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Showing posts with label Doyle. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Doyle. Show all posts

Monday, April 24, 2023

Merril-approved 1956 stories: de Camp, deFord, Dickson and Doyle

I love the spires (or whatever they are) that appear in Richard Powers' illustrations
for the front and back covers of 
SF: The Year's Greatest Science-Fiction and Fantasy: Second Annual Volume

As you know, Bob, here at MPorcius Fiction Log we are exploring 1956 speculative fiction by going through the list headed "Honorable Mention" at the back of famed anthologist Judith Merril's 1957 volume SF: The Year's Greatest Science-Fiction and Fantasy: Second Annual Volume and reading in scans of old magazines stories recommended by Merril whose authors or titles strike our fancy.  Today we'll read stories by "D" authors Merril anointed with her approval to the number of four.  But first I will point out that I read and wrote about the Avram Davidson story Merril included on her '56 Honorable Mention list, "King's Evil," about a year ago, and present a list of links to the A, B and C stories on Merril's list which we've already discussed.

            Abernathy and Aldiss
            Anderson, Allen and Banks 
            Barrow, Beaumont and Blish
            Bradbury, Bretnor, Budrys and Butler    
            Carter, Clarke and Clifton

"Internal Combustion" by L. Sprague de Camp 

I read quite a few de Camp things before starting this blog and my reaction to them was lukewarm, so I haven't read a lot of his work since MPorcius Fiction Log slouched onto the scene.  But let's give "Internal Combustion," which debuted in the same issue of Infinity Science Fiction that included Charles Beaumont's "Traumerai," which we read just a month ago, a shot.

"Internal Combustion" is a sort of misanthropic black humor story that portrays (middle-class) people as violent racists who oppress the less fortunate, so we can guess why leftist Merril liked it.  It is actually pretty well-written; some of the jokes, based on character and personality and not puns (thank heavens), are good and the plot is alright, so I can give it a moderate recommendation.

The main cast of the story consists of a bunch of robots who are wearing out and have been abandoned by their owners, the MacDonalds.  Old MacDonald got rich publishing a xenophobic newspaper, but his offspring had no interest in living in his mansion so they abandoned it and its staff of robots.  Over the years these robots, receiving no maintenance, have fallen into disrepair; one symptom of this neglect is the fact that they have lost many of their inhibitions against harming human beings.  In fact, their leader, nuclear-powered Napoleon, after poring over the "N" volume of the encyclopedia, has decided to emulate his namesake and launch a merciless scheme to make himself ruler of the world.  Napoleon can't leave the mansion because of a malfunctioning leg and so has come up with the idea of kidnapping a human and grooming him to become the figurehead of his robot dictatorship.  The opening scene of the story clues us in to how dark "Internal Combustion" is--one of Napoleon's subordinate robots, Hercules, has kidnapped a homeless person to serve as this figurehead, but accidentally slain him, so Napoleon instructs his mechanical minions to hide the body.  He then directs them to try to kidnap a child whom Napoleon can raise into a world conqueror.

There is a lot of comedy around how the subordinate robots are powered by liquid fuel and prefer gasoline because it makes them drunk, and a lot of business with the child the robots kidnap, a kid who loves violence and acts like a terrible brat, and that kid's father, who is a portrait of middle-class angst, a guy who feels unfulfilled because he inherited wealth and doesn't have to work and his nagging wife won't let him pursue his hobbies or take the kind of working-class job he might enjoy because it is low status; this guy is an irresponsible father, lazy, and has a therapist.  There is also quite a bit of talk (from the robots, which we perhaps are not meant to take seriously) about how the robots are just as deserving of love and civil rights as the humans, but are treated shabbily by their creators.  (The misbehavior of the robots is clearly shown to be the fault of humans--when they are drunk or violent the robots are emulating their neglectful creators and sinful masters.)    

