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I was paging idly through my collection of ebooks looking for something to read, when my eye was caught by Marion Zimmer Bradley’s The Falcons of Narabedla, which I had never actually read but have sometimes heard mentioned as loosely connected to the Darkover books.

Setting aside all considerations of Bradley’s quite reprehensible personal actions, which I’ve discussed here before, I’m not al that fond of her early writing at a technical level. It contained too many of what I find to be the least interesting elements of the “pulp” style - overblown writing, limited background and characterisation, and the sense of getting thrown into situations without any context or incluing, such that, if the character is confused or taken by surprise, the reader is not just equally so, but not given much information about what is happening to the character right now, from which some notions of what’s happening can be drawn.

The Falcons of Narabedla is like that. The lead character, Mike Kenscott, is a man of the mid-twentieth century, a scientist what has been somehow strangely affected by a lab accident. He disrupts energy flows, shorts out electrical devices, things like that. He goes to spend some time in the wilderness with his brother, and his consciousness is somehow transported across time to what may be a far future.

He finds himself in the body of a man named Adric, Lord of the Crimson Tower, with only the faintest and most fragmentary access to Adric’s conscious memories, although he seems to function well enough in matters if habitual action, such as dressing in unusual clothing or getting around the Tower. He tries to tell those around him - a Dreamer named Rhys, a veiled woman named Gamine, Adric’s brother Evarin - that he’s not Adric, that he doesn’t known anything about where he is, or about Adric’s life, no one gives him any really useful information and so he’s left to figure things out on his own. Among the few things he does learn is that he has a controversial relationship with a powerful and not particularly liked woman named Kameny, and that unlike the others of his class, who each have properly bound and exploited the telepathic abilities of one of a group of people known as the Dreamers, his Dreamer is unbound and free to move.

Kenscott comes to understand what’s happened to him in this passage, which I quote rather than try to paraphrase:

“Once before, for a little while, Adric and I had touched lives on—what had Gamine called it? The Time Ellipse. That day they thought the lab was struck by lightning. For eighteen hours, while I lay crushed under a laboratory beam, and later under drugs in the hospital) he and I had shared a fragment of life somehow. But the escape had not been complete. Something had driven him, or drawn him, back to his own world.

And he had tried again, or had been sent back And this time he seemed to have succeeded. Was he in my hunting cabin in the mountains, cleaning fish for supper, curiously rummaging through my electrical equipment? Viciously I hoped he'd give himself some damned good shocks on it.”

But it seems that more than Adric’s memories remain, or perhaps Kameny’s “magic” is affecting him, for he finds himself taking actions that he doesn’t understand, that he, Mike Kenscott, would never do. At times Kenscott gains ascendancy, but the Adric personality seems to be more in control, a circumstance that becomes potentially disastrous as Kenscott/Adric finds himself caught up in a rebellion of commoners and Dreamers, hoping to end the rule of the Tower dwellers. Kenscott himself is in sympathy with the aims of their leader, Narayan - the Dreamer he is incompletely bound to - but Adric seeks to use Narayan’s power to avenge himself on Kameny, who challenged his power as leader of the Rainbow Towers.

And then, somehow, Adric returns, in Kenscott’s body, and forces Kenscott back, retaking his own body - now both Adric and Kenscott are in the same time and place, in their own bodies. Can Kenscott warn Narayan in time, and be believed?

It’s a decent pulp portal fantasy, but having read it, I have no idea why it’s sometimes associated with the Darkover books. Oh, there are telepaths and towers, but those are common tropes. The only actual textual link is that the characters sometimes swear by Zandru, but that’s hardly enough to build a link on. So, now I’ve read it, and need no longer wonder about it.
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I’ve already done posts about the novellas and novelettes I read in looking for potential nominations for the 1943 Retro Hugos. Now, it’t time for the short stories.

Leigh Brackett was a master of the planetary romance, stories about strange beings and ancient civilisations on other planets, and the adventurers, some heroic, some cynical and world-weary, who explored them. In the short story “Child of the Sun,” her hero, Eric Falken, a rebel fighting for the survival of free men against a tyrant who enforces Happiness on humanity and rules a docile populace, discovers a hidden planet inside the orbit of Mercury, and a vastly ancient energy being who wants amusement - human toys to play with. Falken must outwit the creature to gain the planet as a hiding place for the rebels.

“Child of the Green Light” is another of Leigh Brackett’s short stories, this one about Son, the only survivor of a space ship crew trapped by a mysterious green light, which is the manifestation of a part of another universe penetrating our own. Under the influence of this light, he has changed, his atoms altering frequency. Eventually, he will be able to cross over to the other universe, where a woman is waiting for him. But then another ship of humans arrives, and he learns that the light is affecting all life in the solar system, slowly killing the human race, and he must choose between the woman he loves or the survival of a human civilisation he barely remembers.

Lester del Rey’s “The Wings of Night” is a haunting and emotionally powerful story about the last member of a once advanced civilisation living in a refuge created when the moon began to lose its atmosphere. As the soil is depleted over time of an element necessary for reproduction, it seems inevitable that Lhin, the last of his species, will die alone. Until a distressed space freighter carrying two humans makes an emergency landing on the uninhabited moon and, by accident, triggers the landing doors to Lhin’s underground world. The story examines - and condemns - issues of prejudice, colonialism, exploitation and slavery, and ends with hope for both Lhin and the hearts of men.

