Monday, July 27, 2026

Dark is the Sun by Philip José Farmer

Deyv said, “This is all very well, but how does it concern me? I won’t live nearly as long as a tharakorm, and these gateways terrify me. They are not guaranteed entrances to places where the Earth won’t die—for an unimaginably long time yet. Anyway, what is life to me without my own soul egg and my tribe, the people I know and love?....No, I’m not going one step further on this crazy quest of yours." 

Just a few blog posts ago I read Philip José Farmer's "The Alley Man" and was very impressed by it--the writing style, the images, the metaphors and similes were all good, the characters were compelling and believable, and the story had a good mix of humor, sadness, and edginess.  Farmer's stock in my mind went through the roof!  Then, while in Marietta, OH, among the 50¢ books at a flea market where I bought a Hot Wheels space agency rover, I spotted a paperback copy of Farmer's 1979 novel Dark is the Sun.  I felt like I recognized the cover, but from long long ago...had I read this in the Eighties?  I am astoundingly cheap, so I didn't buy it, but later decided to read (or reread?) the novel and downloaded a PDF to read right here on this very screen.  

Maybe we should consider Dark is the Sun one of those world-building exercises, one that takes place billions of years in the future, so Farmer can include any kind of idea in his world, no matter how wacky, explaining it as a result of high technology or alien influence.  We learn all about the ecologies of a multitude of monsters and aliens in the book, and their relationships to humanity, and the bizarre customs of the humans and semi-human people who inhabit the Earth in this far future, as well as the astronomy and geography of this far future universe in which the Earth no longer has any radioactive material and the very solar system has been changed beyond recognition by high technology and the compression of matter as the universe collapses in on itself.  For example, the inhabitants of this Earth are unfamiliar with sunrises or sunsets because the sun is dead, the sky is lit by artificial means.  

I suppose Dark is the Sun is in the tradition of Clark Ashton Smith's, Jack Vance's and Gene Wolfe's "dying Earth" works, though unfortunately Farmer doesn't demonstrate the brilliant wordsmithery of those three heroes, and he doesn't include the mystery and sorcery prevalent in Smith's and Vance's work, the humor in Vance's, or the challenging narrative strategies or Christian world view of Wolfe's.  We might also see Dark is the Sun as influenced by Edgar Rice Burroughs, specifically the Tarzan and Pellucidar books--every two or three pages the main characters of Dark is the Sun have to fight or escape from some monster or primitive tribesmen or climb something or sneak into some place.  Unfortunately, Farmer's action scenes are not as exciting as ERB's, and at times I found them a little confusing, leaving me unsure who was standing or clinging where during a fight or while climbing a rope or whatever.  This isn't because Farmer's style is terse or sketch-like--on the contrary, Farmer overexplains, tells us more than is necessary, making individual scenes and the book as a whole seem too long.  Farmer won't tell you the characters went down the hill to the building when he can tell you that they had to go left to avoid a steep decline and then right because of a boulder and then this guy almost tripped and then that person almost dropped this item, etc.   And while I'm piling on poor Farmer, I'll say that his human characters here are not memorable or iconic like Cugel the Clever, Severian, or Tarzan of the Apes, but instead pretty forgettable and overshadowed by the superpowered nonhuman beings who guide and protect them.  

Even though Burroughs' books are full of violence and danger, they often serve as utopian, wish-fulfillment fantasies that contrast 20th-century industrial life with a simpler life closer to nature in which there is less concern with money and obeying the clock and wearing clothes and so forth.  While Farmer's book here grows steadily more dystopian and apocalyptic as it progresses, Dark is the Sun does feature some of that utopian jazz.  The main character of the novel, Deyv, is a member of a tribe of savages who don't have to work, because food is all around the seasonless equatorial jungle in which they live.  None of the tribesmen is sexually frustrated, because their society makes provision for unattached males, assigning the role of unpaid prostitute to certain women.  The problem of health care costs, a topic that every person I have to deal with in real life relishes discussing ad infinitum, has been solved because everybody in this book has the mental ability to focus attention on individual damaged cells and repair them tout suite.  The problem of razor prices has been solved, as humans have evolved to no longer have facial hair.  Farmer doesn't examine the social or long term implications of these conditions and abilities, they just sort of get mentioned and help smooth out the plot--you can march all day for weeks and fight all the time if you can heal fast, for example.      

Nine tribes inhabit Deyv's region, and they are more or less at war most of the time, hunting each other's heads and so forth, but on a regular schedule they meet peacefully to trade.  Among the things they trade are ancient high tech artifacts, items left behind by the many advanced civilizations of their ancestors which rose and fell over the past dozen billion years, items like swords that never rust or dull.  (Their own technology is at the poison blow dart and stone tomahawk level--they don't even have archery or the wheel!)  Everywhere around these primitives is evidence of their high tech ancestors.  The jungle is crisscrossed by highways so durable as to have endured billions of years.  The sky high above is regularly crossed by flying machines bearing incomprehensible symbols, a message from the past nobody can read.

A high tech artifact ubiquitous among the savages and central to their lives is the soul egg--each savage wears one around his or her neck on a cord.  The soul eggs are a kind of mood ring--if you are scared it turns one color, angry another, etc.  We eventually learn they can be used as lie detectors.  We immediately learn that people choose their spouses using the soul eggs--members of the opposite sex can perform a procedure that makes the soul eggs flicker and pulse, and if the two people's eggs flash in harmony they are compatible.  Usually young people find a compatible mate within the tribe, but, if not, they seek a spouse at the regularly scheduled trade meeting.  The different tribes are essentially different ethnicities whose members each have a distinctive look about them, and the occasional breeding across tribal lines introduces new blood to the tribes. 

As our story begins, Deyv has been unable to find a mate either among his own tribe, the Turtles, or among the other eight local tribes at a trade meeting.  So he sets out on a quest beyond the local region to find a girl in some far flung tribe and bring her back to introduce new blood to the region.  He is accompanied by his dog and his cat, which have the intelligence of primates and are quite large and thus a big help in the novel's innumerable hand-to-hand battles.

To make a long story short (we've got like 400 pages of text here), Deyv travels around, meeting other people and getting drawn into more and more elaborate quests and various side quests that involve fighting people and monsters, climbing stuff, and sneaking into places.  His soul egg is stolen, so he starts chasing the thief.  He meets an attractive woman whose egg has also been stolen and they chase the thief together.  Then  he meets a superior being, a plant man twice as big as a human and far more intelligent and knowledgeable, the descendent of a genetic engineering effort of long ago.  This veggieman gives science lectures and talk a lot about how the universe is collapsing.  He has had a device of his own stolen by the thief and joins Deyv's pursuit of the thief.  They catch up to the thief, a fox-man or something.  The thief was employed by a witch to steal the soul eggs, and the thief helps Deyv and company storm the witch's lair and capture her.  The witch wanted the soul eggs as part of a scheme to steal alien high technology from an alien snake-woman monster living in a wasteland.  So the witch and her household join the group and they go to the wasteland--on the way making friends with a robotic alien with a laser cannon--where they make friends with the serpent alien, who is like 50 feet long.  They all work together to find a gateway to another universe because this universe is collapsing faster than initially predicted by the plant man and snake woman.  A breeding population of humans will be needed in the other universe, so the plant man and snake woman have to trick tribes of humans, who have a superstitious fear of leaving the Earth for another universe, into joining the mission.  The less savory or easy-to-identify-with characters, like the thief, witch, and laser cannon robot, get killed or deactivated, but eventually Deyv and his girlfriend and the two smart giants get to another universe along with enough humans to constitute a viable gene pool.  The humans leave behind their dopey superstitions and religious fetishes, including the soul eggs, no longer needing those crutches--Dark is the Sun is in the science fiction tradition in which smart nonhumans are a contrast to wicked stupid humans, the common people need the cognitive elite to manipulate them to survive, and religion is denigrated, as well as the adventure tradition in which you've got to climb something or kill somebody every three or four pages.

When I was young, I watched a ton of TV.  Every so often something thrilling or brilliant would be on the screen, like a woman I had a crush on like Isabella Rossellini or Dana Delany or a monster like King Kong or Godzilla.  But mostly the TV was bland and inoffensive, merely a good way to kill time, one hour after another.  Dark is the Sun is kind of like that; it goes on and on, not boring or annoying, but for the most part lacking emotional or intellectual effect on the reader.  This monster's way of killing you, how the party builds a raft, the thief's expression of his love of stealing or the witch's expression of contempt for her children, et al, are all faintly entertaining or amusing, but not powerful, and you don't care who gets killed or who makes it to the other universe, and many episodes feel like they are superfluous or dead ends.  The tone of the novel is flat; every scene feels the same, Farmer apparently uninterested in building up to a climax or springing any surprises on you or doing that thing where he builds tension and then releases it in a catharsis.  But every scene is at least OK; Farmer is a professional.

We're calling Dark is the Sun acceptable.  It took me a while to read because reading it wasn't any more attractive than engaging in my other hobbies--the art museums, Telengard, the model trains, the antique stores--so I'd read only a few chapters a day, but it wasn't painful.  It may be a while before I read another long novel; in my opinion, the short story is a superior vehicle for presenting the SF ideas and horror scenarios that I find compelling.