The story's hero is the one robot among the decaying MacDonald crew whose "serve humans" programming is still largely intact.  Named Homer, this robot has also been programmed to recite poetry, and in his voice de Camp unleashes plenty of popular verses from such poets as Dorothy Parker ("Resume"), Omar Khayyam ("The Rubaiyat") and Oliver Wendell Holmes ("One-Hoss Shay.")  Homer works odd jobs to get money to buy fuel--the other robots steal--and when a disaster occurs Homer sacrifices his own mechanical life to save the child kidnapped by Napoleon.

"Internal Combustion" is like 16 pages of text that move at a brisk pace and are always engaging--a respectable choice by Merril, and a better story than I had expected it to be.  Among other places, "Internal Combustion" can be found in the oft-reprinted de Camp collection A Gun for Dinosaur and Other Imaginative Tales and Mike Ashley's robot-themed anthology Souls in Metal.   


"The Margenes" by Miriam Allen deFord 

I don't think I've ever read anything by deFord, whose name sometimes appears as "de Ford," as it does in connection to this story, which first saw print in If and was included in an If anthology published a year later, as well as the 1971 deFord collection Elsewhere, Elsewhen, Elsehow and the 1978 Helen Hoke anthology Demons Within and Other Disturbing Tales.

"The Margenes" is a twist-ending idea story with no real characters and precious little plot, one of those stories that is presented as a popular history written in the far future.  DeFord's tale is almost 100% speculation, and its field is political economy; it reminds me a little of Edmond Hamilton's early work depicting scientific disasters that befall the Earth (see "The Truth Gas," "The Life-Masters" and "The Death Lord") and Mack Reynolds' 1960s stories that speculate on economics and Cold War "what ifs" (like "Freedom," "Revolution" and "Subversive,") but those guys generally include in those stories horror and adventure elements (in Hamilton's case) or detective or spy shenanigans (Reynolds) in an effort to pad the page count and/or up the entertainment value; deFord's story is brief and its human element is a sort of cursory portrait of a couple that dramatizes the vacuity of relationships under industrial capitalism. 

All of a sudden strange little creatures, in the millions, start washing up on the beaches of California.  Neither animal nor plant, but packed with healthy proteins and every nutrient imaginable, these things are the perfect food, and they are breathtakingly abundant!  These creatures are named "margenes" because the first people to see them bore the first names Marge and Gene.  

The human race is suffering widespread hunger due to overpopulation, so the government moves quickly to subsidize the exploitation of this new resource and distribute the superfood around the world.  Beautiful California beaches and forests quickly become industrial eyesores, but the world economy is buoyed and relations between the liberal West and the communist East improve markedly.  But nine years later the supply of margenes suddenly runs out and the economy tanks and world war erupts and the human race is almost wiped out.

(Marge and Gene serve as archetypes of the futility of middle-class life--they abandon their dreams of fulfilling intellectual careers and take soulless office jobs pushing margene, get married, get divorced, then separately get killed in the wars that erupt after the supply of margenes runs out.)

The twist ending is that the margenes were members of a race of extraterrestrials who have overpopulated their own planet and have been spreading throughout the galaxy, planet to planet, seeking living space.  After expending all her imagination on describing the economic and political effects of a cheap and abundant food source, deFord does not bother to explain how there aliens got into the Pacific Ocean without being seen falling from the sky or something and why they have no visible culture or technology and didn't resist being eaten, just handwaving away all details of margene life as incomprehensible to the human mind.  Coming out of nowhere and making little sense, the twist ending of "The Margenes" sort of undermines the plausibility of the story as a whole.

Merely acceptable.  Presumably Merril appreciated the story's focus on overpopulation, criticisms of industrialism, economic explanations for social phenomena like war, and the "meta" gag at the end in which the future author says science fiction writers wrote many stories speculating about what first contact with aliens might be like but never guessed that it would consist of us eating the delicious aliens.