It may be pushing the boundaries somewhat, but Jorge Luis Borges’ short story “Funes, His Memory” - also known as “Funes the Memorious” - is certainly a tale of the fantastic, a story about a boy named Funes who suffers an accident which leaves him crippled, but with a memory so intense, detailed and complete that he amuses himself by inventing a number system in which every number up to 70,000 has its own name. Borges turns the simple recollections of a man who met Funes a few times into a meditation on the varieties and purposes of memory and forgetting.

Heinlein’s short story “Pied Piper” is a slight piece of work but nonetheless entertaining. There’s a war, and as always, one side is losing. The leaders of the losing side turn to their greatest scientist for a weapon to help them win the war. Instead, he proposes a way to end the war, forever.

Isaac Asimov’s “Robot AL-76 Goes Astray” is one if the Robotics Corporation stories, this time about a robot programmed for construction work on the moon that somehow ends up in rural Virginia, where a general purpose repairman finds him and tries to make a few quick bucks off his discovery. It’s a comedic story, light in tone and mostly just for fun.

Malcolm Jameson, writing as Colin Keith, produced a charming little capitalist comedy called “If You’re So Smart—“ about a scientist frustrated by a greedy robber baron who controls pretty much every major business on Titan and is trying to close down his research so he can a quire it cheaply. Determined to resist, the scientist figures out how to use his new machine to take over all the industrialists holdings, destabilising the solar system economy in the process. Humorous and well-written.

Jameson’s “The Goddess’ Legacy” is a rather different work. Set in Nazi-occupied Greece, the story’s narrator, an American businessman, encounters a remnant of the cult of Pallas Athene, and is witness to her continued legacy of protection for her city and people.

L. Ron Hubbard’s Strain is a truly gut-wrenching story about what a person will endure in war for the sake of his country, his fellows, his mission, but it’s the ironic turn at the end that turns the whole thing inside out and makes you think about the ethos and the military culture. Psychologically adept, well-written, painfully graphic treatment of a difficult subject.

The Embassy, written by Donald Wohlheim under the pen name Martin Pearson, is a twisty little story about what might happen if someone decided that Martians had set up an observing mission somewhere in New York City, and hired some not too imaginative private eyes to track it down.

And, from a writer I don’t remember hearing about at all, F. Anton Reeds, with a bittersweet story called “Forever Is Not So Long,” about an English scientist in 1931 working on time travel. He decides to run the first trial, to travel forward a decade - and learns things that change his priorities fir the rest of his life.

“Deadlock,” by Henry Kuttner and C. L. Moore, writing under the name Lewis Padgett, is an interesting variant on the mad robot story. The Company has been working on developing robots for some time. The ultimate goal - an intelligent, indestructible robot capable of solving any problem. The problem they keep running into is that the robots keep going mad, and being indestructible, end up being encased in tombs of concrete. Finally, they develop a robot who remains sane - but as it turns out, that’s even worse.

Moore and Kuttner - writing again as Lewis Padgett - produced another robot story in 1942, “The Twonky,” a very unsettling story about a temporarily temporally displaced mechanical technician from the future who, while suffering from amnesia, spends an afternoon working in a radio factory until he recovers, realises his situation and goes back to wherever he came from. He’s not otherwise important to the story. The problem is, that where he comes from, he makes Twonkies - robots programmed not only to do household tasks, but to censor the cultural exposures, and manipulate the impulses of their “owners” - removing individuality, creativity, initiative, and terminating those who persist in their wayward ways. The story leaves the reader hanging, having shown us what Twonkies can do, with a Twonky loose in the 20th century and waiting for the next unsuspecting customer. Sf horror at its finest.

“Later Than You Think,” written under Kuttner’s name alone, is one of those stories about a person who, in some fashion, finds a way to learn tomorrow’s news today. In this story, it’s a sales clerk in a record store whose hobby is tinkering with radio equipment, who accidentally builds a radio that plays tomorrow’s news. Unfortunately, he and his radio fall into the hands of a gangster, who forces him to use it to make money for the gangster by various nefarious means. All ends well, however, and the boy gets the girl and finds a way to use his radio without causing too much mayhem.

Kuttner’s “False Dawn” is an interesting tale of unintended consequences. An egotistic and immoral scientist has developed a process that regresses life forms through the stages of evolution, and decides to use his discovery to get rid of his financial backer by regressing him to amoeba status. The plan backfires when it turns out that human evolution has a rather longer history than anyone realised. Kuttner builds some nice ironic turns into the story.

Writing under the name Kelvin Kent, Henry Kuttner penned a series of light-hearted time travel adventures featuring a roguish chap named Pete Manx. “Dames is Poison” sees Manx in renaissance Milan, getting mixed up with Cesare and Lucretia Borgia.

“Kilgallen’s Lunar Legacy” by Norman L. Knight is a Bunyanesque story about an Irishman, his will, a dozen replicas in spaceborne coffins and a buried legacy of unique proportions. Tongue in cheek humour.

Fredric Brown’s “Etaoin Shrdlu” is an updated version of the sorcerer’s apprentice - this time the enchanted machine is a sentient linotype machine that can set anything in a fraction of the tine that the process normally takes, and that demands to be kept working. The solution - teach it Buddhism, so that instead of running its operator ragged, it meditates and achieves nirvana. Yes, it’s Orientalist as fuck.

In “The Shoes”, Robert Bloch plays with the old idea of bargaining with the devil for eternal life. Everyone who tries it thinks he can outwit Satan, and the little man who calls himself Dr. Faust is no exception. But everyone leaves out something that trips him up in the end, and here too, Dr. Faust is no exception.

