P. Schuyler Miller: "The Red Plague," "Dust of Destruction," and "'The Man from Mars'"

In our last episode, one full of car wrecks, Hollywood-bashing and dangerous women, we read a good story by the Hugo- and Locus-Award winning P. Schuyler Miller, and thought it good enough that further exploration of the Miller body of work was warranted.  Let's start in Miller's early days with stories he saw printed in Hugo Gernsback's Prophetic Magazine of Mystery, Adventure and Romance, Wonder Stories, in the dawn of that periodical's existence.

(In response to public demand, embedded in the first para of each section below are links to a scan of the early-1930s magazine in which I will be reading the story under discussion so that you can experience the mass destruction, pioneering space journeys and curious social commentary the stories provide with trivial ease.)

"The Red Plague" (1930)

The July 1930 issue of Wonder Stories was only the second issue of the magazine to appear under that title--the magazine was a merger of Air Wonder Stories and Science Wonder Stories, periodicals that began publication in 1929.  "The Red Plague" bagged Miller $150 by winning first place in a contest announced in the February 1930 issue of Air Wonder Stories that called for stories based on the cover illustration by pioneering SF artist Frank R. Paul of that issue.  Miller was, allegedly, one of over 500 entrants to the contest--damn, imagine reading 500 amateur stories about men in space suits attacking a space ship.

Miller begins "The Red Plague" with an elaborate description that dwells on light and color of what I thought must be a Martian town but turned out to be Earth's first space port--much of the surface of our beloved planet is a red desert because of the plague that arrived on Earth via a meteor.  Three rockets blast off from the port, carrying with them Earth's hope of finding a cure for the plague.

The meteor deposited in the American South West a radioactive element new to Earth, a catalyst that, spread in tiny amounts by the wind or birds or whatever, turns rock and soil to a red dust; this dust renders water unavailable for use by irrevocably adsorbing it.  (I could probably use some of this new element in my basement.)  That really is a "d" in there, by the way--Miller is teaching me some science today.  In five years, much of the New World is covered in red desert, and the Old World's strict embargo has begun to fail and so soon all of humanity is threatened with death through lack of water.

There is hope, however.  The red of the dust is identical to the red we see on most of the surface of Mars, and astronomers' careful observations reveal that the ice caps of Mars are growing--the inhabitants of Mars must be reclaiming their planet from the red plague that first afflicted their world long ago!  Three space ships are built and man takes his first steps outside Terra's atmosphere!  The 21st-century reader will be thrilled to find that one of the three rockets is commanded by a "burly, spectacled Negro."  Miller's depiction of this African-American hero's personality and speech might not win the author 21st-century plaudits, though, and then there is the fact that only one of the three ships makes it through a meteor swarm (these meteors are a real pain in the you-know-what) and it isn't the black guy's.

The sole-surviving rocket crash lands on Mars; only four of its six-man crew emerge alive.  The four astronauts fly in their helicopter towards the poles, over the ruined cities, over the canals, over the red deserts that are slowly being taken back by green foliage.  At the glacier sheet they meet the native Martians, short little guys who fly around in special suits and who live underground.  The Martians telepathically interrogate the humans, putting Terra's representatives on trial to determine if they deserve to learn the solution to the red plague, or deserve to be killed.

The human race passes the test thanks to the fact that we have developed atomic power, which the Martians have not--they rely on the somewhat less efficient solar power.  The Martians relate to the astronauts the history of their people and their long relationship with the red plague, and share with the Earthers the secret of how to reverse the life-threatening adsorption of the plague and how to render the world green again.  The Martians even build the humans a new space ship!  A new era of interplanetary cooperation is inaugurated--the Martians' scrawny bodies are unfit to explore the universe, but their superior intelligence will help us hardy Terrans accomplish this marvelous adventure, and we will bring back to them the wonders we find out there on Venus, beyond the asteroid belt, and beyond the limits of our solar system.

"The Red Plague" has many elements of those old science fiction stories that read like a popular history article written in the future and focus on science speculations and make very little effort to create characters and portray individual human drama.  At the same time, Miller tries to be poetical, giving us some pretty long and somewhat oblique passages, like in the beginning of the story when he works overtime painting a picture of Mankind's first space port without coming right out and telling us what it is till he's used up half a page.  Instead of just saying "a crowd of men" and "a squadron of aircraft" he employs the conceit of a god-like being watching from afar to whom the crowd is a "restless smudge" and the flying machines "a swarm of gnats."  Another example of this oblique approach is the sentence that informs us that the African American's ship and all its crew have been killed in the meteor swarm:

Swerve, leap swerve again, and then a blur of flame in the screen, a tearing of metal, and blackness!

This stuff shows ambition, but it is harder to read than just bald facts, and I'm afraid it is too clunky to add literary value to the story.

We're judging "The Red Plague" acceptable.  Forrest J. Ackerman reprinted the story in a 2001 anthology whose gimmick is that all the stories have a color in their titles.  Ackerman was a nutty character.

On the left is the issue of Air Wonder Stories whose cover served as the
basis for "The Red Plague"

"Dust of Destruction" (1931)

Miller's name appears prominently on the cover of this issue of Wonder Stories, which also includes stories by Ray Cummings and David H. Keller.  It is likely we'll be coming back to this one.

Our first Miller story today prominently featured red dust that had the power to adsorb water and thus make Earth almost uninhabitable.  Our second story features green dust that is the product of a ray that destroys air and, if allowed to play over the entire Earth's surface, would render Earth uninhabitable by humans.

"Dust of Destruction" has a first-person narrator, Hank, who shares with us the astounding and horrifying adventures he endured in the future of 1967, the year humanity came perilously close to extinction at the hands of malevolent aliens.  As his memoir begins, Hank, a a travelling salesman, and is in the country like ten miles from Norfolk, NE, when a windstorm of apocalyptic power strikes.  Miller goes overboard describing in meticulous detail how the wind knocks over a tree, and then how the narrator's car and then he himself are carried off by the wind.  Our guy Hank gets tangled up in wire and tied to a tree that flies for miles, sometimes flipping end over end, sometimes dragging its base on the ground, at least once smashing through a house, etc.  It's like one of those endless CGI sequences in a recent movie, but also valid SF speculation--what would it be like to experience such winds first hand?

Hank wakes up in Norfolk, next to another man who is still unconscious, a big muscular criminal named Red whom the narrator recognizes from wanted posters.  The narrator seizes Red's firearm before the bank robber wakes up, so when the thief does regain consciousness, our guy has the upper hand.  Red agrees to help look for survivors and Hank promises not to rat him out to the cops, should they meet any.  Part of Miller's literary project with "The Dust of Destruction" is to generate suspense with the character of Red--will Red be reformed and redeemed, or will Hank's tolerance and open-mindedness bite him in the ass?

Hank and Red explore the ruined town of Norfolk, which is covered in a layer of green dust, and find no survivors, but many bodies that have been torn asunder, apparently exploded from within.