If you want more insight into what is actually going on in this plot-heavy and incident-rich novel, feel free to read on for a blow by blow description of the saga of Deyv, the man dragged by fate and a talking vegetable to enlightenment and to another universe.  I'm warning you, though, that you may not find it asengaging as a trip to the art museum or the antique store.

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The first five chapters of Dark is the Sun consist of Deyv fighting off and escaping from attacks by monsters, as well as dealing which such problems as needing to find food to eat and water to drink.  Many of the novel's 46 chapters deal with such every day events--eventually we even get passages in which the characters have to figure out where to go to the bathroom.  Recurring earthquakes that cause fissures, avalanches and tsunamis add to the constant danger faced by Deyv and all the people of this world.

The sixth chapter introduces the twist that gets the actual plot rolling--while asleep, somebody steals Deyv's soul egg!  Without a soul egg, Deyv's people believe, a man has no soul and so will be shunned, thought of as a ghost--when he dies, he will be unable to enter heaven and live forever with his ancestors.  Farmer in this novel is not only charting Deyv's physical journey from Earth to another, better, universe, but Deyv's intellectual journey, in which he leaves behind his dumb superstitions, and, if only tentatively, embraces science.  In Chapter 6 Devy is at square one, rock bottom, the slave to superstition.  The loss of his soul egg throws our guy into a deep depression, and he refuses to eat or drink, starts to die.  But then he is struck by lightning and this convinces him that the sky god wants him to live, wants him to find the thief and retrieve his soul egg.  So he sets out to after the thief, about whom he knows nothing, and whose trail has been erased by the rain--Deyv trusts in the sky god to guide him.

In Chapter 7 Deyv encounters a woman who has also had her soul egg stolen, an exotic beauty with blue eyes, blonde hair, a straight nose, thin lips, and small high breasts--Deyv's own people are dark and have thick lips and the women have big breasts.  Deyv and this woman, Vana, join forces to find the soul egg thief.  Soon they make friends, in Chapter 8, with another victim of the thief, a sort of centaur-plant-man of great intelligence and learning whose name to humans sounds like Sloosh.  The plant-man, broad-minded but a little arrogant in his superiority, throughout the novel is a sort of spokesman for what science fiction fans (Farmer presumes) believe (or should believe): the pursuit of knowledge is glorious, you should think of the future and consider the entire ecosystem in your decision-making, human beings are violent, selfish, short-sighted and greedy, etc.  Sloosh also drives the plot and overcomes most plot obstacles, being so much bigger and smarter and more moral than the humans.  He can see people's psychic residue, the traces they leave behind everywhere they go, making catching the thief a viable proposition.  By getting in touch with the memories of his fellow plants around the world, Sloosh can also sort of see into the past and into the future, and in Chapter 9 delivers a science lecture and a history lecture about the big bang, human history (mankind has risen and fallen many times, during the rises even having enough power to move Earth away from the dying sun and replace the sun with an artificial energy source) and the inevitable collapse of the universe.  This collapse will be soon on a cosmic timeline, but at this point Sloosh still thinks it many thousands of years away, so while it is a big deal to the plant man, Deyv and Vana just shrug it off.

The main cast catches up to the thief, a furry person.  The thief has been captured by a village's warriors, and in Chapter 10 Deyv and Vana watch from their perch in a tree, which affords a view over the village stockade, as the thief gets tortured.  (Siting up in a tree watching the activities in a primitive village is the kind of thing Tarzan does all the time that Deyv also does all the time.  In real life, don't the people who build fortifications chop down all the nearby trees, if only to serve as material for the fortification?)  In Chapter 11 the villagers are all drunk and D and V invade the village and outfight the few guards who aren't drunk as well as the village canines, but narrowly miss retrieving the eggs because the red-furred thief manages himself to escape in the confusion, snatching the eggs again in the process.  This whole sequence is an example of an action scene that is sort of confusing and overwritten, and a scene that feels like a dead end or like a superfluity--eventually, to advance the plot,  Deyv and Vana have to catch the thief and get their soul eggs, and in this scene they almost, but not quite, succeed, so we have to wait until a later scene accomplishes 100% of what this scene only achieves 90% of.

Chapter 12 continues the pursuit of the thief and is full of more monster encounters, and 13 features travel through a tunnel drilled through a mountain and then on dugouts on a river.  Farmer spends plenty of time on the debate among the characters about how to get to the other end of the tunnel.  The fourteenth chapter sees our heroes riding an organic air ship, a big bag of gas, pursuing the thief, who rides a similar living balloon.  A recurring theme of Dark is the Sun is animals genetically engineered by past civilizations to act as machines, in particular vehicles, that have gone feral after those civilizations collapsed.  These air beasts just drift with the wind, and the thief's gets carried on a different course than the one our heroes are riding due to a change in wind direction.  Deyv and company punch a hole in their organic vehicle so it descends.  In Chapter 15, while escaping some monsters, they discover an astounding artifact, a space craft that can be folded up into a cube three feet across.  The adventurers are able to whip this thing open fast enough to jump into it and seal it up when threatened by enemies--they do this in Chapter 16, which also features a monster that exudes a euphoric drug that reduces humans to joyful incompetent delirium.  I kept thinking they were eventually going to fly someplace in this space ship, but they never do.  They often use it as a mobile fort, however--while light enough to carry around, the space craft is also essentially impenetrable.

The plot moves forward in Chapter 17 when our heroes, a quarter or third of the way through the novel, catch up to the furry thief.  But he doesn't have the eggs--he was hired to steal them by a witch, and now she has custody of them, having seized them from the foolish thief, along with his own soul egg, without even paying him.  This woman is not a magician or a devil-worshiper like the witches we are used to, just a woman who has all kinds of ancient high-tech equipment and uses her arsenal to enslave people and generally exploit the locals.  (As in a Burroughs novel, slavery in Dark is the Sun isn't treated as some disgusting crime against humanity but just a fact of life.)  She is the latest in a long line of witches who have long dominated the area from behind their monster-guarded fortification.  Also present on the periphery of her lair are fruit trees that drug those who eat them into having a positive attitude about the witch, to thinking she is the victim of discrimination and not in fact a cruel tyrant and slaver.  Woah, maybe there was a tree like this in New York City that made the students at the grad school I worked at say all those odd things about Mao Zedong, Hugo Chavez, and Vladimir Lenin.

Our main cast, now augmented by the thief, sneaks into the witch's lair, which consists of three of the living gas bag  airships lashed together and floating at the end of a tether like 600 feet above.  The fight up on the three air beasts with the witch and her minions takes up Chapters 18 through 21.  The battle is very detailed, with lots of dialogue as the heroes plot their next moves and lots of sneak attacks and maneuvering among and between the various gas bag airships, and it all is a little hard to follow and not terribly exciting.

Immediately after the fight, in Chapter 22, we get a lecture from Sloosh on the rotation of the Earth--over the last few billion years, the Earth's rotation has varied due to manipulations made by super-high tech human civilizations.  D and V require this lecture because their people don't have clocks or even the concept of hours and minutes, and so have trouble understanding that the air ship they have captured is going 100 miles an hour thanks to a storm so they will be over a thousand miles from home by the time they can land safely.  During this flight our heroes torture those of the witch's family members and slaves whom they captured during the fight.  But these underlings don't know where the soul eggs are, so the plant man negotiates with the witch, who reveals where she hid the eggs--back where the air ships were moored, of course.  The witch explains why she hired the furry thief to steal the eggs, and tells her life story in Chapter 23.  As so often happens in these adventure stories, the villain is more interesting than the protagonists (consider Dracula, Fu Manchu, Darth Vader, etc.)

As a young woman, the witch, thrown out of her home by her mother, went on an adventure with the plan of stealing some high-tech artifacts from a space alien known as the Shemibob who is currently living on Earth.  This alien captured her and the witch had to serve the alien as a slave for some time; during this time the witch learned that the Shemibob had the secret of immortality and even had theories on how to travel to another universe when the collapse of this one was imminent.  Eventually the witch escaped and took up her rightful station, seizing her mother's lair and artifacts.  Now an old woman, the witch has been stealing soul eggs in hopes of thereby attracting heroic individuals who would venture to the land of the Shemibob--known as the Jeweled Wasteland--and acquire the secrets of immortality and how to travel between universes and bring them back to her--she would hold their soul eggs as hostages.  It seems the witch has stolen hundreds of soul eggs over the years and sent many adventurers into the Jeweled Wasteland, but none has yet returned.

The living airship eventually comes down in a body of water, and our characters narrowly escape from a diverse collection of sea monsters, including living sailing ships.  The folding space ship is unfolded, and they float inside it, drifting until they hit shore on an island in Chapter 25.  Having just introduced us to the idea of portals to other universes in Chapter 23, Farmer puts one on the mountain peak of this island two chapters later.  A man with a beard and pants, maybe a time traveler because man has left behind facial hair and pants many generations ago, or maybe just from a younger universe, appears briefly from the portal and then returns into it; the gateway projects a field that causes nausea, so our people can't enter it, not that Deyv or Vana wants to--at this point, only Sloosh and the witch are really interested in other universes.