Fritz Leiber’s “The Sunken Land” is a Fafhrd and Grey Mouser story, which means classic sword and sorcery adventure. This time the two soldiers of fortune are out fishing when Fafhrd finds a relic of a long lost sunken country in one of the fish as he cleans it. The relic leads to a dreamlike experience for Fafhrd as he seems to relive a voyage of his ancestors to the doomed island before it sank.

Jane Rice’s “Idol of the Flies” is a disquieting portrait of Pruitt, a child without empathy or conscience, the sort of child we now understand to have a profound psychological disorder. A child of some wealth and privilege, he hates the people around him, using his position to torment, ridicule and abuse the servants in the household. And he tortures small creatures. Pruitt has a particular fascination for flies. Indeed, he has created a ritual in which he commands the help of a supernatural being he calls the Idol of the Flies in his schemes to harm others. It’s unfortunate - for him, at any rate - that Pruitt doesn’t know all the names of the Lord of the Flies, nor his true nature, until much too late.

Hannes Bok is primarily known as an illustrator, but he also produced some speculative fiction. In “Letter to an Invisible Woman” Bok’s protagonist addresses a woman he has fallen in love with, a woman who has a secret that makes her different, who has abandoned him because he has discovered it. He pleads with her to return, but the story does not give us her answer. Or perhaps, it does.
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More novelettes from 1942 pulp magazines.

Isaac Asimov’s “Runaround” is one of the Mike Donovan Robot stories, in which a robot acts strangely and Donovan has to figure out why, and how to fix the problem. Both error and solution usually involve some bizarre circumstances that impacts on the way the robot resolves the tensions between the famous Three Laws of Robotics, and this story falls perfectly into the pattern. A robot with a deliberately heightened sense of self preservation is given a casually worded order to do something that would endanger him. In this case, the two a mathematically balanced, causing the robot to run in circles around the location he was ordered to, while singing Gilbert and Sullivan songs. Kind of amusing, standard Asimov robot story.

1942 was the year in which Isaac Asimov published the first of the stories that would eventually become his iconic Foundation series. “Foundation” is the origin story, which gives us the basic background to the series, and covers the first “Seldon crisis” - how will Terminus, the remote and relatively isolated home of the First Foundation and the Encyclopedists, hold into its independence as the Empire crumbles? It really was one of the most ambitious concepts of its time, even granting that lots of writers were creating lengthy and complex histories for their fictional universes, from Heinlein to “Doc” Smith. Just one month after “Foundation” appeared in print, the second story dealing with the next Seldon crisis, was published as “Bridle and Saddle.”

1942 also saw the publication of Asimov’s “Friar of the Black Flame,” in which an Earth ruled by the reptilian Llhasinu from Vega are driven from Earth and destroyed by a battle force drawn from all the human worlds. It’s fairly standard milsf, but what makes the story interesting is that it mentions Trantor as one of the human worlds, establishing it as part of the backhistory of the Foundation series.

Alfred Bester’s “The Push of a Finger” is a story of the sort we now associate with the “butterfly effect” - the idea that a butterfly’s wings flapping could a tornado on the other side of the world - though of course it predates that formulation. In a future society where the prime principle is stability, a machine is developed capable of calculating the future - and it predicts the end of the universe in a catastrophic scientific experiment in only a thousand years. The pronosticators use the machine to track back to the one moment that, if changed, can prevent the disaster. There’s a surprise plot twist, of course, which the modern reader will immediately deduce because we’ve seen it too many times, but the story is well told and, I expect, was fairly new and original back in 1942.

Lester del Rey’s novelette “My Name Is Legion” is an example of the “time loop” story, in which the subject is caught in the same sequence of time, looping through the same events. In this story, it’s a defeated Hitler trapped in the loop by a scientist bent on revenge for the deaths if his Jewish wife and children, and it is a particularly nasty loop with an all-too-appropriate end built into it. Quite an effective story.

“Though Poppies Grow,” also by del Rey, is the most powerful of all the war-themed anti-fascism stories I’ve read in the past few weeks, and there have been quite a few of those, what with the US being at war in 1942. In this story, the ghost of the Unknown Soldier from WWI is called forth from his tomb, acting out the promise from the famous poem - “If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields.” The writing in this novelette is so evocative, so well-honed, as del Rey follows the young soldier, confused, knowing only that he has a mission, wandering through the streets of Washington, touching people as he passes in various ways. At first he does not know he is dead, a ghost, but slowly as it dawns on him, he is overwhelmed, until at last, he is led to understand his role is to remind these who waver, or are complacent, that there can be no compromise with fascism, with tyranny, with hatred. The story is exquisitely told, the character made so real you can feel his struggle to understand, the message as important today as it was in 1942.

A story in a completely different vein, del Rey’s Lunar Landing s about a mission to the moon, sent in the (faint) hope of rescuing three men from the first lunar voyage. The crew of the Moth - five men and two women - encounter serious problems in landing themselves, and their search for the first ship becomes even more important because they hope to cannibalise it for parts they’ll need to get home themselves. But very little goes as planned in this mission, beginning with the first surprise, plant and animal life adapted for survival on the moon. As I’ve noted elsewhere, del Rey’s style, like Heinlein’s, has aged well. His characters are quite fully and realistically developed, and the two women in the story are intelligent, brave and have lived lives of their own - they have relationships with men, but are not defined solely by them.