A rocket lands nearby--it is mankind's first space ship.  The vessel is manned by Hank's old college pal, Dick, and their physics professor, Jarvis.  Dick's rocket was on a test flight in the upper atmosphere when the disaster struck--low pressure (an "inverted cyclone") in Norfolk which made people explode and vacuumed stuff nearby--including Hank!--into the gore-filled town.  This low pressure event was no natural phenomena, but the work of a ray from the moon!  The four men blast off for Luna on the human race's first interplanetary flight to take care of the source of this ray that destroyed Norfolk and its twenty thousand inhabitants.  Miller does some real science speculation, describing in some detail what Earth might look like from space and how Dick's rocket works and how and why a ray from the Moon might turn the atmosphere into green dust, lowering the Earth's air pressure so our home will be more hospitable to Lunarian colonists.  On the way moonward the men practice maneuvering in their space suits--Red, a natural athlete, turns out to be the most adept.

On Luna we get descriptions of what the Moon's surface is like and the experience of travelling on foot under the lower gravity.  The four humans split up to make their individual ways to the source of the ray.  Eventually, after travelling through the moon people's tunnels, pneumatic subway system, rocket ship factory, and water system, all of which are abandoned and apparently operating automatically, Hank, Red and the professor reunite in a chamber full of voracious insects a foot long.  The swarming insects try to eat them, and the men fight them hand-to-hand and with grenades.  Are these bugs the intelligent aliens who built the ray projector and the rockets, or the vermin who are driving the Lunarians to try to colonize Earth, or a slave race subservient to the true Lunar masters?  Hidden figures fire ray guns at our heroes as they advance upon the giant ray projector that is at that very moment devastating Asia and Europe, killing millions; Red suppresses their ray fire with his conventional slug rifle.

Then Dick appears, he having approached from a different angle in an aircraft he brought to Luna but kept a secret from Hank.  Dick throws himself into the machinery of the ray projector.  All the Loonies' power production systems were patched into this super weapon, so Dick's his self-sacrifice (immortalized on the cover of this issue of Wonder Stories) sets off a chain reaction that destroys all the moon's native inhabitants.  Earth is preserved from lunaforming and lunar colonization.  Hank, Red and Professor Jarvis survive the explosions and get back to Terra, and as the story ends Hank considers what a bounty the next humans to explore the Moon will find, all those rocket ships and the other technology left by the now extinct natives of our natural satellite.

This is a decent adventure story with lots of science speculation onto which Miller grafts a Christian or progressive social message that perhaps reminds us of the canonization of armed robber George Floyd in our own crazy 21st century.  Immediately, to my mind irrationally, middle-class citizens Hank and Professor Jarvis embrace Red, the armed robber who moans that he has always been on the outside looking in and declare he is no worse than they are, despite his bank-robbing ways.  Dick is skeptical at first, but not for long.

“Come on, Dick,” I said, “loosen up a bit. Don’t be such a crab. Red’s just as good as any of us here, and don’t you forget it! Maybe he slipped up a few times — who hasn’t?"

Miller doesn't fully integrate this theme into his story as well as he might have--shouldn't Red have committed suicide to save humanity, thus earning forgiveness for all those armed robberies?  Instead it is scientist Dick who sacrifices himself to save mankind--must he die to repent his sin of doubting Red?  I feel like Miller doesn't really wrap up the Red story line conclusively; I kept expecting Red to cut a deal with the Moon people or try to steal Dick's rocket or something, and Miller certainly doesn't do that, but neither does he have Red turn out to be the key to the mission or anything.  

Despite my uneasiness with the Red plot line, "Dust of Destruction" is quite a bit better a story than "The Red Plague," with more action, more compelling images, and significant improvement when it comes to characters, but it seems it has not been reprinted.  Ackermann could have included this one in his story, just rename it "Red Hitches a Ride."  

"'The Man from Mars'" (1931)

Here we have a story with a title that, like that of David Bowie's "'Heroes,'" contains quote marks, I guess implying that the man in question is not really what he seems.  "'The Man from Mars'" debuted in an issue of Gernsback's Wonder Stories Quarterly; I guess we'll be getting back to this magazine as well, seeing as it contains a story by Clark Ashton Smith that I don't think I've read.  Miller's story in the issue would reappear in 1939 in Startling Stories as a nominee for the Scientifiction Hall of Fame under the title "The Man from Mars," shorn of those annoying quote marks.  In 1949 an anthology of nominees to the aforementioned Hall of Fame was published and "The Man from Mars" was included in that.  All you Virgil Finlay junkies, and I count myself among you, should check out the ish of Startling linked above, as well as the cover of From Off This World, which I actually saw in real life almost ten years ago, as they both showcase some fine Finlay creations.

"'The Man from Mars" is more recognizable as a "modern" science fiction story than "The Red Plague" or "Dust of Destruction," which are all about cataclysms and men of science who save the human race from them.  "'The Man from Mars'" is more character driven and built on a smaller, more intimate, scale.  Like E.T., its center is a sympathetic alien that is both better than human beings but also so weak that it can be exploited by evil humans and so needs aid from good humans.  I find this kind of thing a drag but I guess it sells because it is not a rare plot by any means.

Our narrator goes to a travelling carnival that advertises a man from Mars.  The Martian in question has a bald oversized head and skinny limbs and sits on a throne and plays a theremin-like musical instrument and by some obscure means makes electricity and water dance around in the air.  Miller describes the Martian's venue and its show in great detail, and it is kind of boring--I find fireworks boring to watch in real life, so reading about fireworks, well, you can imagine.  

The Martian's manager is a college chum of the narrator.  From this guy we learn all about the Martian.  The alien has great psychic powers, but its telepathy only works haltingly with us dumb humans.  Still, the two human heroes of the story can sort of communicate with the alien.  Chum bought the Martian from the religious farmer who found the alien after the alien's ship crashed and chum set the Martian's circus act up.  The Martian sits within a shell, a fake body mounted on the throne, while it performs; the audience never sees anything of its true form.  When not performing the Martian appears as a bald head emerging from a crystal cylinder--the Martian doesn't walk around and manipulate things with hands like you and me, but floats around in the air in this cylinder and manipulates items with telekinesis.  

The owner and the manager of the circus know that the Martian has psychic powers.  They want to lay off their manual laborers and have the Martian pitch and strike the tents telekinetically, perform an act in which the alien lifts an elephant off the ground with its mind, and so forth.  Unlike for Yoda, for the Martian size matters, and such feats would wear it out.  The people who run this carnival won't take no for an answer, so chum enlists the aid of the narrator in escaping the circus.

Electrical fields inhibit the Martian's powers, so when our three heroes try to escape the exploitive carnival, the carnival staff try to stop them by firing up a "Wimshurst static machine" with "a dozen big condensers."  (This thing is real--Miller is schooling me yet again.)  Our heroes outwit the carnies and escape.  But then there is a thunderstorm, which builds up a charge in the Martian's cylinder and causes an explosion that destroys the narrator's car.  Its crystal cylinder gone, the Martian's body below the bald head is revealed to be that of a yard-long slug!  With tentacles!  Yuck!  But in a diversity-celebrating moment, the narrator cradles this monster in his arms--this slug-thing is just as human as he is, he realizes!

The alien takes control over the narrator's body by sticking its tentacles into a wound he suffered in the explosion and connecting to his nerves.  The Martian works him like a puppet and he runs, carrying the slug-creature, with speed and agility the narrator could not have himself achieved, to the Martian's chosen destination.  This sounds like something out of a horror story, but the narrator assures us he enjoyed it, even though running at 110% capacity through a forest and through a swamp, leaping over fences and all that, exhausted and damaged his body.

