Showing posts with label Harrison. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Harrison. Show all posts

Saturday, September 5, 2015

Who Goes Here? by Bob Shaw

Repeated assurances that he had been some kind of Anti-Christ in his former existence were beginning to have a bludgeoning effect on him. He wished Toogood would drop the subject and let him forget that he had nothing to remember.
Note the serious cover painting.
Just this week I was looking at the website put up by the people at SF Gateway, where you can (and should!) purchase electronic texts of classic SF and fantasy.  There was a little doohickey which you could push to see their "All Time Top Ten," a list which, I found when I pushed the thingamajig, included such important and MPorcius-approved works as Gene Wolfe's Shadow of the Torturer,  Joe Haldeman's Forever War, and Harry Harrison's Deathworld.  Number Ten on the list was Bob Shaw's Who Goes Here?, which last month I purchased while travelling cross country in our recently repaired Toyota Corolla.  I decided I better read it fast before I was in the embarrassing position of being the last kid on my block to enjoy this popular favorite.

My copy of Who Goes Here? was printed by Ace in 1978; the novel has a copyright of 1977.  I love the space adventure cover: a guy in a forest carrying a long and complicated-looking rifle meets huge chitinous worms!  Friend or foe?  I gotta know!

I was pretty surprised and disappointed when I realized that Who Goes Here? was one big joke.  Or maybe I should say a collection of many jokes--there seem to be multiple gags and puns on each of the novel's 214 pages.  (The print is large, so in fact the book is not particularly long.)

It is the future, the year 2386!  A treatment is available for people suffering psychological problems that erases a portion of their memories, relieving them of feelings of guilt.  In return for this treatment, recipients are enlisted in the Space Legion for an unspecified, open-ended period of service which, in practice, lasts until they are killed.  As the novel opens we meet such a recruit, a man with the unusual name of "Warren Peace."  For some reason, his entire memory has been erased--he can't recall a single component of his past!  A recurring joke is his fellow recruits remarking that, if his entire memory has been erased, he must have been a monster whose entire life was steeped in villainy.

This cover better reflects the tone and
 subject matter of the novel
Private Peace participates in some military campaigns on alien planets, then his ingenuity with electronics enables him to escape while on leave.  He is accused of being a homosexual child molester and flees into a women's lavatory where a hidden time machine transports him back in time, to a period not long before he joined the Space Legion.  He makes his way back to Earth and intercepts his younger self, learning the truth about his past, his bizarre name, and the history of the Space Legion.

Who Goes Here? brought to mind Harry Harrison: much of the novel feels like an homage to Bill the Galactic Hero and Deathworld.  One section seemed like an homage to Hollywood cartoons--Warren Peace is chased through a city by huge golden nude men called Oscars, and flees into a factory owned by the Acme Raincoat Company.

Some of the jokes, especially the satire of the military, feel like jokes you have heard before; e.g., the officers are all stupid or corrupt, the soldiers are issued equipment that doesn't operate properly, the Earth is the hypocritical capitalist imperialist instigator of the wars, etc.  Other jokes are extrapolations or responses to SF ideas, like the hypnosis used on the soldiers and the Legion's method of space travel.  Some of the gags are obvious or childish, like the officers punishing soldiers by making them twist their own nipples, and the recruit who doesn't know that "Terra" is a synonym for "Earth" and is perpetually confused by references to a place he's never heard of being what he is fighting for.  

I probably would not have read Who Goes Here? if I had known it was an absurdist farce.  How much comedy do I need in my life?  Everybody on TV and in real life thinks he's some kind of comedian, everybody tries to be sarcastic and cynical and "ironic," everybody's idea of debating is to give his opponent some kind of derisive nickname. (I'm not exempting myself from this denunciation of our culture--I know I've filled this blog with dumb jokes, and those who have to suffer my company in real life know I have nothing to say and so hold up my end of the conversation with juvenile puns and supercilious comments.)  So, when I read fiction, I hope to find some genuine emotion or new ideas, and I avoid SF authors who have a reputation for writing broad farces and extravagant satires. Thus, Who Goes Here?, which is quite unlike the two Shaw novels I enjoyed recently (Orbitsville and Night Walk) was a bit of a letdown.

While a disappointment to me, I have to give Who Goes Here? a positive review; it is a good specimen of what it is trying to be.  Shaw is a good writer; he has a good style and he also is good at structuring a book, fitting all the pieces together smoothly. There aren't any boring or gratuitous sections, and he doesn't bog you down with unnecessary details, the book is just rapid fire jokes and a streamlined adventure plot, and I did actually laugh at some of the jokes.  Some elements of the novel show a high level of cleverness (a movie theater in which a children's film and a porno are projected simultaneously, and viewers are issued age-specific special spectacles to decipher the image) and creativity (a long list of strange monsters.)  There's even a traditional sensawunda ending in which it is hinted that our main character, with new found powers, is going to play a role in a radical change to galactic society that will bring peace and prosperity.  I can see why Who Goes Here? would be popular, and why a sequel would be published in 1993.

If you are looking for a silly jokey science fiction book, you should check Who Goes Here? out; it is certainly one of the better ones.

**********


There are six pages of ads at the end of my copy of Who Goes Here?  I find the ad for Galaxy particularly interesting, because it gives you an idea which writers the people running Galaxy in 1978 (editor: John J. Pierce) thought would be a draw: Zelazny, Pohl, Benford, Cherryh, Herbert, and Cordwainer Smith, about whom I was recently gushing.

Also interesting, to me, is the ad for the Ace Science Fiction Specials, because I do not recognize any of the titles.  If you have read any of these, feel free in the comments to enlighten me as to how "special" they really are, and don't hesitate to warn me if any are outlandish farces.

Sunday, August 16, 2015

Classic SF Mysteries: Harry Harrison's 1971 introduction to Thomas Disch's One Hundred and Two H-Bombs

In his intro to the 1971 Berkley edition (S2044) of Thomas Disch's collection One Hundred and Two H-Bombs, Harry Harrison makes a number of provocative claims.  For one thing he says that the New Wave writers "brought a breath of fresh air into the dusty SF establishment at that time [the early 1960s] that still has the fossil saurians shivering."  Who are these dusty dinosaurs? Arthur C. Clarke?  Robert Heinlein?  Poul Anderson?  Isaac Asimov?  I wish Harrison would name names instead of just making these vague allegations.  I suppose Harrison had his career to worry about, but now I am going to be wondering who exactly Harrison is contemptuously condemning here in the same way I am still wondering who Jack Vance denounced to that New York Times reporter and who Harlan Ellison was sneering at in the intro to The Beast That Shouted Love at the Heart of the World.

In praising Disch and the New Wave writers Harrison also asserts that they enjoy writing, that readers can sense the pleasure experienced by New Wave writers as they compose their work.  This sounds like boilerplate ad copy that the reader is free to accept or reject as he sees fit, but Harrison goes a step further, claiming that lots of SF stories are hack work produced by people who don't even like what they are doing:
There is also more than a touch of authorial pleasure in their [the New Wave writers'] writing, an ingredient that is missing from all too much of science fiction.  If a writer is not writing for his own pleasure or interest the fact is immediately obvious to all except the most cynical of editors and dimmest of readers.  The vacant interstellar spaces of SF contain far too much of this; less than an atom of interest per cubic meter.    
Who is Harrison talking about here?  What SF writers (and he seems to think there are many of them) were active in the '60s and early '70s who could be credibly accused of not enjoying their work?  Is Harrison talking about big name writers whose politics he didn't like, like (I'm guessing) Heinlein, Anderson, and E. E. Smith, who glorified businesspeople and fighting men?  Or prolific writers of straightforward adventure stories like Edmond Hamilton, E. C. Tubb, Ken Bulmer and Lin Carter?  I've read all those writers, and even when I didn't like something they did, I felt they were doing it with enthusiasm.  (Maybe I am one of the "dimmest of readers.")  If Harrison is talking about minor figures, people almost forgotten today, like John Glasby and Lionel Fanthorpe, then I think he may have been overstating his case.