Ross Rocklynne’s “Jackdaw” portrays the bewilderment of an alien species on discovering a world where only one living being remains, alone on a planet whose cities, roads and farms have been destroyed by massive bombardment. When the lone survivor dies in a suicide attack on their craft, they are bewildered, but despite their best attempts, the end of the species and the actions of its last member remain incomprehensible to a species that cannot envision war.

“QRM—Interplanetary” by George O. Smith is a cautionary tale of what can happen when you put a businessman whose only focus, and area of expertise, is cost-cutting, in charge of a facility that depends on scientific and engineering excellence to function. QRM, we are told, is the shortwave code for man-made interference in radio transmission. The story takes place in a communications relay station on an asteroid whose orbit is positioned such as to ensure radio transmission between Earth and Mars at all points of both planets’ orbits. The man-made interference is a new Director who knows nothing about either the technical aspects of communication, nor the intricacies of life in an artificially sustained environment. The consequences of his policies, while humorously described, are disastrous. Eventually, the proper order is restored, but not before his decisions come close to killing everyone on the station.

1942 was the date of E. Mayne Hull’s first published work, a haunting novelette called “The Flight That Failed.” Set during the war, it’s the story of a time traveller who tries to avert the destruction of a plane crossing the Atlantic with a secret cargo that will change the course of the history he knows if it gets through.

Fredric Brown’s “The Star Mouse” is a rather poignant tale about a mouse who is shot into space in a small experimental rocket built by your standard eccentric tinkering scientist. Mitkey, as he’s been called by the professor, and his rocket come to the attention of a civilisation of very small people living on an asteroid that happens to be passing near earth. Concerned about potential threats from humans, they explore Mitkey’s memories to find our what they can about human civilisation - but doing this involves giving Mitkey intelligence equal to that of humans. Mitkey goes home again, but alas, the boost in IQ doesn’t last. Still, he survives, is reunited with his mate, and the professor provides him with lots of cheese.

In Jane Rice’ “Pobby” a writer of horror starts a new story - his idea is to tell a gruesome tale of a poor farmer named Pobby who finds a strange seed, plants and waters it, hoping that it might grow into a rare flower that will make him some money, only to be eaten by it once it flowers. As he starts to write his installments for magazine publication, however, someone named Pobby, who looks and talks like the character he’s writing about, appears to various of his friends, saying he needs to find the writer and get him to stop making him grow the flower, because he doesn’t want to die. Finally, Pobby and the writer meet face to face, but the writer persists in following his story - until he finds himself in a writers block just before the final scene. Frustrated, he travels to the lace where he has set Pobby’s farm, finding the town much as he’s written it, with characters he’s mentioned, and Pobby’s farm, where he discovers the cause of his block - Pobby, out of desperation, has written his own ending to the story. An interesting exploration of the conceit that characters can take on a life of their own.

“The Magicians’ Dinner,” also by Jane Rice, is a comic ghost story about a young bride, married to a magician, who tries to handle a dinner for forty in their first home, when she’s never cooked before. Fortunately for her, her family’s long-dead cook decides to return from the other side to save her firmer employers’ daughter’s bacon, so to speak. The tale is told in first person, the narrator is rather self-depreciating and quite engaging and likable, so that the story comes across as light-hearted and sweet. We will pass over the class issues and the trope of the help who care more for the families of their employers than they can for their own, and some if the annoyingly sexist assumptions about how marriages between men and women should work.

In Rice’s “The Elixir,” the narrative voice is again a somewhat unconventional woman, a out-spoken, accident-prone, unmarried writer of mystery novels. In this light-hearted time travel yarn, Amy Parrish’s equally unconventional neighbour, Clare Holloway, throws a Halloween party and Amy decides to attend as a witch. While waiting for the party to get started, Amy mixes up a batch of punch, tossing in liquor, ice cream, and halloween candy, while reciting some off-the-cuff doggerel, and ends up in Salem during the witch hunts. Much strangeness ensues, but all ends well, with Amy back in her own time, wondering if everything happened as she recalls it, or if she was just drunk silly and hallucinating. Having read several of Rice’s stories now, I must say that I am quite delighted with her descriptive style, which is both unique and very apt, and her mastery of tone. It’s a pity that her work is not remembered nearly as well as that of other writers of this era.
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Reading potential nominations for the shorter fiction categories for the 1943 Retro Hugos is no easy task. Unless you have a vast collection of golden age short story anthologies or access to a collection of the original pulp magazines, you are not going to be able to read much of the relevant material, even if you restrict yourself to looking for stories other people have already recommended. But I did make some efforts to read some of the more readily accessible stories and novelettes, in order to do what justice I could to the nominations. I managed to acquire, through the auspices of my friendly internet faeries, a variety of magazines from 1942 that I’d flagged mostly because they contained at least one piece of short fiction from an author I’m generally a fan of, or a story I’d seen recommended. Couldn’t find everything I would have liked to, but did find enough to keep me busy for a while. Looking in this post at eligible novelettes...

First up, Robert Heinlein’s novelette “Goldfish Bowl,” which is an unsettling story about unexplained phenomena, including fireballs that kill some humans but cause others to vanish, and two huge waterspouts that stretch mikes into the stratosphere. The story follows two men who try to find out what’s at the top of the strange spouts, and who succeed, to their own ruin. The net result is to bring a large dose of humility into the standard American sf narrative of mastery of science, the world and outer space.