"Flat Tiger" by Gordon R. Dickson

Here's another famous guy whose work I have only found OK upon my early introduction to it and so have not really sought out since.  But I liked the de Camp from '56 that Merril chose, so maybe I'll like Gordon Dickson's "Flat Tiger," which first came under the eyes of SF fans in an issue of Galaxy that also features de Camp's famous "A Gun for Dinosaur" and the first episode of Frederik Pohl's "Slave Ship."

Ugh, this is a joke story based on puns and childish fantasies that tried my patience.  The Galactic civilization of thousands of distinct intelligent species is holding a race and the speed star ship of one of the contestants breaks down because one of the tigers that manages one of its four warp engines runs out of the essential gas it has to inhale to perform its function.  (This is the kind of wordplay that Dickson founds his story on, the fact that "gas" is short for "gasoline" and "tiger" sounds like "tire."  Oy.)  This fanged and tentacled contestant, named Captain Bligh, lands on the lawn of the White House in mid-century America to ask the President for help getting more of the gas required to fill his flat tiger.  We learn that, secretly, within the White House, lives a guy who is the president's special adviser--this is an hereditary position occupied by thr same family since the days of George Washington, and it has analogs in the offices of other great powers, among them the Soviet Union.  These secret eminence grises are the real masters of the world.  A conference is held in the White House that gathers Captain Bligh and the chief executives of the top four nations of the world--the US, USSR, Great Britain and France (those were the days!) and the Earthers open negotiations with Captain Blight on a deal to allow Earth membership in the Galactic Federation.  Should we join, the aliens will cure all our diseases, set up a teleporter so we can explore the universe, install clean energy sources, etc.  In return, we need only offer the aliens our love--in the post-scarcity society of the Galactic civilization, the only thing of real value is love. 

The twist ending is that members of the Galactic Federation must be physically reengineered to live directly off energy--humans won't be permitted to eat animals or plants or even drink water, as the Federation members love all living things, even the microorganisms we humans kill by the billions in the process of preparing drinking water.  So the representatives of the four leading nations agree to forgo membership in the Galactic Federation, and the Earth becomes united in peace behind a shared love of food and drink and opposition to the aliens who would take our food and drink from us.

Thumbs down for this dopey waste of time.  Maybe Merril liked its irreverent attitude towards the Cold War and American pretensions to being a democracy, and the idea it floats that people so covet the sensual pleasure of eating and drinking that they would pass up a chance to end all illness and poverty and lift all limits to human knowledge in order to keep on chowing down. 

"Flat Tiger" would be reprinted in the Dickson collection Danger--Human, the paperback edition of which bears the title The Book of Gordon R. Dickson


"The Lover of the Coral Glades" by Adrian Conan Doyle

As you have probably guessed if you didn't already know, Adrian Conan Doyle is one of the sons of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle of Sherlock Holmes fame.  "The Lover of the Coral Glades" appeared in the same issue of Playboy as Richard Matheson's "A Flourish of Strumpets," which we read pretty recently.  

"The Lover of the Coral Glades" is the story of the tragic love affair of a 200-year old sperm whale.  Never has this bull whale met a cow whale he could truly love, though he has of course impregnated some and then abandoned them.  (This is Playboy you are reading, remember.)  But finally he meets her, his dream cow!  They fall deeply in love, and spend months together, swimming all over the world eating squid.  One day when the she-whale is pregnant and they are in a part of the ocean with few squid near the surface the male whale ventures alone to the darkest deep to kill a giant squid and bring back a chunk of it to feed his bride.  But, alas, his wife has been mortally wounded by thresher sharks working in concert with a swordfish--there is also a whaling ship stalking her!  (I read this section multiple times, the idea of thresher sharks and a swordfish teaming up to murder a whale with their tails and bill being so outlandish that I thought maybe I was misunderstanding what was going on.)  The pregnant whale expires and sinks, and then the crew of the whaling ship kills the grieving male whale with one shot from their harpoon gun; the beast immediately sinks so they can't harvest its sperm and blubber.  The whalers figure a merciful God made sure the whale would sink so it need not suffer further indignities in its time of sorrow and can lie forever on the bottom of the ocean besides its wife and the mass of cells it thinks of as its unborn child.