Readers are invited to nominate candidates for Harrison's rogues gallery of dusty dinosaurs and uninterested hacks in the comments, based on knowledge of Harrison's other criticism or pure conjecture, in the comments.

Saturday, August 15, 2015

Four more 1960s Thomas Disch stories

Let's read four more Thomas Disch stories from the 1960s!  These appeared in Fantastic Stories of Imagination and Worlds of Tomorrow; I read them in my copy of the 1971 edition of the collection One Hundred and Two H-Bombs.

"Genetic Coda" (1964)

This is one of those Oedipal time travel stories in which a guy goes back in time and has sex with his mother.  (Heinlein famously explored similar themes in 1958's "'—All You Zombies—'" and the Lazarus Long stories.)  It is written in a jocular style, and is perhaps a parody of such stories as Heinlein's; I suspect, in writing "Genetic Coda," that Disch wasn't taking the possibility of time travel and its ramifications very seriously.

Our story takes place in a future in which the world government maintains rigid control over everybody's genetic purity, and its protagonist, Sextus, is a hunchbacked freak. We first meet our hero as a clever six-year old, living in seclusion on his rich father's estate, being educated by robot tutors.  The eugenicist government, under ordinary circumstances, would castrate or execute little Sextus (and his hunchbacked father Quintus) but Quintus has bribed them and promised that no freak will ever cross the bounds of the estate.  Sextus is very lonely, only rarely seeing his freakish father, his obese, abusive, and alcoholic mother, and the lawyer who manages the estate and helps keep the World Genetic Council off the family's back.  As a young man, Sextus becomes obsessed with sex, but of course can meet no girls.  He tries to change social attitudes by self-publishing a polemic novel urging tolerance of freaks and by using his family's vast wealth to manipulate the economy; when those methods fail he spends two trying to create an artificial woman in the lab, with no success.  Finally, in his early thirties, he hits upon the idea of building a Time Machine and travelling back in time, to a period before the estate was surrounded by a barbed wire fence and armed guards.  He has sex with the first woman he encounters beyond the confines of the estate, a drunk lying in the gutter.

I am often confused by time travel stories and their paradoxes, and I was definitely confused by the twist ending of "Genetic Coda."  Sextus has sex with his mother, sure enough, but I had expected the child produced from this union to be Sextus himself. Instead, he and Mom have a daughter, whom he names Septima.  The explanation for this is, I guess, that by travelling through time, Sextus has created, or shifted to, a different "continuum"--there is a scene right before Sextus picks up his lush of a mother in which Sextus sees himself (as Quintus) and Quintus "pops out of existence."
Quintus had been; he was no more.  Not in this continuum.
Sextus brings Septima to back the future with him, and they produce twins, Octavia and Octavius, who are not hunchbacks.  So, a happy ending.

Even though I didn't really get the rules of time travel Disch is using in this story, I enjoyed it; after all it was only the last two of the tale's ten pages that had me scratching my head.  The style is light and gently amusing, and carries you pleasantly along, and some of the droll jokes are decent:
Sextus ran downstairs to the laundry room, entered the secret chamber, and found his birthday president: several bales of hundred and thousand dollar bills.  It was just what he wanted.
******
"Why do you go to so much trouble for me, Mr. Sterling?" Sextus asked [the lawyer] one day.
"Because you're worth millions, Sexy."  Mr. Sterling loved money more than he hated freaks.  He was a liberal in the old style.
Thumbs up!

"Dangerous Flags" (1964)

In the introduction to the collection Harry Harrison tells us that Disch informed him that "'Dangerous Flags' was written with pure delight," and Harrison recommends that readers begin with it.

Well, Disch may have enjoyed writing it, but I was groaning while I read it.  "Dangerous Flags" is one of those absurdist fables full of archetypal figures, dumb jokes, and nonsensical events; perhaps it is trying to reproduce the feeling of a whimsical children's story or an insane dream.  I don't like these kinds of stories; they are too unmoored from reality to inspire any interest or emotion, and the points they try to make always feel facile.

The plot: An evil English teacher and her stupid rich nephew are trying to destroy a Pennsylvania mining town with poisonous coal gas and a waterspout.  The Green Magician leaps to the defense of the town.  Their struggle includes riddles ("What is the sound of one hand clapping?") and magic spells activated by the recitation of poems by Longfellow and Tennyson.  Finally, the Green Magician triumphs by summoning the Snow Fairy.  

"Dangerous Flags" reminded me of Harlan Ellison's "'Repent, Harlequin!' Said the Ticktockman" and Joanna Russ's "The Zanzibar Cat," neither of which I'm crazy about.  Even worse, while those stories seem to be trying to get across some kind of point (in Ellison's case, with a heavy hand), "Dangerous Flags" seems almost like pure surrealism.  Could Disch be pursuing revenge on an English teacher he hated in his youth?  (And who had a rich nephew?)  Is "Dangerous Flags" a hamfisted and oblique environmentalist story?  Maybe it's a derisive attack on American civic culture: there is a farcical town hall meeting; the townspeople elect the Green Magician king; and in the final lines of the story the Green Magician sings his favorite song, "America the Beautiful."  Could Disch be lampooning specific events in the early 1960s that I am ignorant of (there is a mention of the Republican Party, which Disch likens to the Ku Klux Klan, and a "Eurasian spy")?

Well, whatever is going on in "Dangerous Flags," I don't care for it.  Thumbs down!

"The Sightseers" (1965)

This is one of those stories in which the world is not what it seems, and the characters (and readers, it is hoped) are surprised to discover the true nature of things.  It is the future, and rich people, known as Sightseers, pay to have access to the "Deep Freeze."  Every evening, after a day of leisure or tourism, they are frozen, and sleep for a century.  Then they are defrosted, and emerge to see how the world has changed in their absence.  The world, however, never seems to be any different.

We follow two couples, a wheelchair bound man (appropriately named Nestor) and his sprightly female companion (Ramona), and an older woman (Myrna Balch of the Little Rock Balches) and her young virile gigolo (Jimmy).  These four white people, like all Sightseers, are served by attentive black people known as Nubians.  Jimmy wonders why centuries of time passing never seem to change anything, why the only people he ever meets are Sightseers and Nubians, and why the sterile cities they visit contain no stores or offices.  He discovers that the Nubians are robots or cyborgs, and realizes that the only human beings left in the world are the decadent Sightseers, who pursue empty, unproductive lives.  Jimmy and Ramona run off to found a colony of humans who will live real, full, lives, away from the Deep Freeze, growing their own food and starting families.  In the last scene we learn that the joke is on them: Jimmy and Ramona are not human, either, but cyborgs purchased by Nestor and Myrna, little more than advanced sex toys.

Disch adds on an extra layer of pessimism by making it clear that Myrna Balch is vapid and ignorant;  on the third page of the thirteen-page story we learn she has never even heard of Dante or Goethe.  The Earth has been inherited by a tiny elite, and not even the kind of elite that will keep alive the beauties of Western civilization.  

This story is just OK; I feel like I've encountered all its elements before, and Disch doesn't do much that is new with them.

"The Vamp" (1965)

I watched way too much TV as a kid, and all kinds of weird sounds, images and ideas are always rattling around inside my head.  Ever since I first looked at the contents page of One Hundred and Two H-Bombs I have been hearing the phrase "The Vamp" in my mind, spoken in the same emphatic yet restrained tones used by the narrators of one of my favorite Woody Woodpecker cartoons, "Under the Counter Spy," when saying "The Bat."