The Martian and its helpless human steed arrive at a buried spaceship--inside is a baby Martian in a vat!  The narrator's enslaved body moves the baby from one vat to another, manipulates controls, and otherwise ensures the baby slug-person's health.  The narrator, released from alien control, collapses, but the Martian puts on a spare cylinder and nurses him back to health before leaving for Mars with its baby.  The last line of the story reveals in italics that the Martian was a woman!  "'The Man from Mars'" is a diversity-celebrapalooza!

This kind of story is not really my thing, and beyond that, I'm not sure the plot really works.  Why is the Martian woman performing at the carnival at all?  Why didn't she direct the farmer or the narrator's chum to take her to her baby?  Or just fly to the baby itself via her cylinder's motive power?  Could the space ship at the end of the story be an additional shipwreck and the baby some other Martian slug's offspring whose incubator sent out a distress signal coincidentally just when our favorite Martian escaped the carnival?  How is she able to just fly away now, but not earlier?  Has Miller's sometimes oblique writing left me confused?  Or is my confusion due to the fact that our narrator can't really understand what is going on himself, not being fluent in Martian?   

We might also want to look at the story's feminist bona fides.  Obviously Miller meant to strike a blow for the fair sex by depicting a female who exhibited special powers and willpower and compassion.  But do our 21st-century feminists want to see a woman honored for caring for a child?  Shouldn't a woman in fiction be judged by how much money she makes or how many men she kills, like men in fiction are judged?    

With the exception of the overly long and tedious music and light show at the carnival, ""The Man from Mars'" is well written and constructed, and the crazy stuff that goes on is provocative, so we're giving it a passing grade.

*********

These three stories have problems, but none is bad and I think they demonstrate that science fiction has long been home to stories that argue either explicitly or implicitly for "tolerance" and for racial and sexual equality.  "'The Man from Mars'" puts the lie to the oft-heard claim that aliens in "old" science fiction stories are always evil monsters while women are always damsels in distress.  (These critics sometimes seem to be basing their attacks on SF on the covers of old magazines, which are so often so much more exciting and sexy than the contents.)  Today's three stories by Miller also demonstrate the commitment of early science fiction writers to teaching science to readers, and to airing speculations on what the future will be like with Miller's presentations of what space travel might be like and what the moon's surface could be like.  I think some of Miller's descriptive passages also demonstrate a commitment to literary achievement on his part, though I am skeptical this commitment bears fruit in any of today's stories.  (Miller's literary efforts are more successful in his 1943 horror story "John Cawder's Wife," with its references to Shakespeare's sonnets, one of the stories we read in our last episode.)

Expect to see more coverage of P. Schuyler Miller in the future, and until then stay tuned for explorations of a diverse selection of SF writers here at MPorcius Fiction Log.  

Weird Tales, May '43: P S Miller, A Derleth, S Coblentz & R Bradbury

In our last episode we read some "proper" science fiction, two stories about space aliens shipwrecked here on Earth and a story about an eight-year-old girl who has psychic powers that threaten all of humanity.  (We also read a story about an upper-middle-class woman who dates a djinni and gets him to expand her real estate holdings and then marry her and father her children, so if that is your bag, check that out.)  But today it is back to the weird!

The May 1943 issue of Weird Tales has an attractive woman on the cover painted by Margaret Brundage.  During Farnsworth Wright's reign as editor of the unique magazine of the bizarre and unusual, Brundage's sexy girls were a staple of the magazine's covers, but under D. McIlwraith's regime such images have been rare, and while we welcome Ms. Brundage's return, we note this painting is quite tame compared to some of the artist's more famous efforts.  (It is perhaps better composed and painted, though.)  

Inside, a long story by P. Schuyler Miller and shorter pieces by August Derleth, Stanton Coblenz, and Ray Bradbury catch the eye.  Let's get cracking!  If you want to read along, you can probably find a copy of the May 1943 ish of WT on ebay for less than 100 bucks, or you can do like me and read a scan at the internet archive.  (Keep in mind that this is the only facet of your life in which you should "do like" embittered misanthropic middle-aged grad-school-dropout MPorcius.)

"John Cawder's Wife" by P. Schuyler Miller 

It's Miller time!  P. Schuyler Miller's biggest contribution to the speculative fiction world may have been his work as book reviewer for Astounding/Analog from 1945 to 1975, but before performing this service at John W. Campbell, Jr.'s magazine, Miller published a lot of fiction, starting in the early Thirties.  I guess I've read five things by Miller and liked four of them, "As Never Was," "Bird Walk," "Forgotten," and "The Cave."  (The one I didn't like was "Spawn.")  "John Cawder's Wife" was apparently never reprinted, so I guess it doesn't bear the seal of approval of the genre fiction community, but maybe it's an overlooked gem?  It is promoted on the cover of WT here, so McIlwraith must have thought it was alright.

"John Cawder's Wife" is actually a pretty good story with decent writing and images, and good relationship and supernatural drama.  Thumbs up!

John Cawder is a painter, son of a poet, grandson of a biochemist who did his research in scary jungles.  An odd character, young Cawder didn't make many friends in high school and college--his only real pal was Roger Thorne, a mathematician.  Thorne hasn't seen Cawder in years; in the period of their separation, Cawder became a world-famous artist, while Thorne developed mathematical theories so complex only half a dozen people can really understand them, but which are revolutionizing our understanding of atoms and the stars.  After some European travel, Cawder has disappeared into the American mountains where lies his huge family mansion.  The Cawder family estate is surrounded by forbidding fences and armed guards, but Thorne, curious what is up with his old chum, overcomes these obstacles, sneaking on to the grounds and into the mansion to make a surprise visit to his old friend.

Within the mansion, Thorne confronts a bizarre domestic situation.  Cawder has a wife, a dark woman with a magnificent curvaceous body and spectacular black hair, a woman whose face has no beauty but is strangely compelling, a woman who is evidently highly intelligent and highly educated and has an air of great maturity.  Cawder also has a young blonde secretary with spectacles, and it is obvious that Cawder and this girl are having an affair, and that there is terrible tension between Mr. and Mrs. Cawder.  Thorne immediately is drawn to and sympathizes with Mrs. Cawder, especially after she demonstrates some knowledge of his mathematical work.

Eventually Thorne and we readers learn the astonishing truth about the unique Mrs. Cawder--she is an immortal monster, something like a witch, something like a vampire; her husband calls her a lamia.  The captivating dark lady feeds off the life force of men, and the more intelligent a man is, the greater his genius, the finer and more satisfying a meal he provides!  All through history Mrs. Cawder has gravitated towards the great artists and thinkers; she doesn't just take, though--she has been the muse of many a genius!  Mrs. Cawder tries to seduce Thorne, and when he looks into her eyes he sees new mathematical formulae, brilliant solutions to math problems that have stumped him, the keys to astounding new realms of knowledge!  Thus it was that the monster inspired Cawder's recent success as a painter, and in the distant past the greatest successes of Leonardo and Shakespeare!  (Miller includes lots of Shakespeare references in this story, and he does so pretty effectively.)  Cawder's father and grandfather achieved success in their fields thanks to this creature, but they refused to have sex with her--as has Cawder, a bastard and the son of a bastard.