Most of the characters want to leave the island, but the surrounding water is teeming with monsters big enough to destroy any boat they can build.  In Chapter 26 Deyv suggests boarding one of the smaller living sailing ships and seizing control of it.  Success is achieved in Chapter 27, and the protagonists guide the monster towards the mainland.  Along the way a larger sailing ship beast chases down their ride and has sex with it--the explosive ejaculations kill one of the witch's sons, but we don't care because just four pages ago the witch was saying how her sons were weaklings and she was ashamed of them.  "'What have I ever done to deserve such a brood? My slaves are better men than you, and that includes the women!”'  The witch has a daughter who is more admirable than her sons; besides being helpful to Mom and brave in the face of danger, she is "long-legged and slim but had huge breasts and a long narrow face, a long hooked nose, and dark eyes."  (If I was editing this book, I would have made sure the face and nose were described before the "but"--"slim but had dark eyes" doesn't make any sense.)

On the mainland the party begins the long march to the Jeweled Wasteland, Deyv and Vana having decided to accompany the quest for the door to another universe which animates the witch and Sloosh (the furred thief just wants to steal what the Shemibob has.)  They march for thousands of miles in Chapter 28; Farmer also uses the chapter to develop the sexual relationship between D and V, who haven't been having sex because they find each other's lack of a soul egg repellant, as do the witch's slaves, who reject D and V's advances.

In Chapter 29 our heroes are captives of a people who I guess are descended from dolphins or whales or something, people seven feet tall with blowholes on the tops of their skulls.  One of Farmer's little jokes is how these people, just as primitive as Deyv and Vana's tribes, paint both six-pointed stars and swastikas on their bodies, and Sloosh talks about how these symbols have had very different meanings over Earth's billions-years-long history.  These cetacean people have a stone and metal god that they have been trying to communicate with.  Every captive they take they tie up in front of the god and compel to try to communicate with the god via flashing lights--they give the captive an oversized firefly (growing up in New Jersey we called these "lightning bugs.")  So far, none of the captives has had much luck passing to the god the message that the village shaman would like the immobile god to come to visit the village shaman's hut.  Each captive has died in the attempt and then been eaten by the tribe.

In Chapter 30 our party is dragged to the god--the plant man thinks it is a machine, maybe a vehicle from outer space, that doesn't move because it is low on fuel or something.  The god's light pulses are laser beams that invariably slay any captive before they can exchange any information.  First to go among Deyv's companions captive is the witch's other despised son.  Only one captive is killed per meal time, two or three a day, so Deyv and Vana have time, under the pressure of imminent death, to realize their soul eggs were not the repository of their souls but just some device that became a crutch for fallible weak humanity and they should have been having a love relationship all this time.

After two of the witch's slaves have been lasered down and it is Deyv's turn at bat, Sloosh, in Chapter 31, persuades the tribe's leader to place captives a few feet to one side when they try to talk to the god so the laser will miss them.  Soon Deyv's party are learning the alien machine's language.  This part of the novel is less credible than the others--why didn't the shaman soon realize that he could preserve those he sent to talk to the god by letting them stand out of the line of fire of the communications laser?  Because the captives tasted good?  This whale-man section reads like a satire of religion more than something believable meant to generate excitement or suspense--it even ends deus ex machina style.

One of the many earthquakes that we hear about periodically strikes and the village falls into the sea and almost every member of the tribe of whale-people is killed. The surviving villagers commit suicide.  Deyv and Vana's party survives, as does the alien machine person--having fallen into the ocean it uses valuable scarce fuel to drive out of the drink.  In Chapter 32 the heroes find radioactive material--from the same meteorite that brought the machine alien--with which to fuel it up, and then ride it towards the Jeweled Wasteland.  Their journey is interrupted in Chapter 33 when they are attacked by a kaiju-sized ("tracks in the forest, prints at least two hundred feet long....the apish skull....was big enough to house several human families") creature--the alien robot machine cuts it down with its laser.  This sequence is the one excerpted behind the cover of the paperback to try to interest prospective buyers, but it is a non sequitur sequence that has no influence on the plot.  Deyv and companions then come to the Jeweled Wasteland, a landscape devoid of life that consists entirely of fields, hills, valleys, etc., of faceted translucent stones.  Our heroes drive through this place for some weeks, facing floods and earthquakes, until they reach the castle of the Shemibob.

In Chapter 34 our cast explores the castle, and in 35 they meet the Shemibob.  This alien is a sort of snake-centipede-centaur, a creature with a female human torso and head that are twice the size of a human head and trunk and are equipped with fangs and a long tongue and quills on the head instead of hair and a different number of fingers and so forth, while below the hairless genitals is a 40-foot-long hideous worm body with 40 humanoid legs.  The Shemibob reveals that she has been trapped in her castle by what acts like a one-way forcefield that has allowed the party in but won't let them out.  In a way I did not understand, the forcefield keeps water and air from coming to the castle, even though it let Deyv and Vana's party in, so the Shemibob's high tech machinery has been manufacturing new air.  This forcefield is an effect of a gateway, presumably to another universe, deep within the castle.  The gateway causes fear and nausea, like that at the island of Chapter 25, but they will have to go through it eventually because the time will come when the raw materials needed by the machines to make new air are exhausted.  Oh, wait, the forcefield starts contracting just after the Shemibob tells her life story so this alien monster and our adventurers have to jump into the gateway now.  In Chapter 36 they find themselves in what they think is a cavern in another universe.  Using their various pieces of equipment and their skills, they escape the rubble of the castle that is flying through the gateway behind them and bust through a cavern wall to the emerge below the ocean surface and then rise to an island beach where they come to realize this is not some other universe after all but just some other place on their Earth.  I always find these bait and switch things, when the author leads you to expect something wild is going to happen and then what happens is not really that wild, to be an annoyance.

In Chapter 37 the Shemibob reveals she has made soul eggs for D and V by scanning their brain waves.  The two check to see if they are compatible mates, and they are, but they wonder if maybe the Shemibob's eggs aren't legit, if the ophidian alien maybe fashioned the eggs specifically to show they were compatible, whether they were or not.  We readers learn more about the eggs. 

Here I will note that, despite all the descriptions of breasts, Dark is the Sun may be seen as a feminist story.  Vana is right in there with Deyv killing with her blow gun and stone tomahawk and arguing about what to do next.  The wisest and most ambitious human character is the witch, and her most admirable offspring is her daughter.  The most powerful character in the novel is the Shemibob, and she is portrayed as a good leader, pushing everybody around and deceiving them for their own good. 

The party begins the trek across the planet to the site of another gateway detected by the Shemibob--maybe this one will lead to another universe?  The plant man urges Deyv and Vana to sign on to the trip to another universe, arguing that this universe is collapsing faster than expected, as evidenced by the increased number of earthquakes, but the humans are not sure and tentatively plan to leave the party when they approach the lands of their tribes, which conveniently are on the way.  In Chapter 38, on this long march, Vana gets pregnant and the machine alien tells the story of its life and people.  An earthquake opens up a fissure and the machine alien falls into it along with the witch's daughter, who has survived this long without having any effect on the plot--I thought she would have a big moment, taking over the family business of being a witch, causing a love triangle with Deyv and Vana, something like that, but no, she just dies having made no impression on the narrative, just leaving in our minds the image of a girl with huge breasts and a long hooked nose.  The party does manage to rescue the machine that protects them with its laser weapon.  Whew, close one.

Chapter 39 largely concerns the personalities of the thief and the witch.  The party has arrived at another wasteland to be crossed, and the thief proposes killing the witch, whom he hates, saying feeding her in a land where no food is available would just be a waste.  The superior beings--the noble and wise Sloosh and the alien vermiform Shemibob--defend the witch, as do Deyv and Vana--this chapter is a SF staple, the human race put on trial by superior beings.  By defending the witch, Deyv and Vana pass the test.  Vana also gives birth in this chapter.

At the center of this wasteland the characters discover the 200-foot-high tower from which those indecipherable flying symbols regularly emerge and fly around the Earth.  You remember them, right?  It takes many pages but eventually our heroes get to the top of the tower and look down through an unbreakable skylight into this millions' years old unbreakable tower.  Inside sits a figure in suspended animation which Farmer's description makes us readers think looks like Santa Claus.  A joke, I guess.  Sloosh and the serpent alien come to believe the flying figures and this tower are a clock that foretells the end of this universe, and the end is soon.  This chapter, the fortieth, just tells us something we've been told already, and takes its time doing it.  I guess the value proposition of this chapter is that there is the Santa Claus joke and that we are supposed to enjoy the sense of wonder of the characters who are looking at a building and a machine millions or billions of years old, even though we've already been exposed to tons of stuff that is super duper old.

The long march continues and in Chapter 41 the child is starting to talk and Vana is preggers again.  The furry thief murders the witch and runs off with lots of Shemibob's high tech devices, but is killed in an avalanche.  The snake woman's devices are lost under the fallen rocks.  The machine alien has to shut down because it is out of radioactive fuel and there is no more to be found on this worn out old Earth.  In Chapter 42 it is months later and the surviving adventurers find another of the gateways.  D and V are finally convinced--by a dream--to try to get their tribes to join the mission to leave the Earth and reestablish the human race in another, younger universe.  In Chapter 43, the characters learn that Deyv and Vana's tribes have moved and cannot be found.  Can't Sloosh follow their psychic emanations like he followed the thief's?  Maybe Farmer explains this, maybe not, I forget.  Anyway, Deyv and Vana will have to go to another universe without their tribes, which causes much grief.  