Anyway, this is a pedestrian humor story about a vampire that consists primarily of feeble jokes.  A guy meets his ex-wife on the street.  She's just back from Transylvania and wants to kiss him on the neck!  When he takes her home she asks him to cover the mirrors!  When he offers to make her a steak she says she would prefer to eat it raw!  When she finds he has seasoned the steak with garlic she flees from the house!

This material feels old and tired.  Disch tries to liven it up by setting it in Hollywood and having the man and his ex-wife be washed up silent film stars, and filling the story with (authentic-sounding but I believe bogus) references to Old Hollywood, but it doesn't help very much.

Not good.

*********

I gotta say, this batch of stories was kind of disappointing.  There was certainly nothing as fine as "The Return of the Medusae" or "The Demi-Urge," though I liked "Genetic Coda."  Well, there are fourteen stories in the US edition of One Hundred and Two H-Bombs, I guess you have to expect a few clunkers and failed experiments.

Thursday, August 13, 2015

Five 1963 stories by Thomas M. Disch

Long-time readers of this here blog will perhaps recall my praise of Thomas Disch's novel On Wings of Song, his fix-up novel 334, and some of his short stories.  Followers of my twitter feed may remember that earlier this month, in South Carolina, a thousand miles away by Toyota Corolla from my Midwestern HQ, I purchased a 1971 copy of Disch's 1967 collection One Hundred and Two H-Bombs.

Besides the fine cover painting (presumably by Paul Lehr) this edition has an intro by Harry Harrison of Stainless Steel Rat and Eden fame.  Harrison describes Disch's physical appearance in the early '60s, and gives a little capsule history of the "New Wave," which he says is a poor label for the phenomenon.  As Harrison tells it, the science fiction field was in a "grey period" in the early '60s, but then a bunch of new writers, writers who had read widely of mainstream literature and travelled around the world (Disch and Harrison both spent time in London, Harrison reminds us) appeared on the scene.  These new writers were a breath of fresh air that shook the old dinosaurs of SF, whom Harrison declines to name.  According to Harrison, Disch is "about the best of this pack," a man who writes in the tradition of Evelyn Waugh and Anthony Burgess, producing works that are "comic," but don't try to make you laugh out loud.

I think Disch is an exciting, challenging writer (I like his irreverent criticism as well as his fiction) and so I have really been looking forward to tackling some stories from One Hundred and Two H-Bombs.  This week I read five stories from the collection, all of which appeared in 1963, in either Amazing Stories or Fantastic Stories of Imagination

"Final Audit"

"Final Audit" appeared first in the July issue of Fantastic.

This is an ingenious and absurd fantasy story, set in the late nineteenth century, starring a bank auditor who has access to very specific but trivial occult information; inexplicably, he can see the figures he will write in one of his ledgers (the one covering the bank's postal expenses) 30 days before he writes them.  He tries to use this very minor predictive ability to his advantage, but with no luck.  In fact, focusing so much on this ledger stultifies his career and social life. When the ledger actually does provide valuable information (that the bank will burn down) the auditor is too obtuse to benefit by it, and, in a somewhat predictable twist ending, he causes the conflagration himself.

"False Audit" is well-written and well-constructed, and an effective spoof of or homage to stories about the ability to predict the future.  Because the story is set in a bank Disch is able to include numerous attacks on the bourgeoisie of the kind that we find so often in fiction: the stockmarket is no better than gambling, businesspeople are all callous, corrupt, and greedy, etc.

I liked it.  

"The Return of the Medusae"

"The Return of the Medusae" appeared with "The Princess's Carillon" and a third story by Disch in the August issue of Fantastic; isfdb lists all three together as components of the "Fables of the Past and Future series."

This is a clever story, less than two pages in length, that speculates on how the survivors would react if suddenly and unexpectedly everyone awake was turned to stone.  Which statues would be left intact, even decorated with flowers by grieving relatives?  Which would be smashed because they were ugly or simply in the way (think of people turned to stone while in the middle of a bowel movement)?  Would artists chisel away at the doomed, trying to improve their looks, change their expressions?  The story is convincingly written in the voice of an historian or art critic, living long after the event.

Good.

"The Princess' Carillon"

This is a farcical satire of welfare state liberalism, or of fears of welfare state liberalism, or both.  A nine-year old white princess, an orphan, is physically and psychologically abused by the regent, her uncle, but the legislature supports the regent because of his well-administered welfare program.  The little princess is sent to an integrated school, where she fears the black kids will kill her ("or worse.")  A black boy tells her he is really a prince, and will return to his "proper form and color" if the princess kisses him.  She kisses him, and he becomes a frog, whom she marries.

I tend to not like absurd satires, and I'm not getting much out of this one; there is no character or plot, no human feeling, and no point that I can really discern.  It is only two and a half pages, so I can't really argue it is a waste of time, but I'm not willing to tell you that time reading it was well spent, either.

"The Demi-Urge"

There are words that I learned at one point, but, because they don't come up very often, whose meaning I tend to forget, so that every few years, when they do come up, I have to look up.  "Defenestration" is one, and "demiurge" is another.  Maybe this story will permanently imbed "demiurge" in my porous brain.

This story, three pages long, consists of two messages, each sent by a member of a survey team from a Galactic Empire back to HQ; this team is examining our solar system, during a time when Earthlings have colonized the entire system and are preparing to travel to the stars.  One of the messages laments that the Terrans have become slaves to their Machines, and requests permission to liberate the Earth people by destroying all the Machines.  The second message is from a dissenting member of the survey team.  He asserts that those his comrades believe to be Machines are in fact the native Terrans, and those they wish to liberate the true Machines.  This mistake has been made because the Galactic Empire itself is populated by Machines, created by a race long extinct, a fact forgotten for millennia and only now evident because the Empire has stumbled upon true living beings for the first time in recorded history.  The revelation that the citizens of the Empire are not natural entities, but artificial constructions of an earlier natural race, will cause an inferiority complex that will shake the Empire's foundations.

Pretty good.  "The Demi-Urge" first appeared in the June issue of Amazing and is now available at Gutenberg.org.

"Utopia? Never!"

Utopias and utopianism are common topics in science fiction--during the life of this blog I have read stories by Theodore Sturgeon and Edgar Pangborn which present utopias, as well as stories by Clare Winger Harris, R. A. Lafferty, and Tanith Lee that express skepticism of utopianism.  I was intrigued by the title of this three-page story, curious to see how Disch would engage with the idea of Utopia in this short format.

I was a little disappointed; this is an entertaining story, but little more than a twist-ending thriller kind of thing.  The planet of New Katanga (the name is a clue to what is going on), called "Utopia" by its inhabitants, has great wealth, because it exports the finest fleece in the galaxy.  Due to a secret process, the "gobblers" raised on New Katanga have much better fleece than gobblers raised on other planets.  This monopoly produces enough money for the Utopians to live lives of ease, dining on the finest cuisine in the galaxy, surrounded by beautiful architecture.

The overt theme of the story is voiced by a tourist visiting the planet, who declares that a utopia is impossible: "'There's always a fly in the ointment...Injustice is a part of human nature.  A society can't do without it.'"  This is the kind of pessimism we have every right to expect from the author of 334!   Despite his skepticism, the tourist is enjoying his visit, and jumps at the chance to become a citizen of New Katanga.  Then it is revealed how the Utopians produce such fine gobbler fleece--immigrants are fed alive to the gobblers!  It is a diet of human flesh which makes the gobbler fleece of New Katanga so fine.  The evil behind New Katanga is made explicit when we (and the tourist) discover that the gobblers are fed in a Roman-style arena, before rapt crowds of spectators.

Presumably this is yet another literary attack on successful businesspeople; the Katangans make their profits and finance their high lifestyle through monopoly and murder.  It also reminded me of the dream sequence in Thomas Mann's The Magic Mountain, in which scenes of a utopia are followed by a vision of human sacrifice.
   