Will our guy Thorne fall under the lamia's spell and lose his health and life but first become the greatest mathematician in history?  Will Cawder and his blonde secretary sacrifice Thorne to the monster so they can escape its clutches?  Who will live?  Who will die?  Will any of these characters enjoy a healthy sexual relationship?

A solid weird story; I should probably check out more of Miller's work.

"A Wig for Miss DeVore" by August Derleth

Here we have a broad satire of the fakery that characterizes Hollywood and that seems to suggest that woman, hear her roar, is also characterized by manipulation and deceit.  "A Wig for Miss DeVore" feels sort of misogynist, but there is also the sense that Derleth has contempt for men who go to the cinema and buy magazines to ogle pretty girls (and not, I guess, experience art.)  Derleth really lays the contempt on thick in "A Wig for Miss DeVore," essentially telling readers how to feel about the characters rather than giving them room to come to their own conclusions, which really diminishes the ability of the story to emotionally or intellectually engage the reader.  At the same time, the man from Sauk City short circuits any suspense his tale might generate by telling us at the start of the story that his vapid characters are doomed.

Sheila DeVore has a voluptuous body, and has used it to become a Hollywood star.  Her publicity guy spreads endless lies about her to obscure the fact that she is a selfish and petty bitch who abandoned her family and has no acting ability.  Claims that she bought her mother a house are one example (mom, in fact, died alone years ago.)  Derleth just comes right out and has the omniscient narrator assert that Sheila has abrogated any right to live.  Maybe this is supposed to be funny?  (After all, the story title and main character's name are puns.)

She was as selfish as an inhibited pack-rat, and had never heard of moral scruples. As for ethics — there was no room for ethics in her profession. She was, in short, one of those people for whom there does not seem to be any excuse for permitting them to continue an existence which is giving them no pleasure, and is burdening others far too much.

A rich playboy whom Derleth tells us is stupid falls in love with Sheila and she strings him along for publicity purposes.  Sheila starts work on a movie about Meg Peyton a famous red-headed woman who murdered multiple men but got away with it by showing off her legs to the male jury.  Sheila insists on acquiring a spectacularly good red wig for her performance; the wig turns out to be an Aztec artifact infused with magic.  The wig comes with instructions on how to avoid suffering the ill effects of the dangerous magic, but Sheila flouts them as deliberately as I do the Ikea instructions that are always telling me to anchor furniture to the wall--how can I bolt that shit to the wall when my wife rearranges the furniture every three months?  There are also clues suggesting that this very wig was worn by Meg Peyton, that it was this very wig that led ole Meg to embark on the career as a serial killer that rendered her life celluloid-worthy.

The wig changes Sheila's personality--most significantly, she starts eating raw meat.  Derleth tells us Sheila acts like an evil bitch even more than before, which is pretty lame--a real horror story would depict a nice person turning evil, not an evil person getting extra evil.  On a whim, Sheila buys an ancient cutting tool at the antiques store.  With this tool she murders the playboy and then her publicity guy; Sheila herself lands in the loony bin.  The police hide some info about the murders from the public, but a fat (350 pounds, says Derleth) gossip columnist unearths the gory details--that blade of Sheila's was another Aztec artifact, a knife designed to remove the heart from the body, and Sheila used it to extract and then eat the hearts of the two most important men in her life.

"A Wig for Miss DeVore" is no good for many reasons.  The mechanism of how the wig comes into Sheila's (and Peyton's, for that matter) possession is hard to accept; if she is such a shitty actress, why does she go to the trouble of getting a special wig to enhance her performance, which suggests she takes her job seriously, and if the owner of the wig knows it made Peyton kill people, why did he still give it to Sheila?  A better story would have some jealous horndog after being rejected or some envious actress with talent but no sex appeal, maybe that fat gossip columnist, give the wig to Sheila after flattering her. 

There is no real horror to "A Wig for Miss DeVore" because Derleth spends the entire story telling us the people who get killed or imprisoned deserve destruction.  And "A Wig for Miss DeVore" is not one of those stories in which the death or incarceration of the villains is cathartic, either, because the villains aren't really that bad--it is not like they are murderers or something.  And it isn't really their sins that lead to their undoing, they just suffer because of mistakes anybody might make.  If I am a bank robber, and I get killed while robbing a bank, that is justice, and me suffering in the course of acting on my evil impulses.  If I am a guy who finds a woman attractive and gets killed because I try to date her up, that is neither justice nor me being undone by my peculiar nature, that is me having bad luck, because being attracted to women is normal mundane behavior.  I guess we readers are supposed to enjoy seeing the playboy and publicity guy murdered and mutilated and Sheila locked away forever because we envy their wealth or look down on Hollywood and advertising and people with below average intelligence or something, but I'm afraid this doesn't speak well of Derleth or of the readers of Weird Tales, should Derleth's suspicions of their attitudes be accurate.

(One of Derleth's biographers, according to wikipedia, claims Derleth had homosexual affairs, and this story does kind of read like a gay man venting.)

Unlike Miller's quite good story of a dangerous woman, which has never been reprinted, Derleth's lame satire about a dangerous woman has been reprinted again and again in Derleth collections and anthologies by important editors.  This really is a fallen world, isn't it?                 

"The Glass Labyrinth" by Stanton Coblentz

Speaking of satires, here we have Stanton Coblentz.  I am a Coblentz skeptic, but somehow here I am giving him a chance.  I'm a softie, as much as I try to deny it.

Skepticism is warranted; "The Glass Labyrinth" is a filler piece almost lacking in plot.  I guess the story's supposed value lies in its faint jokes and its somewhat interesting images.  I have to give this one a thumbs down as being a lifeless waste of time.

Our narrator is a college professor who goes out for a night walk to smoke his pipe.  He is accosted by a short man with skinny arms and an oversized head, a man who is bubbling over with excitement, jumping up and down and waving his stick arms around.  This frenetic freak is a fellow college professor, and has invented a machine he wants to show somebody.  He is thrilled to find the narrator, whom he recognizes from a conference.  

Coblentz takes a long time to describe all this.  And to describe the machine and its operation and the theory behind it.  The inventor has filled a room with hundreds of mirrors of all types, shapes, and sizes, each in a very specific spot and each connected to motors so its angle can be determined with exactitude.  From the ceiling depend many powerful light bulbs that project a newly discovered ray.  Working together precisely, these bulbs and mirrors can provide the viewer a glimpse of the past or future.  The inventor shows the narrator medieval knights and cave men and the teeming cities of the future in which commuters fly via backpack wings.  Etc.  Then a malfunction occurs and the inventor disappears, presumably trapped in some other dimension and/or time.  The End.

This waste of time has itself vanished into the ether and has not been reprinted.

"The Crowd" by Ray Bradbury

This is a famous story that has been reprinted a billion times and which I read as a kid and must have reread later in life, though I guess not during the life of this blog.  I remember being underwhelmed by "The Crowd," thinking it the same tired condemnation of the common people as a mindless horde animated by a lust for blood and ready to explode into mob violence at any moment that we are served up by smart people (and people who think they are smart) on a regular basis.  But maybe as an old man of 55 I will have a different response to the story?  Maybe the book versions I read were different than this magazine version and I will like the magazine version better?  Let's see!