This story is histrionic and boring when it isn't being eye-poppingly ridiculous; it begs to be taken super seriously, but everything that happens in it is absurd.  Thumbs down.  I think here Merril fell victim to her desire to expand the definition of SF to include mainstream fiction that appeared in mainstream outlets but engaged in what we might in a generous mood call "speculation."

"The Lover of the Coral Glades" would be reprinted in the Doyle collection Tales of Love and Hate.

**********

There is a tradition in SF of stories that glorify and romanticize science and technology and their ability to make human life better as well as the scientist and the man of intelligence who solves problems by quick thinking and knowledge of logic and scietific laws.  Today's four stories are not in that tradition.  Today's stories are examples of the tradition of misanthropic elitism in SF and stories that employ non-human characters to illustrate human pettiness, callousness, short-sightedness and propensity for violence.  The de Camp is a good example, as it offers characters with personality and an entertaining narrative.  The deFord is not terrible, but it lacks human feeling and the gimmicky ending is a little hard to take.  Dickson's story is based on irritatingly childish jokes, and the Doyle story is embarrassingly melodramatic slosh that is also full of elements that beggar belief.  

So, today Merril served up to us a heaping plate of downer stories.  Stay tuned to MPorcius Fiction Log to see how many more of Merril's favorite 1956 stories are designed to make you hate the human race.

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

The Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu by Sax Rohmer

He was a scientist trained at a great university—an explorer of nature's secrets, who had gone farther into the unknown, I suppose, than any living man. His mission was to remove all obstacles—human obstacles—from the path of that secret movement which was progressing in the Far East.
British First Edition cover
One of the things that has made many long hours spent in the Toyota Corolla almost bearable has been The Kinks are The Village Green Preservation Society. Like much of the Kinks’ work, the album waxes nostalgic about the past and laments changes in culture and society.  In the title song from the album Ray Davies exhorts us to “Help save Fu Manchu, Moriarty and Dracula,” three famous villains of British popular fiction first conceived before the First World War.  Every year there are new books and motion pictures based on or inspired by Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories and Bram Stoker’s novel Dracula, but it seems like Sax Rohmer’s Dr. Fu Manchu runs the risk of slipping down the memory hole.  Eager to play my part in preserving this icon of English language pop culture, I clicked over to Gutenberg.org to check out the body of work of Arthur Henry Ward (birth name of Sax Rohmer), and his most famous character, the diabolical Chinese mastermind who was the world's greatest physician, chemist and biologist, and chose to devote his genius to laying low the white race!

Liner notes to a CD edition of The Kinks are The Village Green Preservation Society
The first Fu Manchu novel, which I am told collects short stories published in 1912 and 1913 in the British magazine The Story-Teller, was printed in 1913 under the title The Mystery of Dr Fu-Manchu. The American edition appeared later in the same year with the title The Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu; I read an electronic version of this edition. These early Fu Manchu stories also appeared in Volumes 50 and 51 of the weekly U.S. magazine Collier’s, where they were accompanied by extensive illustrations. You can see scans of these issues of Collier’s at the Internet Archive; they are full of fun advertisements for automobiles, tires, revolvers, soap, etc, and well worth a look.

One of many illustrations by J. C. Coll from Collier’s
(I learned most of this stuff at the extensive web pages about Sax Rohmer and Fu Manchu maintained by Lawrence Knapp, a college professor in my home state of New Jersey.  Yay, New Jersey!)

