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Showing posts with label thurston. Show all posts
Showing posts with label thurston. Show all posts

Thursday, April 7, 2022

Orbit 9: K Neville, R Thurston, J Sallis, V Vinge & R A Lafferty

Let's take another paperback off the SF anthology shelves of the MPorcius Library.  Today: Orbit 9, edited by Damon Knight and first published in 1971.  (My paperback was printed in 1972.)  I've already read a couple of stories from Orbit 9, and blogged about one of them, Joanna Russ's "Gleepsite."  (I called it an "insoluble puzzle.")  Let's attack six stories today--I know, six is a lot, but it looks like they are short!

"Dominant Species" by Kris Neville 

This story has never been reprinted in English, but our friends over in the Netherlands have had two cracks at it, in 1977 and 1992.  Maybe the subtle and sophisticated Dutch saw something in "Dominant Species" that our gross Anglophonic minds are unable to grasp!  

To my crude American sensibilities this seems like a gimmicky trifle.  A creature much like a duck--maybe it is a duck--thinks itself a god that controls the universe, willing the appearance of food, controlling the weather, etc.  When what we have to assume is a spaceship lands nearby he takes credit for its appearance.  When the beings that emerge from the cylinder capture him he assures himself he has willed this to happen.  Anyway, eventually the aliens (or humans) dissect the duck (or duck-like alien) or whatever it is and we know the bird was suffering delusions of grandeur.  

At four and a half pages, barely acceptable. 


"Stop Me Before I Tell More" by Robert Thurston

Even the Dutch took a pass on this baby!  "Stop Me Before I Tell More" has never been reprinted.  I have good feelings about Thurston, though; I really liked his 1978 novel Alicia II, which I read twice before I started this blog, and also enjoyed 1985's Q Colony.  So maybe I'll be able to tell you "Stop Me Before I Tell More" is some kind of lost classic with a straight face.

"Stop Me Before I Tell More" is an extrapolation or elaboration of a travelling salesman joke.  All through the story's nineteen pages a single line in italics (e. g., "--There was this travelling salesman, see--") is followed by a paragraph or three expanding on it (in our example, describing the salesman's appearance, psychology, and career.)  

The salesman stays the night at a farmer's house after his car breaks down.  The farmer has sexy twin daughters.  One sneaks into the salesman's bed and they have sex.  He can't tell which of the two women she is, and in the morning the girls refuse to reveal the truth.  He stops by this house every year, and each time one of the daughters joins him in bed and he tries to figure out which it is, unsuccessfully.  This is a shaggy dog story, and he and we never learn which twin has been having sex with him.  The punchline of the story, made clear in the italicized lines, is that the joketeller has forgotten the punchline of the travelling salesman joke.    
    
Waste of time.

"Binaries" by James Sallis

Knight would include this one in The Best from Orbit Volumes 1-10 in 1976; otherwise, it has not been reprinted.

"Binaries" is a series of surreal images and paradoxical passages, ten and a half pages, I guess about a writer and his career, his relationships with women and his father, and his trips between and within France, England, and the United States.  One woman has breasts that are different sizes, one woman has a slim torso but big hips and thighs, the guy thinks of himself as a European but stays in America because he feels he belongs in America, this kind of thing.  Sallis presents a self-important and stereotypical view of the writer's life--smoking lots of cigarettes, name-dropping French writers and painters, suffering paranoia. 

Waste of time.

"Only the Words Are Different" by James Sallis

Sallis has two stories in Orbit 9.  "Only the Words Are Different" would be reprinted in Sallis's 1995 collection, Limits of the Sensible World.  It is yet more surreal images of the lives of writers who smoke many cigarettes, but is more coherent, more anchored in reality.