OK, my memory of this story was pretty distorted; maybe I was mixing it up with a different Bradbury story, one in which there is a crowd or a mob that absorbs people so they lose their individual identities.  Anyway, I didn't recognize any portion of this tale.

"The Crowd" is a sort of supernatural detective story.  A guy with an office job who makes enough money to afford a butler, Spallner (hmmm, Dickensian name?) is in a one-car wreck when his tire blows; he hits a wall and suffers a head injury.  A crowd of people comes to look at him, and the faces of some of them and the mannerisms of others are quite distinctive, quite memorable.  Later, thinking about the accident, Spallner realizes the crowd appeared very quickly, almost impossibly quickly considering the time of day and location of his accident.

Spallner does research on accidents with the help of his business partner and his butler, going through tons of old newspapers.  He also witnesses what seems like a preternaturally high number accidents, like he's jinxed or something, and rushes over to examine the crowds that gather around each accident.  Spallner's explorations lead him to a mind-blowing conclusion: within a certain geographic area, the same bunch of unmistakable people arrive with uncanny promptitude at the scene of every accident.  Even in newspaper photos of accident sites from ten years ago the people Spallner saw at his own accident appear, looking to be the same age and to be wearing the same clothes as when Spallner first encountered them.  There is even evidence that these odd individuals are perhaps causing accidents, even exacerbating the injuries of accident victims to ensure they expire.  

Spallner decides to take his file of carefully compiled evidence to the police, but while driving to the police station he is in an accident and the crowd members he recognizes as regulars make sure he is going to die and take custody of his dossier.  Spallner realizes they are the ghosts of people who died in accidents and he is now going to join their ranks.

"The Crowd" is pretty good, well-written and structured and all that.  But I am sort of wracking my brain, wondering if people in real life gather in crowds around accidents, eager to see blood, as this story assumes, trying to recall if I witnessed this behavior in real life when I lived for over a decade in New York City or for 18 months in Columbus, OH, or, if I have seen such goings on during the current swamp-embedded phase of my life in Washington, D.C., or if this behavior is just something I have seen in fiction.

Another thing we might consider is Bradbury's relationship with the automobile.  Bradbury never learned to drive, and should we see this story, in which automobiles are engines of gruesome death that excite and feed people's bloodlust, as a reflection of Bradbury's antipathy to cars?  Also, this story includes descriptions of motor vehicles in operation, and I think it is fair to ask if a man who never drove a car himself can produce descriptions of such operations that ring true.

A huge freight truck just ahead of Spallner, suddenly threw on its air-brakes.

It stopped too suddenly.

Spallner shouted, jammed his brakes. Ramming, his new car crashed into the rear of the truck. The windshield hammered back into Spallner's face. His body was forced back and forth in several lightning jerks.

I don't know, Ray.  Still, a good story.    

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The Miller is today's big deal; I'll make it a point to read more stories by the gentleman.  The Bradbury of course is good, and was a surprise to me because I was expecting something quite different, thanks to my bad memory.  Derleth and Coblentz deliver unsuccessful filler stories, Derleth's sort of complicated and heartfelt as he tries to address various issues and express what are (maybe) his own feelings about Hollywood and maybe women, but full of missteps, while Coblentz's simple and banal story is just too long and too boring and suffers a terminal lack of emotional, intellectual, and plot content.

Alright, another issue of Weird Tales under our belts.  Maybe someday we really will have read at least one story from each issue!  At the following links you can marvel at the progress we have already made!

1923  

1930    1931   1932   1933    1934    1935    1936    1937    1938    1939 

1940   1941  1942

Merril-approved '59 stories: Collins, Cores, Correy, & Cottrell

Judith Merril, favorite of the critics, cheerleader of the New Wave, recognized a lot of authors whose names begin with the letter "C" on her honorable members list at the back of her 1960 "Best of" anthology.  Today we'll read four stories by such writers, none of whom I think I have read stories by before.  We don't just read the same old authors here at MPorcius Fiction Log--we also read authors I have never heard of before!  

Today's never-heard-of authors are Les Collins, Lucy Cores, Lee Correy, and C. L. Cottrell.  Their names here in this para are links to internet archive scans of the 1959 science fiction magazine or book in which each of today's stories appears so it will be easy for you to read along and then lament that I have totally misunderstood the stories and exhibited my bad taste and thus contributed to the spread of the disinformation, misinformation, malinformation, and indigestion that characterizes these interwebs in the year of our Lord 2026.

"Question of Comfort" by Les Cole (as by Les Collins)

Crimes of misinformation have already occurred!  "Question of Comfort" debuted in Cele Goldsmith's Amazing under the pen name Les Collins, a pseudonym used by Lester Hines Cole.  We've already read a story by Cole recommended to us by Merril, 1958's "Cargo: Death," which appeared under a different pen name and which I groused "is like 40 pages long and feels like it is 140 pages long."  Uh, oh.  Still, I am glad I cracked open this issue of Amazing, because it has two elaborate illustrations by Virgil Finlay, one featuring a guy in a space suit trying to repair his space craft and another featuring a couple in their undies witnessing two hideous monsters chew on each other.  Any publication with a Finlay illustration is worth looking into.

OK, back to Collins AKA Cole.  "Question of Comfort" is the story of a project manager, our narrator, working at Disneyland, battling the executives that represent "the Hollywood Mind" in his quest to create an attraction that consists of a series of rooms that immerse tourists in realistic simulations of the surfaces of several of the other planets and moons of our solar system.  It was kind of obvious from the start that the narrator was a space alien hoping to get Disney to pay for a means to cure his homesickness, and the office politics scenes (Will the suits OK the project?  Will they micromanage it to death?  Will the design team resign, or become a well-oiled machine, an extension of the narrator's wishes?) and the spy/detective stuff (Was that accident at the work site an attempt by a fellow alien to kill the narrator?) and the technical details around building an amusement park ride are all kind of boring.  Do I open up a SF magazine to experience the thrill of working in an office or on a construction site?  No, I do not.

The plot culminates in a fight between our narrator, who is some kind of cop or other authority figure among his people, and the other alien, some kind of miscreant of the same race, in the Venus room.  We are led to believe the aliens are from Venus, and the conditions in the Venus room are needed by these two undocumented immigrants to maintain their health. The bad alien is killed, and then there is a limp twist ending--the narrator is not from Venus after all, but from a Venus-like planet in another solar system.  So what?  There is also a tepid romance between the narrator and an intelligent Earth woman.

In theory, a story about a homesick person who has a love affair with someone of another race/culture/species could tug the heart strings of the reader by conveying the human emotions of loneliness, regret, desire, lust, etc.  Similarly, a cop and a criminal from another world chasing each other and fighting each other in an iconic American location could be the source of action and adventure excitement.  But Cole doesn't even try to do any of that emotion or excitement stuff--he is more concerned with the mechanics of being a project manager who is building a high tech tunnel of love.  Zzzzzzz...  

Thumbs down for "Question of Comfort."  I am puzzled by Merril's support of this yawner.  "Question of Comfort" would however rise to bore again in a 1974 reprint magazine entitled Thrilling Science Fiction.

"Deborah and the Djinn" by Lucy Cores

Cores, who as a child escaped the Russian Revolution with her family, has two fiction credits at isfdb, but apparently was quite prolific in the detective and historical fiction fields, publishing numerous novels in those genres.  "Deborah and the Djinn" debuted in Hans Stefan Santesson's Fantastic Universe, in the same issue as another story Merril recommended to us that has never been reprinted, Sasha Miller's "The Dancing that We Did."