Leigh Brackett’s “Out of the Sea,” is a novelette set on contemporary Earth, in California. Recently jilted newspaperman Webb Fallon is drowning his sorrows by the sea when suddenly a wave of giant, mutated sea creatures boils out of the surf onto the land, and some even into the air. Fallon and the blonde he’d been flirting with survive, Fallon with minor wounds. Imperial Japan claims responsibility and demands surrender from the Pacific allies in the war. But Fallon, working from his memories of an interview with an undersea geologist, has other ideas and sets out to find the truth. The story is fast paced and engaging, but what caught my interest in particular was the way it deals with the changes in Fallon’s character and his relationships with women. He starts out being somewhat of an angry and entitled ass, selfish, a very reluctant hero. But under pressure, and stung by the scorn of his new companion Joan, and the scientist Bjarnsson, he makes the heroic choices.

Yet another of Leigh Brackett’s tales published in 1942 is “The Sorcerer of Rhiannon.” Set on a Mars of ancient, lost civilisations and dried out seas, it features adventurer, rxplorer, and tomb robber Max Brandon, who, lost in a deadly sand storm, stumbles across an untouched relic, a Martian ship hundreds of thousands of years old. Within is an ancient consciousness that has survived long past the death of its body, ready to awaken old enmities. Brackett also gives us a competent, interesting woman as Brandon’s partner and love interest - Sylvia Eustace - who saves Brandon and is as instrumental in bringing about the eventual successful conclusion to the story as he is.

E. E. Smith’s novelette “Storm Cloud on Deka” is set in the Lensman universe, part of the “Vortex Blaster” series, and deals with illegal drug manufacturing and production, which was one of Smith’s go-to careers for nasty people. Drug smugglers operating under the cover if being a legitimate business sometimes need to kill people, even their own employees, and they need to do so in a way that no one will investigate. The druglords of Dekanore III have been blaming ‘excess’ deaths on an atomic vortex - but now mathematical genius and vortex buster Neal “Storm” Cloud has sensed something is not quite right with the way this vortex is reportedly behaving, and he moves the rogue vortex to the too of his schedule. Naturally, Cloud figures out what’s going on, saves the day and the Lensmen arrive to finish up. A fairly standard “Doc” Smith adventure.

A. E. Van Vogt’s “Co-operate - Or Else!” is an interesting survival story in which a human and a large, intelligent alien crash land on an extremely dangerous planet with many large and nasty life forms, and must co-operate, despite their differences, in order to reach safety. This is one of Van Vogt’s Rull series, where a multi-species interstellar civilisation including human is fighting an alien species bent on total destruction of all other intelligent life. In this story, not only must out intrepid human convince his alien companion to cooperate in the short term to escape the planet and a patrol of Rull, he must persuade him urge his people to join humanity’s fight against the Rull. Not nearly as overwrought in literary style as some other Van Vogt pieces, and rather fun to read.

One of van Vogt’s best stories, I think, was also published in 1942 - “The Weapon Shop.” Setting aside the underlying pro-gun philosophy, which I don’t agree with, it’s a narrative of collective resistance and support for social justice. When an illegal weapon shop first appears in the village of Glay, Fara Clark, a loyal citizen of the Empire is appalled and leads the fight to get it closed down. But when misfortune strikes, thanks to a vicious son and a grasping corporation, and suicide seems his only option, Fara discovers what the weapon shops are really doing in the Empire, and his entire way of looking at the world around him is changed.

Van Vogt’s “The Ghost” is one of those neatly plotted time paradox attempts to change a predicted future stories, about an old man who has been a ghost for at least five years, but continues to act just as he did in life - including walking through gates, and getting mixed up in time and talking about things that haven’t happened yet. It’s very well crafted, engages the reader, and keeps one guessing about what’s going to happen right to the very end.

C. L. Moore’s “There Shall Be Darkness” is an end of empire narrative, modelled on the end of the Roman Empire. Earth’s troops are being called home, to fight the barbarians at the gates. On Venus, a young and impetuous people - as colonial subjects naturally portrayed as too uncivilised to take up the reins of effective self-government - may be the next home if civilisation, if they have enough time to mature before the barbarians come for them, too. So, yeah, it’s a hot mess of colonialist tropes and the white man’s burden, but it’s also a compelling story about a woman - the Venusian Quanna - who wants out of a patriarchal society and is willing to do it by any means necessary.

Moore, writing with Henry Kuttner under the name Lewis Padgett, also published the deeply ironic “Piggy Bank,” about Bob Ballard, a robber baron type who has built his fortune on the sale of diamonds - artificially created thanks to a secret process known only to his partner in crime, who naturally has set up a deadman scheme to have the secret released if he ever dies. Ballard has another problem - people keep stealing his diamonds. He can always have his partner make more, but the more there are on the market, the less value they have. So he comes up with the perfect solution - he has a robot built that’s specislised to do one thing only - escape from anyone who doesn’t know the password. Ballard takes care of his first problem, too, but his partner had been prepared for that eventuality too, and the story of how his revenge from beyond the grave plays out is actually rather satisfying.

Irony seems to have been one of Kuttner and Moore’s favourite devices. In “Compliments of the Author,” originally credited to Kuttner alone but now considered to be written by both, Tarbell, a corrupt newspaperman tries to blackmail a magician, but ends up killing him instead. He inherits two things - a book that can be used ten times to answer any question that involves danger, threat or great need, and the magician’s familiar, who swears revenge. Tarbell uses several of the book’s uses to escape attempts by the familiar to kill him, and then tries to use the book to get rid of the familiar. He succeeds, but at the end, he learns that sometimes the answer to finding an escape is “No.”