An acceptable entertainment.  "Utopia? Never!" first appeared in Amazing's August issue.

***********

A pretty good selection; 1963 was evidently a good year for Disch and his fans.  "The Return of the Medusae" and "The Demi-Urge," in particular, are models of good "short-shorts;" they offer striking ideas and are imbued with emotional content and psychological insight.  "Final Audit" and "Utopia? Never!" are well-put-together and entertaining.  As for "The Princess' Carillon," well, you can't win them all.

More stories from One Hundred and Two H-Bombs in our next episode!

Thursday, July 30, 2015

West of the Sun by Edgar Pangborn

"You're proposing," Dorothy said, "to take a chance on love?"
Wright was tranquil, watching the meadow.  "Whenever men put their chips on the other thing they always lost, didn't they?"


One of the few of my 386 SF paperbacks that is not currently packed up in a cardboard box is my Dell edition (#9442) of Edgar Pangborn's West of the Sun, a novel that first appeared in 1953.  My copy was printed in 1966; I purchased it at Second Story Books in Washington D.C., a cool place to buy old prints (I got a Kenyon Cox print) and tribal masks (these are outside the MPorcius budget) as well as 50 cent paperbacks of obscure SF novels.

I was afraid to guess what the blue thing was... could it be a plesiosaur fin?  Is that you, Nessie?
The collage on the cover by Hoot von Zitzewitz is pretty insane; from left to right we've got an orangutan with a (I guess) spear that our man Hoot helpfully drew in, some kind of sea anemone, young lovers running on the beach (we all remember that scene with Elke Sommer in 1962's Douce Violence don't we?) a tree (on fire?) and a hand drawing a bow.  Are these images emblematic of what takes place in West of the Sun?  Sounds like readers can look forward to the sex and violence we all crave in our genre literature.  Looking through Hoot's body of work via google, I was a little surprised to see that Dell used the same cover on its British edition of critical darling Judith Merril's ninth Annual of the Year's Best S-F anthology.  Maybe there was hope that the orangutan would join the rocket and the robot as iconic SF images suitable for any SF paperback's cover.

Internet SF gadfly Joachim Boaz told me (via twitter and in a comment on my post about Pangborn's Davy) that West of the Sun was so weak that he couldn't finish it, but I had just read Nicholas Thomas's book on James Cook's voyages so I was all revved up to explore new territory, no matter how forbidding!

Our cast of characters, and
Second Story's 50 cent stamp
The year is 2056.  The Earth is divided into two unhappy camps, a technocratic and technophilic socialist West ("the Federation") and a despotic East ("Jenga's empire.")  Human freedom has taken a hit, but the Federation has made major technological advances, and as the novel opens the multi-ethnic crew of the Federation's first star ship is about to land on Lucifer, a "red-green" planet named for the "son of the morning."  We get a serving of one of the novel's themes (the potential for all people, and all things, to do both good and evil) right there on the third page of text, when the mission's intellectual leader, Doc Wright, tells his comrades, "Lucifer was an angel....Devils and angels have a way of turning out to be the same organism."

Due to a fault in the construction of the star ship (perhaps an indication that the technology-obsessed Federation isn't even good at what it professes to be its primary focus) the six astronauts who lived to see Lucifer are shipwrecked on the red-green planet.  They quickly meet and befriend a member of an over-sized hairy race of territorial individualists; this character is depicted in all his glory, battling a serpentine reptile, on the Italian edition of the novel, and, I suppose, is represented by our man Hoot with that stock image of an orangutan.  Soon after, contact is made with a society of war-like Stone Age (Pangborn uses the word "Neolithic") pygmy villagers. As Harry Harrison would do with the reptile people in his Eden series in the 1980s, Pangborn flips gender roles with these belligerent shorties; among them the females are big and strong and form the ruling and military class, while the small and weak males are sensitive and raise the kids and form a parasitic priestly class.

The second of the book's three sections takes place a year after the arrival of the humans.  Doc Wright and his crew have tried to convince the queen of the pygmies to stop enslaving people and breeding them for the dinner table, but the pygmies are reluctant to change their ways, and, besides, are busy with a war against another, much larger, empire of pygmies.  Much of this second part of the book is taken up with a blow by blow account of the climactic battle of this war between pygmy empires; the humans with their firearms and a cadre of the hairy giants lead the smaller group of pygmies in battle.  The tone of the war chapters is tragic--the human led side is defeated, and we get lots of scenes of minor characters dying, Iliad-style.

The novel's final section takes place ten years after the Earthlings' landing. The handful of humans, giants and pygmies who survived the war have founded a peaceful city on an island. The pygmies have given up cannibalism, slavery, religion, and their antipathy to the giants.  While Doc Wright was building a libertarian utopia, Ed Spearman, the human most closely associated with the socialists back on Earth, struck out on his own to make himself ruler of yet another empire of pygmy villagers.  (One of Doc Wright's catchphrases is "No one is expendable," which reminded me of Ayn Rand's exhortations that every man "is an end in himself, not a means to the ends of others"--Spearman's oft-repeated catchphrase is "you can't make an omelette without breaking some eggs," a cliche associated with Stalinism and warfare.)  When Doc Wright and friends meet Spearman for the first time in years he is a paranoid dictator of a crumbling city.

Minutes after the meeting with Spearman, in one of those coincidences books are filled with, Earth's second star ship lands nearby.  The four members of this ship's crew are individualist small-government types, like Doc, so when everybody is sitting around drinking wine and talking about how Marx and Lenin suck, Spearman steals the new ship and flies off.  The last dozen pages of the novel are a transcription of a conversation in which Doc and his buddies describe the philosophy and practice of the utopia they have built on Lucifer.
     
When I talked about Davy, Pangborn's celebrated 1964 novel, I suggested it had a lot in common with the works of big name SF writers Robert Heinlein and Theodore Sturgeon, and the same can be said for West of the Sun.  Like in so many Heinlein stories we get a strong dose of individualism (the likable Earth characters are dismissive of socialism, democracy, collectivism, and the state in general) as well as a discussions of the nature of freedom.  As in both Heinlein's and Sturgeon's work there is a hostility to religion, conspicuous anti-racism, and a stress on the importance of love (e. g., Doc Wright preaches to the natives that "we are all one flesh").

We even get scenes of nudism, another Heinlein/Sturgeon interest, one of those relationships in which an adult man marries a woman he knew as a prepubescent girl (like in Heinlein's Time for the Stars and Door into Summer), and group marriages.  The character of Dorothy, a young black woman, embodies much of the novel's ideology.  She was assigned to the mission as a little girl, straight from the government orphanage (it took eleven years to get to Lucifer.)  (I don't know why the government would use up any of the seven crew slots on its first interstellar mission on somebody with no college degree and no work experience, but there it is.)  Once on Lucifer she takes the lead in diplomatic relations with the pygmies, stripping off her top to demonstrate she has no weapons, and so the leaders of the matriarchal natives (who have four boobs) will be able to tell she is a fellow woman (though two boobs short.)  Dorothy married Paul Mason during the space trip, but when Wright looks to him to see if he approves of sending his wife on this perilous diplomatic mission, Dorothy strikes a blow for individualism and feminism, insisting that whether she will take this risk is her decision to make.  Later in the novel Dorothy bears not only Paul's children but another man's.

I mentioned above that I just read 400 pages about Captain Cook's three voyages to the Pacific in the 1760s and 1770s, and things in West of the Sun kept reminding me of stuff that happened to Cook and his compatriots.  The pygmies, for example, share attributes with some of the various Pacific and South American people Cook encountered: they practice cannibalism, wear tattoos and a smelly oil, worship giant idols, and their culture is characterized by tension between a priestly class and a warrior class.  Maybe Pangborn was influenced by accounts of Cook's explorations?