Five vignettes that collectively take up six and a half pages.  1: A writer looks out the window and sees a guy has fallen from the scaffolding to his death far below--the blood is the color of strawberries.  The writer figures this guy was climbing the scaffolding to express his love to the writer.  2: A college professor and his wife are driving home from a party; the wife cries because she thinks her husband is having an affair with one of the female students.  3: A writer discovers a petition signed by millions of people, a petition demanding that poetry abolished.  It is suggested that the people who know poets want poetry abolished because the poets' obsession with poetry is an obstruction to the progress of love lives, profitable enterprises, etc. 4: An American woman wants to have her English boyfriend's child, but he always uses a condom.  He moves to New York to be with her but their relationship collapses and he leaves her.  Then he mails her a condom full of his jizz.  5: In a future (I guess) town where the population is in decline because people don't have any interest in having kids, the Mayor tries to unite the depressed citizenry and shake them out of their ennui by declaring war on roaches.  One woman fights hand-to-hand with the police when they come to destroy her pet roach, a creature she feeds cigarette butts.

Acceptable.

"The Science Fair" by Vernor Vinge

Vinge is an actual math professor who often writes stories about science and technology, and this story actually has "science" in its title, so maybe Vinge can get us out of our New Wave doldrums.    

"The Science Fair" is a first-person narrative delivered by a private eye--a spy for hire living on an alien world of people with hooves who can see into the infrared spectrum.  He is hired to protect a famous scientist who is giving a speech at the upcoming once-in-a-generation science fair.  There is an action scene in which the private dick shoots it out with assassins.  Then comes the fair.  The scientist reveals that a star is approaching their planet and will likely destroy their civilization in eight generations!  He calls for the scientists of the world to stop working as individuals seeking profit and to work together to create a technological and industrial base capable of preventing the coming cataclysm.  People are thrown into an uproar by these revolutionary statements.  

"The Science Fair" feels like the first chapter of a novel--its last line is a clue that, I believe, suggests the approaching star has a planet orbiting it that is home to another intelligent race.  

I like it; Vinge does a good economical job of sketching out an interesting setting for his story; these aliens live in an environment and have a society I would have read much more about.  "The Science Fair" would reappear in 2001's The Collected Stories of Vernor Vinge as well as two European Vinge collections published in 2006.  Look how sad 21st-century book covers are; it is like nobody is even trying any more.


"When All the Lands Pour Out Again" by R. A. Lafferty

This one is a little hard to grok, but I'm going to throw some interpretation out there: "When All the Lands Pour Out Again" is a satire or spoof of man's restless nature, his desire for change, any change, no matter how risky; also, it is a satire of man's solipsism, his hubris and overconfidence, his belief that he can master the world, can know its nature and even control it (this applies especially to academics, politicians and would-be revolutionaries.)  The story may also be a depiction of the Second Coming of Christ or just an assertion of God's power that echoes the Flood and the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah.

At the start of the fourteen-page story we meet three academics; Lafferty here gently spoofs academic self-importance and highlights how little academics really know and how little they agree with each other.  These three geniuses think that a major, cataclysmic change is in the offing, that everybody and everything is about to change, and they actually welcome rather than fear the change, though millions will die.

Sure enough, people, animals, even geographic features begin mass migrations, and they do it with joy.  People eagerly blow up their homes and places of work and begin long journeys they know not where, surrounded by earthquakes, lava flows, the arrival of space aliens, the sudden reappearance from under the earth of Native American tribesmen and from under the sea of the lost continent of Lyonesse.  The leaders of all the governments of the world escape danger via airplanes and then convene on Lyonesse, Lafferty joking that far away from everybody else maybe they won't cause so much trouble.

Near the end of the story we meet three revolutionaries, men bearing the appellations the red lion, the red tiger, and the red wolf.  Lafferty hints they are satanic; for example, they get their power from below in the form of lava.  These revolutionaries are angry that the radical changes taking place are not under their control; they try, without success, to reassert control, and the whole world laughs at their failure.

In the last paragraph of the story the three academics from the beginning, the men who predicted and welcomed the cataclysm, are described as "three wise men" and depicted wearing sandals and carrying staves and lanterns.    

As usual, Lafferty provides strange images and charming turns of phrase, lots of allusions and thought-provoking mysteries.  I like it.  "When All the Lands Pour Out Again" would be reprinted in a French collection of Lafferty stories and in Lafferty in Orbit.