Henry Kuttner’s “The Crystal Circe” is a standard planetary romance, with three human adventurers finding an asteroid with a seductive, fatally beautiful, ancient and very alien being on it. One survives, forever changed by his experiences, to tell the harrowing tale, the others go on to their fate, neither life nor death as we know it. Competently written, as one would expect from Kuttner, and quite engaging, but a fairly ordinary example of its kind.

Theodore Sturgeon’s “Medusa” tells a story about a trip to hell in a ship full of madmen. Eight military spacemen, all but one of whom has had his mind carefully taken apart and put back together with “schizoid” personalities - one paranoic, one manic-depressive - are sent on a mission to discover the source of a mental field emanating from a strange planet, a field that drives men mad if they come too close. The reasoning is that a certain kind of mental illness might actually protect humans against the effects of the field. The final man has been given powerful hypnotic conditioning, to destroy the generator of the field, no matter what it is. It’s a fascinating look at interpersonal dynamics when paranoia goes wild, with a rather ingenious explanation at the end for what caused the killer mental field in the first place.
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A few more novellas from 1942 for consideration for the 1943 Retro Hugos, culled from magazines I was able to download from here and there on the internets.

A. E. Van Vogt’s The Time Masters, first published as Recruiting Station, is the story of two humans from contemporary America who are caught up in a war taking place in the future. One side, the Glorious, have set up recruiting stations across time, and are essentially kidnapping hundreds of thousands of men from their past to become cannon fodder - literally, as each recruit, once conditioned, or ‘depersonalised’ is placed into a war machine and ordered to hurl his machine against the enemy forces, known as the Planetarians, until he is destroyed. Norma Matheson, a bitter and depressed woman, is ‘hired’ to run a recruiting centre by Dr. Lell, one if the Glorious, who overcomes her free will with advanced mental powers and advanced technology. A former lover, Jack Garson, is drawn into the schemes of the Glorious. As they struggle to free themselves, each in different times, that learn more about the thoroughly unpleasant politics of the future, in the hope that somehow they can end the destruction and find each other again. Lots of interesting plot twists and a woman with a fair degree of agency and rekevance to the story as more than some man’s sidekick. In fact, it could be argued that Garson ends up being her sidekick.

Anthony Boucher’s Barrier is another dystopic time travel story, featuring a man who goes forward in tine by 500 years, only to discover that the society he has arrived in, which worships stasis and order above all things, has created a barrier against time travel, preventing his return, and also preventing any travelers from the future from travelling back into his new present. From regularised language to regularised thought, the world he finds himself in is a bland place, ruled by thought police, devoid of freedom and limited in both individuality and creativity. By chance, his earliest encounters are with rebels trying to change the system, and the remainder of the novella follows their attempts to defeat the fascist state and remove the barrier. Assorted time paradoxes, plots, sacrifices, victories and defeats ensue. It’s an open-ended narrative, with no clear victories, but hope, at the end. A complex and entertaining story.

L. Sprague de Camp’s The Undesired Princess is a tongue-in-cheek portal fantasy set in a world of binary logic - things either are something or they are not, there are no transitional states - everything is exactly as it seems, and all fairytale tropes are true. The sun does circle the earth, only primary colours exist, and the princess falls in love with her champion. Engineer Rollin Hobart is unwillingly transported to this world, where he saves the princess from the monster and is then supposed to marry her and rule half the kingdom. The only problem is, Hobart just wants to go home again. But before that can happen, he has to save the king from a behemoth, foil a barbarian invasion, rescue the princess again, and hardest if all, get a handle on how things work in the land of Logaea. De Camp was a seriously funny writer.

In Sprague de Camp’s Solomon’s Stone, a planned prank involving a demon-summoning ritual goes seriously awry when a demon actually appears, and, unhampered by the improperly drawn magical protections, takes possession of the body of one of the participants, sending his soul into the astral plane. There, John Prosper Nash finds himself in an astral body with the identity of a French chevalier, surrounded by people who seem to be living out fantasies in exotic identities - wild west gunmen, knights, Egyptian princesses, samurai, and so on. It’s all very confusing, but Nash has to figure things out quickly, because according to the demon, if he acquires the Stone of Solomon within ten days, the demon will have to return him to his own body. It’s a wild romp, involving kidnappings, duels, lecherous sultans, armies of Amazons, wars between Romans, Leninists, Aryans and other factions, and various and sundry other adventures, some of which involve the fine art of advanced accounting.
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Nominating short fiction for the Retro Hugos is difficult. It’s easier with novels, as there were far sff fewer novels published then, and the ones that were, are mostly still in print. But this was in the heyday of the pulps, there was a lot of short fiction published, and most of it is unavailable, unless you collect the classics pulp magazines. While most of the stories that were considered really good have been anthologised, you have to go through a lot of anthologies to read them all, and that’s not easy to do, especially if you’re reading ebooks only.

So, I do what I can. This post contains my thoughts on the eligible novellas I managed to find and read.


In A. E. Van Vogt’s Asylum, a pair of space vampires, aliens who live off both blood and the vital “life force” of their victims, land on an Earth which has developed interplanetary space flight and learned to live without interpersonal violence - rape, murder, even war are considered “social perversions,”

Merla and Jeel are advance scouts for their people, the Dreegh, who violate the laws of Galactic society to raid relatively primitive human planets, harvesting as much blood and life energy as they can before their activities are noticed and thwarted by the Galactic Observers. But this time, Merla and Jeel decide to attack and destroy the system’s Observer before they are noticed, so that the Dreegh can drain Earth of all its life. To do this, they kidnap and interrogate a reporter named William Leigh to help them find the hidden Observer.