Click and squint to read Kim Stanley
Robinson's fulsome praise of Pangborn
West of the Sun also brought to mind Virgil and Horace.  Like those Latin poets and their readers, the human characters in the novel are preoccupied with memories of a recent civil war back on Earth.  Like the Trojans in the Aeneid, the humans and the pygmies in the novel flee trouble at home to found a new and better civilization.

I found West of the Sun interesting because of all these connections I was able to detect (or concoct) to other books I've read, and I am sympathetic to its ideology, but is it entertaining?  When it comes to style and pacing, it is just pedestrian, and the characters are not particularly well drawn or memorable. One of my issues with the novel is that there are very many characters, too many to really keep track of: eleven humans, ten or so pygmies, a bunch of giants, and a bunch of riding animals that are given precious names like "Miss Ponsonby" and "Susie."  (My apologies to all the Ponsonbies and Susies in the audience--your name is just too adorable!)  Another of my gripes is how the most interesting human characters, Dorothy and Spearman, disappear from the narrative for long stretches.  Paul is the main character for long periods, and he is just not compelling.

In the end, I have to give West of the Sun my overused "acceptable" rating.  Not bad, but not thrilling or special.  I can't decide whether I like it more or less than Davy... Davy has a better style and is more ambitious, but I think West of the Sun is better structured and more even.

**********

My copy of West of the Sun has five pages of ads in the back.  None are for SF books, though some are for books that would perhaps be of interest to the SF community, like Arthur C. Clarke's novel about World War II flight technology, a pile of anthologies with Alfred Hitchcock's name on them, and the source material for one of the iconic manly man's films.


Sunday, November 2, 2014

Winter in Eden by Harry Harrison

There are no families among the Yilane, no suckling babies among egg-laying lizards, no possible friendships where these cold females rule, where the males are locked from sight of all for a lifetime.
Fun covers from a 1986 UK edition, and a US 2001 edition.

Back in December of last year I read Harry Harrison's 1984 novel about a war between cave men and reptile people in an alternate universe in which dinosaurs escaped extinction, West of Eden, and quite enjoyed it. This week I read my withdrawn library copy of the 1986 sequel, Winter in Eden.

Winter in Eden picks up exactly where West of Eden left off, with the surviving reptile people (the Yilane, the bipedal descendants of mosasaurs) sailing away from the smoking ruins of their colony in the New World, which the human natives have destroyed.  Over the course of the 350 page novel, we follow four main plot threads that at times intersect:
  • Kerrick's, leader of the human band who burnt the Yilane colony. Kerrick lived among the Yilane for years, and can speak their language.  Over the course of this novel he travels around, first trying to figure out the secrets of the destroyed Yilane city, then rejoining his wife Armun, participating in a whaling expedition, and a final confrontation with a powerful Yilane leader, all the while trying to reconcile his human biological heritage with his largely Yilane way of thinking, and attempting to end the murderous war between the humans and lizard people.
  • Armun's thread, while she is separated from Kerrick.  She meets a furry race of generous and welcoming people, the Paramutan, who live amid the ice and snow up north and hunt whales.  These people look like Sasquatches with tails and are incurably optimistic and happy.  I thought Harrison was perhaps evoking with them an idealized version of Eskimos--one of them is named Nanuaq, reminding me of "Nanook," and we are told the Paramutan share their women, as well as everything else.   
  • Vainte's, the Yilane leader who ruled the New World colony that was burned by Kerrick in the first book.  Back in the Old World she marshals support from the Yilane cities there, and returns to the New World with new armies and new technologies to wage a genocidal war of revenge on the humans.
  • Enge's, a Yilane who is the leader of a small sect of peaceniks, the Daughters of Life.  The Daughters escape persecution in the Old World and try to start their own New World colony with a non-hierarchical society.  They encounter a race of primitive Yilane natives with a different skin color and a different sort of technological and social structure than those of the Old World Yilane. 
All the good things I had to say about West of Eden equally apply to Winter in Eden; and I really enjoyed it and recommend it.  Harrison, working with a cadre of scientists, does a great job of creating and bringing to life an alien society which is truly alien (a cold-blooded totalitarian matriarchy whose technology is based entirely on selective breeding and genetic engineering and where males are treated as slaves) but also believable.  (There are 50 pages of appendices after the main part of the book that describe the Yilane and the other inhabitants of the novel's setting.)  Harrison succeeds in making the characters who inhabit this alien society compelling; I actually cared whether Vainte achieved her revenge, whether Enge figured out how to succeed in the task of creating a new society, and so forth.

My copy
The human characters are just as sympathetic and realistic, with realistic psychologies we can identify with.  Winter in Eden is an adventure story full of long marches, sea voyages, exploration of new worlds, and fights, but the characters act and react more like real people than action heroes; for example, there is one minor character who suffers what we would now call PTSD as a result of fighting in the war against the Yilane.  Kerrick is the hero of the story, but he's not the best fighter, he suffers depression and other mental issues, and his leadership ability is often questionable and often questioned.

In a way that is amusing, surprising, and thought-provoking, Harrison uses the alien milieu of the Yilane to turn gender stereotypes upside down.  In one funny scene Kerrick complains that while the female Yilane only talk when they have something important to relate, the males chatter on pointlessly and at great length.  The male Yilane also demonstrate greater sensitivity and artistic ability than the females; all Yilane painting and sculpture is done by males.  (All the ruthless politicians and scientists, who are willing to sacrifice everything and everybody for power or knowledge, are female.)  Less amusingly, the female Yilane rape the males out of hand.

One of the dozens of charming illustrations by Sanderson

Harrison also seems to be addressing the age-old nature versus nurture dispute; to what extent are gender roles, and other ways we have of looking at and dealing with the world, the result of biology, and to what extent are they conscious decisions made by a society (or its most powerful members)?  Kerrick struggles in his relationships with other humans because he has many Yilane mannerisms and attitudes.  Two male Yilane characters escape the harem males are traditionally confined to and must reluctantly learn the female skills of hunting, fighting and marching.  Enge's sect of idealistic peace-lovers, refugees from a society which has consisted of merciless dictators and their unquestioning subjects and slaves for millenia, struggle to create a viable individualistic society in the wilderness, where they encounter a society of lizard people with very different ideas about gender roles.

Eight legs better than six, I guess.
The style and pacing are good, and the comic relief actually made me laugh and served to tell the reader more about the characters and their world; I often find comic relief distracting and diluting, but in Winter in Eden Harrison does a great job with the humorous elements.

The novel also benefits from the inclusion of Bill Sanderson's fine illustrations.

The cover of my copy, by Jery Lofaro, is just OK. LoFaro seems to think a mantis has eight legs, like a spider.

A very enjoyable, very satisfying novel.  I bought a quality-sized paperback edition of the third Eden book, Return to Eden, last year, and expect to read it early next year.

Saturday, October 4, 2014

"The Replicators," "The First Martian" & "The Purpose" by A. E. Van Vogt


Recently couchtomoon read World of Null-A, and Jesse at Speculiction read a "Best of" collection of Van Vogt stories selected by the Dutch-Canadian crazy man himself.  I thought I'd get in on the non-Aristotelian fun myself, but tackle something a little more obscure.  So I took down from the shelf The Far-Out Worlds of A. E. Van Vogt, Ace paperback H-92, published in 1968.  The collection has an appropriately weird cover painting by Jeff Jones, and on the back cover the people at Ace promise surprise and "unforgettable 'nova' concepts."  My grandmother drove a tan Nova with a black interior--sounds like a good omen!

There are twelve stories in The Far-Out Worlds of A. E. Van Vogt, and I read three this week  I think it only fair that we judge each based on how good it is (of course), and also on how "far-out" it is.  Bring on the nova concepts! 