"Deborah and the Djinn" is kind of a light-hearted joke story, though the actual jokes are sort of few and far between and quite thin; maybe if you liked the jokes, you'd call them understated or subtle.  Deborah was born on and lives on Martha's Vineyard, and there are a lot of comments that gently, even affectionately, suggest people on "the Vineyard" are full of themselves.  Deborah buys an old oil lamp (she has a collection of them) and when she starts cleaning it the genie comes out.  The genie is a bored smart ass, apparently sick of being a genie and giving out the requisite wishes to the contemptible people who find his lamp and summon him.  Deborah, who is apparently a nicer person than any other person who has ever activated the lamp, quickly charms the genie and gets him to take her to a square dance.  Cores spends a lot of time describing the clothes Deborah and the genie wear to the dance.  And how much Deborah enjoys having a tall man touch her (she herself is taller than most men) and hearing other women comment on her tall strong date.  Much of "Deborah and the Djinn" resembles is what I suppose women's romance novels are like.

The genie has more fun at the dance than he has ever had before over the course of his centuries' long career.  So he warns Deborah that the wishes he fulfills for people, and has for thousands of years, always turn out bad for the wisher.  Doing this gets him thrown out of the Genie Guild, turning him into a mere human.  Luckily this happens after he buys the farm next door to Deborah's estate, getting out of Deborah's hair a neighbor she didn't like who had been refusing to sell out of spite until the genie offered him ten times the value of the property.  Deborah is happy the genie she has fallen in love with will be living next door and is now marriageable, and uses up half a page of text telling the formerly supernatural being, who at first is a little upset to lose all his magic powers, how beautiful Martha's Vineyard is, half a page of mind-numbing text about flowers and sea food.  (Is this half page sincere, or a goof on how people on Martha's Vineyard are intolerable bores?)  The story ends by telling us that cis-human Deborah and trans-human Djinn get married and their kids are hybrids who can teleport or turn invisible or something.

"Deborah and the Djinn"  is just a women's wish-fulfillment fantasy that lacks any kind of conflict or drama and has many long tedious passages about primping and dressing up and how awesome Martha's Vineyard is.  Thumbs down!  I guess Santesson published it and Merril promoted it because Cores by this time had published multiple mainstream novels and was thus "a name," but "Deborah and the Djinn" is like a saccharine children's book burdened down by overly long filler passages and thus totally lame.               

"Letter from Tomorrow" by Lee Corey

"Lee Corey" is the pen name of G. Harry Stine, a libertarian and an expert on rocketry.  That sounds promising, but note that "Letter from Tomorrow," like "Deborah and the Djinn," was printed in Fantastic Universe and never saw print again.  Could Merril be foisting another piece of junk on us?

Not junk, but no big deal; we might call "Letter from Tomorrow" a male wish-fulfillment fantasy, a story that romanticizes the scientific method and the scientist but also offers a deus ex machina shortcut to achieving scientific goals, the same way "Deborah and the Djinn" offers a deus ex machina shortcut to a woman's sexual and family goals.  Have I told you I don't like the deus ex machina plot device?

The protagonist of "Letter from Tomorrow" is a scientist working on rockets, one of many people toiling at the laborious step-by-step process of making space flight a reality.  "Letter from Tomorrow" includes lots of talk about science, Corey throwing around mathematical terms and names of chemicals and all that, more to build atmosphere than to impart to the reader anything substantive.  One of the main character's duties is to answer some of the mail the space program receives: fan mail, questions, ideas, denunciations.  Corey uses a session of mail-reading as an opportunity to praise young boys interested in science and ridicule religious people, two staples of classic science fiction, which seeks to not only entertain readers but mold them and hand-that-rocks-the-cradle style, mold the future.

Some of the letters come from a guy with odd handwriting and syntax, a guy who proposes new theories.  Corey uses this as an opportunity to talk about Einstein and the history of science, and to promote open-mindedness; again and again in history, we are told, old ideas are superseded, establishments overthrown, by radical thinkers.  Sure, maybe 99% of radical thinkers are wrong, but we have to keep our minds open because 1% of them produce the ideas that make progress, that revolutionize our view of the universe and change society in beneficial ways.

The protagonist is told by specialists that this correspondent must be full of crap, but our hero decides to investigate, and it turns out the writer is a space alien stranded here on Earth who would like to leave; he can't build a star ship himself, but maybe his knowledge can jump start the US space program; the story ends with the expectation that it will.  "Letter from Tomorrow" has what we might call a sense of wonder ending, as Corey leaves us wondering how exactly the protagonist is going to spring his discovery on his colleagues and the wider American public--the possibilities are endless, though the final outcome looks bright, with the human race about to embark on a series of terrific adventures and gain incalculable knowledge.

This is an acceptable classic-style science fiction story that teaches you a little science and promotes science and urges you to abandon religion and keep an open mind.  One of the interesting things about "Letter from Tomorrow," and something it shares with other science fiction work (I'm thinking of Arthur C. Clarke's oeuvre, like Childhood's End and 2001, and for all you classic anime fans, Yamato and Macross) is how the human race does not independently come up with the paradigm-shifting new technology, but gets it from aliens.  Doesn't this betray a lack of confidence in humanity?  Might not a religious person say that, for all the goofing on religion that SF writers do, that they have a tendency to just slot a space alien into the role held traditionally by God or His prophet, that science fiction writers seem to share the religious person's belief that humanity needs a super powerful guide?  If anybody can believe that mankind could come up with space travel all on his lonesome, shouldn't it be a libertarian science fiction writer?

Better than the Coles and the Cores, but kind of limp and boring.  One of the reasons I read so many weird/horror things is that they all try to get some kind of emotional charge out of you, and often use crazy stuff like the living dead and space monsters as allegories or metaphors of the trials you face in normal life, relationship challenges, existential angst, etc., while actual serious science fiction stories sometimes are just trying to coldly tell you stuff you already know, like that science is good, or facts you are not emotionally invested in, like what percentage of the sun is made up of hydrogen or what velocity you'd need to achieve to escape Earth's gravitational pull.

"Danger! Child at Large" by C. L. Cottrell

Charles Cottrell represents our only chance of reading an actually good story today.  Cottrell has three fiction credits at isfdb, and after its initial appearance in Frederik Pohl's all-original anthology Star Science Fiction No. 6, "Danger! Child at Large" has never been reprinted, so maybe don't get your hopes up.  (We've already read a story from this anthology recommended by Merril, "The Dreamsman" by Gordon R. Dickson.)

Alright, "Danger! Child at Large" is today's best story, but it is too long so I am not sure if it is just barely good or if it is at the upper limit of "acceptable."  I don't actually read Stephen King or The X-Men but "Danger! Child at Large" is reminding me, in tone and subject matter, of what my glimpses of that material via the idiot box have led me to think a Stephen King novel or an X-Men comic arc are like: long, histrionic, heavy-handed and exploitative, an exhausting over-the-top take on ideas we've already seen elsewhere.