The novella is written in a rather florid style, and suffers from too many descriptions of the extreme magnetism and vast intelligence of the nonhuman characters. As well, Van Vogt has some very odd ideas about psychology and how to write internal conflict. I’ve read a fair bit of his work over the years, and I would not rank this among his best, despite the interesting storyline and the foreshadowed but still surprising last minute plot twist. Some pulp sf ages well; this unfortunately did not.


Lester del Ray’s novella Nerves, on the other hand, reads almost like modern fiction, albeit with some quirks in dialogue that mark it as being from an earlier area, and a very bad excuse for a Japanese accent. The novella begins with a team of medical personnel dealing with the aftermath of a serious accident - thirty-odd injured and 17 fatalities - in an industrial facility where an assortment of radioactive products are constructed. The lead physician, Dr. Ferrel, is a former ‘star’ surgeon, who has lost his confidence ever since he had to perform on his dying pregnant wife, and was unable to save her. He has been working in obscurity ever since. His assistant, Dr. Jenkins, a young doctor who once dreamed of being an atomic scientist, is in his own way unsure of his limits, and still longing for the career he could not have.

As the action unfolds, we learn that the plant where everything went drastically wrong was being used to test an experimental process, and that if the still ongoing, but dangerously malfunctioning process isn’t shut down properly, the plabt will explode in a matter of hours, taking the whole facility, and possibly a large region of the populated area nearby, with it. When it turns out that the only man who has the knowledge and experience to safely shut down the process is severely injured and suffering from serious radiation exposure, Drs Ferrel and Jenkins will need every but of their combined experience and background to save the dying atomic engineer. Nerves is a story about damaged people facing an extreme crisis and finding ways to overcome their limitations under pressure. In that sense, it is a very timeless story.


Alfred Bester’s novella Hell is Forever is a rather dull and dreary recapitulation of the rather common idea that hell is of out own making. Of the top of my head, I can think of several plays that have gotten the idea across much better, including Sartre’ No Exit. In Bester’s version, six annoying people accidentally summon something rather like a devil who offers each of them their own reality - which of course turns out to be an eternity of experiencing their own worst nightmares. I really couldn’t get excited about it, it was far too repetitious and once the point is made with the first of the obnoxious protagonists, the fate of the others is of little interest. They are simply not sympathetic enough as characters for us to care about the specifics of each individual hell.


I’ve also reread Heinlein’s novella Waldo. This time around, I feel a strong connection to the title character that is new, and connected to the severe degeneration of my own physical state since my last reading; now, I perceive Waldo as “crip lit” and a fairly sensitive example, for something written by a man who likely perceived himself as able bodied. I was struck by the unifying metaphor of the waldo, the device that allows Waldo to manipulate objects on scales that would be impossible, not just for his crippled self, dealing with severe myasthenia gravis, but in some cases, for any human. This concept is recapitulated in the concept of the Other World which Waldo learns from a traditional hex doctor, the other dimension in which mind resides, and from which mind extends to influence, direct, manipulate the material world through its connections with brain and body.

There are other interesting and very modern ideas in Waldo - including the concern about untested long-term consequences of exposure to new technologies. All in all, a fine example if Heinlein’s early work.


Anthony Boucher’s The Compleat Werewolf is a nicely comedic novella about a university professor named Wolfe Wolf who has fallen in love with one of his former students, the actress Gloria Garton. When she declines his marriage proposal, he goes out drinking, meets a magician who calls himself Ozymandias, and learns that he is a werewolf. But that’s only the beginning of the tale, which also involves satanic temples, a German spy ring, and a taking cat.

The tone is light and just a bit on the frivolous side, the story pure entertainment.


Robert Heinlein’s novella The Unpleasant Profession of Jonathan Hoag takes a fascinating conceit - the world as a work of art - and turns it into a baffling and rather frightening story of supernatural mystery. (And also, in its description of Hoag’s profession as unpleasant, an in-joke for writers.) Jonathan Hoag is an amnesiac. Not only has he no memory of his live before a time five years ago. He has no idea what he does during the day. Distressed by the sudden realisation that he doesn’t really know who he is, he turns to a private detective to discover the things about himself that he doesn’t know.

Their investigation leads to a series of strange events, terrifying nightmares, unnatural threats, and unbelievable encounters, a sense that either they or the world is gong mad. As it turns out, it’s the world that is subtly wrong, and Hoag’s unknown profession carries with it the potential to make things right.

It’s like one of those secret history stories, in a way. It is so very unbelievable, and yet it could be true, and one would never know. Both the story and the concept stay with the reader after the process of reading is over - surely one of the qualities of good art.

Of the novellas I found and read, I thought both of Heinlein’s pieces, plus the Boucher and del Ray offerings, worth nomination. It will be interesting to see what works others found and decided to nominate.

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Novel

I was quite familiar with three of the finalists - White's The Ill-Made Knight, Van Vogt's Slan, and Smith's The Grey Lensman - all quite well-known classics of the genre, and all on my nomination list. Boye's Kallocain, which I had actually read earlier this year, was also one of my nominations [1]. So the only new novel to me among the finalists was The Reign of Wizardry by Jack Williamson [2], which, having now read, I think of as a quick and pleasant read, but not particularly special.