To have a suitably large breeding community, says Sloosh, they will have to bring other tribes to the other universe.  To win a nearby tribe over to this scheme, which of course seems insane to the savage tribespeople, our heroes exterminate a colony of monsters who are always harassing the tribe--participating in the extermination campaign leads to the death of Deyv's dog, while back at the camp guarding the baby, Deyv's cat is killed by a snake which also kills Deyv's and Vana's child.  I guess Farmer wipes out all traces of Dyev's past life to emphasize that he is beginning a new life with a new tribe in a new universe.  Farmer describes all this negotiating and hunting and weeping in tedious detail in chapters 43, 44, 45 and 46.  Following long science fiction tradition, the cognitive elite--the alien snake woman and the plant-man--use trickery to get the humans to go along with their risky plan, which of course is entirely for the humans' own benefit.  Also, less than 25 pages from the end of the 400 page novel, Farmer is still describing quotidian activities like how people find food and where they go to the bathroom.  Farmer signally fails to generate a sense of excitement that we are approaching the end of this story--you would only know you are near the end because you know there are few pages left.

Finally, the heroes go through a portal to a young Earth-like planet that still has a conventional sun and thus sunrises and sunsets.  In Chapter 47 the people of those tribes they manipulated follow them through the portal, leaving their gods and ritual items behind.  The human race will endure after the collapse of our universe.

Tuesday, July 14, 2026

Night Screams by Bill Pronzini and Barry N. Malzberg

What now?  What did the forces want her to do next?  Leave the house, try to get away in the darkness?  No.  The murderer was out there, watching, waiting; he would see her if she tried to leave, and she couldn't outrun a man through the snow.  Hide?  No.  There wasn't anywhere to hide that she wouldn't be found.
1981 paperback edition

A year or so ago, I guess, I spent four dollars on a 1979 Playboy Press hardcover copy of the novel Night Screams by critically acclaimed mystery writer Bill Pronzini and our hero Barry N. Malzberg.  The time has come to read it!  I'll be reading my physical copy, the jacket of which is severely damaged, though the actual book itself seems to be in good shape; an image of a noose is inscribed on the blue front cover, which is kind of fun.  You can find your own copy of the novel on e-bay for less than ten bucks if you aren't picky, or read a scan available as I write this at the internet archive.

Before we dig into this 260 or so page thriller, here are links to my blogposts about other Pronzini/Malzberg collabs.

"On Account of Darkness"    

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Sad to say, I am pretty down on Night Screams.  We look into a book like this for sex and violence and fear, first and foremost, and very few of the pages actually feature murders, fights, or titillating sex, or actually generate any emotion in the reader.  There are a lot of characters, and none are particularly interesting or likable, I guess so that we don't feel bad when they are killed or revealed to be the killer.  The characters also don't act in a fashion that feels very believable; they are cartoonish, but unfortunately not funny.

The writing of Night Screams is bland and lacks personality, with lots of what I would consider filler passages about scenery that, I admit, are meant to create an atmosphere of isolation and unease (it's a cold snowy winter in the country and many of the characters have an aversion to cold and/or the country.)  Pronzini and Malzberg seem to be trying to appeal to the reader by exploiting in a childish fashion various cultural divides, perhaps catering to who they think will buy a book from Playboy Press, or maybe simply appealing to the prejudices of the editors at Playboy Press.  Basically, on one side we've got hip with-it young urban types who accept the validity of psychic powers with the casualness that you and I accept the validity of electricity, and on the other bigoted rural oldsters who think the paranormal is either bunk or the work of the devil.  Many of the main characters of Night Screams have psychic powers, but their powers rarely actually help them accomplish anything, though the inclusion of premonitions and precognition gives Pronzini and Malzberg a chance to introduce the theme of free will vs determinism; unfortunately the repeated invocations of this theme only serve to strip agency from the characters, who, upon seeing some future, are compelled to make that future come true.  Again and again we are told the psychic characters' choices are circumscribed by these vaguely defined "forces."

As for the plot, it is normal slasher/giallo/Ten Little You Know Whats stuff--we have a bunch of characters who are getting killed one by one and the detective has to figure out which character is the killer while he enjoys a romance with the most attractive and most normal of the cast of suspects/potential victims.  Many scenes feel like dead ends as the characters try one method or another to gather info and come up empty.  I find these ultimately sterile scenes annoying, but I guess such scenes are the norm for detective fiction.

So, thumbs down for Night Screams, even if Robert Bloch [claims to have] liked it.  Despite my serious misgivings, the novel was reprinted in paperback in 1981, by our French friends in 1989, and here in America in 2011--hilariously, the woman on the almost indecipherable cover of the 2011 edition (is that a hand or a snowdrift in the lower half of the cover?) seems to have facial piercings.  

Obviously I am going to blame Pronzini for the weakness of this novel, not my spirit animal Barry N. Malzberg, even though my academic experience has taught me to expect that the second, third or fourth author of a publication probably did more actual work on the text than the top name on the list.  After all, Night Screams is structured and presented as a mainstream detective story with a bunch of suspects and victims and a detective who bangs the top suspect slash potential victim, plus a lot of mainstream pseudo literary gunk in which people look out at the snow; Night Screams does not feel like a science fiction novel or like the typical Malzberg novel which is a series of surreal events that may or may not be the delusions of a madman who is either an astronaut or has some mundane life, spiced up with crazy jokes that reflect the narrator's or the protagonist's insanity.  But we can see Malzbergian elements in Night Screams.  Malzberg protagonists are often self-deluded and/or monomaniacal to the point of insanity, and one of the story's characters, Neal, kind of fits that bill.  Malzbergian protagonists also generally suffer sexual dysfunction, and while our main characters, Brad the FBI man and Leslie the psychic landscape painter, are sexual athletes who are marvelously sexually compatible (on their first date, Brad has two orgasms and is able to maintain his erection between orgasms without having to take any time to recover, while Leslie has three orgasms and tells Brad he can pound her as hard as he likes), the second rank characters and the minor characters all seem to have problems in the bedroom.  

So, there is my sad verdict on, and my Malzberg-centric analysis of, Night Screams.  If you want a plot summary and some additional evidence that back up the various claims I make above about why Night Screams is not very good, read on below.  And remember, I am going to totally spoil the "absolutely stunning surprise ending."

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Part One, nine pages, introduces us to a serial killer as he sneaks into the house of a female flutist, Sandra, and strangles her with a blue velvet cord as she is practicing on the flute.  Once she is dead, he gets another, different piece of rope and hangs up the dead woman with a noose.  It is implied that the murderer is periodically taken over by some supernatural force, that this being or whatever it is drives the killer to commit these foul deeds by giving him premonitory visions of the murder he has to commit--should he not make these visions come true, he will himself die!  In the kill scene, Pronzini and Malzberg focus on the sound of the victim's screams and on the smell of her feces as her bowels relax upon death.  Yuck!

Part One also introduces Leslie Abbot, a woman landscape painter.  She has a vision of the murder of the flutist that includes the sound of the screams and the stink of the feces.  And another vision--of the murderer approaching her own house!

Part Two is the meat of Night Screams, like 240 pages. 

Leslie the painter is a member of a little group of people with psychic powers.  Recently they numbered seven, but today only five remain, as Sandra the flutist was one of their group, as well as a man killed a month earlier, Tony.  Pronzini and Malzberg almost immediately reintroduce the theme of people being compelled to do things against their will, telling us Leslie often has the experience of doing things because "some random events or series of events seemed to be preordained by whatever forces controlled the universe."  I don't like this theme--to me a good story is about people making decisions and succeeding or falling due to the nature and extent of their own personalities and abilities, not because of some decree of fate.  I also don't like invocations of "the universe" and its decrees in modern writing--such ideas feel like a vague, toothless and bloodless substitute religion for people too educated and too hip to believe in Judaism or Christianity.  

The founder and leader of the group of psykers, Oscar, an elderly widower who edits a trade journal for pet dealers (circulation: 10,000), calls a meeting of the five survivors in Vermont, where Leslie has been living for a few months in an old church converted into an artist's studio.  Also among the psykers are skinny Jo from New York City, a chain-smoking theatrical agent who calls people "darling" and "dear;" overweight failed actress Gloria of upstate New York, where she manages a community playhouse; and Neal of Long Island, a married accountant who hopes to use his psychic powers to become an entertainer like his hero The Amazing Kreskin.    

So here we have our core list of potential victims and likely suspects.  Having established this crew of middle-class creatives with whom writers like Pronzini and Malzberg can identify, we get our intro to the agents of the state, beneficiaries of the people's taxes, who are going to end up dealing with the case of the murdered psychics, FBI men Brad Saxon and Stan Walker.  Connecticut-based Walker is a passive by-the-book kind of guy, whom DC-based field agent Brad, the younger but senior agent, a hip urbanite who complains about Hoover, fears the Bureau is fascistic, and wears his hair long, finds annoying.  Brad believes in the ability of psychic powers to help solve crimes, and is eager to meet the assembled psykers.  As all my readers who are attorneys know, the FBI doesn't get involved in the murders of psychic flutists unless the penumbra of their psychic emanations affects interstate commerce; Brad and Stan's real mission is investigating the disappearance from DC of Morris Evers, Atomic Energy Commission administrator--Sandra was his cousin, bringing her murder into the bailiwick of the FBI men.