In the first chapter of this novelette we meet Jill, an eight-year-old with many psychic powers--this chapter makes it clear she can fly and may have telekinesis.  (We eventually learn she can set stuff on fire and teleport and make other things teleport.  She can do it all!)  Jill is selfish and scatter-brained and appears to have run away from home.  Cottrell later makes it clear we are not to think Jill's character is unique, but that she represents a typical child, that all kids are selfish and scatter-brained.)  Jill travels around near a highway and then into a town, where she loots an abandoned store, taking dolls.  It is implied some kind of apocalyptic scenario is taking place--the town is essentially deserted, and all the men milling around on the highway have guns.

In Chapter II we meet Gordon the journalist and learn why the town is deserted--a "radioactive dust bomb" has been accidentally dropped on the town.  It has not detonated, and Gordon is there to watch as Air Force personnel hoist the bomb on the back of a truck and take it away.  Gordon is told by low-ranking servicemen that the bomb is actually quite safe--it wasn't armed and doesn't contain any radioactive material.  Could the dropping of the bomb be a deliberate ruse, a means of clearing the town so the government could find a psychic little girl without admitting the world is menaced by a god-like eight-year-old?

In Chapter III we learn more about Jill as she robs a candy store and then breaks into a furniture store to sleep in a bed.  Her telekinesis is powerful enough to blow holes in walls, and she has a little trouble calibrating her abilities--obviously, she is a menace.  We begin to learn that Jill has escaped from a scientific institution, where a Dr. Prann was studying her and training her.  Prann and the Air Force are now trying to catch her, and Gordon joins the Jill-hunter group after sneaking away from the bomb retrieval group.

In Chapter IV Prann and Gordon catch up to Jill, but Jill just had a scary dream and is on edge and so uses her powers to mangle an Air Force colonel to death.  The scientists try to approach Jill, one of them putting on a clown costume to put Jill at ease (her favorite TV show features a clown.)  Jill uses her powers to burn the guy in the clown mask alive.  Then she starts teleporting around and blowing up the whole town, maiming Air Force personnel in the process.  Cottrell offers up some real gruesome terror and horror moments, with Gordon impotently screaming in fright, men retching at the sight of mangled and the smell of burnt flesh, one guy moaning that he has lost his arm, another calling for help on the radio, shouting "Please!...Come to us!  We're dying!"  It's like reading about a real life battle in a history book or some kind of heinous crime in the newspaper, disturbing stuff.

Chapter V has lots of expository dialogue from Dr. Prann.  Jill is the greatest most powerful psyker of all time, with many talents and abilities already fully usable; Prann is a telepath himself and can read Jill's mind and kids' minds are scary but he still loves her like a daughter.  And so forth.  Since she is so powerful and, as a child, totally unreasonable, Prann feels he may have to gun Jill down with his revolver to prevent her from causing a cataclysm.

Chapter VI is more exposition, this time as Prann projects visions directly into Gordon's mind via his telepathy, and VII is more of the same.  Chapters V, VI and VII feel like padding, a lot of superfluous expansion of and elaboration on stuff we have already been told (e.g., Jill is superpowerful and Jill has escaped) and additional exploitative gore material that isn't as shocking as the gore in Chapter IV.  I thought the Chapter IV grue effective, but the mutilations in Chapters VI and VII, consisting of flashbacks to when Jill killed insects and a cat, feel unnecessary, even pointless, as we have already seen Jill mutilate and kill human beings, so seeing her destroy animals is not an escalation but a let down.  I've never been a fan of the narrative strategy of showing us the big event in the beginning of the story and then flashing back for most of the book or film to watch how the characters got to the big moment, and, for example, learning all about Jill's first time flying three-quarters of the way into the story, after we already saw her flying on the second page of this 38-page tale, didn't interest or excite me.  

In Chapter VIII Prann projects his own memories into Gordson's noggin yet again, this time presenting the journalist with a story that describes his own discovery and use of his own psychic powers as a young man in Poland trying to escape along with other refugees.  (Cottrell doesn't specify what year this adventure takes place or use any words like "Soviets" or "Communists" or "Nazis" to place the event in time, so I guess "Danger! Child at Large" takes place near the end of a 20th century in which the Cold War is still on, but I don't know.)  Anyway, the horror element of this Chapter is that Prann and his sister are hiding from guards and Prann's sister's baby is crying so Prann covers the infant's mouth to silence it and accidentally kills the baby.  This of course foreshadows the killing of Jill.

In climactic Chapter IX Prann and Gordon catch up to Jill in a library.  Prann tries to knock Jill unconscious but she kills him with her psychic powers.  Gordon picks up the revolver (which, for some reason, we are told has a "clip") and manages to shoot Jill in the head before she can destroy him.  Gordon collapses among some books on the Civil War.  

One thing about "Danger! Child at Large" that I haven't mentioned is its attitude towards religion, which is not dismissive.  Prann often invokes the concepts of God and of Heaven, perhaps Cottrell trying to hint we should think of Jill, who has limitless power, and Prann, who in his efforts to save groups of people is willing to destroy individuals who, as children, lack moral agency, as seeking to wield god-like power.

Cottrell's is the most sophisticated and ambitious of today's stories, and the best at having an emotional effect on the reader, but I am reluctant to say it is good.  I have already given you a long list of problems I have with the story, and I will leave you with one more.  Gordon is not really a useful character, he is just a spectator until the last moment, when he shoots Jill.  Why didn't Cottrell just tell the story from the points of view of Jill and Prann?  Most of the chapters are from Jill's or Prann's point of view, anyway.  Just give Prann's story straight instead of in flashbacks projected into Gordon's brain.  Prann could have shot Jill in the head and then died from her last psychic blast.

**********

A rough patch in our tour under the direction of Ms. Merril.  Two stories that are bad, one that is acceptable and one that barley drags itself across the threshold of recommendable because it is heavily burdened with many superfluous scenes, characters and pages.  Here's hoping Merril's "D"s are better!

Robert Arthur: "The Believers," "The Book and the Beast," and "Ring Once for Death"

Recently, one of my well-read commenters recommended the author Robert Arthur.  Not long after, I encountered at an antique mall a hard cover edition of the one Arthur collection listed at isfdb, Ghosts and More Ghosts, the one with an owl on the cover, not one of the editions with a ghost on the cover.  I didn't drop 20 bucks for this thing, being an inveterate cheapo, but I still felt its appearance in my life  was a sign I should read some of Arthur's stories.  While this early 1960s collection was marketed to young people, the stories were originally printed in places like Weird Tales and Argosy, so presumably suitable for a 54-year-old like myself, at least in their original forms.  So let's hie to the internet archive and read the magazine versions of three tales by Robert Arthur that were reprinted in Ghosts and More Ghosts, two from Weird Tales and one from Amazing.

(You can read the 1963 1st revised edition of Ghosts and More Ghosts at the internet archive here.  The headings of each section below will be a link to the internet archive scan of the appropriate issue of D. McIlwraith's WT or Howard Browne's Amazing.)  

"The Believers" (1941)

"The Believers" appears in Ghosts and More Ghosts under the title "Do You Believe in Ghosts?"  No, I do not, though I regularly meet people who claim they do.  "The Believers" debuted in an issue of Weird Tales that has a wild cover by Hannes Bok and stories we have already read by Ray Cummings ("The Robot God"), Clark Ashton Smith ("The Enchantress of Sylaire"), Ralph Milne Farley ("I Killed Hilter") and Manly Wade Wellman "It All Came True in the Woods.") 