**********

In an article in the May 12, 1956 issue of The Saturday Review, John W. Campbell, Jr., one of the most important figures in the history of science fiction, informed readers that "science-fiction's fundamental purpose is to make accurate, loose prophecies of general trends" and that it is written by, about, and for "technically-minded people."  When Barry Malzberg met Campbell in 1969, Campbell, as Malzberg tells it in the 1980 essay "John W. Campbell: June 8, 1910 to July 11, 1971," told him that "Mainstream literature is about failure...a literature of defeat...Science fiction is challenge and discovery," and that "science fiction is a problem-solving medium, man is a curious animal who wants to know how things work and given enough time can find out."

To what extent Campbell's definitions of science fiction are merely prescriptive, and to what extent they are accurately descriptive, is up for debate.  Either way, the stories we read today from 1971's Orbit 9 show that much of the science fiction promoted by important figures in the SF world of that year either ignored or deliberately sought to refute Campbell's strictures.  While Vinge's story fits into Campbell's definitions, being about science and technology and offering a hopeful view of the efforts of people to learn about the universe and master it, Neville's, Lafferty's and Thurston's stories suggest man's ability to comprehend and control the universe are illusory; Thurston's in particular is a pure literary piece, relying for its effects entirely on literary technique and containing no science or speculations of any kind.  The fifth of Sallis's vignettes in "Only the Words Are Different" contains some speculation about society and government, but otherwise his contributions to Orbit 9 are like a caricature of mainstream literature: they consist of surreal and fragmented episodes that offer impressionistic glimpses into the disordered psychologies and disastrous relationships of chain-smoking writers, artists and academics.

Thanks for embarking on this brief foray into the New Wave era with me.  In our next episode we'll again be exploring 1970 fiction, this time with one of our favorite women writers.  

Saturday, August 9, 2014

Three 1971 stories by Robert Thurston

As I have reported several places online, I quite like Robert Thurston's 1978 novel Alicia II.  I also enjoyed his Q Colony, from 1985 (link goes to my Amazon review.)  So, when I came upon Clarion, a 1971 anthology which includes three stories by Thurston, I bought it.  This week I read the stories, "Wheels," "Anaconda," and "The Last Desperate Hour."

Does that say "a darling
transvestite rite?"
"Wheels"
"Wheels" won the first place award at the 1970 Clarion Writers' Workshop, and was fourth in the 1972 Locus Poll for short fiction.  It was anthologized a second time in 1979, in Car Sinister, a paperback anthology of stories about the future of man and the automobile.  I couldn't find any decent scans of the cover of Car Sinister online, which is too bad, as the cover is pretty amusing.

"Wheels" was also the basis of Thurston's novel Set of Wheels, published in 1983. Check out Tarbandu's negative review of Set of Wheels; Tarbandu not only harshly assesses the book, but the entire Ford Motor Company. 

Personally, I don't care about cars, and, as I tell incredulous MidWesterners, I don't like to drive.  ("I didn't drive for years in New York, I walked or took the train everywhere-- it was a paradise!")  I am really looking forward to the autonomous cars we keep hearing about.

Enough about me, let's talk about "Wheels."  As he tells us in the intro, Thurston's "Wheels" is about the tension between the romantic view of the car as a symbol and a means of freedom and sexual prowess, and the more recent view that the car is dangerous and bad for the environment.

"Wheels" takes place in a dystopic future in which the city is plagued by snipers, police have cordoned off the black ghetto, and cars have not been manufactured since 1979.  Our narrator is a young man with a yearning to drive, but getting a license and a car are almost impossible.  He enviously watches people in cars drive by; the drivers even shout insults at him!  So he sneaks into the ghetto and buys a battered black market '67 Mustang and drives off into the country.  Out there he joins up with a group of outlaw car enthusiasts, including a biracial girl whom he finds fascinating.  "She has white-girl-texture hair which she ties back as if ashamed of it."  She wears cosmetics to darken her skin, but she can't hide her "white girl's small-nostril nose."  In the climax of the story the narrator and the young woman are pursued by the bravest cop in the territory.