My personal opinion is that The Ill-Made Knight has aged the best of the the finalists, and as a retelling if the Arthurian legend, it holds a special place in my memories. But I'd be almost as happy if Slan wins, as it's a book I remember with much nostalgia from my childhood - as I suspect do many socially outcast young nerds.


Novella

Heinlein's If This Goes On… and Coventry - both personal favourites among his early work - were on my nomination list for this category. Magic, Inc., however, has always seemed to be one of Heinlein's lesser works and I did not consider it for nomination.
I had read both of the de Camp/Pratt finalists - The Mathematics of Magic and The Roaring Trumpet - before, but long enough ago that I did not remember them clearly. I have now remedied that [3]. Both of the de Camp/Pratt novellas were good, well-crafted comic adventure pieces, but I remain convinced that for technique, entertainment value, and maturity of themes and ideas, the two Heinlein science fiction pieces are the cream of this crop.


Novelette

Heinlein's "Blowups Happen," Sturgeon's "It!” and Bates' “Farewell to the Master” were among my nominees - I was of course long familiar with the Heinlein novelette, but not Harry Bates' story, which I read for the first time this year and was quite taken with, or the Sturgeon novelette, which I also read earlier this year [4]. Heinlein's “The Roads Must Roll" was a close contender for me, though it just missed being one of my nominations. The late addition to the finalists, A. E. Van Vogt's "Vault of the Beast" was new to me, and sadly, I was not impressed [5]. All in all, "Blowups Happen" and "Farewell to the Master" made the strongest impression on me in this category.


Best Short Story

“Martian Quest” by Leigh Brackett, “Requiem” by Robert A. Heinlein, and "Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius” by Jorge Luis Borges - I adore Borges - were all among my nominations for this category, and both “The Stellar Legion," also by Leigh Brackett, and “Robbie” by Isaac Asimov were among the works I had under consideration up to the end [6]. I think I'd be quite content if any of them were to win, but my secret hopes are for the Borges piece.



[1] http://bibliogramma.dreamwidth.org/181310.html
[2] http://bibliogramma.dreamwidth.org/198078.html
[3] http://bibliogramma.dreamwidth.org/198990.html
[4] short notes on the Bates and Sturgeon novelettes here: http://bibliogramma.dreamwidth.org/188154.html
[5] short notes on A. E. Van Vogt's novelette here: http://bibliogramma.dreamwidth.org/199299.html
[6] short notes on the two Brackett stories here: http://bibliogramma.dreamwidth.org/188154.html

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Recently I found a treasure - a five volume e-book collection of Golden Age sf pulps published by Halcyon Classics. There's some grand old things in the collection, and sone things I've never heard of, but I'm going to be taking my time, wandering through the collection and enjoying what's there.

My first selection was Robert Bloch's This Crowded Earth, which was a hoot. Overpopulation gets so bad that governments all over the world enforce a somewhat bizarre solution - changing the size of human beings to be only three feet tall. This turns out to be a bad idea, but fortunately there are some normal sized people still around to provide the solution.

Ah, the glorious things they did in the pulps.


My next selection from this cornucopia of delights was Marion Zimmer Bradley's The Colors of Space, a quick and reasonably interesting, if formulaic read. Aliens dominate interstellar trade, keeping secret of warp drive from humans. Intrepid young human gets caught up in plot to discover secret, saves the day for both species by being wiser, bolder and more compassionate than either the humans or the aliens. Plot hinges on aliens being colourblind, hence the title.


The next pulp treasure I sampled was Leigh Brackett's Black Amazon of Mars. Brackett was a master of the planetary romance, and in this novel, one of her sequence of tales about mercenary-adventurer Eric John Stark, she weaves the hallmarks of the genre together in a splendid fast-moving tale of lost cities and ancient battles refought. Black Amazon of Mars was later revised and expanded, and re-published as The People of the Talisman, and this led me to find a copy of the latter and read it to see just what changes were made and how that affected the story.

The first half of People of the Talisman is almost identical, not just in plot but in actual text, merely fleshed out somewhat, with a bit more description of the setting - the Northern wastes of Mars - and character-building of some characters who played relatively minor roles in Amazon but would turn out to have more substantial parts in Talisman. The second half is completely different - even though the structure of the two novels is almost identical. Not only is the story different, but the changes Brackett made alter the tone and themes of the novel in a substantial fashion.

In both novels, Stark and a friend, Camar, are travelling to Camar's home city of Kushat, from whence Camar had fled years ago, bearing the stolen talisman of Ban Cruach. The legend of the talisman is that Kushat cannot be defeated as long as the talisman is in the city, as it can be used to summon the powers of long-dead hero Ban Cruach from beyond the Gates of Death - which in this instance is a narrow pass in the circumpolar mountains which is blocked by the city. Camar has been wounded while saving Stark's life, and dies on the journey, leaving Stark to take the talisman home. Stark is captured by warrior nomads led by the mysterious black-masked Lord Ciaran, who have heard rumours that the talisman is gone and are on their way to conquer Kushat and seek the ancient powers of Ban Cruach. Stark escapes and warns the people of Kushat.

And this is where the stories begin to diverge. Some key elements remain the same - Kushat is taken, but Stark unmasks Lord Ciaran in battle, revealing the nomad leader to be a woman. Both of them end up passing through the Gates of Death, discovering the secrets of Ban Cruach, and returning as allies. But what they find, what happens to them beyond the Gates of Death, and the knowledge they gain, is so completely different as to make these novels two different stories.

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