You have probably heard about Orson Welles' 1938 broadcast of an adaptation of H. G. Wells' The War of the Worlds that is said to have scared the rubes out in Hicksville.  Ever since, from the day it happened to this day, this event has served journalists, politicians and historians as a case in evidence supporting their contentions that [some segment of] the American people are dolts, [some segment of] the media is out of control and too powerful, or people in 1938 were quaking in their boots over Hitler.  Suffice to say that journalists, politicians and historians are always making mistakes and have innumerable career and ideological reasons to lie, and that the number of people who really were scared by Welles' broadcast, and the proportion of them who took concrete actions in response to their fear, is in dispute.  Anyway, Arthur may have been influenced by this famous event in crafting "The Believers."

Nick Deene is a writer who travels the world having adventures and then writing about them, exaggerating his experiences for effect, suggesting he was in far more danger than he really was.  Arthur stresses how fake Deene is--his tan is from a sun lamp, for example, no from time spent outdoors.  Deene relates and dramatizes some of these past events for broadcast on his regularly scheduled radio program.  His latest stunt is to broadcast live as he is handcuffed in an 18th-century house in the remote countryside, a house that has been abandoned for decades.  Deene and his broadcast team have spread rumors--rumors they themselves made up--that the house is haunted.

The techs and advertising men and print journalists who accompanied Deene into the bedroom of the dusty old ruin leave him once he is handcuffed to the ancient four-poster bed, a microphone set up close to his mouth.  The plan is for Deene to just make up a sighting of some creature, after spending plenty of time setting the stage and building atmosphere by describing the dark bedroom and the sounds he hears and all that.  Arthur tells us, multiple times, that thousands and thousands of radio listeners have tuned in and implicitly believe every phony thing the Deene says.  

Deene describes the sounds and smells of an approaching creature, employing special effects to simulate the former.  He then describes the fanciful monster as it enters the room and then retreats, apparently driven off by Deene's Bible and crucifix.  Then Arthur unleashes his gimmick on us, which unfortunately the editorial intro to "The Believers" has already spoiled for us.  The belief of hundred of thousands of credulous radio listeners has through collective psychic power brought to life the hideous monster Deene described!  After the broadcast ends, but before his fellow broadcasters have entered the house to unlock his handcuffs, this creature attacks Deene!  Will Deene survive?

Not a bad story at all, I'm saying marginally recommendable.

"The Believers" has been reprinted in multiple anthologies in Europe and America, including one edited by Richard Darby which has a preface by one of our favorite thespians, Christopher Lee. 

"The Book and the Beast" (1943)

This story was reprinted in Ghosts and More Ghosts under the title "Mr. Dexter's Dragon," which makes it sound more like a kid's story.  Well, let's see.  We're reading "The Book and the Beast" in an issue of Weird Tales we just looked at, one that includes stories we read by famous weirdies August Derleth, Henry Kuttner and Robert Bloch.  It doesn't look like "The Book and the Beast" has been anthologized.

Murchison is a short balding man whose hobby is collecting books and manuscripts about the occult.  (Of course it is.)  In a Manhattan second-hand shop he finds a very unusual book--a handwritten book of spells!  One of the spells is "To Bring Three Beautiful Females to Your Room After Dark."  Wow!  And you thought "Fireball" was a good spell, you nerd!  Curious, I looked at the version of the story in Ghosts and More Ghosts and found that not only had "Murchison" been changed to "Dexter," but that "To Bring Three Beautiful Females to Your Room After Dark" had been changed to "To Make a Demon Bring Three Bags of Gold."  Booooriiiiiinnnnng.  Well, I suppose with three bags of gold you could persuade three women to come to your room at night...but it's just not the same.

Anyway, back home on Long Island, Murchison looks over the book, finding a painting of a dragon on one page particularly interesting.  The dragon is skinny, as if starved.  Behind it is a pile of human bones including thirteen skulls.  Murchison writes to a fellow old book collector, a Muir, who lives in Brooklyn, about his terrific find.

When Muir comes over for a visit the next day, the police are at Murchison's place because Murchison's servants have reported that Murchison has vanished.  The unscrupulous Muir steals the spell book, which is right there on the missing man's desk.  Muir, we are told, enjoys the company of young blondes, and just such a delightful creature distracts him from the book when he gets back home, but he does have time to look over the painting of the dragon and find it is not all that skinny and that there are fourteen skulls behind it, not thirteen as reported by his friend.  (In the Ghosts and More Ghosts version of the story, the whole blonde angle is dropped.)  The next morning, Muir's servants report their own master has also disappeared.  They see the book, which has a picture of a fat dragon.

Some time later faulty wiring burns down Muir's house, and in the wreckage the authorities unexpectedly find the bones of sixteen people as well as those of some big prehistoric beast, leading to much speculation.

This is a pretty good story; thumbs up for "The Book and the Beast."  I find the black magic angle and the sex angle more engaging than the hokey gullible-radio-audience angle of "The Believers," and find it odd that anthologists preferred "The Believers" over this story.

"Ring Once for Death" (1954)

"Ring Once for Death" appeared in an issue of Amazing that includes a story we are already familiar with, Walter M. Miller, Jr.'s "Death of a Spaceman," a book version of which we read in 2020.  The version of "Ring Once for Death" that appears in Ghosts and More Ghosts was retitled "The Rose Crystal Bell" and it looks like it was this 1963 version that was anthologized in 1991 in Martin H. Greenberg and Charles G. Waugh's Back from the Dead.  We of course are reading the 1954 magazine version.

Twenty years ago a honeymooning couple visited a shop run by an Asian man (an "Oriental") and purchased a necklace with a crystal pendant.  Today they are back at the shop, now run by the previous owner's son.  A curious crystal bell with no clapper catches wifey's eye--the young proprietor tells a crazy story about how his father separated the bell from its clapper because a weird religious sect claimed if the bell was rung it could bring a person back to life--but only by taking the life of some other person.  The wife recognizes that the pendant of her necklace must be the clapper, and back home she reunites the two pieces of the magic bell.

There follows a somewhat predictable series of tragic events in which people close to the wife get, apparently, killed and then turn out to be unexpectedly OK but at the same moment of the happy revelation somebody else keels over.  All the miraculous recoveries and mysterious deaths can be explained as bizarre coincidences, but of course the wife thinks the magic of the bell is responsible.  The bell is accidently destroyed so we'll never know, and the wife will ever after have to live with the possibility that she chose to preserve one of her loved ones and destroy another.

Acceptable.

On the left, a 1972 paperback edition of Ghosts and More Ghosts

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Despite the collection's title, none of the stories we read today that appear in Ghosts and More Ghosts, at least in their magazine versions, is really about a conventional ghost.  Which is fine by me, as I generally don't find the conventional idea of a ghost very compelling.  Taken as a group these stories are pretty good, so probably we'll be seeing more of Arthur in the future, whose work appeared in publications we are interested in here at MPorcius Fiction Log like Thrilling Wonder Stories and John W. Campbell, Jr.'s Unknown, as well as elsewhere, including a magazine Arthur himself edited, Mysterious Traveler, and a bunch of anthologies Arthur ghost edited for Alfred Hitchcock.