Having set their tale in New England in January, Pronzini and Malzberg inflict on us plenty of descriptions of snow and ice and slush, many scenes of people looking out the window at the snow and scenes of people putting on and taking off their mufflers and coats and bitching about the weather.  I guess this is supposed to add atmosphere, make things feel more oppressive, more dangerous, but these scenes sort of make the eyes glaze over.  Somewhat more successful at making the reader uneasy and generating suspense is how P & M portray New Englanders as superstitious types who think that psychic powers are witchcraft.  "The old Puritan beliefs died hard up here, if they ever died at all."  The local people all fear and hate the psykers, so we can add them to the list of suspects, I suppose.  Somebody, presumably one of the villagers, regularly makes threatening calls to Leslie, saying stuff like "We don't want your kind here."  I guess P & M are trying to win for the psychics some of the sympathy readers would feel for Jews or blacks under threat from bigots, as well as stoke the contempt for rural people felt by the city folk whom P & M assume make up their audience (Brad considers the little village where Leslie lives to have "an aura of emptiness and provincial and cultural isolation...[to be] a place on the edge of nowhere.")

Brad and Walker come to the meeting Oscar has organized and ask questions of the assembled psykers.  (The word the characters use is "clairvoyants.")  All of the clairvoyants act like weirdos or jerks with the exception of Leslie the painter.  Leslie is also the prettiest of the women and Brad immediately develops a crush on her.  So, it is Leslie whom Brad enlists to use her psychic powers to help the investigation.  The next day Brad and Leslie go to Sandra the flutist's place to see if Leslie can get any psychic insight into what happened to Sandra.  Leslie has such powerful visions that she almost collapses, but these visions don't add much to the visions she had when the murders took place.  This book is full of people with psychic powers, but these powers don't actually accomplish much until the last 20% or so of the novel.  That evening the painter and FBI agent have a date at Leslie's house, and share their love of jazz (holy crap, P & M really are aiming to please the Playboy audience with this book) and then go to bed together, where they have the best sex of their lives--after another of the menacing calls from the anti-psychic harasser comes through, of course.

In the first hundred pages of the book we get a bunch of scenes with goofball Neal and cynical jerk Jo, helping us to get to know them, but little exposure to Gloria, even though it is Gloria who is the victim in the book's second murder scene.  Leslie, asleep in bed with Brad, has a vision of the murder.  P & M arrange things so that we have reason to suspect Oscar.  Walker arrives on the scene in time to chase the killer, but the killer gets away--after all, as one of the novel's skeptics of psychic powers and a by-the-book guy with a crew cut instead of a cool hip jazz aficionado with long hair, we have to expect Walker to fail.  This chase is actually pretty exciting, probably the high point of the novel.

Brad brings Leslie to the site of Gloria's murder, but, as usual, her powers don't turn up any useful info.  The next actual bit of excitement is Leslie finding her house vandalized, all her paintings destroyed--except the painting inspired by her vision of the killer approaching her home!  Dun--dun--Dunnnn.  

Brad and Walker get the news that Evers has been found--he was killed by his homosexual lover.  Now there is no reason for the FBI to be involved in the murders of the three clairvoyants.  (Why did P & M make their protagonist an FBI man, anyway?  So he would be a city slicker that Playboy staff and readers could identify with in the way they would not identify with a county sheriff or state trooper?)  Of course Brad wants to stay on the case, and luckily a blizzard rolls in and the FBI men are stuck in Leslie's psyker-hating burg.  At the novel's halfway point, Brad assembles all 20-odd citizens of the village at the inn to interrogate them, hoping to figure out who has been telephoning and now breaking, entering and vandalizing Leslie's home.  This allows P & M to present to us for comic relief some starry eyed ex-hippies turned Jesus freaks who say stuff like "Praise Jesus" and suggest the psychics are possessed by the devil.  Of course, no clues emerge from the interrogations.  Leslie does not attend this event, even though she wants to, because "The controlling forces again, the sense of inevitability: She was here because she was supposed to be here."  Night Screams is the kind of book in which people who believe in Christ are portrayed as idiots but people who believe in psychic powers and do things because abstract ill-defined "forces" make them are considered eminently sensible.

Neal sneaks away from the big village get-together organized by the FBI because he had a vision of himself in the basement of the local antique store--the alcoholic antiques dealer is one of the most vociferous anti-psychics, a prime suspect in the harassment campaign against Leslie and, according to Neal, a prime suspect in the slayings of the clairvoyants.  Neal has been portrayed as a comic relief nerd loser, but he doesn't just break into the antique store because he is foolish--he has to do what he saw in the vision.  "You couldn't deny a precognition; you could get into trouble that way, trying to change what you were destined to do."  What is the point of psychic powers if they don't help you make decisions, to avoid trouble?  Why are the psychic powers even in this story?--I swear the plot would work just the same if they were left out, just have the villagers fear "city folk" instead of "clairvoyants."

The trip to the antiques store leads to a scene, maybe supposed to be funny, of Neal and the alcoholic antiques dealer almost coming to blows and Brad stumbling upon their confrontation and calming them down by "rocking" his revolver, which I guess is a typo for "cocking."  I hope it's not a typo for "racking."  Neal's psychic vision and the whole antique store sequence, which is pretty lengthy and includes Brad doing a top to bottom search of the antique store, contribute nothing to the plot.

Oscar has a vision of his own and runs out into the snow.  Jo follows him, only to be ambushed and murdered.  Leslie also has a vision that leads her and Brad to where Jo hangs from a noose, dead, under a covered bridge (like on the book jacket)--Oscar is still there, in a daze, too out of his wits to offer any clues.  Again we get the idea that Oscar may be to blame.  Is this just P & M trying to fool us?  Or is Oscar under the control of some other psyker, the real villain who is using Oscar merely as a tool?

As the final 50 pages of this caper begin, Brad and Leslie go to Leslie's house to have sex; Brad leaves Walker at the inn to look after Oscar and Neal.  Oscar is still out of his mind, and is so for the remainder of Part Two, but Neal has psychic visions that actually offer some value.  Neal has seen images from the past that prove the antique dealer is a fraud who sells fake antiques he makes himself and that he was the one who has been calling Leslie and who destroyed her paintings while drunk.  He wanted to get rid of the clairvoyants because he feared they would uncover his fraud.  (It is never explained why he destroyed many canvases but left one alone, the one influenced by Leslie's vision of the attack on herself--I guess we have to credit the forces of the universe for this, like so much else.)  The antiques dealer runs off and Walker chases him; left alone, Neal has a vision that sends him to Leslie's house.

After banging Leslie, Brad goes downstairs to get a sandwich and sees a figure outside.  Is it Neal?  Oscar?  Who knows?  Brad goes out into the snow to chase this mysterious character and we hear a lot about how cold it is--I thought the line "The wind-chill factor had already begun to suck body heat from him" was pretty funny, though maybe because I am the kind of person who is skeptical of "wind chill factor" and "heat index" and "real feel temp."  The mystery man ambushes Brad and knocks our hero out with some firewood.

This leaves Leslie to deal with the killer alone.  Both Leslie and the killer select weapons and tactics and strategies based on what their visions and what "the forces" permit them--they are both puppets on strings rather than agents who determine their own goals and how to pursue them, and then succeed or fail based on their decisions and abilities.  Totally lame storytelling, though I guess in keeping with Malzberg's pessimistic view of life.

The fight between Leslie and the killer is not bad, but the revelation of who the killer is is total garbage that made angry.  The person who has been killing all the psychics is a minor character I had been paying no attention to, the innkeeper's overweight wife.  (I guess we are supposed to believe her fat body looks like a man's in the distance, like when Walker chased her and when Brad saw her through the window while making a little postcoital snackerino.)  Why would a fat woman who runs an inn with her husband kill psykers?  Because she is possessed by the ghost of her dead brother, a character never mentioned in the story until page 245 of a novel the last numbered page of which is page 262.  (Maybe we are supposed to think this possession by a man gives the innkeeper's wife a masculine gait and masculine strength, at least when in kill mode, making it more believable that she can pass for a man and so successfully fight people and run away from people and lift dead bodies above her head so she can hang them from nooses.)

When she was thirteen, the innkeeper's future wife and her eight-year-old brother were playing cowboys and Indians (maybe you say "Native Americans") and she tied up her brother with a blue velvet cord and accidentally strangled him.  To make the tragic accident look like suicide, she strung her brother up with a noose.  A few years later, the brother's ghost came to inhabit his sister's body.  (This is all kind of reminding me of the Genesis masterpiece, "The Musical Box.")  Dead brother prefers living, even if he has to share a woman's body, to being dead, so when Leslie came to town, and other psykers followed, he decided to kill them because he feared they would detect his presence and send him back to the afterlife.

This little ghost plot isn't terrible but it is very frustrating that there were no clues that this fat innkeeper's wife was important to the story or had a tragic past or had masculine attributes or anything like that.  I thought a good mystery story was supposed to provide the reader an opportunity to figure out who dun it (well, at least I heard T. S. Eliot say that.)  There is no way the reader could figure out a ghost who was possessing a minor character was to blame because said ghost was never mentioned.  Come on, Pronzini!