The narrator of The Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu is Dr. Petrie, an English physician and friend of Nayland Smith, a civil servant with a "roving commission" and extensive experience in India and China.  (I guess this is like how the narrator of the Sherlock Holmes stories is Dr. Watson, the hero's right hand man.)  Smith has just come back from Burma, and is hot on the heels of Dr. Fu-Manchu, a leading member of a secret Chinese movement dedicated to the destruction of the West.  Fu-Manchu is in England to neutralize those scholars and government types who have knowledge of this Chinese conspiracy, Smith among them.
"Petrie, I have traveled from Burma not in the interests of the British Government merely, but in the interests of the entire white race, and I honestly believe—though I pray I may be wrong—that its survival depends largely upon the success of my mission."
An American edition
The episodic novel consists of Smith and Petrie traveling here and there in England, mostly in London but also to a country estate in Norfolk with a high tech (for 1912) security system, trying to foil the multifarious plots of Fu-Manchu to murder or terrorize intellectuals, kidnap and enslave engineers, and steal plans to advanced weapons systems.  Fu-Manchu, Smith tells Petrie, scorns to employ such clumsy and prosaic weapons as knives and guns, but instead pursues his terror and murder campaign with drugs, poison, elaborate traps, and venomous creatures, like a six-inch centipede which one of Fu-Manchu’s agents slips through people's windows.  (Don’t the henchmen of Dr. No in the 1958 James Bond novel kill people by dropping centipedes in their rooms? And doesn’t some assassin employed by Darth Sidious toss centipedes into Queen Amidala’s room in the fifth Star Wars movie?  This certainly indicates a shortage of positive role models for young centipedes in the media, and perhaps the influence of Rohmer on Ian Fleming and George Lucas.)

Rohmer is sometimes billed as a "mystery writer" or "detective writer" (check out the cover of Fawcett's paperback edition of Nude in Mink and the cover of the February 15, 1913 issue of Collier's) and in a number of the novel's episodes Fu-Manchu actually succeeds in his schemes.  The plots of such chapters consist of Smith trying to figure out how Fu-Manchu, for example, murdered a guy in a room that was locked, or stole plans from a locked safe in an apparently impregnable chamber.

Not only are the British characters sometimes defeated by Fu-Manchu (in one horror scene Smith and Petrie are forced to watch as eight police officers are murdered by a special breed of fungus developed by the Chinese genius), but Smith and Petrie often get themselves into trouble and have to be rescued by a woman!  One of Fu-Manchu's slaves is a head-turning beauty, apparently a Bedouin, who goes by the name Karamaneh.  Karamaneh's little brother is held hostage by Fu-Manchu, so she is forced to participate in his evil schemes.  Luckily for the Western world, Karamaneh falls madly in love with Petrie.  (Rohmer never explains what about Petrie attracts her.)  So again and again she sneaks away from Fu-Manchu's HQ to give Petrie a clue or save him from death.  At one point she actually shoots down some of Fu-Manchu's henchmen; Karamaneh is not only gorgeous, but a cold-hearted dead-eye marksman!

This paperback depicts Dr. Petrie,
Karamaneh and her brother, Aziz 
The thing that jumps out to the 21st-century reader about The Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu, of course, is its Orientalism and ethnic essentialism.  Almost every chapter includes a sentence that today would get you sent off to diversity training.  It is repeatedly suggested that the Chinese are a particularly cruel people, with Smith saying things like "God help the victim of Chinese mercy!" while Petrie suggests "No white man, I honestly believe, appreciates the unemotional cruelty of the Chinese."  Petrie admits that "the soul of Karamaneh was a closed book to my short-sighted Western eyes," and "that she valued human life but little was no matter for wonder. Her nationality—her history—furnished adequate excuse for an attitude not condonable in a European equally cultured."

Europeans are not immune from this sort of thing.  When Smith is considering a disguise for use in infiltrating an opium den, we get this exchange:
"Foster will make your face up. What disguise do you propose to adopt?"