"The Replicators" (1964)

What is that adorable creature on the cover of Worlds of If's February issue and where do I buy one?

Van Vogt starts this one in medias res: Steve Matlin, a World War II vet, is looking at the 12-foot long space monster he has just shot down; it lies dead in the back of his dump truck.  What to do with the alien beast? Matlin decides to dump it on the street in front of the local police department; after all, it would be a hassle to bury the colossal corpse on his farm!

The 21-page story gets crazier and crazier as it proceeds.  It is soon revealed that the monster is in fact intelligent and technologically advanced.  It is able to replicate its own body, in various sizes, and shift its consciousness from one body to another, so killing one body only slows it down. The alien can, in fact, replicate anything it wants, and the second time Matlin has to deal with it the creature is carrying an exact replica of Matlin's rifle, only it is the size of a cannon!  Then the alien creates a Brobdingnagian dump truck scaled to its own size for a little road warrior action.  When the military gets involved, attacking the alien with helicopter gunships, the alien produces an over-sized chopper of its own.  And then the military uses an atomic bomb on the creature!    

The story includes more than one nova concept, exploring the misanthropic Matlin's psychology (Van tells us he is "an abysmally suspicious and angry man"); the relationship between USMC enlisted men and their superiors; three and four sided diplomacy between Matlin, the civil government, the military and the alien.  Perhaps craziest is the alien's bizarre technique for familiarizing itself with new cultures as it explores the universe; it blanks its mind, reads the mind of a native, and takes on the native's personality.  If the alien is violent and vengeful, that is only because it has based its current personality on Matlin's own!  

Full of off-the-wall ideas, jokes I actually laughed at, and at least one wacky metaphor that I laughed at even if that wasn't Van's intention ("His shock on seeing this second creature was like a multitude of flames burning inside him") "The Replicators" is quite fun.

"The Replicators":            Is it Good?: Yes.             Is it Far-Out?: Yes!

"The First Martian" (1939...or is it 1951?)

The publication page of The Far-Out Worlds of A. E. Van Vogt informs us that this story was first published in 1939, but isfdb insists it first appeared in 1951 in Marvel Science Fiction's August issue under the title "This Joe."  You are never on a firm footing when you are dealing with my man Van.  At the valuable icshi.net website, you can check out the illustration for "The First Martian"  done by Harry Harrison, who would later become famous for his Stainless Steel Rat and Deathworld novels.

"The First Martian" is the story of racism on the Martian railroad.  The trains of Mars have been manned by white men, due to the prevalence of white supremacist thinking. But then the capitalists who own the railways of the red planet (Van subtly names one of these guys "Philip Barron") realize that they can increase profits by employing Andean Indians.  Caucasians on Mars need to live in pressurized domes and wear pressure suits outside, but Indians from the mountain tops of South America can safely breathe the thin Martian air!

The plot of the story concerns the first of the Indians on Mars being assessed in a sort of exploratory pilot program.  Can Jose Incuhana really man the controls of the train without a pressure suit?  Our narrator is an open-minded white engineer willing to give Incuhana a fair shot, but other whites, racists who fear job competition, try to sabotage the Indian.  One bigot in particular tries to murder the narrator, but Jose saves the day.

This is an entertaining classic-style SF story, based on a scientific fact and using the future as a setting in which to talk about contemporary social issues.  Van Vogt's vision of a Mars traversed by railroads is also actually pretty cool, he coming up with various obstacles and hazards to Martian railoading particular to Mars.  So "The First Martian" gets a thumbs up, but with its conventional straightforward plot it is not the kind of confusing, convoluted, insane story we associate with Van Vogt, and is not at all "far-out."

"The First Martian":            Is it Good?: Yes.           Is it Far-Out?: No.

"The Purpose" (1945)

We all should have a purpose in life.  The jury is still out on whether trying to get all the achievements in Gemcraft 2: Chasing Shadows counts as a purpose, but we can't all discover the New World or cure small pox or invent the light bulb, now, can we?

The purpose of Dr. Dorial Cranston is to bring about universal peace by encouraging people to share their life energy.  The purpose of Professor Norman Mention is to liberate his wife Virginia from the clutches of a secretive cabal of individuals who have taken advantage of Cranston and used his scientific genius for evil.  Cranston and the Mentions are the three main characters of "The Purpose," and yes, this is exactly the kind of story we expect from Van Vogt.  It appeared in Astounding, with illustrations by Paul Orban that you can view here.  

Virginia Mention, a newspaper reporter, starts investigating a curious storefront on the main street of the city whose sign reads "FUTURIAN SCIENTIFIC LABORATORIES."  Virginia has not made much progress in her investigation before she disappears.  Norman starts looking for her, and when he gets on the right track he receives a warning from a man who can walk right through walls: there is no point in looking for help from the police, government or the newspapers, he is told.  The people who manage these institutions are all in the cabal's pocket because the conspirators have provided them with life-saving organ transplants, operations that conventional medicine cannot yet perform.  Where does the cabal get the spare organs?  Seeing as they have his wife in their power, Norman doesn't even want to think about it!

Happy Valentine's Day, I guess.
The 40 pages of "The Purpose" are full of strange powers, plot twists, advanced technology, and even a few compelling images, like a warehouse full of neatly arranged shelves holding hundreds of two foot cubic glass cases--inside each case is suspended a beating human heart!  (In an inexplicable artistic decision, Paul Orban chooses to depict the hearts as shaped like boxes of candy!)

In the end Norman's ingenuity overcomes the cabal, Virginia is imbued with spectacular "godlike" powers, and Cranston is, perhaps, a step closer to achieving his dream of world peace.

Van also gives us a metaphor that totally went over my head: "Virginia had thought his face was as colorless as it could possibly be.  But now it blanched, and visibly grew paler.  A curious darkness seemed to creep over it finally, as if the half-life of the young man's body was suffering a great defeat."  Maybe I don't really understand what "half-life" means, or maybe Van doesn't.  Maybe neither of us do?

This story is good; it has a characteristic Van Vogt plot and, I think, is more streamlined and comprehensible than much of his work.  But is it far-out?  Well, it's about a guy who can take out your brain, heart and lungs and put them in a warehouse, and replace them with transmitter/receivers which not only interface with the organs back in the warehouse, but also can absorb other people's life energy; with enough stolen life energy you can walk through walls and even teleport. Sounds plenty far-out to me!

"The Purpose":            Is it Good?: Yes.            Is it Far-Out?: Yes!

***********

I'm quite pleased with The Far-Out Worlds of A. E. Van Vogt so far.  In our next episode three more of these crazy excursions into the mind of my man Van.

Thursday, September 4, 2014

The Green Odyssey by Philip Jose Farmer

"'It was the hand of man struck him down, my boy.  If it's violent death you are trying to explain, don't drag in the supernatural.  There's enough murder in the hearts of humankind to take care of every case.'"
I don't run into the word "roistering" very often. But here it is on both the front and back covers of my 1966 printing of Philip Jose Farmer's 1957 novel The Green Odyssey. And from two different sources!

If these blurbs are to be believed, The Green Odyssey is a superlative, one-of-a-kind adventure.  According to the New York Herald Tribune it is the "most agreeable interplanetary adventure novel" ever, and according to Inside S-F it has a heroine who is "unique" and "magnificent."  (Alert the feminists, their dream book has arrived!) Sounds terrific, and the Powers cover sure looks terrific.  Let's see if this 152 page paperback lives up to the hype, and to Power's impressive illustration.

