINUS 30 seconds and counting…"

Glenn: "Al, Mr. Ed just came on.  Can we delay the count a little bit?"

30 minutes later…

CAPCOM: "You are on internal power and the Atlas is Go.  Do you copy, Friendship 7"

Glenn: "Al, Supercar's on now.  Just a little more."

30 minutes later…

CAPCOM: "The recovery fleet is standing by and will have to refuel if we don't launch soon…John, what's with the whistling?"

Glenn: "But Al, Andy Griffith just came on!"

So, TV is probably out.  But a good book, well…that couldn't hurt anything, right?  And this month's Fantasy and Science Fiction was a quite good book, indeed.  Witness:

Jonathan and the Space Whale, by Robert F. Young

Two years ago, Mr. Young began an issue of F&SF with a bang.  He does it again with Whale.  Young is a master of writing compelling relationships between two utterly alien beings – in this case, that between a restless, aimless young man of many talents, and the space whale that swallows him whole.  Great stuff.  Five stars.

Wonder as I Wander: Some Footprints on John's Trail Through Magic Mountains, Manly Wade Wellman

It is hard to pack a lot of wallop into a half-page vignette, but I must say that Wellman has pulled it off here – repeatedly.  Footprints is a set of short-short shorts designed to be interstitials for a collection (due to be published later this year) of stories about John the balladeer, a Korea veteran with a silver-stringed guitar and a facility with white magic.  Some are truly effective, and all are worthy.  Five stars.

The Man Who Made Friends with Electricity, by Fritz Leiber

Friends is a readable story with a stingless tail.  I suspect Leiber is past his prime, riding on his name rather than putting much effort into things.  Three stars.

Through Time and Space with Ferdinand Feghoot: XLIX, by "Grendel Briarton"

One of the more contrived and less funny of Reginald Bretnor's punnish efforts. 

A War of No Consequence, by Edgar Pangborn

This, then, is the jewel of the issue.  Pangborn's last tale of a young redheaded runaway from the Eastern seaboard of a bombed-out America, was sublime.  This one is just about as good, only being inferior for its shorter length.  A great story of the futility of war, and the bonds it can forge among ostensible enemies.  Five stars.

The 63rd St. Station, by Avram Davidson

I'm not quite sure what to make of this one, about a staid, devoted brother who contemplates leaving his shut-in sister for a new love at the age of 45.  The ending is rendered extremely obliquely, and I suspect it makes more sense to a New Yorker familiar with subway trains and such.  Not bad, but a little too opaque.  Three stars.

(Per the editor's blurb at the front of the issue, Bob Mills is stepping down as editor and turning over the reins to Mr. Davidson.  Given the latter's penchant for the weird and the abstruse, recently to the detriment of his stories (in my humble opinion), I have to wonder if this will take the magazine in a direction less to my taste.  I guess I'll have to wait and see.)

Communication by Walter H. Kerr

There is not much to say about this rather purple, but still pleasant, poem about a certain race's limitations and strengths in the realm of communication.  Three stars.

That's Life!, by Isaac Asimov

The Good Doctor (will the friendly banter between Asimov and his "Kindly Editor" continue under the new regime?) has turned out an entertaining and informative piece this month, in which he attempts to present an accurate definition of life.  It's a fine lesson in biology with some neat bits on viruses.  Four stars.

The Stone Woman by Doris Pitkin Buck

I really want to like Mrs. Buck, an esteemed English professor from Ohio, who has seen several science fiction luminaries in her class.  This latest piece, a poem, reinforces my opinion that her stuff, while articulate, is not for me.  Two stars.

Shadow on the Moon by Zenna Henderson

Henderson's The People stories have always been personal favorites, and the last one, Jordan, was sublime.  Shadow, on the other hand, falls unexpectedly flat.  It follows the tale of two siblings who enlist themselves in an endeavor to take themselves and kin back into space – to the Moon, particularly.  All the elements of a People piece are there: the esper-empowered, alien-born humans; a well-drawn female protagonist; the sere beauty of Arizona; the light, almost ethereal language.  Somehow, the bolts show on this one, however, and there isn't the emotional connection I've enjoyed in previous Henderson stories.  Three stars.

Doing my monthly mathematics, I determine that the March F&SF garnered an impressive 3.8 stars.  Astronaut Glenn certainly could have whiled away the long pre-launch hours (not to mention all the previous scrubbed launches) with a lot worse reading material.

Next up…what's likely to be worse reading material (but who knows?): the March 1962 Analog!