I thought this was a pretty good adventure story that also addresses "the issues of the day," like race relations and urban crime.  It has some literary affectations, like being in the present tense and using no quotation marks, but I didn't find these overly distracting.  It is easy to see why it would win the award at Clarion; Thurston has all the bases covered, and his writing style is good.  So, thumbs up for "Wheels."

"Anaconda"
"Anaconda" is three pages long. Some of the paragraphs constitute a sort of stream-of-consciousness thing, the thoughts of an American serviceman running through a Philippine jungle, worried about "Jap" snipers.  Other paragraphs are about a funeral, and the deceased's failed marriage.  It appears that the guy in the jungle and the guy being mourned are the same, and that the marriage failed because the wife was unfaithful.  The husband, after the war, became a drunk and fell down some stairs, and the ex-wife confessed to having pushed him, but was acquitted at trial.

A puzzling story, not very fun and only faintly interesting.  Thumbs down.

"The Last Desperate Hour"
Editor Robin Scott Wilson in the intro to this one tells us it is "very funny."  Thurston suggests that the story is meant to subvert or satirize old melodramatic movies in which evil is punished, because in real life sometimes "the bad guys" succeed.  I can't say I was eager to read a story making fun of old movies because they are square, but I soldiered on.

"The Last Desperate Hour" is a farce.  Eighteen years ago two bank robbers, Noodles and Butch, broke into the Glaze family's suburban home and forced the Glazes at gunpoint to allow them to use their house as a hideout.  Noodles and Butch are still there nearly twenty years later, not having left the property for one moment over that period of time.  The criminals have watched the family evolve; toddler Veronica is now a college student, and Mr. Glaze, once a radical dedicated to the class struggle and sympathetic to the robbers, now complains about his wife's "bleeding-heart liberalism."  There are weak jokes (Noodles's .45 is rusty) and feeble puns (Noodles looks at Veronica's legs and engages in "remembrance of thighs past.")            

"The Last Desperate Hour" is like a bad Saturday Night Live skit.  Thumbs down!

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

So far, I've read six stories in Clarion, three by George Alec Effinger and three by Robert Thurston, and have liked two of the six.  There are twenty-one pieces of fiction in Clarion; dare I read any more?

Thursday, August 7, 2014

Three 1971 stories by George Alec Effinger

I guess I bought Clarion, an anthology of stories from a 1970 writers' workshop in Pennsylvania, a few years ago because of the Robert Thurston stories.  I quite liked Thurston's Alicia II, which I read in my youth and reread in my 30s, and which I glowingly reviewed on Amazon.

Going through my books this week while tidying up my study, I flipped though Clarion and found that it had three stories by "Geo. Alec Effinger," and on a sort of whim decided to read them.  I guess I had Effinger in mind because Joachim Boaz mentioned him recently; Boaz loves Effinger's novel, What Entropy Means to Me.

Two of these three stories never appeared anywhere else, so Effinger completists will want to seek out this paperback.

"Trouble Follows"
In his intro to this seven-page story editor Robin Scott Wilson tells us Effinger "has enormous talent and a brilliant future."

This story isn't very good.  It is a letter written by a college student to another college student, telling the story of how an old drifter came to the campus student union one day.  We get overly long descriptions of peoples' clothes and hair, and of the student union.  The drifter uttered some gnomic wisdom, and our narrator made fun of him and insulted him, calling him a "hippie creep" and jocularly comparing him to Odysseus.  The narrator basically drove him off campus, but that evening felt compelled to join the old man, and took to the road after him.  Months later, as he writes this letter, he has not found the drifter yet.

Maybe there is some kind of symbolism or literary allusion here; are the narrator and the old man supposed to be like the Wandering Jew?  Or is the narrator supposed to be like Telemachus, following his (spiritual?) father?  Does the wandering represent man's life, spent on a fruitless quest for wisdom or repentance?  Well, whatever.