Neal's psychic powers guide him to the unconscious Brad, whom he arouses--Neal is the only psyker in this book whose powers ever seem to actually produce.  Leslie is losing the fight and is about to die when Brad rescues her.  Instead of surrendering to Brad the ghost decides to direct his sister's body to jump out a high window--the final fight sequence takes place in the belfry; you remember Leslie's house is an old church, don't you?--to their deaths.

Part Three, three pages of text, lets us know that Brad and Leslie live happily ever after in a city apartment, that Oscar recovers his wits, and offers a joke scene in which Neal is a guest on a TV talk show where he has a vision of the host and a guest having oral sex backstage.  We never learn any more about the "forces," or Brad's or Neal's or the innkeeper's reaction to learning that a ghost was forcing the innkeeper's wife to massacre people or what happens to the alcoholic dealer of bogus antiques.  What a load of crap.

Thursday, July 9, 2026

J Merril 1959 recs: P J Farmer, C G Finney & C L Fontenay

We here at MPorcius Fiction Log are exploring 1959 speculative fiction, and we've got a map to guide us, a map drawn by that Trotskyist cheerleader of the New Wave, Judith Merril.  The map comes from the back of Merril's fifth Year's Best anthology, where lies a long list, alphabetically organized, of Honorable Mentions.  Of course, I am not making every stop on the map; today, as we travel through the "F" district, I'm skipping the story by Howard Fast, "Cold, Cold Box," because I read it ten years ago (and pronounced it "lame.")  But we'll check out Philip Jose Farmer's "Alley Man," Charles G. Finney's "The Gilashrikes," and Charles L. Fontenay's "Wind."  To read along, click the links in the previous sentence to be whisked away to scans of the famous science fiction magazines in which these stories first came under the gaze of SF fans back in the twilight of the 1950s.

"The Alley Man" by Philip José Farmer

I recently purchased a copy of the 1962 Farmer collection The Alley God because I liked the Richard Powers cover.  I could read this story from there, I suppose, but I'll stick with the F&SF version, as that is what our guide, Ms. Merril, is recommending.

Farmer begins his story by introducing us to two impoverished white women who live near the garbage dump, and unleashes a load of metaphors on us bringing to stark life how ugly they are.  It isn't nice, but it is strong evocative writing, and you can't help but admire it.  The man they live with arrives with a pretty young middle-class woman.  Old Man Paley, a ragpicker who makes his living collecting and selling discarded wood, metal, cardboard and paper, looks like a cave man and has a powerful smell, but he has the gift of gab and, it turns out, women of all classes find his smell irresistible.  "The Alley Man" is a story--in part--about how women are naturally attracted to big strong violent men who dominate them!  Zowie!  We actually see a physical altercation between Paley and one of his women, right there while the new girl lies nearby, sleeping off a drunk.  

The middle-class woman is Dorothy Singer, a grad student in sociology.  She is going to pay Paley fifty bucks she got from a foundation to follow him around as he works and to live in his home--a shanty with no running water--for a few days.  She has essentially fallen for him already, on the first day, and has been out drinking with him.

Singer and Paley travel into town the next day to scavenge in alleys.  Paley believes he is a Neanderthal, and has stories about life in the old world, before the arrival of homo sapiens and of the wars between his people and the physically weaker but more technologically and culturally advanced (they had archery and a relationship with dogs, which hate Neanderthals) homo saps.  Paley believes in, or affects a belief in, magic, and says the homo saps defeated the Neanderthals because they stole a magic item of great power, a hat, from his people and that the tiny number of survivors of his race, of which he may be the last, have been searching for it for millennia, and he has not given up the search.

Farmer succeeds in making being a ragpicker sound like a pretty cool job, and in making Paley a very fun guy, but also a sad figure--does this incredibly strong but ugly brute believe all the guff he says, or did he just get it from old comic books and issues of Weird Tales he found in the trash, use his self-image of the last of a lost race of heroes as a shield from social opprobrium, as a distraction from the marginalization he suffers?  Farmer doesn't beat you over the head with the marginalization stuff, he shows it rather than tells you about it, and the story is entertaining whether you notice it or not.

In the interests of science, Singer has a fake magic hat made and contrives a way for Paley to discover it.  And because she can't resist Paley's clever wooing and the smell of his monstrous body, she has sex with him.  This sets into motion a series of events which climax in a dramatic and tragic catastrophe.

"The Alley Man" is an edgy story, what with what it says about women and the fact that it depicts sympathetically a man who abuses women psychologically, physically and sexually, but it is also well-written, with believable and compelling characters with complex but very comprehensible relationships, and it is quite fun--Paley's monologues and manipulations are clever and amusing, and Farmer's description of a ragpicker's life makes it sound like its a blast.  Thumbs up for "The Alley Man."

Besides in The Alley God, "The Alley Man" has been reprinted in many anthologies and Farmer collections; people are crazy about this story, and I don't blame them.


"The Gilashrikes" by Charles G. Finney

Two years ago we read Finney's "The Iowan's Curse" and I said it was acceptable.  That story was a part of the "Manacle, Arizona" series, and so is today's story, "The Gilashrikes," which debuted in F&SF and reappeared in the Finney collection The Ghosts of Manacle, as well as foreign editions of F&SF.  

This is a merely acceptable trifle.  An herbalist in Arizona has a pet gila monster, female, and a pet shrike, male.  He puts an aphrodisiac in their food and they mate and produce three intelligent winged lizards.  The three hybrids, in order to redeem their kind from the bad reps suffered by the venomous gila monster and the notorious butcher bird, take on the task of maintaining law and order in the community.  They drive off cats who terrorize little birds and big dogs who bully little dogs.  They punish peeping toms and necking teens and even encourage layabouts who would sleep in to get out of bed and attend church Sunday mornings.  But when they try to get the herbalist to become a teetotaler, the herbalist kills them.

Competent filler.  Maybe edgy because of all the sex; a gripe of the New Wavers was that there was not enough sex in Golden Age and early Cold War SF, so maybe that is what attracted Merril to this tale.


"Wind" by Charles L. Fontenay 

There are a lot of racial and ethnic stereotypes out there.  I'm not going to list them, tell you who runs Hollywood and who steals your bike, who drinks tea all day and who drinks booze all day, who covers women head to toe and then rapes little boys, or who buys used panties from a vending machine, because I'm a uniter, not a divider.  But you can probably think of a few of them.  One that maybe isn't coming to mind, one I don't know I ever heard of before, is that Dutchmen are stubborn.  This stereotype is one of the motifs of Fontenay's story "Wind," which all you 12-year-olds out there will be disappointed to learn is not about farting.  

There is a Dutch colony on Venus, and a Dutchman is enlisted to make an emergency drive from the Dutch colony to the remnants of a failed colony to pick up an individual who has a terrible disease and requires return to Earth.  The space boat to the orbiting Earth-bound spaceship is leaving the Dutch colony soon, and this patient has to be on that boat or he will die here on the second planet, but getting him to the boat is going to be a hassle because there is a terrific wind storm brewing.  The wind is so strong it can overturn a ground car if not driven just right--our hero is the best driver in the colony.

His pipe clenched between his teeth (Fontenay includes references to everything you know about Dutch people, like wooden shoes and tulips, with windmills particularly prominent), our guy makes the dangerous drive to the wretched little settlement where the patient awaits.  Reminding us of Hal Clement's 1999 "Exchange Rate," which we just read, Venus is constantly being shaken by earthquakes, and new fissures are always opening and new cliffs rising up to make the drive hazardous.  

Our guy is disappointed to find that the people in the pathetic settlement the Dutch call "Rathole"--it doesn't even have a nuclear reactor, but powers its air conditioning with wind mills!--are Spaniards or Mexicans (they are all the same to him) because he still nurses a grudge from when the Spanish oppressed the Netherlands like 500 years ago!  He gets over his prejudice pretty quick when he meets the patient, a bright eight-year-old boy, and his mother, a gorgeous blonde widow.  The Dutchman immediately starts plotting future visits to this sad little settlement to date up this delectable senora.  

A new fissure blocks the way back to the Dutch colony and the space port.  Is the boy doomed?  Well, Rathole used to be the site of a U. S. military base, and there is an old hover craft hanging around.  But it has gasoline engines and there is no gas here in Rathole (the Dutch ground car runs on diesel.)  The Dutch guy has a brainwave--he attaches a windmill to the hover craft and uses it to turn the fans that provide the vehicle's lift and thrust.  He and the sick boy take off and get to the Dutch colony and the space boat just in time!

This is an OK classic-style SF story in which the author comes up with meteorological and geological reasons for plot obstacles and then has the protagonist use his ingenuity and science knowledge to jury rig a technological means of overcoming the obstacles.  We also have an antiracist theme and a little "we are all human--even the Russians!" lecture.  I'm torn between judging "Wind" to be on the high end of acceptable or the low end of good.

"Wind" debuted in Amazing, in an issue that includes an installment of the serialized version of E. E. Smith's The Galaxy Primes; Smith's novel is illustrated by the great Virgil Finlay, who takes the opportunity to celebrate the female form and explore human anguish.  A 1969 reprint magazine included "Wind" among its offerings, and you can also find Fontenay's tale of a flying Dutchman in some 21st-century collections.