Like Adam Reith in Jack Vance's Planet of Adventure books, and Jason dinAlt in Harry Harrison's Deathworld 2, Alan Green crash landed on a relatively primitive planet.  (Ralph Nader should look into these persistent problems with space ships crashing.)  Green ends up in a country where most of the free people are short brunettes; he's a tall blonde, like most of the slaves, and is quickly enslaved himself.  As the novel begins he is a sort of butler and male concubine to a beautiful but stupid and annoying duchess, Zuni.  Green also has a wife, Amra, who is beautiful but domineering and only respects a man who can dominate her in turn.


(On second thought, do not alert the feminists, this is not their dream book after all.)

Word comes to Duchess Zuni's court that another space ship has arrived on the planet, and its two-man crew has been taken captive.  (The superstitious natives don't know about space and think these space men are demons.) The Green Odyssey follows Alan Green's adventures as he flees slavery and tries to hook up with these fellow marooned spacefarers and get off the planet.  He cuts a deal with a merchant, fights his way out of the castle, and sails away as part of the crew of the merchant's wheeled square-rigged land ship.  His canny wife figures out his plan, and joins him on the voyage with her gaggle of children, one of whom is Green's.

The land ship crosses a vast flat plain to the kingdom where the spacers are imprisoned. Along the way the land ship is attacked by pirates and then by cannibals.  Green also has trouble with the ship's crew and the merchant; fortunately the clever and resourceful Amra is there to help him; she is instrumental in saving his life more than once.  The cannibals kill some of Amra's children, but Farmer doesn't dwell on how horrible an experience this must be.   

One of the themes of the book is how absurd and counterproductive religion is, and how supernatural beliefs grow out of misunderstandings of mundane phenomena.  The planet is covered in high tech artifacts, which the superstitious inhabitants interpret as the work of demons or gods.  Green's modern and rational outlook enables him to outwit everybody else.   I think Farmer must have been an atheist or agnostic when Green Odyssey was written, but as I learned in his essay in The Visual Encyclopedia of Science Fiction, his thinking about religion would later evolve.

Green activates a huge aircraft the natives think is a hill, killing numerous people in the process, and takes to the skies, terrorizing the kingdom where the one surviving spaceman is held captive.  The king and the priests surrender the spaceman and the two-man scout space ship, and, after teaching Amra how to operate the invincible aircraft, Green heads to Earth, promising to return to Amra as part of a large expedition that will investigate the many secrets of the planet's ancient technological civilization.  (The flat plain, for example, was created by these mysterious ancients and has been maintained by their robots for centuries.  Like his famous Riverworld series and his World of Tiers books, Farmer's The Green Odyssey is set in an artificial world shaped by mysterious beings.)

The book exhibits considerable hostility towards the aristocracy and the bourgeoisie; I guess we could call this another theme.  The aristocratic women are sexy but stupid, and the aristocratic men are obese.  The merchant character is a skilled leader and sailor, but also fat, greedy, and a ruthless backstabber.   It is also perhaps significant that those children of Amra's who are killed by cannibals are products of her liaisons with aristocrats; we never learn their names.

When Green needs a land boat he just steals one, with the aid of one of Amra's sons. Green sucker punches the guy guarding it, while Amra's son beats him over the head with a pipe.  We are told the owner of the land yacht (whom we know nothing about and who never appears "on screen") must be rich, which in the eyes of some may excuse the theft, but what about the poor guard?

isfdb image of 1957 edition
This attack on the yacht's guard brings up some more themes of the novel, moral relativism and man's propensity for violence.  We are told that Green's modern space faring civilization is a peaceful one, in which children are taught to abhor violence.  Under ordinary circumstances Green would not enjoy any kind of violence, but life on this violent planet has had an effect on him. Green gleefully throws a dog who has been tormenting him for months off a castle balcony, enjoys shooting wild dogs from the crow's nest of the land ship, and is thrilled during a battle, crying out "This is living!"  He also forgives the bloodthirstiness expressed by Amra and her son.  What makes moral sense in some places and some situations doesn't make sense in others. Farmer further suggests that there is a "philosophy of the body," a natural propensity to enjoy action, danger, and violence, that is "older and deeper" than rational philosophies that teach a loathing of violence.  This "philosophy of the body" may lead the cannibals to commit horrible atrocities (we are told that "like all undisciplined primitives," in their initial assault they "killed indiscriminately and hysterically,") but Green needs it as much as his modern logic and science knowledge to survive.

Farmer's body of work is uneven--I recall Maker of Universes, the first volume in the World of Tiers series, being pretty lame--but in The Green Odyssey Farmer gives us a well-realized and interesting setting that includes a believable culture, strange natural and man-made elements, and entertaining characters.  I'd say it is moderately good; the reviewers are correct to say it is entertaining, though I would not share their breathless enthusiasm. 

I recommend The Green Odyssey as a fun adventure.  It is also your chance to see the word "roistering" in action; Farmer uses it twice in the text, presumably inspiring his admiring reviewers to follow suit.

**************

The last page of my copy of The Green Odyssey have some interesting advertising. 
There is a full page ad for the first of John Norman's Gor novels, Tarnsman of Gor.  In my teens I read Tarnsman of Gor, and thought it a fun Barsoom-style adventure.  It didn't (as far as I can recall) include so much of what the later Gor books became famous for, what Wikipedia calls a "focus on relationships between dominant men and submissive women."  I never read any of the later Gor books, I think they were not at the library (where I got Tarnsman of Gor.)

The final page of The Green Odyssey lists some "early classics" published by Ballantine, most of which I have some familiarity with.  Ahead of Time includes the very good story "Home is the Hunter," as well as "Or Else," which I recall not liking very much.  Brain Wave is good, and To Live Forever is alright, I think below average for Vance.  (I think nowadays we are supposed to refer to To Live Forever by the author-approved title Clarges.)  I read the novella version of Nerves and didn't think much of it. I haven't read Gladiator-At Law, which I assume is some kind of satire attacking lawyers.  I haven't read The Space Merchants, a satire attacking advertising, either.  I'm not into those broad satires, and I don't have any particular animus against people in advertising or the law. 

Monday, June 23, 2014

Quark/3 (Part3): Harrison, Stanley, Veitch, Bailey, & Vickers

Here we have the concluding episode of my epic reading of Quark/3, a 1971 anthology of experimental SF edited by Samuel R. Delany and Marilyn Hacker.  Delany and Hacker endeavored to present in Quark/3 stories that were not mere "popular entertainment" or "adventure stories" by "commercial science fiction writers," but rather risk-taking work of speculative fiction that was "politically dangerous" and meaningfully addressed "social, psychological and technological crises" evident in the early 1970s.

The first third of the book contained two good stories, those by R. A. Lafferty and Delany himself, while the second third limped along on the strength of an OK story by Kate Wilhelm and a slightly better tale by Josephine Saxton.  What awaits us in this final third? 

"Ring of Pain" by M. John Harrison

I recently read Harrison's first Viriconium novel, The Pastel City, and thought it alright, nothing special.

In "Ring of Pain" a man wanders through a Central England devastated by war, scavenging food from the ruins.  Not a single building is intact, and not a single live person is to be seen.  Is he the last member of the human race? 

No!  He meets a woman, who is overjoyed to no longer be alone.  She talks of having children with the main character, and our protagonist responds by vomiting and fleeing!  He wants no part of continuing the human race, finds abhorrent the idea of being the Adam of a new civilization which will, no doubt, repeat the grim and catastrophic rise to industrialism and then industrialized, world-shattering war.  The woman eventually catches up with him, and he tries to win her over to his view that they must not procreate.  He fails to convince her, and finds himself unable to resist having sex with her.

The brief final scene I didn't quite understand.  I think a military unit, riding tanks and armed with rifles and bayonets, appears, and somehow this leads to the woman cutting off her breasts.  Or perhaps the main character is reflecting that even the sight of an armored squadron would not discourage the woman from wanting to have children, though if she had her breasts cut off then he would no longer desire her.