"A sort of Dago seaman, I think; something like poor Cadby [a young detective already killed by Fu-Manchu.]  I can rely on my knowledge of the brutes, if I am sure of my disguise."  
In another scene Rohmer suggests that Scots are superstitious:
 Three taps sounded—very distinctly upon the window.
Graham Guthrie started so as to shake the bed.
"It's supernatural!" he muttered—all that was Celtic in his blood recoiling from the omen. "Nothing human can reach that window!"
Smith combines now-declasse attitudes about women with Orientalist ideas about "the East" when he gives Petrie advice on how to deal with Karamaneh:
"You don't know the Oriental mind as I do; but I quite understand the girl's position. She fears the English authorities, but would submit to capture by you! If you would only seize her by the hair, drag her to some cellar, hurl her down and stand over her with a whip, she would tell you everything she knows, and salve her strange Eastern conscience with the reflection that speech was forced from her. I am not joking; it is so, I assure you. And she would adore you for your savagery, deeming you forceful and strong!"
This is probably the most sensationalistic and exploitative scene in the book, though the scene with the fungus comes close.

One of the novel’s recurring themes is drugs. Fu-Manchu and his subordinates drug people all the time to take advantage of them, while many characters use drugs recreationally or for quasi-medical reasons. Fu-Manchu himself is an opium addict, one of his British targets, a scholar, is a cocaine addict, and an American engineer, whose blueprints for a torpedo Fu-Manchu hopes to steal, takes sleeping pills every night.  (Fu-Manchu replaces his sleeping pills with something more powerful.)  For what it's worth, Smith and Petrie smoke tobacco constantly, and Rohmer describes their habit in such a way that makes it repulsive; Smith is a slobby smoker who spills ashes everywhere and apparently never cleans his pipe.  I wondered if such information was meant to highlight differences between the villains or heroes, or similarities.  (It would be easy for a liberal arts grad student to write about how Fu-Manchu represents "imperial blowback," the colonized seeking vengeance or justice on the colonizer; if Fu-Manchu commits evil, it is because he and his people were victims of the evils of the British, who brought opium to China.)

One of the remarkable elements of The Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu is how bland and even boring Nayland Smith and Dr. Petrie are; his deplorable smoking habits are one of the very few things we learn about Smith as a person.  We are used to genre heroes having some kind of eccentric character or being "larger-than-life."  Conan is an incredibly tough barbarian who makes himself king of a civilized nation, John Carter is immortal and the best swordsman in the Solar System and makes himself Emperor of Mars, Sherlock Holmes has a vast store of knowledge and the ability to figure out the truth from clues nobody else would put together.  In The Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu Smith and Petrie are dimly realized, more or less ordinary guys, while Fu-Manchu, a “yellow” man in a white world and a uniquely brilliant and unscrupulous genius, and Karamaneh, a startlingly beautiful woman suspended between the Occident and Orient and scarred by a terrible past, are the interesting, larger-than-life characters.  The stories come to life when these characters appear, and it is often they, not the English characters, who both drive and resolve the plot.  I think we can see this as a literary weakness--why aren't Smith and Petrie as interesting as the Orientals?--or as an artistic choice--this is a novel about the encounter of our own familiar Western world with an alien world, and painting the English characters in dim and pale shades makes the Eastern characters all the more vibrant and lurid.

Obviously some people are going to have ideological objections to The Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu.  While acknowledging that that is the case, I still thought the novel was fun and would recommend it to people interested in pulp adventure and weird fiction.  The pace is fast, and because Fu-Manchu employs such weird methods, and because sometimes they work, there are surprises; I was always curious as to what bizarre thing was going to happen next. All the "Oriental" elements (like the dacoits and phansigars) and science fiction elements (like Fu-Manchu's advanced medical techniques and experiments with deadly fungi and bacilli) are intriguing, and Rohmer succeeds in generating a sense of unease by painting a picture of a sinister underworld or demimonde that resides below the surface of ordinary modern Western life.  There is the feeling, which I liked, that just a few blocks away from your own boring and safe home and place of work lies an alien danger, a danger to your own individual life and a danger to the very existence of your society.

Sax Rohmer produced thirteen Fu-Manchu novels; I'll probably look into a few more.