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Merril didn't steer us wrong today.  Farmer's "The Alley Man" is a sophisticated and fun story that talks about racial and class prejudice without being preachy and annoying and without romanticizing minorities and the lower classes.  Finney's "The Gilashrikes" is a silly joke story, but not bad, and maybe it says something about the costs and benefits of living in an orderly society--the same forces that protect you from bullies might be deployed to keep you from feeling up your girlfriend and taking the edge off with a little of the old firewater!  Fontenay's story is a traditional science fiction piece competently performed that reminds us not to judge people by what their co-ethnics did centuries ago, but judge them as individuals, based on their own particular attributes, like whether they are good-looking or not.

Next up in our tour of 1959 will be the "G"s--let's hope they treat us as well as the "F"s have.  But first, a novel of terror!  Have your vocal cords ready for some screaming next time we meet!

Tuesday, July 7, 2026

Harlan Ellison: "The Toad Prince or, Sex Queen of the Martian Pleasure-Domes," "A Lot of Saucers," and "Incognita, Inc."

As chronicled in my most recent overly long blogpost, I downloaded a scan of the 600th issue of Amazing Stories, published in the year 2000.  Today let's read the Harlan Ellison story included in the issue, and two other stories from the Y2K period by SF's bad boy.  As I write this, the below links will get you to scans of publications including today's stories, but no guarantees--the high seas of internet piracy are treacherous.

"The Toad Prince or, Sex Queen of the Martian Pleasure-Domes" (2000)

I'm reading this in a scan of the magazine in which it debuted, the cover of which has a good illustration by Christopher Moeller.  The painting feels like a sincere invocation of the idea that the future is going to be a beautiful adventure, not like a goof or a parody of classic adventure SF.  I can't say the same for Don Ivan Punchatz's interior illustration for "The Toad Prince or, Sex Queen of the Martian Pleasure-Domes," which looks cartoony, like a lampoon of something.  But we can't really blame Punchatz, as, reflecting our decadent times in which everything is derivative and usually an effort to denigrate or "update" the past rather than an homage, Ellison's story is a self-conscious spoof not to be taken seriously and certainly not meant to express hopes for the future.

"The Toad Prince or, Sex Queen of the Martian Pleasure-Domes" begins with an italicized intro in which a princess in some medieval milieu kisses a toad, Ellison using flowery sentences and archaic words I guess in an effort to be funny or emulate our stereotypical image of a fairy tale.  As it turns out, this intro is not a frame or anything, in fact it has absolutely no connection whatsoever to the main story and is absolutely superfluous.  The five chapters of the legit story forgo the baroque romantic stylings of the fairy-tale intro and most of the text is reminiscent of a hard-boiled detective story, though Ellison includes more graphic violence, over the top gore, really.

Mars has been conquered by the human race, the natives, whom Terrans call "gooks" or "marties," raped en masse, the land strip mined and then covered with businesses and industry.  Among the businesses-- brothels.  Our main character is Sarna, a human whore at one of the brothels where the rest of the whores are mixed race people with yellowish skin.  These hybrids look down on full-blooded natives, but Sarna is liberal and sympathizes with the natives.  When a full-blooded native comes to the brothel it is Sarna who takes him to her room, but the Martian doesn't want to have sex--he is trying to hide from criminals out to murder him.  He has something they want, and when he shows it to Sarna she screams--her screams get the attention of the native's human pursuers and they climb in the window, cut the native to pieces and leave, having not seen the treasure.

In Chapter Two the half breeds overthrow the Terrans, exterminating the people who forced their native ancestors and themselves into factories and mines.  In describing the murder of the native in Chapter One, Ellison included a lot of very detailed, cartoonishly detailed, gore, and he does the same here in Chapter Two as Sarna, the only human left alive on Mars, fights off many half-breeds, shooting off their heads and limbs with a "burp gun," a kind of energy rifle.  She even uses the burper to clear away some corpses that are blocking the door of an elevator she wants to use.

Sarna escapes to the top of a skyscraper, where she plays possum among some middle-class Terrans who have been murdered at their desks.  She is an expert at playing dead because she has had so many clients at the whorehouse who savored the idea of raping a sleeping woman.    

We sometimes hear that Ellison just bangs some draft out and doesn't revise it before sending it off to the publisher, and "The Toad Prince or, Sex Queen of the Martian Pleasure-Domes" certainly shows signs of this practice.  Here are three passages that give you an idea.  

She ran through the whorehouse, the burp rifle before her like some deadly appendage, and once, when a door swung toward her, blown by the wind, she blasted it from its frame.

As a last resort she blasted at the bodies with the burper, and the arms that blocked the elevator separated. She kicked the stumps away, thrust home the door, and shot the elevator up, to the very top of the twenty-story building.
She ran to one of the desks, painfully and with strain lifted the white-collar corpse from the chair, and dumped it through the broken window beside the desk. 
Personally, I object to "like some deadly appendage," to "separated" and to "thrust home" as applied to an elevator door, as well as to "painfully and with strain" and "white-collar corpse."  These clunky phrases are fine for a draft when you are trying to get ideas down in a hurry, but why didn't Ellison or Amazing editor Kim Mohan take a few seconds to smooth these sentences out?  As they are, these sentences take me out of the story because they sound so silly.  (Please spare me the lazy explanation that Ellison and Mohan are intentionally including bad sentences as part of the spoof of the science fiction of the thirties or forties.)

In Chapter Three, after the rebels fail to see through Sarna's dead act and leave the office, we learn what the treasure from Chapter One is--a being the size of your fist that looks half-toad, half-human and has seven eyes.  The creature has been dormant, and Sarna has kept in a little box in a pocket or purse since acquiring it, but now it is awake.  Via telepathy it explains that it is one of six such creatures, which, when united into a single entity, wield great power.  It seduces Sarna with the promise of helping Terra take over Mars again, and with the promise of curing a wound she has.  Previously when we heard about this wound Ellison told us that "She saw one of the martie burp blasts had ricocheted a bit of masonry off her arm, and it was bleeding" and "Her head ached, and her arm was a sliver of red-hot pain where the masonry had grazed her."  Well, now we learn that the wound is radioactive and the radiation will spread through Sarna's body and kill her soon.  "Sama bit her lip and watched the raw wound ooze blood down her arm. It was quite painful, throbbing and glowing as only a burper wound could."  This feels a little sloppy, to me; Ellison only mentioned the bloody wound when Sarna needed it to lend verisimilitude to her playing dead act, not when it happened, and now that Ellison needs a way to get Sarna, of whom we have been told "she had never been loyal to Earth, or patriotic," to cooperate with the monster, Ellison decides the wound is radioactive to the point of glowing visibly in daylight, even though he has never before suggested the burp weapons' discharges cause radiation poisoning or make things like masonry radioactive.  Ellison is totally making this stuff up as he goes along and not bothering to revise his first draft so such improvisations are properly integrated into the narrative and foreshadowed.

Anyway, the toad monster enters Sarna's mind and operates her like a puppet, directing her through the abandoned dome city to the space port/air port.  Even though a revolution that killed all full-blood humans took place earlier in the day, it is business as usual at the space port.  Didn't the halfbreeds kill all the humans so they wouldn't have to do these jobs anymore?  Sarna knocks out a guard with the butt of her energy rifle and hides among cargo, and when the cargo is loaded she is able to get aboard a flight across Mars to where one of the monster's five brothers has been buried.  Some half-breed comes to inspect the cargo and she guns him down.  Won't that fill the ship with radiation?  Well, I guess the burp gun radiation only has effect when it furthers the plot.

In Chapter Four the monster continues to puppeteer Sarna in the task of finding its brothers.  The first is a glowing entity, again fist-sized, that allows Sarna and the first monster to teleport across the galaxy to the environs of a white dwarf star where they find another brother, a globule of water floating in space.  In Chapter Five they retrieve two other brothers from a jungle planet's swamp, one that looks like a human man and one that looks like a cloud of goop.  The five join to become a sort of hovering grey ball that now can travel through time.

Then comes the big twist ending, one that which I think marks this story as an homage to A. E. van Vogt.  (I'll note here that Ellison championed van Vogt when other SF big wigs, led by Damon Knight, were always trying to diminish our favorite Canadian.)  Sarna the prostitute is the sixth of the six entities that make up the god-like monster and her integration into it will make it invincible.  For a million years she has inhabited thousands of mundane bodies, forgetting her divine nature, trapped thuswise by powers who fear the uniting of the six, for together the six could rule the universe, and would rule it cruelly.  Sarna joins the ball.  But her mundane lives have taught her to be against racism and imperialism, so she guides the grey ball to commit suicide in the heart of the sun so Terra will not regain power over Mars and the super-entity will not gain power over the universe.  Ellison ends the story with a line in italics: "And they died happily ever after."

Then comes Ellison's afterword, which is mostly lame jokes but suggests he had the idea of this story in the 1980s and wrote it in the early 1990s but for like 15 or 20 years had trouble convincing editors to publish it.  He points out that Allen Steele got a story with a similar gag published a few years ago and hints he is worried people will think he is copying Steele.

"The Toad Prince or, Sex Queen of the Martian Pleasure-Domes" is at best a mediocrity.  The basic plot is fine, but it is self-consciously unoriginal and the writing is shoddy and sloppy.  The justification for doing a pastiche of a type of story that has been done before with sincerity is that you are making it funny or undermining its supposed outdated values.  But Ellison includes relatively few jokes, and none is funny.  And he doesn't undermine old SF with his boilerplate anti-racism and anti-imperialism and by having as a protagonist a woman because such politics have always been represented in the science fiction magazines--my go-to examples are Edmond Hamilton's 1932 "A Conquest of Two Worlds" which appeared in Hugo Gernsback's Wonder Stories and Nelson S. Bond's 1941 "Magic City" which appeared in John W. Campbell, Jr.'s Astounding, but there are others.  