I love extravagant ad copy like this,
especially with deflating typos
"A Free Pass to the Carnival"
 "A Free Pass to the Carnival" appeared in the May 1971 issue of The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction as well as here in Clarion.  Wilson calls this satire "a perfect literary setpiece," comparing it to Johnathan Swift's Gulliver's Travels and Oliver Goldsmith's Citizen of the World, which all you literary historians out there already know consisted of letters by a fictional Chinese visitor to England expressing Goldsmith's gripes about British society.  I can't say I was excited to hear what Effinger's gripes were about American society, but I figured I would be able to handle a mere 7 pages of gripes.

The story takes place in New York, which a family of aliens known as "lords" is visiting as tourists.  It seems like the aliens have the Earth at their mercy; it is suggested that they can just take what they want from stores and pay only if they choose to.

The adult aliens think New York and human beings suck balls.  They allege that humans suffer an inferiority complex because of the superiority of the lords, and their culture has suffered.  They lament that human goods are all mass produced instead of handcrafted (I guess these aliens got to Earth in a handcrafted star ship.)  They theorize that humans are sexually frustrated, which is reflected in their debased economic, political and religious lives.  And so on.  The child alien in the story starts off finding New York exciting, and even finds a human girl attractive, but by the end of the story is a human hater like his parents.

Who or what is being satirized here?  Does Effinger believe all that stuff the aliens say about sexual frustration, mass production, and how humans (or just Americans, or just Westerners?) "sell themselves" and "put prices on everything they have?"  Maybe he does.  But the aliens are not exemplars; Effinger also seems to be using them to satirize the way adults pass their prejudices on to their children, and how First World people think of the Third World and how First World tourists behave in Third World countries (at one point the question of whether the folk music in a Village dive is "authentic" is raised.)

I thought "Trouble Follows" was too lame to bother figuring out, but this one is far more interesting.  Marginal thumbs up for "A Free Pass to the Carnival."

"The Westfield Heights Mall Monster"
Effinger told Wilson that this story is the "transcript of a nightmare...I woke up shaking, and crawled out of bed to write it."  Wilson tells us it is so good that having it in his anthology makes him feel like the guy on Columbus's ship who was first to spot a sign of the New World.

The story takes place in the future, after some kind of socialist revolution, and is about a guy who goes to the movies, which are free.  He gets a coke from the coke machine, and, here comes the joke, the coke machine dispenses plastic packets of cocaine!  Also free!

Most of the story consists of a detailed description of the film.  There are lots of lines like, "The camera swings left, down the main street, focusing on a large suburban shopping center," and "...the background music has returned to that ominous mode...."  The movie, apparently, is an anti-capitalist propaganda film in the form of a horror movie.  It follows two teenagers as they go to the mall, where the stores become blobs that chase them down and assimilate them.  The end of the story is full of famous phrases and references to famous images, including Winston Churchill's "we shall fight on the beaches" speech, a line from the Beatles' "Penny Lane," the Black Power salute at the Mexico City Olympics, and the October 21, 1967 photos of protesters with flowers facing National Guardsmen (Effinger seems to be conflating two photos, taking the female protestor and the bayonets from the Marc Ribaud photo and adding them to the Bernie Boston photo in which the (male) protester actually puts a flower stem in a rifle barrel.)

This story isn't terrible, but it certainly feels long (we get detailed descriptions of the teenagers' attire, for example) and it doesn't impress upon you any strong feelings, just a sort of free form dissatisfaction with the universe.  (In the intro, Effinger explains that he is "fed up with society," but also skeptical of revolution, or, as he puts it, "bro, the Revolution don't look so cool from here, either....")  I think I'm giving this one a borderline negative vote.

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

So far, the most entertaining thing about Clarion has been the hysterical enthusiasm of the intros and advertising blurbs; the critical pieces, like Harlan Ellison's (sample passages: "these Clarion writers are in the noblest traditions of those who have dealt with High Art," and "the revolutionary writers of sf hurl fire and thunder and lightning in their work...") promise more of the same.  The Effinger stories have been tepid, so right now I can only recommend Clarion as a kind of historical document, providing insight into literary SF's hopes and fears in 1970, but I'll read some more of the fiction in the coming days and see if there are any gems in here.