This is an acceptable story, even though it is written to be intentionally difficult to follow; there are lots of sentence fragments, I guess to convey the feeling of a world that has been smashed to bits, and get you into the mindset of people who have lived through such a catastrophe.  

"To the Child Whose Birth Will Change the Way the Universe Works" by George Stanley

American-born Canadian poet Stanley won the Poetry Society of America's Shelly Memorial Award in 2006.  "To the Child..." is a two page poem, an adaptation of Virgil's Fourth Eclogue. All you classical scholars out there already know that Eclogue IV was widely interpreted in the Middle Ages as a sort of prediction of the birth of Jesus Christ.

Having been indifferently educated myself, I can't read Latin, but, in preparation for reading Stanley's piece in Quark/3, I took my copy of the Penguin Classics 1980 edition of the Eclogues off the shelf and read Guy Lee's translation of Eclogue IV.

Virgil's poem was written around 40 B. C. (or B. C. E., as we are saying nowadays) to express hope that a marriage alliance between the two successors of Julius Caesar, Mark Antony and Octavian (the future Emperor Augustus), would end the long period of instability and civil wars that had been wracking the Roman world.  Virgil is praising the prospective child of the union between Mark Antony and Octavian's sister: with his birth will come a new beginning which will see the end of fear and the "iron race" replaced by a "golden" one.  

Stanley updates and Americanizes the poem.  The birth of the child will end the "machine age," and where Virgil mentions Achilles, Stanley mentions George Washington.  Virgil suggests that, with the child as his subject, his poetry will surpass that of Linus, Orpheus and Pan; Stanley says his verse will be the superior of Hart Crane's and Lorca's.

Maybe Stanley sees the assassination of JFK as analogous to the assassination of Caesar, and the 1960s, with such contentious events as the Civil Rights movement and race riots, Vietnam War protests and all the trouble around the 1968 Democratic Convention in Chicago, as analogous to the civil wars and other crises suffered by Romans during the Late Republic.  I can't tell if Stanley is referring to any specific person or event as ending the crisis period, the way Virgil does; a clue that isn't getting me very far on google is that this poem is dedicated to a Brian DeBeck.

"A Sexual Song" by Tom Veitch

Veitch has only three credits at isfdb, one of them a story he co-wrote about Greedo of Mos Eisley Cantina fame.  Veitch has written numerous comic books, including Star Wars comics. 

This story is even more surreal and less coherent than Hill's "Brave Salt."  "A Sexual Song" begins "He dressed in moth skins torn from a beaver's diary..." and in the second paragraph we get, "Print culture seems to be dying this morning because the dead men who occupy those zones cannot provide nourishment to tribal electricians...."  The entire story is like this, incomprehensible nonsense, like the product of playing Mad Libs.  I guess the plot is about a sexual encounter in a post-nuclear war world in which everything is mutated and crazy.

Painful.

"Twenty-Four Letters from Underneath the Earth" by Hilary Bailey

Bailey, when Quark/3 was published, was married to Michael Moorcock.  This is the first thing I've read by her; she seems to have been quite productive, though much of her work falls outside the SF genre.

After some kind of catastrophe the British populace resorts to living in government-built underground complexes.  Each complex is isolated from the others.  A female technician in one complex discovers a secret means of communicating with other complexes, and starts a surreptitious correspondence with an old acquaintance living in another complex.  The entire text consists of their letters, and through them we learn how human beings are reacting to being confined in the sterile and depressing complexes.  There are many women who insist on having children despite the discouragement of the authorities and a lack of resources.  Children and adolescents get into all kinds of mischief, creating extra work for the technicians and mechanics.  Family relationships collapse and there are pathetic attempts by lonely people to secure some kind of human comfort; the long distance love affair of our two main characters is one example.

A convincing and interesting milieu, actual characters and emotion, and a smooth writing style; Bailey brings to Quark/3 some things which have been in short supply.  After some of the pieces I've endured in Quark/3 it is certainly a relief to encounter a well-written story with some genuine human emotion and a clever SF premise that hearkens back to the tradition of the epistolary novel.  I am proclaiming the oasis that is "Twenty-Four Letters from Underneath the Earth" the best story in the anthology!

"The Coded Sun Game" by Brian Vickers 

The isfdb indicates that "The Coded Sun Game," which is the longest story in Quark/3 (over 60 pages!), constitutes 50% of Brian Vickers's SF output.  Under ordinary circumstances I wouldn't devote the necessary time and energy to reading a 60 page story by a guy I never heard of, especially in an anthology which is full of weak stories, but I am on a mission, and I'm certainly not going to give up with the finish line in sight!


"The Coded Sun Game" is convoluted and difficult, and at times I found it hard to attend.  The narrative is a sort of stream of consciousness of a being who is delusional, suffering from "psychotic hallucinations" that are "compounded of past perceptual experiences."  The narrative is full of pop music references (the names of bands and singers, like Bob Dylan and the Beatles, and lines from songs like the Doors' "Light My Fire" and The Who's "See Me, Feel Me," pop up at random) and lists (of oil companies, of modern artists, of cities) and is periodically interrupted by science lectures (psychology, biology, solar astronomy) and medical reports.

Paul is a young man (perhaps an alien, perhaps a fallen deity) suffering from the aforementioned "psychotic withdrawal visions."  He is living with an English family near the ocean: Clive Noland, a doctor, his wife Barbra, an artist, and their sexy daughter Michelle.  Paul watches TV, walks on the beach, swims in the pool, has sex with Michelle.  His mental problems seem to be linked to solar radiation; a medical report says his symptoms reach their peak at midday, and the text is full of references to color, sunspots, and solar flares.

The story gets more confusing as it goes on.  In the second half more characters are introduced, and, like in a time travel story, Paul seems to be reliving scenes but as different characters, talking to and fighting with younger versions of himself from the first half of the story. 

I've spent some time flipping through this story, rereading passages and trying to figure it out, but I don't really get it.  Still, I didn't find it offensively bad.

Fun fact: Until I read this story I wasn't familiar with the British slang term for transistor radio, "tranny" or "trannie."  You can imagine my initial puzzlement at the phrase, "Beatles strangled by a trannie."

**********

So there we have it, Quark/3.  It wasn't an easy ride, but let's look at the bright side.  I read a pile of stories by writers totally new to me, and among them are Hilary Bailey and Josephine Saxton, whom I will definitely read again (also, it is notable that the Bailey and Saxton stories have never appeared in any other book, so I'd never have encountered them otherwise.)  Richard Hill's and James Sallis's stories are so crazy I am spurred to read their contributions to Again, Dangerous Visions.

Taken as a whole, the stories were less propagandistic and more experimental in style and form than I had expected.  Gordon Eklund's anti-war story and Kate Wilhelm's overpopulation story felt tired, but most of the writers really did try to do something strange and/or new.   

Finally, let's rank the fiction to be found in Quark/3.  Hilary Bailey comes in first, with Lafferty and Delany close behind, and Saxton a distant fourth.  Then we have a pack of OK tales, followed by a mass of weak stories, and then three certifiable disasters.

QUARK/3 FINAL STANDINGS
Hilary Bailey                            "Twenty-Four Letters from Underneath the Earth"
R. A. Lafferty                          "Encased in Ancient Rind"
Samuel R. Delany                    "Dog in a Fisherman's Net"
Josephine Saxton                     "Nature Boy"

M. John Harrison                     "Ring of Pain"
Kate Wilhelm                           "Where Have You Been Billy Boy, Billy Boy?"
Brian Vickers                           "The Coded Sun Game"

Gordon Eklund                        "Home Again, Home Again"
Virginia Kidd                           "Balls: A Meditation at the Graveside"
Joanna Russ                             "The Zanzibar Cat"

James Sallis                             "Field"
Richard Hill                             "Brave Salt"
Tom Veitch                              "A Sexual Song"