"The Toad Prince or, Sex Queen of the Martian Pleasure-Domes" is a barely acceptable filler story much like many that came before it that Ellison and Mohan hoped would be elevated in the public mind by having the Harlan Ellison® brand stamped on it, the brand of the emperor with no clothes.

Harlan Ellison scholars trying to wring some value out of this unremarkable production might consider the question of whether Ellison gave to Sarna characteristics he associates with himself, if she might represent him in the story.  I've already pointed out how Sarna sympathizes with minorities and has no loyalty to her own race or country, which of course sounds like our old pal Harlan.  Early in "The Toad Prince or, Sex Queen of the Martian Pleasure-Domes" we are told Sarna is characterized by self-respect, is more popular with the clients than the other girls, but earns the other prostitutes' respect despite their envy and jealousy because she respects herself.  At the end we are told "The life she had led had been a shadowy thing, at core unpleasant and degrading, yet she had respected herself, and that had kept her from regretting too much."  Is this Ellison's view of himself, a writer who writes for money and is a better writer than the other writers but has won their respect through the tremendous power of his self-regard, a self-regard that has made it possible to endure a humiliating life of catering to audiences and clients and employers to whom he feels he is superior?     

"The Toad Prince or, Sex Queen of the Martian Pleasure-Domes" resurfaced in 2009 in the Lansdales' Son of Retro Pulp Tales and in 2015 in the Ellison collection Can and Can'takerous, two good examples of how sad cover illustration has been in this 21st century. 

"A Lot of Saucers" (2000)

Armed with my history degree from Rutgers University, both before and after I worked in a government office doing nothing (or at least nothing good), I worked actual jobs entailing real work in retail stores, warehouses, department stores, as a delivery driver, and in book stores, so I recognized the name of children's book author Bruce Coville when I saw that a story by Ellison debuted in the 2000 volume Bruce Coville's UFOs.  Let's see what your old pal Harlan and whoever ghost-edited this thing for Skylark Award winner (!) Bruce thought suitable for the kiddies of the year 2000.  I'm reading "A Lot of Saucers" in the collection Troublemakers, which prints a blurb from the Los Angeles Times dubbing Ellison "the 20th century Lewis Carroll" and which includes an intro by Ellison that suggests this story is going to be about how you shouldn't be prejudiced.  Harlan, always coming up with new ideas.

"A Lot of Saucers" is largely about the relationship between a General and the Captain, Alberts, who is his adjutant.  Ellison tells us that "adjutant" is the "politically correct word for assistant...the guy who actually got the job done" and that it "sounded better than slave."  When the two men first met, Alberts was a Lieutenant, and "solved ten thorny problems in two days."  Still Alberts considers his position on the General's staff "cushy," that there has never been any real work to do until today.

What is so different about today?  Well, a week ago five thousand alien space ships, each "almost four miles around," appeared in Earth's skies.  So far they have done little; periodically a saucer will teleport away and then a different one will teleport into the empty spot some time later.  Still, each day since the ships appeared people have gotten more scared of them.  The General, a wealthy man who rose to his current rank "almost faster than the eye could see....through his father’s connections" gives Captain Alberts the job of coming up with what to do about this mysterious interstellar armada.

Three weeks after the aliens' arrival, Alberts boards a helicopter and approaches the most peculiar of the alien saucers, one that seems old, covered in pock marks and dust, and which has never teleported away.  An alien appears out of a hatch, a thirty-foot tall hairy biped, and the adjutant and his pilot flee in fear.

Week ten arrives.  Earth society is collapsing due to fear, though the saucers have done nothing hostile as of yet.  The General himself decides to take a helicopter up to see the dirty saucer.  He sees the hairy alien and decides to launch a nuclear missile at the dirty ship.  The saucer teleports away after being hit, but then returns, bearing a makeshift patch, and the hairy giant appears, and shoots down at the military men, killing the General.  As he shoots, the alien shouts in English, and his speech indicates that the aliens are using Earth as a parking lot and consider the Earth people to be vermin; this alien in the dirty ship is the parking attendant, responsible for keeping the vermin under control.  The alien begins a campaign that will kill all life on Earth.

A silly joke story with a tired "message," that the trigger-happy US military is going to destroy the world, that is sloppily written (there is a sentence in which the pronoun "he" could apply to either the General or to Alberts; sometimes the people on the ground can see what is happening on top of the half-wide wide saucer that is a mile above them and it is not clear how; Ellison writes about the year 2000 military in a way that is bizarre, like it is still 1945, saying stuff like "They attached the parasite missile beneath a night-fighter," and "They were out on the desert, the ack-ack guns sniffing at the sky, pelting the saucers from six separate batteries"), and is way too long.  Thumbs down!  I can understand Ellison chasing a paycheck from Coville and Coville wanting a big name in his kid's book, but I don't understand putting this junk in an anthology which includes some of Ellison's greatest hits like "Jefty is Five" and the clock man story.  Embarrassing. 

"Incognita, Inc." (2001)

I'm reading this one from a scan of the magazine Realms of Fantasy, an issue which promotes a TV adaptation of Marion Zimmer Bradley's feminist (and I guess anti-Christian?) version of King Arthur.  isfdb is telling me that "Incognita, Inc." debuted in Hemispheres, the in-flight magazine of United Airlines, which is kind of amusing.  This story also appeared in Can and Can'takerous, as well as a yearly best of fantasy and horror anthology edited by Ellen Datlow and Terri Windling and Stephen Jones' 2007 Summer Chills: Strangers in Stranger Lands, which has a joke cover.  I hope this is going to be a sincere horror story and not today's third don't-be-a-racist slash white-people-deserve-to-die joke story.

Well, it is not a horror story, but "Incognita, Inc." is sincere, thank heavens.

"Incognita, Inc." comes to us as a report from a widower, a Chicago-born man who calls himself a "loyal corporate tool."  He has worked for WorldSpan for decades but this report is also his notice of resignation because WorldSpan has made him do something that has broken his heart, fire an employee whose work is not producing revenue for the company--it is this firing that is the topic of the report.  Ellison, that original thinker, is contributing to the volume of media about global corporations doing corporate take overs and defending the bottom line through the practice of corporate layoffs as well as the widespread laments about "mom and pop" local shops getting closed.

WorldSpan, during one of its corporate takeovers, somehow acquired a tiny little map store in Chicago that has one owner and no employees.  The store makes no money so is to be shut down, but it has no phone number or e-mail address, so to sack the map store guy the narrator has to fly to Chicago.  Does any of this makes sense?  Ellison keeps calling the guy in the store the owner but WorldSpan is the real owner?  Well, whatever.  

The store, it turns out, is like Dr. Who's TARDIS, tiny outside but huge inside, and it sells esoteric maps, including maps of places that are not real, and maps of phenomena that the map maker couldn't possibly know about via mundane methods.  For example, if you lose your good luck charm, the guy in the store can draw you a map of where you dropped it.

Ellison loves to present lists to his readers, and we get lots of lists in "Incognita, Inc."  For example, a list of large places when Ellison's narrator wants to tell his bosses that the mysterious map store is not just large, but vast.
I don’t mean to tell you it was large. Large is the rotunda of Grand Central Station. Large is the basilica of St. Peter's Cathedral. Large is Hanging Rock in New South Wales. This was vast. 
We also get our share of lists of imaginary places like Narnia and Barsoom, and the authors who create imaginary places, like L. Frank Baum and Samuel Butler.  

After the long description of the store where there are thousands of cubby holes holding many thousands of maps, and the long description of the map store guy, an immortal in Victorian clothes who has been making maps of places real and imagined since the start of civilization, we get the plot.  Our narrator tells map store guy he has to shut down, feels guilty, map store guy comforts the narrator, assuring him that nothing matters (“Most of us think we’re more important than we really are, Charlie. The universe isn’t watching. It mostly, for the most part, doesn’t care.”) and then the map store just vanishes.  Due to high technology and the capitalist drive for efficiency, some of the magic of the old world has been extinguished.  Outside, a woman asks for directions to a grocery store and the map store guy whips out his fountain pen and draws her a map.  It seems he'll still be able to do the thing that he loves, that some of the magic of the old world lingers on.  The End.

An acceptable filler story that expresses nostalgia for the good old days (the good old days that "The Toad Prince or, Sex Queen of the Martian Pleasure-Domes" told you were endless racism and sexism and imperialism.)  Less sloppy, more economical, and more evocative than our other two stories today--even the jokes in the story (the store offers maps to where O. J. Simpson hid the murder weapon and to the location of the place the singers of "Louie, Louie" gotta go to) are better.  Maybe Ellison revised or copy edited this one?


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It is always nice when the last story in a blog post is the best one, so we can end the post on a happy note and not wonder why we spend so much time reading and thinking about fiction instead of devoting all of our free time to playing Telengard and listening to "Sailor's Tale" or looking out the window at the birds.
   
Stay tuned for more rants and raves here at MPorcius Fiction Log.  Really, there are raves, sometimes.